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kasagia · 6 months ago

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Dancing With The Devil

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem! royal!reader Summary: Your whole life revolved around court intrigues, gaining influence, and extracting the darkest secrets from important nobility. As a woman, there wasn't much you could do or count on. Unless you provide yourself with status and position through a good marriage. You've made your life perfect. You had a complete plan and vision for your future—even after the unexpected loss of your fiancé, you managed to rise up and find another good match—until the Na-Baron decided to interfere with it and ruin everything you had been working for. You were about to find out for yourself that dancing with the devil never led to anything good. Even if the consequences of this come after some time... Warning: kind of royal au!; 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; smut; Inspired by: Bridgerton and "Would've, could've, should've" - Taylor Swift Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART II ~•♤♤♤•~

"What do you mean by saying that Paul Atreides is dead?"

"Exactly that." Your mother replies with her typical calm, adjusting the crown on her head in the mirror. "He and his family went on a diplomatic mission to Arrakis. They were attacked by… a group of rebels. More specifically, it was probably Sardaukar, but we all know who benefited more from the death of the Atreides." You shudder at the mere mention of the Harkonnens. However, you still can't get over the shock of the revelation you've just heard.

"It is impossible. They couldn't kill them all, after all... what about Caladan? And the plans of the Bene Gesserit? The Emperor would never…"

"The Emperor is not the same man you knew. As he grows older, he grows not in wisdom but in fear. He is more afraid of maintaining his throne than of the good of the empire. And, as we all know, Paul was his most likely successor. So he killed him before he could kill him." She explains this to you, making sure that her appearance is impeccable. She turns from the mirror and nods to the maid, ordering her to give her a coat in your family's colours and embroidered with the decorations and symbols of your house.

"I... are you just trying to tell me that I don't have a fiancé?"

"Unless you want to marry his corpse, yes, that's what I am trying to say to you from the beginning." Your mother snorts in amusement, watching you as you are still in shock, trying to process this unexpected, terrible news. The shock in you slowly gives way to anger. This wasn't how things were supposed to look.

"Mother, you should know how tragic this situation is. After all, the season is almost over; when will I get any suitors? Should I be without any for a year? And then another one? You know perfectly well that most of the descendants of high families have already announced their courtship. Am I supposed to end up as a spinster?"

"Calm down. The season isn't over yet. Since... Caladan has an unstable political situation, Princess Irulan suggested that we take over the main, final celebrations. All you have to do is dress nicely, present yourself well, and catch whatever poor young men come here." You snort mockingly at her feeble attempts to comfort and reassure you.

"I won't have a better husband than Paul. He was the perfect match! Not ugly, easy to control, filthy rich, only son who was supposed to inherit everything—where will you find me another husband like that?" You ask furiously, more concerned about the consequences of his death for you than the fact that you will never meet your fiancé ever again. You couldn't end up as a spinster. You couldn't marry just anyone, either, or, worse, end up as a mere concubine. You didn't spend all these years beautifying your appearance and studying politics, martial arts, economics, and biological sciences to marry some insignificant idiot from an unknown family and planet.

"It's going to be hard, I won't lie, but we'll get through it. We are Y/L/N. We never give up and always achieve our goals. You're too beautiful, darling, to become a spinster. And too smart to marry some insignificant lord."

"You too were, and yet you ended up with my father."

"I married him out of love and love... love makes us do stupid things. But you are smarter than me. You can do much better, I have no doubt about that. We'll give you a week of mourning before we throw the first party. During this time, we will review... available men. To know who to focus on." You nod, agreeing with her plan. You couldn't immediately rush out to find another suitor when your previous one had just been buried beneath the sands of Arrakis. You had to pretend you were crying for him.

It wasn't like you didn't care about Paul at all. You liked him. He was a good conversation partner and a nobel man. But in this situation, you felt more sorry for yourself. You were left with no fiancé, no suitor, and no other alternative.

And if there was anything worse for a woman in this world than death, it was either infertility or becoming a spinster whom no one paid any attention to. You could have handled every other situation perfectly well, but not such humiliation.

Or at least that's what you thought until you crossed paths with the one and only Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.

You stand against the wall, sipping your champagne with probably the sourest expression on your face. The masquerade ball had already started an hour ago and you still couldn't find anyone whose attention you could attract.

You and your mother had looked through... all the possible options, but none of the men who came here were fooled by your sweet swan appearance. And if he did, he proposed after just a few minutes of conversation. You may have been in a desperate situation, but you weren't looking for a desperate man.

Standing against the wall allowed you to take a closer look at the nobles present at the ball. You caught a few rumours and scandalous behaviour—touching too long, stolen kisses, and a few other things—but you didn't feel like thinking about them at all when the vision of your future looked so bleak.

Your bad mood is only fueled by Irulan's presence and how she's clearly having a great time at your funeral. As if she had achieved another one of her many victories. Lucky bitch.

You sigh and place your glass on the tray of a passing servant. You are about to leave the masquerade ball when your attention is caught by a man standing alone on the other side of the room.

His outfit is… unusual. His black coat is finished with sharp metal decorations, making it resemble more of a fancy armour than a classic formal outfit. The black mask completely covers his face and the back of his head, leaving only his full lips and part of his defined jaw to your eyes.

And you really like those lips. Very much. You decide that today you will test their softness when the stranger's cold blue eyes meet yours. A shiver of excitement runs through you as you imagine the things you could do with this intoxicatingly beautiful man. And maybe it's the alcohol you drank or your pathetic longing to be the centre of someone's attention that makes you feel brave enough to approach him.

As you slowly approach him and look at him closely, you realise what he's disguised as. The black swan. It was so good for you that you decided to be the white one tonight.

However, the man suddenly disappears in the crowd of people. You frown and look around, searching for him, but somehow you can't. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. You freeze when you suddenly feel someone's presence behind you. A shiver of excitement runs down your spine as the man's husky whisper echoes in your ear.

"Looking for someone, my lady?" You turn your head to meet the same icy blue irises up that were watching you from across the room a moment ago.

Goosebumps run through you as his gaze inexplicably hypnotises you. This could be your opportunity; you just had to play your cards well and make him more interested in you. The circumstances and scenery were perfect—downright romantic, like from a book. You just had to make this handsome devil equally enchanted by you. You must have caught his attention if he decided to play with you and chase you to get to you first.

You also need to find out who owns those captivating lips and eyes whose colour rivals the ocean waves. Oh, and how you desperately wanted to immerse yourself in them...

"My lord." You curtsy, turning fully to face him to study him even more carefully. He was tall, with a muscular figure visible under his clothes that you wanted to explore with your fingers. You lick your lips, shifting your gaze back to his, and catch him assessing you with his eyes, just like you had just done with him. "I couldn't help but notice how... coincidentally, we fit together with our choice of outfits."

"Indeed, we do. Although I personally think you would look better in black, little swan." The nickname he gives you and the arrogance in his voice make you snort mockingly, raising an eyebrow at him defiantly as you become even more fascinated by this mysterious man.

"Why is that?"

"You may look like a tiny, innocent bird in this white, pretty dress, but your eyes—your eyes give it all away, my lady. You can try to deceive men with this... undoubtedly beautiful sight for the eyes, but not all of us fall so easily to the false mirage—maybe only lesser men—but you're not desperate enough to seek the attention of a mere duke or count, who would be easily led by you, are you?"

"And who are you to make such bold assumptions?" You ask furiously, glaring at him as he gently strokes the collar of your dress with his fingertip, playing a little with the white feathers that were attached to it. He smirks, his white teeth gleaming dangerously, reminding you of the smile of a wolf before it catches its prey.

"Definitely not a lesser man." He replies, undaunted by your anger. His hand slides from the collar of your dress over your shoulder as he grabs your gloved hand and presses a soft kiss on it, and you can barely keep yourself from closing your eyes and giving in to the pleasant feeling of having his plush, full lips so close and yet so far from your skin. "May I? I believe that this beautiful dress will look better while moving…"

At this point, you should refuse. Thank him for his company and go find a... more suitable one. But you can't deny that he's read you accurately so far and that he's touched a part of you that you haven't shown to anyone. You were too curious to just let him go; you wanted to stay with him longer and see what would come of this acquaintance with him.

So you nod and let him lead you to the dance floor. A few heads turn towards you, but you can't reach anything other than him, and the feeling of his larger hand gently holding yours in a strange way makes your heart flutter slightly.

You feel like he's put a spell on you, and strangely, you don't want to break out of it at all.

His eyes never leave yours. You're almost dizzy from how intensely he's looking at you. He places his hand on your waist, pulling you a little closer to him. He holds you tight enough so that you can feel his touch on you, and it isn't painful for you. He leads you into a dance with incredible grace for a man, spinning you around to the rhythm of the music.

He's so close to you that you can smell his scent, which is as addictive as his burning attention. The smell of anise, musk, and hot spices assaulting your nostrils makes you involuntarily lean towards him, wanting to be as close to him as good manners allow. However, you know that if you spend another few minutes longer in his presence, all your mother's teachings will be forgotten in favour of... getting closer to this compelling man.

"So what do you believe in then? If you don't believe in coincidence? Destiny?" You ask, trying to shake off this strange feeling of loss of control he's giving you.

And you almost fail miserably, barely keeping yourself from blushing as his low chuckle makes you burn even more for him. You had to find some flaw in him—something that would turn you off if you didn't want to lose your mind completely, because for now, everything about this man was sinfully pleasant.

"We create our destiny. Don't you agree?"

"Sometimes things are beyond your control, my lord." You disagree with him, keeping your searching gaze on him as his hands move to your hips.

You bite your bottom lip as he lifts you up in one fluid motion, following the steps of the dance. The ease with which he shifts you and spins you so that your back is against his chest as he sets you down on the floor again makes your cheeks blush as you think of all the ways you could use his large, strong hands. You feel like a horny teenager in her first season. And you don't like it at all.

"And sometimes, all we need to do is take a step and reach out for what is rightfully ours." He whispers in your ear, wrapping his hands around you, never stopping his movements.

You swallow thickly as he places your joined hands on your shoulder, his thumb brushing against your bare collarbone. You bite your tongue, trying to hold back a moan when you feel the rough skin of his hands, confirming your suspicions that his toned physique is built from years of training and fighting. This fuels your desire for him even more.

"Possible. But our reputation suffers because of it. You can't escape the eyes of society. No matter how hard you try, my lord." Your eyes fall on the couples dancing around you.

You gasp when he suddenly wraps his arm around your waist and turns you around, forcing you to face him again. You almost bump into his chest, completely unprepared for such a sudden move from him. He gives you a mischievous smirk and a wink, amused at how he managed to catch you off guard and off-balance. You purse your lips, causing his eyes to shift to them.

"Do you know what freedom you can achieve when you throw off the yoke of your reputation? How many opportunities are open to you?" He whispers hoarsely, leaning towards you. You lift your chin, meeting his gaze as your heart beats frantically against your chest. You get the feeling he has in his mind... something much less pure and decent. And you almost trembled in his arms with excitement.

"Do you know how many doors close in front of you? No one wants to associate with a vile person rejected by society."

"Oh, but those nefarious always seem to get their attention, don't you think? They are invited out of sheer curiosity about how they will behave and what exciting and forbidden things they will do. They are the source of the most virulent gossip; you won't deny it, right, little swan?"

"Possible. Are you one of them?" You ask, curious about his identity.

He gives you a mysterious, mocking smirk as he chuckles throatily. He leans down and brushes his lips against your ear. You sigh as his lips press a small kiss to your earlobe, your heart racing as you feel him so close to you. You wait in suspense for what he will do next, completely oblivious to the people around you, who, fortunately, are too busy with themselves to notice what is happening around them. You'd never been so happy about wearing a mask before, even though it was a way to protect your identity and allow yourself... to do a little more in such a public place.

"Oh darling… what if I told you that I'm the worst of them all?" He whispers seductively, biting your ear. You gasp, digging your fingers into his arm, holding on to anything as he plays cruelly with you.

At this point, you should thank him for this dance, turn around, and find another company. But there's something... magnetic about this man that draws you closer and closer to him.

Maybe it's the thrill of the unknown—the excitement of how different this man seems from the rest of the people here. And even though your mind is screaming at you, and rightly so, to back away before you burn yourself with the fire that burns from him, you want to follow him like a moth, desperately wanting to bathe in the glow of these new sensations he is giving you.

So, without thinking about it for a long time, you grab his hand and lead him out of the room. Surprisingly, he obediently follows you, not questioning you as the two of you walk through various corridors. You lead him towards the exit—straight to the palace gardens, where there should be much fewer people who couldn't... overhear you.

You drag him into the maze, taking him to one of the dead ends. Before he can say anything, you lean in and kiss him lustfully. You moan at the feeling of his soft lips caressing yours, and you tighten your hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. The metal trim of his outfit digs into you, but you ignore the feeling, completely absorbed by the way his tongue slips into your waiting mouth.

Under different circumstances, if it were known to him who you were and there was no mask covering half of your face, you would never have dared to take such a... bold step. But now, with him so close to you and your identity safe under the white feather mask, you moan into his mouth, letting yourself bask in the feeling of desire.

You and Paul... fooled around a few times, but the furthest you went was touching each other. But with this man, the man whose name you didn't know and who was currently sucking the air from your mouth, you felt completely different.

All your nerves were on fire. Every inch of you was begging for his touch and undivided attention. You couldn't help but moan and melt into his hands as he possessively tightened his grip on your hip, pulling you much closer to his body.

Your bodies fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle, and you couldn't help but wonder if your souls were also two halves that fit together thoroughly.

Just when you feel like you can't go without air any longer, his mouth stops attacking yours, instead caressing and nipping at the skin of your jaw and moving to your neck.

Suddenly, the corset you're in becomes too tight, and breathing becomes increasingly difficult for you as his lips mark your neck, making your already lust-crazed heart beat faster. You whine, your hands tracing his muscular torso, as you find yourself in extreme conflict. You know you should push him away and that you shouldn't let him mark you so clearly, but on the other hand, he brings you so much pleasure and makes you shiver just from the feeling of his lips on your neck. You dread to think what he would do to you if he moved a little further south of your body—if he kneeled in front of you and did to you things you only read about in the privacy of your chamber.

You quickly cover your mouth with your hand as you are about to scream when his teeth dig into your neck. He sucks on the sensitive skin, making sure to leave a clear mark on you. Your eyes widen in shock when you hear a threatening growl from him. His hand grabs yours tightly, removing it from your mouth, and his icy blue eyes flash with anger, giving you a furious glare.

"Hold back your moans and screams one more time, and I will make sure the people in the palace hear you crying because of me, little swan. And believe me, I can make it only pleasant for me, so don't test my patience and mercy and be a good girl for me." He growls, tightening his grip on your hand that he pinned to the hedge behind you.

He kisses you hard, chastisingly, as he takes a step towards you, closing any space between you. Your breasts rub against his chest as he presses against you, and you think you can feel his hardness through the layers of your clothes.

A short gasp escapes you as his hand travels beneath the layers of your dress. His fingers take their time caressing the skin of your legs, slowly climbing up to where you needed to have him as soon as your eyes fell on him. You decide to compromise with him and pull him into a kiss so as not to attract unwanted attention from any of the guests.

You gasp as his fingers brush against your clothed core. His raspy chuckle as he discovers the undeniable flood between your legs makes you blush with embarrassment and anger. Your breathing quickens as you reach out to grab his cock, squeezing him painfully tight for teasing you. A loud moan leaves his lips swollen from kissing, making you want to extract other, equally temptingly beautiful sounds from him.

But before you can do anything, he drops to his knees in front of you and lifts the folds of your white dress. You shiver, feeling his breath between your legs as he takes his time stroking your thighs, caressing them with his soft lips.

You moan as he sucks and bites the skin of your inner thighs, teasing you as he blatantly ignores your needy pussy. You dig your fingers into his shoulders, biting your lip as you try to pull him to your clothed core. He growls while spanking your pussy. You scream at the sudden, burning sensation, your legs shaking, so only his strong hands are keeping you upright.

You tilt your head back, resting it against the hedge, and moan softly as he presses a teasing kiss on your clothed core. His fingers gently slip under your panties, only to rip the fabric off of you in one quick movement.

You sigh as his nose brushes against your folds as he inhales your scent, stuffing your torn panties into his pants pocket. His tongue gently and teasingly tastes your wetness, making you even more frustrated. You push aside the fabric of your dress and take his hand that was exploring the curve of your ass and pull it to your pussy which is screaming for his attention.

His chuckle stimulates your clit, making you moan and pushing your hips into him in a desperate attempt to find a release. He growls angrily at your impatience and grabs your hips in an iron grip, positioning you to his liking and plan.

You hold your breath as his fingers gently enter you, soothing the burning feeling of emptiness inside you. His tongue plays with your clit, sucking every last drop of your juices out of you, as if he's as addicted to your taste and sounds as you are to the feeling of his touch and the way he fills you.

You feel your orgasm building. You close your eyes in blissful relief, allowing yourself to moan, not caring if anyone can hear you. Your fingers dig into his neck. He growls against your pussy as you draw his blood from him and intensifies his ministrations. His fingers move in and out quickly as he sucks on your most sensitive spot, as if he's trying to mark you there and leave you a hickey there.

Your fingers run up his neck. You want to pull his hair—hurt him as much as he hurts you. Your fingertips find their way beneath the black fabric of his mask covering his head, but when you reach out to grab his hair, you're met with bare skin.

And then everything falls into place in your head.

When the realisation comes to you, you freeze, you lose all feeling, and all you can do is stand there and think about who you let under your dress and between your legs.

Harkonnen. You were being eaten by a fucking Harkonnen, and judging by his body structure, voice, and the guest list you've looked through hundreds of times, by one and only Feyd-Rautha, Na-Barron of Giedi Prime.

You tremble, not at all because of the feeling of how his fingers and tongue work continuously on your orgasm, intensifying your sensations as he lets out soft moans at the taste of you, but because pure terror overwhelms your whole body. You unconsciously tighten the hug on his neck, which only increases the intensity of his… efforts on your wet folds, as he wants to take you over the edge.

You take advantage of the fact that he's too... distracted and push him away from you. You grab the skirt of your dress and run fast, as far away from him as possible. Your heart races as you hear his soft growl before, to your even greater dismay, he chases after you.

You run through a maze, trying to lose Harkonnen among many paths, hoping he will reach a dead end and lose your trail, or at least to find some group of people. After all, he won't be able to do anything to you in front of witnesses—or maybe he could?

You tremble at the thought that the same hands that cut the throats of servants and concubines, hands that killed prisoners in the arena and people in battle, touched you and were the cause of your... your pleasure.

How stupid you were! How could you allow yourself to be seduced by Harkonnen and carried away by your stupid emotions and desires? You mentally curse him, his family, and Paul Atreides, whose death made you have to chase men again to find a suitable husband. And especially you curse how amazing and extraordinary you felt under the touch of this bloodthirsty beast, whose house has been nefarious for centuries.

You run forward, not daring to turn around to see if he's still chasing you. You're so lost in your thoughts and so scared that you accidentally run into someone. You gasp as a hand grips your waist tightly, preventing you from falling. You have a heart attack, thinking that it could be him and that he has somehow outsmarted you. But when you look up, you don't see blue irises, but green ones.

"Forgive me, my lord. I didn't mean to..." Your words stop as you take a closer look at the man. He wasn't wearing a mask; he apparently abandoned it when he entered the garden, and you have to say, he's... handsome. Very.

“Of course you didn't mean to. You couldn't see me when you were running so fast, which makes me wonder: From what are you running away, my lady?"

"I... To be honest, I'm running away from my maids. And that ball. It's just… too much excitement for one evening." You lie, quickly making up an excuse.

Obviously, you won't tell him that you're being chased by the horny Harkonnen heir, with whom you were ALONE in the garden. That would be a scandal. Just talking to this man now could be considered that way too... let alone what you allowed Feyd-Rautha to do to you.

"I think so too. Viscount Y/L/N throws good parties, but… they're a little too loud for my liking. Too vibrant." He comments, offering his arm to you. You can't help but smile as you place your hand in the crook of his arm.

Luckily, he leads the two of you in the opposite direction you were running from. You see that his brown and gold mask is tied to his arm, and on his finger he has... the ring of the Luwael family, a close family of Emperor Corrino. You just talked to the emperor's cousin, the pretender to his throne since he has no son.

You can't believe how lucky you are.

"Tell me about it, I've been enduring it since I was 15." You say it jokingly, giggling when you see his eyes widen as he realises he's gossiping about your father, and you think he looks adorable and cute in his state of little panic.

"Lady Y/N Y/L/N?" He asks, shocked. You nod and reach for the ribbon of your mask, removing it. You see his pupils dilate slightly as he takes in your appearance, his cheeks turning pink—whether from embarrassment or lust, you don't know, but you still like his reaction to you. "My apologies, I didn't mean to offend…."

"You did not." You interrupt him quickly with a charming smile. "It's... refreshing to be able to talk to someone who has similar opinions and feelings. At least when it comes to those terrible balls."

"Sometimes I feel like they force us to participate just to have something to gossip about later."

"Don't you like gossip?" You ask curiously, raising an eyebrow as you continue your walk through the gardens. You completely forget about Harkonnen and your... mistake, as you are trying to gain the interest of the man next to you.

This could be your big chance.

True, you heard that he and Irulan were to marry so that power would remain in Corrino's hands, but... if you make him want you, no one will stop him from taking you as his wife.

"I don't like court intrigues. The way ladies throw themselves at lords just to gain a higher title."

"Maybe for you men, marriage is more than just a financial transaction, but unfortunately for most of us, it's all about stability. The security of our lives is the most important thing here, and love—love is a complex and difficult thing; most often, unfortunately, it is only in books. Won't you agree?"

"Possible. But I would rather my wife love me than the power I give her." You smile in understanding. So you have a romantic in front of you... You have to adjust your role well, so you keep your true thoughts to yourself. You innocently hang your head, feigning uncertainty.

"This is completely understandable. Don't all of us dream about it? Have someone of your own, trusted, to whom you can confide all your dreams and fears without being afraid of being laughed at or ignored?" You ask, turning your head to look at him as you ask him your final question.

By the way he watches you with a burning light in his eyes, you know you've come to the right place and have successfully sold your image of a weak, defenceless woman dreaming of a real courtly romance. Pathetic. However, you will do anything to get a husband, you'll even pretend to be a helpless lamb.

"Yes... I assume that's what all of us want. Maybe expect the Harkonnens." You laugh at his joke, feeling very awkward at the same time as the memory of a certain Harkonnen's lips comes back to you.

You curse yourself for how damn good he made you feel. They may not have known love, but if they were all like Na-Baron, they knew damn well how to please their women—a thing you couldn't say about all the lords of the great houses.

You and Lord Luwael walk around the garden for a while before you both decide to head back to the ballroom. You put on your masks, and the man escorts you back, all the while being a perfect gentleman, including dancing, which he later asked you for.

You have fun maintaining your image as a hopeless romantic who wants to find true love and break away from the courtly conventions that overwhelm you—a perfect match for the emperor's heir. He doesn't tell you his identity until the end of the evening, but you don't mind. You know you've charmed him. And that he will seek your company at the next events of this season.

What you don't know is that certain icy-blue irises are watching you two furiously as you are led back into the ballroom by Lord Luwael. You also don't know that the Harkonnens are persistent and ruthless people who can wait years for their plans to be implemented, and that their devilish Na-Baron is truly the worst of them all...

Or that Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen decided a long time ago that you would become his wife. It didn't matter what he had to do or how to achieve his goal.

In the future, you will often regret this night and dancing with the Harkonnen devil. Very often.

~9 years earlier~

“They say he killed his mother. That his uncle and brother are training him to become a killer beast. That he is now devoid of any emotion except anger and bloodlust, and Paul told me that he apparently even has concubines.” Irulan gossips with you as the two of you watch in the distance as Feyd-Rautha trains in the courtyard.

The emperor invited several greater families to discuss something. You weren't too interested about it. Your mother simply packed your things and said you were leaving for a week. But you were happy. You had the opportunity to play with other nobles' children and it was definitely a nice break from listening to your parents' constant arguments.

"Nonsense. He's our age. Let's ask him if he wants to play with us." You decide and stand up to walk over to the hairless boy. Irulan grabs your hand tightly and pulls you back to your hiding place behind the pillar.

"He is a Harkonnen, Y/N. They don't play." She says and leans out to look at him. He swings his sword several times, making several quick movements and turns.

"But he isn't like them. He grew up on Lankiveil. Besides, I still remember him when he had blonde hair. And Harkonnens have no hair, so..."

"Baron made him his heir. Of course he had to... make himself look like them." She interrupts you, wrinkling her nose in disgust. You shiver slightly at the mere mention of the baron and nod thoughtfully.

"Pity. His blonde curls were pretty." You comment and lean out to look at him. You hold your breath as you make eye contact with him. He looks at you coldly, not moving an inch. You wave at him, giving him a hesitant smile. He stares at you for a while longer before he turns on his heel, his back to you, as he continues his training as if nothing had happened. "Still, we should have asked him. He looks quite lonely."

"NO. I won't be nice to him. If my mother gives a son to my father and I have to marry this… Harkonnen, I will throw myself from the tower."

"Why from the tower?" You ask, confused, frowning at the girl.

"I don't know. This is what the main characters in books do when something terrible happens to them. They say they will throw themselves off the tower."

"I prefer it when they fight the dragon." You say this, glancing at the boy again. You don't know why, but something just wouldn't let you walk away and leave him, although you really want to play with Paul, Irulan, and the other kids. You find yourself much more wanting to play with this strange boy.

You frown when you see him accidentally cut his hand. He doesn't cry like Paul did when you slammed his hand in the door. Instead, he puts his mouth on the wound and sucks out the blood. He tears off a piece of his clothes, wraps it around his hand, and continues training.

And somehow, it makes you make a decision.

"Y/N! What are you doing?!" Irulan hisses at you as you pull your hand from her grasp and take a step towards the courtyard.

"Fighting the dragon. Wish me luck." You answer, and without looking back, you head towards the training boy. His pale, bald head almost gleams in the sun, and you can't help but wonder if his lack of hair makes him less tolerant of the sun's heat.

When you are close to him, you stand still, not wanting to accidentally impale yourself on his sword. He notices you out of the corner of his eye, stops swinging his sword, and turns towards you, looking at you closely.

"Hi." You say as you wave at him.

"Lady Y/N." His voice is slightly hoarse, as if he had sandpapered it. You frown, surprised by such a formal greeting. Usually, only adults greet you like that.

"Um... my lord?" You answer hesitantly and shake your head, trying to ignore how strange he's acting. "Do you want to join us? We are playing hide and seek." You say, pointing your thumb at the pillar you and Irulan were hiding behind a few seconds ago.

"It's fun for kids." He replies dismissively and starts swinging his sword again.

"Are you not one?" You ask in surprise, still looking at him. He growls in annoyance and turns towards you, giving you a furious glare as you interrupt him.

"No. I am a man. And men are supposed to fight in battles and train to become stronger."

"Why?" You ask and frown at him, following him as he walks over to the fountain where he left his water and towel. He wipes the beads of sweat from his head, giving you a confused gaze.

"To keep their women and country safe." He replies like it's an obvious thing everyone should know.

"Well... do you have any in danger right now?" This time it's him who furrows his hairless eyebrows at your weird question. He thinks for a moment, observing you, and then shakes his head.

"No."

"Great! Then you can play with us." You say it excitedly and grab his hand. He hisses under your touch, and it's only then that you realise you've grabbed his injured hand. You want to apologise, but his mad glare quickly silences you.

"I already told you that I am not going to play any stupid game, woman!"

"Hey! I am not a woman, I am a girl! And you are a boy, so stop pretending to be an adult and play with us." You respond to his furious growl with your own and shoot him your evil glare. But instead of caring about your outburst and maybe even complying with your demands, he just laughs, making you even angrier.

"I will do whatever I want. You won't order me, little bunny. It doesn't matter how cute you look when you're angry." He mocks you and turns his back on you. You stamp your foot, furious at his behaviour and the fact that he is dismissing you.

"I doubt that sitting all alone is what you prefer." You say, unconsciously hitting his sweet spot. You see him tense as he reaches for his sword. However, his attitude quickly turns indifferent again as he turns his head to glance at you briefly.

"You should go."

"Why?"

"Before anyone notices me with you. Why are you asking so many questions?" He asks irritably, and he starts his training again.

Even though he tries to ignore you, you can see him glancing at you every few moments as you continue to stand there, watching as he swings his sword and cuts through the air.

"Is that yours?" You ask him curiously, sitting on the edge of the fountain.

"Yes. My uncle gave it to me for my 10th birthday." He replies proudly and stops for a moment to talk to you. You smile, staring longingly at the metal blade.

"My gave me dolls. Again. It's so boring." You grumble, keeping your eyes on his weapon. "How do you play with it?"

"I don't play. I train." He replies in annoyance and rolls his eyes at you. But you can see in his eyes that he's not mad at you at all. On the contrary, he wants to continue talking to you. That's why you act more boldly.

"Whatever. How do you train with it? Can you show me?"

"These are not things for a woman." His rejection doesn't dampen your excitement at all. On the contrary, you want to train with him even more, to do something that your mother forbade you to do a long time ago.

"Well, that's a good thing that I am a girl, then. Can you show me? Please? My dad wanted to train me, but my mom didn't agree. She is stupid." You complain, causing him to chuckle. You smile widely, thinking that he looks better when he's cheerful and not with that dark and grim scowl.

"She is. You should know how to protect yourself. Your father won't be fighting for your safety forever. And with that attitude, I doubt you will ever find a husband to protect you."

"Good. I don't want one. Can you show me then?" You ask, ignoring the fact that he's trying to insult you. You look up at him with your beautiful, pleading eyes and stick out your lower lip.

He watches you for a moment, frowning as he feels his heart beat faster when you give him that cute look he simply can't resist. He sighs, barely taking his eyes off of you, and nods.

"Fine. But only if you stay away from me after that."

"Okay." You reply excitedly and nod enthusiastically. He smiles slightly and stands behind you, helping you maintain a good stance with your sword.

"Hold it like that." He says, adjusting your grip on the handle.

"It's so heavy! How can you hold it and move?" You almost collapse under the weight of the sword, but you try to hold it the way he shows you. He laughs huskily, making you smile.

"You can get used to it with time. Now. I will show you some basic movements."

He trains with you and shows you some tricks and moves. And although he was rough and rude towards you at first, over time you both enjoyed each other's company.

You manage to make him laugh a few times, and each time you count it as a small victory considering how grumpy he was. He's obviously extremely fascinated with fighting and seems more than willing to teach you a few things. You think this "training" is fun—at least until you accidentally injure yourself.

"Ouch!" You scream and almost drop his sword. Luckily, he caught it quickly, before you could cut your foot. He furrows his hairless eyebrows and takes your injured hand in his.

"You're as clumsy as you look, little bunny." He mumbles and brings your hand to his mouth.

He licks up your blood like he did with his and tears off a piece of your dress. He wraps the cloth around the wound and looks closely at your hand. You frown, disgusted that he's licking your blood, but you don't move. Well... not until you realise this insult.

"Hey! You hurt yourself a while ago, too. Besides, it's my first time." You are angry at him, pulling your hand away and crossing your arms.

"Because I had an unexpected audience that was talking passionately about me behind my back."

"Oh… I'm sorry. It was mean." You respond contritely, not realising how he must have felt when everyone around him assumed the worst about him and didn't want to be around him.

"I got used to it." He replies in an emotionless tone and looks away from you, almost looking like a beaten dog, even though he tries hard not to show it. And you feel terribly sorry for him.

"You shouldn't. You are cool. When you take the stick out of your ass." You joke, and he chuckles. You smile at him, but his good mood is suddenly interrupted by something. His face turns serious, his muscles tense, and you only hear the growl of some animal before Feyd pushes you behind him.

A large hunting dog runs up to you. He lunges at Feyd, knocking him down. The dog bites him, and Feyd screams in rage. He tries to plunge his sword into the dog's side, but it clamps its jaws on the Feyd's arm, immobilising him.

You gasp in dismay. You reach for a rock and throw it at the dog, trying to distract it. You succeed, but before you can think about what to do next, the dog lunges at you.

You land on your back and use your elbows to get up, but the dog is quickly above you. He growls, foam dripping from his muzzle onto you, and you can only stare in horror into his eyes. You gasp when, just as he is about to sink his teeth into you, Feyd's sword suddenly pierces the dog.

You lie on the ground, unable to move, as you feel the animal's blood dripping onto your dress. Feyd pushes the dog off of you and gives you a worried look.

"Are you hurt?" He asks and offers you his hand. He helps you get back on your feet, looking for any wounds. You shake and shiver as you look at the dead animal. Feyd notices this and places his hand on your cheeks, making you look into his eyes as he turns your back to the animal's body.

He opens his mouth to repeat the question, but freezes when you throw yourself into his arms and hug him tightly, burying your face in the crook of his neck as you sob softly. Feyd holds you tentatively and strokes your hair, clumsily trying to calm you down.

"Thank you." You mumble into his neck. He doesn't say anything. He just holds you, letting you cry into him and calm him down. When you finally do, you move away from him. You wipe tears away with the sleeve of your dress, which makes Feyd's heart clench uncomfortably.

He doesn't understand what you're doing to him. He should have felt disgusted by you and been as far away from you as possible. He should have rejected you the moment you threw yourself at him, but... somehow he couldn't deny you this moment of comfort. The mere thought of you seeking comfort from him made his heart flutter a little. And you smelled nice, too. Like ocean. Like Lankiveil. Like home.

You represented everything his uncle wanted him to forget. You were... soft. Too soft. And nice. He should have wanted to hurt you, not comfort you, but all he wanted to do was hold you and protect you from the cruel world.

"Y/N!" Your father's scream reaches you.

The man pulls you further away from Feyd and looks at him warily before his worried gaze shifts to you and your eyes, bloody from crying. A moment later, the Baron and the Emperor join you. The men look at you and the dead dog, frowning.

"My best hunting dog..."

"Feyd-Rautha, what is this about? What have you done?" Her uncle's threatening growl makes Feyd tense. A shiver runs through him, and he opens his mouth to explain himself, but you beat him to it, leaving your father's arms and standing bravely in front of the baron and emperor.

"He saved me."

"What?"

"The dog broke off the leash. It… it would have bitten and torn me if Na-Baron hadn't killed it." The men look at each other, assessing the situation. Feyd watches you carefully, ignoring the surprised, frightened looks from the emperor and your father as you tell them that he killed a nearly three-foot dog.

"I... thank you, Na-Baron. For protecting my daughter." Your father nods to him, but he still has an iron grip on your arm. As if he were afraid that Feyd would turn out to be a worse, more dangerous beast to you than the dog that wanted to bite you to death.

"You're welcome, Viscount Y/L/N." He replies, shifting his gaze from you to your father for a moment.

Your dad is not waiting for the Emperor and the Baron to let you two go. He simply grabs your hand and leads you back to the palace with him. As if he wanted you to be as far away from the Harkonnens as possible.

"You shouldn't let just any dog bite you. You let me down, boy."

You feel sad when you hear his uncle's words. You turn your head, making eye contact with the hairless boy. You give him a small, reassuring smile and wave at him. You see him purse his lips and shift his gaze back to his uncle, who is scolding him. However, he looks much less tense than before.

Unknowingly to you, you gained a secret admirer that day. An admirer who was going to make him the only man who would have the privilege of protecting you and holding you in his arms. He promised himself that this would happen, even if he had to bring hell into the world.

~•♤♤♤•~ PART II ~•♤♤♤•~

Dearest, gentle readers… did you miss me?

The opening of a new season has never been a more exciting and long-awaited event. The great families were impatiently waiting for more scandals delivered by this year's suitors. And this author is bursting with anticipation for the future events and gossips of this season.

This year, we have several unexpected debuts that this author will be watching very closely. However, I am convinced that the undivided attention of the masses will probably be stolen by the Na-Baron of Giedi Prime, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, who this year decided to take part in the great search for a wife.

Lord, take care of the future Baron's chosen one so that she can live up to the expectations and life among the Harkonnens.

However, this author wishes the Na-Baron all the best on his birthday and believes that we all look forward to the opening of the season on Giedi Prime, especially to his signature fight in the arena, which will be the main part of Na-Baron's birthday celebration.

But we also cannot forget about the stars of the previous season, whose story is not even close to the end yet.

Lady Y/N Y/L/N did not decide to plunge into great mourning after the tragic death of her fiancé, Paul Atreides. Lord Luwael was charmed by the young honourable at the end of the previous season, and Lady Y/N turned out to be not indifferent to his courtship. Surprising? A little bit. Unreasaonbale? Of course not. After all, why stand faithfully by a corpse of a duke when you can stick by the side of a potential Emperor?

But this author is deeply disappointed that we didn't get to hear any wedding bells at the end of the previous season. Maybe these two will surprise us all this year, and we will see a real royal wedding that we haven't been able to witness for ages.

We are all looking forward to the ball in honour of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's birthday, which will be opening this year's season. And this author can't wait to bring all the gossip and scandal to our curious readers. Who knows who will win this great race and have a good match this season?

Happy hunting to all the future brides!

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xqueen-of-disasterx · 1 year ago

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Keeping it quiet

Paring: Innocent!reader × dads!friend!Nat

Summery: You looked lonely Natasha could fix that

Warnings: SMUT, (legal) age gap, amab!nat, oral, fingering, p in v, pet names, implied aftercare, secret relationship, breeding kink, unprotected sex, no use of Y/N

Word count: 1.2k

!Disclaimer English is not my first language so please excuse any grammar or spelling errors. This story is completely fictional!

AN: sorry for the long wait but here I am

Masterlist

Today was supposed to be a normal BBQ like your family had had so often in this warm summer months but ever since your father invited his collegue over to join something changed. Ever since you met Natasha Romanoff about 3 months back you couldn't stop thinking about her. She might have been old enough to be your mother and a friend of your father but you couldn't denie the fact that you were attracted to her like flies to the light. She was a true charmer excatly knowing what to say and to do. You never felt uncomfortable around her even though she blatanly flited with you. Her touch somehow always lingering on your skin when the two of you were alone. It was only a matter of time until you ended in Natashas bed legs widely spread as she savoured your taste. So the time flew sneaking around your parents watch as you kept your illicent affair hidden falling head over heals for the older woman. Today was one of those days where Nat came over to your parents place and just couldn't keep her hands of you.

Like always Natashas steps were light on the cold tiles of the french villa your family owned. Sometimes you thought she was an actual spy. You didn't hear her standing in the kitchen in skimpy clothing preparing something for dinner as you mindlessly hummed along whatever Taylor Swift song was currently on the radio. "What are you doing bunny" She sneaked up behind you pressing her front into your back her crotch againt the swell of your ass. "Just doin' a salad you know" She humped checking out the area to see if your parents were around before doing anything further. Her hands came up to your hips pulling your behind harder against her crotch. "Natty please" you whined as she smirked pressing her nose against your neck smelling the expensive perfume she had gotten you. "We can't not here" your breathing was heavy uneven "What if my parents see?"

"They're in the garden trust me bunny" She whispered her strong hands trialling up your sides to your chest. Even though your body was betraying you leaning into her touch seemingly begging for more you couldn't give in just yet. You wanted to show her how you infact could be stronger than your most animalistic thoughts. "Natasha not now" she groaned into her hear making you feel the wettnes betwen your owm legs. "Fuck bunny I can't wait to feel your tight little pussy pulsing around me begging me to let you cum. And then after you had your sweet sweet release I'm gonna breed you're dripping with my cum" she whispered into your ear before pushing herself from the counter leaving into the garden. Of course she wouldn't actually get you pregnant you where on the pill and you weren't sure if she was even fertile. It was more of her kink she had explained to you.

The rest of the night you two kept your play up. Acting asif you couldn't care less what the other was doing in front of your parents. Still you couldn't help but admire her beautiful features as she had some boring converstaion with your father about politics or what ever. What really interested you would be the time spend between the sheets with her as she would show you all her passions and desires. After what seemed like hours you finally snuck your way into the guest room. She was spread wide on the comfortable mattress only wearing a wifebeater and her chequered boxers. "There's my bunny eh" she turned her head towards you as you made your way over to the bed swinging your hips . You sat down deside you before turning to kiss you roughly slipping her tongue into your mouth as you shifted to strangle her waist feeling her growing erection as you rolled your hips against her crotch.

"Fuck Bunny" she breathed out as she gripped onto your hips stilling you in place. "let me get you ready first" she whispered flipping you to lay under her as she kissed your neck down reamoving your cami top in the process. She took on nipple in her mouth slightly sucking on it before her big hand started playing with your other nipple rubbing over it. You let out quiet whippers as she switched sides. After what she deemed to be enough attention to your chest she kissed her way down to your panties nibbling on the skin of your hips. She made sure to leave hickeys in her way. You tried your best go keep it quiet but when Nat did her thing it was hard. Natasha kissed your clit through the soaked through panties pulling them down only to revel your sticky heat.

She made a bold lick from the end of your pussy right up your puffy clit swirling her trained tongue around the erected nub. Her scarlet lips attached to your clit sucking on it making you cry out as you tried to close your legs around her head but she kept them spread. She slowly inserted two of her long fingers into your clenching hole as you quietly cried out for mor and more. Natasha moved her fingers roughly and fast not giving you time to adjust. "Fuck your so tight" she groaned pumping her fingers even faster. “Natty ‘m close so close“ You felt your release close enough to grab but then Nat pulled her dripping fingers from your heat leaving you high and dry. “W-What?” You mumbled out opening your eyes again only to see Natasha smirking down at you “I want some fun too honey“ she smirked flipping you to your knees pushing your hips up as you arched your back showing off both your tight holes to her.

You heard her removing her boxers she already was rock hard for you her reddened tip leaking with pre cum as she expertly spits on her shaft spreading the slick over it. She moved closer pushing her tip to you clit enjoying the sight of you bucking your hips desperately trying to find your pleasure. “Ngh Tasha please” you begged making her listen slowly pushing in making you gasp at the feeling of being stretched out like that. She gave you time to quickly adjust before picking up pace fucking you hard and rough as she had a death grip on your hips. You couldn’t care less about the bruises as you pushed your face into the pillow muffling your sounds. With Natasha whimpers and the sound of skin slapping your moans filled the hot summer night air hoping your parents couldn’t hear you.

You kept clenching down on Nat she grabbed onto your shoulders. “Fuck ‘m gonna breed that little pussy ngh… I’m gonna make you so full of my cum“ you whined out before the coil in your stomach snapped and you came hard Natasha following soon releasing her white seed deep inside your whomp. She proceeded to help you through your orgasm even cleaning you up before cuddling you to sleep her arms tightly around your smaller body.

#natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x female reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff smut #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha x you #natasha romanoff

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darknesseddiem · 5 months ago

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𝐂𝐮𝐩��𝐝 𝐈𝐧 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐬 - 𝐎𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫! 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐝! 𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Eddie, a witty single dad in his thirties, finds his daughter Selene determined to play matchmaker. Selene sets her sights on you, the kind-hearted teacher she believes is perfect for her dad. However, Selene's well-meaning schemes often lead to humorous misunderstandings and mishaps between Eddie and you.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: None, fluff and Selene playing matchmaker.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8k+

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Okay, this was supposed to be a short blurb but I got carried away haha, also, I feel like this is so shitty omg I'm sorry guys.

Being a dad wasn’t in Eddie’s plans—especially not as a single dad. He loved his daughter Selene more than anything, but raising a newborn at thirty was a challenge he never saw coming. Her mom, a groupie he met at the Hideout, appeared on his doorstep one day with a tiny bundle and the bombshell news that he was a father. Then, just as quickly, she vanished, leaving Eddie to figure out fatherhood on his own.

At first, it was overwhelming. Sleepless nights, diaper disasters, and the constant worry of not being good enough haunted him. But Eddie rose to the challenge. He became the best dad Selene could ask for. He let her dress him up like a princess—complete with tiara—just to see her smile. He sang girly pop songs with all the enthusiasm of a rock concert, even if his Taylor Swift renditions were hilariously off-key. Selene’s giggles were worth every missed note and awkward dance move.

As she grew, new challenges arose. Eddie was terrified of kindergarten and primary school, haunted by memories of his own school days filled with bullying and the heavy stigma of being a Munson. He worried Selene would face the same judgments and social struggles. The thought of her enduring what he went through kept him up at night. But his love for her was unwavering, and he vowed to protect her from the shadows of his past.

Dating fell by the wayside as Eddie devoted himself to Selene. His wild nights at the Hideout were replaced by Disney movie marathons and bedtime stories. He traded late-night parties for evenings filled with princesses, talking animals, and endless reruns of "Frozen." And truth be told, he wouldn’t trade those moments for anything.

This shift led to the current heart-to-heart with his friend Steve, someone Eddie never thought he'd befriend. As they sat on the couch, Eddie voiced his frustrations.

“You don’t understand, man. I can’t just go out and date any girl now,” Eddie explained, sipping his cold beer.

“I get it, but ever since Selene was born, you don’t go out anymore—not even with us!” Steve said, frustration evident. “You’ve turned into a hermit, man. You need a life outside of Disney movies and bedtime stories.”

Eddie sighed, staring at the flickering TV. “I know, Steve. It’s just... everything’s different now. I can’t just drop everything and go out like I used to.”

Steve nodded sympathetically. “I get that you’re a dad now, but you’ve gotta take care of yourself too. Maybe it’s time to dip your toes back into the dating pool. Who knows? You might find someone who understands and fits into your new life.”

Eddie let out a wry chuckle. “I doubt that. What kind of woman wants a thirty-six-year-old guy with a daughter? Slim pickings, I tell you.”

Steve squeezed Eddie’s shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t count yourself out, buddy. We’ll find you someone.”

Eddie looked at Steve with a hint of resignation. “Forget it, Steve,” he sighed. “I think I’m destined to be alone for the rest of my life.” He rolled his eyes playfully, masking the underlying sadness with humor.

Just then, a small figure emerged from the hallway shadows. Selene stood there, eyes wide and thoughtful. Eddie and Steve turned, momentarily surprised.

Eddie's heart skipped a beat, realizing she had heard everything. He swallowed hard, unsure of what to say.

Selene looked up at her dad with a serious expression. “Daddy, you don’t have to be alone. I can help find you a girlfriend!”

Eddie blinked, taken aback by her earnestness. He exchanged a surprised glance with Steve, who stifled a chuckle.

“Sel,” Eddie started, his voice softening as he knelt to her level, “It’s sweet of you to want to help, but…”

“But what?” Selene interrupted, eyes wide with determination.

“But it’s not that simple,” Eddie explained gently. “Finding someone special takes time, and they have to be someone who understands how important you are to me.”

Selene nodded thoughtfully, processing her dad’s words. “Okay,” she finally said, a small smile playing on her lips. “But when you find her, can we watch Disney movies together?”

Eddie couldn’t help but smile at his daughter’s innocence. “Of course, sweetheart,” he replied, ruffling her hair affectionately.

Steve watched the exchange with a fond smile. “You’ve got quite the matchmaker here, Eddie,” he remarked, patting Eddie’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Eddie chuckled, his heart feeling lighter than it had in a while. “She’s something else.”

While Eddie and Steve chuckled over their beers, finding amusement in the situation, Selene had already made up her mind: she would find her daddy a girlfriend.

Returning to her room, Selene plopped down on her bed and began to think about all the adult women she knew. Well, there was the librarian, Mrs. Petterson, but she looked like an old owl with her thick glasses and constant "shushing." Then there was the girl from the bakery who always brought cakes for her and her daddy, but she smelled weird—like a mix of flour and something Selene couldn't quite place, maybe too much vanilla.

She briefly considered the nice lady from the grocery store who always gave her stickers, but she remembered her loud, witchy laugh that made her shiver. And then there was Mrs. Hinkley, the neighbor with the ten cats, but Selene was pretty sure her daddy was allergic to cats.

She sighed dramatically and sank deeper into her pillow. Wow… It was so hard to get a girlfriend. It seemed like every woman she knew had some kind of issue or quirk. Just then, a light bulb went off in her head. She sat up abruptly, her eyes wide with excitement. Her kindergarten teacher, Miss Sunshine! Miss Sunshine was perfect—she was always kind, smelled nice, and most importantly, Selene adored her.

With renewed determination, Selene smiled to herself. This was going to work. It had to! She just needed to come up with a plan. After all, if finding a girlfriend for her daddy was this hard, actually making it happen would require all her wits and maybe a bit of luck.

That night, Selene went to sleep with her head buzzing with ideas. Tomorrow, her plan would begin. She could already picture it: Daddy and Miss Sunshine, happy together. Selene smiled to herself as she drifted off, dreaming of all the ways she would bring them together.

The next morning, Selene woke up with the first rays of dawn, excitement bubbling inside her like a fizzy soda. She could hardly contain her enthusiasm as she slipped out of bed and padded over to her dresser. Today was the day her grand plan would begin.

She chose her favorite princess dress, the one with sparkles and a twirl-worthy skirt, and carefully pulled it on. She took extra time brushing her hair, making sure it was smooth and shiny, just like a real princess. Finally, she checked her reflection and gave herself a big, confident smile. She was ready.

Eddie was already in the kitchen, juggling a frying pan and a coffee mug. He was making scrambled eggs and toast, a breakfast staple in the Munson household. He hummed softly to himself, enjoying the quiet morning routine.

Selene bounded into the kitchen, her dress fluttering around her. "Morning, Daddy!" she chirped, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Eddie turned, a broad smile spreading across his face at the sight of his daughter. "Good morning, princess! You’re up early today."

Selene climbed onto a chair at the kitchen table, her excitement barely contained. "I have a special day planned, Daddy. It’s very important!"

Eddie chuckled as he placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of her. "Oh? And what’s so special about today?"

Selene leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It’s a secret, but you’ll find out soon."

Eddie raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "A secret, huh? Well, I guess I’ll just have to wait and see."

After breakfast, Eddie and Selene headed out to the car. Eddie helped Selene buckle into her booster seat before climbing into the driver’s seat. As they drove to school, Selene hummed a happy tune, her mind racing with thoughts of how the day would unfold.

Eddie glanced at her in the rearview mirror, a soft smile playing on his lips. "You seem extra happy today, Sel. Anything you want to share with your old man?"

Selene giggled. "Not yet, Daddy. But it’s going to be amazing. You’ll see."

Eddie laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "Alright, princess. I trust you."

When they arrived at the school, Eddie walked Selene to her classroom, as he did every morning. You were already there, greeting students with your usual warmth. Your bright smile and sunny demeanor earned you the nickname, and you was a favorite among the children and parents alike.

"Good morning, Miss Sunshine!" Selene called out as she entered the classroom, her excitement evident.

"Good morning, Selene!" You replied, your smile widening. "You look lovely today. Is that a new dress?"

Selene twirled around, showing off her outfit. "No, but it’s my favorite!"

Eddie watched the exchange with a fond smile before stepping forward. "Morning, Miss Sunshine. How are you?"

"I’m great, Mr. Munson. How about you?"

"Can’t complain," Eddie replied, giving you a nod before turning to Selene. "Alright, princess. Have a great day. I’ll see you later."

As soon as Eddie left, Selene’s determination kicked into high gear. She needed to talk to you and set her plan in motion. She waited patiently until the morning activities started, then approached you with a serious expression.

"Miss Sunshine, I have a very important message for you," Selene said, her voice solemn.

You knelt down to her level, intrigued. "What’s the message, Selene?"

"Daddy wants to meet you," Selene stated confidently. "He said he needs to talk to you about something very important."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Oh? Did he say why?"

Selene nodded eagerly. "Yep! He said he needs to talk to you about something super important."

Your mind raced, trying to decipher the meaning behind Selene’s words. She assumed it must be related to Selene’s behavior or perhaps a concern Eddie had about her schooling. "Is everything okay with you, Selene?"

Selene beamed. "Everything is perfect!"

You smiled, albeit a bit confused. "Alright, I’ll make sure to speak with him when he comes to pick you up."

Eddie arrived at the school later that afternoon, looking forward to seeing Selene after a long day. As he walked towards the classroom, he noticed you standing by the door, a concerned look on your face.

"Hello!" Eddie greeted you with a friendly smile.

"Hello, Mr. Munson. Could I have a word with you?" you asked, your tone a bit more serious than usual.

Eddie’s smile faltered. "Sure, is something wrong?"

You glanced at Selene, who was busy drawing at a nearby table. "Well, Selene mentioned that you wanted to talk to me about something important."

Eddie looked puzzled. "She did? I mean, I guess there’s always something to talk about when you’re a parent, but I didn’t have anything specific in mind."

You frowned slightly, your patience thinning. "She said you were concerned about something."

Eddie’s expression hardened, feeling a twinge of irritation. "Concerned? No, Selene’s been great! I can’t think of any problems."

Selene, overhearing the conversation, decided to join in. "Daddy, did you ask Mrs. Sunshine to be your girlfriend yet?"

Eddie’s eyes widened in shock. "What? No, Selene, that’s not what we talked about!"

Your cheeks turned a shade of pink, and you folded your arms. "Oh, I see. This is a bit... unexpected."

Eddie tried to regain his composure, his voice tense and a bit louder. "I’m really sorry. Selene must have misunderstood our conversation. We were talking about... well, adult stuff, and she must have gotten the wrong idea."

You nodded, but your expression remained serious. "No harm done, but you should know what your daughter is thinking. Kids have such vivid imaginations, but it’s important to clarify these things."

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his frustration rise. "Yeah, she’s definitely got that. I hope this didn’t cause you any trouble."

You shook your head, your smile more strained than genuine. "Not at all, but maybe you should have a talk with her."

Selene looked up at both of you, confused by the adult tension but proud of her efforts. "So, you don’t want to be my daddy’s girlfriend?"

Eddie clenched his jaw, his frustration bubbling over. "Selene, I think it’s best if we leave this to the grown-ups, okay?"

Selene sighed dramatically but nodded. "Okay, Daddy."

You crouched down beside her, your tone softening. "Don’t worry, Selene. Your daddy and I are just friends, and that’s important too."

Selene smiled, satisfied for the moment. Eddie stood up, feeling a mix of relief and lingering irritation.

"Thanks for understanding," he said, his tone sharper than intended.

"No problem at all, Mr. Munson. Have a good evening," you replied, matching his tone.

As they walked away, Eddie couldn’t help but feel a mix of frustration and embarrassment. Despite the awkwardness, he appreciated Selene’s efforts but knew this was just the beginning of what could be a long, complicated journey.

Eddie and Selene walked to the car, Eddie’s mind still buzzing with the awkward exchange with Sunshine. As they buckled in, Eddie couldn’t hold back any longer. He needed to address what had just happened.

Eddie started the car, the engine’s hum filling the initial silence. He glanced at Selene through the rearview mirror, her innocent face reflecting none of the confusion and frustration swirling inside him.

“Selene,” Eddie began, trying to keep his voice calm, “we need to talk about what happened today.”

Selene looked up, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Did you like talking to Sunshine, Daddy?”

Eddie sighed, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Selene, you told Sunshine that I wanted to talk to her about something important. Why did you do that?”

Selene’s face lit up with a proud smile. “Because you do! You told Uncle Steve you wanted someone to share your life with, and I thought Sunshine would be perfect!”

Eddie groaned inwardly, trying to suppress his irritation. “Sweetheart, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you can’t just tell people things like that. It caused a big misunderstanding.”

Selene’s smile faded, replaced by a look of confusion. “But I just wanted to help.”

Eddie glanced at her again, his frustration evident but softened by her earnest expression. “I know you did, but grown-up stuff is complicated. You can’t just decide for someone else who they should be with.”

Selene’s eyes welled up with tears, her lower lip quivering. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I just wanted you to be happy.”

Eddie’s heart softened, his frustration melting away at the sight of her tears. He pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned to look at her directly.

“Selene,” he said gently, reaching back to hold her tiny hand, “I know you want to help, and I love you for that. But finding someone special is something that has to happen naturally. You can’t force it or plan it.”

Selene sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I just thought Sunshine would make you smile like she makes me smile.”

Eddie smiled softly, squeezing her hand. “She’s a wonderful teacher, Selene, and I’m glad she makes you happy. But these things take time, and we have to let them happen on their own.”

Selene nodded slowly, understanding dawning in her eyes. “Okay, Daddy. I’m really sorry.”

Eddie leaned over and kissed her forehead. “It’s okay, princess. Just promise me you won’t try to set me up with anyone again without talking to me first.”

Selene nodded earnestly. “I promise.”

Eddie started the car again, his heart feeling lighter. As they drove home, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the day’s events. Despite the awkwardness and frustration, he knew Selene’s intentions were pure.

Later that night, Selene sat quietly in her room, her little mind racing with thoughts. The plan hadn’t gone as expected, but she wasn’t ready to give up yet. There had to be another way to get her daddy and Sunshine together. She picked up her favorite stuffed animal, Mr. Whiskers, and hugged it tight as she brainstormed.

"What if Daddy invited Sunshine to dinner?" she whispered to Mr. Whiskers. "Maybe then they could talk and get to know each other better."

She nodded to herself, feeling a new wave of determination. Tomorrow, she would find a way to get Daddy to invite Sunshine over for dinner. But for now, it was time for dinner with Daddy.

Downstairs, Eddie was busy in the kitchen, preparing their usual Wednesday night spaghetti. The aroma of garlic and tomato sauce filled the air, making Selene’s stomach rumble. She hopped off her bed and made her way downstairs, her excitement momentarily forgotten as she thought about how much she loved spaghetti nights with her dad.

"Dinner’s almost ready, princess," Eddie called out as he stirred the pot. "Can you set the table for me?"

"Sure, Daddy!" Selene replied, grabbing the plates and silverware. She carefully set the table, making sure everything was perfect.

Eddie brought the pot over and began serving the spaghetti, a warm smile on his face as he watched Selene carefully placing the forks and spoons. They sat down together, the cozy kitchen a safe haven for the two of them.

As they ate, Selene decided to ask the question that had been lingering in her mind for a while. "Daddy, why don’t I have a mom?"

Eddie froze, the fork halfway to his mouth. He put it down slowly, taking a deep breath. This was a conversation he had known would come eventually, but it didn’t make it any easier. He looked at Selene, her big, innocent eyes staring up at him, waiting for an answer.

"Selene," he began softly, "your mom... well, she wasn’t ready to be a mom. When you were born, she decided that she couldn’t take care of you, so she left. It’s just been you and me ever since."

Selene’s eyes filled with confusion and sadness. "But why did she leave, Daddy? Wasn’t she happy to have me?"

Eddie’s heart ached at the sight of her tears. He moved his chair closer to hers and pulled her into his lap, holding her close. "It wasn’t your fault, sweetheart. Your mom had her own problems and she made a choice. But I want you to know that you are the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you more than anything in this world, and I wouldn’t trade our time together for anything."

Selene sniffled, burying her face in Eddie’s chest. "I love you too, Daddy. But sometimes I wish I had a mom like the other kids."

Eddie stroked her hair, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I know, baby. I wish things were different too. But you have so many people who love you—Uncle Steve, Miss Sunshine, and all your friends at school. And no matter what, you’ll always have me."

Selene hugged him tighter, feeling the comfort of his embrace. "I know, Daddy. I’m glad I have you."

They sat there for a while, holding each other, finding solace in their shared love. Eddie knew he couldn’t change the past, but he was determined to give Selene the best future he could. And maybe, just maybe, things would start to look up for both of them.

Later that night, as Eddie tucked Selene into bed, she looked up at him with a determined expression. "Daddy, can we invite Sunshine to dinner? Maybe she’d like spaghetti too."

Eddie chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "We’ll see, princess. Let’s take things one step at a time, okay?"

Selene nodded, her eyes already drooping with sleep. "Okay, Daddy. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Selene," Eddie whispered, kissing her forehead. He turned off the light and closed the door, feeling a mix of hope and trepidation. Tomorrow was another day, and who knew what it might bring. But for now, he was grateful for the love he shared with his daughter, even if it was just the two of them against the world.

The next morning, Selene woke up with a renewed sense of determination. She jumped out of bed and dressed quickly in her favorite outfit—a bright yellow dress covered in tiny sunflowers. With a smile on her face, she ran downstairs to find Eddie already in the kitchen, flipping pancakes.

“Morning, Daddy!” she chirped, hopping onto her chair at the kitchen table.

Eddie turned around, a spatula in hand, and grinned at his daughter. “Morning, princess. You’re up early today.”

Selene beamed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I wanted to see you before you go to work. Are you picking me up today?”

Eddie shook his head as he slid a pancake onto a plate and handed it to Selene. “Not today, sweetie. Auntie Robin’s going to pick you up, remember? I have a late shift.”

“Oh, right,” Selene said, her mind already racing with thoughts of her plan. “Daddy, can we go to school a little earlier today? I want to show you something.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, curious. “Earlier? How early?”

“Like… really early,” Selene said, trying to sound casual. “Maybe before you usually leave for work?”

Eddie laughed, ruffling her hair affectionately. “Alright, but not too early. I still need to get ready for work.”

Eddie pulled up to the school, glancing at the clock. They were a bit earlier than usual, but not by much. He parked the car and turned to Selene.

“Okay, we’re here. What did you want to show me?” he asked.

“Actually, Daddy, I just wanted to spend a little more time with you,” Selene said, giving him her most innocent smile.

Eddie’s heart melted. “Alright, let’s go inside.”

As they walked towards the school entrance, they spotted you, rushing around with a stack of papers in your hands. You looked frazzled and stressed, clearly having a hectic morning.

Selene tugged on Eddie’s hand. “Look, Daddy! There’s Sunshine!”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Selene, wait—”

But it was too late. Selene had already run over to you, waving enthusiastically. “Hi, Sunshine!”

You looked up, startled. “Oh, hi Selene. Good morning, Mr. Munson.”

Eddie gave an awkward wave. “Morning. Sorry, we’re here a bit early today.”

You forced a smile, clearly in a rush. “It’s alright, but I’m kind of busy right now. I have a meeting to get to.”

Selene, undeterred, piped up. “Daddy wanted to talk to you again!”

Eddie’s face flushed with embarrassment and a hint of anger. “Selene, I didn’t—”

Just then, another teacher approached you, whispering urgently in your ear. You glanced at Eddie and Selene, then at your watch, your frustration mounting.

“I’m really sorry, but I need to go,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm. “Maybe another time?”

Eddie nodded, feeling awkward and out of place. “Yeah, of course. Sorry to bother you.”

As you turned to leave, Eddie realized that in his haste to follow Selene, he had parked his car in a way that was now blocking yours. You tried to get into your car, only to see that you couldn’t back out.

“Seriously?” you muttered under your breath, turning back to Eddie with a frown. “Mr. Munson, your car is blocking mine.”

Eddie’s face turned red, a mix of frustration and embarrassment boiling inside him. “Oh, crap. I’m so sorry. I’ll move it right now.”

You sighed, your frustration clear. “I’m going to be late for a really important meeting because of this.”

Eddie hurried to move his car, his movements jerky and tense. The damage was done; you were visibly upset, and he could feel the tension building. As soon as he reparked, you got into your car, throwing him one last irritated glance before driving off.

Selene stood by the curb, her face falling as she watched the scene unfold. Eddie walked back to her, his expression a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

“Daddy, I—”

Eddie cut her off, his tone harsher than he intended. “Selene, what were you thinking? You can’t just drag me over to talk to Sunshine.”

Selene’s eyes welled up with tears, her lower lip trembling. “I just wanted you to be happy, Daddy…”

Eddie’s anger softened, replaced by a pang of regret. He knelt down and pulled her into a hug, feeling her small body shake with sobs. “I know, baby. I know. But we need to think things through before we act. You can’t just spring stuff like this on people.”

Selene sniffled, nodding against his chest. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Eddie sighed, rubbing her back gently. “It’s okay, Sel. Let’s just get you to class, alright? We’ll figure this out.”

As he walked Selene to her classroom, Eddie couldn’t shake the feeling of frustration and embarrassment. This wasn’t how he wanted things to go, and now he had made things even more awkward with you. The misunderstanding was only growing, and he worried about how they would ever get past it.

Later that day, Auntie Robin arrived to pick up Selene. She noticed Eddie’s tense expression and Selene’s subdued demeanor.

“What happened?” Robin asked, concerned.

Eddie sighed. “Long story. Selene tried to play matchmaker again, and it didn’t go well.”

Robin shook her head with a sympathetic smile. “Kids, huh? Don’t worry, dingus. It’ll work out eventually.”

Eddie nodded, hoping she was right. As he watched Robin drive away with Selene, he couldn’t help but wonder how he was going to fix this mess. And more importantly, how he could protect Selene’s heart in the process.

He spent the rest of the day feeling uneasy. As he went through his work shift, his mind kept drifting back to the incident at school. He couldn’t shake the image of your frustrated expression or Selene’s teary eyes. He knew he had to make things right.

During his lunch break, Eddie sat in the break room, staring at his phone. The idea of apologizing made his stomach churn with nerves, but he knew it was the right thing to do. He dialed Robin’s number, hoping for some advice.

“Hey, dingus! How’s it going?” Robin’s cheerful voice greeted him.

“Hey, Robin. I need your help with something,” Eddie replied, his voice heavy with the weight of his thoughts.

“Sure, what’s up?” she asked, sensing his seriousness.

Eddie took a deep breath. “It’s about this morning. Selene and I had a bit of a run-in with her teacher. It was really awkward and… I kind of snapped at Selene.”

Robin listened patiently as Eddie recounted the events of the morning. “Sounds like a rough start to the day,” she said sympathetically. “But hey, kids have big hearts and even bigger imaginations. Selene was just trying to help.”

“I know,” Eddie sighed. “I feel terrible. I need to apologize to her, but I just don’t know how to go about it.”

“Well,” Robin began thoughtfully, “why don’t you write her a note? Explain what happened and say you’re sorry. It’ll show you’re sincere.”

Eddie nodded, feeling a bit of relief at having a plan. “Thanks, Robin. I’ll do that.”

After work, Eddie picked up Selene from Robin’s house. As they drove home, Selene sat quietly in the back seat, her earlier enthusiasm dampened by the morning’s events.

“Hey, Sel,” Eddie said softly, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “I’m going to write a note to Miss Sunshine to apologize. Do you want to help me?”

Selene’s eyes brightened a little. “Can I draw a picture for her too?”

Eddie smiled. “That’s a great idea, princess. I’m sure she’d love that.”

Once they were home, Eddie and Selene sat at the kitchen table. Eddie began writing the note while Selene drew a colorful picture of their family, complete with you standing next to them with a big smile.

Eddie’s note:

"Dear Y/n,

I wanted to apologize for the misunderstanding this morning. Selene and I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. She was just excited, and I didn’t handle the situation as well as I should have. I’m really sorry for blocking your car and making you late for your meeting.

Thank you for your understanding, and I hope we can move past this.

Sincerely, Eddie Munson"

Eddie read the note out loud to Selene, who nodded approvingly. “That sounds good, Daddy.”

“Alright, let’s put this together,” Eddie said, taping Selene’s drawing to the note. “We’ll give it to her tomorrow.”

The next morning, Eddie felt a mix of nervousness and anxiety as he and Selene arrived at the school. They waited until you had a free moment, then approached you with the note and drawing in hand.

“Hey,” Eddie began, his voice earnest. “I wanted to give you this. It’s an apology for yesterday.”

You took the note and drawing, your expression softening as you read Eddie’s heartfelt words and admired Selene’s artwork.

“Thank you, Mr. Munson,” you said, smiling at Selene. “And thank you, Selene, for the beautiful drawing.”

Eddie felt a wave of relief wash over him. “I’m really sorry for everything. It won’t happen again.”

You nodded, the tension between you easing. “I appreciate the apology. Let’s just start fresh, okay?”

Eddie smiled, feeling hopeful for the first time in days. “Sounds good to me. Have a great day, Miss Sunshine.”

The school day was moving along smoothly, but you couldn’t help but notice that Selene seemed quieter than usual. Typically, she was a bundle of energy, chatting with friends and eagerly participating in activities. Today, however, she was more subdued, her usual spark dimmed.

During arts and crafts time, Selene sat at her table, her crayons barely moving across the paper. You watched her for a moment, concern growing. Deciding to check in, you walked over and knelt beside her.

“Hey, Selene,” you said softly. “What are you drawing?”

She looked up at you with big, sad eyes. “I’m drawing my family,” she said quietly. On the paper, you saw a simple drawing of a house, with stick figures representing her and her dad. There was also a faint outline of a figure beside them, but it was left unfinished.

“That’s a lovely drawing,” you said, trying to encourage her. “Who’s that?” you asked, pointing to the unfinished figure.

Selene hesitated, her lip quivering. “I wanted to draw my mom, but I don’t really know what she looks like.”

Your heart ached for her. You knew from previous conversations with Eddie that Selene’s mother wasn’t in the picture, but seeing the impact it had on her was heartbreaking. You placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Selene. Your drawing is beautiful just the way it is.”

She gave a small nod, but her eyes remained downcast. “I just wish I knew her,” she whispered.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “I know it’s hard, sweetie. But you have your dad, and he loves you very much. And you have all of us here, too.”

Selene offered a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Thanks, Miss.”

The rest of the day, you kept an eye on her, making sure she felt included and supported. As the school day ended, you saw Eddie arrive to pick her up. You decided it might be a good idea to talk to him about Selene’s mood.

“Hi, Mr. Munson,” you greeted him as he approached.

“Hi,” he replied, managing a smile. “How was Selene today?”

You hesitated, not wanting to alarm him but feeling it was important to share. “She was a bit quieter than usual. I think she might be feeling a bit down.”

Eddie’s brow furrowed in concern. “Really? Did she say why?”

“She mentioned something about her mom,” you said gently. “I think she’s just having a hard time with it.”

Eddie sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, she asked me about her mom other day, I tried to explain, but it’s tough. She doesn’t understand why her mom isn’t around.”

You nodded, understanding the difficult position he was in. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.”

“Thanks,” Eddie said, his gratitude evident. “I appreciate it.”

As they walked away, you couldn’t help but feel a deep empathy for both Eddie and Selene.

Later that evening, as you prepared for bed, you couldn’t stop thinking about Selene’s sad eyes and Eddie’s worried expression. You resolved to keep an extra close eye on Selene in the coming days, doing whatever you could to bring a bit of sunshine back into her life.

Over the next few days, Selene’s sadness seemed to deepen. Her usually bright eyes were often downcast, and her infectious laughter was rarely heard. It was as if a cloud had settled over her, and it worried you deeply.

In class, she no longer eagerly raised her hand to answer questions or shared her imaginative stories with the group. She would sit quietly, barely engaging in activities that she used to love. During recess, instead of running around with her friends, she would find a quiet corner to sit and watch the other kids play.

One morning, as you were preparing for the day’s lessons, you noticed Selene sitting alone on the swings. She was gently swaying back and forth, her gaze fixed on the ground. You decided to take a moment to check on her.

“Hey, Sel,” you said softly, sitting on the swing next to her. “Do you want to talk about what’s been bothering you?”

Selene shrugged, not meeting your eyes. “I miss my mom,” she said quietly. “I don’t even know her, but I miss her.”

Your heart broke for her. “I know it’s really hard, sweetie. It’s okay to feel sad and miss someone, even if you haven’t met them.”

She nodded, her small hands gripping the chains of the swing tightly. “Daddy tries to make me feel better, but I can tell he’s sad too.”

You sighed, wishing there was more you could do to ease her pain. “You know, Selene, you have a lot of people who care about you. Your dad and all your friends here. We’re all here for you.”

She gave a small nod, but the sadness in her eyes remained.

Eddie was at his wit's end. He’d noticed the change in Selene’s behavior, and it tore him apart. She was his world, and seeing her so downcast made him feel helpless. Every evening, he tried to cheer her up with her favorite activities – watching Disney movies, playing dress-up, reading her favorite bedtime stories – but nothing seemed to lift her spirits.

One night, as he tucked her into bed, he tried to talk to her again. “Selene, sweetie, I can tell you’ve been really sad lately. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Selene looked up at him with teary eyes. “I just miss my mom, Daddy. I don’t understand why she’s not here.”

Eddie’s heart ached. He wished he could give her the answers she needed. “I know, sweetheart. I wish I could change things, but sometimes people make choices that hurt us, even if they don’t mean to.”

Selene sniffled, wiping her eyes. “Will she ever come back?”

Eddie swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her question. “I don’t know, Sel. But what I do know is that I love you more than anything, and I’m always going to be here for you.”

Selene nodded, her little face still filled with sadness. “I love you too, Daddy.”

As she drifted off to sleep, Eddie sat by her bedside, feeling a mixture of anger and sorrow. He hated that he couldn’t make things better for her, that he couldn’t erase the pain of her mother’s absence.

The following day, Eddie arrived at school early, looking more haggard than usual. You could see the worry etched on his face as he walked Selene to her classroom. After she settled in, he approached you, running a hand through his hair.

“Hey,” he began, his voice strained. “I’m really worried about Selene. She’s been so sad, and I don’t know what to do.”

You nodded, understanding his concern. “I’ve noticed it too. She’s been very quiet and withdrawn. Have you thought about maybe talking to a counselor? It might help her to have someone to talk to about her feelings.”

Eddie sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “Yeah, I’ve thought about it. I just want to fix it myself, you know? I hate seeing her like this.”

“I know,” you said softly. “But sometimes, we all need a little extra help. It doesn’t mean you’re not doing enough; it just means that there are people who can support you both.”

He nodded, looking down the hallway where Selene was sitting quietly at her desk. “I’ll think about it. Thanks, Y/n.”

As the days continued, you kept a close eye on Selene, doing your best to engage her in class and offering her extra support.

As the days passed and Selene’s sadness persisted, an idea sparked in your mind. Maybe a change of scenery and a special treat would help lift her spirits. You approached Eddie one afternoon after school, catching him as he was picking up Selene from her classroom.

“Hey, Mr. Munson,” you greeted him with a warm smile. “I was thinking, maybe Selene could use a little outing to the park this weekend. How about we take her for some ice cream?”

Eddie looked at you, surprise flickering in his tired eyes. “Ice cream?”

You nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! Sometimes a little treat and some fresh air can do wonders. What do you think?”

Eddie glanced down at Selene, who was quietly packing her backpack. He could see the traces of sadness lingering on her face. “I think that sounds like a great idea,” he said finally, offering you a grateful smile.

Eddie watched as Selene perked up at the mention of ice cream. Her eyes lit up with a spark of excitement that he hadn’t seen in days. He couldn’t remember the last time they had gone out for a treat like that together. Maybe this was just what she needed.

That weekend, Eddie and Selene met you at the park. The sun was shining brightly, casting a warm glow over the playground. Selene ran ahead, eager to explore the swings and slides while you and Eddie followed close behind.

“You’re really good with her, you know,” Eddie said as he watched Selene climb onto the swings.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “She’s a special girl. Just trying to help.”

Eddie nodded, grateful for your support. “I appreciate it. And thanks for suggesting this. I think it’s just what she needed.”

As Selene laughed and played, her laughter echoing through the park, Eddie felt a weight lift off his shoulders. For the first time in days, he saw a glimmer of joy in her eyes. Maybe things would be okay after all.

Watching Selene laugh and play brought a sense of joy to your heart. She deserved moments like this – carefree and happy. You glanced at Eddie, seeing the relief on his face as he watched his daughter.

“I’m glad she’s enjoying herself,” you said softly, leaning closer to Eddie.

He nodded, his gaze never leaving Selene. “Yeah, me too. Thanks for suggesting this.”

“It’s my pleasure,” you replied sincerely. “If there’s anything else I can do to help, just let me know.”

Eddie turned to you, a grateful smile spreading across his face. “You’ve already done a lot. I appreciate it.”

As the afternoon wore on, you and Eddie joined Selene on the playground, pushing her on the swings and chasing her around the jungle gym. For a few hours, Selene’s sadness seemed to melt away, replaced by laughter and the simple joy of being a kid.

As the sun began to set, you all sat on a bench, enjoying the last rays of warmth. Eddie glanced at you, his eyes softening with gratitude. “Thanks for today,” he said quietly. “It meant a lot to both of us.”

You smiled warmly. “Anytime, Eddie. She’s lucky to have you.”

He nodded, a hint of emotion in his voice. “And we’re lucky to have you too.”

After their afternoon at the park, Eddie noticed a slight change in Selene. She seemed more like herself again, her laughter returning and a sparkle in her eyes. It gave him hope that maybe things were turning around.

That evening, as they settled in for dinner, Selene looked up at Eddie with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Daddy, can we invite Miss Y/n to come over for dinner sometime? And maybe we can watch Disney movies together?"

Eddie paused, caught off guard by Selene's request. He glanced at her, unsure of how to respond. The idea of spending more time with you outside of school was both appealing and nerve-wracking. But seeing the hopeful look on Selene's face, he couldn't bring himself to say no.

"Sure, Sel," Eddie replied with a small smile. "I can ask Miss Y/n if she'd like to join us sometime."

The next day at school, you were surprised when Eddie approached you after class. He seemed a bit nervous, scratching the back of his neck as he spoke.

"Hey, Y/n," Eddie started, his voice slightly hesitant. "So, uh, Selene mentioned something last night..."

You raised an eyebrow, curious about what Selene had said. "Oh? What did she say?"

Eddie cleared his throat, trying to keep his tone casual. "She asked if you would like to come over for dinner sometime. And maybe we could watch some Disney movies together."

Your heart warmed at Selene's invitation. "That sounds like a lot of fun, Eddie. I'd love to join you and Selene for dinner."

Eddie smiled, relief evident on his face. "Great. How about this Friday? I can cook something, and we can pick out a couple of Selene's favorite movies to watch."

You nodded, feeling excited about the prospect of spending more time with them outside of school. "Friday sounds perfect. I'm looking forward to it."

As you walked away, you couldn't help but smile to yourself. Selene's idea had sparked something hopeful in both Eddie and yourself.

Friday evening arrived faster than Eddie anticipated. He had spent the entire week trying to decide on a menu that would impress you without overdoing it. Cooking wasn't his forte, but for Selene's sake—and now yours—he was determined to make a good impression.

As he chopped vegetables in the kitchen, Selene sat at the dining table, coloring a picture of her favorite Disney princess. Eddie stole glances at her every now and then, grateful for her infectious enthusiasm that kept his nerves at bay.

"Daddy, are you nervous?" Selene suddenly asked, looking up from her drawing.

Eddie chuckled nervously, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "Maybe a little. I just want everything to go well tonight."

Selene smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, Daddy. she likes you and me. She'll have fun."

Eddie's heart warmed at Selene's words. He hoped she was right. Just then, the doorbell rang, and Eddie felt a jolt of nerves shoot through him. Taking a deep breath, he hurried to answer it.

You stood nervously outside Eddie's door, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. Despite your efforts to remain calm, your heart raced with anticipation. You had been looking forward to this evening all week, eager to spend more time with Eddie and Selene outside of school.

When Eddie opened the door, your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him. He wore a simple button-up shirt and jeans, looking handsome and slightly flustered with a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Hey, Y/n," Eddie greeted you warmly, though you detected a touch of nervousness in his voice.

"Hi, Eddie," you replied with a smile, trying to hide your own nerves. "I brought some dessert."

Eddie stepped aside to let you in, and you entered the cozy apartment, greeted by the inviting aroma of something delicious cooking in the kitchen. Selene rushed over, her face lighting up with excitement.

"Miss Y/n, you're here!" she exclaimed, hugging you tightly. "Come see what Daddy's making!"

You laughed, returning her hug warmly. "I can't wait to see, Selene."

As you followed Selene into the kitchen, Eddie busied himself with setting the table, stealing glances at you whenever he thought you weren't looking. He couldn't help but feel a mixture of nervousness and excitement at having you here with them.

"So, um, how was your day?" Eddie asked awkwardly, trying to make conversation as he stirred a pot on the stove.

You smiled, appreciating his effort. "It was good, thank you. How about you? Busy day at work?"

Eddie nodded, a hint of relief in his voice. "Yeah, pretty busy. But I managed to leave early to get everything ready."

The three of you settled into an easy rhythm, chatting and laughing as Eddie finished cooking. Selene eagerly showed you her latest drawings and told you all about her favorite Disney movies. Eddie couldn't help but notice how comfortable you seemed with them both, and it eased some of his initial nerves.

Finally, dinner was ready, and Eddie served up the meal he had prepared—a hearty pasta dish with a side of garlic bread. As you all sat down to eat, the conversation flowed naturally, filled with laughter and shared stories.

Eddie caught himself stealing glances at you throughout the evening, feeling a warmth spread through him every time your eyes met. He was grateful that Selene had suggested this, bringing you all together in a way that felt natural and comforting.

As the evening drew to a close, Eddie cleared the table while you and Selene curled up on the couch to watch a Disney movie. Eddie joined you both after cleaning up, sitting on the other end of the couch with a contented sigh.

As the movie played, Selene nestled against you, occasionally glancing up at Eddie with a knowing smile.

After a delightful evening of dinner and Disney movies, Selene yawned and rubbed her eyes sleepily. "I'm tired, Daddy," she murmured, pushing herself up from the couch.

Eddie smiled warmly at her. "Alright, princess. Time for bed."

Selene nodded, giving you a sleepy wave. "Goodnight, Sunshine. Thanks for coming over."

You returned her wave with a gentle smile. "Goodnight, Selene. It was my pleasure."

As Selene disappeared into her room, Eddie settled back on the couch, his expression relaxed yet thoughtful. He glanced at you, a slight nervousness evident in his eyes.

"That was... really nice," Eddie said, breaking the quiet that had settled over them.

You nodded, feeling a sense of contentment in the air. "Yeah, it was. Selene's a sweet kid."

Eddie chuckled softly. "She is. And she really likes you, you know."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words. "I like her too."

There was a brief pause as Eddie seemed to gather his thoughts. Finally, he spoke again, his voice soft but determined. "Y/n, I... I've been wanting to ask you something."

Your heart skipped a beat, sensing the seriousness in Eddie's tone. "What is it, Eddie?"

He met your gaze, his eyes searching yours. "Would you... would you like to go out with me sometime? Just the two of us?"

You felt a rush of emotions—surprise, happiness, and a touch of nervousness. But above all, there was a genuine warmth in Eddie's request that made your decision easy.

"I'd love to, Eddie," you replied sincerely, a smile spreading across your face. "I'd really like that."

Relief washed over Eddie's features, followed by a shy smile. "Great. How about we plan something for next weekend?"

You nodded eagerly. "That sounds perfect."

You realized it was late and got up to leave, at the door, Eddie's nervousness melted away as he leaned in slightly, pressing a gentle kiss on your cheek. It was brief but filled with unspoken warmth and the promise of more to come. You smiled softly at him, feeling a rush of happiness as you realized this was the beginning of something special between you.

"Goodnight, Sunshine," Eddie murmured, his voice tinged with affection.

"Goodnight, Eddie," you replied softly, your heart fluttering with anticipation for the days ahead.

It was a perfect end to a memorable evening, and you couldn't wait to see what the future held for all three of you.

Taglist: @birdysaturne @ali-r3n @maedesculpaeusoubi @borhapparker @peachysink @jadeylovesmarvelxo @marvelcasey05 @micheledawn1975 @kissmyacid @bells-28 @gagasbee @mykuup @happilyeverafterforme @missingbillyhargrove

#darknesseddiemfics #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddiemunson #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #older! eddie munson #older!eddie munson #older!eddie

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ravensmadreads · 1 year ago

Text

Part Two + Epilogue

A/N: this is an approximation of what I envisioned reader wearing the night of the premiere. the monologues come from the works of elena jacobs and lemony snicket.

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NOVEMBER

Snow had come hesitantly to the city. Sprinkling down and melting against the black tar like salt in soup, the weather seemed unable to make up its mind. That nasty wind would flush down narrow alleyways, snagging up unsuspecting hats and everything not firmly held down, bringing with it that biting cold. This late in the season, the gorgeous bloom of golds and reds fluttering in trees was gone, torn down by that spiteful wind. The gnarled, brown bodies of leaves littered the streets, drain pipes swallowing them down when that first drift of snow melted into gray water. New York was fighting an oncoming winter, sinking its heels in and rejecting the inevitable. Everyone else just wished it would pick a side.

You know you’re not, not really, but sometimes you feel it: old. At thirty-two, things tend to crack a little louder than they used to. Hangovers lasted two days, not two hours, and how you used to live your life with only hours of sleep for weeks at a time completely baffles you. Sure, it was probably a lot of coke, but god, these hours are going to kill you.

Production for Andrew’s play is in full swing. Some days you never leave the back side of the curtain, too entrenched in building, then painting the forty-two foot moveable walls. Between you and the rest of the tech crew, you had managed to solve the weight problem: because of its light-weight nature, the walls had a tendency to fall forward or back, basically the opposite direction of where they were pushed. But late last Thursday, with a few bolts from a nail gun, a couple of thick screws, and several PVC pipes, the walls stabilized. A collective, exhausted cheer went up, some moved to tears after hours of frustration. After that the crew went home . . . and you went to open the gallery.

Marie helps as much as she can. Opening early when you can’t and closing late when you have passed out in your office chair. But as financial manager and co-owner, she has her own responsibilities. Hands to shake and meetings with potential buyers and artists. She’s taken over much of the front-facing work associated with running a gallery, as you had both agreed when you agreed you’d handle Andrew’s project, but there’s still so much to do. Opening night looms large in your mind and you are simultaneously excited and horrified. Once it's over, you plan on sleeping for two weeks straight.

There are some bright spots, though. Your crew is a bunch of college kids from NYU interning, but they teach you about the world of TikTok outside of being the marketing arm for the gallery and whatever the fuck flossing is. You overheard one of them call Dieter, “girl dinner” and you absolutely knew better than to ask what that meant. They’re funny and curious and love to learn. Gives you hope for this goddamn world.

And then, there’s the opportunities you get to see bits of the show before anyone else. When rehearsals are on, the building stops, quiets for a few minutes. Like ants, the stagehands scurry out into the seats, relieved to have nothing to do for a bit, and eager to see where all their hard work is going.

You find your place at the far back of the house, out of the lights of the stage, and you watch him. And he’s good. He’s so fucking good it makes your heart twist in your chest. The rest of the cast is great in their own right, but your eyes remain glued to him and him alone. His performance is magnetic. You feel it in your bones. You could watch him on a stage for the rest of your life. You don’t miss acting, but you do miss having him as a scene partner.

For what it’s worth, he never looks at Emily longer than he has to.

You twist your wrist, growling at the pain, the muscle in your forearm cramping like it always did when you overworked yourself painting. With the walls built, that left only the actual artwork to be done and if your team were master carpenters, master artists they were not. You set them to work painting the base layer, but it was on you to bring those designs Andrew approved to life.

You are sweaty, hungry, and every time you move, something else hurts. By your watch, it’s close to seven and Andrew usually lets the cast go home around seven thirty. You’re a more benevolent overlord; you let your team go around seven fifteen.

But at seven on the dot, the black curtain moves back and several members of the cast head towards the back door, animatedly chatting amongst themselves. Like wildfire, some gossip spreads from the cast to the crew, eyes lighting up and suddenly reinvigorated.

“What are they talking about?” You ask Liam, one of the stagehands, who shrugs.

“No idea, but –,”

“Andrew is giving us the weekend off!” Sarah in her too big overalls comes bounding over, practically vibrating. “He’s hosting a party at Shandy’s.”

Shandy’s is actually three different venues built into one like legos. In the center was an open air stage. If live music wasn’t playing, then the latest sports game played on the high definition screen. On the right was a bar, aptly in the style of an old tiki lounge. And on the left, was a low-maintenance seafood bar and grill: fish and chips, fried oysters, and hush puppies. It sounded fun but you never much had the inclination to go sniffing your nose around temptation.

“You’re coming, right, Natalie?” Sarah asks excitedly. But the idea that you have a second of free time to yourself, much less to spend it with drunk people, is laughable.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Sarah. There’s gallery stuff – Marie hasn’t had a break in weeks and –,”

“You hear the good news?” Dieter’s delighted tone splits apart your little trio and he comes loping over with a grin on his face. “We’ve got the weekend off.”

“Hell yeah!” Liam pumps his fist. “But Natalie here doesn’t wanna come to the party at Shandy’s.”

Dieter’s face falls. “Why not?”

You frown, not feeling like you need to explain yourself to a bunch of college students, or Dieter himself for that matter. You stand up, mindful of the tension in your lower back, and wipe the paint on your hands on your overalls. After working with you for several weeks, Sarah’s bright enough to pick up on your irritation simmering low.

She eyes him as she steps forward. “We’re gonna head out for the night, if that’s okay?”

You nod at the both of them, your mouth still twisted into a frown.

“I have a job outside of this,” you huff at Dieter, as the kids scurry away. “A busy full time job and I just can’t –,”

“What if I pick you up?” Dieter asks. How, after all these years, could he still make you feel like you are the only person in the room? “Andrew’s also doing a bunch of events for the out-of-towners, and the last stop before dinner is a bar. Which I’d like to avoid for obvious reasons. So lemme meet you at the gallery and take you to the dinner.” He smiles relaxed.

“I just don’t know, Dieter.”

“Bring Marie,” he says simply. “You both have earned a night off. I’ll pick you both up and take you back after dinner. I’ll help you mail invoices, if you’d like.”

Knowing exactly what his ADHD does to his brain with numbers, you shake your head, giving up the ghost and grinning. “That’s really not necessary, but, um, I’ll think about it. Lemme talk to Marie and see what she thinks.”

He nods, watching as the backstage empties out. Less people, less noise. Dieter’s mouth twitches.

“I can help you with painting too. You and I both know I’ve got a shit head for numbers, but this, I think I can do. With a little direction.”

He flashes you a smile and you inject your thumbnail into your closest finger.

“Um, maybe? I’m exhausted right now and probably shouldn’t be making any executive decisions.”

“You want me to walk you home?”

Your chest swells at his sincerity. “Just to the subway stop if you don’t mind.”

To your enormous (disparagingly, staggeringly large) surprise, Marie actually agrees.

“I’ve been staring at excel spreadsheets so long I think I’m going cross-eyed,” she says from behind the office desk you share that next morning. She massages her eyeballs with the heel of her palm. “We’re in a good place with the fundraiser announcements for the holidays and there aren’t any upcoming tours we have to schedule.”

You know this, but you let her talk through it outloud, hoping she’ll stumble across something that’ll make her change her mind. But she doesn’t.

She shrugs. “Tell him I’ll buy him dessert if he gets a car with heated seats.”

After your initial confrontation at your brownstone, Marie had seemingly changed her stance on having Dieter around. While she wasn’t about to offer to him to stop by, she most likely wasn’t still considering murdering him in his sleep. You wonder if it had anything to do with his consistent concern about your wellbeing – making sure you ate breakfast at those six AM calltimes and walking you home at night in the freezing cold, despite your protests. He even made the very risky joke that Daddy’s visitation hours were over and it was time to return you to Mommy . . . in front of Marie. And again to your enormous surprise, she laughed.

It was progress. Progress towards what, you weren’t entirely sure.

You smile at your friend, gray eye bags and all. Maybe this is the universe’s way of sending its approval; yes, this is okay to want.

“I’ll call him later today.”

It’s the last tour on a Friday before a long weekend. Meaning, none of the students are paying attention and a few appear asleep on their feet. You go on with your explanation of brushwork, of pattern recognition, that artists' use of color is almost as distinctive as their signature. You sound boring even to yourself, your quips falling flat and references feeling awkwardly outdated. Nothing could rouse these zombies and their glassy-eyed stares. The herd shuffles along as you take them to the charcoal exhibit.

This actually has you excited, charged even. You talk about the care that using this particular medium requires, that there are so rarely do-overs and mistakes are costly. The artist must be precise with their vision, focused, and above all else, determined.

Your impassioned speech for the arts wakes up no one and you fight back a frown.

Jesus Christ, gimme something to work with.

As you try and remember the next part of your tour, something beyond the crowd of students moves. You’re halfway through describing past and present famous artists who worked with charcoal, when you catch his eyes.

Dieter leans up against one of the white walls, a real one, not a hanging salon wall, his arms crossed and his converse notched against his ankle. You expect a smirk, a tease, so this is what you get up to when I’m not around, but whatever is on his face its not that.

It’s . . .

He’s smiling.

Like he’s proud of you.

You attempt to stifle the blush erupting up your face as you turn back to the artwork. If the students can catch the tremble in your voice, they don’t say anything.

Through the glass window, you see their bus pull up and stop by the curb, a beautiful glowing miracle.

“And that’s the end of our tour,” you say quickly. “Thank you for coming on this tour. Feel free to browse the gift shop, but you are free to go. ”

You don’t physically shoo them out the door, but your fingers clench just the same.

“You’re good.” Logically, you know you didn’t hear him coming, didn’t smell his cologne. But you sense him all the same. You don’t jump at his voice suddenly at your shoulder. You turn and smile back at him, throwing your hip out dramatically.

“Had some practice acting in front of crowds before. Maybe you’ve seen my work?”

He shrugs, swinging his hands into that tan coat – which he wouldn’t let you pay to get drycleaned – as he looks around the gallery.

“Maybe, I have,” he sniffs, “don’t get a big head about it.”

You laugh as he wanders back as though drawn to the art. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot your contribution and curse yourself for not tearing it down when you had the chance.

You sidle up next to him, hoping that if he got that far, you could deter his attention elsewhere. But he doesn’t notice your anxiety, your worrying ball of fear. Instead, he’s quiet, mouth soft, eyes slow to move across the exhibits.

“You know, you always were braver than me.” Your heart catapults into your throat, gaze wrenching away from your dark secret to him, to his face, to search desperately for a hint of a lie.

“W-what do you mean?”

“This, all of this,” he swings his hand out either to indicate the rest of the artwork or the building itself, “it’s so fucking incredible, Natalie. I let you see one painting of mine and I wanted to die from embarrassment. But this . . . you . . .” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t do this.”

“Do you still paint?”

There are flashes in your memory, more feelings than anything else, of that time in New Orleans. You’ve told your therapists as much as you can remember about it, about the drugs you took with him, how quickly it spiraled out of control. And then comes the most painful thing to admit: it was the first and only time in your life you felt truly happy. Having Dieter all to yourself was a bright spot that nothing, not even time, or anger, or heartbreak could ever extinguish.

And in those flashes of memory, you remember waking up and watching him paint gorgeous things on those green walls. Watching him paint on you.

Your heart aches, throbbing for just a minute. He’s been back in your life for months now, and you’re still convinced he’ll vanish the second you’re not looking.

Dieter nods, thoughtful. “Yeah, sometimes. It’s more of a stress reliever than anything else.”

“I get that. I tried out ceramic work before I found out I’m complete shit at it. But it felt good to punch something gooey.”

He grins. “Oh, yeah?”

You nod, adding, “moved on to painting giant murals after that. Pollock would have been proud.”

He follows you as you lead him back, into the long and winding guts of the gallery.

“I tried a lot of things after . . . after rehab. Not a lot stuck, but at least I wasn’t choking on my own feelings anymore.”

Your unconscious feet have brought you to the red painting your other tour group pointed out. It’s big, pulsating red, black specks invading the scarlet colors like an infection.

“Lots of love and nowhere to put it,” he murmurs to the painting.

His curls are just as lush, just as beautiful as they are on your charcoal sketch. As they are in your memories. God, his neck, his fucking neck –

He catches you staring and grins bashfully. “Sorry, what you said reminded me of that scene in Fleabag. When she confesses to the tax guy.”

You swallow around the knot in your throat, nodding your only possible action. And then he turns and you feel your knees buckle.

“Did you paint because of me?” The brown in his eyes is soft, overwhelming. Seizes you and nails you to the floor. The noise that would leave your mouth if you open it would come directly from your heart.

The gallery is quiet, empty. Silent as a church.

But then he steps back, resetting the distance between you. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m crossing a line here and –,”

“Yes.” It’s gentle, quiet, your admission. Your confession. “Yes. You said you picked it up in rehab and I . . . I don’t know. I guess I wanted to see if it helped me too.”

He worries his lip, his hands fidgeting in his pocket. “And did it help? Painting?”

You huff and cross your arms as you stare up at the art you made with so much unhinged rage and painful love pouring out of you. You had been sure your tears were going to ruin the paint.

“Yeah. It did. Unfortunately, your fucked up matched my fucked up in absolutely every way possible.” His nose flares as he stares at the ground. It hurts him still, after all these years. You inhale, the smell of the space calming your nerves, Dieter’s cologne a heady undertone. Trembling barely visible, you reach forward and take his hand. It’s warm and heavy and you try to find a memory where it was gentle against your face, but it doesn’t come. Your brain longs for new memories of him, hungry, desperate after surviving on scraps. He stops breathing regularly as you intertwine your fingers. “For what it’s worth, Dieter . . . it was nice not to feel so alone.”

The noise he makes is quiet, almost imperceptible. Could have been a deep breath, a groan, a sigh. But it is something much more vulnerable, much more punctured than that.

You hold him a bit longer before letting him go.

“I don’t get it,” he mutters quietly, staring at your wrist. “I don’t get why you aren’t fucking furious with me.”

“I was,” you confirm. “For a long time, I was. I hated you, Dieter. But I can’t be mad at you without being mad at myself and I’ve learned to forgive both.”

He closes his eyes briefly, lashes thick as they obscure that beautiful brown. “I could have said no. I could have – stopped it, before it became anything.”

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

It's careless, throwing around suggestions about fate and destiny and the thing that binds all living things. Your gaze lifts from his lips to his forehead when he looks back at you.

“You’re right,” he hums. “You were, we were . . . it was an addiction I wasn’t prepared to deal with at the time.”

“Did it get better? Dealing with your . . . addiction.”

You want to think he’s looking at your lips as you face the painting again.

“Nope,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Had to quit cold turkey. But this one, uh, this one doesn’t come with any nicotine patches.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Those things smell disgusting.”

Something buckles as it crosses his face. He sticks his hands into his pockets again. “Yeah. But I would have preferred it to the alternative.”

New York had made a decision by the time Marie locks up the gallery behind her. The sky is a throbbing purple and thick snowflakes flutter against your eyelashes. The sharp wind had surrendered, winter making its final claim over the city, and it started snowing with confidence, with surety.

White flecks cling to your scarf as ahead of you, Dieter opens the car door for Marie. Desperate to get out of the cold, she practically launches herself across the leather seats, her little body always cold as it is.

“Did you seriously get a driver with this car?” You shake your head at him as you follow Marie. He smirks as he climbs in after you.

“I’m only partially responsible with a credit card now. Besides, New York drivers are so mean and my fragile heart can’t take it.”

It was a simple town car, but with the seats facing inward like a limo. Marie sits with her hands over the air vent in the floor with obvious relief on her face. She cracks an eye open to Dieter as he shuts the door and the car lurches into traffic.

“What do you want?” She scowls begrudgingly.

“What do you mean?”

“You went above and beyond the request for seat warmers. I owe you dessert. What do you want?”

Dieter chuckles, glancing at you as Marie all but curls up against the vent.

“Rain check?”

She hums and closes her eyes, her head lolling against the window. Dieter sits across from you, his feet tucked in between yours, a content smile on his face.

“Thank you,” you murmur quietly. The cold has left a pink blush across his cheeks and it looks wonderful on him. His hands flex by his sides.

“Least I could do.”

The only sound for a while is the rush of air coming out of the vent, the faint honk of a car in the distance. Over Dieter’s shoulder, you watch the slow trickle of snow turn more consistent, flakes turning to chunks. It looks deathly cold out there.

You meet Dieter’s gaze – only because he had been watching you first.

“Do you ever miss warm and sunny California?” you tease quietly, mindful of Marie.

“Sure.” Dieter shrugs and folds up his long leg over his knee. “But I don’t think California misses me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” You cock your head to the side, watching the snowfall again. “California has a lot of good memories with you.”

“Well, if California ever wants me back, she’ll have to give me a call.”

You laugh. “She’s far too mysterious for that.”

“I’d like to think I know what a lady wants.” His voice is low, rumbling, like the heated vents. You glance at him but he’s already staring out the window.

You unbutton your coat and sit in silence for the rest of the ride.

Shandy’s is, presumably, packed. Hot bodies desperate to get out of the cold stand shoulder to shoulder in the pretend-crab shack. The irony of a beachfront-themed restaurant while outside a blizzard is brewing, is not exactly on anyone’s mind as they cram further in, away from the windows and drafts. The smell of fried fish makes your mouth water and these are the times you miss having an ice-cold glass of beer. With your arm wrapped around a sleepy Marie, Dieter stands on his toes to try and find Andrew and the other cast and crew who showed up. He drops back down, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, saying something to you, but it’s loss in the buzz of the crowd.

“What?” You yell across three feet. He shakes his head and, without warning, takes your hand, diving into the crowd. You have only a second to revel in the warmth of his palm before you have to take an active stance to avoid being elbowed or stepped on. Marie latches on to your arm tighter, one good jostle away from being lost in the sea of people. Dieter ducks and weaves with shocking precision, his wide chest cutting a path for you and Marie behind him. Someone steps back and you stumble into his shoulder.

He glances down at your intertwined hands, as if to make sure you are still there. You can’t quite read what’s in his eyes.

“Nearly there,” he murmurs before diving back into the crowd. Like the parting of the red sea, Dieter manages to pull the three of you through the knot of people and over to where a section of tables and booths had been roped off. Andrew leaps to his feet, his face red and eyes blurry, the instant he sees you.

“You made it! I thought we lost Dieter a while ago!” He embraces each of you, ending with Marie who glares up at him.

“I’m hungry.” A sleepy Marie was one thing. A hangry Marie was a whole other beast entirely.

Andrew chuckles and slings an arm over her shoulder. “I’m pretty sure we ordered everything on the menu twice, so dig in. All goes on the company card.” Marie’s eyes the size of silver dollars as she stumbles towards the feast, Andrew turns back to you. “What about you? Hungry?”

There’s something warm in your palm and it takes you a minute to realize it’s Dieter’s hand. You’re still holding hands – and smooth as ever, Dieter casually lets go as one of the cast members comes to give him a hug.

“You’re good, right?” He says to you, as they break apart. “You can come sit with us if you want.”

By some miracle, you spot someone who looks like Sarah from the back so you shake your head.

“Nah. I think I see my people over there.” And then you do something incredibly stupid: you clap Dieter on the shoulder, like an uncle would pat his neurotic nephew. “If Marie comes looking for me, tell her I’m in the back.”

He glances at your hand on his shoulder and then nods. “Sure. Uh, have fun?”

You are sweating beneath your woolen coat from the body heat of a hundred drunk idiots and now you can actually feel it on your hairline.

“Yeah. You too.”

You spin on your heel in the direction of your salvation, internally cringing at your own stupidity. If this girl isn’t Sarah, I am so totally and completely fucked.

The girl was, in fact, Sarah. Liam’s there too and a few of the other NYU interns. The art director sits in a booth nearby, talking to a couple of the students, so you don’t entirely feel like a lecherous weirdo hanging out with a bunch of nineteen year olds.

Many of them come up to you, offering to buy you a drink as a premature celebration for opening night, which is only just a week away. But you merely ask for water, or a coke. They obliged, curious, but respectful, staying for a while to chat until the ice in their glasses melts and they’re off for a refill.

In the early days of your partnership with her, Carla told you that addictions are formed out of habits: you turn to drugs or alcohol every time because you have no other tools with which to self-regulate. That you quite literally fill the silences by drinking because the alternative is unbearable.

So, you count it as a small personal, private win that you can lean against a railing, quiet, and watch the crowds of people without ever feeling like you need a drop to top it off.

But . . . there is a want. A missing of something no longer there. You toss back the ice to crack it between your molars before it melts.

“Hey there, stranger!” Dieter bounces up the few steps to the small alcove you’ve propped yourself up in. His cheeks are flush and his hairline is wet. That gorgeous jacket is nowhere to be seen. He shoulders up next to you and you are consumed with his radiating body heat.

A delighted scream goes up from the crowd as the opening chords of Sweet Caroline begin and the walls vibrate with a triumphant “bum bum bum.”

“Someone’s having a good time,” you practically shout over the bad and off-key singing, eying him up and he chuckles, swirling around the brown, bubbly liquid in his cup.

“Some of the kids wanted to go dancing,” he yells back, “and bet I couldn’t floss or whatever, so sue me if I’m a little sweaty.”

He drops his head and rubs his sweaty forehead against your shoulder.

“Ew! Dieter – get off!” You giggle and shove him away from you. Hekers as he stumbles against the railing. He sniffs his shirt.

“Blegh – I think I can already smell myself.”

Sobering, you watch him as he presses the cool cup against his forehead. He catches you watching.

“What?” He asks and pushes the sweaty ends of his hair out of his face.

You turn your head to his ear so you don’t have to screech over Neil Diamond’s most famous song for white people. “You look . . .” You can’t really find the right words now, opting for staring at a freckle on his neck until they come to you. “You look happy, I guess.”

The rapturous smile curled around his lips fades, his eyes caught on the melting ice in his cup. This close, your shoulders touch and he curls around you, like he’s got a secret. You’ve learned a thing or two from your therapist so you wait until he’s ready.

The crowd is insatiable, screaming and howling as the final chords play, and another plucky song starts up.

“Once upon a time, these kinda things were a struggle for me.” He nods to the crowd, the bar, the alcohol. “Either I’d get black out drunk and wake up next to my PA or a stripper named Candy. And then, when you met me, I was straddling sobriety and my failing marriage.” Another party, a hotel, a blue sparkling pool. Wanting nothing more to push him back into his room and unbuckle his pants on top of his linen bedsheets. Dieter drops his head away, his forearm tense against yours. He thumbs the edge of his cup, preparing it for his admission. “And then . . . I was going out of my mind trying not to think about you.”

You can’t admonish him. You already know this, how you had been the image in his mind he pictured when he fucked his fist, long before viewing party at the director’s house. But it feels new, fresh, like he’s confessing all over again. Like the feeling persists.

“Dieter, I . . .”

His mouth is soft, beard wet, neck sticky with sweat, but his eyes burn you. Threaten to singe the skin from your bones.

“Old habits die hard, I think.”

His thumb presses against your wrist, his big hand covering yours against the wooden bar, pinning you – you can’t move forward or pull away. The heat of his chest throbs against your stuttering ribcage, the fingertips of his other hand twitching against yours at your side, seeking out your knuckles and then jerking away. His inhale draws your chin up to his, you’re so close you can see every memory etched in the lines around his eyes, his pulsating skin above the vein in his neck – the way his lips part when you meet his gaze. He murmurs your name and the ghost of his kiss swoops down your spine, choking your lungs, robbing you of air. Heavy lashes soft against his cheeks, he breathes, gives you whatever is left inside of him and you swallow it down, inches from his mouth.

Here you come again

Just when I'm about to make it work without you

You look into my eyes and light those dreamy eyes

And pretty soon I'm wondering how I came to doubt you

In the lofty silence between you, the Dolly Parton lyrics are audible, the crowd decidedly less familiar with the words. The bubble of sound surrounding you, enclosing you and him, breaks, the casual hum of a bar returning, and the outside world suddenly exists again.

He blinks at you as neither of you can ignore the song any more.

Here you come again

Looking better than a body has a right to

And shaking me up so, that all I really know

Is here you come again, and here I go

“Smoke?” You squeak.

He nods quickly, pushing you gently on your low back. “We gotta get the fuck outta here before they play Jolene.”

It’s nearing 1AM when Marie finally stumbles out of Shandy’s, drunk and warm and full of french fries.

“‘Hn don’ even ca-are I’m over thirty n’ drunk as hell.” She mutters into your shoulder. Heavy virgin snow sits heavy on the ground, only a few imprints of shoes left behind. You hold her close, worried about her stumbling and yanking you both to the ground. Dieter has gone ahead to flag the car down.

“You say that now but wait until the hangover, sweetie,” you laugh and she squeezes you.

“Hmm, you’re maybe right.”

Bold headlights flash on the street ahead as the town car pulls up against the curb. Dieter jogs up, leaving the car door open behind him.

“Gimme Drunky Pants.” You help him hold Marie up right before he bends, scooping her up by her knees and cradling her to his chest.

“Dieter, be careful,” you frown. “It’s fresh snow. You could slip.”

Marie lifts her head, her arms looped around his neck, squinting. “Am I Drunky Pants?”

“Yeah, Drunky Pants,” Dieter chuckles as he leads you to the car. “It’s a good thing you weigh about a buck fifty soaking wet.”

“Hey, pal, ‘m at least two dollars.” She holds up three fingers. She tries to find you over his shoulder. “Natalie, call my lawy’r, they’re takin’ me to jail.”

You brush her wet hair out off her forehead just outside the door. “I’ve got bail money, don’t worry about it.”

Dieter snorts and climbs to the car, minding Marie’s head as it goes limp on her neck. He eases her onto one of the seats as her eyes flutter open and shut.

“ ‘re such a good friend, Nat-il-ee. I h’ve bail money for you too.”

You shut the door after them and Dieter raps the glass, indicating to the driver to go on. He sits back down as Marie’s hand touches his knee.

“ ‘r we friends, Die’er? We’re frien’s right?”

You bite your lip, trying to keep from ruining what could be a very sweet moment, as Dieter pats her hand.

“Yeah, Drunky, we’re friends.”

“I’m not Drunky, you’re Drunky . . . wait, no, guess y’re not.” With a sigh, Marie rolls over and faces the plush seat. “Good night.”

Dieter meets your eyes across the car, your teeth tight against your lips, and he shakes his head, grinning like a mad man. Don’t ruin it for her.

You nod, snorting down a giggle. You take out your phone and snap one picture. Just for memorabilia.

DECEMBER

The morning of Opening Night

The concrete floor is cold even through your thick socks and hard-bottom slippers. The low window is shut and has been locked for weeks now, but the icy air managed to sneak in anyway. A woolen shawl around your shivering shoulders, you shuffle towards the stack of shelves at the back corner of your basement. Your pottery wheel sits clean and unused, the prospect of either hauling it up to the kitchen or freezing your ass off down here equally unappealing.

You store things down here that are either seasonal, like decorations and bug spray, or things that are too big to fit somewhere upstairs. Or, in the case of what you’re looking for, things that weigh too much.

It’s on the bottom shelf in the back, like it always is. You realize now that you’ve unintentionally stored it in a place of shame or embarrassment, a dirty secret you can only look at when it’s cold and all the lights are off. But that’s not how you feel about it. You slide it off its shelf, the only thing here that isn’t covered in a layer of grime that accumulates over items in basements. The buckles are cold under your hands and you feel like you should apologize. So you do. Silently, you make a promise that it’ll no longer live in the basement, that under the bed, easier to reach, might be a better home for it.

After all, you think, after tonight, you might want to show it to him.

Breathing out puffs of white air, you tighten your shawl over your shoulders and make the slow climb back up to the warmth.

Opening Night - Premiere of Homeward with You directed by Andrew Young

You puff out your cheeks, air rushing out between your lips painted the color of pomegranate, deflating entirely, as you swish the emerald green folds of your dress back and forth in the mirror. At the store, you loved it immediately and Marie audibly squealed, repeating that on the point of death, you had to promise to buy this dress for the premiere.

Now, you think it fits awkwardly, the waist too tight and the loose shoulders unable to settle right. The high collar around your neck threatened to choke you out, your overheated skin uncomfortably itchy beneath the wool.

This is stupid. I look ridiculous. I’m changing immediately –

“If you try to take that off, I’m tackling you to the ground.”

Marie shakes her head as she slips silver studs into her ear, her own black dress stunningly elegant yet remarkably simple. Her short hair is coiffed, tucking around her ear in a way that would make any flapper girl sick with envy.

“But it doesn’t look right,” you whine. “I look like an asparagus!”

She rolls her eyes and picks your earrings up from your vanity, your gold necklace looped between her fingers. Her smooth brow is furrowed as she gently slips your earrings on, softly plugging the backs. She is quiet, contemplative.

“Did I ever tell you I wanted to be you when I grew up?” She asks quietly.

You frown at her in the mirror as she goes to put on the other earring. “That’s ridiculous. You of all people know what a complete nightmare my life has been.”

“Yeah, but you’re still here, aren’t you?” She unhooks the chain of your necklace. “You are without a doubt the most tenacious person I’ve ever met. You’re brave and funny and smart. Everything I ever wanted in a big sister.”

The sharp flush of tears in your eyes threatens to smear your mascara and you catch her arm as it rests against your shoulder to clasp your necklace together. She stills and you look her in the eye.

“You’re my best friend, you know that?” You ask her, your voice tight.

She puts her arms around you, her head on your shoulder, her heels adding that extra height, and you watch each other in the mirror.

“Of course, I know that. I just want you to be happy.” Her tone changes and you can’t find her meaning in her eyes.

“I am happy,” you say, firmly. “I’m happy with this life we built.”

She kisses your temple. “No, you’re not. But you could be.”

The falling snow flickers and sparkles in the bright lights of the theater, the sidewalks clear for now. As the car approaches, through the window you read the name of the production up on the marquee in giant bold letters, his name just below it. Your stomach tightens.

The tires squeak and you climb out of the cab, Marie just behind you. No one greets you and there are no flashing camera lights. There are a few journalists, trade reporters, critics but they stand around, relaxed, smoking or talking amongst themselves. It’s a relatively quiet affair, not uncommon for productions of this size. You feel the brief press of disappointment before boxing it away.

The lobby is warm, with bordeaux floors and wooden paneled walls. An ancient staircase spills out to greet its guests, rich, shining banisters peering down from the second floor. A smiling suit-and-bowtie bartender waits by the coat check-in desk, converted from the old ticket sales corner used during the theater’s glory days. Marie offers to take your coat as your phone starts to ring.

Fighting between your coat and getting your phone, you answer it without checking the caller.

“Hello?”

“Hey there.” Dieter.

Your mouth dries and you glance at Marie chatting with the coat check-in girl. Quietly, you make your way over behind the grand staircase, a little out of sight.

“Dieter, shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“I can do both. Talk to you and put on this eyeliner that makes me cry.” You fight a smile, your hand holding your elbow, shoulders hunching towards the sound of his voice. “It’s okay, you can laugh. It was funny. I’m funny.”

“Dieter, did you call for a reason?” You know he can’t physically see you roll your eyes, but he’s deserving of it anyway.

“Yeah. Um, well, actually I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“If you’re in the lobby, can you look over by the old phone booths?” Annoyingly vague occasionally, but cryptic, Dieter is not. You peer around the wall, your gaze running across the lobby. Sure enough, by one of the other theater entrances sits five old wooden phone booths. Only a few still hold the rotary boxes, but in one on the end sits a small woman with white hair. “Do you see a lady there in a silver dress in one of them?”

“Yeah, I do. Who is she, Dieter?”

With an exasperated chuckle, he says, “okay, this you can’t laugh at. She’s my therapist.”

“What?”

“Okay, ex-therapist. I met her in rehab and I stuck with her after I got out. But then about five years ago she retired and she referred me to someone else. We kept in touch and became really good friends. I flew her out here to see my play and I was wondering . . . if you could keep her company.”

Your mouth dropped further and further open. “Dieter, I . . . I don’t know . . .”

“She doesn’t bite,” he laughs. “And don’t worry, she only knows only most of the details of our sex life.”

“DIETER!”

“I’m kidding – I’m kidding!” You can picture him hunched over on the chair in the dressing room, laughing himself silly. He sighs, giggles subsiding. “Okay, look, she knows you who are, but I don’t talk about that stuff with her anymore.” His voice drops, quiet and boyish. “Besides, she’s kind of the closest thing I have to family and I don’t trust anyone else with her but you.”

You can almost feel his breath across your jaw, his hushed reverence.

“You still there?”

“Yeah, Dee, I’m still here.” You scratch your eyebrow with your nail. “Of course, I’ll keep an eye on her. What’s her name?”

“Beatrice, but I just call her Bea.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Bea and Dee?”

“I’m just cute like that.” You laugh with him this time. There’s a part of you that wishes you could have seen him before the premiere, given him what you want, but you worry it might have messed with his head. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.” He sounds so sincere. “I’ve gotta go, but –,”

“Dieter, wait.” Phone clutched tight to your ear, you go deeper into the bowels of the theater, by the door that leads to the cabaret stage. “I, um, I have something to show you later. Nothing serious – and it doesn’t even have to be tonight but I’d like to steal you away for just a bit.” You smirk, trying to get some even footing underneath you, but his silence dries your mouth out. “I-i-if that’s alr–,”

“Say when and where and I’m there.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“A-alright. Then, uh, break a leg.”

He chuckles, right down your neck. “Thanks, Nat. Oh and if I don’t see you until afterwards, you look really nice.”

You swallow around a dry knot of wool in the back of your throat. “Is this where I’m supposed to say, ‘you can’t see me’ and you say, ‘I just know’?”

“You’ve got me all figured out. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Bye, Dieter.”

You close your eyes, thumb shaking as you tap the red button on your phone. Every breath catches on the knots of your spine, of the curve of your ribs, as it goes down, hollow, sucked down, only to emerge shredded and weak.

The memory of what had nearly happened the night of the party at Shandy’s, it’s sunk into the crevices of your brain, under the skin behind your forehead, weighing your brow down day by day. It’s there, but you don’t see it. You don’t look. Like a beast in the jungle, you don’t make eye contact, hoping it will pass you by.

Hearing his voice over the phone, teasing you, you swear you hear it growl.

Look up, look up, look up

Look at me

Slipping your phone back in your purse, you straighten your shoulders and march for the old phone booth.

Bea is probably about sixty years old, maybe closer to seventy. Silver hair tucked back in a low bun that makes her dress shine, short unpainted nails press a ratty paperback book into her lap. She adjusts a navel blue sheer shawl around her mache-thin skin when you gently tap the window, smiling. She blinks up at you with the biggest blue eyes you’ve ever seen on a living human being.

What it says about you and Dieter that your therapists could not be more different, is a question you’ll bring up to Carla later on.

You gently push back the accordion door and wave.

“Hi. I’m –,”

“Oh, I know exactly who you are,” she says softly, her smile coy. She bookmarks her page and closes the book – The Jungle by Upton Sinclair – before standing up. Not wanting to offend her, you don’t reach for her unless she seems unsteady, but her walk is confident, if not slow as she exits the phonebooth. “Dieter said a friend of his would come get me.”

Yes, but do you know which friend? Those thin lips swirl up to the corner of her mouth, her eyes playful. “You really are as pretty as he said you were.” Quickly, she adjusts her shawl and offers out her small hand. “Lovely to meet you, dear.”

Mischievous. Like those little elves or sprites. Instantly, you see what Dieter likes about her. You offer her your arm.

“Lovely to meet you too, but I get the feeling you know much more about me than I know about you.”

She pats your arm, that dizzy (fake) bleary old lady glaze going over her eyes. “I don’t know what gave you that impression.”

Above you, the lights flicker and a thrilled anticipation hums from the lobby, those still left eagerly moving to take their seats

“Oh, I’m so excited,” Bea squeals against you.

“You’ve never been to Dieter’s plays before?” You wait until the flow of people lessens, not risking an elbow or an errant shoe.

“He doesn’t let me!” She grouches. “Only recently has he let me see some of his movies. But he picks them out and we have to watch them together. Honestly, that man is such a goof!”

Her blue eyes watching people go by, she doesn’t see you chew your tongue. The man he lets Bea see is so wildly different from the one you knew, or the one you’ve gotten to know the past few months. The idea of just sitting down on the couch with Dieter to watch a movie was once, well, impossible. Now it didn’t seem . . . right. You try to picture this Dieter, this long-haired, relaxed, sober Dieter in a dark room, feet under your covers, laughing – laughter comes so easily to him now – and you couldn’t. Your brain shut the doors and turned off the light. No, no one’s home.

No one’s there.

“He’s a doctor in this one,” you say by way of filling the silence. “Did he tell you that?”

Bea peers up at you, her silver eyebrows arching. “No. He said he wanted it to be a surprise.”

“He’s a small town doctor, in a town on the verge of collapse in the thirties. He’s caught between being responsible for his brother’s kid, who has been drafted just before he’s set to get married, and getting out of the town himself.”

“Ooh, his dramatic roles are so good!” Bea squeals again, squeezing your arm excitedly. You wonder if this is what she does to Dieter’s arm when they watch his movies. The crowd thins, so you lead her down the steps, to the front row that Andrew roped off for special guests. The theater is small, intimate, not space for more than fifty people, but the red velvet seats have been kept in immaculate condition, the Roman-inspired paintings on the ceiling and golden-dusted ceilings kept fresh in gloss and shine. It’s, for lack of a better word, cozy.

Marie is already there with a playbill and her smile fades when she sees you with an old woman on your arm. You shake your head, I’ll tell you later, and help her sit before taking your seat next to Marie.

“Do you miss it?” Bea asks quietly, her eyes on the stage, as the room fades to black.

“Miss what?”

“Acting.” If you were dancing, you would have just tripped. “With him?” And now you’re on your ass, wondering what the hell just happened.

You swallow, those blue eyes so bright and earnest. “Um. Sometimes.”

Bea sighs, rolls her eyes, and pats your hand. “He misses it. Even if he’ll never say anything.”

You don’t ask her to elaborate, because you don’t want to know.

He’s good. They all are.

There is a natural chemistry reflected between the cast that is often so hard to find. The subject matter, the sets, the expertly designed costumes – there is a sense of grounded realism. As Andrew hoped, the audience peers into the lives of a people strapped on a path of destruction. They fall apart as their town does around them. They get in their own way. They sabotage their own happiness again and again out of fear or frustration. Every character is fully realized to the point of anguish, of emotional damage because how could they not see it? How could they possibly continue to live their lives like this? How long do they believe they should suffer?

And beyond this swirling chaos of painfully human failure are the mobile walls you designed. They evolve, transform under expertly placed light, shadows increasing or decreasing depending on a blue or red light. The old Greek plays had The Chorus, omniscient watchers that took pity on the tragedy but were unable to stop it. Andrew’s play had your designs; silent, overbearing smears of sadness or grief or joy just out of reach. In such a grounded play, the walls added a sense of vivid delusion, waking madness, providing a razor’s edge of tension to every scene.

Dieter’s character is morally flawed. Tired and run down by this world that’s given him nothing, no hope; stealing from his patients when he conducts housecalls to pay for this “escape” that never comes. At first he has no interest in saving the skin of his nephew, not willing to risk imprisonment over a fake diagnosis, but he, like the audience, is forced to bear silent witness to the genuine, deep, honest love between his brother’s son and his sweetheart, played by Emily.

They sit at a kitchen table, the set painted a light green, the wood chipped and window glass cracked above the grimy sink. The night before he is meant to be drafted, Dieter’s doctor in the corner trying desperately to appear unaffected as his nephew goes through his will to his sweetheart and his uncle, so that in case of the inevitable, they know what his final wishes are.

The boy is choked up, nervous, reading through every word with an agonized sob. His hands that hold Emily’s are shaking, as silent tears stream down her face.

And then in a truly beautiful stroke of theater production, the boy pauses, and a recorded voiceover of him continues to read the will. But he stands, Emily and Dieter frozen in time behind him, and gently kisses Emily on the forehead, his eyes shut and face wet. He lets go, and turns to the audience.

The voice over fades to a low hum as he stands at the center of the stage. The boy is mere feet from you. He watches Emily over his shoulder.

“There are things I want to say to you, but I can’t. I think you already know them, but saying it out loud would only make things worse, not better. I would be saying them to be selfish, to unburden my own soul, by weighing down yours. But you know, right? You touch me and suddenly I feel a little less war torn. I'm not sure what peace is supposed to feel like but I think it may feel a lot like you.” He goes to her, still frozen, still curled up on the table, her eyes seeing nothing. He strokes her cheek, getting on his knees to look into her visionless eyes. “I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you everyday. I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where once we were so close. I will love you until your face is fogged by distant memory. I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, I will love you if you don’t marry me. I will love you if you marry someone else and I will love you if you never marry at all, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all. That is how I will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way.”

He drops his head onto her hands. The reading of the will ends and the lights hold, just a bit longer on the doomed couple.

“Are you okay?” Bea whispers, touching your arm and dropping back into your own body, you stare forcefully at your lap, begging the tears to stay back.

A cold sweat breaks out across your forehead, down the skin on your back, sucking your dress’s zipper to your spine. The blood in your ears roars, thunderous and loud, and you know you’re breathing unevenly, but you can’t help it.

You nod, wishing she would look away.

You feel green, feel pale, like something is molding inside of you, sickly blue sprouting around your spine and into your stomach. A sickness, an illness, lying dormant for years.

It’s still there, you understand that now.

The beast in the jungle, you meet it straight on, knowing the truth of it from the very beginning. But to what end – where would the self-inflicted circle of missed opportunities and failure finally end?

To unburden my soul, by weighing down yours.

The lobby is loud, dozens of voices overlapping each other in an excited chatter, the crowd . You bring Bea to one of the long, low benches near the twin sets of double doors at the entrance, careful to take her out of the rush of the crowd.

She groans as she sits down and eases her feet out of her silver flats.

“I do not miss the days of heels,” she says with a sigh, rolling her ankles around. “But is it too much to ask that they make nice shoes that don’t chew up your feet?”

“My mother used to say that was the price you pay for being a woman.” You sit down next to her, watching Marie chat with the art director across the room. “It’s not supposed to feel good, she said.”

Bea shrugs. “I suppose that’s true, but seems like a terrible way to look at life. A cycle of reward and punishment.”

You grin wryly at her. “My mother was a pessimist.”

“And you?” She leans back, her thin hands on her lap. “Are you a pessimist or an optimist?”

“I’m trying to break the cycle of reward and punishment.” Your eyes unconsciously fall to the door to the theater. “But old habits die hard, I guess.”

An excited roar sparks from across the room, the crowd surging towards the double doors. You see Emily’s shining blonde hair between shoulders, her bright smile. You can’t see him, but he’s there, you know it. So you sit back with Bea, matching her easy position.

“I know my old bones couldn’t fight off that crowd,” she nudges you with her elbow. “But you should go.”

A flash of the curve of his chin, the sharp angle of his nose, the endless brown of his eyes.

One way or another, it will be over soon. There is a sense of peace with that, whatever the outcome.

You shrug. “I’m just fine right here.”

So you sit, with your ex’s former therapist and closest thing he has to family because his are all gone, or they hate him. You ask her about Upton Sinclair, and she asks you about what you do, and you tell her about the gallery. The two of you could have been sitting on a bench in Central Park, for all the hurry you take, exchanging questions and answers.

Reporters ask for his picture, vloggers using their livestream to ask him about the role. You and Bea watch him, never talking about him, but never looking away either.

He’s handsome. He always is. Hair slicked back, eyes still ringing with black. He smiles and performs and you wonder if he’s a good enough actor to pretend to want to almost kiss you. His suit jacket is a deep red, almost purple, a perfect color for a December premiere. He turns, leaning into a photo with a few of his castmates and you see it – a flicker of dark green on his lapel. A glass leaf, the same color as your dress.

You fight to hide your blush, your assumptions really and truly getting out of hand, and you ask Bea about where she’s from. Eventually, Marie comes and joins you two, and her eyebrows jump only slightly when you tell her Bea’s connection to Dieter.

The congregated crowd of media and fans alike eventually subsides, leaving just friends and family. Andrew finally comes out and an applause goes up. He’s pink and his eyes are a little bleary and you think he might have started celebrating a bit early. Toby holds his hand and he leans into it, smiling like a fool.

You hear a buzz about an afterparty through excited grins and one-armed hugs, the news met with nods or groans. The last stragglers linger, wandering out into the cold or into waiting cars. The lobby is flushed with cold air every time the double doors swing open. Marie has gone to pick up your coats, including Bea’s, her wrap doing nothing for warmth, and you lean your head back against the wall.

You’ve been rehearsing something in your head since this morning, a final script, the end to the scene. Nothing fits quite right and you wish you’d written it down, but that risked someone finding your batherings. Maybe you’ll journal later, to get down everything in your head, everything you can’t say or don’t know how.

The crowd thins, and a few more flashes go off, and then he’s coming towards you, arms outstretched.

“Bea!”

The old woman wrestles to her feet with a speed you hadn’t witnessed all night and Dieter envelopes her in his arms. Without context, the image is sweet, domestic: a boy and his mother.

Then she steps back and messes up his perfectly combed hair. “There – that’s the Dieter I know.”

You swear he blushes.

“I have had a lovely evening with your friends!” Bea says, holding his hand and giving you and Marie warm smiles.

Marie out of the blue rushes forward and nearly tackles him to the ground. “You were so good, Dieter!”

His eyes widen before his arms come around her waist, squeezing her so tight he lifts her off the ground.

“Mhmm! Thank you! Thank you for coming. And now I promise to return your business partner to you. No more painting backdrops until midnight.”

She slips off him, as his eyes drop to you, the warmth there softer than the velvet chairs. He reaches for you and all of existence narrows to his palm. You take it and he pulls you into his chest.

He smells like your old Dieter. That layered musk of charcoal and vanilla, of sweet tobacco and sweat. Of course, he wears cologne, expensive and rich, but you turn your nose to his neck and inhale – it’s still there. Somewhere. His hands fall to your hips, your low back, then they’re sliding up your dress, cupping your ribcage against his. You pull him tighter to you, the scruff of his beard rough against your cheek as you breathe each other in. It happened accidentally, but this is the hug you should have given him all those months ago – one that allows for joy, for remembrance, for an ease that only comes after two people have learned the other intimately, where so much of one exists within the other, their own hearts cannot decide where one ends and the other begins.

He presses his warm hand against your shoulder, tucking you farther and farther in, as the other hand spans across your entire back, his face burrowed in your neck. You feel him sigh, at ease, his ribs expanding into yours and you fight back the sharp swell of the sob caught in your throat. You had no idea what it meant to be held until this moment.

You don’t want to let him go. You don’t think you can.

But the double doors sweep open, drafting in the cool air and stronger, prevailing thoughts. Your chin trembles at the strength it takes to keep from pressing your lips against his cheek as you set your weight back on your heels, his hands resisting your release until the very last moment. He doesn’t let you fall or drop you; he eases you back down, away. But his hands are shaking and he steadies them around your elbows and you take his because you think your knees will buckle if you don’t keep touching him. His mouth makes a wet noise, his eyes on the ground, feet shuffling back. He holds you as though the room is spinning.

“Um, Dieter,” Marie’s voice comes in from far away as you fight the urge to bury your body up under his chest, to lift him up with every ounce of strength you possess. “There’s an afterparty . . .”

“But I’d rather like to go home first, darling. If that’s alright,” Bea says. “Dieter?”

You watch his throat convulse and he stands up right. He lets go of you entirely.

“Sorry,” he swallows, resolutely not looking at you, “just got a little lightheaded. Haven’t eaten much today. Bea, can I call you a cab?”

“Do you want to go to the party?” Marie asks you as Dieter guides Bea over to the front desk. “Andrew’s invited us.”

You shake your head, watching them go. It has to end tonight. It has to.

“I . . . can’t. There’s something I need to talk to Dieter about.” You tear your eyes away to her concerned face. “Shouldn’t be long, but after that I’m gonna go to bed. I’m exhausted after four months of this.”

She nods like she knows it's been much longer than that. She hugs you, pulls you in tight, her mouth tucked in by your ear and says, “don’t take this the wrong way, love, but you were never going to be just friends.”

You don’t make eye contact with her when she pulls away.

Ten minutes later, Bea and Marie have decided to share a cab, Bea’s hotel on the way to Marie’s apartment. You and Dieter stand on the curb, waving to them as they go. The snow is coming on thick now. A few catch on his lashes as he turns to look at you.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the party?” You ask.

He shakes his head. “There’ll be others. What did you want to show me?”

Age has done nothing to rob him of his beauty. You think you hope it hasn’t robbed him of anything else.

The creaky door of your brownstone greets you as you lead him inside, cheeks blushed pink from the cold, fingertips slightly numb, the metal keys in your hand bitterly chilled. You fumble for a few lights, cursing yourself that you left your home in total darkness hours earlier. The warm overhead lights awaken your living room, then the dining room across the hall. You’re grumbling to yourself and completely oblivious to Dieter’s open-mouthed stare. You’re leaning against the wall, fighting with your heel as he walks into your aubergine-colored living room with the plush gray couches and wall-to-wall bookshelves.

“I want to look at every single one of these,” he says softly, fingers curled around your chenille throw blanket on the back of the sofa. “Have I read any of them?”

“If your reading tastes are anything like Bea’s, then probably,” you grin at him as you finally slip out of your heels. You fight the urge to groan, your feet flat against the hardwood, sensation finally returning to your toes, but you do sigh. The noise brings his attention to you and he smiles.

“You do look beautiful.”

Your toes visibly curl and you feel the smile slide off your face. You nod over your shoulder.

“C’mon. It’s in here.”

He follows you through the other open-archway rooms to the kitchen, where the box from your basement sits on the counter. It’s gray, unassuming, with little buckles as adornments on the corners. Something about it feels weathered, hard won, as if it had been shipped across the ancient sea by long-dead ancestors.

The lights are low here, hovering low on the dimmer switch. You always thought kitchens should be relaxing, comforting, so you rarely brighten the room unless you have to. Behind you, Dieter unbuttons his jacket as you grip the lid.

“Now, you can’t laugh,” you say, a playful curl to your lips. He mimes an ‘x’ over his heart.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’ve had these for a while, collecting them as I came across them. At first, it seemed almost morbid, but – I don’t know – I took comfort in them. As time went on, it helped me remember that everything that happened back then, actually happened and wasn’t just some insane LSD trip.” You thumb a corner. “At least it wasn’t for me.”

His brow deepens as you take off the lid.

He blinks a few times, trying to understand what he’s looking at. You wait, sit down on a black stool, watching.

Newspaper clippings. Magazine articles. Online articles printed and cut out.

He takes a few out, his fingers running over the corners where yours have gone a dozen times.

“Are these . . .”

“They’re all about Recovery Road. Speculation pieces on why it should win an Oscar, or several, even before it premiered. First reviews and public, consumer reviews. Trades on Heidi’s directing career, the cinematographers, the music for the film.” Your bare toes could brush his shoes if you swung your leg forward just an inch. “Opinion pieces on my career . . . and yours.” The knot in his throat moves as he flips through, going back ten years to the first articles. You watch his masculine hand, thick veins and weighty palm. “I know we didn’t make Oscar night, Dieter, and I don’t know if you ever stopped to celebrate. I know I didn’t, even years later. So this became my little celebration and in light of your success tonight, I thought you might like to celebrate with me.”

He spreads a few out on the counter, the strange shapes of cut-out articles like lost puzzle pieces. His mouth is a straight line, those thick eyebrows drawn down, jaw set tight.

“That night was the worst night of my life, Natalie. I don’t know why you want to remember it.”

His voice is rough, cutting, comes from a place at the back of his chest. Your heart sinks.

You’ve gotten it all wrong.

“Oh. Oh, I . . . I’m sorry. I thought . . . well, actually I don’t know what I thought. I’m sorry.” You shake your head, dispelling any lingering illusions you may have, and brush together the articles he laid out, jumping to your feet. “This was a stupid idea. I can’t believe I thought this would be fun. I took you away from your afterparty to show you this ridiculous –,”

His big hand loops around your wrist and you freeze, the warmth of his palm exploding up your arm and into your cheeks. Dieter looks at you with a weight so profound you feel as though you could plunge through the floorboards.

“I lied to you.” He says gruffly. “Ten fucking minutes into seeing you again and I lied.” He works his jaw as his hand slides up to your forearm, then your elbow where it notches over the bend in your arm. “I know I said I thought we’d be better off if we never saw each other again, but that’s not true. Every day until you were released from that hospital, I begged Heidi for any news. On your health. On your withdrawals. On if you got out of the fucking bed that day. And then after you got out and into rehab, I asked Heidi to check in on you. But I knew it had to fucking stop. I had to fucking stop wanting things to be different because I didn’t think they could be. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Your bottom lip trembles. “And now? Now, do you think things could be different?”

The lines around his eyes tighten as he straightens up. But he still holds your arm like it's the last life raft in a cold black ocean. He turns his head, an imperceptible tilt.

“I don’t know. I really don’t. Do you want it to be?”

“Dieter,” you cry out, out of breath before you open your mouth, air held captive in your chest. You’re crying and you don’t mean to be. You sway as you violently shake your head and he grabs your other elbow. You reach forward and steady yourself with both hands on his biceps. There’s no way you can say this with your eyes open. “Dieter . . . for months now, everyone’s been asking me if I need space from you, or if it’s alright with me to be alone with you. If everything is still too painful to be around you, like I need protecting from you or something. But I – I don’t know how to tell them . . . that’s all I want. I want you. Even after everything, after how fucked up it was, how fucked up we both were, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

It comes out in a rush, words and tears tumbling out of your mouth. You open your wet eyes to his lips parted in surprise, his face soft beneath the weight of your revelation. You inhale, more tears and more courage to say the things you’ve always wanted to say. No paper, no pen, no going back.

“Dieter, I think about that house in Albuquerque all the time. I wake up and I think I can smell you in the kitchen. Or you’ll be out on the patio, painting. I know you and I went our separate ways – and I think that’s what was best for us then – but God, you never went away. You never, ever left.”

You tighten your grip, nails digging into his lovely jacket. Staring at his throat, locked in by memories, you want to drag him to the floor and cry in his arms, the way you should have on that hospital bed.

In the silence, your gaze drifts, down his chest and over to his lapel.

That green leaf pendant. The color of your dress. You thumb it and it’s warm, like his heart sits just behind it.

Unexpectedly, his wide palm rests against your jaw, tilting your head up. Eyes warm and dark like the dying coal in a wood-stove, he brushes your cheek with his thumb. You don’t realize how cold you are until your face is held in his hand.

“I’m gonna fuck it up if I say anything,” he says quietly, to you and you alone, “so I’m just going to do this.”

In an instant, years and years and years of buried fear come screaming into your chest. That single most profound worry you carried with you since he first kissed you the night of the rainstorm – dug it deep, covered with ignorance and a blind eye – it emerges like a seed sprouting into the light when his lips touch yours.

You fold up into him, this fear, this concern pulling you up as he does.

You feared, in all this time and all these years, that the great love of your life, the end-all-be all to romance and adoration, had been nothing more than a misguided, lonely girl giving away parts of her to unworthy holders – drugs, alcohol, addiction, and Dieter fucking Bravo, the first man who taught her there was something special about sex and feelings and not being alone in the darkness.

You break apart from him, trembling in his arms. You’re crying again and you think he might be too, but it’s too blurry and it’s too much.

“Dieter, w-wait–,” you grip his lapels, unwilling to separate his chest from yours, the press of his hips against yours. “W-what if we are wrong? What if I was wrong – what I felt for you, what I feel for you, everything we had – it’s just – a-a mistake. What if what you feel for me, is just more psychosis, more pills we have to swallow to fix it, fix us? F-f-fix me? What if you never really loved me?”

With a groan, he presses an open-mouth kiss to your cheek, the ghost of teeth against the fine hairs on your skin.

“If what I feel for you isn’t love, then I don’t know what it is.” His arms sink across your low back, as if pulling you in as tight as he could make you understand with touch alone, send you his thoughts unfiltered and honest. He kisses the corner of your mouth, wet and frantic, and then your cheek and then again on your mouth. It’s wet and messy and he pulls away, just inches, to say: “I’ve loved you every day of the past ten years. I never stopped loving you. You were the only thing I ever got right.”

A soft cry escapes your mouth, hand on his cheek, as you tug him back into your mouth. Your lips barely part at the touch of his teeth, before he slips into your mouth, tongue massaging yours.Your nails scrape the back of his neck, the curve of his skull, fingers delightedly yanking on his longer, wilder hair. Everywhere he touches you, it’s insistent, determined to make you feel his love. He breathes harshly out of his nose when he palms your ass in his wide hands and you allow yourself to rub up against him, as if you didn’t own every inch of him already.

Even through your dress and his slacks, the heat of your cunt up against his half-hard length is enough to have you both gasping for air. Breathing doesn’t really work right, lungs stuttering, half-aborted gasps through hiccups.

His hand curls around your jaw and he kisses you again. You no longer need to breathe air that hasn’t been recycled by him first.

“I’m so fucking scared,” he murmurs against your lips, half-open eyes searching for hesitation, for rejection.

“Me too.”

You claw at him, and still sucking on your mouth, he rolls your dress up over your knees, up to your hips. His hands on your bare skin for the first time in a decade, he cups the back of your knees, tugging you up onto his chest.

“Where?” He mutters.

“Upstairs. Second door on your right.”

You spend the time it takes to get there familiarizing yourself with every curve of his mouth, the softness on the inside of his cheeks, where along his neck elicits the deepest groan when you use your teeth.

Memories whisper like ghosts – he likes it there, lick here and listen to him, bite, yes, bite – you slip his earlobe between your teeth, nipping just north of gently, and he falters.

“You got this?” You tease, nosing under his jaw, as he makes the landing.

“If this place was blown to bits,” he grumbles as he knees open your bedroom door, “I’d still find a way to fuck you on this mattress.”

Kneeling one leg at a time, he unfolds you on the covers, hands free to roam against your hips, your ass, the backs of your thighs. Your nails scratch through his hair one last time before he sits up.

Your bedroom is dark, blue in the winter, and the only light to see him by comes from down the hallway and over the banister. In the half-light, Dieter glows, a faint bright edge to his hair, his right arm as he slips it out of his jacket, tossing it to the floor. It lands somewhere and you don’t hear it, don’t look, instead watch his fingers unbutton his collar, tugging the starched shirt out of his pants.

Mesmerized, you want to tell him to stop, that you want to do it, but you can’t. You have and always be spell-bound by Dieter Bravo. He gets off his outer shirt and that’s when you realize how hard he’s breathing, the shadows blurring the pink tinge on his skin.

“Dieter, baby,” you worry, reaching for him and he comes, collapsing on his trembling elbows. He kisses you with a wet mouth.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me do this. You’re so fucking beautiful. You look like a fucking angel, on this bed, in this dress and I never thought I’d ever be here with you again.” His chest shakes and you pull him between your legs, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, hand cupping the back of his head. He buries his head in the curve of your neck, grasping at your back with his arms.

You together lie there for a minute, in the silence and comfort that is afforded those nestled in intimacy. He fits, so well, like no one else ever has. Bones touch bones, his space is filled by your joints, his blood warms where you are cold. Disjointed and broken, you slot together in holes made by the other. You stroke his hair and he pulls back. The grin that grows across his face causes tears to spill down the apples of his cheeks.

“You’re a fucking hurricane, baby, and I love you.” He holds your cheek in his palm, softly pressing a kiss to your lips. “Can I take off your tights?”

You nod, swallowing thickly, the anticipation of having his hands on your skin making you twitch.

He kneels away from you and one hand slides up the material of your dress while the other reverently plucks at the tight waistband of your nylons. He tugs gently, then using both hands, knuckles scraping your hips, your thighs. He touches the back of your knee and that fear resurfaces just for a moment.

“Be careful, Dieter,” you gasp. He slows, catching your eyes. “P-please be careful.”

The rest of your nylons come off easily while he nods, his thumbs briefly rubbing the material before they’re tossed to the ground. The night air is suddenly cold, colder than it had been seconds ago and you shiver, your dress around your hips and your cunt nearly exposed.

Dieter crawls forward, settling around between your knees. It’s like he can smell how wet you are. His big palm cups your inner thigh, thumb directing his attention.

“Do you still like to be licked here?”

You nod fervently, almost bashful.

“Has anyone eaten you out in a while?”

Again, your head jerks back and forth in the opposite direction, your hand clutching his knee and the other fisting the sheets.

“Can I?” His stare flickers from your barely visible pussy up to your eyes. He’s all but begging you.

His gaze reawakes your voice. “Yes, Dieter, please – p-please, I need it.”

His tongue wets his lips, eyes half-open, focused, as he pushes your dress up the rest of the way. You part your legs for him and he groans with appreciation.

“Jesus Christ, baby.” He shuffles back, easing onto his knees on the floor, big palms around the hinge of your legs. He tugs you as he goes, until your hips have settled on the edge of the mattress.

His mouth drops open at the shine on your inner thighs and as though too overwhelmed to go straight for the center, he licks as close to your cunt as he can, eager for your taste. His hands on your hips tighten as he groans, inhaling deeply.

“I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good.”

You have half a second to breathe yourself before he licks, flat-tongued, up your cunt and the edges of your vision grow dark.

He picks you apart, slowly, methodically, explorative. He licks like he’s trying to get an ice cream cone to come all over his face.

Dieter tongues one lip, then the other and he has your hips shaking. He digs in, suctioning his mouth to your cunt, and flicks his tongue as far as he can and you twitch. He slurps in spit and slick between his teeth before presenting it back to you on the head of his tongue.

“Oh, fucking god, Dieter –,” you press the heels of your palms into your eyes. “I can’t believe how good –,”

He licks as deep as he can, all the way up, air muffled by your folds, and flat-tongues your clit. Your vision whites out and you scream. But you didn’t come. That wasn’t you coming. Your legs are trembling and Dieter presses his forearm against your lower tummy, eyes scorching and scolding. Stop moving and let me work.

As you relearn him, he rediscovers you. He knows there’s a spot, just around your clit that when sucked, it makes you arch off the bed, but he searches in no hurry, divining every inch of you again. He gets close and you tremble, so he pushes your knee back, opening you up further to slide in two fingers. So much more than anything you could put inside yourself, you roll your hips as much as you can, chasing that touch as his tongue sweeps over you again and again. He taps up against your pelvic bone through your pussy and you moan, loudly, pleasure soaking his fingers, then his palm. His dark eyes watch you from where his mouth works to suck ten years of missed orgasms right out of you.

You want him to fuck you faster, to get you there in a way only he can, brushing places only he can find, only he dares reach. He licks you faster and faster, fingers plunging deeper and twisting, spreading you apart – he adds a third just before entering you again and again and again and then he finds it – that spot on your clit that breaks you apart, that warm gooey center exploding across his tongue.

You come in silence, sparks flickering at the edge of your vision, mouth open, pussy clenching down on him, and only when you feel the vibrations of his moan between your legs, do you remember to breathe, gasping sharply to the high-pitched edge of a whine.

“Dieter,” you pant, voice strained, knees weak as you push against his shoulders. Your clit stings a bit from overstimulation and he relents. He wipes his mouth on your inner thigh, inching up the bed, with your knee over his shoulder, still three fingers deep in you.

“C’mon, honey, you can give me one more like this. I know you can.”

You whimper, never having a single orgasm like that in the last ten years, let alone two. “I don’t – I don’t think I can –,”

“Of course you can.” The wet squelch of his fingers scissoring inside of you proves him right. “I’ve got you, darling, I’ve got you and I’m never letting you fucking go again.”

He licks under your knee, beard still damp with your release, and Dieter does what he does best: he talks.

He promises you filthy, beautiful things.

I wanna be soaked in you. I want you to come so hard, it drips down my arm, wets my chest.

I wanna put my tongue on every inch of your sweat-drenched skin. I wanna taste you. All of you. In you. I wanna make you so full, that when I fuck you, I taste myself.

I want . . . I want . . . I want . . .

“Oh, shit,” he murmurs, your cunt squeezing his fingers so hard they can’t move, and you gush, all the way to his elbow.

You can’t see for a second, the sound of your pounding heart in your ears the only proof you’re still alive. It’s like your body has been storing it all for him, never doing this for anyone else, so you keep coming and coming. Dieter groans, drops his head, and licks up as much as he can, but you feel your own slick slip down your ass and stain your dress. You whine as he slips his fingers out of you.

“Ohmy– oh – oh – oh fuck, Dieter,” you garble. Your entire lower half is numb. You don’t realize you’re shaking until he’s stretched out both of your legs, hand gently massaging your thighs. He licks his palm, his forearm, trying to clean himself up, but never once taking his eyes off you.

“Good, baby?”

You nod, blinking back the sparks of light whirling across your vision. “So good. So, so good.”

“I have a lot to make up for. Where’s the clasp to your dress?”

“In – In the back,” you swallow, hand flopping around to indicate some direction.

“I’m going to turn you around, okay, baby?”

He takes you by the hip, the shoulder, and curls you onto your side. His thumb pressed up against the cup of your skull, warm and grounding, he unzips your dress, the sound loud in the silence. Easing you as he goes, he rolls you until you’re face down on the mattress and he can peel the dress off your shoulders. Somewhere behind you, he makes a noise at the sight of your bare back.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” Heat drapes across your back as he leans down and kisses from the back of your neck, down your spine and lingers at the place just above the curve of your ass. He harshly palms your thighs, the meat of your butt, groaning, promising and marking places for his teeth. Your breathing hitches as you slide your dress off your arms. He meets your hands and helps you pull it down the rest of the way, over your knees and off the bed.

You should be cold, shivering, but you aren’t. Not when his hands start over your calves, gripping them soft enough that he can move unhindered, but tight enough it's almost a massage. He goes up the backs of your knees, curves around your thighs, fingers dip into the bones of your hip. The mattress dips as he lays out behind you, over you, fingers tugging you back until there’s enough space for him to slip his hand between you and the mattress, his knee prying your legs apart. He cups you, biting the curve of your ear, and you gasp for him. He plugs you up with two fingers, still so wet he meets no resistance and he growls in your neck.

“There’s this image of you that I swear to god is painted on the backs of my eyelids,” he murmurs, fucking you lazily with his fingers. You fist the sheets, arm shaking to keep yourself tilted enough to give him room. You can feel his hot, thick, solid cock against the back of your thigh, his own body heat enough to make you sweat. He touches a place that makes you gasp and his hips twitch forward. You want more, more heat, more of him, his white undershirt sticking to your back. You want to feel him. You push your hips back and he groans, dropping his head onto your shoulder. “I see it when I wake up and when I go to sleep at night and it used to fucking kill me because that was all I had left of you.” He speeds up, his wrist snapping against your pelvis. “But then – then, it – it gave me comfort, because I got to see you all the time. It wasn’t real and it wasn’t enough but god, it got me through the worst of it.”

You can feel your core tighten, pleasure spiral down and in on itself, a single spark away from exploding, as he goes faster and faster.

“I fucking need you–,” he whines in your ear, chest smothering your back, knuckle rubbing up against your clit.

“Dieter, take off your fucking shirt –,”

You lunge forward, out of his grasp, his fingers dragging wet slick over your hip as you roll away from him. His hands frantically yank his shirt up and over his head as you work the button on his pants, unzipping him in a rush. You’ve barely gotten his pants down over his knees when he grabs you by the elbow, yanking you into his mouth, his lap. Your shared moans coat the inside of your mouths, lips pressed swollen and hot, teeth nipping and pulling. Separating only to breathe, he hauls your knee over his hip, pulling you as close as he can, his cock red and leaking into your stomach.

You roll your hips forward, your soaked cunt clutching around his cock and he sways, breaking apart, to open mouth-groan.

“C-condom?”

“Don’t want one. There hasn’t been anyone but you.”

“Me neither.”

You snake a hand between your heated bodies and pump him once. Again and he whines. A third time and you push him back, flat against the mattress, his body thumping into the pillows. His thumbs press into the curve of your hips, up your waist, fingers slotting between your ribs.

But his eyes are latched onto your nipples.

“And these tits, baby,” he cups the weight of one while thumbing across the raised nipple of the other. You arch your spine, letting him do whatever he wants, while you pump him slowly, and swirl your clit with your other fingers. “Been obsessed with them. Fucking dream about them. Wanna spend a whole day with my mouth on them.”

“Well, I wanna spend a whole day on this cock. Dieter, fuck, your cock is fantastic.” It’s thick and long and you lick a mix of precum and spit into your hand to coat all of him.

“Yeah, you missed my big cock?” Hips bucking inches off the mattress, his eyes fall half-shut, almost black with hunger. “Show me, baby, show me how much you missed me. Fuck yourself on my cock.”

Despite his filthy mouth, his breathing hitches when you go onto your knees, hand holding him beneath you as you adjust to find your entrance. He breaths so sharply, you glance at him, the head of his cock just inches from your cunt. His chest is flushed and sweaty. The roundness of his stomach trembles, the hair there pressed flat and wet. The hair at his temples and across his hairline is damp, beautiful curls tossed back from his face. Eyes warm, his lips are wet with anticipation.

“I missed you, Nat,” he says quietly, suddenly. His fingers squeeze your thighs and his words catch as you notch just the head inside you, the fat head splitting you apart. “I m-m-missed you so-oh much.”

Wanting nothing but to feel every inch, you take your hand away and find his forearm to steady yourself. The deeper you take him, the higher your whine goes.

“Fuck, Natalie, fuck –,” his eyes are squeezed shut, jaw tight, as you gasp towards the ceiling, eyes rolling back in your head. “Fuck, you feel – you are –,”

“Dieter –,”

Your hips drop, his twitching below you, and you take in every ridge, every throbbing vein. You don’t mean to tease, but he’s so big and it’s been so long since you’d taken him, you have to sink as slow as possible. His grip almost bruising, he wants nothing more than to yank you down on his cock, but he holds, waits, lets you adjust, even though his chest is red and he hasn’t taken a full breath in a minute.

You inhale as you finally take all of him inside you, flush to his hips, his lap already wet, that low simmering heat swirling out from every place his cock rubs up inside of you.

“Natalie–,” he chokes.

It’s been too long.

You thrust forward, riding him hard and setting a pace that startles even you. A loud groan roars through him and his hands around your hips yank you back and forth with just as much force, as much want. Arousal climbs higher and higher, your shared pants and moans a catalyst for fire.

“Natalie,” he tries and you open your eyes. His face is flushed now too, eyes wet. “Natalie, I can’t stop thinking – the last time we were like this – I did – I said –,”

He whimpers as you slow and lean over him. You cup his cheeks with both hands, thumb tugging down his bottom lip. You kiss him, mouth slotting over his. “Don’t think about that, baby. Stay here with me. Be with me.”

He nods frantically, gasping as you jerk your hips just right, and you nuzzle his nose before building back your speed, that heart-stopping pace. He intertwines his fingers with yours, offering himself to hold onto as you both race towards release, his hips rhythmically bouncing against yours.

But you can’t help it either. Flashing across your memory like fireworks, you’re overwhelmed with images of you and him either in this exact position or a dozen others. On top of a desk, in a car, against a wall, behind, under, in front – every way he would make you take him again and again. You dip forward, just a bit, remembering that angle that made his knees quake – and apparently still does.

“Oh, fuck, baby –,”

Bits and pieces of old fantasies slide in between the gaps in your memory – the time you tried to picture his face when you sat on your new vibrator you gifted yourself on your twenty-sixth birthday – the time you finger-fucked yourself in the bathtub, hopelessly trying to find that spongy spot he used to stroke – it was not agonizingly enough.

It was nothing like him begging you to never, ever leave. You ride him hard and fast because tomorrow isn’t promised and it might never come.

His thumb on your bottom lip and his voice pry your eyes open. Your thighs quake from the strain, ratcheting that thunderous pleasure up every knot of your spine. You’re sweating so much you think you might melt off his cock.

The bed squeaks, as you grind yourself against him, his hand still on your face.

“I fucking love you.” He breathes through, open-mouthed, a spike of pleasure, his hair plastered against his forehead. You think you might come from the look of pure adoration in his eyes alone, but you white-knuckle your approaching orgasm, just as you know he is. “You’re made for me. This cunt is made for me.”

Every inch of you is fire hot. You gaze down at him and take your thumb between your teeth, nipping gently, your hands balanced against his stomach.

“I am yours, Dieter. I’ve never wanted anything else. Never.”

He swallows, eyes impossibly dark and deep, staring up at you like you hang the moon and stars, like you are solely responsible for the air in his lungs and the blood in his veins.

Dieter jerks up to kiss you, his hand cupping the back of your head, nails lightly scratching into your hair. The force of him stills your hips and you kiss him back, arms around his neck, but does nothing to quench that roaring blaze in your cunt.

His arm drops from your head, goes around your back, the other catching your hips against his and he flips you both, nestling you against the covers. He pins your arms above your head and thrusts into you, setting a pace that has your eyes rolling back your head. You whimper.

“You are the only thing I’ve ever loved,” he grunts into your neck, his voice low as it kisses your skin. His pace is punishing, chasing whatever haunted him at night those years he was apart from you. You pin your knees to his ribs, welcoming him deeper and deeper. “I want to be yours. I want to be yours until the day I fucking die.”

“You are, Dieter, you are.”

The sound that comes from his chest, echoing in your ear, and seeps into your bones finally pushes you over the edge. White-hot lightning strikes you between your legs, a warm, milky wave rocking you flat on your back as your cunt clenches down on him. He shouts, loudly, his back tense as he spills inside of you a second later. You can feel him soak the inside of you, his cock twitching under the pressure of your still-tight cunt.

His hips pump once, twice more, his body eager to empty him out entirely, and then he stills.

The sound of your shared heavy breathing, between the sweaty, throbbing mass of your bodies, is the only sound in the bedroom, stretching on for minutes at a time.

You have never felt so close to a person as you do right now. You can feel his heart pounding against his chest as it sits above yours. Your skin, damp with sweat, clings to his. This is where you want to be, for the rest of your life.

Slowly, as fast as his shaking arms will allow, Dieter lifts up to look you in the eyes, breath still heavy in his lungs. He’s red, pushed to the limit of exertion and then beyond that. His hair is a damp mess and his skin is so warm it almost burns.

But he’s smiling.

As your breathing returns to normal, even if it might take hours to wash yourselves clean, he smiles at you and you smile back because all it took was time.

Time, some therapy, and some space apart to find out what truly matters. What only matters. If nothing we do matters, this is the only thing that does.

You don’t have to speak because he knows what you’re thinking. Grinning through a half-chuckle, he kisses your forehead, your nose, and your lips. With a sigh, you wrap your arms around him as he gingerly tucks his head under your chin, and rests his cheek against your chest. You play with his hair.

The night stretches on, the snow falls harder outside. Eventually, you end up under the covers, Dieter Bravo is in love with you and you love him back.

He taps his fingers against your hip, absent-mindedly, to a beat you don’t recognize. And then his chest vibrates over yours, the sound sinking into yours, as he hums the chorus to Here You Come Again.

When you wake up, hours later, sleep overtaking you at some point during the night, you open your eyes to gold sunlight streaming in through the curtains and his back to you. His arm tucked under his head, curls askew on the pillow, and you feel him breath against the mattress.

Hesitantly, slowly, you reach forward, hand trembling, across the small space between your bodies –

And you touch his shoulder. He’s solid. He’s real. He’s here.

He shudders awake, groaning sleepily, as he turns over, his brown eyes greeting yours with all the joy of the sun.

He touches your cheek and you smile.

Epilogue

The wooden tracks of the rollercoaster vibrate violently as the cars lurch over the railings and down the slope. Screams of delight are lost beneath the gentle melody of the merry-go-round, its lights bright against the late evening sky. People wander between the tents and the booths, stopping to play a round of hunt-the-duck or to throw a ball at empty milk bottles. The smell of popcorn and candy hangs thick in the warm summer air.

Dieter adjusts the giant stuffed bear on his back, eyes surveying their next target on the Coney Island pier.

“Ice cream me, babe.”

Your arm juts out and smears vanilla-chocolate swirl across his mouth and he sputters.

Your eyes jump up from your phone, embarrassed to have been so distracted, and you immediately go to wipe his lips, his own hands busy keeping the bear up right.

“Sorry, sorry!”

He grins as you blot his mouth and chin. His tongue swipes out and licks your palm.

“It’s okay, only if you use your mouth next time.”

You roll your eyes as you toss away the used napkins. This time you hold the cone properly so he can lick his fill.

“What’s so important on your phone that you nearly drown me in ice cream?”

A summer breeze, hot off the waves of the ocean, strokes your hair, tugging it over your eyes. You push it back, frowning.

“Netflix emailed us, wanting to know if we wanted to be a part of the documentary about the making of Recovery Road.”

“And you think that’s a bad idea?” He asks, catching an errant dribble before it smears across your fingers.

“I don’t know. It just feels like dredging up things that are better left in the past.”

“Netflix’s specialty.”

You frown at him and he grins. “No one’s ever officially gone on record about what happened and now maybe we should. Set the record straight.”

“I don’t think we’ll come out of it looking very good,” you worry your lip. “Besides, if we’re being interviewed, shouldn’t Chloe get a chance to tell her side too?”

Dieter shrugs. “She can if she wants. But the story is ultimately about you and me. Besides, they just want the juicy gossip about all of our wild and crazy infidelity sex.”

“Dieter!”

With a chuckle, he drops the bear between the two of you, so he can look you properly in the eyes without a paw over his face.

“Baby, I’ll do whatever you want to do. If you want to do it, great. If not, fuck ‘em. I don’t care how it makes us seem, because no matter what, they’ll never know the true story.” He takes your hand that is not holding an ice cream cone, sticky fingers and all, and kisses your knuckles. “You and I are so beyond Netflix documentaries, or tell-all exposés – or whatever constitutes a love story in Hollywood. What I feel for you, no one could ever do it justice.”

He sees your chest stutter for breath, your eyes soft as he kisses your palm.

“They’d never understand the man you’ve become,” you say quietly. “What it took to get here.”

He nods, hand sliding to your cheek, your neck, and pulls you in. “This is it for me.”

“Me too.”

The jingle of the carnival around you, the roar of the rollercoaster in the distance, fills the silence as your lips move against his, hand curled up against his collar.

“Okay, new question,” he breaks apart before he loses all of his senses and pulls you into a bathroom stall.

You chuckle against his lips. “Yeah?”

“What would you think about getting a dog?”

“A dog?” You blink up at him.

“Yeah. Doesn’t have to be very big – there’s no room in our brownstone for the three of us anyway.”

You frown playfully, contemplative, as you loop your arm through his, the bear stretched across both your backs, as you instinctively wander towards the water.

“I’ve always liked pitbulls. Found them to be really misunderstood.”

He nods. “I like that. Kind of flies in the face of the ‘small dog’ idea but I like it.”

“When have we ever not bucked tradition?”

“You’re exactly right, my beautiful girl.” He kisses your cheek as you list off other potential breeds.

Honestly, he doesn’t care. Whatever dog breed you want is fine with him.

As long as it has a collar and a name tag, somewhere he can hang a ring.

T H E E N D