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skeltnwrites · 3 months ago

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The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / part one masterlist

part two - at the rec center's fall festival, you and steve finally make plans to hang out 11k

a/n - how did this end up twice as long as the first chapter this was supposed to be a short one!! general warnings/tags here

── .✦

Utah’s pretty this time of year. Fall is in full swing. The maple and cottonwood mellow into rich shades of orange, there is a constant crush of leaves underfoot, and the crisp scent of pine needles mingle with the breeze. Your neighbors go all out to decorate. Pumpkins are for sale on every corner and the apple orchards buzz with families for the harvest. This kind of weather has every brush of sunlight feeling like a hug you didn’t know you needed.

The rec center hosts an annual fall festival, bringing hayrides, corn mazes, and costume contests. And though you wouldn’t normally volunteer on a Sunday, Steve’s hard to say no to. It’s not like he begged you or anything, a half-shrug and simple “If you want to” was enough convincing.

You’d volunteer with or without Steve. You have the time and the goodwill and thus it’s a cork on the end of your monotonous work-week. But there’s no denying that Steve makes it a hell of a lot more enjoyable. He’s the sunrise after a long night, guiding you into the days ahead. And yeah, maybe you’re romanticizing too much. Too caught up in the way his tongue sticks out when he’s concentrating or how he mumbles to himself when he forgets you’re near. But working with him is delightful, nonetheless.

You and Steve are friends now. Well, work friends. You’ve never actually hung out outside of the rec center but there isn’t a Friday that one of you doesn’t mention it while you eat lunch in his office. You’ve learned trivial little things about him, like his favorite brand of pen, the store he buys his groceries from, and how he likes his coffee– hot enough to burn, with as much sugar as he can get away with without attracting strange looks. You ask about Penelope often and he’s very open; eager to rant and rave about the latest details of their lives. She visits every now and then, usually too sick or naughty to be at school. So you’ve come to know her just as much. That she loves Barbies and Salt-N-Pepa and insects but not the furry ones.

Being in each other’s lives is routine at this point– parking beside his car, leaving sticky notes on his desk, setting your bag in his office. It would be crazy to say you love him, you don’t, obviously, but you feel like you could. And you know you’d be devastated if he left the center. Your shift assignments are arranged so they almost always thread with his.

He’s always hated asking for help, but then you came, puttering into his office with a lovely smile and open arms and suddenly it’s not so bad. He’ll ask for your assistance on more projects than not: your advice, your creative eye, your hands to hang something that he most certainly could do alone.

Like now, you trail only a few paces behind Steve, cradling a wicker basket full of decorations. He billows a tablecloth over the nearest picnic table, considering your dispute over the best holiday.

“I dunno, I’m more of a Christmas guy,” Steve shrugs, smoothing out a ripple in the fabric. “The music is just inarguably better. You get to open presents and eat delicious food. Not really a contest in my book.”

You hum, centering a plastic pumpkin.

“Penelope is like the queen of Halloween, though.” The corners of his eyes crinkle with mirth. “This morning, she told me she wished she was born on Halloween so she could go trick-or-treating on her birthday.”

You wear a similar expression, gaze flicking over to Penelope. She’s not far, crouched in a strip of dirt, parting a pile of leaves to search for ladybugs and other creatures. “I bet she’s excited for all that candy.”

“That’s all she’d eat if I let her. I’ve already scheduled a dentist appointment for her in November– But, I’m just as bad, she gets her sweet tooth from me,” he admits.

“Figured. The amount of Reese's wrappers I find in your trash.”

He squeezes your shoulder playfully, not hard enough that you should need to squirm away but you do. “Whatever. Why are you going through my trash anyway, weirdo.”

You click your tongue, “I wasn’t going through your trash! They are on the top where anyone could see.”

“Mhmm, whatever you say… dumpster diver.”

Joan, the youth counselor, whisks over to interrupt with arms full of mason jars before you can retort. Steve smothers his smirk with an answer to her question. Your tongue prods the inside of your cheek to prevent your own.

It’s like this with Steve, now. Teasing and taunting each other like schoolchildren. A game of tug-of-war, where every knowing glance and light-hearted jab pulls the rope just a little tighter between you. It’s as thrilling as it is nerve-wracking.

It’s not much later when guests filter into the festival. The earliest glow of sunset mists the courtyard in gold. There’s cider stations and pumpkin carving and a whole bunch of apple bobbers fighting to win a pumpkin pie. Monster Mash bleeds from several speakers lining the trail to the tented area you find yourself in. People dance and laugh and drink. It’s a very successful event for the rec center.

Steve plops down on the bench across from you, Penelope at his hip. A silent, self-invitation he knows you won’t decline— you enjoy their company more than people-watching. He seems to find you no matter which way you drift, even through a sea of townsfolk.

A big scoop of chili is spooned from his paper bowl into a second. “Blow on it,” Steve reminds, planting it in front of Penelope.

She does blow on it, a spray of more spit than air that merits her a shoulder nudge to knock it off.

Penelope simpers over her steaming food as Steve offers you an apologetic look. Last you saw her, she was waving her way up the stairs to the costume contest. She’s since been bundled up– a tiara traded for a knit beanie and the gown from her dress-up bin crammed underneath a thick sweater and spilling out the hem.

The string lights bathe their faces in a white glow. It highlights the beauty mark on the slope of Penelope’s cheek, like a half of Steve’s pair in the same spot. It’s not often you get to just enjoy their company. No scrambling about deadlines or standards. It’s a calm you could get used to. But Steve’s always ten steps ahead, already plotting which crew needs the most tending to when he’s finished eating. He’s selfless like that. Your feet ache from running around, but Steve’s probably worse.

“Penelope, is that what you’re wearing on Halloween?” You ask.

Her chin presses into the neckline of her sweater. “No,” she recalls, mouth full of sauce. “I’m being Dorothy.”

Steve swipes a napkin across her lips before anything drips.

“From The Wizard of Oz?”

“Mhmm,” she grins, popping the spoon out of her mouth.

“Very cool. Did you get your costume yet?”

She nods, glancing at Steve, “Daddy made it.”

Steve’s in his own little world, slurping his belly full of warm food and basking in the second of peace he‘s been given. But he blinks back into reality at your questioning stare, leaning in to hear you over the boisterous laughs of nearby people.

You try to reel in your surprise, soften your features. “You made her costume?”

“Oh,” he waves a dismissive hand, “I just sewed a shirt to a dress. Nothing fancy.”

“Still– that’s really cool, Steve.”

He stirs his food, voice torn with guilt. “I dunno. It’s cheap.”

“Costumes are better homemade. The ones in the stores are tacky. I bet it looks amazing.”

Fragments of a smile find his lips, more a peace offering than a true one.

“I painted my shoes red and I put so much glitter on them so they sparkle,” Penelope adds cheerfully.

“You did?”

She nods, shining with pride.

“It’s been two weeks and I’m still finding glitter everywhere,” Steve comments, more amused than he lets on. He can’t be that mad when they’re little reminders of his favorite person in the world.

“Are you dressing up?” You ask him.

He huffs, side-eyeing Penelope. “Yes.”

A glint forms in her eyes, a sly little smirk beneath. “Daddy is going to be the lion because he’s hairy.”

You laugh and Penelope joins you because Steve has a funny pouty face.

He rolls his eyes. “Tell ‘em who’s your Toto?”

“Cinderella!”

“No way!” You match her level of excitement. “Does she have a costume?”

“No, but I have a basket for her to sit in.”

You coo, “I bet Cinderella will love that.”

Steve snorts because he knows you know Cinderella will in fact not love that.

Cinderella is supposedly the grumpiest animal he’s ever met. She was a quick, unfortunately painful, lesson on boundaries for Penelope– not to pet certain areas or animals as a whole. Steve described her as an old, scraggly thing with a temper flaring unpredictably from one moment to the next. He wasn’t a cat person to begin with, growing up in a house with no animals probably started his revulsion to having fur on his clothes; but at two and a half, Penelope begged to feed the stray on their porch and she just kept coming back.

Steve wanted a dog when he moved out, if anything at all; but in four years he’s learned more about sacrifice than any speech his parents tried to drill into his head. And Cinderella is practically Penelope’s best friend now. She sets aside birthday money for new cat toys– the crinkly ones are her favorite– and sneaks the cat through her bedroom window from time to time. She even cradles her like a baby, not without protest and the occasional scratch, of course, but Penelope knows the risk.

“I told her Cinderella probably won’t want to come trick or treating but she can still take a picture with her at home.”

“I told you she will want to go because there’s candy.”

“Yes, but I told you cats can’t have candy,” Steve jabs her side lightly.

Penelope only pouts. “That’s sad. I think she would like candy.”

“It is,” he agrees, slotting a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “But it makes them sick, remember? So we can’t share with Cinderella.”

Her cheek melds with his sleeve, begrudgingly agreeing with a sigh. “Can I get my face painted?”

Steve traces her line of sight to the ring of kids swarming the face painter. It’s not far. He can see well enough to recognize most of the children. Many are younger than Penelope too.

But Steve hesitates, “Can you wait until I’m done eating? I’ll go with you.”

“Daddy,” she whines, pinching his arm hair. “You take forever.”

Penelope’s got magical little eyes. You don’t know how Steve ever says no.

“I can take her,” you offer, stacking trash on your plate. “I’m done anyway.”

“No, it’s okay.” He deflates with a sigh, curling into his ribs so he can see her face. “You can go by yourself–”

Her frown washes away just as fast as she peels herself off of his arm.

“But! You have to come straight back when you’re done and you have to stay where I can see you. ‘Kay?”

“‘Kay!” She beams, nearly tripping on her dress as she swings her legs over the bench and breaks into a run.

Steve can’t hide the wobble in his smile as hard as he tries to be strong. Most of the hardships he’s faced as a parent are foreign to you, but clearly, this isn’t easy for him.

“She’ll be fine,” you reassure with a ginger squeeze to his wrist. “We aren’t far if she needs something.”

He nods, still locked in on Penelope. “I know, I know. I’m trying really hard not to be a helicopter parent as she gets older. It sucks though, feeling like she doesn’t need me anymore.”

“Steve,” you deadpan, prying his attention back. “That’s… silly. You’re her dad, of course she still needs you. Maybe not all the time or as much but she’ll always need you.”

“I dunno. I feel like she grows an inch every time I turn around. I never thought I’d say this, but I actually miss when she was in diapers. She’s cute now, but God was she cute then.” He chuckles to himself, eyes swinging from Penelope to you and then back.

“I believe it,” you grin, admiring his girl. Her cheeks are red from the cold, like two tomatoes framing her lips. She might like to wear your jacket, you consider, but she’s so small, perhaps she’ll overheat from too many layers.

Penelope scrambles into the chair when it’s her turn, talking a mile a minute to the face painter. A funny wave of emotion roves over you. There’s affection and joy and and then something heavier and harder to describe.

“I’ll have to show you her baby pictures sometime.” You hear the parting of a true smile. “There’s this one– it was her first birthday– I gave her a whole cake and she just demolished it. Had it in her hair and her eyelashes and in between her toes. She was so damn happy.”

You exhale a happy hum, turning back to Steve. He’s propped on his elbows now, close enough to discern each eyelash from the next. It doesn’t startle you as much as it just scrapes the words right off your tongue.

He’s reading you, churning, and chasing the right words all in between the blink of an eye. “We should hang out, you know? Like actually– We always talk about it but…” He shakes his head, trailing off.

He’d let the words be carried with the wind if you wanted. It’s hard to imagine you’d say no, but people have surprised him in worse ways. Just when he thinks he knows someone, truly knows them, they cut him off like he’s no more than a dying branch. The ghosts of past someones and somethings still haunt him. It makes being so forward with you all the more difficult.

You wear a whimsical sort of grin that you hide behind the brush of your hand, fighting your own flood of emotions. “Yeah– I mean, yeah. When?”

Excitement flares across his features. “What are you doing on Halloween? You could come trick-or-treating with us?”

“Probably just home handing out candy– but Steve, I don’t want to intrude on Halloween. It sounds really special to Penelope.”

“You wouldn’t! No way, Penelope would be thrilled if you came. She talks about you a lot, you know?”

“No she doesn’t,” you grin madly into your palm, peering over to her. Her face is dressed in a bright shade of orange now. With her pudgy cheeks, she reminds you of a little pumpkin.

“She does! Swear it– on my life.” He’s not lying. He can’t hold your eyes when he lies, even about silly things.

You huff, feeling foolishly giddy. “I don’t have time to get a costume, Steve.”

“Nonsense. We can find you one. I’ll make it if I have to. The Tin Man and The Scarecrow are still up for grabs.”

You swallow, washing the sudden dryness from your throat. Why does Steve have to be so damn cute and sweet all at once? “I dunno. Would it be fine if I didn’t dress up?”

He chuckles dryly. “Penelope won’t have that, I can tell you that much. Plus if I’m going to be tortured into some itchy lion onesie I expect you’ll do the same.” He’s teasing, which is typical for you both, but it’s like you’ve forgotten how.

“Steve.”

“Come on. If not for me, for Penelope. She’ll love it.”

“Okay,” you settle. But you aren’t really settling. He could ask you to dress up on any other day of the year and you’d do it.

Penelope races over– a tabby cat with long whiskers and a pastel pink nose– yelling, “Daddy, look!”

Steve beams at her like he stuck a lightbulb in his mouth, somehow brighter than before. “I see! You look so pretty, princess.”

“I’m like Cinderella.”

“You are!” He pats her former seat beside him until she sits.

Her long lashes flutter questioningly.

“Nell, don’t you think we need, I dunno, like a Tinman or a Scarecrow to go with our costumes on Halloween?”

She tracks his gaze over to you, adopting your smirk. “Are you coming trick-or-treating with us?” Her voice is uneven and bubbly with anticipation.

“Do you want me to?” You ask genuinely.

Penelope’s tongue wriggles in her mouth like she can’t find the proper words to express what she feels. But she nods in this bashful way against Steve’s shoulder that surprises you.

“Are we being shy now?” Steve remarks, pulling her into his arms effortlessly to peck her hairline.

“No,” she whines against his sweater, overjoyed to be smothered in love. Dry paint creases with her scrunched face. It’s an adorable sight. You keep wishing you had a camera on you because this is the kind of thing Steve probably puts in his photo albums.

The moon climbs the sky quickly, draping the party in a silver veil. Many stay for the campfire and the promise of smores. But the later it gets, the crankier kids become for their parents. Penelope’s no exception, whining and clinging to Steve until he agrees to hold her. And he tries to work still, but his arms are starting to burn and stamping hayride tickets isn’t easy one-handed so he makes the hard choice to leave before cleanup.

He feels awful, apologizing to several of his coworkers on the way out but most are too drunk on cider or too high on festive cheer to care. Besides, he’s paid a salary, doing this out of the kindness of his heart. He has no obligation to be here– you’d reminded him of that multiple times. But the festival does feel empty when they leave, even with half the town still around.

ᯓ★

Steve lives in a quiet pocket outside of town on a curvy, secluded stretch of road. The directions he’d scrawled out on a receipt weren’t as useful as you’d hoped as one of the street names you were intended to turn on was smudged beyond legibility. But you made it, parked in front of a white house with a similarly white picket fence. Steve’s beamer is idled to your right. It’s strange seeing it somewhere that’s not the rec center. But it’s a familiar comfort between so much new.

There’s a tire swing knotted to the oak tree in the yard, a collection of painted rocks in the pebble-lined path up to the house, and two carved pumpkins set outside the door, caving in on themselves but not yet rotting. A lot of love is shared here.

Penelope answers the door when you knock. She’s half dressed– stockings hugging a pair of fleece leggings and a flowy pajama tank top. Her eyes outline your costume and light up with approval.

You sport a flannel and denim overalls stuffed with prickly straw straight from the local farm, courtesy of Steve. But Penelope ogles your face paint more than anything– a stitched grin and two circles for blush. You hope it’s not scary looking.

She doesn’t know how to let you inside– she’s not supposed to answer the door after all– so she hangs clumsily off the door handle until you ask, “Can I come in?”

“Yes,” she teeters out of the way, closing the door behind you with a sweeping grin— the mischievous kind that makes you wonder what she’s up to.

The foyer is situated between the living room and kitchen, both of which are missing Steve.

“Where’s your dad?”

“Umm. Cleaning?”

“Oh. Are you getting ready to go?”

“Yes, but I can’t find my shoes,” she makes a strangled face and shrugs with her entire wingspan.

“Do you want me to help you look?”

She nods, “I think they’re in my closet.”

Penelope sprints up the stairs easily, leaning over the railing at the top until you hesitantly follow. You hope he won’t mind. You were technically let in.

It reeks of chemicals upstairs. You stifle a cough and hope it’s Steve, not some science experiment in Penelope’s room. But you don’t worry long. The culprit swings around the corner, juggling several bottles of solutions and sprays. Steve would’ve barreled straight into you had you not thrust your arms out in defense, but still, all his things scatter across the floor.

“Christ, you scared me.” He kneels, tucking a roll of paper towels against his chest. “Nell, you can’t answer the door without me.”

“I looked in the window.”

You hand him a sanitizer and shimmy your hat back into place. It’s too big and far too floppy, sagging over your brows no matter how you situate it. Amusement draws his cheeks up as he realizes. You look ready to plop yourself in the middle of someone’s crops and he’s in a tee and jeans you might find him in any other day. His smiley-staring only makes you feel sillier.

“The straw’s really a nice touch, huh?” Steve teases, picking a sandy stem from your collar with his free hand. He’s got that smirk you so often find on Penelope’s lips.

You yank the strand from his grasp and poke the column of his throat with it. “I’m definitely more itchy than you’ll be.”

His fingers encase the entirety of your fist like a shell. They’re knobby and mannish, stout against your own. But there’s a tenderness to his hold as he eases your fist away. You don’t push back, though you contemplate it. He’s never touched you for so long; he’s basically holding your hand.

“Could’ve been the Tinman,” he says, releasing your fingers at your thigh.

You suck in, like fuel for a reply, and exhale a breathy, nervous laugh. “And paint my entire body gray? No thanks.”

He chuckles, eyes darting behind you. “Well, you look great. You like it, Nell?”

You’d almost forgotten she was there. She’s quiet as a mouse when she wants to be.

Penelope bobs her head behind you, patiently watching from the doorway to her room. “I have oh-ralls like that.”

“You do,” Steve confirms, fidgeting with the nozzle on the disinfectant bottle. It reminds you of the smell.

“You kill someone?”

He stiffens. “What?”

You flick the bottle of Windex, serious facade fading. “Smells like you’re trying to cover it up.”

“Oh! No,” his shoulders soften, “Just a little spring cleaning… in fall.”

You hum gaily. “I like your house.”

“You do?” His voice is light, buoyant with relief. “I can give you a tour. A proper one.”

“I would but I’ve promised a patient little lady I’d help her find her shoes first.”

Penelope beams when you glimpse at her. “I think they’re in my closet,” she shares with Steve.

“I think so too,” he says, eyeing past her. “What happened to cleaning?”

“I was but I had to find my costume first.”

“It’ll be easier to find when your room’s clean.” He sends you a look, “Don’t let her trick you into cleaning for her. She’s sneaky.” Steve whispers the last part, loud and teasing.

“I’m not sneaky!”

“Mhmm. I’ll go get ready and then come help you, Nell.”

“Then trick-or-treat?”

“Yes,” he starts down the stairs, “Yell if you need me.”

Penelope tows you into her room by the arm, unphased by the clinking of toys crammed behind the door. Anything in her way gets kicked or shoved aside without a second thought. It’s like her toy chest exploded, a kaleidoscope of pink and purple across the carpet. And no wonder it’s a mess; she starts chucking things out of her closet, adding to the pile spilling out like an avalanche—books, stuffed animals, barbie dolls, baby dolls, and so so many clothes.

You squeeze by a play tent, scanning the floor.

“They’re red and sparkly, ‘member?” Penelope calls from behind her closet doors.

You tip a beanbag over with your foot, “I remember.”

She babbles to herself as she looks, just like Steve does– little hums and scraps of thought that are hard to catch. It’s a funny thing, to see it translated from one human to another.

It doesn’t take long to find the shoes, wedged underneath her bed with numerous other things. You go prone against the floor to dig them out and hold them up by the straps. “These it, Pen?”

She gasps vibrantly. You wish you got up in time to see her face.

“How did you know they were under there!” She shrieks, snatching them from you.

“Just had a feeling,” you sit up properly, happily watching her slip the flats on.

She practically twinkles, clicking her heels together like Dorothy.

“They look stunning! You painted these?”

“Yes,” she skips over to her dresser, shuffling through drawer after drawer. Anything folded surely isn’t anymore.

“You’re a talented artist.”

“I know. Daddy says.” Penelope yanks out a blue line of fabric. “My dress is so pretty. I’m going to be the prettiest Dorothy for Halloween.”

“I know you will! You should give your dad a big hug for making such a pretty dress.”

She buckles into the costume as fast as she can, patting the skirt down with a satisfied grin when it’s on.

After several compliments and much debate, you’re able to convince her Dorothy would have a clean room. Penelope puts a few things away, but she’s easily distracted. And it’s hard to blame her with so many toys about. So you do most of the cleaning, but you’re happy to. It’ll make Steve happy– lest he finds out it was you– which makes you happy.

The floor’s mostly cleared when Penelope decides Steve’s taking too long; it’s time for your house tour, with or without him. And when he doesn’t answer her shout it’s decidedly without him. She shows you downstairs first– the living room, the kitchen, the half bath, her favorite hiding spot underneath the stairs. All the while she explains her very detailed and strategic trick-or-treating plan. Staying out until midnight is the priority, she doesn’t seem to care if it’s past her bedtime, and filling several bags with candy is also high on the list.

“And this is Daddy’s room.” She jerks the door knob several times before yelling, “Daddy!”

“What?” Steve calls, muffled.

��Let us in!”

“I can’t hear you– hold on!”

Steve unlocks the door donning the promised lion onesie and a pair of sneakers. It’s ridiculous how handsome he looks even with a stupid fur collar and tail.

“Cute,” is all you manage to say. He takes it as teasing, rolling his eyes, though you really mean it.

“Can you help me? I can’t get my whiskers right.” He taps the cap of an eyeliner pen against his cheek where he’s drawn two lines.

“Sure.” You take the stick and follow him through his room to the master ensuite.

“Wait!” Penelope shouts and waves vaguely at the room. “This is Daddy’s room.”

You pause to look it over, jovially commenting, “Wow! Very nice.”

And it is nice. There’s a rustic set of furniture striped in blue and green accents; paired well with the framed floral prints above his dresser. And the bed’s made, only slightly surprising, topped with a Care Bear’s quilt you assume is Penelope’s.

In the bathroom, Steve leans against the counter, arms braced behind him on the sink rim. You shuffle in front of his legs, skimming knees accidentally. He has no abhorrence for physical touch, you know that for certain. He’s touchy with not just you, but everyone in the office. An arm around the shoulder, a pat on the back, a gentle squeeze to the arm– he gives these out like candy on Halloween. But even so, touching him isn’t always easy. It’s vulnerable, runs the risk of rejection.

Steve smiles at you, ever-patient and encouraging when you stall awkwardly.

“Sorry,” you whisper. Talking any louder feels illegal when he’s so close. You cup his jaw and steady your opposite hand against his cheek, picturing the line how you want it.

But just when you press into his skin and flick the pen, Penelope slams a drawer shut, startling you enough to flinch. The ink slants all the way behind his ear like a jagged nail.

You gasp and recoil, “Shit.”

Penelope gasps twice as loud and Steve crumples into laughter, even more so when he turns to view the damage in the mirror.

“Oops,” you chuckle nervously, thumbing at the black streak. “This washes off right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ve redone it like four times.”

You douse your finger in water and work the pad across his happy cheek gently.

He’s watching you. You don’t see, just feel it in the fringe of your peripherals. It’s not like he has many places to look when you’re a hair’s breadth from his nose. But he might as well press a magnifying glass against your face, point out every pore and blemish and hair you're insecure about.

Your cheeks burn and the beginning prickles of sweat coat your upper lip. You brushed your teeth before you arrived, but how could you forget a mint? And what about an extra layer of deodorant? That wouldn’t have hurt. You glance at Steve anxiously and his eyes jump to Penelope. For once you’re grateful not to keep his attention.

Penelope digs through his cabinet on a quest to find nothing in particular.

You pull away to judge your first line as Steve opens his mouth. “Nell, go get your brush and hair ties.”

The top half of her face pops up over the cupboard door like a puppet. “But I want my hair down.”

“I still have to brush it. And I thought you wanted the bows?”

She considers his words– her prior words– brows pinching before she shrugs, “Okay.” The cabinet door thuds against its hinges as it claps shut, and not a second later, Steve’s bedroom door slams as Penelope charges out.

“You would not believe how often I tell this kid not to slam the doors,” he scoffs, though it’s devoid of any real anger.

You take his chin again, packing away a grin. You have to focus. “Don’t move,” you prompt.

He’s relaxed in your hold. Still as a stone, maybe apart from the slight tug of his lips when you resume drawing.

“Tickles,” he murmurs when you lift the nib.

You print another three to match the trio on his right. It’s not bad, but you wouldn’t say it’s good. The angles are skewed weird and one’s shorter than the rest. But if he wants them any better, you might not be the best person to ask.

“How’s that?” You draw back, searching for any smudges.

He spins, briefly inspecting his reflection before facing you again. “Perfect! Thank you!”

Perfect is definitely a stretch.

Steve’s a perfectionist. You’ve seen it innumerably in the office. How he’ll spend hours revising something only to ruminate on an insignificant detail after. And with Penelope, every parenting decision is subject to endless second-guessing, as if her health and happiness hinges on the smallest nuances.

But as much as he’s a perfectionist, Steve would never judge you in the same way he might himself. Your whiskers truly are perfect in his eyes, not for the shape or size, but because you drew them– wonky and all.

The ink warps around his smile. You study his face under the guise of checking your work. Steve’s a handsome guy. An inviting kind of handsome, with shallow laugh lines and the start of stubble stippled across his jaw.

“Wait,” you square his shoulders, brushing the nape of his neck to reach for his hood. The lion’s mane is laid gently over the top of his hair.

“Now it’s perfect.”

He smirks. “Sexy, huh?”

“Should leave this unzipped a little. The cougars will love that.”

Steve laughs, harder than you think you’ve ever heard him. It’s so contagious even Penelope joins your hysterics when she returns, though she hasn’t a clue what you’re laughing about.

“What’s so funny?” Penelope lurches into his legs with a handful of hair things.

“We just think my costume’s kinda silly. Here, baby.” Steve heaves her onto the counter and props her right in between the sinks.

Her dress pours over her crossed legs like a layered cake, baby blue and white gingham. Steve really did a great job with the stitching; you can’t even tell it was done by hand. And Penelope hasn’t complained about the fit once so it must be comfortable too.

“Face forward please,” Steve reminds gently for a third time when Penelope twists her neck to speak.

Penelope frowns at his reflection. “You’re pulling too tight.”

“Sorry. You have to stop moving though.”

There’s a mild curve to his lips. He’s not aggravated with her fidgeting, in fact, quite the opposite. Maybe because you’re around, he’s in too good of a mood to spoil with something as trivial as his daughter's hair. But regardless, it’s endearing as it is entertaining to care for Penelope. He loves being a dad, even when it’s frustrating. And you can see the love as he braids her hair– how he cards through knots from the ends up and slowly sections off pieces to tackle one at a time.

“I’m not moving.” Her chin droops as she scratches the polish from her nails.

Steve cups her jaw, steering it back up. “You are, monkey.”

“Monkey?” She chortles, seeking your gaze in the mirror to see if you also find the nickname funny.

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, seizing the rubber band from between his teeth. “Monkeys move a lot.”

“Do they have tails?”

“Mhmm.”

“You have a tail 'cause you’re a lion.”

Steve hums and bends back, evaluating his performance. “There. You look so gorgeous, Penelope.”

And he really has done a great job, especially with all her wiggles. Steve takes a lot of pride in styling his hair– much of his confidence derives from it. And he tries to extend that care to Penelope; to teach her how gorgeous she is and that she deserves to be nurtured.

Penelope shakes her head disapprovingly. “I’m Dorothy now, Dad.”

“Oh, sorry.” Steve turns toward you instinctually, happy to catch your smile.

“You look very very pretty, Miss Dorothy,” you correct.

She slides off the counter, aided by Steve’s hand. “Can we go now?”

Penelope waits patiently in the foyer for Steve to gather everything needed to leave. This lasts for all of about ten minutes before Penelope is halfway out the front door, too excited to wait any longer.

“Wait, Nell!” Steve shouts from beside you in the kitchen.

You’re choosing snacks and filling water bottles. Steve doesn’t really need to pack a bag for Penelope anymore, she’s a year and a half past diapers, but he likes to feel prepared.

When Penelope doesn’t answer, he meets her on the porch to explain, “I’m almost done. And we still have to take pictures.”

“I don’t wanna. I’m ready to leave.”

“Well, we aren’t leaving until I get a picture of Dorothy.”

She sighs, lugging herself back inside like she’s got bricks for shoes. “What about Cinderella?”

“Go and look– get the treats.”

She scrambles into the kitchen, snagging a jar of cat treats from the counter quickly. You shoulder the backpack and follow her out. Steve joins you not long after, two flashlights and several glowsticks in hand.

“No Cinderella?” Steve asks, unzipping the bag pressed to your back to stock with more things.

“No,” Penelope pouts, vigorously shaking the jar in the air. “How can I be Dorothy without Toto.”

He yanks the zipper back up, then pats her head, “Keep calling. Where’s your jacket?”

“I don’t need it.”

“You will. It’s gonna get cold later. When it’s dark.”

“It’ll mess up my costume. Dorothy doesn’t wear one.”

“Let's bring it, just in case. I’ll carry it.”

Steve jogs back inside, coming out this time with a camera around his neck, a jacket over his shoulder, and a plushie in hand.

“Here,” he sets a blue stuffed dog on Penelope’s lap. “Backup Toto.”

Penelope glares up at him, insulted. “This isn’t Toto.”

“I know. But if we wait for Cinderella we might not have time for trick-or-treating. Why don’t we bring the treats? See if she’s started without us?”

Penelope deflates, stuffing the dog in her wicker basket.

“Can I take your picture now?”

“Why, Daddy?”

“So I can remember how beautiful you look tonight.”

A petulant bow creases her lips as she peers up. Round, sullen eyes connect with his.

Steve squats in front of her, taking her much smaller free hand in his. “I know you’re sad about Cinderella but she’d still want you to have fun, right? And she might show up later. I just want to get a picture now so I don’t forget.”

Penelope nods and Steve kisses her forehead, standing and backing up a few paces.

“Smile, baby. Please?” He blinks at her through the viewfinder.

She offers a strangled face– more of a toothy open mouth than a smile; not even close to wide enough to round her cheeks or crescent her eyes like the real deal. But it’s funny and just as cute. Steve snaps a photo and the expression drains from her face as fast as the camera’s flash.

You wander behind Steve and her eyes flick to you. You try funny faces first, frowning so deep your jaw aches, pulling the tip of your nose up like a pigs, winking terribly, but none of it works. Your fingers arch into bunny ears behind Steve’s hair and you stick your tongue out at the back of his head, but still, no dice.

You have a really awful idea. You’re pretty sure you might die of embarrassment. But it’s worth it to get Penelope to smile.

“Hey, Penelope? Remember when you told me dinosaurs are silly?”

She nods.

“Well, I have a really good dinosaur impression. Can I show you?”

She nods again, equally jaded.

You take a deep breath and shake your head, mentally preparing yourself and simultaneously erasing Steve from existence for the moment. A feral screech erupts from the back of your throat, the kind of sound you didn’t know for sure you could make.

Steve buckles in his crouch, barely catching himself on the pavement with his free hand. A chorus of emotions ripple his features. He’s shocked and then amused and finally focused on capturing the picture, but what resonates the most is a fondness for you.

You cup a hand over your mouth, rendering a string of different noises, inspired by several animals because what the hell does a dinosaur sound like anyway? You haven’t the faintest clue at the moment.

Penelope fuses her lips together, unbreaking.

“Come on Nell, I see that smile,” Steve rallies.

But she doesn’t give up easy. She’s like Steve in that way.

As a last resort, you press your lips to your mouth, blowing a raspberry and screwing your face in disgust. “Oh my God, Steve! Did you just fart?”

He gapes at you, then Penelope, tickled and tongue-tied for comebacks. He can’t think straight, not when you’re making a delightful fool out of yourself, on his behalf, especially. As far as he’s concerned, Penelope’s smiling now or at least failing awfully at hiding it. So he takes several photos of her as she unravels into a giggly heap on the driveway.

Certainly one of them is photo-album-worthy, but you continue your stunts anyway. “Goodness, what did you eat today?” You backpedal a few steps, fanning the surrounding air, partially to hide your own laugh. “Penelope do you smell that?”

“Ew! Daddy!”

You aren’t sure if Penelope actually believes you or if she just wants to join the fun but either way, she’s convincing.

“I didn’t do it!” Steve defends, dropping the camera on its sling and raising his hands in surrender. “I think it was Penelope this whole time.”

You gasp. “Penelope!”

“I didn’t!” She cries, shaking her head aggressively. “I promise, I didn’t!”

“I dunno. The closer I get the more stinky it smells.” Steve slinks up to her with outstretched hands that threaten tickles.

She screams when he snatches her up, swearing up and down, “I didn’t, Daddy!”

He’s well-practiced at being the tickle monster; knows every sensitive strip of skin to target. She was doomed from the start. Giggles spill out in jagged layers punctuated with gasps of air. Steve tickles her all the way down the driveway to the car, out of breath himself by the time he sets her on the trunk.

Penelope deliriously eyes his hands where they rest on the beamer.

“You ready to go trick-or-treating, Little Miss Dorothy?” You ask.

She nods, dimples deepening with mirth.

“Here. Will you start it?” Steve fishes his keys out of his pocket and tosses them to you. “Come on, pretty girl.”

She slides into her car seat happily, bouncing with excitement as he buckles her in. Steve’s told you before it’s not always so easy.

“I really didn’t fart,” Penelope says.

He chuckles, sewing a kiss to her cheek, “I know, baby. We’re just kidding.”

Steve settles into the driver’s seat, depositing the stack of developed polaroids in your lap. You shuffle through as he backs out, flashing him your favorites; the best is one where she’s planted a hand on her hip and is rolling her eyes. You adore this little drama queen more and more every day.

The drive’s only a few minutes, just to a denser part of the neighborhood to avoid long stretches with no houses. Steve parks against an empty grass lot behind another car. This area’s already bustling with kids which adds to Penelope’s anticipation.

“Daddy, look– it’s Minnie Mouse!”

Steve inspects the crowd through the window. “Yeah, you remember when you were Minnie Mouse?”

“I was?”

“Mhmm. You had ears and I painted your face. You were little.” He unbuckles, grabbing the backpack stashed at your feet.

“Oh. Am I still little?”

He pauses to melt, just to himself and only a bit. It’s too early to be sentimental– a long night of fun awaits. Steve cranes over his seat to see her face. “Yes, you’re still little. But you’re growing a lot. I think you might be as tall as me, one day.”

“Nooo,” she giggles, waving her foot at him.

“I dunno,” he sing-songs back, squeezing her shoe before turning back around.

Steve distributes a handful of glowsticks, shoving a few extra in Penelope’s basket. You guys start down the block as the sun sinks below the treeline, more than enough time to complete Penelope’s plan which she reminds you of. She takes Steve’s hand, then yours, and it strikes you suddenly how much you appear as a family to outsiders. It’s not an unwelcome feeling, just a strange one.

At the first house, Penelope knocks hard and declares to the elderly woman who answers, “Trick or treat!” She repeats it, insisting with wide eyes that she deserves two pieces of candy for her double effort. And the woman can’t resist her charm, obliging with a handful of pieces. Steve jokes it off, calls her a bargainer, but you gawk at the interaction.

At the second house, she points to you and Steve, arguing you deserve candy too since you’re both in costume. And it works, scoring you each a piece that ends up in her tote anyway. By the third, you can’t keep a straight face, her antics are hilariously cute and you compliment Steve for raising such a little mastermind.

You fall into a routine steadily, loafing along the road with Steve while Penelope trots up to each house.

“Last year she was Snow White and the year before a cat,” Steve explains when you ask.

“She likes princesses’.”

“Less so now but yeah. She used to say she wanted to be a princess when she grew up.”

“Can’t blame her.” You watch her fondly from afar. She picks a piece of candy off the ground and debates before tossing it in with the others. “What does she wanna be now?”

“Changes all the time. Last it was a detective.” He beckons Penelope over. “Nell, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

She fiddles with her basket handle. You’ve done two streets and it’s almost full. You're starting to think you’ll have to buy a pillowcase off of someone.

“Umm… Can I be a trick-or-treater?”

“What!” Steve flips her braid over her shoulder, “That’s just for one day, goofball.”

“Well… then,” she hums, squinting at the surrounding swarm of characters and creatures. “Maybe a pirate?”

You and Steve share a look of amusement. You do that a lot now. It’s instinctual. Finding each other's eyes, even in a room full of people it’s easy. Sometimes there’s just too much joy not to share.

“Daddy, how many houses are left?”

“There’s quite a few on this street. You tired?”

“No. Can I see? I want to count.”

She doesn’t seem tired to you but Steve’s able to read her with the tiniest details. It’s like he’s got superpowers sometimes– dad superpowers. But maybe he’s just guessing, it’s getting closer to bedtime.

Steve boosts her onto his shoulders with a hefty groan about “getting old” which you bicker over because he’s only twenty-six.

Penelope counts eleven houses, eight with lights on, but buzzes about a particular home illuminated with rainbow LEDs and a giant spider. And it’s even cooler than she described up close, mansion-like, decked out with spotlights and decorations taller than you and Steve combined.

A motionless clown holds a bloody bucket of candy outside. Their decorations are so extravagant, it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s fake. But you’re pretty sure the clown just blinked and you make sure Steve’s aware of that, not that he was letting Penelope go alone anyway.

Steve scoops Penelope up before she gets very far up the driveway despite her complaints.

“I’m not scared, Daddy,” she assures. And there’s nothing that tells you she is– she’s just as cheery and bright-eyed as before.

“I know, princess.” He rubs her arm, scanning for other statues with the potential to come alive. “I’m kinda scared, though.”

She tips her head at him, puzzled because it’s always the other way around. But her arms coil around his neck, a loving press of affection that she learned from him.

And whether he’s actually afraid to be jumpscared or just subconsciously ingraining in her that it’s okay if she is, you aren’t really sure. Probably both, and either way, it warms your insides.

The clown cocks its head slowly when Penelope reaches in the bowl.

She cocks her head back, innocently amused. “Trick-or-treat?”

The clown nods, pushing the bowl toward her.

Steve sags just a hair but remains very much on high alert.

You mouth your appreciation— “Thanks.” Thanks for not scaring my coworker-friends-child who I’ve grown really fond of and would hate to see cry.

“Daddy, can we go in there?” Penelope points to a tunnel opening, fringed with black streamers and flashing lights– some sort of haunted house walk-through that wraps around the home.

“No, baby. That’s for big kids.”

She spots a group of teenagers exit the other side, screaming, laughing, and doubling over each other into the grass.

“I really wanna go– please, I’ll be so brave. I’m not even scared,” she pleads, flashing him a wobbly frown.

But there’s no expression she could pull right now that would change his mind, not when he hears a chainsaw buzzing inside. She could throw herself on the ground and kick and cry and he’d still refuse. He knows enough kids that have been traumatized by horror-movie-type creatures and characters; he’ll be damned if his daughter becomes one of them.

Penelope sulks for a few houses but she has loads more candy to collect and decides not to waste her time for too long.

“Can you hold this?” She thrusts her basket toward Steve. It’s overflowing at this point; you’ve all started cramming candy in your pockets, hoping it’s cold enough outside that nothing melts. Steve’s been beating himself up for three blocks for forgetting the backpack in the car.

“Sure,” he says, retracting his hand from his pocket.

But before he takes it, you joke, “Better keep an eye on him. He might eat some when you’re not lookin’.”

Penelope studies him for a long moment before shifting the bag toward you.

“Penelope! You don’t really believe that do you?” He scoffs, breathily laughing.

You cackle as she shrugs and sprints to the next house.

Steve bumps your shoulder, snaking a hand in the basket to steal a pack of M&Ms off the top. “Blowin’ my whole operation.”

“Steve,” you scold and bump him back. “Don’t get me in trouble.”

“She won’t notice.” He waves you off, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. “But if she does I’m saying it was you.”

You whack his arm, glowing bright as the moon, “Asshole.”

Penelope doesn’t complain about her feet aching once the whole night and you know they probably do because yours started hurting forever ago. Surely she gets some kid-sized Oscar for that. And Steve being the great dad he is offers to carry her on the way back to the car anyway.

“Daddy?”

Steve hums, hoisting her up where she slips.

“Can we go trick or treating tomorrow?”

He glances at you, confirming you also hear this cuteness. “No, baby. Tomorrow’s not Halloween.”

“I know, but we should still go. I bet lots of people still have candy. Like, leftovers.” She yawns into his shoulder where his fur hood has been tugged down to warm his neck and double as a makeshift pillow.

“Don’t you have enough candy?”

“No. I need more Reese’s for you.”

“You’re gonna give them to me?”

“Only some. I like them too.”

“That’s kind of you.”

Her eyes are half-lidded and struggling, but she’s still awake as Steve stows her into her car seat. She chatters sluggishly to keep herself up and you and Steve entertain it; it’ll make bedtime easier if she doesn’t fall asleep in the car. Perhaps handing her a pack of Smarties was overkill because apparently, it has enough sugar to wire her longer than the five-minute drive home.

No slower than Steve can lock the front door, Penelope dumps the contents of her bag on the floor. A bouquet of candy wrappers, big and small, enough to last her months if she’s patient.

“You can have five more pieces tonight.”

Penelope smirks at Steve before he’s even finished. “Ten?”

“Six. But you have to brush your teeth for twice as long.” Before she can rebuttal he shakes his head. “Final offer.”

“Fine,” she huffs, combing through her pile. She sorts them into categories while Steve prepares her bath. It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown is already on– Steve has a bad habit of forgetting to turn the TV off when he leaves– but you find the remote when Penelope asks you to turn the volume up.

“You can have these,” she announces, pushing a chunk of her goodies toward you. It’s mostly things she doesn’t like: twizzlers and dark chocolate and anything with peanuts. But she did sneak in one of your favorites you’d mentioned earlier that night. She really is a sweetheart.

“Thank you, Penelope. That’s very nice of you.”

“These are for Daddy,” she points to a second pile, smacking loudly on the gummy bear she just decapitated. “He loves chocolate but he got a cavity once because he ate too much.”

“Are you talking about me?” Steve hollers, clambering down the stairs two at a time.

“No?” Penelope giggles.

His hands snap to his hips once he treks into the living room. “Alright, it’s bath time then bedtime Miss Dorothy.”

Penelope looks utterly betrayed. She’s only eaten three things and– “It’s not even late yet,” she whines.

He pretends to check his watch, “It is.”

It’s not but she can’t tell time yet.

“Can we watch Oz, Daddy, please? There’s no school tomorrow, ‘member?”

“We watched it last night, peanut. Why don’t we watch a Halloween movie?”

Peanut, pumpkin, princess, he calls her all sorts of cute things. Is it wrong to wish he called you cute things too?

“I wanna watch Oz. I’m Dorothy so we have to.” She drags out the last syllable until she runs out of breath.

Penelope’s over-tired. Delirious and whiny and easily hysterical when she doesn’t get her way. And it’s not that Steve thinks he should give in when she’s like this, he’s just tired too. And you’re here and it’s the weekend so what will one movie really do? He can guarantee she’ll fall asleep during it anyway.

“Okay. Only if you’re super-duper fast in the bath.”

She shouts and whizzes upstairs.

Steve diverts his attention to you, “You wanna stay? I can make popcorn.”

Of course, you’d love to stay, and not just for the promise of popcorn, but you’re afraid if you do, you’ll never want to leave.

“Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He makes a face– a ridiculously lovely one. “Go sit. We’ll be quick.”

They aren’t quick but there are photo albums on the coffee table that you’re happy to look through in the meantime. You flick through beats of their life like stills of a movie. There are baby photos, school pictures, movie stubs, plane tickets, and several people you don’t know the names of. It’s weird– getting snippets of things about them you had no idea of. You’re filling the gaps as you go.

Penelope returns first, frolicking her way to the entertainment center in fresh pajamas. She’s on a mission by the looks of it, making a mess of the VHS collection in the cabinet. By the time Steve arrives, most of the films are splayed across the carpet.

“Oz is already in, silly goose. We watched it yesterday remember?”

Penelope drops the tape in her hands, “Oh.”

Steve hunches over her, slotting the films away one by one. She doesn’t help much, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Penelope clambers onto the couch beside you and Steve beside her. It’s a long sectional, enough room for several others. But Penelope scoots in right beside you so you're hip to hip. And Steve makes himself comfortable more in the middle cushion than the farthest.

His onesie has been traded for sweats and his whiskers scrubbed away– though a faded, gray smear crosses his jawline. You consider telling him, or licking your thumb and scratching it away yourself, but it makes you feel less weird to be the only one still in costume so you let it stay.

“I like these,” you tug the cotton pant leg of Penelope’s outfit. It’s a matching set, frilly and plaid with a black cat stamped to the torso.

She tucks her lower lip away sheepishly and pushes her crown into your shoulder. Her hair's damp, soaking your sleeve cold, but you fawn at the affection more than anything.

“Did you find that picture? From her first birthday? I think it’s in there.” Steve gestures toward the closed album in your lap with the remote but remains glued to the TV.

“No, I didn’t finish looking.”

“I wanna see,” Penelope arches over your legs, prying the book open.

Steve rewinds the film to the start and pauses it so he can look too.

You thumb the plastic sheet over a recent image of Penelope scrunching her nose at the camera, a riot of stickers across her face.

“RoRo!” She taps the photo beside it. It’s a haphazard blur, most likely captured by Penelope; you make out the shape of Steve first, then the less angular, slightly shorter person– a woman, RoRo. You think Penelope’s mentioned her before but nothing about the picture rings any bells.

“Mhmm. That’s Robin. Remember this was at the airport?”

“Is that when we got pizza?”

“Yeah!” Steve rubs her arm. “You have a good memory.”

You turn the page, revealing a set of grainy, blue-tinted photos from the same roll of film. Steve looks young for his age now, but he looked like a baby then. Strangely though when there’s an actual infant in his arms. He was thinner then but even softer in the face. Not unhappy, per se, but maybe missing a lightness he has now.

“This was on my twenty-third birthday,” he explains. “Look how little you were!”

“Did I eat cake?”

“No, you were too young, baby.” He chuckles, pointing to another photo. “You tried a banana for the first time in this one.”

“I like bananas.”

“You didn’t used to.”

Steve and Penelope share slices of their pasts fondly. You study the photos, compare these reflections to the people you find yourself next to. There’s an unexpected pinch in your chest– not getting the chance to know these versions of them, it makes you sad. But it’s a happy sort of sad. You’re grateful to know them now.

Penelope begs to flip through another album but Steve decides it’ll be too late to finish The Wizard of Oz if they do. His true reluctance stems from how emotional the first one made him– though you’ll pretend not to notice for his sake.

Steve bets Penelope an extra Reeses that she’ll fall asleep by the time Dorothy meets the scarecrow. It’s unfair, really. You tell Penelope not to pinky promise it but she does. And she loses awfully, yawning within five minutes and startling herself awake within ten. You scoff when Steve starts carding through her hair– her guaranteed snooze switch. It’s evil and you tell him so. So of course, that finishes her off long before Scarecrow makes an appearance; she curls into Steve’s side and digs a heel into yours. Poor girl never stood a chance.

“She had a lot of fun tonight,” Steve utters. It’s alarming at first, how his voice eclipses the TV like there isn’t a child snoring against his stomach. But she doesn’t stir. He knows she won’t.

“Did you?” You ask, skating between a whisper and not.

“Very much. You?”

“Mhmm. Loads,” you answer without hesitation. It’s possibly the easiest question anyone’s ever asked you. “I think Penelope’s right.”

He quirks an eyebrow against the front of the couch. His cheek is sinking further into the cotton like he might fall asleep.

“We should go trick-or-treating tomorrow too.”

His lips wane into a soft smile. If he wasn’t so drained he might laugh too. “What should we be? Penelope has a strict no-repeat costume rule.”

You hum, scraping your memory for the best costumes you’d seen. There were Power Rangers and Ghostbusters and several Batmen with their Catwomen. But the image of one young family sticks out the most in your mind. A young pair of parents with their son and daughter decked in moody black and white.

“Addams family?”

“Who’s who?”

“She’s Wednesday. Obviously.”

Steve chuckles, accidentally too loud and Penelope twitches against his thigh. He draws her against his chest readily and strokes her spine with the back of his hand. “Obviously,” he whispers.

“You’re Morticia and I’m Gomez, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She’s tall and pretty. Strong jawline, kinda sassy. I think you’ll make it work.”

You’re flirting. You know you are as soon as you say it. And you don’t mean to, it just happens; the words come intuitively as blinking. Your brain does all sorts of crazy things around Steve.

“You think I’m pretty?” He’s smiling hard. You can’t tell if he’s serious or not.

“Pretty sassy, yeah,” you deflect. It’s a safer truth than admitting you do think he’s pretty.

He rolls his eyes. “My mom says Nell gets her attitude from me. Says it’s payback for how I was as a child.”

You gawk emphatically. “Were you a bad kid Steve Harrington?”

“I wasn’t bad– just needed attention I think.”

You hum. It’s a little surprising since you know Steve’s an only child to wealthier parents. You’d pegged him to be spoiled in both money and attention.

“Are you close with your parents?”

He shakes his head, “Not really. Talk every now and then.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I came to terms with it a while ago. Even more after she was born.” He skims his lips against Penelope’s head. “I can’t imagine not being in her life. You know, not really knowing her? Not knowing her favorite things or when she’s hurting or what she’s up to every second of the day. I don’t think that’ll ever change.”

“She’ll be so grateful to have that kind of relationship when she’s older.”

“Yeah, maybe. Like way older.” His shoulders droop as he sighs, “She already thinks I’m smothering her. Wouldn’t hold my hand yesterday because she’s ‘too big’ she said.”

“Already?” You laugh.

“I know!” He groans. “I almost cried.”

“She loves you. Kids just show it in strange ways.”

“Yeah… She forced me to hold a slug last week.”

“You held it?”

“I had to! She was so excited to give it to me.”

“Aww. You’re a good dad.”

Steve's eyes caper down and his cheeks pinken. “I’m trying to be.”

Apart from the movie and an occasional sleep sigh from Penelope, silence swallows the room. It’s a comfortable silence; the kind you only get around people you’ve known forever; It feels like you’ve known Steve your entire life. You have to remind yourself it’s only been a few months. Remind yourself this is the first time you’ve ever even hung out.

You find yourself drifting to the future. A future, with Steve and Penelope. Vacations and school events and hiking trips and movie nights and so much more. It’s silly. It makes your heart want to rip itself from your chest.

Steve clears his throat. Your fantasy is only partially dissolved. “I’m gonna take her upstairs. Put her to bed.”

You lean forward and press into your knees, gearing to stand. “Okay. I should get going. It’s late.”

“Stay for a minute. I’ll walk you out.”

You have no reason to decline but even if you did, you aren’t sure you would be able to. Saying no to Steve is as hard as saying no to Penelope. They have the same puppy-dog eyes– brown and soft as sun-baked clay. That must be it.

Steve strains to stand with the added weight. He’s strong but Penelope’s four now and having growth spurts like there’s a race to be the tallest kid in school. She clings to him instinctually, slotting her face into his neck like it was sculpted specifically to be her pillow. Her gangly legs sway against his thighs as he slowly climbs the stairs and disappears onto the landing.

You don’t notice Steve’s return. He’s much quieter than before, taking softer steps and more calculated movements. He doesn’t have the buffer of his body heat to soothe Penelope back to sleep if she wakes. The palm on your shoulder startles you.

He whispers an apology from behind the couch, voice sweet and buttery as caramel. You let him guide you the short distance to the front door– expecting it to end there– but he presses into a pair of laced sneakers thrown beside the entry table.

The night’s chill is jolting, even in your coat. It’s easy to forget the months are slipping into winter when Steve’s around. He radiates warmth, not just in sun-kissed skin and honeyed eyes, but in his tone and his touches and every aspect of his spirit. And it bleeds like a fire. Brushes your cheeks like flames and stirs perpetually in your belly like magma.

He walks you the entire length of his driveway to your car. Probably would’ve opened the door for you if you didn’t beat him to it.

“Thank you for inviting me Steve,” you say, lingering in the threshold of your open door.

“Thank you for coming. I’m really happy you came. So is Penelope.”

“As much as I am looking forward to The Addams Family next year, we should plan something�� maybe a little sooner?”

“Mmm. Let me check my schedule first,” he teases, rapping his fingers against the roof of your car.

“Whatever, boss-man.”

You still don’t get in. There’s a stretch of silence, not awkward, just a placeholder for when the right words come. And they don’t. Not tonight anyway. You could hug him? Peck his cheek? Pat his back as he might yours?

You settle for a safe and simple tight-lipped smile. He appreciates it just the same.

“See you Friday?” He asks.

“See you then.”

Steve guides the door closed after you settle in. He waits until your taillights have completely fizzled out in the shadows of his street to stroll back up to his house.

He thinks of you as he locks the front door and again as he finds your hat on the sectional and a third time as he slips under his sheets. Steve isn’t sure what to do. He feels sick. His heart is hammering and his gut twists itself in knots like it does when he’s afraid. He hasn’t quite figured out what about you is so scary but how can he possibly wait until Friday to find out?

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #dad steve harrington #steve harrington #coworker steve harrington #stranger things fic #stranger things #the shape of family #skeltnwrites #my work

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mazamba · 9 months ago

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Baby Steps

Dani slurped her milkshake noisily as she shifted back to the visible spectrum, interrupting the argument between the so-called adults. It'd been a hectic week, she'd been part of Young Justice for less than a week, yet they already had a crisis in the form of a maybe-evil clone.

"Do you mind?" growled Batman.

"Try a different word."

Superman raised an eyebrow.

""Father" is too heavy, try "brother" instead," she continued, "I mean, Phantom's technically my dad, but I don't call him that. He's my 'cuz!"

"What we call each other isn't the problem."

"No, but it's less scary isn't it? Danny was fifteen when I met him. Imagine if I'd called him dad. He'd have freaked out!"

Batman nodded, seeing the logic.

"And even then, I kinda needed some time to put my head together, you know?" she rattled on, floating crisscross applesauce in midair like a balloon in the breeze, "It's the real reason I left the first time. Maybe some time apart would be good for them? Microdose in family!"

"What we call each other isn't even half of the problem," sighed Superman, "you're a clone too, right? You once told me it was weird to know things you didn't remember learning. Clones are made and programed, sometimes with sleeper programming."

"True, but that's what we're here for," she figured, "I mean, I can't take you on, but Superboy's a different story. If he does go nuts, he has the whole Junior League to take care of him."

"I can't ask you to put yourself in danger."

"You're not, I'm volunteering," figured Stray, finally floating down to the ground, "look, Phantom and I work because we took the time to figure out who we are to each other. You two need time to figure out what you are, not get shoved together and hope for the best."

Batman grunted.

"This is a shock, it was a shock for Danny too. Sa- A mutual friend told me he had a panic attack an hour after I left. Started looking into childcare and stuff. She had to stop him from running after me with a diaper bag and they both crashed into a tree. Tu- a different friend sent me a picture."

"Your point?" sighed the Bat.

"I just said it? Forcing things helps no one. Just... put them in general proximity of each other and let the cards lay where they may. I know what you want to help Superboy, but forcing them into a get along shirt is just gonna hurt them both. You have to think of Superman too."

"And if he does go rogue?"

"Then we stop him."

"That easy?"

"That easy."

Superman sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, the whole situation was a lot less scary by simply changing the word. And what Stray said made sense, in a roundabout sort of way.

For his part, Batman was mentally kicking himself for hyper-focusing on Superboy's needs without taking Clark's feelings into consideration.

"We'll go with your plan," he agreed, "Superman, I'll need you to have a word with Black Canary. She will mediate with you and Superboy whenever you wish to meet, but I need you both to agree to this before we move forward."

"And if we can't?"

"Then he'll have to get adopted into somewhere else," figured Dani, sitting in midair again, "nothing good will happen if we just dump him on you. Neither one of you deserve what happened."

---

I'm sick of people dumping on Clark. Considering how he and the others live, I can't blame him for being suspicious.

Some other guy got replaced by a clone that didn't even know he was a clone. It wouldn't be that weird for Connor to have sleeper programming.

If anything, this is on Batman and the others for trying to force a relationship.

#dp x dc #dani phantom #batman #superman #superboy #clark kent #bruce wayne #connor kent

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mystic-writings · 6 months ago

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ink on skin | daryl dixon

PAIRING — daryl dixon x fem!soulmate!reader

REQUEST — anon — hello! could you do an angsty story with daryl dixon? fem reader please <3

SUMMARY — daryl gave up on the concept of soulmates long ago, even with the words marked on his wrist. and then he found you.

WARNINGS — canon-typical scenarios, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, soulmate au

WORD COUNT — 3,573

NOTES — this was supposed to be part of a really long collection of prompt drabbles from years ago but i found it in my docs and turned it into something a lot longer <3 it’s not the best (i couldn't for the life of me work out a good ending), but i think this might be one of my faves i’ve written bc of how poetic the first few paragraphs are

masterlist | navigation | requests are open!

Daryl gave up on the concept of soulmates long before the world ended. He gave up on it when he was just a boy, when his mother died and his father stopped showing love. When he was told by his peers, his brother, his father, that no one would ever want him to stay with them, because he just wouldn’t be wanted by anyone.

He grew to loathe the words on his wrist from a very young age. He did everything he could to cover them — makeup he stole from his aunt, long-sleeved shirts, bracelets, you name it. He’d even gotten used to not glancing at the ink scribed on his left wrist, making sure that no matter what, his eyes never fell on them.

But even when he hated the words that sat there, waiting to be spoken by someone who cared, someone who wanted him, he couldn’t deny the countless nights he spent awake, tracing each letter and imagining what his soulmate’s voice sounded like. How would they say those three little words? What would they look like? When would he meet them?

Daryl missed the feeling of being wanted. He only ever felt it when he was with his mother, when he was a young boy who didn’t know anything but that the sky was blue and soulmates were real and his father was mean. He hasn’t felt wanted — truly wanted — for a long, long time, not even when he found the group.

Over time, with the loathing came the forgetting of the words marked on his wrist. By the time the world ended, Daryl had almost completely abandoned the reality of having a soulmate, and he rarely ever thought about it. In fact, he felt some relief in the fact that the world had ended. The chances of him finding ‘the one’ had lowered significantly now that most of the population was undead, and he had no reason to worry about being better for someone just to make it seem like he was worth loving anymore.

For almost three years, he lived with the relief of likely not having a soulmate anymore.

Today was an ordinary day, especially for the Alexandrians. At least, it seemed like an ordinary day. The sun was shining, people were milling around, crops were growing. But underneath the surface was something that no one wanted to address. Fear.

Negan was beginning his wrath on the community that could barely keep itself alive. He demanded supplies, and he demanded a lot of them. So, half of Daryl’s people had gone out on runs to look for stuff. Food, clothes, medicine, whatever they could bring back. Daryl was among that group, taking a car as opposed to his motorbike and going to a high school with Carol.

At first, he volunteered to go alone, but she reasoned with him. It was too big of an area for him to cover on his own, she said. He could get hurt, or worse. And it was Carol, how could he deny her? She was his best friend, after all. So, Daryl drove in silence, Carol in the passenger seat, staring curiously at him.

The feeling of her eyes on his annoyed him to no end, and eventually, the archer caved.

“There somethin’ on my face or wha’?”

“Nothing,” Carol chirped. “Just… thinking.”

“‘Bout wha’?” Daryl asked, sparing a glance at the woman.

Carol shrugged, eyeing her friend. “About those words, on your arm.”

Daryl tensed, shifting his posture to hopefully hide them from Carol’s view. “And?”

“Well, they’re not gone, for one.” She stated, a lilt in her voice. “And they’re… interesting first words for a soulmate, don’t you think?”

“How am I supposed ta know? I ain’t never seen anyone else’s tattoos. And it ain’t like I got a good chance of meetin’ ‘em, with all this shit goin’ on.” Daryl grumbled, watching Carol shrug and avert her gaze, looking ahead at the road.

“Just saying… I wouldn’t give up hope, Daryl.”

How would Carol know whether or not he should give up hope? Sure, she’d been the person closest to him aside from Rick, but even she knew nothing about his soulmate. Hell, he was still trying to figure out how she knew exactly what words marked his wrist. Still, he shook the thoughts from his head and continued the drive in silence, as though nothing had been spoken between the pair.

Somehow, the high school Daryl and Carol had arrived at seemed to be completely abandoned.

There were no walkers roaming around outside the grounds, most of the windows were intact, and the parking lot was practically void of cars. It was a small town, but from what Daryl could remember of the high schools they’d driven past or looted during their time at the prison, he figured most high schools in small towns — like this one, in particular — would’ve been turned into aid camps for refugees.

Even with no signs of life, Carol and Daryl kept their weapons up as they entered through the main doors.

Flashlight beams swept over every inch of the school, and it became clear as to why there were no walkers. Rotting bodies littered the linoleum floors, dried blood splattered over tile and wall and metal lockers. A stench that the pair had, unfortunately, gotten used to, permeated the air, filling their guts with a permanent feeling of nausea.

The first place they’d found was the nurse’s office, and while there wasn’t much in the way of medicines, there were supplies that Alexandria was lacking. Gauze, tension wraps, bandaids, generic over the counter medicines like ibuprofen and Gravol. Whatever was left, Carol loaded into the backpack she’d brought, filling it to the brim with what they found.

“Cafeteria should be this way,” she nodded down the hall, flashlight sweeping across the path before they exited.

Passing by empty classroom after empty classroom, Daryl said, “Migh’ need some of this stuff for later, when the kids get older, ya know? Be good for ‘em to learn.”

“Yeah, it would be,” Carol nodded, eyes landing on a set of double doors to her right. “Maybe we’ll come back for all that stuff later.”

Daryl grunted in affirmation, about to push the cafeteria door open with his shoulder. He paused as a loud thump echoed down the hall. His eyes flashed, followed by the beam of his flashlight, landing on a singular closed door, a plastic chair propped under the handle.

“Leave it,” Carol advised. “It’s just a walker.”

Daryl nodded, but his eyes lingered on the door for a moment. Deciding to leave it be, he pushed the cafeteria door open, finding it empty yet again. The pair crossed the large area to the hot table, where they could already see some canned goods lying about on the tables.

“If there were people here,” Carol began, “why wouldn’t they have taken the food with them when they left?”

“Why’s that matter?” Daryl asked, propping his crossbow against the wall and pulling out his knife. He knelt by the door to the kitchen, putting his flashlight down and wedging the blade between the frame. “‘S more for us, ‘s all that matters. Don’ gotta question everythin’,”

Carol said nothing, keeping her flashlight trained on the door for Daryl to use as extra light.

After prying open the door, the pair used a cart to transport the mounds of large, sealed canned goods. With Carol pulling and Daryl pushing, they’d made quick work of the first two trips they needed to make, loading their trunk as best as they were able.

On their way out of the third and final trip, Carol held the cafeteria door open as Daryl pushed the half-full cart, stopping abruptly as the door started to swing shut behind him.

“What? What is it?”

“I hear somethin’,” Daryl muttered, straining his ears to listen for the noise again. He listened for what felt like decades, and just when he thought he was going crazy, he heard it again. “There,”

“What? I didn’t hear anything,” Carol said.

“Nah, I heard it. Comin’ from this way,” he gestured down the part of the hall they hadn’t bothered exploring. Slowly, focused entirely on identifying the noise, Daryl crept down the hall, a confused Carol following him.

Just as he’d been passing the room with the chair blocking the door, Daryl heard two sounds: a dull thunk, and a hiccuping cry. He stopped, turning to the door that had drawn his attention before.

“Daryl, it’s just a walker,” Carol insisted. “Let’s go, we got what we need.”

The archer didn’t listen, footfalls nearly silent against the linoleum as he approached the door, knife raised. In quick motions, Daryl pulled the chair from the door, sending it down the hall with a resounding screech, grabbing at the handle and pulling it open. The hinges squeaked as he peered within the dark, small room — a supply closet, he’d discerned from the cleaning products lining the shelves. All sense of danger left him when he wasn’t met with a walker, but instead a girl, her body half-laying, half-sitting, propped against the wall.

Daryl’s eyes widened, taking in her form. She was covered head to toe in dirt and grime, save for the clear tear tracks down her cheeks and neck. Her hair was matted, and the side of her calf, just above the ankle, was wrapped in dirtied bandages. Her only protection was a small knife, covered in dried blood, the handle of which rested in her limp hand.

“Holy shit,” Daryl blurted, catching the attention of Carol, but barely gaining acknowledgement from the girl before him.

Carol, peeking over Daryl’s shoulder, moved first. She darted around the archer’s broad frame, kneeling down at the girl’s calf. Peeling the bandage from her skin, Carol sighed in relief, finding a deep gash where she feared there might have been a bite mark. “She’s hurt,” Carol remarked, moving closer to search for a pulse. “And barely alive.”

“Go bring the cart out, I’ll carry her out,” Daryl’s eyes never left the girl’s form as Carol left. Carefully, he scooped the girl into his arms, relief flooding him when a weak, protesting groan fell from her chapped lips.

There was no telling how long she’d been stuck in that closet, without food or water, simply left to die. And based on the chair propped against the door… it had been intentional.

Daryl carried her to the car with ease, having Carol assist him as he laid you across the back seat, taking the time to make sure she would be secure as they drove. After confirming that everything was packed into the trunk, Daryl peeled out of the school parking lot, the drive back to Alexandria being much shorter than the one to the school.

The sun was setting when the car passed the gates, and from there, things passed in a flurry of motion. Daryl carried the girl to the infirmary himself, watching Tara and Denise move about hastily to heal this mystery woman.

“What happened to her?” Denise asked, cutting the bandage from her ankle.

“Dunno,” Daryl huffed. “Found her like tha’. Musta been trapped for a while. Few days without water, at least.”

Denise only nodded, working to clean the wound and stitch it. She barely had the focus to think about the wound itself, how deep it was and the likelihood of infection setting in. Tara worked at cleaning the girl’s skin, inserting an IV into her hand like she’d been taught.

The sun had set by the time they were done, the girl changed into new clothes and her skin cleaned of grime. Tara had been sitting by her side when Daryl came back to the infirmary, after going to the Grimes home to eat something and give as much information as he could to Rick and Michonne.

“How’s she doin’?”

“As good as she can,” Tara smiled awkwardly. “I don’t think she’ll be waking up anytime soon, she’s like— super dehydrated. It’s been an hour and I’ve had to change the bag thingy twice already.”

Daryl grunted in acknowledgement, pulling up a chair on the other side of the girl’s bedside. He didn’t know much about her — or anything, really, not even her name — but even with her chapped lips and sickly look, he thought she was beautiful. And he also knew that whoever had left her in that closet had done so on purpose. He figured it might have been because of her injury, but it was cruel no matter which way he tried to paint it.

He just hoped she’d be okay when she woke up.

It took the mystery girl three days to wake up. Managing her health at a time where there weren’t any real supplies to use had been difficult, and it took all of Denise’s focus to make sure she had enough fluids.

Waking up in an unfamiliar, oddly clean, room, on a bed, with no stench of rotting bodies wafting through the air was confusing, terrifying, and oddly comforting.

Your body woke with a jolt, eyes snapping open like you’d woken from a nightmare of sorts. There was movement to your right, and you jumped back from it, frantic eyes finding a blonde girl attempting to calm you without touching you as best as she was able.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, you’re safe.” She’d said, stressing the last word. “One of our guys found you in a supply closet and brought you here. He— He said you were half dead.”

Pure fear and confusion kept your mouth shut. The girl kept talking, asking questions, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond to any of it. The pain in your leg hadn’t been of any help, pulsing and throbbing with every slight movement.

By the time she’d realized you weren’t going to respond, she sighed and moved over to the kitchen to your right. When she came back, she placed some food and a tall glass of water on the bedside table, backing away slowly as she spoke. “I’m Denise. The man who found you, Daryl, is on his way to see you. Maybe you’ll feel more comfortable talking to him?”

The idea of speaking to anyone, even the man you vaguely remember before passing out due to dehydration, made your stomach roll. Still, you picked up the plate, gratefully digging into the food you were given. Drinking the water, you relished the feeling of it sliding down your throat. Water was something you hadn’t had in what felt like years, and you’d be damned if you didn’t cherish what you’d been given.

As you finished up, the door creaked open, and your body stiffened. You watched a burly, reserved man step inside, his movements hesitant. You watched Denise approach, whispering something to him — likely about you. Presuming this was Daryl, you willed yourself to relax, even as you pulled your knees tight to your chest, arms locked around them.

You watched him approach the bedside, standing awkwardly beside you as you looked into his eyes. Strikingly blue, surprisingly soft.

“Hey. Ya alright?” He asked. His voice was rough, southern accent awfully thick. But his words sounded soft, somehow. Small. Like he was trying not to frighten you.

All you could manage was a nod. He huffed, nodding back, clearly somewhat relieved that you were at least communicating somehow. You kept your eyes on him, tracing every inch of his face and his clothes. It was clear to you, though you were unsure of how, that he must’ve been built for this world. Daryl seemed out of place in this clean, crisp, white room, and when you pictured him in the woods, he seemed to blend right in.

After a moment, he turned and went back to talk to Denise. They spoke in hushed whispers, and you thought back to the exchange you’d just had. Your mind had been reeling, so caught up in the entire situation, that the words Daryl had spoken didn’t register. And neither did the tingling across the inside of your wrist.

Pulling down the sleeve of your shirt, your fingers grazed at the skin where the words you’d been waiting your whole life for the right person to say used to be. With wide eyes, you found the words gone, replaced by a slight scar of where they had once been inscribed. It was surreal, and definitely not the time.

“Hey,” Daryl called out as he came to stand beside you again, voice still soft despite its natural roughness. “Doc said ya can leave if ya want. I know ya don’t know me, but if ya want… ya can stay with me. I got a cot ya can sleep on, if yer okay with tha’,”

You mustered up a small smile, nodding at the man before you — your soulmate. You’d been wishing to find him your entire life, but with the world ending, you put that aspiration aside. You certainly hadn’t expected to find him when you were at the brink of death, trapped by the selfish people you’d once considered family.

Carefully, you slipped out from the blankets, stumbling as you put weight on your injured leg. Luckily, Daryl caught you, wrapping an arm around your waist as the other guided your arm to rest around his neck. Wordlessly, you watched his cheeks flush red as he shifted his weight before you began walking.

It was painful, getting to the house he lived in. Not because of your leg, but because of the proximity. Along with the fact that you couldn’t bring yourself to speak a single word, not even to him.

As you settled into the large basement room he’d taken, he told you more about the community, about his people. The ones who lived here — Rick, Michonne, Carl, and Judith — were family to him. The others were the same, but they all lived in different homes. He laid out the cot as you sat on the bed, watching intently as his voice reverberated around the room, rattling your heart in your chest.

“I know ya don’t talk much,” he huffed, rooting through a bag of his and pulling something out. “But ya can write, right?”

You nodded, watching a smile play on his lips as he handed you a notepad and pen.

“Can ya tell me yer name, at least? So we can call ya somethin’ that ain’t jus’ ‘girl’?”

Smiling, you wrote out your name and handed the paper back to him. Your smile widened when you heard him say your name, meeting his eyes as he looked back up at you.

“Ya can talk, right?” You nodded.

Daryl nodded, leaving the pen and paper with you, just in case. “‘M gonna go find Rick, tell him yer stayin’ with me fer now. Alright?”

The thought of Daryl leaving you, of being alone, in an unfamiliar place, with no light aside from the window at the very top of the wall, shocked the fear back into you. As he turned, heading for the door that led to the stairs, your breath caught in your throat. As quickly as you were able, you reached out, grabbing the man’s wrist and pulling him back to face you.

“Please, don’t leave.” You whispered, voice gravelly and strained. It surprised even you, eyes widening as you met Daryl’s gaze. But his carried a certain fear as his eyes tore from your own, locking onto the wrist you’d caught.

Following his line of sight, your heart stuttered, watching the ink on his arm begin to fade into his skin, into the same imprinted scar of words that you had.

“Yer…” he breathed, eyes filling with tears.

“Yeah,” you whispered, eyes watering, watching him as his eyes remained on his wrist. “Your soulmate.”

Daryl pulled his wrist from your delicate hold, his mind on overdrive. He’d thought it ironic, that the apocalypse had only pushed him closer to his soulmate instead of further apart. And now, the words he’d been desperate to cover throughout his life were finally gone, and the woman that the universe decided was meant for him was sitting on his bed, saved from the cusp of death because of him. All because he couldn’t take his mind off the closet with the chair blocking the door.

His hand came to his wrist, rubbing at the skin that was no longer tainted with words he thought would never be spoken. And despite all of the fear Daryl carried with him over the years, the gratefulness he had for the apocalypse and the relief that he’d never have to let down his soulmate when they saw that he wasn’t good enough for them, he felt none of it when he looked at you.

All he could feel was happy. Relief, not that the world had ended, but that you were safe and healthy.

And, all of a sudden, meeting your eyes, Daryl was okay with the idea of having a soulmate. All the words that had been spat his way growing up, all the times he was desperate to pretend like he didn’t have a soulmate didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was you.

It would take time for Daryl to feel like he deserved you, he knew that. But you were here, and you were alive. That was enough for now.

Forever taglist: @mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @heliads

Daryl Dixon taglist: @katrina765 @hp-hogwartsexpress @ellablossom @alexxavicry @avabh12 (open!)

taglist form here!

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon fluff #soulmate au #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year ago

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Mama Munson cannot cook.

She cannot bake.

She can barely make a grilled cheese without burning it.

But Wayne can cook.

He can bake.

He makes grilled cheese with tomatoes and garlic butter.

Eddie is raised with Wayne’s superior cooking and baking skills, and until he’s a teenager and goes to other friend’s houses, thinks that the “men of the family” are responsible for cooking and baking.

Wayne’s gotten aprons, and cooking utensils, and baking pans for Christmas and his birthday as long as Eddie’s lived with him.

Up until he’s too old according to his friends, he helps him in the kitchen.

Mama Munson watches the shift, but her and Wayne agree not to push.

They watch his diet do what most teenage boy diets do: turn to cereal and sandwiches at all hours of the day and night, some pizza sprinkled in when money allows.

Wayne still cooks, but his shifts turn into overtime hours, and then doubles, and he spends most of his time at home sleeping.

Eddie doesn’t seem to care, or at least not visibly.

His lunchbox is never stuffed with any food anyway, his mama isn’t dumb enough to not notice what he’s doing after school two or three days a week.

And then she almost loses him because the town turns upside down, almost literally, and everyone shuns them even more than they already did.

Not Steve Harrington, though.

He shows up every day after his volunteer shift with a grocery bag or two of fresh produce and jars and boxes and gets busy cooking. Nothing is ever that lavish, but there’s always a pop of flavors coming through even in the most simple dish.

She pretends she doesn’t see the way Eddie’s eyes widen after the first bite of whatever dish Steve’s made, reminiscent of when Wayne used to be able to cook for them almost every night. She pretends not to see the way Steve watches, waits for Eddie to show he likes it, relaxing into his chair and taking his own bite only after Eddie takes a second one.

She looks at Wayne, who’s pretending the same thing, but not hiding it well behind a knowing smirk.

Eddie starts spending more time in the kitchen with Steve, helping cut up vegetables and stirring as they talk, like he did with Wayne when he was younger.

Wayne goes back to work, but Steve always has a lunch packed for him with the leftovers so he doesn’t feel completely left out, blushes when Wayne hugs him on his way out the door. Eddie watches with a fond smile, and Mama Munson doesn’t say anything even though she should.

She’s seen what happens to boys who like straight boys firsthand, can’t be completely certain Steve’s a safe bet yet, even with the looks he throws and the care he gives. She thinks maybe he’s just a nice kid who loves his people.

But she wakes up one morning to whispering in the kitchen, and she knows Wayne isn’t home yet from his shift, so it has to be Eddie and someone else.

She sneaks out of her bedroom to see Eddie sitting on the counter, sweatpants on without a shirt, and Steve standing between his legs, cupping his face in his hands.

She’s certain that Steve left last night after she went to bed, she heard the front door open and close. But she looks closer and sees Steve’s wearing one of Eddie’s band shirts and the Christmas flannel pants Eddie got last year in his stocking.

So Steve didn’t leave, maybe wouldn’t leave ever if she was reading their faces right.

She decided not to interrupt them, sneaking back into her room and getting ready for work.

There’d be plenty of time for her to question Eddie about it, about Steve, about his feelings and if he was happy.

When she did finally go out to the kitchen, Steve was frying bacon and flipping an omelet in a pan while Eddie was sipping on a cup of coffee.

She kissed the top of Eddie’s head, then pulled Steve down to her level so she could kiss the top of his.

“Guess it’s about time we try your breakfast since you’ve been spoilin’ us with dinner for so long.”

Steve and Eddie’s matching red faces told her everything she needed to know.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #mama Munson #headcanon #cooking for people is a love language and I will die on that hill

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bulletfragment · 2 months ago

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Random facts about columbine (Repost)

* If Eric could change one thing about himself it would be his weight

* When Dylan was a sophomore, he volunteered at a day care. sue remembers him helping little kids line up neatly to take their turns on the swing

* Eric and Dylan's manager had a six year old daughter who was often there while they worked. She loved them and their manager said they treated her very well.

* When one of eric's neighbours lost her puppy, he looked for it and brought it back to her

* Eric would help his mom garden

* Eric and Dylan went to two rammstein concerts together. they were on december 8th, 1997 and may

* 1st, 1998. KMFDM opened for the first one.

* Dylan used the the Breman Bold font for his wrath shirt. We're unsure what Eric used but it could potentially be Massacre. Dylan picked out his cat, rocky, from a litter of kittens when he was in 3rd grade

* Dylan's favorite baseball player was Roger Clemens

* At blackjack, Eric made $7.65 an hour and Dylan made $6.50 an hour

* Eric had $113 in his wallet at the time of his death

* For his english class, Eric chose these three books to read and write an essay about. Return from the stars was his favorite one.

* According to a Jennifer Harmon, a girl in Eric and Dylan's creative writing class, Dylan would pass out chips ahoy cookies during this class as an attempt to make friends. she said they were "the chewy kind with big chocolate chunks." During the basement tapes, Dylan pumped a shotgun and pointed it at Eric, who was filming, making him scream "jesus christ, put the fucking safety on!"

* During the massacre, Eric and Dylan had match strikers taped to their forearms so they could easily light their bombs. they are visible in this photo from the evidence exhibit. you can also see the tape on Dylan's wrist in the suicide photo.

* Eric and Dylan had other nicknames besides Reb and Vodka. Eric's were indigo, reverend, and war. Dylan's were green and death. After they committed suicide, Eric had 18 9mm bullets and 14 shotguns shells left. Dylan had 3 9mm bullets and 14 shotgun shells left.

* On March 14, 1998, Dylan got a ticket for failing to stop at a red light. He had to go to court for it on april 29. he wrote, "red light court. dam ni**az better not take me license.

* Two months before columbine, Eric's dog was seriously ill. Dylan picked up Eric's shift at blackjack so he could stay home and be with his dog. Sue felt sad for Eric and told Dylan she was proud of him for being such a good friend.

* After the massacre, Kevin harris told friends he blamed himself because he went away to college and wasn't around to help his brother cope with whatever problems he was having.

* The morning after the massacre, Wayne Harris phoned the family dentist. Eric had an appointment on june 30th and he needed to cancel it.

* Eric was not Dylan's first choice for NBK. He originally wanted to do it by himself, with a girl, or with (presumably) Zack Heckler.

* Devon Adams said Sue wore Dylan's jeans after his death. The only person on their shitlists who got shot was

* Austin Eubanks. Austin was friends with Corey Depooter. He died in 2019 due to an opioid addiction.

* When Eric lived in Michigan, his dad was a scout leader and helped coach sports teams. he played basketball in their driveway with Eric and Kevin. His mom helped his 5th grade class make special shirts for halloween. Both his parents always attended the parent-teacher conferences

* A few weeks before the massacre, Dylan was banned from using the school computers because he called a librarian a bitch after she asked him to pay for printing over 10 pages. When told he was banned, he just said, "well, you know, it doesn't matter. it doesn't matter."

* Dylan was friends with Rachel Scott's prom date, Nick Baumgart, between 3-5th and 7-8th grade (Eric was also friends with him 7-8th). In the basement tapes, Eric said he laughed too much and "those two girls sitting next to you probably want you to shut the fuck up too".

* Eric, Dylan, and Zach Heckler also targeted Nick's house during a Rebel Mission on February 7, 1997. Eric described what they did to his house and their reasoning for targeting him in his writings.

* Brandi Tinklenburg, the girl in the Eric In Columbine video, would study in the library every tuesday morning during her lunch hour. The only reason she wasn't there the day of the massacre was because she went to the tanning salon instead.

* The only reason cameras were installed in columbine's cafeteria was to catch students who left trash on the tables.

* Dylan's locker number was 837 and his combo was

* 19-37-9. And Eric's locker number was 624 and his combo was 16-48-30.

* V

* • Eric wrote "anniversary card" in his school planner under april 17, 1998 to remind himself to get his parents a card for their 28th wedding anniversary. When police arrived at Eric's house after the massacre and tried to go in his room, Kathy Harris tried to stop them. she said, "i don't want you to go in there." The officers persisted and she complied.

* Dylan's body was released to Horan & Mccontay funeral home. services were on april 24th, 1999 at 1:30pm.

8-10 people attended.

* Eric's body was released to aspen funeral home. No services were provided. It is unknown if the harris family had a private funeral for Eric or not.

* Eric got surgery to correct his pectus excavatum on December 16th 1993 at Fitzsimons Army Medical Centre in Aurora, co. He wrote, "when i got back from the hospital, i couldn't do anything that involved using my chest muscles. that meant i barely could even laugh."

* Dylan was going to major in computer science at the university of Arizona. Eric was almost positive he didn't want to go to a 4 year college, but he told a friend he might go to a 2 year college and "major in computer graphics or something."

* Eric knew he was rejected by the marines. Nate Dykeman said, "Dylan and I were the first ones Eric told about the rejection. He asked me, 'where do I go from there?' he saw it as a last option."

* Dylan's SAT score was 1210. He got 560 on the verbal part and 650 on the math part, putting him in the 75th percentile.

* During the massacre, eric or dylan (probably dylan) was heard saying, "today is the day the world comes to an end, today is the day we die," in the cafeteria. Eric and Dylan both dated the same girl, Sasha Jacobs.

* She went on 1-2 dates with Dylan and stopped because there was "something strange" about him. Then she went on 16-20 dates with Eric over a period of four months before also breaking up with him. After she broke up with him, Eric wrote in Chad Laughlin's yearbook about her. She also started to receive threats in her email which she suspected were from Eric.

* Eric's favorite magazines were Guns and Ammo, Penthouse, and Time.

* Dylan was born at the lutheran medical center in wheat ridge, co.

* Wayne Harris believed Brooks Brown was out to get Eric and that he was a "manipulative con artist." He wrote

"Eric is not at fault," him and Kathy felt victimized too, and they didn't want to be accused "everytime something supposedly happens."

* Eric scored a 46 on the marine recruitment asval test, which is an average score.

* Starting when he was 8 months old and until he was about 1 and a half years old, Eric went to the doctor at least 11 times due to a congenital leg problem. It wasn't elaborated on in his medical records, but his walk appears to have been bow-legged.

* Wilder Wien by RAMMSTEIN played in the original hitmen for hire during the scenes where Eric and Dylan were walking in their trench coats, but jeffco silenced the music (presumably) because of copyright.

* Mike Vendegnia (the guy in the white shirt in the Eric in columbine video) was friends with Corey Depooter. Mike described Corey as "very bright and easy to get along with."

* Dylan tore off the bmw emblems on the front and back of his car. Zack Rissmiller said he did this, and after the massacre, police found the emblems in his glovebox. • A witness in the cafeteria heard Eric or Dylan yell

"check the window" and "one's coming in" as they were trying to detonate the bombs. They were likely anticipating that cops would enter the school at any second and were as shocked as everyone else was that they weren't coming.

* Eric's phone number was 303-762-1212.

* Dylan's phone number was 303-972-1131.

* Valeen Schnurr was holding hands with Lauren

* Townsend as she passed away.

* Dylan paid between $200 and $300 for his sunglasses.

* During the shooting, librarian Peggy Dodd told Brian Anderson, "i have to get out of here, they hate me, they're going to kill me." a few weeks before the massacre, Dylan called her a bitch when she asked him to pay for using the printer.

* Dylan told a classmate that the reason he wore a soviet pin on his boot was "just to get a reaction out of people.

* When Eric applied to tortilla wraps, he listed his english teacher, Mr. Webb, and Sue Klebold as references.

* One christmas, Sue fretted because Dylan wanted a collectible baseball card that cost as much as she had planned to spend on all his gifts. She worried about only having one gift under the tree. but that's what Dylan wanted, and that's all he got.

* Some of Dylan's favourite foods were scrambled egg, pizza, beef stew, lasagna, pumpkin pie spice cake and Dr Pepper as his favourite drink.

* Before Austin Eubanks left the library, he checked Corey Depooter for a pulse and detected no signs of life. Eric and Dylan threw a total of 31 bombs inside the library, but only 5 of them actually exploded.

* Neither Eric or Dylan wanted to have kids. Eric said, "i don't think i would want to bring a child into this world." Dylan said, "i'm never having kids. kids just mess up your life."

* A total of 76 bombs were found inside and outside columbine high school. Only 30 of those bombs actually exploded.

#tccblr #tcc tumblr #tc community #tee cee cee #teeceecee #tcc columbine #columbine high massacre #columbine school shooting #columbine massacre #columbine 1999 #dylan and eric #eric and dylan #eric columbine #dylan columbine #info.#info post

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daosies · 16 days ago

Text

a moment in a bottle

Neuvillette wishes he could preserve this moment forever: the aquarium; the blue light; you.

(Everyone knows that Neuvillette adores you. Except for you, of course.)

(additional, more helpful description: u & neuvillette go on an aquarium date and he pines after you like a fool)

modern, college!au

NEUVILLETTE ♡ GN!READER

@2024gisecretsanta gift for @aquatik !! ♡ i hope you enjoy this piece, and happy holidays!!!

it was so fun to participate in this event ^^ thank u to the hosts and everyone involved for making this so special!!

Neuvillette has always noticed you.

But he notices a lot of things; like the musk of the earth after it rains, like the light that dapples the campus sidewalk, seeping in between the gaps of the leaves. Neuvillette notices a lot of things, some more than others—he muses, nearly tripping over an uneven slab of the concrete floor, periwinkle eyes fixated on nothing but—

You, similarly to him, are stumbling through the crowd. You, unlike him, are entranced in your own world, eyes darting to and fro, searching amongst the sea of people while he has only ever searched for you. There are too many people in this world, Neuvillette thinks, for him to notice every one. So he notices only one. He notices—

You return his gaze (and Neuvillette feels something shiver in his chest), your lips tugging into a smile (and Neuvillette thinks the sun has shifted, that the sun has reworked itself, tunnelling all its light towards you), your figure suddenly coming closer (and Neuvillette thinks that there is nothing left; he is complete; he is yours absolutely and that is enough).

You return his gaze. You look at him! Oh, you see him! Neuvillette thinks, This is it, this must be it. This—this…

(What is it? Neuvillette is no longer capable of thought. He is no longer sentient. He looks at you, and something slams against his ribs: this-is this-is this-is…)

“Neuvillette! I was looking for you!” you exclaim, your voice occupying his mind for much longer than it does the air. Your voice—its unfathomable timbre, its incomparable and fantastical sound! It’s enough, it’s enough!

Neuvillette opens his mouth to respond. There’s a word. He feels himself about to vomit. He feels it: the rush, the suffocation, the gag and the swallow and before he can utter it into existence he clamps his lips shut. There’s a word—or maybe three, or maybe there is no word, nothing in verbal language that is enough to liken your unutterable radiance.

(What is it? The three words? The rush, the suffocation, the gag and the breathlessness? Neuvillette feels it sinking down his throat, ebbing, reduced from a violent blare to nothing more than a whisper, it goes…)

“[Name],” Neuvillette acknowledges. Maybe, that is enough. “May I ask why?”

Why are you looking for him? Why are you searching for him? Neuvillette wants to hear you say it for himself, to hear the words—which are, after all, nothing more than words—in your fantastical and wonderful timbre. He wants to hear you speak his name—which is just a word, which is just his surname—to feel the revelation, the awakening, the surge!

“Just because,”—you say, and maybe that’s enough—”I was wondering if you had any plans over the weekend?”

Neuvillette blinks, astonished. Your smile is unwavering, your eyes—your eyes! Neuvillette briefly looks away. The image remains with him still; the color, the glint, the fraction of the sun that is vested within your soul. Neuvillette looks at you, your image devoured by periwinkle.

“I don’t,” he replies. (He had promised Furina that he’d help her with her case study.) Momentarily, his gaze averts from yours. (He had told one of his professors that he’d volunteer during office hours—who was it, again?) The lie is bitter on his tongue; but Neuvillette isn’t lying. (He’s going to send an email to the professor later, once he remembers who he promised.) Your expression glows. (Maybe this is enough.) Your gentle smile evolves into an excited grin. (He’s going to have to draft a text to Furina, too.) This is enough.

“That’s great!” You reach for your bag, sifting through the various pockets, your hand emerging with two humble, paper tickets. “I won a raffle for aquarium tickets! Do you want to come with?”

He’s whole. He’s complete. This—this is it! This is the surge, the rush, the incomparable and unutterable word! Neuvillette feels it now; the spasm of his heart, the stutter of his throat, the shrink of his figure when you do so much as perceive him!

Your gaze sinks into his skin. Neuvillette lets it. Your smile sears his brain. Neuvillette replays it. You blink. Neuvillette’s heart follows.

(Do you ever realize the way he lives? The way he finds meaning only ever because it dances within you?)

This-is-this-is-this-is…

“I would love to,” he replies, unable to contain the smile that tugs at his lips, the smolder in his chest, the primal constriction of his lungs, heaving, desperate to breathe the air you exist in. A breath! A tinge! A fraction of your incomparable existence! This-is-this-is-this-is…

(Neuvillette wonders if you caught it: the word. The word, although pale in comparison, assigns meaning to the enormity that swells within him, the colossal creature, the colossal completion, the vitality; you! Oh, you! When he cannot say your name, he must say this word; this—this fraction, this tiny, insignificant thing: love, love, love! You, you, you!)

“Really?” you say, eyes growing wide. Your lips hang slightly agape, your expression wild and fantastical and bright (Neuvillette thinks this is it); but the shock dissipates into that of utter joy (Neuvillette thinks this is it), and you grin that grin of yours. That grin, (Neuvillette wipes his sweaty palms against the fabric of his dress pants), a simple little something that amounts into an enormous everything.

“Of course.” Neuvillette knows that this is it. What else, if not this?

You look at him. His heart surges, his veins beginning to flare, his arteries spasming, flowing without an ebb, overwhelmed and incomparable (Neuvillette doesn’t need to return your gaze; he was already looking at you), insignificant and worldly.

All you have to do is look at him! All you have to do is perceive him!

“Does noon work for you?”

Any time works, Neuvillette thinks, any time at all. You could ask for him at four in the morning and Neuvillette would respond; you could stir him from his sleep, from his stupor, from his life. (Take him! Take him from his life! Take him, already!)

“Yes,” Neuvillette says, unable to contain the waver of his voice, the way his fingers instinctively reach to fiddle with his sleeves, “that’s perfect.”

You look away. His heart surges, his veins beginning to flare, his arteries spasming, ebbing without flow, overwhelmed and incomparable (Neuvillette wishes you would look at him; he wishes you would perceive him, for just a moment will do), insignificant and worldly.

“Alright,” you say, grinning. “Noon it is.”

This-is-this-is-this-is…

It is, Neuvillette thinks. This is it.

Neuvillette has an unspoken routine.

Every day, he wakes up at six, even if he has no morning classes. Every day, he takes a morning walk around the city, admiring the most mundane of sights, like the glow of the lamplights, reflecting off puddles that congregate along sidewalks, like the airplane that soars by, smoke trailing in its wake.

Every day, he returns to his apartment and drinks a warm cup of water. Every day, he opens his laptop, and he sifts through his inbox, responding to different emails and updating his calendar accordingly.

Every day, he saves a slot for you. Today, he fills it in officially; the weekend; the aquarium; noon.

Every day, Neuvillette shuts his laptop, and he takes a sip of his warm water, and he thinks. Sometimes, he thinks about legal cases. Sometimes, he thinks about assignments that are due. Sometimes, he doesn’t have any thoughts at all.

But every time, he thinks of you. You weave yourself into his daily routine, the legal cases and the assignments. You appear! Even when you’re not there; even when he hasn’t seen you in a couple days, you’re terribly real and terribly vivid.

And somehow, despite everything, you’re unfathomable. (But Neuvillette fathoms you so often, so poignantly, it’s as if you’re tangible. As if you’re worldly when all you have ever been, to him, was esoteric. Unable to be comprehended. Unable to be conjured within thought, in any comparable magnitude to the colossal vitality that is, so undoubtedly, real. So, undoubtedly, you.)

Today, Neuvillette dons his finest coat. He fits the warmest scarf around his neck. He pats his pockets, and he adjusts his wristwatch—what time is it, again? He looks down—ten o’clock, he should start leaving now.

The door to his apartment swings open. Neuvillette glances up.

“Neuvillette?” Wriothesley remarks, shrugging off his work uniform haphazardly, strands of his obsidian hair sticking to his skin. “You’re still here?”

“Wriothesley,” Neuvillette acknowledges, “indeed, I am.”

“That’s a surprise,” Wriothesley says, pale blue eyes drifting over Neuvillette’s outfit. “What’s the occasion?”

Neuvillette coughs into his fisted hand.

“I’m meeting with [Name] later.”

“Ah,” Wriothesley replies, smirking, “that adds up.”

Neuvillette has never considered himself to be transparent, but at the same time, he has never made it an effort to be enigmatic. But the knowing look that Wriothesley gives him is enough to make Neuvillette wonder: has he always been so plainly obvious?

Then, he thinks of you. Have you noticed how plainly obvious Neuvillette is? Have you known all along, yet never brought it up in an effort to spare his feelings?

(Have you ever wanted—for just a fraction, for just a moment—him to be so obvious? Have you ever looked at him—and held his image within your irises—when he hasn’t been looking at you (Which Neuvillette thinks, frankly, that’s impossible; he’s always looking at you)? Have you—have…)

Wriothesley chuckles. “Don’t think too hard about it. Who knows,”—he shrugs, his expression unreadable—“maybe you’ll be in for a surprise.”

Wriothesley has always known more than what he lets on; it’s just in his nature, as a part-time security guard and a student of criminal justice.

He has never been wrong, Neuvillette thinks—his mind shifts. His mind forms an image, vivid and bright and fantastical; it’s you.

This time, however, he might be. Neuvillette thinks Wriothesley’s implications are outlandish. How could he expect a surprise from you, when you already do so much as exist?

Still, Neuvillette replies, “Maybe.”

There’s a magic that follows after your existence. It’s like the petrichor that swarms the earth after it rains; like the inevitable belief that night follows after day; like the certainty that vests within time; the fact that tomorrow will come, the fact that you are, despite everything, real. It’s unfathomable, really. Your existence.

And Neuvillette has wondered when everything began, when the world started to shift, when the sun became more than the sun: when it became you. Maybe, it started when he was your partner in a group project back in physics class (which he barely managed to pass with your late-night tutoring and guidance). Maybe, it started when he realized that you were there throughout everything—through the years of his worst, when he loathed everyone, when he had no love in his heart, when the most mundane of things remained as they were: mundane.

Maybe, it doesn’t matter when things begin. All that matters is that they exist now.

“I should get going,” Neuvillette says, taking another peek at his watch.

Wriothesley nods. “Have fun. Let me know if there are any breakthroughs.”

Neuvillette blinks, echoing, “Breakthroughs?”

Wriothesley flashes another one of those knowing expressions. This time, all he offers is a hum. And this time, Neuvillette doesn’t pry; he gives in. Neuvillette does a lot of that—he thinks of you—giving in, and pressing onwards, and living in the unknown despite the answer being right—he thinks of you—in front of him.

He arrives at the subway station an hour and a half before noon. Neuvillette sneaks another glance at his wristwatch, thinking, I’m right on time. After taking a seat on a nearby bench, Neuvillette begins to observe, periwinkle gaze drifting across the sea of people, anchorless and free, his senses reborn as the world reincarnates anew. The air is crisp, the cold stinging the tip of his nose, puffs of condensation escaping his parted lips—Neuvillette feels everything. The fabric against his skin; the surge of life; the rush of the passerby; the frantic and erratic breath that life exhales with each gust of wind.

“Neuvillette!” a voice pierces the crowd, passing through the canal of his ear and stabbing cleanly through his heart. Although it’s just a sound, Neuvillette hears it wholly: the timbre, the tone, the familiarity of his name (which is, after all, not even his first name), the way the syllables sound sacred (and Neuvillette must attribute the fragility to the owner of the voice, not the name) despite it being uttered many times before.

This-is-this-is-this-is… You. You!

At your call, Neuvillette stands. His hands, unsure of what to do, reach for the sleeves of his coat, fiddling with the hem while his gaze fixates on you. Once more, periwinkle drowns in your figure. Once more, the world is right.

“[Name],” Neuvillette replies, unable to contain the gentle smile that possesses his lips. “You’re early.”

You laugh. “You’re earlier!”

“Yes,” he admits—this-is-this-is-this-is—“you’re right.”

The subway ride to the aquarium is peaceful. Neuvillette couldn’t have asked for anything else, because there you were, and there was the world, and there was the sun, and there you were, and—oh, did he mention that already?

Neuvillette thinks you were the most wonderful of them all. You; your eyes, focused on the scenery outside. You; your voice, dipped into a whisper as you speak of precious little nothings which, to Neuvillette, seem to be worth everything.

You’re radiant. Fantastically so. Neuvillette has this realization time and time again. Every time periwinkle swallows your image, and every time his heart shivers at the proximity of your presence, Neuvillette is made aware of how colossally significant you are. You’re like the world. Sublime. Wondrous.

“Neuvillette,” you suddenly say, and Neuvillette feels his ribs shudder. “Thank you for coming with me today.”

He swallows thickly—the way you say his name; oh, the way you, the way you—somehow, he finds his voice, breathing out, “It is my pleasure.”

“Neuvillette!”—and there you go again, calling his name, unaware of the spasm of his heart, the binding of his lungs—“come over here! Look, these are whale sharks!”

Oh, that’s right, Neuvillette thinks, this is your domain. Before he can open his mouth to respond, you usher him in the direction of the spotted creature, its wide mouth stretched agape while it drifts throughout the blue waters, followed by a squad of smaller fish.

“Those are remoras,” you explain, “they attach themselves to sharks and feed off of parasites that grow on the shark’s skin.”

Oh, Neuvillette thinks, noticing the glimmer of your eyes under the aquatic light, noticing the way your words begin to slur together out of sheer excitement, unable to keep up with the tempo of your thoughts.

You’re beautiful.

“What are those?” Neuvillette asks, pointing towards the manta rays.

“Those are manta rays!” you exclaim. “Like the whale shark, they’re filter feeders!”

“What does that mean?” Neuvillette queries. “To be a filter feeder?”

“It means both whale sharks and manta rays filter out the free-floating plankton drift in the water!” you say, and oh, Neuvillette thinks you look ethereal. This is your domain; the great ocean; the blue light; the knowledge; the passion. You own the sea. The world. Oh, the world!

“Did you know manta rays don’t have skeletons? They’re made of cartilage.”

“No, I didn’t,” Neuvillette replies, despite knowing that fact from the plethora of articles he read about marine life a couple days back. Neuvillette didn’t want to seem ignorant in front of you, a marine biology major, but at the same time, he thinks this is a much better alternative.

This-is-this-is-this-is…

You smile at him. “It’s all good! I go to this aquarium pretty often, so I know a thing or two.”

You’re lying, Neuvillette thinks. You know more than just a “thing or two.” You know—you know everything, it seems!

(Still, Neuvillette doesn’t pry. He does a lot of that, he supposes—he thinks of you—in your presence, and with the realization—he thinks of you—that you are, unbelievably, here. Tangible. With him. With him!)

Neuvillette wishes he could bottle this moment and keep it forever.

He observes this aquarium through your gaze, measuring all the creatures with the same joy that you hold them to, learning all there is about different fin types and different species groups. Orcas are not fish, they are marine mammals—Neuvillette knew that too, from an article titled “What Are Orcas Truly?”—sharks breathe by swimming and passing oxygenated water through their gills—Neuvillette learned that fact last night from a video titled “Sharks Sleep While Moving!”

If he weren’t a law major, Neuvillette thinks he would’ve gone into marine biology, too. (And he wonders what it’d be like, to have the same classes as you, to be able to share this knowledge with you, to be able to discuss marine life on a higher level than the rudimentary facts you’re forced to share with him, who is unfamiliar with this world.)

Neuvillette wishes that he knew more than what he knew. He wishes he could crawl into your brain and adore the ocean with the same passion that you have. He wishes he could share your struggles with strict lab professors, and discuss answers after difficult quizzes—but the boundary between your major and his is too large. He knows nothing. He can say nothing. He is nothing. So he opts to remain silent and stare.

Can he ever return to this moment again? You; the blue light; the whale sharks; the manta rays; the world! Can he ever revisit this aquarium? Will you ever want to go with him again? Will you speak to him in the same, lovely voice? Will you call his name with the same, lovely timbre?

Oh, Neuvillette wants! He wants! He wants this moment! This aquarium! You!

His heart shudders.

This-is-this-is-this-is…

And the moment is ending. Everything returns to where it started. Neuvillette finds himself on the subway once more, sitting by your side, watching you watch the window, the sun setting in the horizon, the day slipping away.

He wants to bottle this: the pink hues, the orange glimmer, the blue memory, the aquarium, you. He wants to grasp this scene and slip it into his wallet, like a charm, like a reminder of the world and all that has meaning. He looks at you. He wants—and he stops there, because he’s overstepping his boundaries and that’s too much to ask for.

A yawn escapes your lips, you apologize, muttering, “Sorry, I’m a little tired right now.”

Neuvillette notices the lull of your head, the flutter of your lashes as you struggle to stay awake.

“It’s alright.” His leg begins to bounce, his fingers reaching to fiddle with the hems of his sleeves once more. “If I may offer my shoulder, if you would, um… In case you would like to rest.”

Although you don’t seem to mind, or notice, the filler word that slips into his speech, Neuvillette is already questioning himself, berating his sudden inability to speak, reduced to nothing in your colossal presence. For how could he ever amount to anything if you are already everything?

“Thank you, Neuvillette.”

His heart lurches. His lungs heave. His brain falters, unable to form any coherent thought that isn’t composed, in its entirety, you.

Your eyes flutter shut, and your head comes to rest against his shoulder, and Neuvillette thinks—while his leg bounces up and down, mad—that, if he could, he would bottle this moment, and—while his breath shutters, coming to a stop—and, and he would preserve it. And he would love it. This light; this subway; this world; you. Forever.

Neuvillette has always noticed you. From the moment his periwinkle eyes first beheld your existence, from the moment the world incarnated anew, from the moment—which he wishes he could bottle—your gaze dawned upon him, when dusk dawned upon the two of you, when everything dissipated into darkness, he noticed you then. Even without sight. Even without speech. Even without his senses.

He notices you now, too. He notices the way your brow furrows when the sun’s light slips across your face, the world illuminating and perceiving your irrevocable beauty. He notices the way you turn away slightly, burying your face into the fabric of his coat, trying to escape the radiance which pales in comparison to your own.

His hand comes up to block the sun. Your expression eases. Your breathing evens out and the world is right again.

This-is-this-is-this-is…

Neuvillette rests his head against yours, his touch featherlight—the bounce of his leg comes to a stop—his lungs pausing, capturing the breath which holds the essence of your existence—and the moment is preserved—and the final incarnation is complete.

This is…

The sun’s final light disappears. The moment is over.

Neuvillette feels your head against his. A new moment starts.

And he supposes—without much deliberation—and he thinks—and he has thought this, for the longest of times—that this is love.

(This is enough.)

#genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #neuvillette x y/n #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x reader #genshin neuvillette #neuvillette #gixrsecretsanta2024 #genshin

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bellesdreamyprofile · 6 months ago

Text

benny & y/n : the library (part 2)

“May I?”

After a bite into one of your chocolate muffins and a giddy smile waiting for his reaction, Benny knew that your story only just began. He had never liked relationships - the thought of being tied down to one person for a long period of time made him shiver. Benny valued his freedom and he would’ve never given that up. Especially for a woman.

But oh, how he loved your smile. The little dimples forming in both of your rosy cheeks and your bright eyes looking down, as you still had to get used to the attention he was giving you. He didn’t believe in love, but he believed in whatever he was feeling towards you.

He didn’t take you home that night - he feared that even asking you would be too forward. He was in no rush anyhow, since you had a lifetime in front of you.

“You get home safe, baby, alright?”, Benny’s hand brushed against the bare skin of your arm. His deep, blue eyes slowly meeting yours and you fought the urge to pout. How was it possible that you felt so comfortable around a man you only met two hours ago?

You nodded as his hand slowly made its way towards your cheek, rough digits brushing your soft skin as if it was made out of porcelain. Your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation and you found yourself leaning into his touch. Benny smiled softly at the sight before him - a pretty girl enjoyed his company. He almost asked Johnny to pinch him, proving that all of this was not in his imagination.

“We’ll see each other again?”, you asked, tone laced with hope. He smiled again and nodded without hesitation.

“Definitely, baby.”, he placed a kiss on your other cheek and as he pulled away, you stared into each other’s eyes for what seemed like hours. You were almost hypnotized by the aura he exuded - his rough hands were touching your skin yet his gentle words were touching your heart.

“Y/N!”, you abruptly pulled apart at the sound of your name being called. But Benny’s hand moved to the small of your back, finding comfort in the action.

Kathy was at the door with Felicia by her side, you couldn’t catch Martha though. She was probably with a man she stood a chance with. Kathy waved at you and nodded towards the exit, while Felicia moved her gaze away - the sight of the man of her dreams with a girl he had just met was too much for her.

Benny gently pushed the now empty container against your torso. “I’d say the muffins were a hit.”, you smiled at the compliment and looked down.

“Is my girl shy again?”, he asked in a teasing tone, a gentle finger moving your chin up to meet his eyes.

“They’re looking at us.”, you murmured, making Benny look at the girls waiting for you at the exit.

“Let them look, baby.”, Benny placed another kiss on your cheek and gave your hip a soft squeeze. “I’ll see you tomorrow, honey.”

You glanced at him for the last time tonight and gave him a soft wave, offering a gentle bye. Your heartbeat was getting ridiculously high for a little kiss on the cheek. But maybe it wasn’t the few kisses, maybe it was the way his eyes told stories like no one else’s or the way his hair was desperately begging to be brushed by delicate fingers. Or maybe it was just him.

“Took you long enough.”, Felicia muttered under her breath as you had finally reached them. You couldn’t find the strength to say anything to her or to Kathy, as your eyes were now replaying the tape of your and Benny’s first encounter.

“Ah girl. I hope that guy is worth it.”, Kathy shook her head at the sight of little hearts in your eyes. She knew very well that once she introduced you two that there was no going back. She secretly wondered if she played matchmaker or if she just signed your death warrant.

Since nobody was available for today’s shift at the library, you volunteered to stay in for the entire day. You didn’t really mind since it was your safe space — you were able to read books and drink your coffee without anybody bothering your peace. But it did a number on you that’s for sure - helping little kids picking the perfect book, placing books in alphabetical order and pulling them out of heavy carton boxes. Your feet were begging for mercy, but you couldn’t give in.

“Yeah, Kathy, I-I can’t really. It’s just me at the library today. Lilly called in sick this morning.”, you told Kathy as you were twirling the telephone cord around your finger.

“That kid is always sick. She doing it on purpose let me tell ya.”, Kathy responded and you could almost see her rolling her eyes. She was calling to pick you up and go to the bar, since it had almost been a week since you’ve been there.

“Nah, I don’t think so.”, you smiled, convinced that there was still some good in people. You looked ahead and noticed an approaching customer. “I, uh, I have to go now—“

“Benny asked about you.”, you stopped yourself from hanging up, your breath hitching in your throat at her words.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”, there was a slight sass hiding in her tone, but you didn’t have time right now.

“I have to go. I’ll talk to ya later. Love ya Kat.”

“Love ya too.”

You sighed and brushed your hair into a loose ponytail as you bent down to pick up the one of the last boxes that was delivered this morning. Some of your coworkers kept leaving things off until others from the next shift arrived - now it fell on you. Fortunately, it was closing time, so you could work in your own tempo.

Soft Elvis blues played in the background as you put books on top of shelves. A ding came from the front door, making you huff as a book slipped from your grasp.

“We’re closed!”, you called and picked up the book.

“Even for me?”

You looked up and noticed the all too familiar man standing by the door, two coffees in his hands alongside a small, paper box. You stood up and put your hands on your hips, smiling happily at the sight of him.

“Technically even for you, yes.”, you said, holding back a chuckle. “But I’ll let this slide this once.”, you teased and approached him.

His heart soared at the sight of you and quickly checked out the place, almost waiting for another coworker to approach the two of you. But no one did.

“Hi, baby.”, Benny smiled at you and noticed the bags under your eyes. “Tell me you ain’t here on your own.”, his eyes did another scan of the place, but in vain.

Your lips parted at his words. “I, uh, yes I am. Why?”

He shook his head and started muttering profanities under his breath. “So Kathy wasn’t messing with me when she told me you were alone the whole day.”

Your brows furrowed at his words. “So Kat was the one that told you where I work.”

“Not relevant. Where can I put these?”, Benny nodded to the goodies in his hands. You smiled at the thoughtful gesture and showed him to your desk.

“Right here.”, you patted the wood and sat on it, waiting for him to do the same. Instead he handed you the coffee cup and set the white box on the desk. “Thank you.”, you thanked him and gratefully started sipping the coffee.

“What’s in the box?”, you curiously looked at Benny and almost swore his cheeks assumed a pinkish color.

He cleared his throat and started opening the box. “I asked Kathy for the recipe of the muffins you brought last week… I don’t know… You don’t have to eat them—“

Now that the box was open, you could take a good look at what it was hiding. Scarcely frosted muffins with pink and white sprinkles on top. Benny was sure giving your heart a hard time surviving. You carefully picked one up and looked at it, an automatic smile formed on your lips.

“You made these?”, your words were a mere whisper above the soft Elvis song playing in the background. Benny nodded, almost in a shy way. You smiled at him and took a bite, the sugary and chocolatey flavor exploding in your mouth. You hadn’t even noticed you closed your eyes, and once you opened them, you noticed Benny’s hopeful gaze on yours.

“And?”, he raised his eyebrows in concern. If someone had told him he’d be baking muffins for a girl he met a week ago, he would’ve shot them in the leg. And here he was now, desperately awaiting for your review.

You looked at him with full cheeks and swallowed the sweet. “They’re better than mine.”, you said honestly with a giggle, going on for another bite.

Benny sighed in relief and let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Goddamn. They were hard to make. Took me two tries.”, your heart almost exploded in your chest at his words.

“You’re crazy.”, you said and felt your nose dip in the frosting. “Oops.”, you laughed a little and as you were about to clean it away, Benny’s hand grasped yours.

You looked at him with big eyes, getting hypnotized by his. “You told me we would’ve seen each other sooner.”, he said lowly and you felt the guilt trapping you at the sad tone dripping from his words.

“E-Everyone called in sick this week.”, you justified in a small tone, looking down. “I wanted to see you… Like we promised.”, your eyes slowly moved to bore in his. His hands brushed the fabric covering your arm, until they reached your hair, releasing it from the cheap elastic band.

Benny brushed your hair on your shoulders — all of this giving you an opportunity to distract yourself from your racing heart. Again, you took your time looking at him, wondering who up there took their sweet time to sculpt him so perfectly.

“So you wanted to see me again? You didn’t just say it?”, he mumbled, making you look at him. You breathed out and found the courage to grasp one of his hands, the action causing his eyes to move on you.

“I like spending time with you, Benny. I really do.”, you admitted. “I like you.”, a now Elvis love song started playing, leaving you breathless in front of the man you couldn’t stop thinking about.

Benny squeezed your hand and brought your joined hands to his lips. “I like you too, baby.”, he placed a kiss on your hand. His face moved closer to yours, making your heart beat even faster than it had previously. Your eyes fluttered shut, expecting his soft lips on yours.

His lips kissed the tip of your nose, the frosting now gone. You opened your eyes and blushed furiously at your own thoughts. Benny smiled down at you, as if knowing your exact thoughts in the moment.

“I thought you were gonna kiss me!”, you almost whined on top of that old desk. Another smile made its way on his pretty face.

“You want me to kiss you, honey?”

“I do.”, your voice now a whisper as you had finally vocalized your thoughts out loud. His rough finger caressed your cheek, bringing you flashbacks of the night at the bar.

Before you could overthink anything else, you finally felt his plush lips on yours. Your hands immediately tangled up in his short, soft curls - almost like they belonged there. Both of his hands cupping your cheeks in the most loving way, making you wish for this moment to last forever.

Benny pulled away, leaving you starstruck. “Goddamn, baby.”, you let out a laugh at his words. And he went in to kiss you again. And again. And again.

A/N: i´m so single

MASTERLIST PART 3

#benny cross x reader #benny cross #fanfiction #imagine #writers #benny #the bikeriders #austin butler x reader #austin butler #benny cross imagine

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lesservillain · 7 months ago

Text

v. i want to hold the hand inside you

summary: a collection of moments through the holiday season. also a little bit of insight into eddie's pov. cw: smut (not with eddie), male masturbation, sexual fantasies, two idiots in love trope, eddie's mental anguish a/n: hi i'm back. missed you all and this series. hope it lives up to the hype. around 12.5k words. please continue reading after the fic for an important message regarding this series.

Shuffling down the stairs, you're greeted by the smell of coffee brewing and bacon frying in the kitchen. The grumbling in your stomach reminds you that you’d eaten way too much candy the night before, and that real food was much needed if you were going to get through the day.

When you rounded the corner into the kitchen, you were expecting to be greeted by the master chef Charles at the stove. But instead you were greeted by Tonya’s beautiful, slightly confused face. With a rag slung over her shoulder and spatula in hand, you watched her attempt to flip what looked like a very, very fried egg.

“You need some help?” You ask. Tonya jumps, hand on her chest as she catches herself. Clearly she had been in the zone, focused on the task at hand. Although, that didn't seem to keep help her in her food making endeavors.

“Jesus, can you be a little louder when you walk in the room next time?”

“Sorry Tonnie,” you laugh, moving around her to get a drink from the fridge. “Been working on walking around as quiet as possible so I don’t wake Ed—everyone up when I’m working.”

Tonya's whole demeanor suddenly shifts. After plating the eggs and setting them aside, she turns her whole body to face you. Your eyes go wide as she takes the stance you know so well; the one she takes before she’s about to lecture you.

“While you’re working?” She asks, an eyebrow quirked in a suspicious fashion.

“Y-yeah…" you respond, not liking the way she starts to slowly saunter towards you. "Okay, can we skip the games, please? What’s wrong?”

“Why was there a red cape in your car last night?”

You feel like the room is going to spin. Not wanting to fuss with it you had thrown the costume cape in the back seat when you left Eddie’s last night. By the time you got all of your overthinking in, you’d completely forgotten to grab it and bring it inside.

“Wha—I, uh—”

Tonya says your name to cut off your babbling.

“If you wanted to go out and spend Halloween with Sam you could have just told me that.”

“What? Oh, god no.” Your nose scrunches in offense at the mere suggestion until you remember that it’s probably normal to want to spend time with the guy you’re dating. “I mean…I didn’t spend Halloween with Sam.”

“Okaaaay?” She draws the word out, head bobbing as she waits for you to explain yourself. You breath in, looking at her carefully before exhaling with a sigh.

“Promise me you will listen to what I have to say before coming to any conclusions.”

Tonya says your name with a serious tone. You can see the anger starting to brew in her, and you can only hope that once you tell her everything that’s been going on for the last two months that she’ll understand. The need to rip the band aide off was becoming more apparent, especially when you needed her guidance on some of the thinking you had done.

“Promise me?” You say again, not backing down.

“Ugh, fine.” She walks over to the table and sits down, motioning for you to take the seat across from her.

“So, I think the first thing I need to clear up is that…I don’t actually have a night job. At least, not in the sense that I’m getting paid. It’s a volunteering position.”

You watch the way her mouth tightens, nostrils flaring as she expresses all her unspoken words with her face. But, she doesn’t say anything so you keep going.

“It’s something that I signed up for at the very beginning of the semester. Granted, it wasn’t supposed to be an overnight thing...but the person I’m taking care of needed overnight care and I just—I couldn’t say no, Tonnie.”

Air blows out between her lips like steam, and you can tell you need to get the rest of the information out to her before she can’t hold it in anymore.

“The reason why I even hid any of this from you is because the person I’ve been taking care of was turned down by everyone else at sign ups…because he was a murder suspect.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Her hands wave in front of her and she shakes her head. “I’m really hoping that I did not hear you right. Because there’s no way you’re telling me that, you, of ALL PEOPLE, have been spending the last two months babysitting a MURDERER?!”

“He didn’t actually murder anyone!” You shout back. Tonya’s eyes roll as she throws her hands up dramatically.

“What does that even mean?!”

“Eddie was accused of murder, but he didn’t actually do it!”

“Eddie?! Eddie who?!”

“His name is Eddie Munson,” you say, “he was actually framed by the real murderer. The guy tortured him, Tonya! His…his body is covered in scars and…and he ended up loosing his leg. Like, from the knee down. And he was so sick when I got there. He’s come such a long way since then…”

Tonya’s face is like stone, blinking slowly as you go on about Eddie and all the things you’ve helped him accomplish in the last two months. You hadn’t even realized that you’d been rambling until the sound of her bedroom door caught your attention.

“Charles is here?” You ask her quietly after the bathroom door closes. You're shocked when she confirms that he had stayed the night. He'd never stayed the night before, at least while you were there.

“We had a fun night,” Tonya says with a sly smirk. “He’s probably feeling it this morning.”

“Ah, I see,” you nod. The sound of retching coming from the upstairs bathroom had the two of you giggling. Tonya leans in towards you, resting her chin on her hands as she looks at you.

“So,” she starts, “Can I ask you a side question before we get into this Eddie guy?”

“Sure,” you say suspiciously.

“Is Sam real?”

“What?” You chuckle. “Yeah, he’s real. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t a lie you made up to go see your little criminal boyfriend.”

You reel back, shocked by the accusations of her statement.

“Eddie’s not my boyfriend,” you assure her. But the look on her face tells you she’s not buying it.

“Really? Because you just talked more about this guy in the last 20 minutes than you’ve talked about Sam since you two started dating.”

“Well…I spend five days a week with him, so of course I have more to say about Eddie than Sam. But…”

“But…?”

“What bit you in the ass this mornin’?”

Eddie stirs his coco wheat's mindlessly as the Andy Griffith’s Show plays on the TV. If you were to ask Wayne, he’d say Eddie was acting like a cat after it got caught in the rain, all pissy and ready to swat and anyone who looked at him.

“Nothin’,” Eddie grumbles, not bothering to look at his uncle as he spoke. Wayne sighed, grabbing the TV remote and turning it off. He shifts forward on the couch cushion until he was sitting on the edge.

“Did somethin’ happen at the Trick r Treat thing?”

Eddie exhaled, slumping back in the recliner dramatically before finally facing his uncle.

“Nothing happened. I just—Did you know she has a boyfriend?”

Wayne’s head tilts to the side. “What? No she don’t? Told me when she started.”

“Well, she must have lied to you because she told Harrington last night that she was seeing some guy named Sam from her school.” Eddie’s arms cross over his chest like a child with an attitude.

“Why’d she tell him that?”

“Because, in typical Harrington fashion, the guy flirts with any girl that crosses his path.”

“So she told him she had a boyfriend?”

“Yep.”

“Maybe she was lyin’ t’em.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. He hadn’t thought about that. He just assumed you hadn’t told him because you knew he liked you by now and didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

“But what if she’s not?” Eddie’s voice is soft in his vulnerability. He’d told Wayne about his growing feelings for you about a month ago. About how he thought you were beautiful from the first time he’d seen you, but he’d stuffed those feeling down immediately.

He tried his best to push you away, hoping that you’d run with your tail between your legs after how rude he’d been to you. But you didn’t seem to budge, so he tried to ignore you instead. That obviously didn’t work out either. His hopes went up when you saw him on the floor that faithful night. He thought that you’d be so repulsed by him that you’d turn and run on the spot.

But, of course you didn’t.

You looked at him as if he wasn’t a broken man who’d been beaten and almost eaten alive by supernatural bats. Who’d been abused and almost murdered by hospital staff who were supposed to be in charge of his life. Who was sent home to a place he didn’t know, with barely anything to his name after the Upside Down swallowed his trailer whole.

In hindsight, he almost wishes you had ran. Because this feeling that he’s had every day since has been more painful than any of his scars or shredded limbs. He wishes you had been shallow and vapid, because he would have a reason to hate you, rather than feel lonely whenever you weren’t around.

And maybe he’d feel less bad about the times he’s touched himself while thinking about how your body presses against his when you help move him to his chair. Or the way your chest brushes against his shoulder when you’ve put your arms around him while you watch their DnD games.

Shit, he’d only agreed to do physical therapy in the first place because you’d leaned in front of him and practically begged him. Did you know that he could almost see perfectly down your shirt when you did that? He was glad he did it, though, because the strength that’s slowly being restored to his hands was making it easier to jerk off to the thought of you.

Eddie tried to pushed those thoughts back. He didn’t want to feel that way about you. Well, not in this gross, perverted way at least. You didn’t deserve that.

“If’n she’s not lyin’, then…well…” Wayne settles into a silence. Eddie feels himself getting upset, head titling back to push the impending tears away before they could spill over.

It wasn’t fair for him to feel this way. He wouldn’t have had a chance with you even before everything that happened to him, so why was he getting all worked up as if you’d ever seen him as anything other than a pitiful shell of the man he used to be. No matter how much you poured into him, he would never have enough to return the favor.

Eddie had been distant the last few weeks. Not back to his grumpy self, but more closed off than he had been with you lately. Any time you touched him unprompted, he would pull away or make an excuse to move away from you. He still talked with you, but that teasing banter that he would throw your way was few and far between.

It hurt to feel like you were being locked out again, but you didn’t question it. Eddie didn’t owe you any explanations anyway. But you still couldn’t help to over analyze his behaviors every night before falling asleep.

Even now as you sit with him and Wayne and sort through old pictures that Wayne had found after going through their storage unit. Wayne is doing most of the talking, with Eddie chiming in here and there to give short interjections.

“Eddie, you’re joking,” you gasp.

It was just a shoebox, but it was filled to the brim with pictures of Eddie when he was little. The picture in question that you were absolutely gushing over was of Eddie and a woman that you’d assumed to be his mom by their matching chocolate button eyes. Her hair was wild like Eddie’s; long red curls teased to high heaven that framed her delicate face. Toddler Eddie was on her hip in a Christmas themed outfit, a huge, baby toothed grin plastered on his face as beamed at his mother. The back of the picture read ‘Eddie & Flo Christmas ‘68.’

“I’m not,” he says with little enthusiasm. “Unfortunately, I look just like my dad, besides my eyes. Wish I looked more like her, though.”

“No, look,” you say, pointing at his moms smile. “You have her smile, too. Dimples and all.”

“Hold on,” Eddie says, taking the box and sifting through the pictures. It took him a few minutes to finally pull out a picture before handing it to you.

What you weren’t prepared to see was a picture of a man who looked practically identical to Eddie, sans the long hair and clad in a military uniform. Next to him was a younger Wayne Munson, dressed in a leather jacket and with a much fuller head of hair. You studied the picture a bit before flipping it over.

‘Allan and Wayne April 1970 Day of Departure’

“Your dad was in Vietnam?” You ask, looking at the picture again, still mesmerized at the resemblance.

“Yeah, he got drafted and shipped out a month before my 5th birthday,” Eddie said with indifference.

“I thought you could be excused from the draft if you were married with kids?”

“Al and Flo weren’t married,” Wayne interjected. “And Al was dead set Eddie wasn’t his so he didn’t even show up to his birth. I’s there, though, cause I knew Flo wasn’t like those other girls he was chasin’ after. And when I tell you I wanted nothin more's to kick my brother’s ass as soon as I saw that little face for the first time.”

Wayne grabs the box from the coffee table and shuffles around it a bit until he found a picture. He looks at it for a moment before handing it to you. “Poor Flo did all that time cookin’ that one there for him to come out lookin’ exactly like his daddy.”

The picture was of Eddie’s mother in her hospital bed, wild red hair tied up and looking exhausted. But her smile was wild, and she was flashing a peace sign at the camera. An even younger Wayne was holding a bundled up new born Eddie proudly in his arms, holding him up in a way that shows off Eddie’s chubby baby face. He really did look like his dad, the Munson genes definitely being more dominant.

You flip the picture over to read the back.

‘Florence, Wayne, and Edward May 13th, 1965.’

Wayne fished out more pictures of Eddie as a baby, and you cooed over every single one, much to Eddie’s dismay. Through this you discovered Eddie’s middle name was James after his late grandfather that passed on the strong Munson genes to his father.

You couldn’t help but feel bad for Eddie’s mother, though. She was only 17 when she had Eddie, and her strict parents kicked her out because of it. Thankfully, Eddie’s grandparents took her in and Al apparently came around and stepped up when he held Eddie for the first time.

They stayed living all together until Al was drafted. But not long after, Eddie’s mom got really sick. She had been hiding it, hoping that it would go away on it’s own, until it had suddenly gotten worse. Wayne moved back home to help raise Eddie when his mother started getting sick. She died in 1971, a week before Al was set to come home from Vietnam.

“That’s when he started gettin’ in trouble. Flo had whipped him into shape in a way not even the military could accomplish. And when she was gone before he could say goodbye—”

“Can I go outside?” Eddie’s hand wipes over his eyes harshly. He scoots to the edge of the chair and reaches out for his wheelchair. You jump up at his request, getting his chair situated for him before helping him into it. He clung to you for a moment longer than he normally would, but you didn’t mind.

“Let me get your coat,” Wayne says, pushing off the couch. When he’s just out of earshot, you look at Eddie, his eyes glassy and downcast as if deep in thought, and tap him on the shoulder.

“Hey, do you think that when you have kids they’ll be clones of you, too?”

Eddie’s posture straightens, his eyes wide when he meets yours.

“What? I, um, I don’t—” He clears his throat and shifts in his seat. “I haven’t really thought about it. Didn’t really plan on kids anyway.”

“Oh, really? I guess that’s understandable. Not everyone wants kids.”

“Do you?”

“Hmm, maybe one day,” you shrug. “Not really rushing to have one right now or anything. More focused on school and taking care of you.” Eddie smiles, but ducks his head to hide it from you.

“Well, I guess I’m good practice for taking care of one,” he says.

“No, you’re way harder to take care of.” He barks out a laugh, rolling away from you to meet Wayne half way to the door.

While the two of them go outside to smoke, you busy yourself in the kitchen putting away the Thanksgiving dinner you and Wayne had put together, with Eddie’s help on stirring duty. Ben had come by and ate with all of you, seemingly more comfortable being around while you were at the Munson’s residence with his more frequent visits.

It didn’t take you long to clean up. Wayne had apologized all morning for the dinner not being anything fancy, and you reassured him every time that you didn’t care. You’d been used to spending Thanksgiving with just your grandparents, and then just your grandma for so long that you’d never made much of a big deal out of the holiday like others do.

Sam specifically told you on multiple occasions about how everyone in his family makes a very big deal about holidays. Apparently they were also looking forward to meeting you, which came as a shock considering he hadn’t even asked you to go, he just assumed you would. When you told him it felt like it was way too soon to meet his family, he seemed bummed but thankfully didn’t press further.

“Damnit, I told ya she’d be in here cleanin’ up, Eds,” Wayne hollers from the living room.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it!”

“We’re gonna have to start paying her if she’s gonna start doing the maid’s job,” Eddie says, rolling into the kitchen and up to the fridge. He goes to grab for a beer, but you call for him, stopping him in his tracks.

“Eddie, if you have a beer this late you can’t take your pain meds.”

“That’s fine,” Eddie says, plucking the beer from the door and presenting it to you. “I wasn’t gonna take it tonight anyway.”

“What? Why?”

“Wanna try and get used to not having it.”

You want to argue with him, but he’s giving you that wet, sad look that he knows will get you to fold. And you do, snatching the beer from his hands and popping the tab open.

He holds his hand out to grab it from you, but you decide to fuck with him a bit and take a sip of it yourself. It tastes like nasty cheep beer, but you do your best to remain as neutral as possible, even letting out an “ahhh” after you swallow.

Eddie looks up at you with pure shock, frozen in place like he was petrified. It makes you laugh as you place the can back in his hand, waiting a moment for him to grab it before letting go.

“Y-you can have it if you want,” he stutters, not moving.

“It’s okay, Eddie, I was just messing with you,” you say, placing a hand on his shoulder as you walk past him out of the kitchen.

Eddie thrusts sloppily into his folded pillow, held together by his body weight as he lays on top of it. It took a lot of trial and error, but Eddie’s found this to be the most effective way for him to get off when his hands are too sore to just jerk off.

He didn’t mind it though, because this set up made it feel more real to him. He didn’t have any frame of reference to know what it felt like to fuck a real pussy, but the friction of his pillowcase felt good enough that he was able to bypass the texture if he just focused on the fantasies in his head.

All of them revolved around you, of course. He tries to stave off of giving into his urges. Especially considering he usually had to look you in the face at some point after. He felt like he was going to give himself some kind of pavlov response if he allowed himself to jerk off from any small domestic gesture that you threw his way.

Today was a bit too much for him, though. He’s happy you came over since he fully expected you to ditch him and Wayne for some other plans.

But you didn’t.

Not only did you come over, but you came over early, dressed up in an outfit that had Eddie fighting off a hard on from the moment you arrived. And basically acted as if you’d been part of the family for years rather than only knowing them for a few months. You were a natural addition to the Munson clan and that played on Eddie's mind a lot when he thought about you like this.

And when you took a sip of Eddie’s beer before giving it to him…Eddie was ashamed to even think about how much that affected him. Not only was it practically an indirect kiss, but he’d never seen you let loose like that, even if it was just a sip. You felt comfortable around him to blur that line of professionalism that you tried to keep up when you cared for him, and Eddie was letting the delusions run rampant.

“Haaa, fuck,” he whines into his other pillow as he ruts into the makeshift pussy that he desperately wishes was yours. He’s imagining you lying under him, his bare chest pressing into your back as he plows into you from behind. He thinks about how you’d be calling out his name. Are you vocal in bed, or would you be biting into his pillow like he is now to keep himself quiet?

Eddie pulls his shirt back up to his nose and your scent that rubbed off on it filled his nostrils, sending him over the edge. He cums suddenly with a low groan, spurts of white cum spilling in between the fold of the sandwiched pillow. His breath hitches, eyes going in and out of focus as he cums harder than he ever has before.

After catching his breath, Eddie pushes himself over and onto his back. He lays there, waiting for the guilt to creep in like it always does. He thinks back to your conversation earlier, about him wanting kids. It kills him.

Did you really think he would ever have the chance to have kids? Besides not knowing if his swimmers even work after what he went though, he would have to meet someone who would treat him with even a fraction of the kindness you give him. And then he’d have to convince them that he was worthy enough for their love and not a burden.

You saying you want kids one day hurt even worse. It was a feasible dream for you, to start a family with someone you loved. Eddie had barely thought about kids, but now he’s laying here thinking about what a normal life would be like with you. A house with a white picket fence, two kids, a dog…

Tears rolled down Eddie’s temples and disappeared into his sweaty hair line. He grabbed the soiled pillow and pulled off the pillowcase, carefully pulling it inside out and tossing it into his laundry basket. He pulled his comforter over himself to hide away from the world.

The bed shakes as Sam lands on his back next to you. He says…something, but you’re too busy in your own head to catch it. The ache between your legs tries to get your attention as well, but you would rather listen to Sam speak than address that right now.

“Hey, are you okay?” Sam’s hand waves in front of your face and you force yourself to smile when you look at him. “Did I really blow your mind that much?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” you nod enthusiastically, probably overdoing it. You feel an ick wash over you when he smiles triumphantly. He leans in to kiss you and you turn your head so that his lips hit your cheek.

“I’m gonna go get us some water. Feel free to use my bathroom to clean up.” You lay still until Sam leaves the room, holding your breath until you’re sure he’s gone.

Jumping up from the bed, you grab your clothes and quickly redress. You can’t find your tights but at this point you don’t even care, you just want to get out of there as fast as you can. Sam is standing in the hallway with a glass of water when you open the bedroom door. He looks at you up and down with confusion.

“You okay?” He asks.

“Yeah, I, uh…I forgot that I promised to help Tonya put up Christmas decorations tomorrow.” You move past him, but he grabs your arm to stop you.

“Do you have to leave right now?” He asks, a distressed look on his face.

“I’m sorry, but I probably should. Tonya likes to get up early to start the process and--”

“Okay, I understand,” Sam says, taking a deep breath in. “Can I, um, I want—I need to ask you something before you go.”

Your heart feels like it’s dropped into your stomach, nauseating you instantly. You have a sneaking suspicion that you know what he’s going to ask, but you really don’t think you can do this right now.

“Can we talk about it later? I think it’s supposed to start snowing soon,” you say, pulling your arm from his grasp. “Really want to get home before the roads get bad—”

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

The reaction your body had to his question was similar to one you would have if you heard nails on a chalkboard. If the ground opened up and swallowed you whole right now you’d be thankful for a quick escape from this situation.

You relaxed your body and looked at Sam. He’s a nice guy, truly, but after everything that transpired in his bedroom…

“Sam…”

“Yeah?” His puppy dog eyes are making this harder than you want it to be.

“I….” You sigh, “I need to think about it. I’m going through a lot with finals coming up and taking care of Ed—I mean, Mr. Munson--”

“But you’re almost done with both of those? Christmas break is just around the corner, and I really would like you to meet my family.”

“Wait, what do you mean I’m almost done?”

“Well, you’re finals are, like, a week and a half away. And next week is your last week for the volunteer program so you won’t be needing to go to Hawkins anymore. We called all the families and let them know so that they could make other arrangements a week or two ago.”

All the air around you felt like it was sucked away. Wayne didn’t tell you that he had gotten a call. Was he even going to bring it up? Did he just expect you to up and leave him and Eddie?

“Sam, I really need to go,” you say with a strained breath. You don’t give him much of a chance to answer before you’re grabbing your coat and heading out his front door. Snow was already starting to stick to the ground as you got to your car. Sam stood at his front door, still in his boxers as you got in your car and drove off.

Driving on autopilot, your brain began to recall and process exactly what happened while you were with Sam. He had been off putting ever since you saw him after Thanksgiving, but you almost felt bad for him. All this time you convinced yourself that this really attractive guy was giving you attention and you just we’re being grateful for it.

But today solidified for you that you couldn’t deny the way you were feeling anymore. Not when the whole time the two of you were having sex, you couldn’t get Eddie out of your head. Every touch, every thrust, you could only think about Eddie being the one on top of you making you feel good. You’re pretty sure you would have cum if it was actually Eddie.

The feelings you had for Eddie sat behind a glass wall inside your mind ever since you were able to pour your heart out to Tonya. But, no matter how much you wanted to, you knew you could never act on them. It would go against every code of conduct for you to have a romantic relationship with a patient. You could potentially get kicked out of nursing school if you were ever found out.

Not to mention you had no idea if Eddie would even accept your feelings. Sure, he has come out of his shell and let you into his life in more ways that you had imagined when you first met him. But, you didn’t want to delude yourself into thinking it was anything deeper than an appreciation for the care you’ve given him. Eddie and Wayne were good people, and you didn’t want to mistake that kindness for anything more than what it was.

But, fuck, did it suck to find out you might only have one more week to spend with them.

Between the thick snowflakes and the racing of your mind, you didn’t notice the way the road was getting icier as the snow continued to fall. A turn snuck up on you in the heavy snowfall and you slammed on the brakes to slow down, but your car continued to slide across the snowy road.

Your car fishhooks before the back end whips around, sending you spinning into a ditch. It’s not a deep one, but the lack of traction under your tire sends them spinning with barely any movement from your car. You curse under your breath, all of your emotions bubbling up until you smack your steering wheel out of frustration.

After taking a few minutes to cool off, you take a look around you to assess your surroundings. It’s hard to see much, the back road you’re on has no streetlights and you’re not sure if you’d be able to see any house lights even if you were in someone’s yard. You start to panic, unsure of what you’re next move should be. You don’t have enough gas to wait out the night, but you should still have an emergency blanket in your trunk.

You have to hype yourself up to leave your car, moving as fast as you could to the back. As you went to open the trunk, fumbling with your keys lead to dropping them in the white snow at your feet. Your eyes stung as your tears began to gather, the cold wind instantly chilling them.

Without a second thought, you let out a loud scream into the dark night sky. You felt around for your keys, the cold metal biting your already cold hands as you finally opened your trunk, only to find it empty. That’s when you remember that you had taken the blanket out of your trunk and thrown it in your back seat for the trunk r treat night.

The trunk of your car slams hard enough to make the car shake, and you practically rip the door off the hinge when you grab the blanket.

Just as you’re about to get back in your front seat whe a light comes into view from the down the road. Relief washes over you when you can see it’s a car coming your way. You jump up and down, waving your hands around to get the cars attention, the big truck rolling to a stop next to you.

“Are you okay, darlin’?” A little old woman’s voice calls from the rolled down window.

“No,” you yell with a pathetic sniffle. The driver side door of the truck opens and a little old man jumps out and rounds the front. He lets you inside and you slide into the bench seat between the two.

The couple apparently heard you scream from their house and came out to check what was going on. The snow was so thick you didn’t even realize their house was only a few hundred feet away from your car. The woman made you a hot drink as you used their phone to call for someone to pick you up.

“Hello?” Wayne’s gruff voice could have been intimidating to hear if it was anyone else calling the Munson house this time of night.

“Wayne, it’s me.”

You thank the older couple profusely for everything before bounding out to the truck waiting for you in their driveway. It had taken Wayne almost 45 minutes to get to you with all of the snow, but he promised he would get to you even if it took hours.

When you pulled open the passenger door, you were surprised to see Eddie sitting there with a worried look.

“Eddie, I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Boy was worried sick ‘bout’cha,” Wayne calls from the other side of Eddie.

“Wayne,” he groans, scooting over on the bench seat to make room for you.

“Aw, that was really sweet of you to be worried about me,” you tease, leaning your head on his shoulder to push his buttons a little bit more. Eddie adverts his gaze, mumbling a whatever under his breath making Wayne chuckle.

Wayne backs out of the driveway and starts the journey to Tonya’s. The conversation is light until Wayne asks what you were doing out so late at night during a snow storm.

“I was out with some of my classmates,” you lie, not wanting to bring up being with Sam. The thought of him only brought all of the thoughts you had earlier in the night to the forefront of your mind, and you were suddenly very aware of how much of your body was touching Eddie’s in this cramped seating arrangement.

The chill of the night had been cut by his natural body heat against you, making you subconsciously curled into him at some point during the drive. You went to pull away, but his body started to move with yours until he was leaning into you.

“Sorry,” he said, trying to adjust himself, “I usually lean against the door to keep my balance.”

“Oh my god, Eddie, I’m sorry,” you say, moving closer to him again. “I would have sat in the middle if I had known.”

“It’s okay,” he says quietly before you felt his body weight leaning against you again.

The small talk dwindled into a peaceful quiet as Wayne drove the country road with ease. The snow has started to ease up, almost completely stopped by the time you saw the city marker indicating you were close to being home.

As you were leaning into Eddie’s shoulder, you felt a bit of weight fall on top of your head, your vision slightly obstructed by curly brown hair that fell over your face. Eddie’s light snores next to your ear was all the confirmation you needed that he’d fallen asleep and was using you as a pillow.

A warm, bubbly feeling filled you at the sudden closeness. Even a small interaction like this made you feel a million times more exultant than you’ve ever felt with Sam. Or anyone for that matter.

“Wayne,” you called to the older man, wanting to distract yourself from your thoughts. He hummed in response, his hat covered head tilting slightly in your direction while his eyes remained on the snowy roads. “Tonight one of my…friends from class, they mentioned something about this week being the last week of our volunteer work.”

Wayne went rigid in his seat, shifting to sit upright again. He cleared his throat, visibly becoming more distraught with each passing second.

“Yeah, I guess that’s right, isn’t it? I, um…” Wayne ran a hand over his mouth, rubbing it back and forth against the stubble before it landed back on the steering wheel.

“’ve been-- been trying, ya know, to get someone to take over nights. I thought about askin’ Hop, but he’s done enough for us. Plus he’s got family now, so s’not fair to ask him. Could come off the nights, but that shift diff is really gettin’ us by.” Wayne nods his head to the side, “Ed says he can stay home by himself, but I just…I can’t have em fallin’ and not bein’ able to get emself up. Lord forbid he fall and break his hip er somethin’.”

“So…it sounds like you haven’t found anyone?”

Wayne sighs, shaking his head. “Well, that’s not…” He pauses, letting out a huff of air through his nose. “There is someone who is willing to come a couple nights a week if we need ‘em…”

“But?” You press, curious as to who this person might be.

“But…I’ll just say he’s not my first pick to take responsibility for anyone.”

“I see,” you say, looking down at where Eddie’s thigh is pressed against yours, the end of his jeans smoothed over the amputation spot where you’d sewn the end shut for him.

“Can I ask why you didn’t ask me if I could keep coming over?”

Wayne was still, like he was holding his breath.

“I, um, we…”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off. “I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that. If you don’t want me to keep coming I totally understand--”

“No, no! That’s not it at all,” Wayne says defensively. “We both kinda assumed that you weren’t…allowed to.”

“Oh…well I don’t think there’s anything that says I couldn’t keep coming over? It’s not like I’m being paid, so I don’t think I’m violating any of my school’s rules. And he’s been doing so well, it wouldn’t be any different than if anyone else came over to stay with him.”

The truck was quiet for a moment, except for the directions you gave Wayne as he turned into Tonya’s neighborhood. Once he pulled into the empty driveway, he shift the old beater truck into park and turned to look at you. You must have been quite a sight sitting there with his nephew practically on top of you as he snoozed away. But you still smiled up at him, even as he shook his head at the two of you.

“So, I don’t want you to say yes just because I told you I was havin’ trouble. Okay? Promise me if you say yes that it’s not outta pity.”

“I promise,” you say, crossing your fingers for him to see.

“Alright, well, if it’s not gonna cause you any issue, would you be able to keep comin’ down to stay with Ed at night? It doesn’t have to be every day. Like I said, I got someone who said he can stay a night or two a week if we need ‘em—”

“Can I ask who it is you’re talking about?”

“It’s, uh, it’s a guy Ed went to school with. He’s a little older--names Rick—they’ve been friends since Eddie was a freshman—”

“Rick? Like Reefer Rick?” You question, Eddie’s weight on you being the only thing keeping you from jumping out of your seat.

“Well, yeah, that’s him. I guess Eddie must’ve talked bout him by now.”

“He hasn’t told me much about him. But, he did come over one day after you’d already left for work when the boys were over.”

“Ah, yeah, I forgot Eddie told me he came by,” Wayne nodded.

“I guess I understand why you don’t want him to be the one to stay over.”

“Yeah, he’s just…not a very responsible kid,” Wayne says with a shake of his head.

“That’s like…the nice way to put it, I suppose.”

Eddie suddenly lifts his head from your shoulder, his tired, confused eyes scanning his surroundings before looking at you. He smiles, breathing in harshly as he stretches, one arm going forward and the other behind you.

“Hi,” he breathes out, his voice groggy and low from just being asleep. It does that thing to you where it goes straight from your ears to between your legs.

“Hi Eddie,” you giggle, looking up at his dopey, half asleep still expression. Wayne clears his throat and Eddie’s whole body turns to look at him, then all around once more as if he’s only just noticing his surroundings for the first time.

“Where are we?” He asks with pinched brows.

“My house,” you say, taking that as your cue to grab your things and exit the vehicle.

“Shit, that was a quick drive,” Eddie says running a hand over his eyes.

“Quick only cause you used that poor girl like a mattress while you slept,” Wayne quips.

“I did? Damn, I’m sorry,” Eddie apologizes, his eyes wide as if panicked.

“Oh, I didn’t care,” you say as you opened the car door, the cold air hitting you straight to the bone and making you shiver. But even with the winter air trying to turn you into a popsicle, you still took your time getting out, not wanting to make Eddie lose his balance and fall.

Once Eddie was situated back in the passenger seat, you gave the two men your goodbyes, promising Wayne to finish the conversation when you come by on Monday.

The Munson men waited in the drive way to make sure you got inside okay, waving back to you as they took off down the road.

Every day for the next week felt like a rollercoaster.

Sunday consisted of Tonya taking you to get your car and you ignoring phone calls from Sam. You and Tonya also decorated the house together, so you technically didn’t lie to Sam when you left.

Monday you were almost late to class, doing your best to wait until the last second to pull into the schools parking lot so as to avoid Sam in case he was waiting for you. You felt bad for not giving him an answer before you left him on Saturday. But after an all day conversation with Tonya that started with telling her that you couldn’t get Eddie out of your head while you were having sex with Sam and ended with you guys talking about what colours you think Eddie would like if you ever got married one day, you figured you should probably cut things off with him.

You were never good at telling anyone no, this much you knew about yourself. And if you were completely honest, you were a little worried that if you didn’t wait until the right time that Sam might puppy dog eye you into changing your mind. But, you had to be strong. If you could just get through until next Wednesday after finals…

Speaking of finals. After some discussion with the Munson men, it was decided that you would keep coming to stay with Eddie over night until further notice. Both of them seemed to be relieved, although Eddie did say he wanted to keep working on building his strength so that Wayne would feel comfortable enough to let him be alone at some point in the future.

Once that was settled, you immediately made a deal with Eddie, making him your personal exam study buddy. Every day he quizzed you, went through flash cards with you, and looked over your homework for you, handing it back if he didn’t think the answer you gave matched what the textbook said.

“I feel like I could be a nurse after all of this,” Eddie said, placing the thick deck of flash cards down on the side table. The flipping between the cards had been serving as a good exercise for building up his hand dexterity, but often left them a little sore by the time you’d gone through all of them.

“I think I’d pay good money to see you in one of my school’s nursing uniforms,” you tease, standing up to refill his cup.

“Good money, huh? Like, maybe a college tuition’s worth?” He calls back from his chair. You bark out a laugh.

“You’d have to put that uniform to good use for me to shell out that kind of cash, if you know what I mean.” Eddie howls at your suggestive words.

“Don’t know how good of a dancer I’d be with only one leg, sweetheart!”

After a long week of studying, Friday finally rolled around and it was time to fulfill your part of the bargain.

With Eddie in the passenger seat, the two of you set off towards Castleton Square in Indianapolis. The roads were busy, full of people with the same idea as you and Eddie; last minute Christmas shopping.

You’d lied to Wayne about where you were going per Eddie’s request. He knew that if he told Wayne where he was going that he would try and give him money to buy his gifts.

But ever since his disability checks (finally) started coming in, Eddie had secretly been saving some on the side so that he could get some things for everyone for Christmas.

That included Wayne, and he wasn’t about to use the man’s own money to buy him a Christmas gift. So, as far as Wayne knew, the two of you were going to see Grant and his girlfriend's new apartment.

“Damn, this place is packed,” Eddie said, head on a swivel as you tried to navigate the mall’s parking lot without taking out a pedestrian.

“No kidding,” you say, pulling up towards one of the mall’s entrances.

“I’m gonna let you out here,” you say, flipping on your blinkers. Once Eddie is situated in his chair, you wait for him to wheel inside the first set of doors before taking off to park.

After 20 minutes of searching and briefly getting into it with a 70 year old over a handicap spot, you finally make your way to the mall entrance. It was just as crazy inside of the mall as you’d expected it to be with Christmas only a few more days away. People of all different background suddenly become unified by their arms being full of copious amounts of shopping bags.

Eddie sat just inside the doors, eyes flickering across his surroundings, as if anticipating something. But as you enter into the crowded mall, his anxiousness seems to melt away as soon as his gaze meets yours.

“You okay?” You ask, grabbing your purse from his lap.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, waving his hand at you. “I’m just…scoping the place out. For stores to shop in.” He saves himself at the last moment and you decide to let that excuse be enough for you.

To say the mall was pure chaos was an understatement. Many of the stores were restocking shelves at a record speeds, people fighting over toys and clothes and shoes that they HAD to have, lest little Tommy or Susie not get everything on their Christmas list. Every bench was filled to the brim with husbands and dads left in charge of bag duty while their wives wrack up their credit cards in the name of Christmas spirit.

Thankfully, no one wanted to be the person that's a dick to the guy in the wheelchair during the holiday season, so navigating the crowds was a little easier than you anticipated. The two of you bobbed and weaved through the stores, picking up a few things here and there for your respective friends and loved ones. Eddie was even brave enough to do a little shopping on his own while you ran to the bathroom.

Once the two of you regrouped, you took in Eddie’s haggard appearance and decided to call for a cookie break.

“Damn, what do they put in these things?” Eddie asks, his eyes closing as he takes another bite of his double chocolate cookie.

“I don’t know,” you say, sitting on the edge of a cement planter, not a single available seat in sight, “but whatever it is should probably be illegal. I could probably eat 10 of these things.”

“Mmm, agreed,” he says with a mouth full of cookie.

The two of you sit and enjoy your treats in silence. Not out of neglect for the other, but out a mutual curiosity as you people watch.

It was interesting to come to your own conclusions about people with only a snapshot of their lives like this, and it makes you wonder how people must be perceiving you and Eddie together. Are people assuming the two of you are dating? You couldn’t blame people for thinking that, but what else were they thinking about you? Do the two of you even look good together?

“Look mommy! What is that?”

The voice of a little boy catches your attention. A small pointed finger in your general direction makes you feel uneasy as you automatically assume the child must be pointing at Eddie. Sure, a man in a wheelchair has the potential to puzzle a child, but you didn’t know how Eddie would react to this kind of attention in a raw, childlike form.

“That’s called a mistletoe, dear,” the stressed mother answers, eyes looking your direction for a brief moment. Except, you notice her gaze lands just above you, prompting you to tilt your head back. And you’d be damned to find a small mistletoe handing from a thin string from the ceiling tile above you.

“Huh,” you hear Eddie say next to you. The sudden realization that the mistletoe is hanging above yours and Eddie’s head has heat rising to your cheeks. You keep your head locked while your eyes shift to look at Eddie out of your peripheral.

Sure enough he was looking at it, too.

“Didn’t see that there before.” The words spill from your mouth without much forethought. Eddie clears his throat, and you steal another quick glance at him. His cheeks have an ever so slight pink tint to them, which only makes your stomach do flips.

Eddie has play flirted and said his fair share of raunchy jokes with you in the recent weeks. Never really giving as much of a hint of embarrassment in his actions, you assumed that he felt comfortable enough with your…friendship? That he didn’t care to treat you like one of his boys.

Given your newly realized feelings, it’s admittedly stung a bit. However, the reaction he’s giving now at being caught under a mistletoe with you is only fueling any delusions that you’ve ever entertained between the two of you.

“Me—me either,” he stutters, his eyes shifting down to the floor tiles beneath him. His bashfulness drives you crazy, and you have the sudden intrusive thought to just kiss him. And you almost consider it, if it wasn’t for the potential awkwardness that would result from your potential misreading of the moment.

“Have-have you, um, ever…you know?” Eddie chokes on almost every word, leg bouncing against the pedal as he speaks.

“I’m sorry, have I ever—?”

“Ever kissed. Like, under the mistletoe or whatever.” Eddie clarifies, gesturing to the decoration while still avoiding eye contact.

“O-oh, um,” you think for a moment of every kiss you’ve ever had in your life and suddenly blanking. “Maybe once or twice. In, like, middle school or high school. What about you?”

Eddie shifts in his chair, “No, no, it’s…I’ve not before. Not that I wouldn’t,” Eddie looks at you, then turns away again. “I mean, I’ve never been under one with someone before.”

“Do you want one?”

Eddie stills, blinking slowly as he processes your words.

“Do I want a kiss?”

You nod.

“I mean I guess I wouldn’t be against—”

Eddie is quieted by the sudden contact. You press your lips against his cheek, landing on the edge of the large scar. It’s only for a moment, but it feels like a lifetime to Eddie.

When you pull away, you do your best to maintain composure. Giving him a forced smile, you rise from your seat to look at him straight on.

“There you go,” you say, hands landing on your hips. “Now you can say you’ve had your first mistletoe kiss.”

“Eddie, Eddie, shhh it’s okay.”

Pulling him into you, you run a hand up and down his back soothingly in an attempt to calm Eddie’s still sleeping form. Screams of terror begin to fade out into small moans and whimpers the more you comfort him.

Slowly he wakes, his arms wrapping around you as he begins to sob. You don’t ask him about his dreams, or rather, his nightmares. You’re sure that it would only make things worse, so you just let him cry himself back to sleep against you.

“—Oh, shit, sorry.”

Your eyes shoot open at the sound of Wayne’s voice. You hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep, still leaning against the head of Eddie’s bed as he snored in your lap.

“No, it’s okay,” you whisper yawn, gently lifting Eddie’s head until you could place a pillow under it. Tiptoeing out of Eddie’s room, you join Wayne in the hallway, who looks like he just got home.

“Sorry if I woke ya,” Wayne says in a low voice.

“It’s okay, really,” you say rubbing your eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. He had another night terror so I was just trying to settle him down s'all.”

Wayne hums, a hint of disbelief in his tone. You thought about pressing the matter, but figured doubling down would only push Wayne into believing whatever he already convinced himself more. Besides, getting a couple more hours of sleep before the weekend officially started sounded like something you wanted to take advantage of.

When you did finally wake up, you did your normal Saturday morning routine before your morning shift at the coffee shop. After getting dressed, you place a full glass of water and a little cup full of his morning meds on Eddie’s nightstand and pull out a fresh pair of clothes for him to put on after he wakes up. As you go to leave, you glance over to the newly wrapped gifts that sit below the Munson’s Charlie Brown inspired Christmas tree and think about how you wish you had seen Wayne’s face when he saw them earlier.

Your work day flew by. The nonstop in and out of shoppers getting their morning caffeine fix or their afternoon refill kept you constantly moving. And before you knew it, you were grabbing your own cup to go and heading out the door to trek the the almost 3 hour drive from work to your home town.

Once you made it to Anderson, you stopped by a local flower shop, one that you’d been going to since you were a kid, to pick out some nice flowers to leave at the graves of your parents and grandparents. The owner made some small talk with you, asking about school and how Tonya was doing.

The mentioning of your friend reminded you that you still needed to give her the gift you’d gotten her before she left to visit Charles' family for the holiday. You were thankful that the Munson’s asked you to join them Christmas day, otherwise you’d be spending the holiday by yourself for the first time in your life.

With your flowers in hand, you placed each bundle at the graves. You spent a good amount of time with each one, talking with the markers as if your loved ones were there and listening. You’re not sure how long you were there. But eventually the cold became too much and you had to leave.

Driving out of the cemetery was always really hard. Your parents had been gone long enough now that you’d come to peace with them being gone. It still hurt, but didn’t feel as much like salt in a wound as your grandparents. But, the deep sadness you normally felt was lighter than usual. The thought of your next destination—back to the same mall you had spent the evening with Eddie in—made you feel like you had a purpose for the first time in a long while.

You’re sure he hadn’t noticed, but you had kept your eye on Eddie as he shopped around. Anything he took interest in as the two of you perused the mall you took note of, fully planning on returning to pick out some to gift him. You doubt that he go you anything, but that didn’t really matter to you. You wanted to get him things he wanted, knowing he wasn’t going to spend the money on himself.

“What’s W.A.S.P?” Tonya mumbles through a mouth full of sugar cookie as she flips a cassette case in her hand. Her eyes go wide as she reads the track titles on the back.

“They’re a metal band,” you say, grabbing it from her and centering it the middle of your wrapping paper. “Jeff gave Eddie a shirt of theirs, so I’m guessing he must like them.”

“Girl, one of those tracks was called Ballcrusher,” she says with a concerned look that made you laugh.

“Hey, I’m not here to judge,” you shrug, wrapping the cassette nicely and laying it next to a few more that were already wrapped. “It’s cooler than the ovenmits you got Charles.”

“Excuse you, he asked for new mits.” Tonya points her half eaten cookie at you before taking another bite. “And I think they fit his personality very well.”

“They’re plain beige,” you say monotonally.

“Exactly,” Tonya nods with a smile. “Plain and beige, and safe.”

You tsk and roll your eyes, mumbling a little whatever as you organize your gifts. Some might say you went a little overboard for someone who you’ve only been taking care of for just shy of 5 months. But, it was hard to narrow anything down when you envisioned Eddie’s face as he opened all of his new possessions. It was enough to justify the…8…9…11 things you got for him.

“Can I tell you something…”

You look over at Tonya, who seems to be unable to contain a smile as she waits for you to answer.

“Of course,” you say, turning to give her your full attention.

“Okay, so, I know it’s the holiday season or whatever, and I could totally be wrong. But…”

“But?”

“But…” She takes a deep breath in. “...I think Charlie is going to propose to me at his family’s Christmas.”

You shoot up straight in your chair. A few months ago you might not have been so keen on this speculation, but the last few months Charles seems to have loosened up a bit. You also stopped caring about him taking your parking spot considering you were hardly here much anyway between school, work, and being at the Munson’s.

“Oh my god. What? Why do you think that?”

“So, we went and did some Christmas shopping at that new outlet mall the other day. And while I was in the bathroom, he thought he would be slick and went into a jewelry shop. When I came out I saw him through the window and I’m, like, 99 percent positive he was looking at rings!”

The two of you gush and squeal over the prospect of Tonya’s future nuptials. Talks of colours and styles of dresses fill the room as the two of you talk for hours.

“You know,” Tonya starts from the other side of the shower curtain, “Even if you are the maid of honor, I’m putting my foot down about one thing.”

“Oh, yeah,” you ask before spitting out your tooth paste into the sink, “And what might that be?”

“If you plan on bringing Eddie as a plus one, I have to at least meet him once before the actual wedding.”

You feel your cheeks heating up a bit. “I…I don’t see why that couldn’t be arranged—”

“Ideally, I’d also like the two of you to have confessed your love for each other by then, too—”

“Stoooooooop, you don’t know that he’s in love with me. This could be totally one sided.”

“Or,” Tonya pokes her head out from the curtain, “he could be completely head over heals for you and one of you just needs to make a move already.”

“What the—do you need help?” Dustin moves towards you to help with the balancing act of carrying all your presents into the Munson house. He grabs a few gifts and ushers you inside.

“Thanks Dustin,” you say, heading towards the Christmas tree that is filled even more so now than it was when you left Saturday morning. “It’s starting to look like Santa wont have any room to bring presents.”

“We’re going to take care of most of that tonight,” Jeff says with a smile as he pushes Eddie’s chair into the living room.

Eddie looked very handsome tonight in his red sweater and black slacks. It even looked like he took his time to properly do his hair today. You loved when Eddie would let you get his curls looking just right with a little product and styling.

“Hey,” he waved to you, more reserved than his normal goofy self.

“Well, hey there hot stuff. You look really nice tonight,” you say, leaning in to give him a hug. He went rigid for a moment before melting into the embrace.

“About time you got here,” Mike calls from the kitchen, causing you to jump back. “You better hurry up and get some of this pizza before Gareth freaking eats it all.”

“Dude, I’m hungry!” Gareth shouts defensively. Will puts a hand on his shoulder to comfort him as everyone laughs them off.

“Where’s your friend,” you ask the room, scanning it for a new face. The boys said they had convinced their friend Lucas to finally come to a Hellfire meeting after several long months.

“He should be here soon,” Dustin says in an overly reassuring way.

“Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it,” Mike scoffs.

“You were there, dude. He said he would come.”

“He said he would think about it. Never said he was gonna show up for sure.”

“If Sinclair shows up, we’ll greet him with open arms,” Eddie speaks up, “And if he doesn’t…well,” the room stills,”...there will always be other Hellfire Club meetings.”

Before the game begins, the boys take turns passing around gifts to each other. You’ve never seen so many sets of colourful dice in your entire life, but they all seemed very excited to receive them. Eddie was given a few band shirts and some cool looking records as well. He was so grateful for each gift he was given, a constant roll of thanks coming from him.

For a moment, you thought he might be getting overwhelmed when you saw a him wipe away a tear. You rest your hand on his arm, but he waves you off and reassures that he’s just really, really happy. It made your heart feel full to see him in such a good place. The amount of growth he’s done in such a short time never ceases to amaze you.

Eventually the game started rolling. You took the opportunity to clean up the mess of wrapping paper that was littered across the living room. The boys tried to get you to join them, but you told them that you wouldn’t be as fun to play with since you’d ask so many questions.

But Eddie still managed to keep you returning to the table. A few beers deep, he decided to skip his nighttime pain med. This led to his hands starting to ache (allegedly), which meant he needed you to roll his dice for him. Even if you knew it was just his way of getting you to hang out and avoid the pile of laundry that was staring you down, you let him have his fun and played along.

“Another 20!” You shout, jumping up and down. Eddie laughs manically while the rest of the table groans and protests.

“Maybe it’s a good thing she didn’t play with us,” Dustin says shaking his head. You stick your tongue out at him and he makes a face back at you.

But the feeling of something touching your back pulls you from the playful banter. Looking around, you realize Eddie has his hand resting on your lower back, rubbing small circles there as he refocuses on the game. It’s not an unwelcome touch by any means, but it does feel very intimate all things considered.

And it’s only made worse as his hand moves completely across your back, not stopping to trace back and almost hooking you around the waist. He pulls you closer to him until your bodies are flush, besides where the wheelchair separates you. His head rests against you, all of his attention on the game, making the action feel like a subconscious move.

You weren’t going to make a scene about it, so you instead embrace the affection and let your hand rest on his opposite shoulder. From the corner of your eye you see the smile on his face grow until his dimples are on full display.

At the end of the night, the boys made their exit, leaving the pizza and drinks for you and Eddie to indulge in for the next day. Lucas never showed, but Dustin and Mike seemed determined to make him come out soon.

Once the boys were loaded up and down the drive way, you went straight to the sink to get to work on the dishes. But, before you could get passed the threshold of the kitchen, Eddie gently grabbed your wrist to still you.

“What’s wrong Edward?” You tease. His flush cheeks told you that he let himself go a little more than usually when he drinks.

“Shhhh don’t say my name like that,” he says with a slur of his words.

“Why not? It’s you’re name isn’t it?”

“Makes me feel like I’m in trouble or something.”

“Oh, do you feel guilty about something?”

You didn’t think that your words would hit any chords with Eddie. But the silly outward expression suddenly turned into one of shock. The air shifted in a spit second and you were instantly on damage control.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, fully facing him. Eddie looked like he was on the verge of tears, eyes getting glassier by the second. His body moves as a sob escapes from him, and any resolve Eddie had was gone as he lets everything go.

You crouch in front of him, hands on his shoulders as he begins to wail, body shaking as he lets everything out.

“H-he didn’t--did’t-didn’t show--show up because of me!” The shaky words come out, and you instantly realize the error of your wording.

You pull him into you, letting him cry into your shoulder as you pet his hair, holding him tightly to comfort him

“Shhh, Eddie, nooo,” you speak low next to his ear. “You’re not to blame for what happened. You were a victim, too, Eddie. There isn’t anything you could have done—”

“If I had just died—if Dustin had just left me there instead of finding Steve and Robin…They-they—”

Eddie starts to hyperventilate. His head lifts from your shoulder as he struggled to get his breath. You jump to your feet and run to the kitchen to grab a paper bag that had been left from the gas station beers. You run back to him and instruct him to breath into it, coaching him to imitate you as you demonstrate taking deep breaths.

After a few minutes, Eddie is able to somewhat calm himself down. Tears still rolling down his cheeks, he leans back into his chair, running his hands over his face and through his hair. You can tell he’s avoiding looking at you. But you’re not sure if its out of shame or if he’ upset with you.

“Eddie?” You ask quietly. He flinches, but slowly lowers his head until he’s facing you, his eyes looking downwards rather than at you. But it’s good enough for you.

“Eddie, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t.” His voice is still wobbly, eyes closing again as he breathes in.

“No, Eddie, you need to listen to me. Okay?”

Eddie looks at you, almost through you, but you take the silence as the signal to continue.

“Eddie…I know it might be hard to understand. But…whatever happened back in March…it’s not your fault.” His eyes shift and he starts to blink rapidly, but he doesn’t speak. “I can understand why you think that your friend is mad at you, but I think you know he’s not. He’s just worried about your other friend, Max. And whatever happened to Max…you didn’t force that monster to do that to her. Nor did you make him hurt the other victims.”

Eddie takes in a sharp breath, coming out haggard as you can tell he’s trying to hold back from crying again.

“And whatever happened to you…” You take his hands in yours, looking at the scared skin that decorates it. You let your hands fall against his thighs, just above where his leg is amputated. “Was not your fault.”

“You’ll never understand,” he says suddenly, catching you off guard. “You don’t know what actually happened.”

“Then, tell me Eddie. Help me understand.”

Eddie’s eyes scan your face. Then his head shakes, his curls whipping around as he does.

“I can’t. Even if I wanted to I…I just can’t.”

You nod, “And that’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. Because I don’t think my mind would change even if I did know.”

“Can I go outside?” He asks, pulling his hands from yours.

“Sure,” you say with a smile. “Maybe we can get you showered and ready for bed after?”

“Yeah, okay,” he says, pushing himself to the door.

“Just hand me the lighter, asshole.”

Gareth’s hand reaches across the coffee table impatiently for Eddie to hand him the bright red lighter after the joint they were passing around had gone out.

“Nope, only people who tell the truth get to use my lighter,” Eddie says holding the lighter to his chest.

“Eddie, don’t press him. He doesn’t want to talk about it,” you say, taking a sip from your concoction of a drink that Grant’s girlfriend, Tina, made for you. You lean into him so that only he could hear you. “How would you feel if someone was pestering Wayne about Ben like that?”

That seemed to shut Eddie up. He finally tossed the lighter to Gareth, who wasted no time in lighting the joint back up.

“So, how did Christmas at the Munson’s go?” Jeff asks, plopping down on the couch next to Eddie, handing him another beer.

“It was, and I am not exaggerating,” Eddie starts with a slight slur of his words, “probably the best Christmas I’ve ever had. Like, this one right here?” He points his thumb to you. “I didn’t think I’d ever know what it feels like to be spoiled, but that’s definitely how she treated me.”

“Wait a second,” you scoff, “I did not spoil you. I just found some things that I thought you’d like and figured I’d get them for you.” You shrug, giving Tina, Grant's girlfriend, a look of feigned innocence as you turned to face her. The two of you had been doing quite a bit of chatting since you arrived, instantly clicking as you two seemed to have a lot in common.

She did ask you how long you and Eddie had been together, however. And you had to awkwardly explain that you were just his caregiver. It made you wonder what Grant had to be telling her about you and Eddie for her to think that the two of you were together.

“Did you get her anything?” Grant asks, nodding to you.

“Of course,” Eddie says with faux offense. “I bought her some of the lotion that she keeps in her bag, some of her favorite snacks, a copy of her favorite movie that she said she lost when she moved, and a study book for school.”

“You also got me a whole box full of snacks,” you say, nudging him.

“That was just because you are constantly talking about how you wish you had this or that when we’re watching a movie or something,”

“Are you sure you are not dating?” Tina leans in and asks you with genuine curiosity.

The guys laugh, but you reassure her that you’re not.

“When you spend as much time together as we do, you tend to pick up on each other’s interests. I’m sure you and Grant are the same way.”

“We are,” she says with an enthusiastic nod, “Because we are dating.”

“Shh, hey, the ball is gonna drop!”

The small TV in Grant’s living room shows that only 15 seconds remain until the ball is about to drop. You move closer to Eddie to see the TV better, and he wraps an arm around your shoulder to pull you into him.

Everyone’s eyes are on the TV as the countdown begins. As the numbers go down, you rapidly reflect on 1986.

The beginning half of the year seemed uneventful compared to the latter in the grand scheme of things. You recall all the highs and lows that you and Eddie have been in together since you first met, when you realized that what you were feeling was more than it should ever be and how you’ll likely never get the chance to do so.

But you also reflect on the wonderful new friends that you’ve made, including Wayne, who you hoped was having a good night with Ben. And the younger boys, who said they were going to the hospital to spend the new year with Lucas and Max.

Only a few seconds remain, so you turn to face Eddie, whose eyes were still on the small screen. An idea came across your mind. You pucker your lips, gearing up to plant a fat kiss on his cheek once the ball dropped. You were sure we would be embarrassed getting a cheek kiss in front of his friends, but doubted he could keep a grudge long.

As the room cheered at the end of the countdown, you closed your eyes and leaned in.

But you instantly knew something was off once your lips made contact. Instead of the textured skin you were expecting, you felt softness against your lips.

And when you opened your eyes, you were met with chocolate brown ones looking right back at you. Eyebrows raised into bewilderment, it took you a few seconds to process what was happening.

Then it hits you.

You were kissing Eddie. And he wasn't stopping you.

thank you for reading!

a/n: hello! I wanted to make all of the readers of this series aware that I have decided to change up the direction I’m going with it. I feel like I’m straying away from some important elements and I want to try and regroup starting from part 6 and onwards. I plan on keeping some plot points I previously had planned, but they may just be executed differently than I intended. I dont believe the changes will have an affect on the story so far, but still felt that I should mention it.

Again, thank you all for being patient with me and I hope to have the next part out here sooner than later <3

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson st #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #disabled!eddie munson #disabled!eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie st

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venuslarkspur · 2 months ago

Text

Teen Hero Shenanigans

(The Prologue)

Fall Of Girl Wonder

Summary: Your Damian’s Twin Sister who arrived 3 years after your brother, because of your late arrival you’re never excepted to become Robin, until your brother runs away and you volunteer to take his place in his absence, things are going well until Damian returns and you are thrown under the bus completely by being told you can’t be Robin anymore, after bottling up your anger you decide to go solo by running away and stealing a Batgirl costume. But you’re not alone, your sort of boyfriend joins you; which would be okay if it wasn’t your brother’s best friend of all people.

Pairings: Batfam x Batsis (platonic), Jon Kent x reader (romantic). Very bittersweet tbh, you love your bf but you’re also proving your worth to your family.

Notes: Reader and Damian are very on and off but do love each other ofc. (they only really had one another growing up in the league) To clear things up Bruce has a genuine reason for discharging reader of the Robin mantle but that’s an epilogue thing I fear, Reader is 16 so is Jon. I’d give this series maybe a 15+ rating as there will be be some heavy topics involved and some “problematic” language icl. Reader also is closest with Cass and Jason specifically, all of this isn’t at all comic book accurate but does include elements from the comics. (Also very fanony when it’s comes to the Batfam and Superfam) (I don’t own any of the characters this is fan-fiction 💙)

Warnings: Mentions of panic attacks, Damian runs away from home for a bit. Unless count Bruce being a semi shitty father then not a lot of warnings tbh. This is just the epilogue we haven’t even got to the real drama yet. 👏

Words: 1.4k

6 months, 2 weeks and 3 days. That’s how long you’ve held the Robin mantle, you trained none stop before even having volunteered for it. You wondered what your plan even was, as long as Damian had it you couldn’t. Then he ran away and it was all too convenient, you got the mask, the gloves and the cute boy. Were you worried about Damian? Obviously, you had panic attacks about it mid patrol, which meant whatever member of your family that was unlucky enough to be awake at that time, had to take your shift. You knew Barbara and Tim would track him eventually and were doing everything in their power, but that didn’t ease your worry, you even considered alerting your mother but you knew if she got wind of this she would force you to come back with her for your own safety, and you didn’t feel like going to back the small, sad, isolated girl you were before.

You had also gotten closer to Jon Kent, a best friend of your brother. In truth, you are immediately lovesick, so was he. But it came as a bit of bittersweet shock to you both that over your course of searching for Damian you had given up along the way and became invested in one another. Eventually it become so much more than just a mutual love for Damian, soon the Damian questions become You questions. Things progressed quickly, it went from “Do you think my brother is close by?” to “My dad and siblings aren’t home, do you wanna come over?” He makes it over every time, Alfred knows and you know that he knows. You begged him not to tell your father or anyone for that matter, he respected your decision to wait for the right time but would occasionally come in asking if you wanted anything. (You know it’s a ploy to check on you two) Clark and Lois 100% know and they approve but have been sworn to secrecy by you, you weren’t ashamed; of course not. It’s just that if you told even just one of your siblings, knowing them they would spill and accidentally tell another one of your siblings until the cycle continues and eventually reaches Damian. Though you were sure Cass already knew and you suspected Jason was catching on, but you weren’t even surprised that he was beginning to find out. He knew you well, after a good three years spending time and training with him and his group of people it became hard to keep secrets, although your weird duo did start off as a result of you being upset and jealous of Damian’s close relationship with Dick, you’re sure you’d still pick being Jason’s dysfunctional- unofficial sidekick.

As for Cass you knew there was a mutual appreciation for the fact you were both less outnumbered in terms of Bruce’s female children, sure Barbara was like an older sister to you and she always supported you over the com line on missions. But it wasn’t the same as having an actual sister, but it was unusual to call any of them your siblings, not just Cass. It took a while but the first time you remember calling one of them your brother or sister was when Dick had to come all the way and pick you up from school because of a “skiing accident” with your father, you knew immediately something must of happened because Alfred was always on time to get you, So when Dick came along you told your teacher your brother was here to pick you up instead, she waved you goodbye and as you entered the car you noticed the slight grin of his face, looking like he wanted to tease you, but he knew you weren’t so like Damian and wouldn’t even deny accepting him as a brother. You adapted much quicker than Damian, even if you have to get used to having 5 more siblings from now. (Yes I included Duke. <3)

—————————

It was the start of Christmas month and you were just doing your rounds with Stephanie and Barbara around the mall, Steph had gotten distracted a couple of times whilst window shopping but you and Barb managed to tug her along. You were nervous as your 16th birthday was also approaching, Jon had already turned 16 and you got to see him on his birthday; by masking it as going on patrol. It was fun but the question was popped at the party on when you were planning on telling your family about your relationship, you tensed up but luckily Lois took your side and encouraged you to tell Bruce and the rest when you were ready. This is why you like her. But right now you couldn’t think of that, you had to look for a present for Jon without being suspected.

Luckily Barbara had gone in the nearby cafe to get you guys some drinks, but that still left you with Steph. Maybe if you played it calm she wouldn’t even notice, so you started searching around looking at stuff and you thought that maybe you were safe. “Whatchu got there?” She bubbled, you took about a 5 foot jump backwards before blushing intensely. “Nothing.” You said calmly whilst shoving the item back on the shelf, she put her hand on her chin as if she was inspecting you. “Sooo who’s the lucky guy then? Or girl.” She smirked, “There’s no use lying is there?” You asked, “Absolutely not, so spill.” She leaned in and studied your face, “I can’t tell you who, but I’ve been seeing someone and before you ask I’m not in any trouble.” You confess, she shrugs as if wanting to ask more; but Barbara called out to you both drinks in hand, you swiftly looked back at Steph just for her to do a zipping motion with her lips, which satisfied you enough. “What have I missed?” Barb asked, you let out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding in and spoke up. “Well I was just wondering-“ You were cut of by a notification sound on Barbara’s phone, “We need to get back to the manor, now.” She said without a hint of warmth in her voice in order to calm you. What has happened now? You had quickly all changed into costume, excepting the worst.

——————————

You hastily made you way through the manor, Steph and Barbara in tow. Tim was waiting at the entrance to the kitchen and he tried to stop you, “Hey-don’t go in yet-“ you shrugged him off and continued on and Barbara eyed him suspiciously. You wished that you had waited, you weren’t prepared to see your newly found twin brother sitting on one of the stools with an ice pack above his brow, deep cuts layered across his arms and bruises across his neck. He must of put up a good fight against which ever one of your siblings found him, you assumed it was Dick as he was in costume and had slashes of his own. Alfred sat next to him, tending to his wounds whilst your father was stood next to him; checking out the marks Alfred wasn’t attending to, the room had now fell silent as everyone had now realised how awkward it was for Damian to see his twin sister in a Robin get up, this is the worst. You simply only stared into each other’s matching green eyes until you made the first move, you ran over and collapsed into him, giving him a bone crushing hug, he sat all tensed up before slowly returning the hug. “I’m sorry brother-I-I just.” Tears welled down your face before you threw off your mask and let it land on the other side of the room, you had never felt so relieved and guilty at the same time.

——————————

That night you stayed with your brother as long as possible, you had so many questions but right now you just wanted to embrace his return. Since it was an uncomfortable situation for everyone, most of the family decided to stay the night. You had crossed paths with Jason mid kitchen trip and he checked in on you first, but you couldn’t pin why it felt like he was holding something in. “You know you could forget all about this Girl Wonder thing and just join me, like old times.” He proposed, you looked at him puzzled. “By old times you mean a couple months ago? Also why are you asking me this? did something happen?” You questioned but watched as he couldn’t meet your gaze, “Bruce wants to see you downstairs, but you don’t have to go-“ “Okay fair enough, I’ll go see him now.” You interrupted and walked past him and ignored his muffled rejections, as you were now approaching the main office.

You should have listened to Jason, you should have gone with him. You’d regret not listening to him.

————————————

“Good news, you can put away the Robin costume for good now.”

————————————

Taglist: @waterwyne @venusmorning

(Part 1 is out!)

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ezher · 9 months ago

Note

OMG IM SO GLAD SOMEONE WRITES MALE READER I BE STRUGGLING TO FIND THEM

can I request the sbg crew with a big brother figure who's like a year or two older then them?

Have a great day 💖

Father Hen

Gender: Male

Genre: Fluff with angst

Summary: a daily life with m/n who has to take care of his juniors!

Additional details: M/n has a license and rides a motor.

Warnings: Character death(the reader),swearing, also not really character death he “dies” in phantom world

A/n: I hope i made it to your liking (TvT)

—————————————

The first time the crew met m/n was when he volunteered to keep in watch of a group during their trip in savannah. He heard that they’ll give extracurricular points to whoever volunteers, he didn’t hesitate volunteering. And so he introduced himself to them.

It would be a lie if he said he didn’t have a fun time. They went to all kind of attractions and tried some local foods, he insisted on paying the food despite being almost broke. Though sometimes he had to deal with Aiden wandering around unconsciously. He had to keep him on guard because he might get lost. Another is that Tyler and Aiden keeps bickering with eachother.

Now to the sorrel weed house, he noticed how off Ashlyn acted. Constantly covering her ears and she looked tense. Out of instincts he went and asked her if she’s alright, she was about to reply when she looked horrified while looking behind him. He looked back and immediately looked away, wtf was that thing?!

Ashlyn seemed shock when she noticed he can also see it. He was about to question her when Logan looked scared and told us to look from behind. He did and boy..when I tell you that thing’s mouth stink as hell. Once it moved he quickly pushed Ashlyn behind me before it felt like the world shifted and it disappeared. He didn’t notice the throbbing pain in his arm and worried about Ashlyn more. After that they left the house and went to the motel they were assigned to go after.

He thought he was just hallucinating until I woke up to screaming from the girl’s ran and quickly ran over there. That thing was back and it tried to attack them. They formed a plan before quickly distracting the monster so that the others can escape in time to the next room. The monster was catching up to him before Ashlyn told him to move away and shoved the cart to it, Aiden being the maniac he is picked a spray bottle before spraying it.

That kid was playing with death because he suggested that they can probably fight them all. The whole situation was a mess and stressful, Tyler had an outburst after because Ashlyn didn’t tell the others about it. His hand was throbbing in pain from before but thankfully Ben knew how to patch people up because of Aiden, not much of a surprise..

Ashlyn suggested that they should take turns on keeping the place guarded, m/n being the responsible person he is suggested he should go first so that they can sleep. He was a bit surprised when everyone gathered around him and slept beside or on him. Said that they can sleep better knowing someone can protect them.

When he woke up he expected to wake up with everyone surrounding him but he was on the bed in the motel, in his room with Logan,Tyler,and Ben. Immediately he felt dizzy and vomited in the bathroom, not good..

He lied to the teachers that it was probably something they ate yesterday and went back home. He thought it was just gonna be a one time thing until it happened again but he woke up in his bed. After that he confronted the group about it and got added into a gc so that they could communicate better.

Slowly he started hanging out with them more, often at lunch or study sessions with them. Considering he’s in a higher grade he won’t be in the same classes with them but him and the others make an effort to meet up. As harsh to admit but the group was much more fun to hang out instead of the group with kids in his age. And although he felt like a mother Hen taking care of it’s chicks. He enjoyed their company nonetheless.

The group warmed up to him and often call him “brother/big bro” as a joke since he’s older. They would often go to him to either hang out,annoy him,or rant to him about their problems. Even though he’s older, they get protective tendencies with him. So does he, mess with him then you mess with the group as well. One time when he found out Logan was getting bullied by Barron, he got suspended because he decided to beat the shit out of Barron. The group visited him at his house to hang out with him.

He love those idiots and they love him. He’d do anything to protect them, heck even if he risks his life. They matter to him more than anything, and he can’t fathom what would happen if they get hurt. But…it’s also a problem for him.

‘Fuck it’s catching up, at this point it will get us..!’ He thought while riding his motorcycle, he watched the jeep infront of him trying to lose the centipede phantom. He looked to his right and noticed deserted field with large rocks ‘That’s it!’

He quickly sped his motor up and caught up with the others before driving beside Ashlyn who looked scared and worried “Ashlyn i need you to keep moving forward, don’t look back!”

Ashlyn looked at him with confused and worried eyes “What? Why-what about you?!”

“Just keep going, I’ll catch up!” He slowed his motor and went to the deserted filled before trying to catch the phantom’s attention using his motor “HEYYYY, OVER HERE!!! RIGHT HERE, COME AND GET ME FAT ASS UGLY SHIT!!!”

The others looked at m/n with worry in their eyes, Taylor tried to persuade Ashlyn to go back for him and convince him to with them instead. Ashlyn stayed quiet, not bothering to wipe her tears as she watch m/n basically doing some that is considered suicide. Tyler and Ben had to hold Taylor so that she won’t try and get out of the moving vehicle. Ashlyn watch from the back view mirror as m/n hurriedly drives away with the centipede running after him. Logan watched with horror in his eyes as he watch a friend he considers as a brother, deal with a phantom centipede on his own with a high possibility that he’ll die.

“M/N, M/N PLEASE RESPOND TO US!!!” Taylor shouted, currently the others were in the deserted filled looking for m/n. Aiden looked at Ashlyn who looked worried and guilty, guilty because she abandoned m/n despite yelling her to never look back.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s fine.” Aiden tried to comfort her until he heard Taylor let out a worried call for m/n and running to a direction. The others watch in horror by the scene, m/n covered by rocks probably because of the phantom. His head was bleeding, he was bleeding everywhere. His eyes looked lifeless, body was limp with no sign of movement at all. The others snapped back to reality before helping Taylor move the rocks from m/n. Ben hurriedly tried and patch up m/n before he could lose any more blood. He checked for a pulse, it was faint but still there they still had a ch-

Seven hours was up and everyone hurried looked at m/n whose eyes were wide, iris was block and his body was shaking and trembling like he was having a seizure. They quickly informed their parents and took him to the hospital where they treated him.

A few hours went by and the others were worried, Ashlyn had explained the situation to his dad and the other parents. The other parents had a hard time believing but due to how serious and angry Tyler & Taylor looked like when they yelled at them, they decided to believe them. They were discussing what they should do to help them until they heard nurses scurrying into the lobby.

“I need to and find-guys!” M/n yelled at the group, Taylor being the first one to stand up and tackled him into a hug. The others following suit, Taylor cried the most. Ashlyn cried too which was surprising but m/n quickly comforted her. He stood up and noticed that m/n’s parents was there looking-well..glaring at him.

He walked towards them before looking at the ground in shame, he was about to apologize until his father engulfed him in a hug “You should’ve told us..we would never judge you.”

His mother following suit “Oh my sweet boy, you must’ve been so scared and afraid..”

He sniffled before breaking down, allowing him to release all the pressure and stress he’s been holding up throughout the situation. All they had to do now was deal with the phantoms..

#school bus graveyard #sbg #school bus graveyard x reader #school bus graveyard x male reader #sbg x reader #sbg x male reader #ashlyn banner x reader #ashlyn banner x male reader #aiden clark x reader #aiden clark x male reader #ben clark x reader #ben clark x male reader #tyler hernandez x reader #tyler hernandez x male reader #taylor hernandez x reader #taylor hernandez x male reader #logan fields x reader #logan fields x male reader

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fluentmoviequoter · 3 months ago

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Fit Into the Family

Requested Here!

Pairing: Dominique Luca x fem!teacher!reader

Summary: After hearing all about you, Luca's team gets to meet you and learns that you're perfect for Luca.

Warnings: banter, fluff!!

Word Count: 1.3k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Luca Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“… and she planned a week to talk about law enforcement,” Luca adds, barely stopping to breathe as he brags about you, his girlfriend.

“Where does she teach?” Tan interrupts.

“This district,” Luca says before telling his team about the school and class you instruct.

Hondo and Deacon feel like they know you because of how much Luca talks about you. He’s shown them a few pictures, too, but SWAT is a family, and any significant other, neighbor, or blood family is part of their team. So, Tan and Street have been working together to trick Luca into introducing you.

“Friday night dinner is after her big week,” Street points out.

“We could finally meet her,” Hondo agrees. “Put a face to her name, my man.”

��Hiding her won’t work forever.”

“Besides,” Deacon says with a smile. “You just told us where she works.”

“I haven’t mentioned bringing her to dinner next week because I had a better idea,” Luca counters, clapping his hands as he looks between his teammates and his brothers. “Law enforcement week needs law enforcement officers-“

“I’m in,” Street interrupts, raising his hand as he volunteers.

“Let him finish,” Hondo chides. “But we’re all in.”

“She’d like to have us come in whenever we have some time to talk to the kids about what police officers do,” Luca continues. “But I want you to meet her first; come by the house or something and talk.”

“Does she know about this?” Deacon asks.

“It was her idea,” Luca admits, his smile brightening at the mere thought of you. “She knows how much my SWAT family means to me; she’s been asking to meet you all for a while, even before she needed a favor.”

“We don’t work for free,” Street jokes. “I need at least one of those kids to tell me I’m the coolest cop he’s ever met.”

“Lying is frowned upon in this classroom, Streeter.”

“Guys, guys,” Hondo calls over a chuckle. “We’d love to meet her, and you know we’re more than down to talk to the kids. I mean, it’s why Deacon took this job.”

“That and the free coffee,” Deacon agrees playfully.

“Your house on Saturday?” Tan asks Luca.

“Yeah. Bring your best attitudes and smiles,” Luca encourages.

“You know Street and Tan aren’t going to stop talking about this until then, right?” Hondo asks quietly.

“Should’ve saved the invite for Friday at end of shift,” Luca mumbles.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” you ask Luca as he stirs a pot on the stove. “I feel like I’ve just been standing here, and not that I don’t love the view, but put me to work, babe.”

“Keep calling me babe and I’ll tell the guys never mind and keep you to myself for the day,” Luca answers, extending his arm toward you.

He circles his arm around your waist and pulls you against his side after you move toward him. You smile and kiss his cheek, excited to meet his team but content to stay with him.

“They already agreed to talk to the kids, so don’t worry about anything other than being yourself,” Luca tells you. “Your beautiful, amazing, talented self.”

“You keep talking like that and I’ll let you cancel.”

Luca steps away from the stove, pulling you with him as he kisses you. Just as you pull back, someone knocks on the door. While Luca goes to let his team in, you straighten your outfit and follow him toward the entryway.

“Where is she?” Street asks as he pushes past Luca. When he sees you, his eyes widen as he smiles. “Hi! I’m Jim Street. Luca has told me so much about you!”

“He’s told me about you, too,” you reply. “All of you, actually.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Ignore him,” another man encourages. He steps inside and knocks your hand out of the way to hug you rather than shake your hand. “I’m Hondo.”

“Luca failed to mention you were a hugger,” you murmur as you return the greeting.

“Luca’s a hugger too, it’s probably something he doesn’t notice,” the man you recognize from pictures as Deacon muses.

You separate from Hondo and look at the men gathered before you. After introducing yourself, you accept hugs from each of them as Luca returns to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on lunch. You slowly follow him as you talk to Deacon and Hondo, who make a conscious effort to mess with Street by not letting him get a word in.

“What made you want to be a teacher?” Tan asks.

“Honestly, I always wanted to be one,” you answer. “I guess there wasn’t any one thing, just a love for kids and appreciation for giving them the education they deserve.”

“That’s amazing,” Deacon responds. “My kids have had a few good teachers over the years and they still talk about them.”

“I love working with the age I do, it’s fun to see them dream big and rewarding to encourage them that those dreams can be reached.”

“Do any of the boys want to be police officers?” Street asks quickly, pointing at Hondo.

“One of them definitely does!” you tell him. “His name is Kyle, and he wants to be an officer, another one wants to be a commissioner, which… I don’t know where that came from but he’s got the skills to do it.”

“Only one? I was hoping to be a hero for all the kids in the class.”

“You only asked about the boys,” you whisper as you step around him to help Luca set the table.

“No way!” Street cheers.

“Go sit down,” Luca groans.

“I’ll help him,” Deacon assures you. “I’m glad we finally got to meet you.”

“You, too. Thanks, Deacon. Thank you all for agreeing to come by for law enforcement week,” you tell Hondo, Street, and Tan as you sit at the table. “And for being so great to Luca, of course.”

“We’re family,” Hondo says. “That includes you, too.”

“No!” Street yells as they return to HQ. “After Emma asked about being nice to people who might do the wrong thing, she said that I was one of the nicest officers she’d met!”

“And she told Kyle that Hondo had an important job because he was the leader of a team,” Tan counters. “She was nice to all of us.”

“Because she’s great,” Deacon tells Luca. “And perfect for you.”

“Man, if she can keep those kids sorted, she’s perfect for Luca,” Hondo taunts, tapping his shoulder against Luca’s.

“I’ve never seen two people more perfect for each other, besides Annie and me, of course,” Deacon adds.

“What are you yelling about?” Rocker inquires. “Raid go wrong?”

“No, Rocker,” Street sighs. “You wouldn’t understand because your team didn’t just get a new member. A perfect, kind, educated member.”

Rocker shrugs in confusion, and Hondo explains, “Luca’s girlfriend had us talk to her class yesterday.”

“Fifteen dollars she uses the now, was that kind? voice when Luca yells at Duke,” Tan exclaims.

Luca shakes his head and asks, “All of this means you like her?”

“Like her?” Hondo repeats. “She might get your spot on our next night out.”

“Welcome to the club,” Deacon grumbles. "He'll never stop now, Luca."

“Luca, I think I found something of yours,” Hicks calls.

The team turns to face him, and you wave from Hicks's side.

“She can wait in my office until you’re done here.”

“I get it!” Luca yells, amused and grateful for the acceptance you’ve received. “She’s perfect and you like her, but I love her, and she loves me. Maybe we’ll visit her class again for career day.”

Street gasps and asks, “Will Marcie’s baker mom be bringing proof of her career?”

“You could just come to my place next time I bake,” you respond with a shrug.

“On that note,” Luca interrupts, steering you away from his team as they yell to tell you that they’re glad to see you again.

#dominique luca x fem!reader #dominique luca x reader #dominique luca #luca x reader #swat cbs #swat x reader #fem!reader #requests #hanna writes✯

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ballroamblitz · 1 year ago

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caramel pie | J.P

summary: james smells caramel pie on the amortentia potion

james potter x fem!reader

word count: 3.750 content: teeth rotting fluff, angst warnings: crying, reader blushes notes: one thing about me is i love me some amortentia fic with a side of james fluff ughh also i listened to glue song by beabadoobee while writing this :) p.s i accidentally posted this on my side acc so if anyone wanna be mutuals my main blog is @beastofbrden :)

- Someone please, kindly remind me why I decided that continuing Herbology after the O.W.Ls was a good idea? - Y/N huffed out, sitting at the Gryffindor table for lunch.

The four boys sitting around her laughed.

- Learned a lot today, uh? - Sirius asked, ironically.

- Oh yeah, loads! We had to feed toad flesh to those terrible toad-eating plants. For some reason, mine just didn't feel like eating it without regurgitating it all back on me!

The boys went hysterics, and even the girl couldn't help but laugh along.

- There's still a little piece there - James pointed. - Here, let me take it out for you.

He took out a small chunk of toad flesh off her hair.

- Well, may I remind you, Y/N, that no one told you to keep up with Herbology. We all dipped from it while we could and no one else has pieces of toad on our hair - Sirius noted, clearly getting a good laugh out of the girl's toad disaster.

- I just didn't want to hurt Sprout's feelings!

She sighed and brushed her hair with her fingers, only then looking at the food in front of her.

- Merlin, I'm starving! Could eat anything right now.

- Even toad? - Remus joked, sending the group on another laughing crisis.

By the time of dessert, Y/N started scanning the table for something. Clearly not finding it, her panic started showing.

- Oh no. Where's the caramel pie?

- They didn't serve any today - James replied, needing all the strength on his body to stay deadpanned. The other three boys were deep in conversation, and him being the one sitting closer to Y/N (as always) only he noticed the girl's agitation.

- What??? What do you mean they didn't serve any? In the six years I've been here they never not served it and I can't believe they chose today to…

- I'm just joking - James pulled a plate that was hidden behind the steak pudding, smiling playfully at the girl - Saved it for ya.

- James! I would go mad if they stopped serving this pie, y'know! - she let out a relieved breath.

- Nah, don't worry. They will keep serving it, or I would fight the elfs for ya.

- One day I’ll hide your figgy pudding, then we’ll see.

- You wouldn’t dare, missy.

James watched with a soft look on his eyes as the girl took the first bite of her favorite dessert.

- Thank you for saving me a piece, Jamie - she leaned her head on his shoulder for a moment to show gratitude. When she got closer, he smelled the vanilla scent of her hair and the caramel pie on her lips.

After lunch, the five went straight to Slughorn's classroom.

- Good evening, dears, good evening! Now if you could get up and get closer, I want to show you something!

The whole class shifted near the table Slughorn was sitting behind.

- Here, we have a very special potion. - He pointed towards a bubbling caldron full of a crystal clear liquid - Very tricky to make, very characteristic and perhaps one of the most dangerous we can brew. Can anyone tell me it's name?

Y/N's hand rose in the air.

- Yes, ms. Y/L/N.

- It's Amortentia, or simply the love potion. Since true love can't really be produced by any sort of magic, it causes more of a crush or an obsession.

- Correct. Ten points to Gryffindor! - Slughorn smiled.

- Nerd - James whispered, messing up Y/N’s hair.

- Sod off, Potter.

- You see, one of the most intriguing things about Amortentia is its scent. Everyone smells something different, because its scent is completely dependent on what each person feels personally attracted to. Now, who wants to come forward and tell me what it smells like?

No one volunteered. No wonder, since it's a very particular thing to simply say in front of a whole classroom.

- No one? I'll pick someone then. Let me think... - Slughorn scanned the faces around. - Ah! Mr. Potter, you will do.

James was caught by surprise. He had been distracted by the warmth radiating off Y/N, that was almost resting her head on his chest.

- Me? - he asked and pointed towards himself.

- Of course you! Is there any other Mr. Potter?

The whole class laughed as James stepped closer, his signature boyish grin splashed on his face.

- Now Mr. Potter, lean in and smell the potion.

James ran his hands through his hair and did as told. One single sniff and his smile fell off his face completely. The scent was unmistakable: vanilla and caramel pie. Vanilla body cream, caramel pie for dessert, everyday. He had the urge to see if Y/N wasn't standing next to him, but he knew she hadn't moved from across the table. He knew he had to lie. If he said what it smelled like to him, everyone would know it was Y/N's smell.

- So, Mr. Potter. Whenever you are ready to share.

He looked at where Y/N was. She was looking at him, just as well as everyone else. She looked relaxed, the potion's glow making her look specially pretty, angel-like. Think of something, fast. Something not at all related to what you are really smelling, something like...

- It’s wood and broomstick polisher.

- Very well then Mr. Potter. Looks like you've got a thing for Quidditch, uh?

The class laughed, and everyone looked convinced. James Potter, Quidditch captain, smelling broomstick polisher and wood? Fitting. James high-fived himself for his quick thinking, and let out a relieved sight. Now, no one would go around thinking the wrong things.

Later that night, in the common room, however, the potions class was almost burning a hole through James' head. Slughorn said Amortentia smelled of what attracted each person the most. Attraction was romantic, sexual attraction. But Slughorn had been pretty vague, hadn't he? He could've meant attraction in any context. It could mean anything. It could mean platonic love, right? If Slughorn didn't think much of James smelling Quidditch, it probably meant it could smell of anything the person liked a lot, right? But it was a love potion. That caused passion. And Slughorn said he had a thing for Quidditch. A thing. But he didn't have a thing for Y/N! He loved her, of course. Everyone knew she was his best friend, they did everything together and she was probably his favorite person in the world. Yeah, maybe he went to extreme lengths to see her happy, and yeah, maybe he was a bit too affectionate with her, but she was his best friend.

- Can't do homework anymore. - James was ripped off his thoughts by Y/N's presence. She threw her backpack at the ground in front of the sofa he was in and layed down - My brain feels like mush.

James looked at her. Her head was resting on his lap, and she looked extremely comfortable. That was obvious, since they always had been this affectionate towards each other. They both were very touchy people, and it felt natural to be in constant physical contact. James was always happy, eager even, to be like this with her. In a platonic way. Obviously. Today, however, her skin on his felt like it burned.

- How was it? - James asked, coughing to conceal the way his voice failed a bit in the first word.

- Homework? Awful. It's not that difficult, but it's too much. And it just seems pointless, you know? What will I actually learn from writing 19 inches about toad eating plants? Nothing, I tell you what! - The girl sighed and closed her eyes again - Just wanna go to sleep, really.

He didn't know what to answer. He normally would have made a joke about the plants, added more criticism about essays or something. But he didn’t even do his homework, with how paranoid he was. For the first time ever, he was completely speechless in her presence. Her eyelashes were resting peacefully on her pink cheeks. The light from the fireplace made her skin look more flushed, and her hair had a golden glow to it. She looked awfully pretty. James knew that, of course. She had always been pretty. But tonight.. when she moved her head a little bit, he smelled the amortentia smell. Vanilla and caramel pie, just as strong as it was that afternoon.

- You are way too quiet today, Jamie. - She opened her eyes and he felt something weird in the pit of his stomach - Ate too much pudding?

- Yeah, probably.

She stretched and yawned, sending another wave of vanilla and caramel pie to James' nostrils.

- Going to bed - she got up. Her hair was messy and the light from the fireplace behind her looked like a halo. - Night, Jamie.

She lowered herself and pecked his cheek lightly.

- Sleep well - her soft voice was way too close to his ear, turning James' legs into jelly.

He watched her going up the stairs to the dormitory, and the place she had kissed burned long after she was gone.

He had no reason to be this nervous for the potions class the next morning. Slughorn had already moved on from amortentia, since it was a difficult, dangerous and time-consuming potion to make, but James was half hoping the potion would be brought up again, and half hoping everyone would collectively forget about it completely. Slughorn didn't mention the potion again, moving on directly to Felix Felicis. He watched the whole class on the edge of his seat. He had decided he would ask the teacher about the potion just to calm himself down. Just to make sure. Everyone had been really concentrating on making the best draught of living death the whole period, but James just wanted the class to end so he could ask Slughorn and stop eating himself alive.

- Alright, alright. Congratulations mr. Snape on your draught. Truly outstanding! - Slughorn said, raising a round of applause - Class dismissed!

Everyone started to gather their backpacks and leave, but James made sure to stay back. He pretended to be very interested in a weird type of algae that Slughorn kept in a little ampoule. Just a few more moments and then he'll say that no, I don't have romantic feelings for Y/N and that i just really like caramel pie or something, and then i'll stop going mental...

- Gillyweed. - Slughorn’s voice dragged James off of his daydreams

- Uh? - James frowned in confusion, wondering what the teacher was talking about.

- The algae you're looking at, Mr. Potter. Gillyweed. Helps the person breathe underwater.

- Oh, yeah, right. Professor Slughorn, I was wondering if I could ask you something.

- Sure, my boy, ask away - Slughorn encouraged while distractingly stacking some parchments.

- I was wondering… about the Amortentia potion.

Slughorn stopped his movements and lifted his eyes directly to James.

- Oh, I see - He looked very amused, for some reason. - What were you wondering?

- Let's just say a friend of mine smells it and it reminds him of someone. It could smell like someone he just truly cares about, couldn't it? Like, it doesn't necessarily mean he's in love with the person that the scent reminds him of, right?

Slughorn's lopsided smile grew bigger.

- I'm afraid, no, my boy.

- What? - James felt like the classroom got three times smaller and hotter by the minute - But I smelled wood and polishing oil, and I'm not in love with a broom, am i?

- Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter... - Slughorn chuckled. - I think we both know you didn't smell any of that.

James felt his face getting warm and red.

- But, if you did, that would mean you have a crush on a Quidditch player, let's just put it like that. Amortentia is a very strong love potion, and we can only smell things in it that romantically attract us very deeply. Those of us that aren't in love with anyone would smell something quite abstract. But if this friend of yours smelled amortentia and recognized the scent as someone's, then boy do I have news for him. Does this answer your question?

- Hm, yeah, sure. - James agreed. He felt like he was gonna fall down from the absurd speed at which his mind was racing. - Thank you, Professor.

- Anytime. - James began to leave, completely out of it. - Oh, and Mr. Potter?

- Yes? - James turned around, hopeful that Slughorn would start laughing and admit he was joking.

- Tell your friend I wish him the best of luck with this new, blossoming love.

As James went out of the classroom and up into the common room, he deeply regretted not stealing that ampoule of gillyweed and swallowing it whole. That way, he could spend the rest of his days in the black lake with the merpeople. I bet amortentia wouldn't smell like anything down there, he thought.

For the rest of the week, James spent every waking hour trying to not think about what Slughorn said and what it meant, and he was succeeding. He kept himself busy with classes, Quidditch and even homework. He also did his absolute best to avoid everyone. He ate before anyone else and made sure he was far away from the great hall by the time he knew Y/N and the rest of the Marauders would go down to eat. In classes, he sat very distant and left early. He even pulled some pranks he didn't even feel like pulling on Filch to get detention in the nights he couldn't schedule Quidditch practices. He walked the halls in the invisibility cloak. Anything to keep his thoughts away from the big fire alarm going off inside his head. The only problem was that he missed Y/N in all of those moments. When he was doing homework, he missed the sound of Y/N's pen scratching the parchment next to him. While he ate, he missed the warmth of her body next to his, the satisfaction humming while she ate her pie . He missed laying down together after homework. He missed seeing her on the stands at practice. He even realized that the real fun in pranks wasn't the actual thing, but to see Y/N laughing hysterically afterwards. To put it quite simply, it felt like he was sleep walking all the time. He couldn’t go on avoiding her forever, but what he was gonna do, he had positively no idea.

Until Friday night.

It was late, and he had been in detention. Filch had made him write “I shall not turn the school’s trophies into pigeons” a hundred times, and his hand was hurting from all the repetitive writing. Normally, he would have complained, but this time, he was glad for the distraction. Enjoying detention, he thought bitterly while crossing the fat lady, I must be really going mad. His grouchy thoughts were interrupted by a sound. It sounded like.. crying. Or better yet, it sounded like someone was sobbing their heart out. He looked around the empty common room, but didn’t see anyone. He followed the sound to the sofa near the fireplace, where he and Y/N always rest after studying. Before you turned into a chicken.

Y/N was laid on the sofa, her face buried in a cushion, her whole body shaking with her sobs. James was flooded with panic.

- Y/N, baby, what happened? - he cooed, his voice altered with anxiety. Y/N never cried, except when something very serious happened.

Y/N looked up like she thought she was seeing visions.

- Jamie? - her voice was soft and shaky, her eyes were puffy and bloodshot red, like she had been crying for multiple hours. The hurt on her eyes broke James’ heart in a thousand pieces.

His mind raced with possibilities: maybe someone was mean to her? Maybe someone died? Maybe she was hurt? The thought of her being in pain panicked him even further. He sat down and pushed her into his lap, laying her head on his shoulder.

- Are you hurt, baby? Where does it hurt? Please, tell me.

She cried violently on his shoulder. He inspected her legs for bruises, but she seemed well physically.

- Y/N, tell me what’s wrong, I can’t stand to see you like this - he begged. - Did someone hurt you?

The question seemed to trigger something on the girl, because suddenly she was on her feet, out of his arms.

- Did someone hurt me? Seriously? - the tears streamed down her face, but her eyes glimmered with something new: anger.

James was confused, to say the least. He noticed that she was wearing one of his old sweaters, one that had vanished from his suitcase a few weeks ago.

- Baby...- he begged some more.

She looked as if he had twisted a knife on her wound.

- Don’t you dare “baby” me, James. Not after ignoring me like the plague for a whole week!

Oh. Oh. James had been so involved with his own confusion regarding the amortentia incident that he forgot almost completely that Y/N didn’t know what he was doing, or why. She was crying because he hurt her feelings. That was a lot worse than if she was crying because of another person: he could’ve gone out to kick said jerk’s ass. But if he hurt her, what was he supposed to do? Punch himself?

-Y/N - he cooed, apologetically. - Y/N, I…

She showed him her palm, urging him to stop talking.

- You don’t have to explain wanting to be away from me. I’m sure you had your reasons. But you could have at least told me that you wanted some space from me, or something, because I’ve been miserable, and…

She thought he wanted space from her. The sorrowful shaky breath that escaped her lips mid-sentence threw him over the edge.

- No, no, no… - he repeated while pushing her back into his lap - Oh my god, Y/N, no…

He caressed her hair while she sobbed violently on his shoulder. Her fists were closed tightly on his shirt, her tears dampened his neck, and he couldn’t recall the last time his heart ached this badly.

- Did I do something? Did I bother you? I’m so sorry.. - she whispered softly, like she was voicing what had been repeating in her head over and over again during the last few days. Her words were laced with anger, resentment, but, above all, hurt. He wanted to double over in pain.

- Listen - James lifted her chin up gently, forcing her to look into his eyes. - I’m the one who’s sorry.

The tears kept coming, but she was listening.

- I shouldn’t have avoided you last week, and it’s not your fault, okay? It’s my fault. I’m the one who got scared.

She looked confused.

- Scared? Of me?

James would have to confess what happened at Slughorn’s class. He had given zero thought about his messy feelings, and even though unraveling them in front of Y/N scared him endlessly, he would have to do it, because he could never let her think that he wanted space from her. That he wanted anything but to be close to her, at all times, if he could.

- Please - she asked, incisively, noticing his wariness. - Tell me.

He took a deep breath, feeling vulnerable, raw. As if he would undress himself fully in front of her.

- Remember Slughorn’s class about amortentia? - Y/N nodded, encouraging him to move on - He asked me to smell it, right, and I…

- You said it smelled like broom polisher.

- Well, yes. But I lied. - he decided to avert his gaze to the ceiling, or else he would never talk. - It was caramel pie and vanilla cream. So, I smelled… you.

Silence. A moment, two. He couldn’t muster the courage to look at the girl. He felt her hand grazing his cheek, urging him to look at her..

- Jamie… - She looked wonderstruck, and his heart seemed like it wanted out of his chest - Really?

- Really.

James was sure he’d never seen something as beautiful as Y/N after his response. She was smiling the biggest, most shiny smile he had ever seen on her face. Her eyes shined like gemstones at him, so soft he wanted to cry.

- Do you want to know what I smelled? - she asked, soft as a feather.

His heart somersaulted when she brought her face closer to the side of his neck. She whispered on his ear:

- I smelled… - She sniffed his neck once - Sandalwood - another sniff, followed by a chuckle - Broomstick polisher…

She distanced herself, looking deep into his eyes.

- And homework parchment. And fireplace naps. And figgy pudding.

His heart was hammering against his ribcage. Y/N smelled him. On the amortentia potion. Him.

- Y/N - James whispered, all warm and fuzzy on the inside. - Really?

She didn’t answer, just grabbed his hand, the warmth and softness of her skin overwhelming his senses. Placed his hand on top of the point of her chest where her heart was. Through the fabric of his shirt, he could feel her heart beating faster than a hummingbird's. She never unglued her soft eyes from his.

She likes him. Suddenly, all the thoughts he had been avoiding throughout the week came crashing down on him, like a dam.

James was an affectionate friend. He liked physical touch. But he never liked it half as much as he did with her. James was a thoughtful friend. He remembered things about his friends. But he remembered every single thing about her. He was a sensitive friend. He hated to see his friends suffering. But every time he saw her cry, it was like his heart was being crushed. James was an attentive friend. He loved spending time with friends. But when he was away from her, he couldn’t even function properly, like he was missing one half of him. Y/N is his best friend. But she is more, too. He loves her. But there’s something else: he is in love. Amortentia never lies, after all.

When his hands tangled on Y/N’s hair, he smelled vanilla cream. When he kissed Y/N’s lips, he tasted caramel pie.

#james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter fluff #amortentia #the marauders x reader #the marauders era #the marauders #fluff #harry potter imagine

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