#that woman pick up a pen and makes magic

[gay-meowmeow]

Lin Pei Yu whenever she picks up a pen

[haikyu-mp4]

October

word count; 726 – f!reader

While it was hard to adjust after summer vacation, Tendo Satori finally found his way to the library after a month or two in school. As usual, he had a coffee in hand and sat at the first free table. Surprisingly, it was unoccupied except for a woman Tendo could not remember seeing before. You looked up when he pulled the chair out, and the two of you smiled at each other before getting to work on different subjects. He would have remembered seeing you before.

This process repeated itself twice a week. Either you or Tendo would get there first, and then the other one would magically follow. You would smile at each other, perhaps a little warmer each time, and sit down to work in silence. Two or three weeks later, Tendo was standing in line at the coffee shop, and his mind went to you with your sweet smile. He wondered what your name was. Without overthinking it, he ordered two coffees instead of his usual and walked to the library.

There you were, beautiful as always with the tall window behind you making for a gorgeous backdrop. When he placed the other coffee before you, curious eyes shone back at him. "That's for me? How much do I owe you?" He held his hand up.

"It's on me. I'm Tendo, by the way." His voice and words sent butterflies flying in your tummy, and you felt like you already knew his name in your heart. "Call me Satori."

"Oh, thank you! I'm y/n." Instead of arguing about the money, you grinned at Tendo and planned how to pay him back the next time you were there. That day the air between you two was just a little sweeter. Now you know each other's names. Occasionally, your feet bumped under the table, and you would chuckle with rosy cheeks.

Two days later, Tendo was disappointed that his favourite table was empty when he arrived with the two coffees. The smile on his face fell, and he pondered where you could be. Oh, well. Maybe I just came first again. It was usually the other way around and he didn't want the coffee to get cold.

The world answered his silent prayers, and you sat down across from him only a minute later. A smile crept back onto Tendo’s face as you tried to catch your breath. What caught his attention was the paper bag in your hand, containing what looked like two chocolate croissants. You traded the snack and coffee with broad smiles before getting to work on your separate subjects.

A note slid across the table when you got to the last page of the chapter you were on. Ignoring the temptation to glance up at the delivery guy, you picked it up and bit your lip lightly in anticipation.

I'm reading a book about anti-gravity. It's impossible to put down! A chuckle built up in your chest, begging to be let out, and you finally looked up to see the comedian laughing silently at his joke. He was also holding his book up in his arms for effect. You squeezed your eyes shut and acted like his joke was so horrible you had to laugh. Tendo’s face was scrunched up in laughter, trying to avoid making too much sound.

You picked up your pen and wrote underneath Tendo’s messy handwriting before returning it to him. What do you call an elephant that doesn't matter? An irrelephant.

Tendo snorted before collecting himself. He was laughing with an open mouth, but no sound came out and watching it made you laugh too. The joke was so funny to him; somehow it just made you even more attractive. What a duo you were about to become.

"Y/n." You jumped at the sudden call of your name and looked up at Tendo with questioning eyes. "Will you go to the stage cafe with me tomorrow?" he proposed confidently, trying his best to hide how nervous he was about your possible rejection. You had exchanged bad jokes for hours, and he desperately wanted to talk to you without whispering.

"Tempting." You squinted at him playfully after collecting yourself from the scare. "What's in it for me?"

"More time with me, of course," he answered, keeping up the confident act.

"Sounds like my lucky day."

The Schoolyear Series ║ masterlist

[mistressofstars]

A Lecture on Desire - Part IV

Pairing: Kathryn Hahn x Reader

Summary: Part 4. A lecture on The Price of Salt is supposed to be all about Therese and Carol, but when Professor Hahn locks eyes with you, lines blur. Slow-Burn. Non-magical AU

Word count: 1.5k

Part IV

Kathryn unlocks the office door with a smooth twist of her wrist and pushes it open. You follow, heart pounding. “So,” Kathryn starts, her voice light, almost disarmingly casual “What’s your curriculum like this semester? Packed, I imagine?” She tilts her head, the innocent tone in her voice a stark contrast to the intensity of her presence.

You nod, trying to match her casual tone. “Yeah, it’s… pretty full. A lot of reading.”

She hums thoughtfully, tilting her head as if the conversation were completely ordinary. “And you’re keeping up just fine, I hope?“, her voice almost sing-song.

“Yes,” you reply, though your voice is tighter than before, the tension beneath her surface calm coiling tighter around you.

Kathryn glances toward the door. “Good. I wouldn’t want you overwhelmed.” She smiles but when she moves to the door and shuts it with a soft click, the shift is instant.

The air feels heavier, thicker, and the room seems smaller somehow. When she turns back around her smile is replaced with that smirk, eyes dark.

Her smooth steps close the space between you, deliberate and steady, until she’s behind you.

Her breath skims the back of your neck, making your skin prickle. The silence stretches, heavy, until she places her hands at your shoulders. The lightest pressure, barely there, as if testing the effect. Her fingertips trail down your arms, her touch barely grazing you. She slides the coat off your shoulders, the fabric dragging against your skin but she doesn’t lay a finger on you.

Kathryn gestures to the chair opposite her desk, the simple command hanging in the air. “Take a seat.”

Her office is meticulously arranged, the walls are lined with dark wood bookshelves, heavy with textbooks, old classics, and some contemporary titles—everything in its place. A massive oak desk sits in front of you with papers neatly stacked to one side, and a sleek black pen rests beside an open notebook.

You glance at a framed photo on the wall, catching sight of Kathryn beside a woman with dark hair, heart shaped face and big brown eyes. There’s something familiar about her. The image feels professional, a posed moment, but there’s an undeniable closeness between them. Kathryn stands a little too close, her posture casual but confident, while the other woman’s body language matches hers, a subtle intimacy in the way they share the frame.

Kathryn notices and clears her throat, your attention immediately snaps back to her. She sat down in the chair opposite from you, the massive oak desk separating you.

Kathryn picks up a fountain pen and taps it against the edge of her desk, her eyes steady on you. “I’ve been thinking about this,” she says, her voice low, like she’s carefully choosing each word. “You’ve impressed me with your contributions in class. So, I’d like to make an offer.”

You blink, trying to make sense of what she’s implying. “An offer?”

She sits back slightly in her chair, eyes glinting with a subtle, knowing look. “How would you feel about becoming my personal assistant? You’d be managing the usual, the appointments, the messages—but there are certain… tasks, more personal in nature“

You blink, caught off guard by her words. The offer hangs in the air, the weight of it pressing down on you. Her eyes never leave yours, her expression calm but expectant. The question is simple, but the implication is anything but.

You hesitate for a moment, trying to process what she’s said. “Your assistant?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Kathryn’s lips curl into a slight smile, her fingers still tracing the pen with a casual, almost hypnotic rhythm. “Yes. My personal assistant,” she confirms. „I mean if you‘re not interested I‘d understand“, Professor Hahn says innocently.

“Think of it as an opportunity to work more closely with me, outside the classroom.“ She gets up from her chair and walks around her desk and leans against it right in fron’t of you. She continues, her tone almost conversational. “And trust me, this position will be far more rewarding than your little barista job—financially and otherwise.” After a short pause she adds, “I’ve always believed in rewarding those who excel.”

You swallow hard.

Kathryn’s eyes are fixed on you, waiting, her lips pouting, as if she already knows your answer.

“Alright,” you finally say, your voice steady. “I’ll do it. I’ll be your assistant.”

Kathryn leans back in her chair, her expression unreadable, though something flashes behind her eyes—satisfaction, maybe?

”How… would this work, exactly?“ you ask, your hands gripping the edge of your chair.

Kathryn wipes her hair out of her face in a fluid motion, “I thought you might ask that.” She leans back, her gaze still locked on you, before reaching for the drawer of her desk. The smooth glide of the drawer’s opening feels almost theatrical.

From inside, she produces an envelope. She taps it lightly against her palm as she stands, rounding the desk with languid ease. When she reaches your side, she doesn’t hand it to you. Instead, she lays it on the desk in front of you.

“This,” she says, her voice low, “is the formal arrangement…a contract if you will.“

You stare at the envelope. “Open it,” Kathryn says, her voice a velvet command.

She reaches for something on her desk,

a letter opener, sleek and silver, she offers it to you. Glancing up at her, the older woman’s expression gives nothing away.

You hesitate, the envelope trembling slightly under your grip. “Need help?” she asks, her tone teasing, almost condescending. Before you can answer, she moves closer, leaning down.

Her hand, feather-light but commanding, brushes over yours, guiding the letter opener to the top of the envelope. She doesn’t press, she lets you do the work, but her touch lingers, her fingers grazing yours with maddening precision.

The blade glides through the paper. The faint scent of her perfume, spicy, woody, dangerously alluring, wraps around you, making it hard to think clearly.

“There we go,” Kathryn murmurs, her voice so close it sends a shiver down your spine. “You seem capable of handling instructions. That’s a start.” She steps back just enough, letting you open the envelope fully on your own.

As you scan the first few lines, Kathryn circles you. Your eyes catch on a section titled “Confidentiality Agreement”: “The assistant agrees to maintain absolute discretion about the details of this arrangement, particularly regarding any tasks or interactions deemed ‘non-standard.’

Your throat tightens, but you move to the next section. “Exclusivity Clause”: “The assistant shall not perform similar duties for any other faculty member or individual without prior written consent from Prof. Dr. Hahn.

Her hand comes to rest lightly on the back of your chair. The soft scrape of her nail against the wood sends another shiver through you.

You glance back down. “Termination Clause”: “Any breach of the agreement will result in the immediate termination of the assistant’s position, with additional consequences at the discretion of Prof. Dr. Hahn.”

Her hand slides onto your shoulder, much like before, but this time with an assertive pressure.

Your pulse quickens as your gaze shifts to the next clause. “Written Consent Clause”: “Tasks beyond the standard assistant duties will require the assistant’s explicit, written consent. By signing, the assistant agrees to undertake such tasks.“

She lingers there, not moving, the quiet pressure enough to send a pulse of heat racing through your body.

Her thumb brushes against the slope of your shoulder before her fingers trail downward in a slow, precise motion, just barely grazing your arm. It’s not enough to fully disarm you—only enough to set every nerve in your body alight. “Take your time,” she murmurs, her voice low, intimate, close to your ear.

You breathe, nodding, your eyes drift back to a final section, “Special Considerations”.“Certain tasks may require a degree of proximity, whether physical or emotional. The assistant agrees to approach these with an understanding that some situations may necessitate a adaptable response.”

The warmth of her breath hits the side of your neck, and you realize—this touch, this moment, is no accident. And that’s when her hand pulls away, the absence almost more shocking than the touch itself.

“Well?” she asks, her tone now light, conversational, as if the moment hadn’t just happened. “Any questions about the terms?”

…

The next morning, you quit your newly found barista job. You signed the contract that night, your hand trembling slightly as you did. She had watched with those cool, impassive grey eyes, giving nothing away.

She didn’t give you a copy, only slipped it back into its envelope. A few days later, after her lecture, you were set to meet again. She’d mentioned an out-of-town buisness trip that would occupy her until then.

Authors note: Did I say spicy, hmm? Seems someone’s feeling a little impatient… and oh, so easy to lead on. Keep that eagerness up and I won‘t disappoint.

Happy New Year x

[a-simple-gaywitch]

Heart Full of You

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: When Spencer goes to pick Henry up from school for JJ, he doesn't expect to fall head-over-heels for his teacher

Warnings: Mentions of guns, I think that's it?

Word Count: 4541

Author's Note: I don't really like the ending I have here, but I'd LOVE to continue writing this universe, I have so many ideas!

“Fate shuffles the cards and we play.” ~Arthur Schopenhauer

~

Spencer walked through the doors of Henry and Jack’s school and headed toward the theater. JJ and Hotch had signed the boys up for the school district’s musical and had asked Spencer to pick them up. JJ and Will had their Thursday date night, and Hotch was stuck in the office. Spencer was more than happy to agree. He slipped into the auditorium and took a seat at the back, since he was still pretty early. 

He saw a younger woman, probably in her early 20s, at the front of the auditorium with a clipboard and tape measure. She was presumably taking the students’ measurements for costumes while the instructor up on the stage led the children through the dance steps. The man he knew to be one of the high school teachers sat in the middle of the front row, making notes in a book. 

The dance instructor clapped as the song ended. “Okay, everyone, that’s the choreo for the day. I’ll turn you over to Mr. Meadows.” She nodded to the teacher in the front row. 

“Thank you Miss (Y/N). Take a water break, everyone, we’re back in five.”

A small chorus of “thank you five” was heard from the older students as the kids dispersed off the stage. The woman, Miss (Y/N) as Mr. Meadows had called her, hopped off the stage with ease and joined the younger woman who was taking a high schooler’s measurements. 

“Okay, folks, let’s bring it back!” Mr. Meadows called. “Take your seats, please. I won’t keep you too much longer, I just want to go over today’s notes.” Spencer noticed the monotonous tone of his voice and the elementary schoolers’ attentions already fading. “First, I need my principles, minus Jack and Red, right at 3 tomorrow. Do not be late. Evan, that means you. We have vocal work to do with Ms. (Y/N) and I do not want to waste her time. The rest of my high school cast, 3:30. Next, principles, do your linework. The sooner you start, the easier things will be later. Finally, my junior cast, don’t forget to see Ms. (Y/N) and Ms. Addi with your grown-up before you leave. And with that, I’ll see y’all tomorrow.”

Henry ran over to Spencer, his overly large backpack thumping against his back. Jack walked behind him, dragging his bag behind him. 

“Uncle Spencer!”

“Hey, kiddos!” Spencer said, kneeling down to catch the incoming Henry in a hug. Before he knew what was happening, Henry was dragging him towards the two women at the front of the auditorium. 

“Miss (Y/N)!”

“Hey, Henry! Hi, Jack! You boys find your grownups?” the dance instructor asked him. Her clothes reminded Spencer of the teacher on that Magic School Bus show Henry liked. Her pants were covered in music notes and she wore large, dangle feather earrings.

Henry nodded. “Uh-huh! This is my Uncle Spencer!”

You looked at Spencer and smiled. “Well, while I talk to your uncle, why don’t you go let Miss Addi take your measurements for your costume?”

Once Henry bounded over to the young woman with a clipboard, Jack following close behind, Spencer said, “Uh, my name’s Spencer Reid. I’m an authorized pick-up for both Henry Lamontagne and Jack Hotchner. I’ll be bringing him home today, too.”

“Uh, Hotchner, Hotchner,” you muttered under your breath, flipping through the clipboard in your hands. “Ah, here he is. I just need your signature next to both children’s names, Mr. Reid.”

“Oh, uh, of course.” He took the clipboard and pen from you. “So, are you new to the district? I don’t remember seeing you around before.”

“Oh, no,” you said with a laugh. “No, I’m here on a volunteer basis, technically. Been working with the theater department for six years, but I’m not on their payroll. I actually work-”

“Can we go get pizza now?” Henry asked Spencer, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket. 

“Ooh, a pizza party? You must be the fun uncle,” you said. 

Spencer’s face flushed and cleared his throat. “Uh, s-sure, Henry. We’ll get it on the way home.”

“Bye, Miss (Y/N)!” Henry said, wildly waving his arm. 

“Bye, Henry, bye Jack. I’ll see you boys on Monday.”

Spencer watched you for just a moment longer as another child and her guardian approached you. 

~

The team was reviewing a local case. 3 women were killed, all dressed in period clothing. 

“You think he’s making them look like Jack the Ripper’s victims? I mean, their throats are slashed and they’re dressed in Victorian clothing.” Morgan suggested. “And we know the victims are low-risk, victims of opportunity.”

“I don’t know,” Reid muttered, scrutinizing the crime scene photos. “Something about the clothes feels off.”

“The clothes are the key. Something about them will lead us to him,” Rossi said.

“Reid, you and Callahan look into the clothing more. Dave, you and Morgan go to the latest crime scene. JJ, you’re with me. We need to build a geological profile.��� After Hotch gave the assignments, the team dispersed. Spencer and Kate Callahan stayed in the briefing room, looking over the photos. 

“What if we have an expert look at the clothes?” Kate suggested. “See if anything sticks out to them? There’s a professor at the university that’s known for her dissertation on historical clothing.”

~

“Now, if you look at contemporary theater, you’ll notice huge differences in how typical gender roles are portrayed. Unlike the standard Golden Age piece, women are given more agency and more purpose in the story besides furthering the objective of the man. For example, West Side Story versus Hairspray. Even though both shows center on a woman, it’s Tracy’s will that drives the plot of Hairspray whereas Maria’s will does not drive West Side Story. This goes back to our discussion earlier in the semester regarding protagonists. However, we do see a shift during the Golden Age, in that women are beginning to be fleshed out as characters. Compare the women in Allegro to the women in Gypsy. As we progress through to the contemporary age, we begin to see more female-led shows take stage.” You glanced at your watch and sighed. “And that is where we will pick up next class. Please remember to read chapters 13 and 14 in your text. If you have any questions, you know where to find me.”

Your class gathered their belongings and slowly made their way out of the room. You were tucking your own belongings into your bag when you felt someone approach the desk. 

“Office hours are at- Oh, hello.” When you looked up, a woman was standing in front of you, presenting an FBI badge. 

“Dr. (L/N), my name is SSA Kate Callahan, and this is my partner Dr. Spencer Reid.” Standing behind her was a man you recognized from the school. He was the uncle Henry Lamontagne talked about all the time. “We were hoping you’d be willing to give us your professional opinion on some clothing pieces.”

“Oh, well, uh, sure. Let me just email my next class and let them know it’s canceled.” 

As you pulled your laptop out from your bag, Agent Callahan asked, “Don’t you have a TA that could take over?”

You huffed a laugh. “I’m a professor in the theatre department. I’m lucky I have my own workshop and somewhat of a budget during show season.” You typed up a quick email to your next class and sent it. “I usually work in my shop instead of my office, but-”

“Wherever is most comfortable for you,” Agent Callahan said. “We have some pictures that are… well, gruesome.”

You nodded. “Well, then, to the dungeons it is.” At the concerned look the agents gave each other, you said, “My workshop is in the basement. My students affectionately christened it the dungeons a few years ago. I hope you don’t mind a few sets of stairs.”

“Lead the way,” Dr. Reid said. 

Getting down to the costume shop was like a quest on its own. Not only did you have to trudge down several staircases from the classroom floors, but then you had to use your ID to take the elevator the rest of the way down. When you finally reached the basement, you dug your key hoop out of your bag and flicked through it. The key to the main portion of your shop was attached to a Phantom of the Opera keychain. 

You unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Welcome to my shop. Feel free to sit wherever you can. If there’s stuff on a chair, just set it on a workbench.” As you set your bag down at the desk in the corner, Spencer looked around the room. It could be accurately described as organized chaos. While the work benches were covered in fabrics, thread, and many other things Spencer didn’t know the names of, everywhere else was meticulously organized. Bins and drawers were labeled, and not a thing seemed out of place. Spencer looked at the dress hanging on a mannequin and couldn't think of it as anything other than a work of art. There was elaborate beading on the bodice and embroidery on the skirt.

“So, what can I help you with?” you asked as Kate and Spencer got settled. 

“We were hoping you could tell us about the outfits in these pictures,” Spencer said, pulling a file out from his satchel. “Fair warning, it’s not pleasant.”

You shrugged. “I grew up with a mom obsessed with crime shows and police procedurals. Pictures won’t bother me.” 

Spencer handed you the file folder. “We think he’s dressing them up like Jack the Ripper’s victims.”

You hummed as you looked through the pictures. “Any idea what kind of fabric was used?”

“Why does that matter?” Kate asked.

“Well, cotton was a luxury in Victorian London,” you explained. “Most common folk wore linen or wool, because it was what they could afford. It was also common to patch up clothing with fabric found around the house rather than replace a shirt or a pair of trousers.” You grabbed a magnifier from your desk and looked closer at one of the photos. 

“Do you see something?” Spencer asked as you moved to another picture. 

“I’m not sure,” you said. 

“Well, what is your gut telling you?” Callahan asked. 

You pointed toward a small section of embroidery through the magnifier. “This stitching along the underside of the skirt. It’s on all of them.”

Kate’s eyebrows scrunched up. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s a signature. Us designers like to add some sort of signature or tell into all our pieces. A secret way of letting the world know the piece is ours.” You reached across the desk and grabbed a piece of fabric. When you unfolded it, they saw it was a shirt. You held the edge of the sleeve out for the agents to see. “For example, I use a treble clef as mine. My mentor would include Mickey Mouse heads because she was a huge Disney fan. Other people just find creative ways to embroider their initials onto it in a way that just looks like an artistic choice.” 

“So, if we can find out whose signature it is, it can lead us to the origin of the outfits,” Spencer said. 

“I’ll call Garcia, see what she can find.” Callahan said.

“Oh, we don’t get cell service down here, you might need to go back upstairs,” you told her. She nodded and stepped out of the workshop. You cleared your throat. “It’s, uh, it’s nice to see you again, Dr. Reid.”

“You, too,” Spencer said with a small smile. “So, this is where you actually work, huh?”

You gave a small laugh. “Yep. Start of this semester was 7 years.”

“Congrats.”

“Thanks. So-”

“Reid. Hotch wants us back. Rossi and Morgan might have something. Thank you for your help, Dr. (L/N).”

“Of course. Happy to help.”

After Callahan and Reid left the costume shop, Kate said, “Okay, spill. The energy in there was really weird. Why didn’t you tell me you knew her?”

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh, I didn’t know I knew her.” At Kate's questioning look, he explained, “I met her through my godson. She volunteers at his school and goes by her first name there.”

“Uh-huh. And the awkwardness?”

“When have you known me to not be awkward, Callahan?”

Kate hummed, but dropped it.

~

You were humming along to the soundtrack you had playing, measuring a drape of fabric on your dress form, pins sticking out from your mouth. You glanced from your notebook with your measurements and pattern sketch to the fabric. You pinned a piece of the cloth up when you heard a knock at the door to your shop. 

“Come in,” you said, your voice muffled from the pins. You stuck them back in the pin cushion on your wrist before standing up and dusting off your pants. “Oh, Dr. Reid! How can I help you?”

“You, um, you can call me Spencer,” he said. “I uh, I wanted to stop by and tell you we caught the guy,” Spencer said, standing awkwardly in the doorway. “We-we couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“Oh! Well, I’m sure you would have figured it out anyway. The BAU seems to be good at that kind of thing.”

Spencer gave a small laugh. “Yes, but your help enabled us to track him down without any more lives lost.” So, what are you working on?”

“Oh, I’m making one of Eponine’s dresses. We’re doing Les Mis this semester. I have Cosette’s dress on Cordelia over there.”

“Who?”

“Oh, sorry. The dress form. We named them after Shakespearian women. It’s just a fun little thing we do here. That’s Cordelia, this one by me is Rosalind.”

Spencer smiled. You know, maybe you could tell me more about what exactly your job is at dinner?” Before you could answer, Spencer said, “Obviously, you don’t have to, I’m not trying to force you into anything, I-”

“Spencer,” you said, holding your hand up to calm him. “I’d love to go out with you. Here-” You walked over to your desk and shuffled papers around. “Aha!” You grabbed a pen and scribbled something down. “My personal number. That way we can, you know, figure out something that works with both our schedules. I’m sure yours is even crazier and more unpredictable than mine.”

The smile you gave Spencer lit a warmth in his chest that he didn’t think he would ever get tired of. 

~

“Pretty Boy! Tonight, drinks on me.”

“Oh, uh, no thanks, Morgan.”

“No, no, no, you can’t just stay in when we finally have a Friday night off. You’re coming.”

“Look, it’s not that I don’t want to- I mean, I don’t, but it’s not just that. I, um, I already have plans.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll see you all on Monday.” He grabbed his satchel and rushed out of the BAU office. 

Morgan’s brow furrowed as he watched Spencer’s retreating form. 

“What’s wrong?” JJ asked. 

“Remember the last time Reid was this jittery and secretive?”

She sighed. “You know I do.”

“What happened last time?” Kate asked. 

“Maeve,” Garcia answered, her voice just above a whisper. 

“We have to find out what’s going on with him,” Derek decided.

“I really don’t think that’s necessary-”

“Let’s follow him,” Garcia cut Kate off. “See where he’s going, what he’s up to.”

~

“That can’t be true!” Spencer laughed. “There’s no way!”

You were laughing too. “I’m serious! I stapled the sleeve of my sweater to the set piece we were building and I didn’t notice until we were ready to lift it into place! They wouldn’t let me in the wood shop after that.”

Spencer couldn’t stop smiling the whole night. You were funny, smart, and everything he could hope for. 

“So, how did you end up working with the school district?”

“My niece,” you explained. “Her senior year, their regular choreographer went on maternity leave. The district said if they couldn’t find someone to fill the role, they would cut the play. Julia called me melting down over it, begging me to volunteer. And, you know, I’ve never been able to say no to my nieces and nephews. After that production, we found out that the choreographer was quitting to be a stay-at-home mom, so I agreed to be the regular choreographer on a volunteer basis. Then the next year, their costume connections fell through. I worked through the university to provide costumes, which is how the internship program started. This year, I’m just filling in on vocal directing while the choir director is out on medical leave. And Into the Woods is one of my favorites to sing anyway. So, what about you? How’d you end up working for the FBI?”

While Spencer told you about going to college at 12 and meeting Gideon, Morgan, Garcia, and JJ were sitting at a nearby table, hiding behind menus. 

“Who is she?” Garcia asked, trying to get a better look at you. Your back was to their table.

“I don’t know. Never seen her before.”

JJ squinted. “Something about her seems familiar.”

Before they could do more digging, a waiter came over to take their orders. When the waiter left, Spencer’s table was empty. 

“Where did they-”

Spencer walked up to their table, arms crossed against his chest. “Really, guys? Did you think you were being discreet?”

“Kid, look-”

“You were being all secretive, we were worried about you!” Garcia cut in.

Spencer sighed and dropped his arms. “I didn’t mean to worry you guys. I just- We’re all so in each other’s business, and this is so new I-”

“You wanted to keep it to yourself,” JJ said. “We get it. Looks like she’s coming back from the bathroom. We’ll get out of your hair.”

“But-”

“Come on, Pen. I’m sure he’ll tell us all about it on Monday. Right, Spence?”

Spencer smiled. “Sure, Jayje.”

~

Phone calls with your family always stressed you out. It wasn’t that you had issues with your family, it was just that they always seemed to be up in your business. And that held true for your monthly family dinner.

“(Y/N/N), I’m telling you, you’d get along great with this guy,” your older sister, Maria, said. You were over at her house for dinner, your parents and other two siblings video-calling from their respective locations. “I know you feel like ‘the universe and fate will align’ and introduce you to your soulmate or some shit, but that’s not really how the world works.”

You sighed. “Maria-”

“Come on, you haven’t dated anyone since college!”

“Because I haven’t had any interest. Liz, back me up here,” you said to your younger sister, who was feeding her twin toddlers. 

“What?”

You shook your head. “Never mind. Can we just change the subject, please? Tommy, how’s school going?” you asked your younger brother, the youngest in the family. You could tell he was only half paying attention from his dorm room. “What classes are you taking this semester?”

“Maria’s right, sweetheart,” your mother said. “How will you ever meet someone without putting yourself out there?”

“Ma-”

“I mean, you’re not getting any younger-”

“I have a boyfriend, okay, Ma? I don’t need your help!”

Your family fell silent. 

“You have a boyfriend?” Liz was the first to speak. “What’s his name? Where did you meet? How long have you been together? How-”

“Elizabeth, let her breathe!” your father said with a laugh. “We’re happy for you, pumpkin. Tell us about him. At your pace, of course.”

You smiled and told them about Spencer. Only after promising to bring him to the next real family dinner did they relent and change the subject, pestering your little brother about his college classes.

~

You and Spencer were a damn near perfect match. After that first date, the two of you barely went a day without calling or texting each other. When he was in town and not across the country on a case, he would bring you lunch. You’d frequently stay over at each others’ apartments. Months into your relationship, you knew each other better than yourselves.

Which is why, when you didn’t answer your phone on a Saturday afternoon when the team got back from a case, Spencer was concerned. He made his way to your apartment and fished the spare key you’d given him out of his pocket. He pushed your door open.

“(Y/N)? Love?” He walked into your apartment, which was unusually messy. Scraps of fabric were littered around the room, and music was blasting from your home office. “(Y/N)?”

You came rushing out of your kitchen, your hair a wild mess and your oversized pajama top drooping from your shoulder. You skidded to a halt. 

“Spencer! What are you doing here?”

“We just got in from the case. I tried calling-”

“You did?”

“-to see if you wanted to grab dinner.” You pulled your phone from your sweatpants pocket and saw the 3 missed calls from Spencer. “Are you okay? What’s going on? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

You sighed. “I haven’t. I’ve been working nonstop. I need to make the mask for the Wolf, the Witch's coat, and Enjolras and the other revolutionary’s waistcoats, and my sister asked me to make a dress for her coworker’s daughter’s quinceanera and-”

“Whoa, whoa, hey. Breathe.” He cupped your face in his hands. “You need to stop working yourself so hard,” he said, rubbing your cheekbone with his thumb. 

“Says the man who overworked himself so much he developed chronic migraines.” At his raised eyebrow, you said, “Sorry.”

He smiled softly and kissed your forehead. “Why don’t you let me help you out a bit? Give me instructions, I’m a quick learner.”

You reached up and pulled his hands from your face. “Spencer. As much as I absolutely treasure and adore you, the thought of you seeing the absolute disaster that is my home workshop right now is literally the most terrifying thing I can imagine. More terrifying than you meeting my family. Which, by the way, my mom is insistent that you come to Thanksgiving this year.” You yawned and leaned your head against his chest. 

“We can talk about that later.” He kissed the top of your head. “How about now, into bed? You’re dead on your feet, love.” When you only nodded, Spencer led you to your bedroom. 

After getting you settled in your bed, Spencer went to stand up. You reached out and grabbed his hand. “Stay,” you mumbled, tugging him towards your bed.

The next morning, Spencer walked into the round-table room late. 

“Well, look who’s wearing the same clothes,” Derek said. “Fun night?”

“Shut up, Morgan,” Spencer said, taking a sip of his coffee. 

Hotch looked over Reid before saying, “As I was saying, Indianapolis needs us to write up a consult. Garcia is passing around the case file.”

~

Spencer was filling out paperwork at his desk when his phone started ringing. “Dr. Spencer Reid.” He froze as he heard the person on the other end of the line. “Oh- oh my god. Yeah, yeah, no, I’ll be right there. Uh, thank you.” He slammed the phone down and started gathering his belongings. 

“What’s wrong, Reid?” JJ asked, watching Spencer cram a folder into his satchel.

“(Y/N)’s at the police station.”

You were walking home from the fabric supply store when a young man stopped you. He couldn’t have been older than 20. He pulled a gun and pointed it at you. 

“Give me your purse,” he said. You saw the way his hand was wavering.

You straightened up. “No.”

“You-you can’t say no! I-I have a gun!”

You just blinked at the man- practically a boy. Then you kicked him in the groin, causing him to drop the gun as his hands flew to cup his injury. You pressed your foot on top of the gun, preventing him from picking it back up, then you dialed the police. 

They brought you to the station to give a statement. You were sitting next to one of the detective’s desks when Spencer ran in. 

“(Y/N)! Are you okay? What happened?”

The detective nodded at you and gestured toward where Reid had come from, indicating you were free to go. 

You shrugged at Spencer. “Some punk-ass kid tried to mug me. Had a gun and everything.”

“What?”

“It’s fine, I knew he wasn’t gonna go through with it.”

“How could you possibly have known that?”

“Spence, I’m from Philly. It’s not the first time someone’s tried to mug me at gunpoint.”

His eyes went wide as saucers. “That doesn’t make it better!”

You smiled and kissed Spencer’s cheek before taking his hand. “I’m fine. Thank you for coming to get me.”

“Of course, (Y/N). I love you.” Your smile widened as Spencer’s face started to pale. “I mean, uh-”

“I love you too, Spence. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

~

“Okay, closing night,” Mr. Meadows said, addressing the students, all in their brightly colored costumes. “I’m incredibly proud of all of you for making it this far. This is our last show, you’ve all done great so far. Go out there and give them one last show to remember. Now, before we get in places, Ms. (Y/N) is going to lead you through a vocal warm-up.”

“Thanks, Mr. Meadows,” you said, taking your spot in front of the group. “Okay, guys, you know the drill. Repeat after me, then all together.” You took a deep breath before leading, “To sit in solemn silence on a dull dark dock, in a pestilential prison with a lifelong lock, awaiting the sensation of a short sharp shock from a cheap and chippy chopper on a big black block.”

After the cast ran through their warm-up, you said, “I’m so proud of all of you. Go out there and break legs. I’ll see you all after at intermission.” You waved before slipping from backstage, making your way to the lobby. 

It wasn’t often that you got to just sit and enjoy the hard work your students put in, but one of your interns was staying backstage in case of any costume emergencies. You spotted Spencer in the crowd and wove through everyone to get to him. With him were Henry’s parents, Jack’s father and aunt, as well as the rest of the BAU team. 

“Hey,” Spencer said, grabbing your hand and giving you a quick kiss. “Glad you could join us.”

“Me, too,” you said as you slowly made your way into the auditorium to find your seats. “It’s gonna be nice to just enjoy the show for once.”

As the show began, you felt Spencer looking at you.

"What?" you whispered.

"Nothing. The costumes are beautiful. You're an artist."

Your cheeks flushed at his words. You took his hand in yours and rested your head on his shoulder.

Like Cinderella and her prince, Spencer was your happily ever after.

[depresssant]

hades!reader x persephone!geto

also, geto has purple eyes in this bc he originally has purple eyes in the manga.

i love my glorious wife sm 😫

⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤

you liked to think that you had some semblance of control over some aspects of your life.

you were a goddess⏤ruler of the underworld, at that, but sometimes, frustration crept up into your mind and heart like a constricting snake. it made you want to scream, and tear, and blow everything to bits because this wasn't the life you picked for yourself. what? to be overworked to the bone and taken for granted? shit, you felt like the corporate lawyer for olympus, always cleaning up their messes and doing all the dirty work that they didn't want to do.

so, it was frustrating.

you were tired, and done with everything, and just always angry, but this?

this topped it all.

you didn't even bother to glance at the man standing before you. your hand held your pen so tightly it snapped in half. you wanted to yell. you wanted to scream. you wanted to run away. however, that wasn't you.

tossing the shattered pen pieces to the side and making it vanish into thin air, you gave your husband your signature shit-eating grin and leaned back in your office chair. "so what is this? an audience or a little preview of your next play?"

geto suguru titled his head with an expression on his face that you really couldn't decipher. "i assumed you would be a little more eager to see me after being taken from you. i was gone for six straight months."

the mere sight of him pissed you off.

"what can i say, princess? i'm a busy woman. my entire schedule is packed to the brim for ruling over a bunch of⏤you know, dead people⏤so i'm sorry if i cant drop by to say hi. i don't have time for such silly matters."

"it's strange, really." he took a step forward, and there was some strange tone in his voice. you never were good with emotions. "i was gone for six months. kidnapped. my mother took me back so easily it was almost as if... you orchestrated it all."

"..."

"tell me the truth, [name]. it was you who ordered my kidnapping, right?"

"you're... RIGHT! tada! congratulations!" using your magic, you made little bursts of fire combust into ember-like sparkles that imitated confetti. seriously, it took him that long? all this waiting for him to get the hint was finally kicking in! "i hate it break it to you, but you're not bonnie, and i'm not clyde. honestly, i was waiting for you to get the hint. i mean, come on! a god like you doesn't belong in a place like this. all booring and draaab, am i right?"

geto only gazed at you blankly as you rambled off and paced all about the office. there was a vase full of fresh gardenias right on your desk, but it was strange. you weren't the type of person to have flowers in your office. the strong smell of sweet cologne filled the air, and that jacket draped on your chair wasn't yours. no, geto had gone through your plain closet before, and he had never seen a beige jacket like that. 

"who did you have in here?"

you paused mid-word and chuckled. "you sound a little on edge. a friend of mines came over. why? oh, wait! are you jealous, princess? don't worry⏤"

"no. no, i am not."

huh?

the man walked over to the flower vase and grabbed one of the gardenias, just to crush it with his hand. a tight-lipped smile painted his lips, but his eyes darkened. the temperature seemed to have dropped, and the air just changed.

darkly.

"you can have as many lovers as you want. i'll just kill each and every one of them." his tone was low. threatening. "you can torment me as much as you want, i'll still be here."

"i'm sorry? i'm not following?"

"nanami. that's his name, right?"'

okay. why was he was acting strangely. you expected the kidnapping to piss him off, but it wasn't to this extent. and why was he bringing up your friend? he thought you were having an affair. well, he wasn't wrong.

your grin dropped, and you moved to light a new cigarette.

"you'll kill my lovers?"

"so you are having an affair!"

"what about it?"

geto's eyes narrowed, and he tossed the vase across the room. "we're married!"

"you think i want to be married to you? if i could, i would've divorced you straight to tartarus by now! yes! i orchestrated your kidnapping to make zeus realize i don't give a shit about you! i would give up my immortality before even starting to think of you as my real husband!"

catching the vase, you placed it back on your desk. damn it, you had enough of this. he was wasting all of your free time by throwing this little tantrum! why did he care about your business? this marriage was nothing but a business arrangement from zeus himself! his mother didn't want him married to you as much as you didn't want to be married to him. it was her idea to kidnap him, anyways. all your life, you had no control over the decisions made regarding you, so you didn't want to let geto suguru become another example.

and why was he bothered about all of this?

he hated you.

... right?

you turned back to look at geto with a sigh, but he cut you off the second you opened your mouth to speak.

"do you want to know what future the fates offered me?"

"geto, look⏤"

before you could react, he shoved you down to the floor and caged you in between his hands. there was wild look in his lavender-colored eyes, but you didn't push him away. you couldn't.

"the fates offered me the perfect future... with you!" your husband whispered in your ear. "all i have to do is get rid of anybody that will threaten it."

"suguru, i love you. you know that. please, this is⏤"

the man chuckled and shook his head. his hand moved to caress your cheek and, well, your lower lip. "don't try to sell me your smoke and mirrors. i know you're bound by divine contract."

his voice felt like iron bars caging you on the spot.

"you can't use your powers on me without the intention of good, and you have to stay with me forever. what's with the look on your face? you thought i was just some dumb himbo that was unaware of everything?"

"..."

"but that future the fates showed me? it's perfect. you and i will never be apart. all i have to do is just take care of a few things. starting with that nanami of yours."

[razildor]

🚬WIP WHENEVER🚬

Tagged by @heylittleriotact thanks! 💚

So I'm still working on Smoke. It ended up going in a direction I wasn't happy with at all. So a lot of deleting and a few meltdowns later I got it to a point I'm happy with. Still a rough first draft.

Tagging @holdingontojupiter @ollypopwrites @thepalehorsevictoria @rooks-leather-jumpsuit @redheadsramblings @aldisobey only if you want! No pressure!

The room was peaceful, the fire keeping the air warm enough for the two inhabitants that currently sit in a plush armchair in front of it. A small sigh of content leaves Rook as she snuggled deeper into Emmrich's neck, fingers idly playing with the skull collar pin that keeps the Mages high collar closed. The odd noise of papers shuffling keeps her from dozing. A hand covered in gold rings reflecting in the fire light ever so slowly trails down the woman's naked spine, making her shiver with delight, the hand coming to rest on an ass cheek, squeezing it slightly, as glances over the rim of his glasses down at her.

“You make it difficult to work, my heart.”

Rook huffs into the man’s neck, grinning as she squeezes around his cock that sits snuggling in her. “I’m not to blame for your idea, Emmrich.”

Emmrich inhales sharply, the hand on her ass squeezed tighter, head tilting back to rest in the chair, taking three deep breaths to keep himself from coming at that moment. Both of them strung tightly with need, having been sat in such a position for a while now. It’s true that having her sit naked with his cock inside was his idea, keeping him warm until he was done going over some more notes that Vorgoth sent his way. Then to give Rook the attention she desvers by fucking her over the nearest surface he could find, be it the desk or against the bookshelves.

Yet he found himself taking longer than normal, each shift from Rook, a shameless squeeze here and there sending his mind to a screeching halt, losing the spot in the notes, having to re-read the same word over and over again, hand shaking when writing down some words he doesn’t even recall- he would have to draft up the letter again after this.

“Rook, behave if you please.”

Rook only smirked into his neck without a word, very likely plotting something in that brilliant mind of hers. Emmrich thinks before going back to writing something on the paper, yet the pen drops from his hand with a small clatter at the feeling of Rook running her tongue slowly up his jaw, eyes slowly rolling up as he tilts his head back more for her. Unknowing that deft fingers unclipped the collar pin, placing it gently on the small table next to them, pulling the collar apart to run lips down his neck, deft fingers once again slowly undoing his shirt partly.

“I-I did say I would be done soon, darling.” Emmrich stutters, hand gripping the arm of the chair tightly as he tries to keep himself under control to some degree, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose.

“Hm, you said that an hour ago.” Rook mutters into his neck before placing a mark there that made him gasp sharply.

Emmrich didn’t reply at first, he was sure it had only been a short while. A sigh leaves him as he lets the stack of papers fall from hand and slumps back into the chair, a gasp from Rook makes him smirk a little himself from the movement. Reaching to the small table he picks up a small narrow cylinder from a dish, a Smoke, Rook recognised, recalling the few times she’s seen people use them.

placing it between his lips, along with a grunt as Rook slowly rolled her hips, watching him closely with interest. Shaking his head slightly from her grin, lifting a free hand to first push his glasses back up his nose, then to the tip of the smoke igniting it with a spark of green magic, inhaling slowly before blowing the white smoke to the side, away from Rook’s face.

“I didn't know you smoked.”

“Hm, I indulge from time to time, depending on the circumstances” He shrugs slightly, taking another drag of the Smoke between fingers, holding the fumes for a little, then exhaling  them slowly over Rook’s head- she swears the fumes almost looked like a skull before disappearing into the air.

“Though this is a good alternative, my dear.”

A ringed hand reaches around to grab Rook's ass again, squeezing the soft flesh and smirking at the groan from the women. Helping to guide her slick cunt over his aching cock that sits so tightly within her, her fluids leaking down his cock making the glide easier. He taps the ash into the dish as he asks. “Have you ever indulged in this before?” A small nod from Rook, wrapping her arms around his neck being mindful not to knock his hand holding the Smoke.

“A few times before all this, but with the Gods I’ve not had a moment to find any.” 

“Then allow me to share this indulgence.” His tone sultry, bringing the Smoke to his lips once more to inhale the fumes, yet doesn’t let the white smoke escape, pulling the hand away to reach with the other to Rook, gently grasp her chin between two fingers, keeping her still long enough to press his lips against hers, quickly pushing his tongue through her lips to push some of the white smoke into her mouth. A deep moan follows from the women, arms pulling Emmrich  by the neck closer, the Mage’s hand slowly moving to her jaw, holding her in place. The cold feeling of his rings sends sparks of aroused down to her core, squeezing around Emmrich who gasps, letting the remaining smoke escape around them. 

With a huff Emmrich leans forward to kiss Rook again, tugging on her bottom lip before running his tongue over to soothe it. “You really do make it difficult, my dear.” A dark chuckle bubbles from his chest, leaving back into the chair once more as he takes another draft from the Smoke, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair as he watches Rook shift to take his cock deeper into her soaked cunt, he lifts a ringed hand to slide over a nipple

Each roll of her marvellous hips knocks small grunt from his lungs. “Excellent  darling. You're being so good for me this evening, it makes me wonder if you're after something.”

“Maybe I am.

“Oh?” An inquisitive brow raises at her, a small wave of the hand that holds the smoke. “Do share, my dear.”

Rook hums playfully, leaning forward to kiss the Mage, moving to a cheek, trailing lips over jaw, coming to a stop near his ear, hips ever so slowly grinding taking more of his cock into her, in and out, over and over again, only stopping once she feels his cock pulse against her walls as she moans breathlessly into the lobe. Smirking as she felt his ringed hand shake while it rests on her hip.

“To see you undone, Emmrich. Truly undone, be it by my hands until you're a whimpering mess, begging for more with each crashing roll of arousal through your body.”

She smirks at the feeling of his breath becoming shorter and cock pulsing with the image she paints.

“Or seeing you lose that perfect gentlemanly side of yours, taking what you want, becoming more… Primal.” She growls into his ear.

Emmrich opens his eyes slowly, dark eyes staring into hers. “Primal, you say? Hmm” He swallowed thickly, putting on an air of control yet looking through the cracks would say otherwise. A huff of a laugh, a hand kneading her ass, urging her to keep her movements steady, lazily enjoying the pleasure, each slick sound sending filthy thoughts of what he wishes to do to her. Hazel eyes glances over to the leather belt that lays amongst Rook’s scattered clothing, an idea starting to form into his head on how he could use it on her.

Oh how idea of maybe binding her hands with it while fucking her, would he go slowly? Or perhaps at a mch faster pace until she’s breathless, trying in some vein to call out his name, his cock thrusting into the tight heat of her cunt, his cock pulses at the idea. Yet such thoughts were cut short as the woman on his lap squeezed around his cock, bringing his attention back to her, the Smoke almost dropping from his hand yet he was quick enough to catch himself.

“You minks.” He mutters into the air, shaking his head slightly at the giggle from Rook, who takes the Smoke from his hand, bringing it to her own lips to inhale from it, placing back into his hand once done, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to kiss, exhaling the white smoke with a moan, hands slowly running through Emmrich’s hair, messing it up yet Emmrich couldn't seem to care. His hips thrusting to meet hers softly, breaths mixed together, sparks of pleasure running through both of the two. Rook’s tongue licking sweat off Emmrich’s neck as he leans back, breaths starting to grow heavier and heavier, filthy words that make Rook’s ears blush spilling from the Mage’s mouth, encouraging her movements.

“Easy now, don’t hurt yourself… That’s it. You’re being very good for me.”

“Truly sensational, dearest.”

“Good girl.”

Rook could feel her end coming, the rolling tightness making her whimper, legs becoming sore from the motion, the muscles would have given up on her if it wasn’t for Emmrich’s hand helping her. Along with his words that hit her each time, the praise sent her higher and higher towards the edge, yet she couldn’t quite reach it, missing a little more.

“Emm-rich…” She strained out, looking into his darkened eyes, the smallest glow of green capturing her attention for a moment, before staggering a breath, pleading at him again.

“I..I need-”

“Oh? Is my dear close? Hm, do you need a hand?” A ringed hand slips down to press over her swollen bud, slowly forming small tight circles to help her reach the tip of the edge. “That’s it, you’re almost there.” He encouraged, bringing the Smoke to his lips to take another draft, slowly exhaling the white smoke near her lips, his eyes lowered, lips barely brushing against hers. 

“Come now for me, my love.”

Rook comes with a sharp cry on her lips, the white smoke around them entering her mouth as Emmrich pulls her forward, gloved hand with the Smoke turned away between fingers keeping her head in place, drinking her cries of pleasure while her body shook with immense pleasure, squeezing around Emmrich’s aching cock, his own string of moans joining hers yet he keeps himself from joining her in blissful end. He was far done with her.

“Spectacularly done, darling.”

[lemoncrushh]

Tattooed Heart - Part IV

SUMMARY: You are a cocktail waitress at a swanky lounge. Harry comes in one night, and you instantly dislike him. But another encounter eventually changes your opinion.

PAIRING: Waitress Y/N x Artist/Tattoo Artist Harry

TROPES: Enemies to Lovers

MUST BE 18+ TO READ

WORD COUNT: 7k+

STORY PAGE

“Ugh, look at him,” groaned Jill, nudging your shoulder with hers when she walked behind the counter to bring empty coffee cups from a nearby table.

You stopped mid-pour, turning to see whom she was talking about, but the only table occupied now besides Harry’s was the older woman whose coffee you were preparing.

“Who, Harry?” you asked, holding back a grin.

“No, Stan,” Jill scoffed. “Yes, of course Harry.”

“What about him?”

“He’s just so….ugh. Infuriatingly handsome.”

Your cheeks a rosy pink, you turned back to your task at hand. After only one date, you weren’t ready to tell your co-worker that you were interested in Harry in any way. Fortunately, you’d had the early shift that Monday morning, and Harry had arrived an hour before Jill’s shift. So she hadn’t seen your exchange when he’d walked up to the counter, a lopsided grin on his face as he’d ordered his flat white.

“I’ll get that right out to you,” you’d mimicked his smile before taking the next customer’s order.

He’d chosen his usual table by the window, opening his backpack and setting up his tablet. When you’d brought his coffee to him, he’d whispered so softly, you had to lean over to hear him.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I still can’t stop thinking about you.” His hand had covered yours on the table, and he’d given it a quick but tender squeeze.

“Then we may have a problem.”

“Why’s that?”

Boldly, you’d leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you either.”

“Y/N!” called Jill, snapping you back to the present.

“Yeah?” you blinked. Somehow, you’d managed to finish making the older woman’s latte, and brought it to her table without even realizing. You’d had Harry brain for the last two days. And with him currently present in your cafe, minding his own business, it was a wonder you were even able to function. Especially after his previous admission.

“Come see,” your co-worker waved you over to Harry’s table. “He’s working on something new.”

Wiping your hands on a towel, you joined Jill, standing beside her to see what Harry had drawn on his tablet. As he held it up, you felt a flutter in your chest.

“Oh, that’s…” you started to say, pointing. It looked a lot like the painting you had seen at his apartment on Saturday. The one of the moon dripping. But you quickly side-stepped, not wanting to divulge your weekend whereabouts with your new friend.

“That’s really cool,” you croaked instead, clearing your throat. “I like how the drops make a heart.”

“Thanks,” muttered Harry, turning slightly to give you a smirk.

“Ugh! So talented!” Jill spun around, heading back to the counter as a customer entered.

You stood in your spot, your feet frozen to the tile as you watched Harry’s stylus pen continue its magic on the screen. Clutching your hands at your chest, you noticed the slightest differences in the current drawing and the painting from the other night. Completely mesmerized, you almost missed it when Harry’s finger beckoned you closer.

“Sorry…” you let out a breath, speaking softly as you scooted closer to his table. “I shouldn’t be staring.”

“At the drawing or me?”

You weren’t sure if it was his question or his low, raspy tone that caught you off guard, but you felt a sudden high-pitched laugh rise from your throat and escape your lips. Shaking your head, you cursed yourself for blushing. You hated sounding like a giggling schoolgirl.

“Both,” you finally admitted.

Harry’s mouth spread slowly into a sexy grin, his eyes on you. “What time should I pick you up tomorrow?”

Stealing a swift look over your shoulder, you noticed Jill was still helping the customer.

“That’s up to you. I’m free all day.”

“Yeah?” Harry raised a brow. Then folding his arms on the table, he leaned closer, licking his lips. “That opens a world of possibilities, then.”

With a laugh, you pushed your hair behind your ear. “Does it?”

“Well, that depends on what you’re into.” You felt the color rise in your cheeks again, and Harry chuckled. “I’ll think of something. How ‘bout I pick you up at noon? We’ll have lunch and go from there.”

You smiled gently. “Sounds good.”

Realizing Jill had finished with his customer, you made your way back to the counter.

“So, what were you two chatting about over there?” she asked you.

“Huh? Oh, nothing.”

“Well, he made you laugh, whatever it was.”

“It was silly,” you shook your head, waving off her comment.

“Mhm.”

“What?” you shrugged, turning toward the espresso machine. “He’s funny.”

“He’s also staring at you.”

“What?” Nearly bumping into Jill as you twirled around, your eyes caught a glimpse of Harry’s just before he returned his attention to his iPad. A sudden warmth filled your senses and you felt like you might melt.

“Well…” you heard Jill remark. “That was…something.”

You pursed your lips as you glared at her. “It was nothing.”

“I beg to differ. First he makes you laugh, then he’s staring at you?”

“Jill!”

Breaking your train of thought and protest, the cafe door swung open then and two businessmen walked in. As soon as you took their order, a young woman entered, followed by three more. The lunch crowd was starting to trickle in.

Just as you had taken the two men’s orders to them and returned to the counter, you noticed Harry had packed up his things, his rucksack slung over his shoulder. You saw him look up and meet your gaze, an easy grin on his face. Lifting his hand, he gave you a wave, and you waved back as he exited the cafe.

Soon enough, the end of your shift arrived, and Melaina, another waitress, greeted you behind the counter to take your place. You couldn’t get home soon enough, prepared to take the longest, deepest nap of all time. But as soon as your head hit the pillow, you heard your phone ping with a text.

What was with the secrecy?

Confused, you simply typed, ???

You pretended you hadn’t seen my art before. You don’t want your friend to know?

To know what?

LOL ok, I get it. I can play along.

I’m not sure I know what you mean.

That was a lie. You knew what he was getting at. You also knew you weren’t interested in telling Jill - or anyone for that matter - about you and Harry because…you weren’t sure where this was going yet. It was too soon. And with everything that had led up to the first date, you certainly didn’t want everything to unravel and get worse than how it had started.

At least you think about me. Glad to know that.

You texted back the blushing emoji since that’s exactly what you were doing. Again.

Do you work tonight?

Yeah. I’m in my office now. Just wanted to text you first.

Oh ok. I’m about to take a nap. Have a good day!

Can I ring you tonight? Might be late.

Sure, that’s fine.

Have a great nap babe. xx

After laying your phone on your bedside table, you drifted off to sleep with a smile on your face.

“Want some more popcorn?” asked Shae, holding out the bowl between you.

“No, thanks,” you shook your head.

You were getting sleepy, your eyelids weighing down as you tried to focus on the end of the movie. A buzz from your left side startled you, and as you picked up your phone, a sly grin twitched your lips.

“Hello?”

“Hey. What are you doing?”

“Just a sec.” Rising from the sofa, you addressed your roommate. “I’m gonna take this in my room.”

“Aw, but Y/N, the movie’s almost over!”

“It’s okay. Tell me how it ends.”

Shae huffed as she watched you round the couch and head for your room, shutting the door behind you.

“Sorry about that. I was watching a movie.”

“Oh. Don’t let me interrupt,” Harry insisted.

“It’s fine. I’ve seen it already.” You heard Harry chuckle low as you sat on your bed. “How was work?”

“Good,” Harry sighed. “But I’m glad it’s over so I can talk to you.”

“Wow, you’re laying it on thick already,” you teased.

“Heyyy. It’s the truth! I told you I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

“Mhm.”

“Almost came by the cafe yesterday just to see you. But I was afraid it might be a bit much.”

“Why? You should have. I was bored out of my skull yesterday.”

“Were you the only one working?”

“Yep, until closing.”

“Then I’m a stupid twit.”

You laughed out loud, quickly covering your mouth with your hand. This guy was already making you feel…things. You weren’t sure if you were ready.

“At least we have tomorrow. We’re still on, right?”

“Yes, of course,” you replied.

“I was thinking we could have a picnic if you’re up for it. The weather’s supposed to be lovely.”

“A picnic?”

“Yeah. Too cheesy?”

“No…” you swallowed hard and laid back on your pillow. “No, not at all. I’d like that.”

“Good,” Harry said with a smile in his voice. “Can’t wait to see you, love.”

You chuckled lightly. “You just saw me this morning.”

“I know. Funny, innit?”

“If you keep this up, you might get sick of me,” you jested.

Harry’s laugh rang through the phone, and you felt your heart skip. “I sincerely doubt it.”

You bit your lip as you tried to keep your thoughts in line.

“Honestly, babe?” Harry continued. “If I’d had my way, I would have come to yours straight from work to pick you up. And you’d be here with me in this bed now instead of there on the phone.”

Your breath caught in your throat before you gasped aloud. “Harry…”

His low chuckle only fueled the fire. “See what I mean? It’s a bit insane how much my thoughts revolve around you. I’m trying to be a gentleman though.”

You swallowed. “Are you saying you regret what happened Saturday night?”

“Fuck, no. I loved it. If I think about it hard enough, I can still taste you on my tongue.”

“Oh my God, I should probably hang up now.”

“Why?” laughed Harry. “Are you blushing, babe?”

“Indubitably.”

Harry chuckled harder. “You’re cute.”

“And you’re an insatiable flirt.”

“Can’t help it, honey. I enjoy teasing you.”

“And using pet names,” you remarked.

“That’s only ‘cause I like you. But if you don’t want me to…”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No? Which one do you like best?” asked Harry.

“Hmm. I don’t have a preference. I just want it to be natural.”

“Good answer. I like that.”

You chatted for a little while longer until you noticed the time was after 1AM. It was Harry, surprisingly, who suggested you both say goodnight.

“I’ll see you at noon, Y/N. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

“Sweet dreams, baby.”

You laid on your bed, atop your covers for another ten minutes or so, arms spread wide as you stared at the ceiling.

How had he managed it? In one day - not even a whole day because you’d only seen him for a couple hours at the cafe, and then talked to him on the phone for maybe another hour - Harry Styles had already turned your world topsy-turvy. You were feeling it. No, not love…that was silly. It was way too soon to have those kinds of feelings. But…feelings nonetheless. Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to recall the last time you’d felt this way.

Excited. Blissful. Giddy.

Yeah, it was way too soon for this.

He was going to be there any minute. Having already gotten his text announcing he was on his way, you rushed to double check yourself in the mirror, pleased with your choice of the peasant blouse and jeans. Quickly slipping into your shoes, you nearly bumped into Shae when you opened your bedroom door.

“Oh. Hey. I thought you were working today.”

“Nope,” she said, popping her P. “I’m off. You look nice though. Where are you off to?”

“Um…nowhere.”

The sound of the doorbell made you jump. And when your roommate made a move toward the door, you wanted to scream or crawl under the table or…something. But you knew your time had run out. Stood frozen, you cringed as you watched Shae swing the door open.

“Oh! Hi…” she furrowed her brows.

“Hi…um, Shae, right?” you heard Harry mutter.

“Yeah…what…”

“I take it Y/N didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Shae’s glare shifted from Harry to you. “It’s that Harry guy.”

“Yeah, um…” you cleared your throat, opening the door wider. Your stomach flipped when your eyes met Harry’s who stared at you with a questioning gaze. “Harry and I are…on good terms now. We made amends.”

“Made amends? When? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s…” you sighed, looking at your friend, “it’s a long story. And it’s complicated. I probably should have told you, and I’m sorry. But I’ll tell you more about it later, okay?”

You stepped out onto the landing, giving Harry a smile. “Hi.”

“Hi, babe. You look beautiful.”

“What the hell is going on?” exclaimed Shae, her hands on her hips. “Are you seeing him now? After what he did to you?”

“Like I said, I’ll explain it all later. But to answer your question, yes.”

Her mouth agape, Shae stared at you incredulously as you waved goodbye and took Harry’s hand.

“Your roommate’s gonna hate me now,” remarked Harry when you reached his car.

“She already hates you. Because I hated you, remember? Don’t worry, once I tell her everything, she’ll adore you. She already thought you were hot. She’ll be relieved you’re not really an asshole.”

Harry cackled as he held open the door for you. “I dunno if I should be flattered or offended.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you grinned, rising on your tiptoes to give him a peck on the cheek. “I think you’re hot and a sweetheart.”

Harry beamed his dimpled smile as he rounded the car and got behind the wheel. His expression matched the gorgeous weather that he’d proclaimed was imminent. Without a cloud in the sky, you rode next to Harry in his car as he drove down familiar roads until he turned down a side street that led to the park. While it had regretfully been a while since you’d visited, you still considered it one of your favorite places. Even though there had been no way for Harry to know that, you still felt grateful.

After finding a place to park, Harry opened the back door to retrieve a tartan blanket which he handed to you, along with a large basket. Grinning, he took your hand to lead you across the grass. Stopping near a tree, he set the basket on the ground and reached for the blanket which you helped spread out on the green.

“I have to say, Harry,” you paused, biting your lip, “when you mentioned a picnic, this was immediately what I was picturing. But then I told myself I was being too literal. I truly was not expecting you to have an actual picnic basket.”

“It wouldn’t be a picnic otherwise,” he stated matter-of-factly, sitting on the blanket.

“I don’t know. You could have very easily brought something in a paper bag. Or even stopped off at McDonald’s.”

Shaking his head, Harry snorted as he reached inside the basket. “You need to give me more credit than that.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. This is just very out of the ordinary for me.”

“How so?” Harry asked as he set out what looked to be individually wrapped mini sandwiches.

“Well, I…no one’s ever…did you make these?”

Harry raised a brow. “Of course.”

“Wow. These look fancy! And delicious. What’s in them?”

“Um…salami, mozzarella, pesto, basil, spinach and tomato.”

You continued to stare at Harry as he pulled more items from the picnic basket. He had a mix of fruit, some kind of layered salad in mason jars, a small quiche, and a large carafe of water with lemon and mint. With a sense of contentment, you settled comfortably on the blanket as Harry poured the water into plastic cups. Handing you one, he smiled.

“Dig in, babe.”

Clearing your throat, you blinked. “Sorry, I…I’m overwhelmed.”

“It’s just food, darling.”

Your chest felt tight and heavy as you shook your head. “No, it’s not. It’s incredible. You’re incredible.”

Setting down your cup, you leaned over and planted a kiss on his lips. He grinned against you before reciprocating, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you into his lap. Your kisses continued, his soft, pillowy lips combined with his intoxicating cologne making you light-headed, until you finally broke away.

“Sorry…” you breathed.

“Don’t be,” Harry blinked slowly, his long lashes brushing softly against his cheeks. “Reckon I started off on the right foot this time. I only hope I didn’t peak too early.”

A small giggle escaped your throat as you sat back. “Well, let’s not forget, I haven’t actually eaten the food yet.”

“What will you do if it’s rubbish?” Harry laughed.

“Guess I’ll have to walk home.”

Harry continued to snicker as he playfully rolled his eyes, handing you a plate. “I guarantee you’ll at least like the fruit. And probably the sandwiches.”

Grabbing one of the mini baguettes, you unwrapped it and took a large bite. Immediately your mouth danced with glee as you took in the delectable flavors. Pleased by the reaction on your face, Harry opened one of the mason jars and spooned out the salad onto your plate. Then he cut a portion of the quiche and laid it beside the salad.

“You don’t have to feed me,” you insisted.

“What if I want to?”

“Hmm…then I guess I’ll let you.” Picking up the small pie with your fingers, you took a savory bite. “God, this is by far the best lunch I’ve ever had.”

“Glad to hear it,” Harry beamed, handing you a plastic fork for your salad and taking a bite of his own.

“Do you like to cook?”

“I do, actually. It’s one of my hobbies, you could say.”

“You’re full of surprises, Harry,” you commented before taking a sip of water. “Although, I shouldn’t be surprised. I already knew you’re a man of many talents.”

You caught the smirk on Harry’s lips as he looked down at his plate. You both ate in silence for a bit, enjoying each other’s company and the ideal weather. You gazed around you, taking in the atmosphere. You watched a couple who tossed a frisbee back and forth, and a young mother pushing her child in a stroller. When you took the last bite of your quiche, Harry surprised you again by leaning over with a strawberry between his fingers. With a grin, you popped open your mouth and allowed him to feed it to you.

When nearly all of the food had been devoured, and you helped Harry pack up the remains into the basket and discarded the trash in a nearby waste bin, you laid back on the blanket, enjoying the warm sun on your face. While it was still a rather cool day, the sunshine made it pleasant.

“Be right back,” you heard Harry announce. “Gonna get something out of the car.”

Squinting your eyes, you watched him pick up the basket and take it with him. When he returned, you noticed the notebook in his hand.

“What are you doing?” you asked, lifting yourself up on your elbows.

“No, lay back down,” he instructed, taking his seat next to you.

When he opened the notebook, he slid a pencil out from beneath the spiral and began to sketch.

“Are you drawing?” you inquired softly.

His green eyes lifting from his paper, he gave a sly grin.

“What are you- you’re not drawing me!” you exclaimed rolling onto your side.

“Stay still,” Harry chuckled. “Lay back the way you were.”

With a huff, you slowly moved to your previous position as you listened to the sound of the pencil against the paper. You silently wondered how long you had to remain still as you continued to watch Harry’s gaze shift from you to his notebook. Your breaths quickened as his eyes roamed your body, making you a bit self-conscious. Finally, you saw his lips twitch into a sexy grin, and he lowered his paper and shut the book.

“Do I get to see?”

Instead of answering, Harry laid down next to you, his shoulder brushing yours.

“Harry!”

With a snicker, Harry lifted the notebook. “Alright. But just so you know, it’s just a quick sketch. And it does not fully reflect the way I see you.”

Grimacing, you glared at him. “Is that good or bad?”

“Here,” Harry laughed, opening the book to the page he’d just sketched and handing it to you. While it was indeed a quick sketch, maybe even a bit messy by some standards, you were amazed at how much it looked like you.

“That’s…remarkable,” you commented softly, choosing the best word.

Turning your head to look at him, you noticed he was already staring at you. When he rolled over and brushed your hair from your face, you lowered the notebook to your side. He kissed you tenderly at first, so softly that your entire body felt like you were lying on a cloud, and not the blanket on the ground. Your hands traveled around to his back while he hovered over you, lifting his head slightly to look into your eyes. Though he didn’t speak, his eyes spoke volumes. The only words you really needed right then. And when his mouth met yours again, and you eagerly allowed his tongue access, you knew he’d heard your words as well.

“Hmm,” Harry hummed when he broke free, his forehead resting against yours. “Your lips drive me mad, baby. I could kiss you all day.”

With a smile, you lifted your hand to his jaw, rubbing his scruffy chin. “Same here.”

After a few more kisses, Harry sat up, running his fingers through his hair. “I had another idea for this afternoon, but do you mind if we stop at my flat first?”

“Not at all. What is your other idea?”

“If you’d like, we could visit the art gallery.”

You sat up urgently. “Where your art is? I would love that!”

“Yeah?” Satisfied with your response, Harry rose from the blanket and reached his hand out to help you up. Then lightly brushing the back of his hand against your cheek, he looked like he was about to say something, but his words escaped him. You didn’t mind, however. When you helped him fold up the blanket and walked with him to the car, you had a feeling the day was going to be filled with unspoken words - gestures of mutual feelings.

After putting away the rest of the food and freshening up in Harry’s bathroom, you were excited to go see his art on display at the gallery. 

“Harry! So good to see you!” greeted a man in a suit.

“You as well, Sherod,” said Harry, shaking the man’s hand. “How are things?”

“Can’t complain, can’t complain,” Sherod nodded emphatically. “We are still waiting patiently on your newest project, yes?”

“Yeah, I’m still…tweaking it.”

“Ah, don’t tweak too much, Harry. You know the best art is always what comes naturally, from the heart.” As Harry shrugged, you noticed Sherod making eye contact with you. “And who is this delicate creature?”

“Sherod, this beautiful lady is Y/N. I’ve come to show her around.”

Color rose in your cheeks at both Sherod’s and Harry’s compliments. Not to mention the way Harry had his hand on your lower back.

“Miss Y/N, so lovely to have you here today. Please enjoy your visit.”

Once Sherod was out of earshot, Harry grinned at you and gestured to the left. You joined him in the large room where many art pieces were displayed on the walls and on pedestals, some encased. For the most part, you simply nodded as Harry pointed out some of the art he liked, commenting a bit when something caught your eye.

“I especially like this one,” Harry said when he stopped in front of a large canvas of greens and blues, tiny streaks of gold in between that resembled marble. “I sometimes come here just to stare at it for a bit. It calms me.”

“It looks like the ocean,” you agreed. “But also…a little like an enchanted forest, if that makes sense. Very tranquil.”

Turning his head to look at you, Harry opened his mouth. Once again, he seemed unable to speak, so you simply smiled back at him. Running your hand down his arm, you walked behind him to inspect the next painting.

“This one, however, has a different feeling altogether,” you remarked. “It’s sexy…a bit sensual, but not necessarily in a calming way. Kind of reminds me of pent up energy, ready to explode.”

Standing behind you, Harry placed his hands on your waist. You felt his breath in your hair before he pressed his lips to your head. You hummed softly at his sweet gesture, covering his hands with yours.

“Where’s your art, Harry?” you whispered.

Clearing his throat, he released his hands from your body and stepped toward the right. “Over here.”

At the end of the room, Harry stopped in front of a display of art that you recognized from his website. Seeing it in person was different from seeing it on a screen. It took your breath away. Mesmerized, you inspected each detail, every line, every stroke. You could feel Harry’s stare as you walked around his mini gallery. When you took in the last piece, you looked up at him.

“You’re amazing,” you declared. “It’s all so extraordinary.”

“Thank you, love,” he blinked slowly.

Taking his hands, you smiled. “Is it okay to kiss you in here?”

Harry chuckled, his eyes dancing. “I think it’s perfectly okay.”

His lips met yours as you lifted your hands to his neck, pulling him closer.

“I know, I have nothing really to go on,” you added when your mouths separated. “I’m not all that knowledgeable in art. I just know what moves me and what doesn’t. And yours definitely does.”

“Baby…” Harry breathed. “God, love, you’ve rendered me speechless today.”

Giving him one extra kiss, you took his hand again and gave it a squeeze. He didn’t need to say anything.

When you rounded the corner, however, Harry stopped in his tracks, an immediate look of disdain on his face. Following his point of vision, you noticed a familiar looking blonde at the reception desk. When she turned around, she tossed her hair behind her shoulder and lifted her chin.

“Hello, Harry.”

“Nicolette. What are you doing here?”

Of course. The former arm candy.

“Came to do some business with Sherod. Daddy’s having one of his restaurants remodeled, and he wants to buy all new art for it.”

“I see,” Harry frowned. With almost a shutter, he quickly cleared his throat and addressed you. “Sorry, Y/N, this is Nicolette Eisman, Nicolette, Y/N Y/LN.”

“Nice to meet you,” you greeted, gritting your teeth and hoping she didn’t recognize you from Zelda’s.

“Pleasure,” Nicolette said thinly, not bothering to even look you in the eye, her glare still on Harry. “How’s the moon series coming along? Have you finished it yet? Or are you going to wait another three months agonizing over it?”

“I don’t reckon that’s any of your concern anymore.”

“Ouch! Come now, Harry,” Nicolette retorted. “I thought we ended on better terms than that.”

“You thought wrong,” Harry said flatly.

Wanting to crawl into a hole, you were relieved when you saw Sherod emerge from a back room, holding out both hands to Nicolette.

“Darling! So good to see you!” he greeted her with the same emphatic energy he’d given Harry.

“C’mon, let’s go,” you heard him mutter before guiding you to the exit and out the door.

Once in the car, Harry revved up the engine before running his hands down his face with an exasperated sigh.

“Harry…” you said softly.

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head. “I definitely didn’t mean to run into her.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“She just…infuriates me. But…ugh, it has nothing to do with you. I don’t want this to ruin our day. I’m sorry.”

“Harry,” you said again, reaching your hand out to touch his arm. “It’s okay. It was bound to happen sooner or later. She obviously still does business here. Nothing you can do about that.”

“Yeah.”

Scooting closer to him, you smiled reassuringly. “Besides. I’m already having the best day with you. One snarky blonde is not going to ruin it.”

His million dollar smile sent a spark through your bloodstream and made you weak in the knees. When he pulled you into a kiss, he didn’t hesitate to let you know he wanted to deepen it, his tongue eager to fill your mouth. His hands cupping your face, he moaned against your lips, sending a whole other surge of arousal to your privates. You nearly gasped when he released you, your face warm with desire.

“Come home with me?” He asked it in a question form, but it sounded more like a demand. “I don’t want this day to end.”

“Me neither.”

“I’ll cook us dinner and we can watch the sunset. Then if you want, we can go to the shop, and I’ll give you your tattoo.”

“My tattoo? Tonight? But I still don’t know what I wanna get.”

“The heart moon. That art of mine you’d liked. I was working on it yesterday at the cafe.”

“You were working on a tattoo for me?”

“Yeah…” he smirked. “Rather presumptuous of me, I know. But I thought you might like it.”

Your smile widening, you nodded. “I do.”

You sat out on the small terrace of Harry’s apartment, overlooking the city, the sun descending before you in shades of orange, purple and red. Harry had cooked another lovely meal, this time bringing out a bottle of rosé as you sat barefoot on the same blanket from the picnic.

“Gorgeous, innit?” you heard him ask when you took a sip of wine.

“Breathtaking.”

“It’s my favorite thing about this flat. When there’s a full moon, you can see it clearly, like a big ball in the sky. It’s what inspired those paintings.”

“Harry, this…this is so romantic. This whole day. It’s been incredible.”

Harry feigned offense, a tiny smirk on his face. “What? You didn’t think I could be romantic?”

“No, I…well, the restaurant the other night was romantic too, it’s just…I wasn’t expecting this.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I dunno,” you shrugged. “I guess I figured…you know…after Saturday night, at the tattoo shop…”

“I’m not after a quick fix, Y/N.”

“No?”

Harry ran his fingers through his hair. “Let me make something clear, Y/N,” he said, scooting closer to you. “I’m immensely attracted to you. I’m excited to explore every single inch of your body, and to share mine with you. In every way you can imagine. But I reckon, if we’re on the same page…and I’m pretty sure we are…then we have plenty of time for all of that.”

You gulped, then blew out a breath. “We do?”

Harry reached a hand up to push a curl from your cheek. “I hope so.” His fingers lingered against your skin before he lightly ghosted the tips across your jaw. “You like me, yeah?”

You shivered at his touch as well as the way he was staring at you so intently. “Of course.”

“I like you, too. And the fact that I haven’t been able to get you off my mind tells me there’s something between us. Something I’m eager to explore further.”

“Really?”

Nodding, Harry set down his glass and reached for yours, placing it next to his.

“I’ve been…feeling something today, haven’t you? It’s like…you get me.”

“Yeah? How?” you asked.

“Like at the gallery. When you told me what those paintings made you feel. I feel the same thing. And when I sketched you at the park. You didn’t laugh at me, even though it was basically a rubbish scribble. It’s like you’re willing to open up a space for me in your heart. And I appreciate it so much. I…fuck, I dunno what I’m saying…I-”

Silencing him with your kiss, you moved even closer to him, and he ardently pulled you into his lap. His kisses were thirsty, as though it wasn’t the hundredth time your lips had touched that day.

“Harry…” you breathed. “I do get you. And I’ve been feeling it as well, all day. Just the fact that you wanted to show me your art at the gallery said so much. Not in a show-off kind of way; I didn’t take it like that. But more like you were willing to share a little bit more of yourself with me. Something you take pride in. That’s special to me, and means a lot.”

Harry smiled wide, running his hands up and down your back.

“Does that mean you might be willing to share something with me?”

“Like what?” you blushed.

“Like…your writing.”

“Oh,” you scoffed. “I haven’t written anything in ages.”

“Well…when you do? Can I read?”

You smiled. “Deal.”

“Good. Now…you ready to go get your tattoo?”

“No,” you sighed and shook your head.

“No?”

“Let’s save it for another day.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. I hope to have lots more of these with you.”

“Alright. I can’t promise anything though. I reckon I’ve run out of ideas.”

You playfully pushed his shoulder, making him lean back. “Stop it.”

“No, I’m perfectly fine with that,” he grinned. “Elated even.”

He kissed you fervently then, his tongue wanting nothing more than to wrestle with yours. He filled your mouth with wanton and shameless desire, your own appetite growing so much, you thought you might come undone. When his left hand cupped your breast while his right held your neck, you gasped.

“Can we go to the bedroom?” you inquired against his lips.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked, his chest falling with heavy breaths.

“Yes. I know you’d been holding back all day, trying to be a gentleman. And I appreciate the chivalry, I do. But I need to feel you now.”

A mere nod is all it took for you to rise from Harry’s lap. This time you held your hand out for him the way he had for you at the park. Taking your hand in his, he led you to his bedroom, his large bed claiming the majority of the space. You caught a quick glimpse of another painting above his bed before he laid you down and kissed you passionately.

“Baby…” he cooed. “Tell me what you like.”

With an inward chuckle, you grinned. “Somehow I knew you’d be the kind of guy to ask that.”

“Why? Don’t you want me to please you?”

“Very much.”

“Then tell me. I wanna make you feel good.”

“I think we both know you have no problems with that.”

Harry chuckled then, his sly smirk returning to his handsome face. “Alright then. Can I undress you?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, sitting up slightly to allow Harry to pull your peasant blouse over your head. When his eyes traveled down your chest, you saw them darken with lust. And when he unhooked the front closure of your bra to reveal your bare breasts, his breath hitched in his throat.

“Jesus, babe, you’re beautiful.”

As you laid back down, Harry removed his own shirt, tossing it on the floor. Then he hovered over you, kissing you deeply once again. His necklace tapped against your bare skin as his mouth traveled down your neck and chest and between your breasts. His hands cupped them while his wet mouth sucked hungrily on your nipples, giving each equal attention.

When his lips moved further south, you felt him unbutton your jeans, tugging them as you lifted your butt so he could pull them down and off. Harry grinned when he spied your lace panties, a black pair this time.

“One day,” he commented, “when we’re both off from work and have nothing to do, I want you to spend the day here with me wearing nothing but your sexy lacy panties.”

You giggled delightfully as he grinned at you, his hands running up your thighs.

“You are so fucking sexy. I wanna make you scream my name, babe. But I’m afraid I might not last. Just being honest.”

Before you could retort, Harry slid your panties down your legs, caressing your feet on the way. Then he stood up and removed his own jeans and underwear. You barely had time to process the view of his delicious body before he was above you again, kissing you on the way up.

“Harry…baby…” you breathed hard when his mouth found your nipples again and his hand slid between your thighs, finding your wetness.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Tell me.”

“I need you. Now. Please.”

You gulped hard, trying to catch your breath as Harry’s thumb teased your clit. You could already feel yourself dripping, and when he slid his fingers up your slit and brought them to his mouth, you whined his name again.

“I’m here, babe,” he promised. “Just need a condom.”

Retrieving one from his bedside table, he rolled it over his length as you watched. You bit your lip, bracing yourself for his size. Then when he situated himself between your legs, he kissed you once again. When he lifted his head, his eyes were a dark, emerald green, his lips pink and swollen. You ran your hands up his inked chest and down his shoulders, grabbing hold of his biceps.

“I’m ready for you, love. Are you ready for me?”

You nodded as you looked into his eyes just before he pushed into you. You gasped even though he was considerate to be slow and easy as he moved. Before long you adjusted to his girth, your juices quickly dripping down your thighs.

You moaned at the sensation, the friction good enough to make you want to weep. Harry’s own groans and low pitched sounds sent your body trembling until you wrapped your legs around him, holding on tightly. 

“Taking me so well, Y/N,” you heard him say. “That fuckin’ pretty pussy of yours. So wet.”

Mumbling sweet nothings in your ear, Harry rolled into you deeper. You thought he whispered something else about you feeling so good, but you were already on too much of a high to make out the words. Finally, grasping for the covers underneath you, you threw your head back and called out to God.

“Yeah baby,” Harry moaned. “I’m so close already.”

“Me too,” you breathed. “Holy shit, Harry. Fuck me!”

With a grunt, Harry shifted his body, grabbing your wrists and holding them down as he thrusted harder and faster. He cursed between heavy breaths, his voice quivering as he called you baby and honey while you took him deeper. Your toes curled and more moans escaped your lips until you knew you were close to the edge. Raking your fingernails down his back, you grabbed hold of his ass, pulling your legs back and wide.

“Fuck! Yesss!” Harry cried, pounding into you so hard, the headboard hit the wall. He propped himself up by grabbing it, sending you both sliding toward it until your head was flush against it.

Reaching between you, you took Harry’s balls in your hand and caressed them. You watched his eyes roll back in his head, his mouth gaping open as he continued to fuck you. He cursed again as he licked his lips, veins in his temples thick and prominent before you heard him let out a guttural moan, his hips thrusting a few more times. Then with a tiny whimper, his body fell against yours, his face buried in your neck.

“Shit,” he exhaled. “God damn, baby, you’re amazing.”

“Hmm, so are you,” you cooed, tracing invisible shapes across his back.

“No, ‘m not. I wanted to make you come first.”

With a giggle, you whispered, “I’m not even mad about that.”

Harry lifted his head then to look at you. You smiled at him, his beautiful face wet with perspiration, his curls messy atop his head. As he removed the condom and threw it away in the bin, he grinned at you shyly.

“I told you I might not last.”

“It’s totally okay.”

“Mmm, no it’s not. But I can still make you come.”

Harry crawled down your body like a snake, stopping at your waist. You opted not to protest. After all, he was willing to please you. Who were you to say no?

Gliding his hands down your thighs, he lifted them, wasting no time. His mouth was on your clit before you had time to take a breath, and a small cry left your lips at the contact. He hummed against you, creating a vibration that nearly made you come right then. Clutching at the sheets again, you felt your knees shake, your entire body reaching a new climax. Panting, you felt Harry’s tongue play with and tease your pussy. Wanting to come so badly, but also not wanting the unbelievable sensation to end, you bit your lip, moaning as tears began to well in your eyes. Finally, as a loud cry rose from your core, you grabbed hold of his head, thrusting your hips against him. With jagged breaths, you moaned his name over and over until your legs fell slack and he released his mouth, sucking up the remaining juices.

“How was that, sweetheart?” you heard him ask from far away. Or at least it seemed far away. You couldn’t tell. Time and distance did not exist in that moment. You barely knew your name. Your reply was a mere cry of exhaustion, and you heard Harry chuckle.

“I’ll take that to mean it was good.”

With a sigh, you managed to open your eyes and look at him. “Better than good.”

Harry grinned, crawling back up your body. “I’m glad. I really enjoy making you come. But I hope next time it won’t just be from my tongue.”

You would have joked then and told him his tongue was pretty magical, but you decided instead to just stare at his gorgeous face as you ran his fingers across his jaw and traced his lips. He seemed to enjoy it, his eyelids fluttering softly, a content peaceful expression making you want to pull him closer.

“Y/N,” he whispered low after a minute or two.

“Yes?”

“Will you stay here with me tonight?”

Though your heart was pounding in your chest, and butterflies danced in your stomach, the request combined with the look on his handsome face felt more calm than the tranquil painting at the gallery.

“I can’t think of a better way to end the most perfect day,” you replied.

Pulling you even closer, Harry’s lips met yours, fitting together like puzzle pieces. You melted into the kiss, just like the melting moon, dripping into a perfect tattooed heart.

If you enjoyed, please like, reblog and comment. xx

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Hi :)

Can I ask for smut with Lesso and female reader? Reader is over 25 and in a relationship with Lesso. They use magic in bed for greater pleasure and this time reader wants to try and use the spell on herself. Leo guides her through it and she manages to create magical pen!s but isn't sure if it'll work properly. Lesso says it's only one way to find out and starts riding her. When they are both close Reader cums inside Lesso. A couple of weeks later Lesso finds out she's pregnant and says to the reader: 'do you remember our last spell in bed? You did so good with it that it got me pregnant.' Reader thinks she's joking and doesn't believe her at first till Leo shows her pregnancy test and leaves the reader speechless 😶.

Idk if it's sth you'd like to write. If not just pls don't ignore it and give me a sign it's not for you but I would be rly thrilled if you did write it. Thank you :)

Enchanted Choices with Unforeseen Consequences ~Leonora Lesso xFem Wife!Reader

Summary— Leonora and Reader have some fun with an enchanted g!p, and it leads to some unforeseen consequences… Anon Response— Hey hey anon!! Thank you for the request, and thank you for your patience. I would love to write this! Hope you Enjoy ♥️

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!, smut, lost of fluff too, enchanted penis, dick riding, little teasing, happy crying, happy endings, etc.

Enjoy (;

“I… I don’t know if it will work though…” you chuckled, leaning back in your seat and admiring the magical dick that Lesso had helped you make.

“Only one way to find out…” Leonora teasingly purred.

Lesso then straddled you, swiftly sitting down and taking your new dick into her cunt entirely in one fell swoop.

“Holy fuck—Leo!!” You groaned, your mouth falling open.

“Shiiiiiiiit Mmmmmmm—” Lesso groaned, “You’re bigger than I anticipated, Baby…”

That made you smirk, and in response you jerked your hips up. This made Leonora groan even louder, which quickly turned into a growl.

Her signature smirk returned to her face, as she placed her hands on your shoulders and began to thoroughly ride you. With zero mercy.

You cried and groaned and moaned, but Lesso wouldn’t relent. She rode you like there was no tomorrow, milked you for everything you were worth.

And before you can say anything, you’re cumming, shooting your magical cum deep inside Lesso. The woman on top of you groans loudly, cumming along side you. She smirks, panting heavily, as you go limp inside her.

“Fuck Leo…” you pant out, chuckling lightly.

The redhead is gleaming back at you, very proud of how flustered and undone you had become.

A couple of weeks past. And Lesso has been feeling a little sick. It was the fall season, so the woman had nursed it off as a seasonal cold.

But it only got worse. Leonora found herself throwing up on the regular. And she felt intense heat waves along with that. As well as intense food cravings at random times. It was the most bizarre thing.

Lesso thought it was crazy to think that she could be pregnant, but that’s what it felt like… And it would make sense as to when you and her had magically created you that dick. So she took a pregnancy test… and it was positive.

How was she going to tell you??

Leonora knew that she had to tell you, so after classes one day, while you were both lounging in your private quarters, she decided it was a better time than never.

“Baby, you remember that magical cock we made you a couple weeks ago?” Lesso hummed, continuing to grade as if what she was saying was nothing.

You looked up from the book you were reading.

“Yea…?” You said, slightly confused.

Now Leonora looked up. Her face was a myriad of emotions, that you were having trouble reading.

“Well turns out, you did so well that it got me pregnant, Baby…” Leonora breathed out.

Lesso picked up the positive pregnancy test from inside her desk drawer, waving it around for you to see.

Your jaw dropped. And you started to laugh.

“I—what?” You stammered in between giggles.

“I’m. pregnant.” Leonora said slowly and clearly.

Your eyes widening as you tried to process the woman’s words. You said nothing after that, instead you just stood up and walked towards Leonora. She handed you the test and you stared at it, your eyes starting to water.

Lesso immediately stood up and took you into an embrace as you started to cry tears of happiness.

“I— I can’t believe it…” you stammered, “I’ve always… wanted to be a mom—”

You sniffled in between your thought as Leonora kissed the tears away from your cheeks.

“I just didn’t expect it… this moment.” You breathed out, a big smile coming across your face.

Leonora hugged you tightly.

“I have no doubt, you’ll be an amazing mother, Baby…” she comforted you.

You hugged her back with just as much fervor.

“Right back at ya, Leo” you murmured into the crook of her neck.

~~~

Leonora Lesso Masterlist

[ghoulsbeard]

2025 fic TBR tag from @elfroot-and-laurels :) very fun idea thank you Laurie… the idea is you pick nine (or however many you want) fics that you plan to read this year, and post screenshots of their titles.

( I did summaries for each fic bc of who i am as a person but thats not at all required... )

dont have as many stories bookmarked for later as i usually do, this was kind of tough... to any and all wandering writers, please send a link to your fic in the comments, I’d love to read it :]

passing the tag to @dandenbo @isayashai @aphota @nuwanders @dreadfutures @waterbearable @lichposting @jiubilant @lemon-embalmer @spectrumcore @nine-blades @ehlnofay if you are interested, no pressure, & to anyone who’d like to grab the tag

ok i have seven to talk about…

currently reading ghostwise’s matacuervos - one of the best DA fics i have ever had the honor & pleasure to read. what i enjoy about good DA fics is they are head and shoulders better than the canon while utilizing what makes the canon enjoyable, and this fic is a perfect example. masterful worldbuilding especially for Antiva and the Antivan Dalish, a deeper view of the people and places within Zev’s past, Crow politics, local unions, resonant & poetic prose, fantastic character writing for an ensemble cast— and i must shoutout the incredible arc for Zevran especially. if you are a DA fan and haven’t read matacuervos yet, what are you waiting for… go read it…!!!

rereading oopsallmabari’s FBaGS a DA:I longfic following a noble-born mage of Ostwick as she struggles to adapt to life outside of the Circle, reckon with her magic, chantry politics, the threat of the world ending and her dangerous job as the face of the second inquisition. Grounded and thoughtful, this story explores the nitty-gritty of life during the game’s plot, follows an intriguing woman through her portion of the story as well as a slowburn romance beneath the main narrative action (very satisfying). Thanks to this fic, I was drawn into the inner lives of characters that I had not thought about much before! I am enjoying the reread and I think the story has either recently updated or may update soon…

planning to begin wispstalk’s Ten Days’ Walk which explores the span of time after the sacking of Kvatch, before Martin is ensconced at Cloud Ruler… aka his last free air… I am very excited to give it a go, i hear it will be character focused… really enjoyed Idle in Their Thrones by the same author, nice returning to the cast… :)

vita practica is the series, velut fructus is the fic i am currently reading/preparing to read a second time after zooming through the first and bawling my eyes out. watching the game it’s drawn from but as it’s historical fiction i need to read more of the philosophers and notable figures who appear therein… esp Cato… and on the culture of the era to appreciate the prose’s grace notes... tremendous fics overall; exquisitely penned, perfectly paced, with an incisive writer’s eye finding the marrow of each scene and character…cant praise these enough.

currently reading elfroot-and-laurels’ LOHC, a DA:O longfic tracing a dual HoF worldstate where two Cousland cousins join the wardens together... My favorite aspect of this fic is the alternating POVs, each of the two women develop unique relationships with companions that reveal new sides to themselves and their friends/lovers; the interiority of their hopes, fears, loves, preconceptions, etc deepens the game’s narrative in a very personal way.. I also enjoyed the breadth of worldbuilding done for the grey wardens & for ferelden as a whole… fell behind on new chapters, catching up this year

wyllzel’s Common Concepts is a richly plotted romance that meshes Wyll and Lae’zel’s romance routes together, and also explores their individual arcs as they fall in love. It is meticulously written and filled with charming banter, snappy fights and encounters, crunchy DND stuff and insightful character exploration. Only three chapters long and wonderfully penned. I never got around to reading the last chapter </3 which gives me a perfect excuse to reread from the beginning

rereading nuwanders’ King and Lionheart a sweeping TESV longfic following two siblings, their cousin, and the Dovahkiin herself. I love the depth & breadth of this fic, each character POV is filled with personality and quirks of their narration and broadens a different part of the game, so much deft and thoughtful world expansion. Beautifully paced. I love the slow build of each character’s arc… some great slower burning romance in this story as well (smiles serenely)… enjoying the reread

[missybee-writes]

Shadow in the Dark - Chapter Six: Halloween

Genre: Sci-fi; Romance; Horror

Warnings: (eventual) sexual content; violence; gore; swearing; alcohol and drug use.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Sooo...how about a 20k word chapter? It may have slightly grown beyond my expectations. Hope you enjoy!

Summary

In July ‘85, an ambitious realtor sells the crumbling Creel house to a family looking for a new start.

Rose McAllister may be living in a grand and gothic murder house in a small Midwest town, but senior year in high school is the stuff of her nightmares: a last chance at a normal school year without being the odd one out, the sick girl, the weirdo from across the pond. Blend in, make it through the year, and make some friends. Stay unnoticed at all costs.

Hawkins, and one seriously loud-mouthed metalhead, is about to flip that carefully laid plan Upside Down.

Chapter one: Cursed

Chapter two: Munson Magic

Chapter three: Fearless

Chapter Four: Code Name, Farrah Fawcett

Chapter Five: Sleepover

Ao3 link

---

The nylon gown scratched at the bare skin of her chest, fluorescent lights burned her eyes and buzzed incessantly, and the dull symphony of bleeping monitors was close to driving her to madness. Eyes closed, she could easily be back in Great Ormond Street Hospital with the brightly painted walls, or the view of the British Museum’s roof from her window. Hawkins Memorial was small, the smells and sights were different. And when Rose looked to her left, instead of her friend Elaine in her oxygen mask smothered in colourful boy band stickers pulled from the pages of magazines, there was only her Mum, sitting in a narrow armchair, picking at her the red-raw beds of her nails and stewing in a tense misery. Perhaps hospitals wore on Mum even more than they did Rose. After all, she’d lost Rose’s dad in an accident and seen her only child seriously ill within a year. No wonder Mum looked peaky just being back in here, washed out and pale under the hostile lighting.

The bleeping and rhythmic line moving up and down on the screen was steady, like the slow beat of Lars Ulrich on the drums in one of the songs on Eddie’s mixtape, Fade to Black. It must have pleased Dr Bateman, for he scratched his moustache and nodded, scribbling down something in Rose’s file.

“Alrighty then,” he said, clicking his pen and putting it back in his white coat pocket. “Mr McAllister, your daughter’s heart seems to be functioning well.”

Jerry looked from Rose to her mum nervously. “Oh, I’m just her stepfather, no need to t-”

“So I see no cause for concern,” the doctor continued, not even giving Rose or her agitated mother a glance. “If there are any significant changes then have her come in, but otherwise we’ll repeat the ECG in three months and go from there. Make sure she keeps up with her meds in the meantime. Okay?”

Jerry was flustered. “Um..oh, I guess. Does that mean there’s no risk of anything going...you know...wrong?”

Her mum swallowed hard and looked away, and Rose could see she’d made fingers bleed from picking at them.

“Well,” Dr Bateman said slowly. “There’s always a chance that complications can occur down the line. But more than likely, she’ll be-”

“Eighty-twenty, isn't it doc.” Rose didn’t try to hide the disdain she felt at saying it out loud. “There is an eighty percent chance I’ll be just the same as anyone else and keep going as I am, but a twenty percent chance that I’ll develop heart failure at any time in the future.” 

The doctor grunted. “Like I said, more than likely she’ll be normal.”

“Oh good, you can hear me,” Rose exaggerated her smile. “I was beginning to think I may be invisible. Tell me, if we played Russian roulette right now, and I held a gun to your head, would you be happy with a twenty percent chance of a bullet in the chamber? One in five?”

“No need to be smart now,” his lip stiffened, moustache trembling.

Of course. Smart mouths were somehow more acceptable when you didn’t have tits. God forbid a woman talk back. She took a deep breath and looked at the charts by his side. “Aside from regularity, were you able to hear any sluggish murmurs that might mean endocarditis? No? In that case, be a dear and fetch Dr Abrams from neurology, so he can carry out the electroencephalogram and I can get out of here as quickly as bloody possible.”

The doctor’s face was thunder, he gave Jerry a pissed-off look and turned on his heel and left the small room, shiny shoes tapping on the linoleum, at least a hundred beats per minute. 

“What an unpleasant man,” her mum said. “But I do wish you wouldn’t antagonise the medical staff, Rose. If something should ever happen, it’s them who...who’ll...oh gosh, i’m feeling dizzy. I should sit down.”

Jerry held her mum’s shoulders gently. “Honey, you’re already sat down.”

Her brows drew together like she was startled. “Am I? How silly of me. It’s alright, I just haven’t been sleeping very well.”

Rose, now free of all the wires attached to her chest, swung her legs off the rickety hospital bed. “It’s not more nightmares, is it?”

“No...well, just a few.”

“Shirley,” Jerry said. “I think you should see someone about that. The Department of Energy has in-house doctors for all sorts of things, without even going through insurance. Maybe I can make an appointment with a therapist.”

That was it, her mother laughed, dropping her purse onto the floor. “Therapy, Jerry? Nonsense, I am not mentally ill. It must be all the wires and the pipes in the house, you can’t go five minutes in that house without being woken up by clanking and buzzing. I don’t need a therapist, I need a plumber!”

Another doctor burst in, an older, kooky-looking gentleman with bushy white hair and round glasses, like a smiling Einstein. 

“Dr Abrams, at your service,” he nodded toward Rose. “My colleague is as wound up as a teakettle, steam coming right out his ears. Do I have you to thank for that, Miss McAllister?”

She nodded.

“You must tell me your secret. That man’s as grouchy as a possum eating scraps from a dumpster.”

Rose smiled, immediately put at ease. “I don’t believe I've seen a possum before, but I’ll take your word for it.”

Two nurses dragged another machine, this one with an intricate web of wires, each ending in a sensor. But unlike the little sensors that had been taped to her chest, these were attached together in the snape of a cap.

He looked over the rim of his glasses as the nurse held out the cap. “I would explain the EEG to you, but I don’t think this is your first rodeo, is it Miss McAllister?”

Rose tucked her hair out the way and flattened the waves alongside her head as much as possible. “No it’s not.”

The nurses attached the sensors all over her head, as close-fitting as a swimming cap and stretching from her forehead to the nape of her neck. The machine came to life, and she sat still for a long time as they fiddled with the monitor screen and dials and knobs beneath.

Dr Abrams read through her file as the machine did its thing, and Rose stayed still. “So two years since the surgery and your cardiac arrest. Dr Bateman’s tests look good, no issues identified with your heart right now. I see the hospital in England kept you in for a lot of neurological testing after the resuscitation. Are you having any memory issues?”

“Nope.”

“Any unusual changes in your temper, sudden mood swings?”

“Define unusual,” her mum snickered, and the doctor’s mouth turned up into a smile. 

“From your mother’s reaction, I'll take that as nothing abnormal for a teenager. See, I find this a little odd. Three minutes is a long time for inactivity of the brain, permanent damage becomes very likely.”

Rose shrugged. “So they keep telling me. But I don’t feel any different than before, doctor. Except for this lovely scar.”

“Three minutes...” mum trailed off, her voice numb and distant. “They told me something was wrong, and the doctors had begun resuscitation. The nurses in the waiting room said anything beyond ten minutes meant no chance of recovery...I would have sworn that the cup of tea they shoved into my hand went cold whilst I waited, and I saw them look at their watches and shake their heads when they thought I wasn’t looking. But then the doctor came out to tell me you were actually alive after all. It might have been three minutes, but...it’s like Wordsworth’s poem, isn’t it...to see a world in a grain of sand and a heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour. God knows it felt like an eternity to me.”

Rose wasn’t supposed to move her head, in case she disturbed the sensors, but she couldn’t help looking at her mum’s haunted face. No wonder she had nightmares.

“Waiting is the worst, isn’t it. It’s so difficult to go out there to a patient’s family, when something hasn’t gone the way you’d hoped.” Dr Abrams cleared his throat and looked back at the monitor, humming and holding his chin. “Well, isn’t this curious? Your brain activity looks a little different to me, maybe the sensor isn’t picking up the signals properly.”

Rose sighed. “They said that in Great Ormond Street. You can try again, but it won’t work. They said it must be a unique neurological dysfunction. Just can’t see properly into my head.”

“That’s how we met, actually,” Jerry squeezed her mum’s shoulder fondly. “They needed an electrical engineer to test their power room and some of their equipment as they thought it was faulty. I’d just left the Department for Energy and moved over, you see. So they sent me to take a look at the machine and I found Shirley in the parent’s waiting room.”

“He lingered about in that room for so long I thought he was another parent,” her mum said td. “I was always so nervous in those places, I didn’t even notice he was in overalls and had a toolbelt on!”

They really were an odd couple. Her mother had the outward appearance of a modest woman, but underneath was tough and sharp as steel. Rose’s father had been more easy to laugh and outgoing, with the kind of magnetic personality people were often drawn to, life of the party, pint in hand, cigarette in the other, always surrounded by his friends. Her mum and dad had been opposites that attracted, sparks flying, but with Jerry it was more of a...fizzle. Rose wouldn’t want something that passionless, but then perhaps nice and placid were qualities her mother valued after years of stress. 

“How odd,” the doctor said, looking at the monitor. “I might have to make a call to your old doctor in London. You know what, I have a colleague in Pennhurst who would jump at the chance to examine these results. Maybe even run your interesting brain through a test or two. If you don’t object, I could send him these results for investigation.”

“Pennhurst,” Jerry frowned. “Isn’t that the nuthouse in Kerley County?”

“Pennhurst is a mental hospital, yes,” Dr Abrams said evenly. “But it’s also an esteemed research facility, with a focus on all aspects of the human mind, from the behavioural to the biological. The warden Dr Hatch has a particular interest in neurological conditions, as well as psychology.”

“I don’t know,” her mother said. “Those places are for psychopaths, aren’t they? I don’t think that sounds like a good idea.”

Rose cleared her throat loudly, drawing their attention. “Well isn’t it a good job that i’m a legal adult, with full bodily autonomy. If I want to send my scans to a psychologist, then I’ll do it.”

Mum pouted. “I’m only looking out for you, Rosebud.” 

In her eyes, Rose was still thirteen, sickly, and fragile. Not a legal adult who’d been through more than most people her age, perfectly capable of making decisions about her future. It felt like an oppressive kind of love to Rose, one that itched even more than the nylon hospital gown. But whilst she lived under her mum and step dad's roof, she felt almost...powerless. Toothless. Neutered. Okay, perhaps not neutered, goodness knows she was more and more aware of the raging desires burning through her, particularly since she met a certain someone who should not be named. But losing a year of school and living with your mother at soon-to-be nineteen was exhausting.

“Fine,” Rose said, the fight draining right out of her. “Not now. But perhaps next time.”

---

All the way home Rose stared out the window, wiping the fog from the glass with her sleeve, humming a tune that had been stuck in her head for weeks. She couldn’t remember where she’d heard it first, but it wouldn’t go away. Da da-da da-da daaa-dum, da-

“Boy, a whole Monday off school,” Jerry said from the driver’s seat. “I know hospital’s aren’t fun, but that’s a bonus, eh? Four day week sounds nice to me.”

“I guess so,” Rose leaned against the steamed-up window, October rolling slowly into chilly, foggy weather. 

Mum caught her eye in the rearview mirror. “More time to sleep off that hangover too.”

“Oh god, not again.”

“I’m all for you bringing friends over to the house, but did you have to get quite so drunk? And on the old playground too? Robin might need a tetanus shot after your shenanigans on the rocket ship.”

Rose’s head throbbed at the memory of her, Robin and Steve climbing into the big climbing frame shaped like a rocket ship after a few too many fruity cocktails, singing Life on Mars at the top of their lungs. Robin had scratched herself on a loose screw, so they had to cut their excursion short and return home, clattering in the kitchen at 2am to find a band-aid and some rubbing alcohol. 

Sunday morning had been hell, but hell was far more fun when you had company. The three of them had hunkered down under a mountain of blankets in her room, nibbling on crackers and sipping ginger ale, until they felt more human again, and Robin was able to return home without alerting her parents to the fact that she’d been drunk.

The very same playground whizzed by the window now, and they pulled into the driveway of 1050 Morehead, though no one in the town called it anything other than Creel House. As they got out of the car and her mother opened the door, she wondered for the first time who the Creel family truly were. What happened to them here? Why did the murder live on in the town’s memory almost thirty years later?

Mum stumbled as she entered the house, clutching her head. Rose leapt forward to help, but when her mother turned around, her face was pale as bone, a trickle of blood seeping from her nose.

“Shit,” Rose hissed.

“It’s nothing,” she said, unconvincingly.

Rose guided her into the kitchen, holding her arm. She’d surpassed her mother in height by the time she was twelve, and now she was startled at how fragile she felt. Mothers were supposed to be there, a constant, as large and warm as life. “Come on Mum, let’s get you cleaned up. I think you should go straight to the doctor, you’re not looking well.”

“It’s just my luck, isn’t it. I felt fine when we were in the hospital, surrounded by medical staff. But the moment I walk through this door...”

Rose ran a cloth under the tap and paused, staring at the swirling water. She had been fine. Tired, perhaps. But not ill. “Here you go,” she said, dabbing away the blood from her face. “Let me get you some painkillers.”

“I think we should take you to the family doctor,” Jerry intervened. “I know you don’t want a fuss, but we need to get you checked out. It’s either that, or we go right back to the hospital and into the ER.”

The threat of an emergency room perked her mother up. “Alright, family doctor it is.”

Jerry opened the front door and guided her out, looking back at Rose. “Are you okay to hold the fort, kiddo?”

Rose wanted to be there, to make sure her mother was well. But she knew deep down that having her child there would only lead to her mother putting on a brave face, and she needed to be Shirley for once, not just mum. 

“Absolutely,” she forced herself to smile. “Won’t burn the place down. Cross my heart.”

The door closed and Rose was left in the grant house, alone. Once the car’s engine faded outside, the silence was a muffled, oppressive thing, making her ears ring. But after a while the tap dripped, boards somewhere creaked, and the place felt almost...alive. 

Alone at home for the first time in...well, possibly ever, Rose looked at the high ceilings, walnut-panelled Victorian interior, and felt what everyone else felt when they looked at the place. Fear. She had no idea where the murders took place or of their nature. Was it here in the kitchen, or were people slaughtered as they slept in their beds upstairs? Did they go quickly, or...or were the walls of this place witness to unimaginable pain and terror? Had there been blood, did it seep into the floorboards? Was it there still, after all these years?

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she overcome with the need to be outside. She grabbed a book from the living room table and went out onto the porch, taking refuge on the loveseat by the front door, the walls of the house a thin barrier between Rose and the imagined horrors that lay within.

The leather bindings of the old book bit into her skin. Wuthering Heights. Oh great. She was stuck in the chilly October air without a jacket or even a cardigan, with an eerie gothic novel about lost love, paranoia and a windswept, menacing mansion out on the Yorkshire moors. Why couldn’t it have been Terry Pratchett or Douglas Adams, something to make her laugh?

By the time they arrived home, Rose peeled herself front he loveseat with numb fingers and listened intently to the insightful diagnosis from the family doctor: migraines. Take a tylenol and come back if it keeps happening. It made Rose feel powerless, and frustrated. 

Rather than face Jerry’s beige and very questionable attempts in the kitchen, she made their dinner, finding some peace in the repetitive task of chopping and cooking, layering lasagna sheets and sauce, watching the oven absentmindedly and waiting for an egg timer to go off.

“She’s asleep,” Jerry said, leaning against the doorframe. “But I’m sure your mom will love this when she wakes up.”

Rose could hold back no longer, she had to know. “I’ll heat some up whenever she needs it. I...I got to thinking when you were at the doctors. What happened in this house?”

“Oh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea, kiddo.”

“Maybe, but I’m not asking on a whim. I think I need to know.”

He was as placed and calm as ever, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a floor, four walls, and a roof, like any other house. Look at the hospital we were in today, people die there every day. But it doesn’t make you scared, does it?”

Rose’s eyes narrowed, feeling oddly threatened by his dismissal. Jerry was never like this, he was a goofy idiot, but he was harmless. “Not knowing is worse. I’ll always be wondering and thinking about it, guessing which room, how it happened, or who was killed.”

He folded his arms. “I’m not going to tell you.”

“If you must be like that, then go ahead,” Rose said confidently. “But don’t forget I’m not a child...and I’m not your child.”

Most of the town knew of the Creel House and its backstory; if he wouldn’t tell her, she would find someone else to do it.

“No, you’re not,” Jerry said, masking whatever he was feeling with an impassive face. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I should go check on your mother and get some rest. I need to be at the plant by 5am tomorrow, before the night shift crew finish their shift. The Department’s facilities are having power issues, and we need to tighten the ship before it affects their research.“

In the two years since he arrived in her mother’s life, Rose had never seen him so petty, or act so strange. As she ate alone in the vast dining room, sitting cross-legged in the chair and staring out the tall window to the playground opposite, she felt a rush of hate for this grand, lofty space. 

It was her mother’s idea to move once Rose had the all clear and her health was back on track. With her and Jerry newly married, their little home was too small for the three of them. WIth Rose out of sync at school and her tentative friends all moved on to university or jobs, many of them moving from town, there was little left to cling onto.

Jerry was offered a promotion with the Department for Energy. When the house was sold, the exchange rate and expensive UK housing market compared to rural central Indiana somehow left them with way more than they’d expected. Enough for the real estate agent to sense her mother would fall in love with the Victorian gothic mansion that no one else would buy, at a dirt cheap price. 

It was strange, to have space, and for them as a family to have spare money. Rose’s father had been a dashing, red-haired Yorkshire coal miner whose love for life and taste for drink never stopped, despite the miner’s strikes putting him out of work in the 70s. He’d taken odd jobs, but there hadn’t been anything stable for years. Rose knew he’d not made life easy for her mother, and it hurt...it hurt whenever she thought of him, despite all the things people had said. All she had ever known was a father who told her stories, and always played games with her even when he was exhausted, when others would have said no. They danced and danced around their little living room listening to his beloved sixties and seventies rock, twirling her around until she was breathless and dizzy, laughing so much she thought she might burst. 

Yes, there had been shouting between her parents and more strife than she could really comprehend at a young age, but life without him was simply dull and colourless. She would rather live in her tiny, cramped two-bed terrace and have him back, than be here in this eerie mansion. But here she was. Eighteen and putting together the beginnings of a new life. Trying to find her tribe out in the world. And even if the house wasn’t home, she had a feeling the people who had become close to her over the last month might just be.

---

The week marchedon, despite missing school on Monday. A drumbeat of classes, American History more interesting than she’d anticipated, others like biology and math frighteningly dull and covering ground she’d already trodden before. The Hellfire guys waved her over at lunch as they always did, but something was...off. Eddie brooded at the head of the table, not engaging in conversation beyond his usual rants about the lack of creativity or personality in the curriculum.

But when Jeremy from the party kids clique turned up to school with a full-blown A Flock of Seagulls haircut - slicked down at the front with crispy, wing-like structures carefully constructed with a full can of hairspray - and Eddie didn’t even mention it? Jeremy who’d put him in detention for smoking in the boys bathroom only two weeks ago? Rose knew something was wrong. She put aside any weirdness she might feel after learning of his potted romantic history, more clear than ever that whilst there had been flirting in the beginning, nothing was truly going to happen between them, and tried to talk to him on Tuesday. But he was sullen and withdrawn, enough for Gareth, Gareth of all people, to tell him to snap out of it and apologise to Rose for being a dick.

On Thursday morning she was paired with Robin in Driver’s Ed, both of them horrifyingly clumsy and dangerous behind the wheel, creating an air of chaos and terror in the car that scared the instructor half to death. Rose couldn’t help it if she had difficulty remembering right from left, she’d always been that way, before the little brush with death.

She emerged on Friday in a great mood, her mum feeling better, the weather cool and crisp, and ready for another Hellfire session and pitting her fledgling necromancer against the Cult of Vecna, the very best part of her Friday’s. Yes, perhaps that was partly due to sitting by Eddie’s side for hours as he became the charismatic Dungeon Master, sweeping them up with his skillful narration, theatrical energy and passion for the game. Why shouldn’t it be? Friends enjoyed each other’s company, didn’t they?

Lunchtime rolled around, and with it came an air of anticipation. Maybe it was the impending session, or the cafeteria splurging out on pizza on a Friday, but there was a definite buzz in the air. Except for Rose, who yawned her way through it, half-listening to their banter.

“I’m telling you, man,” Eddie said confidently at the table’s head. “It’s happening. AD/DC are playing in Indy, Iron Maiden are coming to Evansville...I am going to find tickets if it kills me.”

“You have contacts, right?” Dustin lowered his head, and gave him a knowing look. “Like, people who get you things. Things that are...difficult to come by.”

Eddie scoffed. “Not the kind who sell concert tickets.”

Robin gasped in mock surprise and turned to Dustin. “Dusty bun, are you referring to...drugs? Or is this some kind of comic book thing that will go completely over my head?”

“Dusty bun?” Eddie paused with a slice of pizza inches from his mouth, surrounded by the older guys laughter. “Buckley, have you been holding out on me? Where’d that come from?”

“It’s so cute,” Robin began. “It comes from-”

“No,” Dustin threw his hands up. “Nope, I am not going through this again.”

Eddie’s pizza dropped on the tray, forgotten, and he leaned onto the table. “Oh come on, Dusty bun. No harm meant, man. Ignorant kids think up ignorant names. How else do you think I was dubbed Eddie the Freak?”

Lucas was too eager to spill. “Oh, this wasn’t thought up by a bully. That’s the cutesy nickname his girlfriend has for him. It’s barf-inducing at the best of times, especially when he calls her Suzie-poo. What is she, a poodle?”

Eddie was struck in the heart by cupid’s imaginary arrow, slumping back in his chair and holding his chest. Rose couldn’t stop her sleepy smile, completely charmed by the way he acted out his feelings, by the way he never reacted as people thought he would. She left less tired, and more energised as she watched.

“Love,” Eddie clutched the imaginary arrow in his chest. “Turns off all the rational thought in the brain. Enslaved by the sorcerer that is Cupid, made to do his bidding. Love makes you do the crazy, right?”

Rose’s smile died slowly as her mind kicked into gear. Which of his girlfriends was he thinking of when he monologued about love? Was it the record label girl from California? Was it Chrissy? As the table laughed over Eddie’s joke, she couldn’t help but feel fragile, and defensive on behalf of Dustin...or so she told herself.

“Not really,” she said out loud, without really thinking it through. Eddie looked to her straight away, big brown eyes so wide and deep she thought she’d drown in them, too difficult to look away from. She felt the whole table watching, though she couldn’t quite break away from his eyes, “I don’t think it’s crazy. I think it’s sweet.”

“See?” Dustin said. “This is why none of you have girlfriends, and I do. Girls like emotional vulnerability, and pet names are just one facet of that.”

“I have a girlfriend,” Mike added sullenly.

“And you’re always talking about her or writing her letters...didn’t you even give her the name El?”

Mike thought about it for a minute. “I suppose.”

Chris’ mouth was dropped open again. “Suzie-poo I get, but how do you go from Jane to El?”

“No reason,” Mike laughed nervously. “No reason at all, just thought it...suited her.”

Eddie snapped his fingers at his friend. “See, case-in-point. Who comes up with the nickname El for a girl named Jane? Chris is right, it’s weird. Hence, driven by the mushy, goo-brained beast that is love. Come on, Rose, back me up on this one. I bet your boyfriends have given you all kinds of mushy names.”

She sank lower in her chair, but there was no hope of disappearing. She thought of all the lovely things that came from Eddie’s mouth, the ‘Sweetheart’s’ and even the occasional ‘Princess’, or one memorable ‘baby’. She hoped it would feel like that, one day, if she ever found someone who actually liked her back. “I haven’t had any. Boyfriends, I mean, not pet names...aside from Mum calling me Rosebud. I can’t even blame it on being sick...I think I'm just too awkward. I put my foot in it with everyone I ever meet.”

Oh great. Eddie’s eyes widened even further. Stupid, charming doe-eyes, making her feel inadequate yet again. 

“You’re kidding, right? How is that even possible? You’re so...” he trailed off, chin propped on his hand. Their eyes were locked, all the noise in the room faded away, and she suddenly didn’t care what the end of the sentence was, as long as she could look at him like this forever.

Jeff prodded Eddie's arm, which made him snap to attention. “Rose. I mean, you’re so Rose. There’s no one else like you. I mean, kind and nice, and uh, one could say you were objectively pretty. You know, to some people, who are into that kind of thing.”

He was stumbling now, and the whole table knew it. Something weird happened to Dustin, whose face transformed from passive listening, to a little confusion with his brow puckered and head tilted to the side, and then his entire face lit up and mouth dropped open. Lucas casually elbowed him in the ribs and he hissed in pain, distracting everyone for a moment and giving Eddie and Rose a second to recover.

Robin nudged her knee under the table, and gave her a little nod, like she was about to save the day. What was it with prodding and jabbing today? Did everyone just wake up and decide on minor violence?

Robin began to speak. “Oh, don’t let her fool you. There was this one guy, right? Good kisser, kind of crazy about you, but-”

Rose kicked Robin’s foot, stopping her mid sentence. Yes, she’d told Robin all about Simon the Skinhead from the pub back home, but that entire fling was only fleeting, and it wasn’t the kind of story she wanted coming out at the lunch table. Besides, they’d only snogged a few times behind the back of the Nag’s Head, until both of his front teeth were knocked out in a bare knuckle boxing match. Rose liked to think she hadn’t stopped it just for that reason - she wasn’t superficial, though his smile was much harder to look at afterward - it was more that he’d fallen in with the wrong crowd. A dangerous one. And that was months before she’d left for America.

Robin shrugged and mouthed sorry, taking a big crunch of her apple as a blatant distraction, chewing slowly and avoiding eye contact. 

Great. Now the whole of Hellfire was awkward and silent. Or in Dustin, Mike and Lucas’ case, giving each other knowing looks and whispering, eyes still focused on Eddie and Rose.

Thankfully a hand emerged from nowhere, slapping down a pastel pink flyer on the empty space in the table’s centre, between Eddie’s Dr Pepper and Jeff’s lunch tray.

“It’s the end of the goddamn world,” Gareth announced loudly, stood behind the younger guys, his arm thrust between Dustin and Lucas’ heads. Rose flinched, Robin dropped the apple, and the younger guys squealed. 

“What the hell?” Jeff asked, snatching the flyer. “A Streetcar named Desire. Are you joining drama club now Gareth? Who are you gonna audition for, the sister? I knew all those Hellfire sessions playing the princess or the tavern wench would pay off eventually.”

“Fuck off, man,” he said defensively, dropping into his usual seat by Eddie, a bundle of ripped plaid, black denim, combat boots and attitude. “Just keep reading.”

Jeff mumbled to himself, until his face fell. “Oh man, oh no...how did we miss this?”

“I don’t know,” Gareth sighed. “But I stopped off at Ms Click’s class just to be sure. It’s happening tonight, for the next three weeks.”

Eddie had been staring blankly at the table, and sat up suddenly, ripping the flyer from Jeff’s hand. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“What is it?” Rose asked. “I can't take the suspense, what’s happening? Do we not like the works of Tennessee Williams? I have thoughts...he’s no Noël Coward, but his plays aren’t that bad.”

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose. “The drama club needs the prop room until Thanksgiving, for rehearsals and the play itself. Goddamn it, all our stuff is there, the chair, my goblet...you know what I'm like without ambience, man. I can’t do Hellfire in Gareth’s garage again.”

Groans and curses echoed around the table, like it was indeed the end of the world. Rose and Robin exchanged a look of disbelief, but it was Mike who pointed his finger in the air and came to the rescue.

“My basement! We used to play D&D all day there in middle school. It’s dark and downstairs-”

“Duh,” Gareth mocked.

“Yeah, that might work,” Lucas added. “It’s kind of cosy. And Mrs Wheeler makes the best pizza rolls.”

Eddie gave him a scathing look. “I appreciate it, Wheeler, I really do. But didn’t you say your Mom is kind of uptight? Does she know you hang around with a bunch of scary, satan-worshipping seniors and Eddie the freak Munson?”

“She doesn’t exactly know,” Mike deflated, flopping onto the lunch table like he was suddenly removed of his spine. “And she wasn’t too happy about Nancy and I being involved in the whole mall fire thing; she grounded me until sophomore year, in theory at least.”

Eddie’s smile was bitter. “I don’t want to be the source of drama in suburbia, so we'll have to think again. I appreciate the offer though.”

Chris, silent thus far, closed his gaping mouth and added his own idea. “We could just steal the props we normally use and take Hellfire to another classroom for three weeks, couldn’t we?”

“They need the chair and table for the play,” Gareth said, crushing their hopes. “And I don’t think the classrooms will be up to our Dungeon Master’s exacting standards. Plus, they’re locked.”

The seed of an idea was blooming in Rose’s mind. She watched throw out a dozen different ideas and shoot them all down, and worked up the courage to add her own. “We could have Hellfire at my house.”

Eddie caught on first, attuned to her whenever she spoke, brows coming together in a frown. No one else had noticed.

Rose cleared her throat and tried again, louder. “I said, you could have Hellfire at my place. Everything inside is either crumbling apart, or properly restored to its former Victorian splendour. Lots of big fireplaces, candles, cobwebs...you know, the full haunted house experience.”

“It’s perfect,” Dustin said, beaming a great big smile. “Sounds even better than the drama room.”

Eddie hummed, toying with the ring on his right hand, the one with the black stone. “Won’t your parents be there?”

“I can ask them to go out for the day. Jerry’s been dying to visit this antique fair in Cartersville. It would be just us for most of the day. We could even do it on Halloween next Saturday, ” Rose gave him a meaningful stare, and did a dramatic gesture like she’d just remembered something. “Oh, that’s right, only if you actually can come inside. I know how selective you are about whose home you will come into...like a vampire without an invitation. Is it too scary for you, Munson?”

The tension crackled all the way across the table, everyone looking from left to right, waiting for him to respond. Eddie’s eyes were wickedly dark, even in the harsh cafeteria light. His smile was wicked too, teeth biting into his bottom lip, half way between a grimace and a grin. Touche, she thought. 

“There is very little that scares me, sweetheart,” he said evenly. “But I gather the house in question gets a lot of traffic these days, doesn’t it? Lots of people coming to and fro. Are you sure there is room for us lowly freaks next Saturday? Can you fit us into your busy social calendar?”

What the hell? Rose had no clue what he was even talking about. Eddie had left last Friday night, and she’d not seen him again until three days ago. 

“I won’t be coming, that’s for sure,” Robin interrupted, sensing the awkwardness. “Not that I am in Hellfire, or wanna play the dungeon game whatsoever. But I can’t look at your place without feeling sick, and the memory coming back from last week. I drove by with my parents on Tuesday and I had to fake car sickness just looking at the swings. And I’m never car sick.”

Rose was focused on Eddie alone, watching the twitch of his full lips, his narrowing eyes, knowing that something was going on, but clueless as to what. “So are we on, Dungeon Master? You’ll dare to come in?”

He let the tense silence drag on for a second, leaning forward on his forearm, the zip-chain on his jacket clanking on the table. “You bet we are, McAllister. Next Saturday. One PM. It’ll be the mid-point of the Cult of Vecna campaign, the one I've been planning for months. The adventure should be a long and agonising one, so prepare for it.”

Rose nodded, and the shrill school bell broke the tension around the table. Hellfire may be disrupted, but it looked like she had to play host, and Eddie might break that promise to enter her house after all. She wondered what had changed his mind, if anything had happened with Chrissy, or whoever else it might involve. Perhaps it wasn’t her place to know.

---

Three o’clock had her wandering the parking lot, working what to do with a few spare hours now that Hellfire was cancelled. Jerry was due to pick her up at seven, straight from a shift at work. Mum wasn’t home. She could get the bus home, but the thought of unlocking the door to that empty house, and spending several hours alone in it, wasn’t a pleasant one. Maybe she could go to the public library or Family Video, and pester Robin and Steve for a while.

Instead, her weary feet took her across the football field and on to the well-trodden path to the woods, crunching over leaves, stepping into the clearing. Empty. She sat at the picnic table and traced the little drawings of bats with her fingers, remembering the last time she was here, a couple of weeks ago. The near-kiss, the butterflies, the mixtape.

She pulled out her English notebook with the intention of studying, but her heart led her to the Charlotte Bronte novel hidden deep in her bag. Jane Eyre, her comfort blanket, which she’d read more times than she could count. Despite the allure of Jane and Mr Rochester’s fiery proposal scene, moments later found herself yawning and resting her cheek against the page. Just for a second, huddling in her scarf for warmth in the autumn air, lying gently on the book. Just a second.

“...no, Jeremy, I am not going to hook you up with my supplier. I told you, this is what’s on offer.”

Eddie’s voice drifted through the trees, stirring her awake. His voice was nice. So nice.

“Come on, Munson. If you have ket, don’t you have a little coke? Just this once?”

“No can do. If you don’t like it, you can go to Cartersville and find another dealer. I know a few guys that hang out at the biker bar on Sycamore Road, but they carry.”

“Guns?”

Eddie scoffed. “Did you think I meant candy or something? And they’re not particularly friendly to guys like yourself, who think they just stepped out or Risky Business. Come on, Jeremy, it’s October. You don’t need sunglasses. And that blazer looks freakin’ cold.”

The other, nasal voice must belong to this Jeremy. A name she recognised, one of the party kids who sat opposite Hellfire’s lunch table and gave them hell. Eddie in particular.

“Look, if you can’t do coke, then ket will do.”

“Not at school,” Eddie said firmly, with none of the gentleness she’d come to know from him. “Weed is one thing, but I can’t exactly hide ket in my lunch box, can I?”

“Wait...what the hell? Who's the random chick?” Jeremy called out.

She stirred fully from sleep, her brain whirring quickly to keep up. “Eddie?” Her voice was croaky.

He was running over to her, a hand pressed against her back, his concerned face hovering over her. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Shit. Shit. She’d not seen a drug deal before, but it wasn’t a good idea to get in the middle of one, was it? “Sorry. I don’t know what happened, I was just resting my eyes...and I've just taken over your spot, I'm sorry, I can get out of your way.”

Jeremy took off his oversized glasses and squinted at her. “That the new chick? I don’t want anyone else knowing about this conversation, Munson. If she talks-”

“It’s okay,” Eddie said to her, under his breath. “Just trust me.” Then he quickly reared back and crossed the clearing, full of intimidating energy, until he had Jeremy the party kid pinned up against a tree.

“No one is talking, Jeremy. Not me, the drug dealer, or you, the buyer. Who the hell are you going to talk to, the cops? The principal? And if we’re not talking, the completely unrelated bystander sat at a table in the woods, who just slept through our conversation, definitely isn’t. Understood?”

“Jesus,” the guy choked out. “Understood.”

“And if you so much as look in her direction, i’ll make sure no one in central Indiana sells to you again. I’m not so sure you’ll get through finals and into that fancy college without a serious quantity of uppers, or at least that’s what the gossips say about you at school. Are you a gossip, Jeremy?”

“Nope,” he shook his head, sunglasses dropped to the forest floor. “I’ll catch you another time, man.”

Eddie smiled a toothy grin and tapped him on the cheek. “Good. Now get out of here, shop’s closed for the day.”

Jeremy fled without his sunglasses, a blur of navy blazer and his bouncy Flock of Seagulls hair flapping in the wind, disappearing back in the direction of the school. Eddie took a deep breath, sagging just a little, like the adrenaline had worn off and he couldn’t keep up an intimidating posture.

“I’m sorry,” Rose tried to stand up, knocking her knee on the picnic table and hissing in pain. “This is your spot. It’s only fair that I go.”

“Wait,” he rushed over, black lunch pail dropped on the table. He grabbed the back of his neck, face scrunching up, like he was struggling for words. “I should be sorry. This is a public place, and I don’t want to get you involved in any of that shit. He’s chicken shit, by the way. There’s nothing he could do or say that could get you into trouble, not without admitting he’s been using a serious amount of class A drugs just to get through senior year.”

Rose scrubbed her face with her hand, feeling totally awake and alert. “Thank you. That was...you didn’t need to put yourself in any trouble for me. He won’t come after you, will he?”

Eddie pulled a face of disbelief, his smile returning in full force, brushing her concern away with his hands, flapping around like an awkward idiot. “Jeremy? No way. He might throw a few insults my way at lunch, but that’s the extent of his power. You, milady, are totally safe.”

“Good,” she sighed.

He cocked his head, looking over her books, her position at the table, her rumpled hair. “What are you doing out here in the cold, anyways? Couldn’t get a ride home with...um...anyone else? Not Robin and, uh, Steve?”

“They’re working. I did think about going to Family Video for a while, but I just wanted some space to just be. And Robin and Steve are kind of full on.”

He shifted from one foot to another, jean chain jangling. “Right. Do...do you want me to leave you alone?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I mean, I came to your spot, didn’t I?”

Eddie looked around for a minute, and dropped on the bench opposite her. “Yeah, you did. And why is that, exactly? Not that I mind at all, I just...after the cafeteria, I did think I might not be your favourite person right now.”

Rose frowned. “It’s not that, not at all. I came here to study English, actually, but was led astray by Charlotte Bronte.”

Eddie poked at the cover. “She any good?”

She cleared her throat and spoke aloud, voice tinged with the emotion those words always made her feel: “ Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong. I have as much soul as you, and full as much heart!”

Eddie was taken aback. “Damn, that was good. You didn’t even read that from the page!”

“Jane Eyre is kind of my hero,” she looked down at the table, tracing the outline of Eddie’s drawn bats with her fingertips yet again. “She’s invisible, but she pushes through it to find her strength, her courage.”

“Invisible, huh,” Eddie said, with sincere doubt. “That doesn’t sound fun.”

“It wasn’t,” Rose replied without thinking. “But I don’t think I am anymore.”

“Yeah, definitely not. Highly visible, in a good way, I mean...ugh, I should just stop now. But I’ve gotta say, sleeping outside in the woods isn’t a good idea, even if you were invisible. You don’t know what’s lurking out there,” he gestured to the trees, shrouded in gloom just before sunset.

“I’ve not been sleeping well. I must have become a bit too tired. ”

Eddie's concern was genuine, and he leaned toward her. “Everything okay? I heard you were at the hospital on Monday for tests. That’s gotta be tough, with the amount of time you’ve spent there over the years. Like being back in the war zone, you know? Shellshocked, or something? Or at least that’s what Uncle Wayne calls it, and he was in Vietnam.”

Rose could feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She was touched that he’d remembered, that he’d thought about her during the week, and put himself in her shoes long enough to pinpoint exactly what she was feeling. “I’ve had better weeks.”

He could sense the stress behind her words, she just knew it. “And a free afternoon studying the works of Edgar Allen Poe in the woods was just the thing to top it off? ”

“Poe is very cathartic,” she defended quickly, coming alive again. “I thought you would like his work, it fits with the whole anti-establishment, metal vibe you have going on.”

His smile was blinding. “Oh really? Maybe I haven’t had the best teacher. O’Donnell isn’t exactly inspiring. Hence why I'm still here, seeking that Holy Grail of graduation, the D of destiny.”

“I could help you,” Rose picked at her sleeve. “If English is key to graduating, why not call in a high level spellcaster to help you make it through the adventure?”

“Wait,” he said slyly. “Offering to tutor me and using D&D language to do it? Am I asleep? Is it me that’s napping at the table, and this is all a dream?”

She couldn’t help but laugh, her heart light because they were getting on again. “I can get you more than a D, Munson. I think a B minus is achievable.”

“Woah, woah, don’t aim for the stars, sweetheart. Munson’s don’t get that far.”

The idea that his opinion of himself was so low, that he made jokes and projected his lack of confidence in such a way, was so uncomfortable it almost caused her physical pain.

“You’re the only Munson I know, and you are more than capable,” she said confidently. “This is the mind behind the Cult of Vecna, and all of our other campaigns. You have no idea how much Dustin and the guys love those campaigns. They worship you, and they are incredibly smart. Annoyingly so. If you don’t believe me, believe in their good judgement.”

Eddie blushed, cheeks darkening as he ducked his head and dimpling as he smiled. “Okay. Can’t argue with that logic.”

“Do you want to go to the school library some time, or...” Rose paused; she could see his unease at the very thought of the building behind them, and remembered his agitated state in English class last week, like he couldn’t function under the bright lights and with the drone of O’Donnell’s voice. “Or somewhere else. I’d offer my place but I know it might not be ideal. Maybe...maybe yours?”

His mouth popped open. “You want to come to my place?”

“Yes. If it’s okay. I don’t want to presume.”

“No,” Eddie looked smug. “I get it, the allure of the Forest Hills Trailer Park is too strong for you to resist. You can come over sometime, Ms McAllister. As long as you don’t have anyone that would be bothered by it.”

Rose scrunched up her nose. Did he still think her parents were uppity, high class kind of people, just because of the square footage of her house? It was big, yes, but it was dirt cheap. And there was nothing posh about her or her family, so no trailer park was beneath her, or whatever he seemed to be implying.

“First of all, never call me Ms McAllister again,” she pointed a finger near his face, causing him to laugh and hide behind his own curtain of hair. “Second, no one is going to be bothered. Except Dustin, who probably will be terribly jealous that anyone is spending time with you outside of school, because he loves you desperately.”

“Stop,” Eddie swatted her hand away playfully. “You make it sound so embarrassing.”

“No. It’s sweet. He adores you and wants to be you. Honestly, with those high powered walkie talkies he has going on, he may be bugging your house. Or at least biking over to the trailer park and looking longingly through the window with binoculars as you practice guitar or write up campaigns.”

“This is getting so weird.”

Laughter bubbled up from her chest, warm and sweet as honey. “He likes having you as a role model, that’s all. He sees the good in you. And I have to admit, Dustin is not often wrong about facts or people, as much as I would occasionally like him to be.”

Eddie moaned, slapping his forehead. “I forgot. After lunch he cornered me in the hall, asking if we could finish Hellfire early next Saturday so he can go Trick or Treating. He’s fifteen. Fifteen.”

“I think it’s sweet.”

“Mmm. It’s the way people suddenly get this licence to be interesting and act scary, that’s what irritates me. Like they’re different people for one night, just because normative society dictates it. Costumes, though...costumes I get.”

“So why don’t combine Hellfire and costumes, so he doesn’t miss out?” Rose asked. He raised a brow, looking sceptical, but she ploughed on. “No, wait. Not ghosts or witches. We could dress as our characters. What could be more atmospheric than that? Come on, you know it’s a good idea.”

He thought about it hard. “Fine, you’ve convinced me. I guess I can bring Eddie the Bard to life for a night. But for now, carriage duties. Let’s get you home.”

---

Rose had never seen so much paisley and tie-dye in her life. Boxes upon boxes of clothes in shades of orange-brown, acres upon acres of plaid shirts, and endless racks of capes and flared jackets, the kind that her grandmother would have worn. The thrift store was a huge, cavernous store behind Main Street, full of items donated by the people of Kerley County, sold on at cheap prices. There were stained and faded couches that were nonetheless comfortable, old fashioned sideboards, retro drinks cabinets, and crockery and homeware in great big stacks. Books, too, and Rose had a dog-eared romance paperback under one arm ready to pay at the counter once she was done, lured in by the shirtless hunk dressed in nothing but a kilt on the cover and the promise of a clandestine, bodice-ripping romance. But her target today was the great big section of the store dedicated to second hand clothes.

She spied a scrap of ivory beneath a pinstripe skirt and pulled out a peasant blouse, the crinkled sleeves and body gathered at the top, floaty and feminine. She held it up to her body. It had a certain Medieval air to it, one she enjoyed.

“What do necromancer’s wear, anyway?” Robin called, emerging from a coat rack. “Ooh, that’s pretty, you look like you just came from a rendezvous with a stable boy. Oh my gosh...is that...is that straw in your hair?” She teased, so convincing that Rose actually put her hand to her head tocheck.

Rose groaned. “Robin!”

Her friend’s laugh was throaty and contagious. “I can’t help it, you’re too gullible.”

“I don’t know” Rose toyed with the ruched neckline which dipped where it laced up at the front, working out where it might sit on her chest. “I think it might be too low. Waaay too low.”

Robin threw on a fur coat, striking a dramatic pose and putting on a Transatlantic accent like an old movie star. “If it’s the scar you’re worried about, don’t be, darling. I have stretch marks pretty much the same size, and I don’t give a damn.”

“Alright, Scarlett O-Hara. Wait, are you sure you’re not auditioning for Blanche Dubois right now? Are you secretly in the drama club?”

“Oh please. I can’t be contained and made to remember lines. I’m au naturel. You should get the shirt, but isn’t your character, like, on the cusp of being evil?”

“You’re right, it’s not evil enough” Rose said, folding the blouse up and turning back to the clothing racks with a huff. “She’s a sorceress with a dark and twisted power, hell bent on revenge for her family’s death and learning necromancy to bring them back to life. Oh, and she wears light armour.”

“Hmm. Not sure ‘light armour’ is a category in the thrift store. ‘Lightly stained’, maybe.”

lHey there, Ladies,” a deep voice announced right at their backs. “Shouldn’t you two broads be back in the saloon serving whiskey?”

A figure popped up behind them, cowboy hat lowered and covering his face, foot propped up on a box. He raised the rim of the hat and Rose’s heart rate slowed down.

“Steve?!” Robin brandished a coat hanger as a makeshift weapon, hyperventilating. “When did you get so stealthy?”

He put his hands on his hips and sighed. “God, sorry. I’ll make more noise next time. But look at this hat? What do you think, am I cowboy material?”

“I can see that, actually,” Rose added. “You’d make a good authority figure, protecting the town from rogue gunslingers. The hat looks perfect for the keg party on Saturday you keep going on about. You might be able to rope in some broads whilst you’re there. Or cows...or horses...what do they even catch with the rope-thing?”

Steve raised his brows, “Cattle. Come on, I thought you were smart. But wait...do you really think I should wear this to Kyle’s party? Bianca might be there, and I was this close to dating her last year, she was all over me after the Nancy thing ended. Maybe Bianca likes herself a rugged cowboy.”

“No, Steve!” Robin cried loudly. “That is not keg party material! I know you got invited to the ‘biggest party of senior year’ when you’ve already graduated and we, the actual seniors, are not even a lowly rung on the social hierarchy and have no invite whatsoever, but can you stop rubbing salt in that wound already?”

“Geez,” Steve whined. “I was going to invite you. Apparently Tammy Thompson is going. Tammy who, you know...” he dropped into a terribly un-subtle whisper. “Who you spent a significant amount of time crushing over in sophomore year.”

Robin shook her head vigorously, shaking off the fur coat. “Nope, nu-uh. I’m not fifteen any more, Stevie. I’ve grown past this particular crush.”

“Oh, well some of your band geeks are going to be there too.”

Robin shrugged. “Maybe. Can I ditch early if it sucks?”

“Fine,” Steve said, resigned. “I guess authority figures have to stay sober to protect the townsfolk, or whatever. Rose, the invite is open to you too.”

There were very few, or specifically no parties like this in her past. By the time she was well enough to attend one and back in school at home, everyone was old enough to drink legally, and the need for clandestine gatherings had shrivelled away. “I would like that,” she admitted. “I watched so many teen movies before I moved over, and every one of them ends in some kind of raging keg party where parents mysteriously go out of town for the night and kids trash the house. I always thought...if I was invited to something like that, everything would be okay. I’d have made friends. Gone through the whole quintessential high school experience.”

Steve was shocked. “That’s horrifyingly sad, you know that? I’m about to shed a tear here. Now you have to come so we can fulfil your childhood dreams. Tomorrow, eight o’clock?”

Rose slammed the table, tipping over a box of scarves. “Dammit, I have to stay home tomorrow. My mum’s not well, I need to look after her. Jerry’s working a night shift at the plant, again.”

“There will be other parties,” Robin promised. “It’s only October. Just wait until spring, Hawkins will be one series of keggers after the other, and we’ll go to them all if you like.”

Rose grinned. “Next time, count me in. Now, for the bigger challenge. I have to find clothes worthy of a necromancer for less than twenty bucks from a thrift store.”

“Well,” Steve picked up a heap of corduroy and held it far away from his body. “If it helps, I think someone may have died in these pants. Maybe they were resurrected in them too?”

Robin squealed and ducked down, bringing up a box from underneath the table, her new bangs just visible over the top and she held it aloft. “Oh my god, I may have just found the answer to all your problems. Look!”

The box was still taped up, but on the side, someone had written in loopy script: Rocky Horror Picture Show, Hawkins Amateur Dramatic Society, ‘82.

---

“Be sensible, Rosebud,” Mum said, about to step into the car. “I know you said your book club friends aren’t the partying type, but you’re teenagers alone in a big house. Things are bound to get a bit rowdy.”

“Mum!” Rose groaned. “It’s not a book club, it’s a fantasy game, played by a bunch of comic-book and fantasy-novel loving teenage nerds. That starts at one o’clock in the afternoon. Just how rowdy do you think it could get?”

“Hmm. There are plenty of sandwiches and crisps, and money for pizza if you want it. No alcohol this time, given Dustin and his friends are a bit too young for that. I also left lots of chocolate and sweets in the basket by the door. Try to save some for the trick-or-treaters, won’t you dear? Claudia said there will be lots of them, so I may have gone a bit overboard.”

Rose’s mum Shirley had befriended Claudia Henderson in the grocery store, last week, her first new friend in Hawkins, bonding over raising children with various health issues as single mothers. Claudia had filled her in on the town, the goings on at school, and just how good and sensible Dustin and his friends were. That worked wonders when Rose asked if Mum and Jerry could vacate the house for Halloween for a Hellfire gathering. When she learned that Dustin could perform CPR and had a first aid certificate from his science camp, the deal was sealed, the house freed up for a full day for Rose and her friends.

“We won’t trash the place, promise,” Rose waved and plastered a smile on her face, stifling a laugh as Mum and Jerry pulled out of the driveway and off to Cartersville. It was eleven o’clock, and by Rose’s reckoning she had twelve hours before they were back. Two full hours before the guys were due to arrive. 

She’d been waiting for this moment for a full week, enduring school, planning the night in her head, hoping desperately that Eddie would actually arrive, worrying that he might disappear at the last minute. 

Facing down her anxiety she put on her walkman, danced up and down the house to Michael Jackson and made the place fit for the Cult of Vecna. The cheap plastic cobweb packs from Melvald’s General Store were broken open, and she wove the fake stuff around the light fittings, stair bannisters, and on the mirrors and paintings on the walls. Every candle they’d ever owned was brought out, the more melted and twisted looking the better, littering every surface, wax dribbled onto surfaces she knew she would wipe clean.

The hallway with its impressive fireplace and sweeping stairs were decorative enough, but the dining room was the focus of her energy, the location of the campaign. Usually, the table felt ridiculous for the three of them, but now she loved that it could easily sit ten. A crimson-red tablecloth was draped over the top, candelabra in the centre, and so much fake cobweb around the room that you’d think Shelob was nesting in the corners above the ornate panelled bookcases. In comparison the kitchen table groaned with snacks, enough to sate the bellies of a dozen teenage adventurers on a quest to vanquish a dark necromancer. 

The bloody terrifying mannequins that were in the cellar when they bought the place were placed strategically in windows to look like shadowy figures, draped in old hats and coats to give them a spooky, realistic outline. When she stepped outside into the yard by midday and looked over at her handiwork, she was delighted. It truly looked like a horror house. 

The contents of her wardrobe played on her mind, and even a brisk, chilly shower couldn’t calm her down. She tiptoed around in a towel and emptied the outfit from its bag onto her bed, the leather gleaming and catching her eye. 

The thrift store had yielded a fruitful haul. Next to the medieval-looking peasant blouse, lay a leather corset in deepest brown, a racy thing meant for a Rocky Horror Picture Show revival, with a scandalously low bustline, proper steel boning and eyehooks, and black silk ribbons laced up at the back. When paired with the leather wrist cuffs that went halfway to elbow, she reckoned it might just pass for leather armour. Yes, it was a bit too sexy for a real pair of bracers and a cuirass, but it fit the D&D vibe, at least in her eyes. Plus, wearing the peasant shirt beneath it would cover the sheer abundance of cleavage that she’d been embarrassed to see when she tried the thing on.

With the outfit laced up until she could just about breathe, knee high leather boots and a mid-length skirt, and her hair loosely braided with one or two curls escaping at the front, she truly felt like Lady Ceverra, the neutral-chaotic Cleric and fledgling necromancer.

It might only have been early afternoon, but Rose was busy setting a fire in the dining room hearth, until the soothing crackle of burning logs and the thick scent of woodsmoke filled the air. She was running around with a lit taper when the doorbell rang, and she took a deep breath, adjusting her hair and answering the door with a lit candle in one hand, and faint wisps of smoke around her.

“Who knocks at my castle door during this hour?” She said loudly, in a theatrical voice. “A pack of adventurers, I see. Come in, there is meat and mead at my table.”

All the guys were crowding around and she could see Eddie’s van parked on the drive, her heart racing instantly. But he must have been behind someone else, or getting out the vehicle.

Dustin’s open-mouthed grin was contagious. “Wow. You look freaking awesome. Wait, do you really have mead?”

“No, dummy. There’s Dr Pepper, root beer, or Mountain Dew.”

“Oh, nice,” he replied, holding up a big carved pumpkin. “We brought pumpkins, as requested. Your mom mentioned to my mom that she didn’t have any, so we all brought one. This place is freaking wild, man. It’s going to look amazing with so many pumpkins on the porch.”

“Thank you, gentlemen. Don’t forget to introduce yourselves on the way in,” Rose said, stepping to one side. 

Dustin came in first, with a rugged cloak, leather satchel instead of a backpack, and pan-pipes, slung around his shoulder. “Nog at your service,” he bowed. “Half dwarf bard, whose enchanted pipes play a tune as sweet as honeyed-wine.”

“Welcome, good bard.” Rose dipped into a curtsey.

Mike’s paladin knight came next, with a sword and shield that looked really convincing, but turned out to be plastic. “Lady Ceverra, this house kicks ass. I always wanted to come inside when it was a wreck, but now it looks like something from the movies.”

“Thank you, good sir.”

“Yeah,” Lucas added behind him. “Better than the prop room by a long shot.”

He drew back the string of a wooden bow, pretending to aim, though the quiver of arrows was still on his back. His outfit was the best yet, like something from a Renaissance fair, quartered red and green, with a shirt, jacket and a cap that looked almost real. When paired with the bow, the leather band around his forehead and the slingshot tucked into his pocket, he looked like he meant business.

“Nice pun, Sir ranger.”

“Sundar the Bold,” he replied. “Yeah, it’s supposed to be Robin Hood. Mom got it for me a couple of years back, but we went as Ghostbusters instead that year."

Chris was next, with something that looked like a sheepskin rug fastened around his shoulders and a sledge hammer at his side. “Thordus Boulderbash, whose hammer could cleave the very mountains in two.”

“Impressive,” Rose gave her verdict. “Like Gimli come to life.”

Chris blushed a little; he’d always had trouble talking to her one on one, his wariness of girls in general making it hard to speak to her without the context of a group conversation or something to focus on like the game of D&D itself. But she was pleased to note he went inside with a smile on his face, and not a nervous one.

The rest of the older guys had lingered at the back, and it took all of Rose’s energy to focus on Gareth as he came through the door, and not look back to seek out Eddie’s mop of hair in the background. 

“Sup,” Gareth said casually, leaning against the doorframe in a hooded cloak. “Illian the Unvanquished", half-elf Paladin and Champion of the Lost Lands. But then you already knew that. Can I go and see the murder house now?”

“Don’t mind him,” Jeff clapped his buddy on the shoulder, stepping inside with a tall gnarled branch like a wizard’s staff, with a plastic-looking gem embedded in the top. “He’s not properly house trained.”

“The place is cool thanks for having us,” Gareth mumbled, shrugging Jeff off. “Just remember, we’re not children here for Halloween, this is a serious endeavour. Let’s get set up.”

Jeff shook his head. “My spellcaster Zaegor is gonna have to kick Ilian’s ass tonight. I think he’s just hungry. Maybe he’ll be better after some Halloween candy.”

“We have lots of that,” Rose reassured. “And enough food to feed the whole of Hawkins. Go ahead, the kitchen is straight past the fireplace and staircase, the second door on the right, after the dining room.”

Then she turned to the open door again, and was left face to face with a figure that may as well have been summoned from a romance or gothic horror story. 

Eddie wore a flouncy, loose white shirt fathered at the wrist, and left unlaced at the top, showing off acres of his beautiful, muscular neck, and the beginnings of the tattoos at the top of his chest. On top of the shirt he wore a leather duster jacket, the kind that was almost floor-length. His Reeboks were replaced with leather boots, and his black jeans today didn’t have holes. He carried an old acoustic guitar, one that definitely wasn’t his precious Warlock. The whole ensemble was deceptively simple, but stunning in its effect on Rose.

“Milady,” he took her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. His soft, full lips, surprisingly warm...lips she could imagine in many, many other places, until her heartbeat morphed into an awful, beautiful kind of throbbing that settled low in her body, in places it really shouldn’t settle with a bunch of freshmen roaming the house. 

“You’re here,” she said stupidly. “I mean, you made the decision to come inside. I hope you won’t regret breaking the promise.”

His eyes clouded over and he stood up, but still kept her hand in his. “Yeah, well Eddie Munson may not be able to enter, but Eddie the Bard is bound to no such promise.”

“A loophole. How ingenious of you.”

They stood there grinning and holding hands, until Rose realised the source of all the drama and dropped it like a stone; by being here, was he upsetting Chrissy, or whoever else he’d made this promise to? Despite feeling thrilled by his presence in her house, she felt bad for a mysterious person who might be hurt because of it.

Eddie swallowed hard, eyes flicking all over the place. “You look, uh...”

“Ridiculous?”

“Like you just stepped out of a fantasy novel. You should be on horseback, wielding a sword, or something.”

Her skin flushed, and she fidgeted with her hands. “I...I was just thinking the same of you. Very Anne Rice.”

He leaned against the doorframe languidly. “Oh, like a vampire? Does that mean I have to ask permission to enter the mansion?”

“Come in,” Rose said immediately. “It’s not as glamorous as you make it sound. On the left is the parlour and the living room, on the right the kitchen and dining room and pantry. The bathroom is down the hall. Yes, I know it’s ridiculous that it has a parlour. It’s not like I sit around all day drinking tea and...okay, yes I do sit around all day drinking tea, but mostly in my room.”

He explored the place with wide eyes and gangly legs, almost knocking over a row of lit candles, and Rose trailed after him, reminding herself where the fire extinguisher was just in case.

They walked through the kitchen where the boys were congregating around the snack table, and Eddie gasped upon seeing the open archway to the dining room.

“Motherfucker,” Eddie chanted in a sing-song voice. “This is fucking perfect. Creepy, fancy, but also kind of derelict, like the place could fall apart at any given moment. Yep, I feel the ambience, Rosie, I feel it. This is going to be a good night.”

She frowned. “It’s one o’clock.”

He made a beeline for the head of the table, and the chair she’d set up as his throne. On top of the crimson tablecloth, behind the candelabra, lay his goblet.

Eddie gasped. “What the hell! I thought this was locked away tighter than Principal Higgin’s integrity. How is it here?”

“I know someone who knows someone,” Rose said with a smug smile. “Quite literally. Robin is old friends with Beth in drama club, she retrieved the goblet on Wednesday. Give Robin a secret mission and she is all over it. Obsessed. She even gave it a code name.”

Eddie was amused. “What was the code name?”

“Project Elixir.”

“Oooh, I like it. Are you sure she doesn’t want to join Hellfire?”

Rose snorted with laughter, and covered her mouth in embarrassment. “She’s not really one for fantasy.”

“Oh my god, I just spotted a skull. A skull!” Eddie was like a kid at Christmas, examining the gruesome prop on the side table, with its jaw wide open, sat on top of the bowl of candies. 

“Oh, that little old thing?” Rose tried to look cool by leaning back on the walnut panelling, and almost fell over, grasping to hold herself upright. “That’s Yorick. I stole him from a hospital when I was fourteen, on a dare.”

“That’s so fucking metal.”

He turned back to the table and shucked off his leather coat, draping it over the creepy mannequin in the corner. He leaned back in the chair with the nonchalance of an aristocrat, holding the goblet aloft and hooking one leg casually over the chair’s arm. 

“I’m feeling it. I am so feeling it. Fetch the minions,” he told Rose with swagger. “The Cult of Vecna calls for their leader to return, and we heroes must answer with blood and steel.”

---

Six hours. For six long and intense hours they huddled around the grand dining table with their character sheets, cans of Dr Pepper, flickering candles, and battled against the forces of evil. 

Eddie owned the room, he owned the whole house. He monologued like a Shakespearean actor, pacing the room, voice booming during the dramatic moments, whispering during the tense ones, until Gareth literally fell from a chair trying to lean in close to hear him.

“In the dank depths of the cavern, all you can hear is the heavy breathing of those around you. But in the dim, flickering torchlight, which of the hooded cultists are your fellow adventurers in disguise, and which are the true foes? That’s the mystery, there is no way to tell but the sound of their voices and the instinct in your gut.”

Eddie held a candle up to his face, the light casting shadows on his cheekbones and nose. “The acolytes carry the sack into the centre of the cavern, toward the stone altar. It wriggles, it writhes, it moans...and when they dump the contents onto the altar you see it at last...the telltale silver hair of Princess Volara, heir to the throne.”

“Oh shit,” Gareth rocked back and forth. “My betrothed has been captured by the Archmage himself. I won’t let you die, Volara. Not after Vecna slowly bled your soul of it strength.”

Lucas pulled out his slingshot and grabbed the D20, like the little weapon would give him luck. “My turn, guys. I take a stone from the cavern floor and load it into my slingshot-”

“Dude,” Mike interrupted. “You can’t attack, they’ll cut her throat before so much as take off your cloak!”

Lucas grimaced. “Trust me. I take my slingshot and fire the stone toward the sconce on the wall opposite. It knocks the wooden torch, just a little bit, making everyone turn toward the source of light.”

He rolled the D20, and they watched with bated breath, until it rolled onto sixteen.

Eddie pressed the tips of his fingers together, like a movie villain. “I see where you’re going with this. Crit hit, Sinclair. The cultists turn toward the source of light, and for the briefest of seconds, you see their eyes reflecting the firelight. Several of them are brown, several blue, but one is purple.”

“That’s me!” Jeff squealed. “All the potions turned my eyes purple, and-”

The ding-ding of the doorbell stopped them, and a collective groan rose around the table.

“Goddamn it,” Lucas shook his head. “Dustin, can you get the door?”

Dustin's face pulled into an expression of distaste. “Me?! I gave out candy only two times ago, it’s not my turn!”

“But what if it’s the pizza this time?”

Rose shuffled back in her chair, ready to go to the door, but Eddie stopped her, his hand brushing against her sleeve, making her breath catch.

Eddie seemed to pause too, his fingers stilling on her wrist. “Not your turn either. Just cause you’re the only girl, doesn’t mean it’s your job.” He grabbed his new favourite prop, Yorick the skull and played around, moving its lower jaw to mimic speech like a ventriloquist with a dummy. “Thordus, tis your turn to appease the cultists outside. Give them their pound of flesh - and by flesh I mean chocolate - and send them on their way. Go, good fellow! Before they tear down the defences!”

Chris groaned and picked up his sledgehammer, talking directly to the skull instead of Eddie. “Fine, but if I can scare them away, do I get to have the chocolate?”

“No!” Yorick’s jaw - and puppet master - said.

“Take some chocolate,” Rose called out, overruling the Dungeon Master. “Just don’t use the hammer anywhere near the children. We don’t need another murder to take place in this house, one was enough.”

“Where were we,” Eddie continued. “Ah, yes. Lucas, your character Sundar makes out Jeff’s wizard and Rose’s cleric in the crowd, hidden behind their own cultists masks and ready to save the Princess. They both stand to your left, by the cavern entrance. On your next turn, you can attack the Archmage and interrupt the ritual before it summons Vecna himself.”

Lucas passed the D20 over to Rose, who held out her shaky hand and clasped it, trying to determine a course of action.

“I can’t summon the dead body in the corner as a thrall, can I?” She asked, already knowing the answer.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie said gently. “You’re still level eight. Might be level ten by the next session, at which point you unlock Animate Dead and kick some cultist ass.”

She slumped in her chair, aching at the tight lacing of the corset. “God, I can’t wait.”

A series of childish screams sounded outside, followed by Chris’ laugh. He came running back in with his sledgehammer and a pile of chocolate and candy, hoarding it like Smaug with gold in his corner of the table. 

Jeff began to get antsy, fidgeting in his chair, checking his watch. “It’s seven o’clock, man. Where is this pizza?”

“It’s Saturday and Halloween,” Dustin rationalised, chugging back his Dr Pepper and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “They’re busy.”

“Wait,” Eddie stood up suddenly, drawing their attention. “You shiver and clutch the robes tighter around your shoulders, taken by a sudden chill in the air. It’s not just cold in the cavern, it’s icy, your breath fogging in front of you like an ice dragon.”

Jeff took in a sudden breath. “You know what that means...he’s here.”

Mike scrunched up his face. “Who?”

Jeff leaned in. “Vecna.”

The dining room felt chilly in reality, and Rose shivered as if someone walked over her grave, ignoring the fact that shuddering her chest probably did little to hide the effect of her tight corset and the poorly-concealed cleavage.

The faint buzz of electric lights dimming rose above the crackling flames of the fireplace, and the ceiling lights and lamps in the hallway upstairs flickered, the power outage travelling downstairs and affecting the bulbs one by one, like they occasionally did. But this time, with the whole party of eight fixed on the malfunctioning lights, it got quiet and tense very quickly.

“Uh...guys?” Lucas asked, his face a mask of horror. “You saw that too, right?”

“It’s only been three months, I can’t do this again,” Mike added, running his hands through his hair.

“Don’t worry,” Rose added quickly, trying to diffuse the weird tension amongst the younger boys. “I know it looks weird but it’s just an old house, the wiring is dodgy. It’s happened before, but the power hasn’t blown out or anything.”

The path of malfunctioning lamps drew toward them, until the kitchen light just a couple of metres away flickered into life, and then faded away slowly.

“That light wasn’t even on,” Dustin said, his face ghostly pale. “Guys, I think we have a code red. I repeat, code red.”

Eddie looked puzzled, waving a hand toward Dustin, the cuff of his shirt sleeve flapping about. “What’s a code red, Henderson?”

A second ding-dong interrupted them again, and Rose unfurled her aching legs and stood up with a groan. “My turn. I’ll get some money in case it’s pizza. If anyone dares to move my character, I will kill them. That includes you Gareth. Actually, that mostly refers to you.”

“Jeez,” Gareth scowled from beneath his hood. “What happened to innocent until found guilty?”

Rose wandered into the kitchen, where the sandwich crusts, empty crisp packets and wrappers littered over the kitchen table were the only remains of the feast, demolished by a hungry horde by three o’clock. She retrieved the small wad of cash from the tin of tea leaves and opened the front door.

“How much is it?” She asked, looking down at her hands and trying to remove a folded twenty dollar bill. 

A wave of noise hit her, voices clamouring and cheering, and Rose dropped the money on the porch floor.

Steve Harrington tipped the cowboy hat from the thrift store at her, one spurred boot propped up on a giant, silver keg of beer. His jeans and tasselled waistcoat rounded out a fairly decent cowboy outfit. 

“Howdy there,” he said. “Did someone call for a keg party?”

“Surprise!” Robin leapt out from the crowd of people - wait, who were all the people? - in a full-on French mime costume, complete with beret, stripey shirt, braces and white face paint. “If Rose cannot come to the keg party, the key party shall come to her! I see you kept your outfit on, damn, you could cause a traffic accident with those on display!”

Rose crossed her arms defensively as teens in all kinds of Halloween costumes pushed past them, flooding the hall before she even had a chance to stop. Jeremy - the party dude, with the coke habit, entered the hall and looked around at the decorated house, with an exclamation of: “Sweet, nice haunted house, man.”

“What the hell?” Rose said. “How did this happen?”

Some of Robin’s bandmates were next, and a girl with red hair she’d recognised from school. They carried in cases of beer, bottles of spirits, and - as if it was plucked from a movie - a boombox playing something electronic and very not suited to the whole D&D vibe.

“You were so sad last weekend,” Steve explained. “We wanted to make your keg party dream come true. I know people, all it took was a couple of calls. Not sure how, but the rest of the school sniffed the party out like ”

Robin spread her arms open. “Ta da!”

Panic began to flood Rose, particularly how one very particular DM might react to the chaos. “But we’re still in the middle of Dungeons and Dragons!”

Robin pulled a face. “Huh? You said it started at one.”

“Exactly. We’re not even half way through!”

Robin’s face fell, but Steve looked calm and collected, stepping aside to let in a string of witches - cheerleaders from school, Rose thought - his eyes fixed on them as they walked by. “So we have a little party on the margins. Best of both worlds, right? Come on, don’t say your parents won’t like it. Your mom literally plied me with alcohol last time I was here, no questions asked. She’s cool.”

“Plus,” Robin pointed for emphasis. “We’ll be on clean up duty, and help you get the place tidy before they come home.”

“In four hours?” Rose cried out.

“No, sixteen hours, dummy. Eleven AM.”

“No, Rob. Four hours. They’re not staying overnight.”

“Oooh,” Robin let out a whistling breath. “Steve, have we fucked up? Can we stop it now?”

The keg had already been carried in, music blared, and a loud smash inside caused them all to wince. 

“I don’t think so,” Steve said through gritted teeth. “Maybe we let it burn out for a couple of hours, until the alcohol’s gone. You know, like a forest fire.”

“Is that a good analogy, Steve?” Robin asked sarcastically. “Aren’t forest fires destructive?”

He held up his hands, kind of dopey. “What? I saw a PBS documentary on forest management last week, they’re supposed to, like, regenerate the forest by providing nutrients and encouraging new growth.”

“Fire...” Rose murmured. “There are a hundred lit candles in there. Quick, we have to put them out before the whole place goes up in flames!”

“Come on dingus,” Robin shook her head. “The least we can do is avert a disaster. You take the left side, i’ll take the right.”

Rose left them to put out candles and ran inside, her heart sinking. A picture frame had been knocked over, wooden frame splintered, but thankfully the glass was still intact. “Off!” She shouted to a ghost in a low-effort bedsheet with holes in it. “Break anything, and you pay for it. Damn it all to hell, I haven’t even checked with the Hellfire, they might be disappointed. I don’t know if they like this kind of thing, they might be too shy-”

As she wandered through the house and into the dining room, the Hellfire guys and the party people seemed to meet, absorbed into one big crowd. Lucas hi-fived another member of the basketball team.

Dustin was clutching his own face and giggling. “A kegger?” He squealed. “I didn’t think I'd be invited to one of those until Junior year. I’m three full years ahead of schedule...at this rate, I'll be prom king. Look out, class of ‘90!”

“I’ve heard of those kinds of parties, but I dared not hope...” Chris said. “Please say this isn’t a dream.”

Gareth was leaning back on his chair, his hooded cloak falling off his head, almost drooling at the outfits of the witch-cheerleaders. The game pieces in front of him and all the other guys had been completely forgotten. 

“Oh,” Rose said to herself. “Perhaps they don’t mind after all.”

The collective joy around the Hellfire table was contagious, the room filled with people and red cups of foamy beer, the electro-beat of Dead Man’s Party ringing out on the boombox...it wasn’t so bad. Like a John Hughes movie had leapt out from the screen and took place live in her home. 

Rose began to relax just a fraction. Until she saw the uncertainty on Eddie’s face. No, it wasn’t uncertainty, he looked downright pissed. She bumped her way through the crowd, elbowing through a pair of ghosts and a Princess Leia with fake buns on a headband, and tried to get to his side.

“Eddie, I’m sorry,” she called over one of the revellers in a monster costume. “I didn’t know this was happening.”

He swept up the figurines and board pieces, snatching one from the curious green-painted hand of the monster dude, and packed them back in the box with an agitated, twitching face. 

“S’cool,” he lied. “No worries, maaan. We’ll have a big party instead of the Cult of Vecna. Pick it up next week, I guess. That is, if we haven’t lost the guys to the popular social clique.”

Rose worked her bottom lip between her teeth, feeling terrible about the interruption, kind of angry at Robin and Steve, yet oddly touched they tried to put this together just for her.

She approached him gingerly, putting a hand on his arm, looking deeply into his big, doe-eyes. “Eddie, don't be ridiculous. They love Hellfire, there’s no way they’ll abandon it for a moment with the popular kids. You’re like their hero.”

At that very moment Dustin ran forward, stopping in his tracks, looking at the doorway to the hall, dumbfounded. “Steve? What the hell, are you behind this kegger?”

Steve opened his arms wide. “Henderson, you little menace. Come here!”

The two of them ran toward each other almost in slow-motion, colliding in a dramatic and meaningful hug, which they tried to make more masculine with a lot of back-slapping and clearing of throats.

Dustin looked up at him, like he hung the moon. “Crashing a Halloween party at a haunted house with a keg? Classic King Steve. Graduation can’t even contain your reputation at school, can it?”

“Oh no,” Rose muttered under her breath, watching Dustin and Steve greet each other like the oldest of friends. Shit. From the corner of her eye, she saw Eddie was wounded. Sure, he covered it by turning to grab his guitar from the eager-fingered green monster and pointedly ignoring Dustin. But she could see right through it. Jealousy. But it felt like there was more beneath the surface. 

Eddie surveyed the crowd, and winced at a particularly shrill beat from the boombox. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“No,” she pleaded, grabbing his arm again. “Stay. Have a drink. I don’t want you to go.”

He looked down at her hand, wavering. “I guess I could have one.”

Rose sighed with relief. “Stay right here, I'll get us beer. If I'm going to be a reluctant party host, I might as well benefit from it by getting buzzed.”

The moment the crowd parted them, she lost sight of his long leather jacket and white frilly shirt, swallowed by dancing monsters and witches, moving to the beat. The kitchen was chaotic, all the Halloween candy eaten, and the pizza they ordered an hour ago had mysteriously arrived, been paid for, and completely devoured, leaving nothing but the greasy boxes.

“Robin!” She cried. “Where the hell is the beer?”

“In the parlour!” Her friend’s voice echoed back, a blur of face paint and a beret just visible in the hall. 

By the time she filled two cups with foamy beer, avoided the groping hands of a Thriller-style zombie whose face was almost planted in her cleavage, and got back to the dining room, Eddie was nowhere to be found. 

Okay, it wasn’t quite what she’d hoped for, but it was a party. A lively one, on Halloween, surrounded by teens who were high on hops and hormones, and...now that she came to think of it, what if they trashed upstairs? Used the bedrooms like a brothel, queueing up to fondle each other her mother’s quilted bedspread? It was enough to make her panic, until she saw a figure in a fur cloak, with his sledgehammer held high.

“Chris,” she waved at him, gaining his attention. “If you guard the stairs, i’ll owe you.”

“What?”

“I’ll owe you!”

His face was a picture of surprise. “You’ll blow me?”

“What the fuck, no!” She screamed, attracting attention, as When Doves Cry blasted across the room. “I will be in your debt. Owe you a favour. Anything except that!”

He nodded, finally getting it. “What do you want?”

“Guard the stairs, no one except me or Robin and Steve are allowed up. Okay?”

“A side quest,” he exclaimed. “No one will breach the stairs, milady. They can send an army, but I will guard it with my life!”

She sagged, secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t let anyone through, though slightly worried that sledgehammer would be put to use at some point, even by accident. 

“All the candles are out,” Robin sidled up to her. “I hid your mom’s ornaments in the pantry, and Dustin is literally about to combust from excitement. Time to actually enjoy the party, you know, dancing, music, a little joie de vivre...sound familiar?”

“What, we’re not supposed to scowl at the edges like old spinsters?” Rose said with mock confusion.

“Dance with me!” Robin commanded.

“I’m too clumsy!”

“Me too. If we do it together, maybe we’ll cancel each other out. Two left feet make a right, or whatever the saying is.”

She allowed herself to be dragged on the dance floor, and when Duran Duran came on the stereo, she couldn’t stop herself, laughing breathlessly as Steve did a little cowboy dance and completely failed to charm Bianca, the current object of his affections.

They were clumsy, they were awful, but Halloween costumes were forgiving, weren’t they? Freedom to be more than who you were, and try out a different side of yourself. The party burned on for longer than she realised, until the grandfather clock in the hallway struck eleven, the sonorous ring of it snapping her out of it.

Shit. Mum and Jerry would be home any minute, and the party was in full throes, nowhere near burning out like a forest fire, or whatever other hamfisted metaphor Steve had used earlier.

Her face was burning, lungs struggling for air, and the place was too crowded. Rose bolted for the front door, pushing past a couple shoving their tongues down each others throats and emerging onto the porch, where more kids hung out with cups of foamy beer. The hoppy smell made her feel queasy, feet stumbling until she was out on the driveway.

“Nice party, new girl,” someone shouted. She gave them a thumbs up, no clue who was beneath the costume, and kept going until she saw Eddie’s van. It was at the front of the drive, trapped by a layer of parked cars of those who arrived later, drawn by the buzz in the air and the gossip whipping around the town at lightspeed, of a party at the murder house.

She put her hands to the widow and peered through the glass: empty. But then a chord drifted on the night air, with the scent of pumpkin flesh and pine. Black Sabbath, the chorus of Lady Evil. Eddie sat on the swings over the street, the foggy evening lit by buzzing street lamps, illuminating the frizzy hair like a halo.

Rose ws drawn by the song, leaving behind the party and stepping willingly into the playground, watching his ringed fingers strum the acoustic guitar and produce a sound so natural and beautiful she held her breath. He was concentrating so hard his tongue poked out the corner of his mouth, and her heart did a little leap. The perils of having a heart condition and helplessly falling for someone...each time her heart raced, she felt weird, and worried herself needlessly. But she found it was a good weird.

“Ah,” Eddie said, sitting up as her shadow fell over him. “Here she is, the Queen of the Night herself. Mistress of the keg party. Lady reveller, entertaining the masses in her tavern.”

She snorted, and dropped onto the best swing, cold chains biting her fingers. “I’m hardly a party mistress. Haven’t even had a drink.”

He kept strumming the guitar, playing through the rest of the song, but smiling wide. “No way.”

“Yes way. Not even a drop of beer.”

His teasing side-eye was enough to warm her right up. “You running for sainthood or something?”

She pondered it for a while. “Sister Rose does have a good ring to it. What, why are you laughing?!”

“You’d be a terrible nun, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and throaty. “You’ve been converted to metal music, satan worship, and liquor. Yeah...you’re too good at sinning.”

His teeth shone pearly white and the loose ruffled shirt was still half-open, exposing the neck that would tempt Dracula himself. And when he saw her looking, his wicked grin only widened. Well bloody hell, he must be out to kill her. Do her in, set her on metaphorical fire, or at least banish all the nice, innocent thoughts she’d been thinking about how they could be friends. But there was a Chrissy-shaped elephant in this room, even though they were outside, one they were no closer to overcoming.

“My last hangover was one to remember. It might be a while before I can stomach alcohol without wanting to be sick.”

Eddie laughed and put down the guitar gently. “Just avoid the instrument, sweetheart. My uncle Wayne won’t forgive me if it comes home covered in vomit. It’s his baby, carried it all the way from Tennessee.”

“Your Uncle Wayne sounds great,” she ventured. He hardly ever talked about his family, only when they were alone. He didn’t have a mother and father and a picket fence, like most of his friends. Less stability, and more shame. “Did he teach you to play?”

His smile was bittersweet, eyes glazed over and lost in memories. “My old man taught me first. Uncle Wayne kept it up later, when he wasn’t around. Real country stuff. But the love of music? That came from my mom. We didn’t have much, but no matter how little money you have, you can’t take away music. I’d be strumming and banging on anything in sight, dancing along to her records. Hendrix and Fitzgerald and all sorts of blues.”

Rose swung back and forth gently, boots trailing on the grass. “How did she...”

“Cancer.”

“Shit.”

“She was thirty-three.”

“Oh god. That’s fucking awful Eddie, I didn’t know. How old were you?”

He twisted his swing’s chains to the side, so he was facing her. “Ten. She’s buried at the cemetery off Cornwallis. I go there sometimes. Never on the day she died, there is not a little bit of me that wants to remember that day. But I go there every now and then, and always on her birthday. I, uh, know it sounds stupid, but I bring the guitar and play some Hendrix sometimes.”

“Not stupid,” she said, swinging higher and higher, feeling the rush of being at the top of the world, and the drop in your stomach when you fall back to earth again. “You’re talented as fuck. Must have been that goblet of rock that’s inside. I’d better not let anyone drink from it, or you’ll be dethroned as Hawkins’ rock god.”

“Sweetheart, do not inflate my ego. I can hardly fit in the van as it is. If my head gets bigger, will I grow more hair, or will it go ratty and balding, spread like butter over too much toast?”

Rose laughed until she couldn’t breathe, and stuck out her heels, feet jarring in the grass as she made the swing come to a stop. “You’re trying to kill me, Munson. Oh god, my ribs. It hurts.”

Eddie half-rose from the swing seat, face etched with concern. “Are you...sick? Do we need a doctor?”

“It’s this corset,” she grimaced, twisting her hands to her back and trying to pull on the laces. “Flipping torture devices made by sadists, that’s what they are. I couldn’t cope with the Victorian era. No wonder the ladies fainted all the time and needed smelling salts.”

“Oh, right,” he crossed his arms, shoving his hands into his armpits, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. “So you didn’t...uh, you didn’t just have that little torture device hanging around then? Not your weekend outfit?”

“Bloody hell, no,” Rose continued to struggle, going pink in the face. “I think I need help, I can’t reach the back. Could you undo the knot for me?”

Eddie stepped back. “You sure?”

Rose went light headed, and she stepped around until her back faced him, drawing her loose braid over the front of her shoulder. “I’m not asking you to strip me naked, Eddie. Just loosen it up a little. Besides, you can see I have a shirt on underneath this thing.”

“Oh. Loose...laces...knots. I happen to be amazing with my fingers, lots of practice. Oh Jesus H Christ, I meant with guitar strings not...though come to think of it...god, shut up. Shut up, Eddie.”

“Guitars,” she said dumbly. “I get it.”

His breath fanned the back of her neck and she could feel the warmth of him at her back. Don’t think of his fingers...don’t think of his fingers...

In a few moments he’d picked open the knot, and a single touch of his calloused finger to the exposed skin between her shoulder blades had a shiver rippling up her spine.

“Sorry,” he laughed nervously. “Kinda cold out here. So what do I do now?”

“Just tug on the top thread until it moves an inch or two, then the next one, and keep going. It should loosen up quite easily.”

He cleared his throat. “Right. Gotcha.”

The top of the corset began to loosen and the pressure in her ribs and lungs slowly eased, and it was glorious, remembering how to breathe again, the blood flowing back to her skin and tingling all at once.

She groaned, loudly, just as Eddie’s fingers worked their way down; he jolted and tugged the lace too hard, and somehow within a single fluid move the lace unravelled and the whole thing dropped to the floor.

“Oh...ooh no, n-no.” Eddie stammered.

With agonising awareness, Rose felt her nipples hardening as the cool night air rushed beneath the loose, half-open peasant shirt. And in an instinctive, foolish move, she turned around to see what had happened, until he was inches away from her. 

The sensation of boobs - and not small ones, not by any stretch - being freed after a long period of containment was a very personal, very private thing, and one she had not experienced in front of a man, let alone one she fancied the pants off of. Within a split second she’d covered them with her hands, with the flimsy shield of the peasant shirt. Unfortunately, she’d left the garment open to better fit beneath her corset, and it was a flimsy layer of clothing by itself, made translucent by the buzzing street lamp over their heads.

“I seem to be in a state of undress,” Rose said politely. “Oh lovely, I’ve fully embraced life as a Victorian lady, haven’t I. Someone will see my ankles in a minute, and denounce me as the town hussy. Oh fuck.”

Eddie's eyes were pools of coal-black, completely unreadable, somehow everywhere over her body all at once, until he jerked back like he’d been burned. 

“Do you...” his voice was low and even, like he was putting great effort into controlling it. “Do you want me to lace it back on?”

“No! It would take too long, I'm one gust of wind away from being topless here.”

“Here,” he flung off his leather duster coat, like it had fleas. “Take it.”

“Won’t you be cold?”

“I run hot, like a furnace usually. Warm all the time. Never need a blanket, not even in winter.” he babbled. 

Rose tugged the sleeves of the leather jacket on, and held the edges together at the front. Now that image was too much...Eddie naked, Eddie sleeping with no clothes, and no blanket. But now, he was in his own flowing white shirt.

“I like your shirt,” she said, humour coming back into her voice now she had some semblance of modesty. “We kind of match.”

Eddie looked down at himself and pretended to be shocked, playing the jester, jumping back. “Oh my gosh, how did that get there? Wait...if I put on your corset, i’d look very Rocky Horror, wouldn’t I. Shall I do it?”

She couldn't help but giggle. “Ah, but they would think we’ve been out here...you know...doing stuff.”

His eyebrows waggled and he paced around, giving her a very mischievous look. “Ah, stuff. I thought you were a virtuous woman, Sister Rose?”

“What, a nun can’t cross dress with her dungeon master? Whatever has the world come to?”

He strutted around like a peacock, like something from a romance novel, chest half-exposed, long hair curling around his shoulders. Rose noticed a silver necklace of some kind hung at his chest, a crucifix maybe? Yes, yes she would be re-reading Anne Rice tonight, she was sure of it.

“Stuff,” he repeated. “Naughty things. Things someone inside might not like. I get it. Maybe we should head back in, before the parentals come home and see the lady of the house dishevelled in the street, like a common whore.”

“Oh,” she raised her brows. “I’ve been upgraded to whore, have I?

“Promoted, sweetheart. I guess you have a thriving career ahead of you.”

“A nun and a whore. What will the priest say?”

Eddie winked. “It’s kinky, he’ll love it..”

Whilst some of the partygoers had begun to drift off, bound by curfews and the threat of permanent grounding, most of them remained. Dustin, Lucas and Mike were hanging out in the dining room window, and Robin and half their classmates would be inside.

“Do I have to go in?” She asked, looking back at the swings with longing.

“Eventually, yes.”

She looked up to the windows of the house, and a grin spread over her face. “Who said I have to go through the front door? Eddie, are you good at climbing trees?”

He looked to her, to the house, to her, back to the house, cogs whirring in his brain. “Oh my god.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“No.”

“It makes sense. My window isn’t locked.”

“Do you have a death wish, sweetheart? Are you high? Except I know you’re not, cause I control the supply at school.”

“I’m high on life!”

He laughed and shook his head. “Goddamn it, you are going to be the death of me.”

Rose couldn’t stop giggling, until she sounded like a bit of an idiot. “Already died once, haven’t I? I must have eight remaining. You have nine left, like a cat.”

Eddie was contemplative. She thought she’d lost him for a minute there, as he turned his back to her. But a second later he came back, holding the leather, ribbed corset in his hands and shoving it in the waistband of his jeans. “You’ll need this, to protect your innocent reputation. Come on, Sister Rose, let’s break you back into the convent.”

“Oh, this is exciting,” she clapped her hands. “I’m living out every high school fantasy in one night.”

“It’s a good job your house has a nice veranda, and a great big tree right next to it. Come to think of it, you should get better security. That’s a thief’s wet dream.”

She giggled even more, stopping to breathe hard and clutch at his sleeve, completely ruining their stealthy approach. After a long pause they made it to the cedar tree at the side of the house, and Eddie climbed ahead of her, working out footholds and helping her take each step up. 

“Look,” she hissed. “They don’t even see us!”

The couple on the porch seat were sucking each other's faces off, too busy to notice the people climbing a tree only twenty feet away.

“Of course they don’t, they’re about to get to third base.”

“Yeah...I don’t understand baseball. No idea what that means.”

Eddie reached a horizontal branch and slithered onto it, testing its weight, and finding it sturdy. He hauled Rose up, until she straddled the branch and hugged the main trunk, watching how he dropped easily from the tree to the veranda below her mother’s bedroom.

“Come on,” he beckoned, hands outstretched. “I’ve got you.”

She dropped onto him with a thud, with a mental reminder to thank the contractor who’d repaired the roof last month, for doing such a sturdy job. There were some limbs pressed together, some awkward scrambling upright, until they stood holding each other's forearms, balancing together.

“So,” he said casually. “Which room’s yours?”

Rose looked up, gesturing with her chin to the big, round stained-glass window. “Up there.”

He threw his head back, exposing the column of his throat. “The attic? You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

“Hold me.”

Eddie blinked a few times. “What?”

“Boost me up. I can get in the side window, then pull you up afterward.”

“Sure,” he nodded. “We could do that.”

They crept to the side of the veranda, beneath a dormer window, and Rose limbered up, then wound her fingers together and cracked her knuckles. “I’m ready. How do you want to do this?”

Eddie held out his arms moving them up and down, like he was looking for somewhere to grab. “Maybe you should get on my shoulders? Jump up?”

The air seemed to crackle as she stepped toward him, looping her arms about his shoulders. She was so nervous she jumped straight away, until her legs locked about his waist and his head oh for god’s sake his head was at a level with her chest.

“Not that way,” He said, muffled by their clothes. “I meant jump on my back, not my front!”

“That would have made sense.”

“We’ll go with it,” he said, shifting her weight in his arms. “Can you reach the window from here?”

“Back up to the wall for me.”

He did as she asked. “Now?”

Her fingertips were so near, bark-scraped palms flush against the bottom of the window pane, almost able to push open the sash window. “Almost, let me get a bit higher.”

She wriggled up him, until somehow her knees were planted on his shoulders. “Yes, I've got it!”

“Hmm. Fuck. Oh god.”

“I’m sorry, I know I’m not light.”

“No, sweetheart,” Eddie’s voice was muffled again. “Just be careful where you move, or the couple on the porch won’t be the only ones out here getting to third base.”

She pushed open the window and the momentum carried her slightly forward, realising just at the wrong moment that his head was very much in between her legs. Panic and adrenaline made her pull herself into the window more than her arms could under normal circumstances, and before long she was crumpled on the floor of her attic bedroom, quivering in a heap. 

“Uh, Rosie? You in there?”

She sat up so quick it made her lightheaded. “Yep, I'm coming.” She appeared over the window ledge and looked down into big, brown eyes and a dimpled smile.

He threw his arms up, dropping down on one knee like a knight in a fairy tale. “Rapunzel, let down your hair,” 

“What?” She grabbed her braid, looking at it like a slack-jawed idiot. “Oh. Something to climb. I see.” She dived back into her room, switching on a lamp. Her scarf? Her hockey stick? Her eyes landed on the floral blue dressing gown on the wardrobe door, she pulled the terry cloth belt from it and threw it out the window.

Holding the rope with one hand, he climbed up the wall like a limber monkey, latching onto her arm as he neared the top and launching himself into the window, jean chain clanking on the sill. They collided again, proximity making her drunk and dizzy, lightheaded from being in the presence of all this Eddie. She was suddenly very aware Eddie Munson was just between her legs, whilst they broke into her attic room, with a raging party going on downstairs and music throbbing through the floorboards. There was no way she’d anticipated the night ending like this.

He rubbed his scratched palms together and became aware of his surroundings, peering into the corners, wandering around aimlessly, poking at her things. “So this is like your lair? Very creepy, very cool. Very Rose.”

“You think?”

“Hell yeah,” he gave her an enthusiastic nod. Oh god, he looked good in that shirt, it was sinful. He zeroed in on the bookshelves, fingers tracing on the spines. “That is a looot of books. If you didn’t have a wall of sexy guys plastered right next to it, I'd be kind of intimidated, y’know?”

“I’m a connoisseur of bands and movies,” she said, eyeing the posters of her old crushes, marvelling that the new one, the real one, was right there. “Purely a coincidence that they’re all very attractive men.”

“Harrison Ford,” Eddie appraised the poster of Indiana Jones. “Classic. I get it, it’s the whip, isn’t it.”

“Of course, every girl’s dream,” she replied. “Would you...would you mind waiting outside the door while I get changed? As much as I like this jacket, I-”

His mood shifted, becoming more guarded. “Oh, I get it. I don’t want a particular person to get the wrong impression, like I carry you into your bedroom window in a state of undress all the time. Especially when they might be downstairs, dancing to shitty music with the rest of the popular crowd.”

Chrissy was here? Rose supposed it made sense, she’d seen half the cheerleading squad in witchy outfits attacking the keg earlier. Come to think of it, she didn’t know who half the people in the house were, partly due to the costumes, but clearly a bigger crowd had been summoned by the invite from the former King of Hawkins High. “I didn’t realise there was someone...I mean I thought, but...”

“It’s okay,” Eddie flapped around nervously, inspecting her bookshelves again. “I kind of figured it out last week. Moving on swiftly, I can either sneak downstairs or go back out the window. I’m thinking the window; Chris might kneecap me with the sledgehammer on the way down the stairs, he looks like he was taking that responsibility very seriously.”

“I don’t want you to break your neck on the way down. I’ve never seen someone trip on their own feet so much, except Robin, maybe. If I didn’t know you were stone cold sober I’d think you were drunk.”

Eddie took the mortal blow badly, clutching his chest. “Me? Clumsy? I’m as graceful as a...okay, you got me there McAllister.”

Fuck. He was so clumsy, so charming, so infuriatingly on the same wavelength as Rose. It was typical, she supposed. She found someone she was crazy about, and he was crazy about someone else. 

Eddie had given her more courage and more reason to break out from her carefully crafted shell of invisibility than anyone. And maybe, just maybe, she should do something very…stupid. Then he was walking away, back facing, his hand on the doorknob.

“Eddie, wait,” she caught his arm. His pretty brown eyes found hers, boring into her heart. “I need to say something.”

He swallowed. “Is this the part where you tell me you wanna leave Hellfire? I don't want…I guess it-”

“No, you idiot! I love Hellfire. It's something else, stupid really.”

He stood up straight, becoming more serious. “Yeah?”

She took a deep breath. “I really, really-”

Darkness covered them like a thick blanket, pitch black so dark she could only feel his arm, not see him at all. Jeering and shouting from a half a hundred teens all at once rose through the house; then the music died, and all she could feel was her racing heart.

“Party's over, dipshits,” Steve cried out downstairs, to a chorus of boos. “If you're still here in five minutes, congratulations, you volunteered for clean up duty.”

Eddie's warm breath fanned her face in the dark. “I'd, um, offer to stay, but I have six guys to get home in the van, three of them freshmen and possibly buzzed for the first time.”

“Of course, you should collect the hellspawn,” Rose managed a lame laugh. “It's dark, so you can sneak down the stairs without being seen.”

“Well, don't mean to brag, but this bard's stealth is pretty high.”

He began to pull away.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For being so kind.”

His hand squeezed hers. “Anytime, Rosie. Just say the word.”

In three heartbeats he was gone, stirring the air in his wake. And despite sneaking into her window with a boy, an out if control keg party, and the prospect of parents on the rampage for an impromptu rager, she'd trade every one of those high school cliche’s just to hold onto him a minute longer, or as long as he'd let her.

[autumn-foxfire]

KAISHIN AU IDEA

Toichi knew his son would be a magician who surpassed even his own feats once day and he was eagerly looking forward to that day. Having picked up Toichi's tricks as quick as he did breathing, and crawing, and walking, and escaping his play pen-Kaito was going to grow up to be a force to be reconned with.

Toichi hadn't realised how on the nose that would be until a simple breakfast when Kaito was five.

He had been taunting his son with trick spoons, pretending he could bend them with his mind and seeing if his son could pick up on the trick he was using when Kaito showed Toichi a trick that left him speechless.

"Do you know how I did it, Kaito?" he teased as he placed the bent spoon in Kaito's eager hands and let the small boy study it, chuckling as that cute little frown of concentration appeared on the boy's face.

"Are you taunting Kaito again, dear," Chikage called from the oven, turning around with a large stirring spoon in her hands and pointing it accusing at him.

Toichi stood up with a flourish, wrapping an arm around his lovely wife's waist and dipping her low, "I'm just teaching him some more magic, my love," he replied airly, "I could show you too-" he whisked the spoon in her hands away only to have it snatched away from him immediately.

"You've destroyed enough of my cooking utensials for a life-time, Toichi," she chided as she placed the spoon back into the soup she was cooking.

"I've always replaced th-"

"I DID IT!" Came the excited cheer of their son who was waving a spoon, not the one Toichi had handed to him but rather the one that Chikage had placed on the table for Kaito to eat his breakfast, that was indeed bent in half.

Chikage shot Toichi a displeased glare.

Toichi quickly released his wife and walked over to his son, "Kaito, did you bend that with brute force?" he asked, "You know your mother doesn't like us breaking with her cutlery."

"I didn't!" Kaito protested with a pout, "I used magic like you!"

Toichi was unconvinced, the spoon he had showed Kaito was created specifically to feel like a regular spoon but if held at the right angle be able to bend like butter with the simple push of a finger. A trick not very easy to replicate with the stainless steel that made up normal spoons.

"I can show you!" Kaito huffed and snatched another spoon from the table. He glared intently at the spoon while holding his breath, his cheeks puffing out and face turning red from the effort as he did.

Toichi was about to tell Kaito to breath when he saw it.

The spoon began to bend backwards. It began to bend backwards without Kaito even touching it.

When the spoon was bent until the round metal was touching Kaito's own hands, Kaito released his breath and thrusted the spoon towards his now pale father, a wide grin on lips.

"SEE!" he cheered.

Toichi delicately took the spoon, studying both it and his son, sharp eyes trying to find anything to explain what just happened. Wires, heat, anything to make the spoon bend the way it did.

He found nothing.

-

Yuusaku's parenting had been called to question quite a few times as he brought his son from crime scene to crime scene but Shinichi had never seened bothered by the sight of death so Yuusaku never bothered to ring Yukiko to pick him up and look after him while he solved the umpteenth murder he happened to stumble across.

In fact, Yuusaku could say with pride that Shinichi sometimes provided more help in solving the murders than some of the officers who were brought to investigate. His son had a knack for finding clues that most overlooked.

Never Yuusaku though, but he did have fun waiting to see how long it took Shinichi to find a clue after Yuusaku had found it. He was getting quicker every time.

That said, even Yuusaku had found himself curious when Shinichi had pulled on his arm just moments after the poor woman had been declared dead and said with all the confidence of a man who knew the truth that her closest friend who was currently breaking down in the arms of one of her friends was the murderer.

"That's quite bold of you to jump to conclusions like that, Shinichi," he gentle chided, "We haven't even found any evidence yet that could tell us she did it."

Shinichi looked frustrated, his eyes flicking to above the body of the woman, to Yuusaku and then to the floor.

"...She told me," he mumbled so quietly that Yuusaku almost didn't hear him.

Yuusaku's eyes narrowed, "Who told you this, Shinichi?" he asked so he could relay it to the police when they arrived.

Shinichi continued to look above the body, his face pale. Yuusaku followed his gaze but found nothing but an empty wall across from them and a quick sweep told him that it held nothing of interest. Was Shinichi nervous of the body? He had never been bothered by the sight of one before and he had seen much more gruesome sights than a woman who had died from poisoning.

"Miss Hana did," Shinichi finally answered and Yuusaku felt even more confused.

Hana was the name of the victim. When did she tell Shinichi she was going to be murdered by her friend? Hana and her friends had been seated at a table quite far from Yuusaku's family and they had only just arrived when the woman collapsed.

How could Shinichi and Hana have talked? Perhaps Shinichi had encountered the woman before?

Pushing his son's behaviour to the side, Yuusaku continued his investigation. It quickly came apparent to him that the closest friend had indeed murdered Hana and he gathered all the evidence he needed to expose her.

Said closest friend had another breakdown when the police walked forward to arrest her, crying over how Hana had blackmailed her to get her to break up with her boyfriend so she could date him instead.

"I don't get it," Shinichi mumbled after the woman's words turned into sobs, "You two said you saw each other as sisters, you both said so on her birthday, how could you kill her?"

The girl looked startled, as did everyone in the room "H-How did you know that..." she whispered.

Yuusaku frowned, "Is that when Hana told you she was going to be killed?" he asked.

The woman looked fearful, "T-That's impossible," she whispered, "We were alone when we said that-we weren't even in this country! Hana wasn't blackmailing me back then either so how could she know I would have killed her?!"

Everyone looked at Shinichi with a mixture of curiosity and alarm.

"Shinichi, how do you know that?" Yuusaku asked once again.

Shinichi turned back to look at where the body had collapsed, again not at the floor where she had laid but just above it.

"Miss Hana told me," he said simply, "Just after she died."

[nightghoul381]

No Room to Breathe~ Harrison Gray

Premium End

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

No Warnings for this part

Part 1 | Part 2 | Premium End | Epilogue

…Hey…Wake up….Hey.

Harrison: “Oh, you woke up. Hello, leader.”

Ferris Circus Leader: “…Huh? ….Eh, what? What is….this.”

When the man wakes up, he finally realizes he’s in a cage.

Harrison: “Magic that switches our places while we’re asleep. What a lie.”

Ferris Circus Leader: “??...?”

Harrison: “Do you always make your children make the tea you drink?”

Ferris Circus Leader: “After drinking tea, I suddenly felt tired…w-well no way.”

Ferris Circus Leader: “B-but there’s no one other than you who could do such a thing. Did you have friends?”

Kate: “No, it’s just us.”

Ferris Circus Leader: “Well then—”

Harrison: “Ah, that’s right. Your precious children lent a hand.”

Ferris Circus Leader: “That can’t happen! They are my pawns, dolls with no will!”

Harrison: “That may have been the case before. But it’s different now.”

Harrison: “That’s a shame. People change. It’s your fault for ignoring that fact.”

Lionel: “Big brother, big sister! I’m ready.”

Harrison: “Well the show is about to begin, leader. That’s good. You’re the star of the show tonight.”

Ferris Circus Leader: “Huh? H-Hey you guys! Where are you taking me?”

Ferris Circus Leader: “No way… you’re going to put me in tonight’s show!?”

The cage containing the leader is pushed onto the stage on a platform with casters.

Harry and I stood in the shadows, staring at the spotlight on stage.

Tonight, the eyes of the overflowing audience are focused on the stage.

Oliver: “Now, the next thing you’ll see is Escape from Handcuffs!”

Oliver: “This man in the cage is actually an evil felon! Let me first handcuff his arms!.”

Ferris Circus Leader: “H-Hey… Oliver is lying…”

Oliver whispers under his breath, leaning his face close to the cage.

Oliver: “…I appreciate you picking us up. Thank you.”

Oliver: “And—Goodbye, leader.”

With a click, Oliver put on the handcuffs and smiled.

Oliver: “Come on, let’s remove these handcuffs from here!”

Oliver: “And 1, 2, 3! Oh, it won’t come off, will it?”

Oliver: “I’m sorry, but it looks like these handcuffs are no longer coming off.”

Oliver: “Let’s just throw this man in the pig pen.”

Ferris Circus Leader: “…The pig pen…Damn it, damn it!”

Amid the storm of boos from the audience, only the children were cheering.

Kate: “So, what will happen to that guy?”

Harrison: “Victor comes to collect him. Either that or the police will—Either way, he’s going to hell.”

Harrison: “Mission accomplished for now. Good night, Kate.”

Kate: “You too, Harry. Thank you for helping me so much.”

At that moment, I heard multiple footsteps running toward us from behind.

Oliver: “Hey, wait. This guy (Lionel) has something he wants to talk to you about.”

Lionel: “…Big brother, big sister. This.”

Kate: “The key! What happened to it?”

Lionel: “I was hiding it.”

Kate: “…what?”

Lionel: “When I bumped into you, big sister, you were kind to me… that’s why...”

Lionel: “I thought that maybe, somehow, big brother and big sister could help us.”

Harrison: “…Really.”

Lionel: “I’m sorry, it’s my fault—”

Harrison: “You have a good eye for small things.”

Lionel: “…What?”

Harrison: “Yes, you were right to rely on Kate.”

Harrison: “This woman is stupidly good-natured and straightforward…she never abandons anyone.”

(…..Harry.)

Harrison: “There are many things that can’t be done in this world. But…”

Harrison: “Remember that there are people like Kate. This will surely be an inspiration for you in the future.”

Harrison: “…Ah, I’ll remember it. We’ll continue to do our best and continue the circus.”

Kate: “I see. Well then, I’m looking forward to seeing another wonderful show.”

Lionel: “Who are you two? Heroes of justice?”

Children: “Okay, it’s the police!”

Harrison: “Not quite.”

Harrison: “Just a villain.”

We sat on the bed in his room and unlocked the handcuffs.

Kate: “It came off… that’s good.”

Harrison: “Does that mean the case is solved? Or does it mean something is wrong?”

Kate: “Well…both. I’m glad the case was solved, and Harry, you won’t be bothered by me anymore, right?”

Harrison: “You said earlier that you were a nuisance. Why did you think you bothered me?”

Kate: “Uh, because every time I didn’t act in sync with you, you looked down….”

Harrison: “So that’s why….It was.”

Kate: “…?”

Harrison: “That was, um…”

Harrison: “…”

Harrison: “I just looked down and laughed.”

Harrison: “…The way you moved in the exact opposite direction to me was so cute.”

My heart skipped a beat at Harry’s unexpected words.

Harrison: “…what’s with that face?”

Kate: “Uh…. It was just so unexpected, I guess.”

Harrison: “You’re such a…”

Harrison sighed and then smiled, taking it all in.

Harrison: “…Kate. As you said, we are complete opposites.”

Kate: “That’s my line. Right now, I’m just thinking about your feelings, Harry.”

Harrison: “But…”

Harrison: “That’s why I like you.”

Kate: “…”

Harrison: “I could see that you were a different person from me, and I started to love you rather a lot.”

I find it endearing that Harry is so blunt.

(I see. I tried my best to be just like Harry, but I couldn’t.)

(Because, we were attracted to each other precisely because we are different.)

Harrison: “Well, if we were the same person, we’d have nothing but narcissism and self-loathing—woah!”

I interrupt him, unable to resist hugging his neck.

Kate: “I love you too Harry. I love, love, love you because you’re different.”

Harrison: “…”

Harrison: “Pfft, hahaha! I know. I know you like me.”

Kate: “Oh, but I don’t get carried away with different things, do I?”

Kate: “I imagine a lot of what you’re thinking and feeling in the moment.”

Kate: “I love you, Harry, and I want to be with you forever.”

Harrison: “Hmm…Well then, let me think about it.”

Kate: “…?”

Harrison: “What do I want to do with you now?”

Harry’s mint-colored eyes narrowed maliciously, and there was heat in his gaze.

I already know what Harry wants to do in a situation like this.

Kate: “…I don’t know.”

Harrison: “Yeah, that’s a lie. Don’t let me see through your lies just because you’re embarrassed.”

Harrison: “…….See, come here.”

He hugged me by the waist and our lips touched deeply.

Kate: “Nngh…..mmm”

Harrison: “Hey, did you know? Today was the first time I kissed you on the mouth in a while.”

Kate: “Yes, it was….mmmm….”

Harrison: “Hmmm, and I didn’t hold you yesterday. You were in a panic when we were tied up, so I tried to be patient.”

Kate: “Mmm…Harry…I can’t breathe….”

As I was at the mercy of the raining kisses, the tip of my nose rubs against his…

Harrison: “I want to hold you. Do you want me?”

(You’re always vague about important things, but you’re direct at times like this…cunning.)

(…I want you too, Harry.)

Kate: “…Me too. I also….want to.”

Harrison: “… If you look at me like that, I won’t be able to be kind.”

Kate: “…look like what?”

Harrison: “Like it’s okay to do whatever I want.”

Harrison: “I mean, I’m pent up and I’m not going to go easy on you tonight.”

Harry lays me on the bed, picking up the handcuffs that had fallen. And--.

(…eh?)

Both of my hands were handcuffed.

Kate: “…Why did you put these on?”

Harrison: “Because you thought I was annoyed. Because you were about to put yourself in danger again. And the rest.”

Kate: “Whaa…”

Harrison: “But the main reason is… I want to see all the different sides of you.”

Harry grinned and his fingertips slipped into my blouse, tickling my skin.

Kate: “Ngh……”

Harrison: “I got excited thinking about touching you wearing these, you’ll show me your cute face won’t you?”

Harrison: “Kate…. Tonight, let me do a lot of mean things to you.”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Premium End | Epilogue

[unicyclehippo]

top 5 moments of your fave character from each cr campaign

oh u DO think my memory is better than it is but i will give it a go

1. c1 - everything vex has ever done. when vex rises up out of the ocean on her wedding day, furious, & summons a bow made of light & pike gives her a golden arrow to shoot sylas……h-hot. woman hot. delilah WAS a bitch. i am a twin myself & that whole deal was..a lot for me. do not go far from me. there’s a kind of loneliness that only twins get to feel & vex&vax nailed that.

2. c2 - beau with her shitty strength steps back into the room w the laughing hand & hauls her BROTHR her CAPTAIN her FRIEND onto her shoulders & gets him out of there she goes BACK for him she has no MAGIC she LOVES him she risks everything to get her hands on him & pull him away she risks an awful death she would die for any of them she means it she proves it she loves so hard her hands are in fists all the time she can’t let people see what she wants she can’t let people see that she wants she takes her bloodied hands& picks up her FRIEND & gets him OUT she LOVES him.

3. also c2 jester cupcake moment. i think it’s the only moment in cr where everything just….clicked. to me, that’s THE jester moment. everything stripped away. that’s CHARACTER baby that’s the good shit.

4. c3 laudna in the tree matt giving up his seat for her to speak to imogen for the most brutal like. ten seconds ever. laudna hunger of the shadow the first time. Marisha does this thing where she like. visibly dissociates for like. i don’t rmbr. i want to say fully forty minutes but that might just be me having felt it so powerfully. ten minutes ? the way she diminishes her presence, hides at the table, sits SO perfectly still. my heart aches.

5. exu calamity laerryn BLIGHT. who has done more in the history of exandria? who has changed the world more than her? NO ONE. NO. ONE. who had the power the skill the vision the LOVE to do what she did, to see avalir move not only over the face of the world but between every world? That ALONE would put her into top tier. & then yeah ok with a single spell she broke the pen that wrote the runes of protection across the world & shattered the ancient tree but who hasn’t wanted to kill a tree that was killing their friends? everyone would do that. it hurt her friend it hurt her husband (ex) it KEPT her BEST FRIEND in its BRANCHES who she has tried EVERYTHING to save. so yeah FUCK that tree! & then when everything went to shit she SAVED the world. she SAVED THE WORLD. laerryn literally has done the most anyone has ever done. & in some ways she did succeed in making it so that people could travel between realms im just saying she very much did succeed at that even if there were a few consequences

[liquid-luck-00]

Marks of Magic

Day 3 Curse of Maribat Spooktober 2023

First *** Previous *** Next

Language and cursing is used

1470 words

~~~~~~~~~~

On one hand her parents were supportive and agreed that her taking time away from Paris would be good for her. So they helped her pack on Saturday night, seeing as she was leaving very early on Monday morning.

She didn't hear anything about Gabriel Agreste, but there were whispers wondering why Hawkmoth was quiet.

No she hasn't said anything, except to Luka, no one else knows that the war in Paris is over. There was no way she could after all. She couldn't become Ladybug, and she couldn't do it as Mari without her life turning upside down. Hopefully the people of Paris will believe the miraculous went dormant.

Hopefully.

Sunday she tried to adjust to E.S.T. so she wouldn't be too jet lagged on Monday. And it worked to an extent, mostly she got some much needed sleep and was able to make it through with a cup of coffee.

There was only enough time for her to set her things in the apartment, that was provided with the transfer program, and change into the uniform before leaving again.

She grabbed her backpack and left for the Academy, which was less than a block away.

She arrived a bit early and made her way to the office.

"Hello?" She called out to the empty office.

"Oh! Hi there." A woman popped her head out of an adjoining room. "How can I help you?"

"I’m here to pick up my schedule."

"Oh the new transfer student."

"That would be me." She smiled at the woman who had moved to the desk by the door.

"Your name please, hun."

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

"And here we go, and you’ll need this too." She printed out a paper and pulled a second from a cabinet. She grabbed a pen from a cup and started marking a map she had pulled out. "Here we go, sweetie."

"Thank you, madame."

She called as she left the office and stepped into the hall.

She easily found her home room class, the door was slightly ajar. Inside the teacher was at his desk and a single student was in the classroom, the others she passed in the courtyard and hallways.

"Hello Mr. Argyle."

The teacher looked up. "You’re the new student?"

"Yes sir."

"Only desk open is next to Mr. Todd." He pointed at the boy who was currently reading. Before promptly ignoring her and continued reading over the papers in front of him.

So she started walking towards the boy, Todd she recalled he was called.

"Hello." She smiled at him as she was about to put her bag down.

"Fuck off." He responded without even looking at her.

She blinked, and before she could think her mouth moved before her brain could process wether it would be an appropriate response.

"Well aren’t you charming." She set her things down and pulled out her sketch book. "And for the record, this is apparently the only open seat."

"You’re new, aren’t you?"

"Really! What gave it away?" She snorted, before looking over. He was staring at her as if she were a puzzle. Once the silence between them stretch a bit to long she quirked a brow, which broke him from his daze.

"Sorry about that, habit'.'

He rubbed the back of his neck. His black hair was messy, styled up out of his face. His eyes a blue, lighter than her own, with flecks of green. A small scar ran through his upper lip, as of he had been in a fight.

"It’s fine, I wasn’t much better after all." Her lips flicked in a small short smile. "Marinette."

"Jason."

They each turned towards their silent time occupants, until the bell rang a few minutes later. Their classmates started to file in and take their seats, where Mari was instantly pounced on, a group of students flocked the table to ask questions.

"Class is about to start, so sit down."

"No one was talking to you." A red haired girl with green eyes snapped at Jason, Alice she introduced herself as.

"You don’t want to rub off on the poor girl." A boy with blonde hair and grey eyes followed.

"Why are you talking to him like that?" She had to ask.

"He’s cursed no one can stand sitting at the same desk everyone has to transfer to another class within a week." Alice explained as if she was stupid.

"He’s a street rat and doesn’t belong. That’s all there is to it." Mathew, the boy sneered.

Great they really are everywhere. Now that is a real curse not whatever they think this is.

She looked behind her towards Jason. When she did he jumped out of his seat, hands balled into fists.

"I’ll show you what a street rat can do to you, a pansy rich kid." Jason snarled.

"Just cause you were adopted by someone in our circle." He motioned towards the rest of the room. "Doesn’t mean you have class."

Jason was pulling back as of to throw a punch, but she was unfortunately between both boys at the moment.

"Then why don’t you lead by example." That took everyone by surprise, so much Jason froze mid swing.

"Boys!" The teacher finally decided to intervene. "Everyone in your seats now!"

There was some grumbling among the students but she learned quite a bit from that.

One, there was a hierarchy, just like DuPont, but here it was measured by wealth than by achievement.

Two, Alice and Mathew were the queen and king, no one else tried to stop or say a thing.

Three, the teachers might actually do something, but only if things were getting out of control.

Well it’s a start, she took a breath as Mr. Argyle took attendance. Home room is just quiet time slash study hall after all so she looked down at her sketch book. She pulled her new journa from her bag and flipped to the first empty page. Which she placed between the two of them.

M. They are just assholes, don’t let it get under your skin.

Jason glanced at the words before stealing a glance at her.

J. They aren’t wrong.

M. That doesn’t mean they have to tear you down.

He lifted the pen almost going to write but stopped. She almost thought to write more when he did.

J. It doesn’t matter, you aren’t going to be her long anyways.

He turned to the book in front of him ignoring her completely. She doesn’t know why those words stung as hard as they did. She is only here for a semester, and in the long run that’s not long at all. Maybe it's because he might believe he is cursed. But she could guess why if the snippets of gossip the two shared was actually true.

Everyone ostracized him because of his early upbringing, thinking he is lesser, but she has a feeling that’s not the case.

Homeroom was coming to a close so she pulled out her map and schedule to see what was next. Ancient history to the 16th century, at least she wasn’t studying American history, that would kill her.

The bell rang and she started gathering her things.

"I can take you."

"I’m sorry?"

She looked at Jason. "History I’ve got it next too."

"Oh. That would be great." She smiled grateful he was at least talking to her.

"Seriously girl, you don’t want to become a social pariah on your first day, do you?" She heard Alice sneer, those words pulled memories from Paris that she really didn't want brought up right now.

Resulting in her sassing off like she was talking to her ex-friends in Paris. "If the alternative is kissing up to you I’ll pass, let’s go."

She practically marched out of the room, pulling Jason out of the room by his sleeve cuff.

"She’s right you know."

"People like her are insufferable. Why are there bullies everywhere I go! I swear I’m cursed to cross paths with them." She walked beside him, pouting as he led the way.

"Let me see your schedule." She handed him the page, and soon she heard him laughing.

"What’s so funny?"

"We have the same class schedule, which means you’ll have three more classes with her."

"Ugh." She deflated, then a thought occurred to her. "That means you’ll be there too, and you are so far the least insufferable person I’ve met so far." She smirked at him.

"Oh well that has to change." A smirk on his lips flashed as well. "I can be plenty insufferable."

Well this isn't going to be half as boring as she feared. In fact its shaping up to be a blast. Who cares what some stuck up rich kids think about her anyways. She is the savior of Paris and she decides how her life will unfold.

Next

~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list:

@jennifer-rose123

[razildor]

WIP Wednesday

wow I got one of these out on a Wednesday, well done me.

Was tagged by the ever lovely @heylittleriotact Thanks!💚💚

So I was going to take a small break from smut after Unwind to write maybe some fluff or something with my male Qunari Reaper, Hakiem He smooches Emmrich.

But here I am, back in horny jail, because I saw an art of Emmrich smoking and it awoken another smut idea in my unhinged brain, so enjoy the WIP. It's still a rough draft, I literally started this yesterday.

Tagging: @holdingontojupiter @redheadsramblings @ollypopwrites and anyone who wants!

warning for smoking!

it's a bad habit but the idea won't go away sooo.

Smoke

The room was peaceful, the fire keeping the air warm enough for the two inhabitants that currently sit in a plush armchair in front of it. A small sigh of content leaves Rook as she snuggled deeper into Emmrich's neck, fingers idly playing with the skull collar pin that keeps the Mages high collar closed. The odd noise of papers shuffling keeps her from dozing. A hand covered in gold rings reflecting in the fire light ever so slowly trails down the woman's naked spine, making her shiver with delight, the hand coming to rest on an ass cheek, squeezing it slightly.

“You make it difficult to work, my heart.”

Rook huffs into the man’s neck, grinning as she squeezes around his cock that sits snuggling in her. “I’m not to blame for your idea, Emmrich.”

Emmrich inhales sharply, the hand on her ass squeezed tighter, head tilting back to rest in the chair, taking three deep breaths to keep himself from coming at that moment. Both of them strung tightly with need, having been sat in such a position for a while now. It’s true that having her sit naked with his cock inside was his idea, keeping him warm until he was going over some more notes that Vorgoth sent his way. Then to give Rook the attention she desvers by fucking her over the nearest surface he could find, be it the desk or against the bookshelves.

Yet he found himself taking longer than normal, each shift from Rook, a shameless squeeze here and there sending his mind to a screeching halt, losing the spot in the notes, having to re-read the same word over and over again, hand shaking when writing down some words he doesn’t even recall- he would have to draft up the letter again after this.

“Rook, behave if you please.”

Rook only smirked into his neck without a word, very likely plotting something in that brilliant mind of hers. Emmrich thinks before going back to writing something on the paper, yet the pen drops from his hand with a small clatter at the feeling of Rook running her tongue slowly up his jaw, eyes slowly rolling up as he tilts his head back more for her. Unknowing that deft fingers unclipped the collar pin, placing it gently on the small table next to them, pulling the collar apart to run lips down his neck, deft fingers once again slowly undoing his shirt partly.

“I-I did say I would be done soon, darling.” Emmrich stutters, hand gripping the arm of the chair tightly as he tries to keep himself under control to some degree.

“Hm, you said that an hour ago.” Rook mutters into his neck before placing a mark there that made him gasp sharply.

Emmrich didn’t reply at first, he was sure it had only been a short while. A sigh leaves him as he lets the stack of papers fall from hand and sags back into the chair, a gasp from Rook makes him smirk a little himself from the movement. Reaching to the small table he picks up a small narrow cylinder from a dish, a Smoke, Rook recognised, recalling the few times she’s seen people use them.

placing it between his lips, along with a grunt as Rook slowly rolled her hips, watching him closely with interest. Shaking his head slightly from her grin, lifting a free hand to the tip of the smoke igniting it with a spark of green magic, inhaling slowly before blowing the white smoke to the side, away from Rook’s face.

“I didn't know you smoked.”

“Hm, I indulge from time to time, depending on the circumstances” He shrugs slightly, taking another drag of the Smoke between fingers, holding the fumes for a little, then exhaling  them slowly over Rook’s head- she swears the fumes almost looked like a skull before disappearing into the air.

“Though this is a good alternative, my dear.”

A ringed hand reaches around to grab Rook's ass again, squeezing the soft flesh and smirking at the groan from the women. Helping to guide her slick cunt over his aching cock that sits so tightly within her, her fluids leaking down his cock making the glide easier. He taps the ash into the dish as he asks. “Have you ever indulged in this before?” A small nod from Rook, wrapping her arms around his neck being mindful not to knock his hand holding the Smoke.

“A few times before all this, but with the Gods I’ve not had a moment to find any.” 

“Then allow me to share this indulgence.” His tone sultry, bringing the Smoke to his lips once more to inhale the fumes, yet doesn’t let the white smoke escape, pulling the hand away to reach with the other to Rook, gently grasp her chin between two fingers, keeping her still long enough to press his lips against hers, quickly pushing his tongue through her lips to push some of the white smoke into her mouth. A deep moan follows from the women, arms pulling Emmrich  by the neck closer, the Mage’s hand slowly moving to her jaw, holding her in place. The cold feeling of his rings sends sparks of aroused down to her core.

[foxblood]

The Threads of Memory: I Matchmaker

Chapters: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25

Morena sat in the seat across from Madame Toussau in her parlor with her shoulders tight and face slightly pinched, sipping from a teacup decorated with delicate pink ropes of petals belonging to no specific flower.  Her eyes fell upon the matchmaker, narrowed in skepticism, and took in the lush pinks and oranges of her dress that seemed to affront the neatly kept sitting room’s airy blues and greens.

Madame Toussau waited for Morena’s assessment, always best to let the client find the first words.  Especially one as particular as this mother -- single mother, if the portrait of herself and four children on the wall was any indication.  

Morena finally set her cup down on the saucer.  “Please, drink your tea,” her command practiced, and Madame Toussau found the cup in her hand as soon as Morena asked.  Morena continued, “if I may be frank with you madame, a matchmaker is my last resort.  This process brings me no pleasure, but I’ve tried every avenue to return my son Gale to society.  There is no more I can do on my own, and so I am forced to --” she rolled her wrist, “-- If he will not make social connections, then I must make them on his behalf.”

“So, are we seeking a spouse?” Madame Toussau asked.

Morena gave a curt shake of her head.  “I will not impose such a thing upon him.”

Madame Toussau finished her tea and set the cup down.  Morena filled it again, topping her own cup up as well.  Madame Toussau considered the lines of Morena’s face, the worry pulling at her mouth.

“Then a companion,” Madame Toussau ventured, “someone he may get along with, avoiding the mention of marriage.”

“You are capable of such a thing?” Morena watched her face for any twitch or doubt.

“Under the correct circumstances.  Why don’t you tell me about your son?” Madame Toussau prompted.

Gale leaned back in his desk chair, massaging the expanding ache in his chest.  He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on the expansion of his lungs with each slow breath he took.  Sometimes, the orb eased away if he just let it file its complaints and breathed through the ordeal.  Sometimes it would spasm like a crack of thunder through his ribs, hungry and threatening to suck him and the whole of Waterdeep into the abyss if it was not fed.  This, this was just a grumble.

The ceiling beams melted together in his vision when he opened his eyes.  His pulse throbbed hard in his neck, and he missed the first knock at the door because it mixed with the sound of blood in his ears.  He muttered a curse when he heard the second knock, fumbling for the drawer in his desk where he kept the enchanted trinkets Tara managed to pilfer and picking apart the tangled chains of amulets.

The orb throbbed harder, reaching for the weave within the locket.  Gale pressed it to his bare skin, the magic peeling his flesh away and sucking the locket dry of magic until it was hot in his fingers.  He tossed the spent thing beneath his desk and wiped the sweat from his forehead before answering the door with black spots still dotting his vision.

“Mother?” his vision resolved on Morena’s stout frame, then on the tall and thin outline of a second woman, “and a guest,” he smiled politely, “to what do I owe the honor?”

Morena’s eyes stared pointedly past him and into the flat.

Gale stepped aside.  “Please, come in.  I apologize for the mess, I wasn’t expecting company,” he bent down and kissed his mother’s cheek as she stepped across the threshold, “should I make some tea?”

“That would be best, Gale,” Morena’s voice assured him that what followed would not be a request, “I must discuss something with you.”

Peiotr cleared his throat for the third time, his legs dangling uncomfortably off the rattan chair not built for dwarves.  Velim barely glanced at him, tapping the page of their notebook with their pen to feel the muted round of it against the barrier of their fine lambskin gloves, and laid down another line of notes about the ins and outs of matchmaking as Madame Toussau had described.  A loose strand of dull brown-black hair fell out from their ponytail and they tucked it behind their ear.

“Should I not be the nervous one?” Velim teased in their trademark deadpan.

Madame Toussau chuckled, disguising her laughter with a cough when Peiotr’s nose grew redder.  “It’s not unusual for those doing the matching to experience more nerves than the matched,” she assured Peiotr, reaching to squeeze his hand across the table.

“And you’re my agent, not my father,” Velim reminded him as the flush reached his ears.

Peiotr crossed his arms.  “I just want to see him for myself.”

Velim glanced at the clock tower peeking above the buildings.  “Might have decided against it, he’s late.”

“Perhaps nerves on his part, too,” Madame Toussau chimed.

“You intend to get lost once he arrives, don’t you, Peiotr?” Velim asked, dotting a spot of ink on his freckled arm.

He scoffed and tried to wipe the ink away, leaving a black smudge on himself.  “Aye,” he grunted.

Madame Toussau straightened up, her long neck craning over the crowd on the street.  “There he is,” she waved to a man making his way through the crowd.

The man gave her a shy wave back, and Velim closed their notebook to catch a better look at him.  Brown hair slicked back, brows drawn close in concern and a couple weeks’ worth of a beard, tall enough to see over the crowd and well-dressed in the way of a man who stepped out of the house too quickly to consider pressing his shirt.

Peiotr hopped down from the chair as Gale jogged up the stairs with a breathless apology prepared.  Peiotr intercepted him before he reached the table.

“Peiotr Ironfoot,” he extended his hand and shook Gale’s in a crushing grip that left his niceties a pained grimace, “Velim’s agent, good to meet you Mr. Dekarios.”

“Peiotr,” Velim leaned forward on the table and waited for him to look at them so they could mouth “get lost” as they wiped the remaining ink off their pen.

Peiotr cleared his throat and released Gale’s hand, glancing back up at the man’s face, but he was already fixated on Velim.  He met their muddy green eyes and looked away as though burned, then looked back and ran a hand through his hair.

“Shall I get us some coffee?” he asked, “my treat, for making you wait.”

Velim sat back in their chair, assessing him.  “Sure.”

“Nothing for me, thank you, Gale,” Madame Toussau said, “I do no indulging on business.”

“Not even coffee?” Velim asked, flashing the sharp white canines wood elves sometimes possessed.

“Not even coffee, sera,” Madame Toussau made a shooing motion at Velim, “now, you know the rules.  Behave as though I am not here at all.”

“A difficult thing to do,” Velim commented, ignoring her rules as Gale glanced back at them one last time before ducking into the cafe, “where did you find him, anyway?”

Madame Toussau laughed soft, like windchimes.  “I could ask you the same.”

“Peiotr?  He’s the only stranger willing to take a chance on me based on the letter I wrote him, that’s all,” they waved her questions away, “how’d you make your way into matchmaking?”

Madame Toussau scanned Velim’s still face, their skin smooth and flawless when they dropped the practiced facial expressions.  “I used to be a madame of a different sort,” she watched for a reaction.

“Got sick of making yourself the match, then?” Another practiced half-smile.

Madame Toussau restrained herself from scolding Velim for their packaged expression.  If the pair was good, they would begin to emote properly.  Gale returned with two espressos in small cups and a glass full of water, which he placed in front of Madame Toussau.

“Forgive me, my mother raised me better than to leave a lady without refreshment of some kind,” Gale apologized as he sat across from Velim.

Velim took the chipped cup of espresso from the center of the table, long fingers domed over the top so the steam billowed into the palm of their hand and held it like that on their side of the table until Gale sipped his.  They savored the rich warmth against the chill of the encroaching autumn, then set it down with their fingers still resting on the rim.

“I’m sure I’ve been a topic of discussion already as punishment for my tardiness,” Gale began, “but I know very little about you.  This whole process happened in such haste, I hardly remembered your name when I stepped out the door today.”

“Velim, if you need the reminder,” they said, “half-retired Vulture, surgeon, and author.”

“Of course, Velim,” he rolled their name around in his mouth, matching the sound of it to their placid face, “a Vulture, you said?  With the Waterdeep Public Health Corps, I’d imagine?”

Velim inclined their head, urging him on.

“A perilous occupation, how long have you been in it?”

They tapped on the table, counting the years.  “15 years, give or take.”

“15 years?” Gale’s eyes widened.  Madame Toussau also took notice of the statement and leaned in.  Gale stuttered out an excuse for his disbelief, “Gods, are you under some divine protection?”

Velim shrugged.  “Perhaps just lucky, there are more of us highly tenured plague doctors than you may expect.  ‘One who lives the first two years will live another ten,’ the saying goes,” they changed the subject, “I hear you’re a researcher at Blackstaff.”

“Once, but no longer,” he held his espresso in front of his mouth, a barrier between himself and Velim’s probing gaze, “one could say I’ve been on an extended sabbatical.”

“What did you research?” Velim pushed past his shield.

“Ah, well, have you ever heard of the Empire of Netheril?” Gale asked, “I don’t imagine your personal studies take many forays into archaeology.  It once soared above where the deserts of Anauroch sit today.”

Velim leaned forward.  “I know very little about Netheril,” they admitted, “an empire based on magic with floating cities.  That’s about all.”

Gale set his espresso down and seemed to forget about it as he flourished his hand in introduction.  “Then you may be interested to learn that the current state of magic in Faerun -- and, indeed, the world over -- is connected intimately with the fall of Netheril wherein the Archwizard Karsus attempted to wrest control of the weave from Mystryl and destroyed him entirely in the process.”

“Himself, or Mystra?” Velim cocked their head to the side.

“Mystryl,” Gale corrected, “the god of magic before Our Lady of Spells, and the reason we mortals have the limits we do with her arts.”

“Mystryl,” Velim glanced up at the gutter around the roof of the building, where an intrepid pigeon cooed and eyed the finger sandwiches on a neighboring table, “can you find remnants of those floating cities in Anauroch?  I imagine you could, deserts preserve such things.”

“Well, yes, but my particular area of study lies elsewhere at the moment,” Gale bloomed under the rain of their questions, “I’ve been studying the works of an Archmage known as Ortenkus who lived some thousand years before Karsus’ folly.  He was instrumental in the annexation and settlement of the western border of the empire, near the Silver Marches.  Recently, I’ve been investigating a tale regarding a military victory he wrought.  During Ortenkus’ lifetime, a small nation whose name has long since been lost became a wall to Netheril by somehow inverting their magic.”

Velim’s mind added a new observation to their catalog with every word he spoke, relieved that they might observe him unwatched while he spoke.  The spinning wheel earring he wore had no mechanism for removal.  He reeked of magic, and it crackled over them as static because he spoke with gestures pronounced enough to waft it over them from across the table.  Every few seconds, he stole a glance at them with a kind of bashfulness in his eyes as though asking for permission to continue.

Gale continued on, a train rolling down the tracks of his thoughts.  “Ortenkus, as the main strategist for the King at the time, was tasked with laying the nation low.  He spent twenty years and twenty days in the great libraries of Palter -- an enclave known even among the Netherese as a bastion of knowledge -- and when he emerged, he descended to the earth with a strange egg.  He disguised himself as an old man and walked into the foremost bastion of the country, left the egg beneath the center of their government, and walked back to Netheril. 

“Within a year, the country lay in disarray without even the knowledge that they were once allies with any of the other groups within the land.  The infighting destroyed them, and with each fracture Ortenkus led the armies of Netheril in to seize the lands.”

“Wait a moment,” Velim interrupted.

Gale’s speech stuttered to a stop.

“How, exactly, did Ortenkus initiate memory loss on such a mass scale?  The erasure of an entire culture suggests psionic impact on the level of…” they trailed off, unable to think of a comparison, “well, regardless, what could mediate such a thing?  The focus must have been enormous, no smaller than the ones they used to power their cities.”

“Yes, the mythallars,” Gale nodded sagely, then leaned forward on the table as though sharing a secret, “but I haven’t the slightest idea how he did it.  No mention of anything but a strange egg within any translation or account I’ve come across,” a smile tugged at the corner of his lips and he lowered his voice, “my personal theory is that he made use of a living creature of some sort.  Perhaps something of ilithid origin, given their psionic capabilities.  A sufficiently powerful ilithid being placed at the center of a society may cause enough neurological fallout to destroy the whole thing down to the very bolts.”

“Ilithid,” Velim repeated, “no archeological sites for this event, I imagine.”

Gale sat back and ran a hand through his hair, dislodging a greying strand that fell against his forehead.  “One, possibly, but it’s out in the Silver Marches.  Difficult to reach under ideal conditions…”

“Which the Silver Marches do not possess,” Velim finished.

Gale leaned in again.  “So you’ve been?”

Velim glanced at Madame Toussau, and she blinked at them reassuringly.  Velim picked at the chip in the rim of their espresso cup.  “A year ago, for diphtheria.  We lost a whole crate of antitoxin and a horse to the mud before we even reached the outbreak.”

“Gods, what a fetid wasteland it is.  Even the hags avoid the place.” Gale chuckled to himself, “you mentioned you were an author?”

“Just textbooks.  Peiotr’s been looking for a publishing house that might take my fiction, but no such luck as of yet,” Velim explained, “the matchmaking itself is for research.”

Gale thought of his mother’s demand for cooperation and felt a pang of relief as the expectations lifted from his shoulders.  “What are you writing that would require you to employ a matchmaker for research?”

“You’ll laugh,” Velim’s smile this time was genuine, but muted, “it’s a romance about an accidental match with a devil.”

Gale did laugh, just a little.  “What makes a devil lovable?”

Velim shrugged and finished their coffee.  “If there’s anything to love, I’ll find it.”

Gale’s voice ached, and yet Tara sat on the bench beside the door and swished her tail at him with expectation.

“It went well, Tara,” he assured her, scratching behind her ears the way she liked and sitting beside her to doff his shoes.

“Nothing strange about them?” Tara demanded, “no scales or claws?” she sniffed him tentatively.

“No such thing, Tara,” Gale huffed, “I did bump into a dragonborn on my way home.”

She sniffed again.  “Could be.  Your mother asked me no less than four times if I had heard from you.”

“You visited my mother four times?  Tara, you must quit pestering the poor woman,” Gale scolded, his voice soft.

Tara flicked her ear at him.  “She was concerned, you were gone for hours.  I was under strict orders to report back as soon as you arrived, but I only expected you gone an hour.  We both did, and look --” Tara trotted to the glass doors to the balcony and sat pointedly in front of the reddening sky.

“Then it went much better than either of you expected,” Gale stretched and shrugged off his vest, “they’re a surgeon and work with the Waterdeep Public Health Corps, and as though they had the time to spare, they’re also a published author.”

Tara met him at his desk and settled on the shelf he set up above it just for her.  “And did you give them time to speak about being a decorated plague doctor, author, and surgeon, or did you simply talk their ear off until you were hoarse?”

“They kept asking me questions, Tara,” Gale collapsed into his desk chair with a sigh, “thank you for talking me into going.”

“Do you need me to fetch you something?” Tara purred, the scolding out of her voice.

“No, Tara, thank you,” Gale smiled at his ceiling, “I’m feeling just fine.”

Velim closed the door of their flat behind them and slid all three deadbolts into place before their shoulders slumped.  They sat on the bed, pulled off their boots, and tucked them beneath the bedframe, then fell back.

They pulled their gloves off one finger at a time, then plucked the Ring of Mortal Guise off their ring finger and dropped it into one of the gloves for safe keeping.  Their scales reappeared, glossy black in the low light filtering in from the sunset.  They studied the shine on their hands, their claws filed as short and flat as they could get them without hitting the quick.  They ran their hand up their arm until it caught the edge of a scale coming loose.  They pinched the edge between their thumb and forefinger and plucked it off, leaving a pale green patch of skin underneath.  Blood beaded up jewel-like where it had still been attached.  

They listened to their neighbors argue below them until someone threw something soft and dull across the room.  Velim took the increasing volume as their sign to get up.  They sat at their writing desk and lit the oil lamp with a wave of their hand.  They pulled a box from the shelf and dropped the scale into it, replaced it, and pulled a leaf from the sheaf of paper in the drawer and began writing their report on the date with Gale Dekarios.