#would talk your ear off about how OIL PAINTING it is | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

2demondogs · 5 months ago

Note

With Chrismas around the corner (not really but basically), i would love an Arthur x GN!reader where Arthur proposes to reader for Chrismas and they obviously say yes because, well, it's Arthur, who wouldn't?

Anon did you read my mind. I was just thinking about proposal fics when you sent this ask because I have yet to stumble on one somehow... I'm sorry this took forever btw T-T

Shoutout to my platonic boyfriend for helping me with ideas because I got writer's block <3

Words: 3k oh my good lord Tags: canon divergence (it's just people leaving the gang a chapter early), Arthur does not have tuberculosis, INSTANT spoilers for character death, cheesy shit

It's been too long, you're realizing, since holidays like Christmas felt like special things. There is a double-edged feel to this one — it is the first since Hosea's death, since leaving the gang — but it is the first, in a very long time, that you've spent in the so-called right way: in a warm house with four solid walls and someone you love, how those fanciful books Mary-Beth used to talk your ear off about always wrote.

The house is warm enough, anyways.

There's work that needs done on the cabin. Some of the wood is rotting out and chipped at the corners, forming into sharp splinters that you've brushed against one too many times, but it is a house. You haven't had this pleasure since before joining the gang.

Sometimes, with how content Arthur seems at baseline, you wonder if he's had this pleasure since early childhood. On quieter evenings, ones less reserved for happiness than this one, there has been clipped discussion about how Arthur has never had domesticity like this. Silently, it was an admission of how good it is to share this freshness with you.

During a ride into town, he'd admitted that he had never picked up painting because it was the sort of thing only steady folks got to enjoy. You'd gotten him a set of oil paints when no one was looking — he's worth much more than a few measly dollars, but that means little if you haven't got them to begin with. Some habits die hard; he was happy you remembered what he'd said only a few hours before.

Come the new year, Arthur plans to find work that will pay. New things are a luxury neither of you care much to indulge in, but the repairs will take lumber and maybe a few extra hands. Ones with more expertise, at least, because Arthur's houses usually have not had foundations.

You could simply move now that time has passed, yes. You could find somewhere much farther away, maybe even New York, and pack yourselves in alongside the other sardines bustling about a city, undetectable in uniformity. Shave beards, got jobs, change clothes, cut hair and color it, too, if paranoia strikes— but keeping low to the ground has worked itself out so far, and there is no more of that deathlike stagnation in the air of this place.

Sentimentally, you think this Christmas will seal off whatever makes this cabin yours. Shadows linger, there's been a few odd creaks that've spooked the horses, and maybe it's going to shit a lot quicker than either of you want to admit, but it's your shit-house and the shared stubbornness between you has always brought you nothing but closer to one another.

Arthur is tired of running, and so are you. Last week, he talked about writing to Mary-Beth and Simon, maybe checking if Kieran — the utterance of the man's proper name was a confirmation of the last of that stockholmlike regret having worked out of his system — had broken and followed his little girlfriend. It wasn't said with malice, just some amusement.

"Why do you think he would?" You'd asked.

"Dutch only saves people who don't ask for it," he'd said, and that wistful look in his eyes vanished before you could ask what it meant.

Maybe it's the hard work that makes it feel like a real, true holiday. Pearson and Grimshaw stopped working everyone harder in the winter over the years, once the familial glamour faded with each new addition to the gang. It was no longer a tight-knit group, but a posse, more or less, of runaways and strays all against a big, evil thing like the rest of the world, or whatever it was that Dutch grew to fear.

Since November, Arthur has been saving the best catches to be salted and stored for Christmas dinner. Each addition is cleaner skinned and cut than the last, and the newfound worst of them ended up being ate upon his return from hunting. You've both been saving back herbs since summer, dried and ready to be crumbled into the heated up pot come time for a real feast. Cornbread was made by hand for the first time since you settled down here, drizzled with honey from the general store a ways out.

The latter was Arthur's only specific request for a fancy dinner. If you hadn't gotten him a single gift save for making it, he'd still be happy as a clam.

He's been putting that goddamned honey on everything. You're glad he seems to be enjoying things again, not as tightstrung as he was before you'd made off with him. That's how it feels, anyways, after the long and struggling conversations that were had before the decision was made. Family or life? It's a hard question for someone who has such little concept of either.

Now, the grey hair in his beard is catching the light from the fireplace where he's sat himself on a chair before it. They'd sprouted through the sun-bleached blond atop his head has been looking lighter and lighter in recent months, grey finally catching up to the discoloration and giving him some malcolored sort of tabby look. It's a good one on him, as much as he complains about looking old as dirt and that it's all formed by stress.

For all the lacking color, it adds a ruddy warmth to his face. Daydreams of growing old together find you when you focus on it, or on his wheezing laugh that's gotten worse with the cold weather. Despite the woolen vest he's been sporting, his fingers are as chilled as yours whenever they've brushed. Idly, you wonder if he's gotten whatever Hosea grew into, then remember they were never by blood.

Arthur hadn't wanted you to get him any gifts. When you asked if he would get you something, he'd flushed and changed his mind, apparently already having done it.

Whatever it is, it's good-sized, wrapped in one of the dustcloths you'd gotten him alongside the paints. He's been spending more time painting, lately, tucked in the treeline and looking over the cabin or deeper into the woods, studying something plein air the way those professionals do. He'd propped it against the wall this morning, and once you've settled on the floor before the fireplace — too cold outside not to crowd close to it — after dinner, he looks between you and the cloth like he isn't sure what to do.

"D'you wanna do the honors?" He asks, and grins although the twitch of his eye tells you he's covering timidity with faux cockiness.

"You go ahead," you say, half because he's closer. Tormenting him in small ways must be part of any good gift.

The painting is an image you recognize. A photo that one of the girls took for you months before things went down the hole, using the camera Arthur was loaned by some feller in town who wanted photos taken for a book. He never returned it, and it more or less became something he tucked beneath his cot and let the elements beat around. You can't remember, now, who it was or where he went to get it developed.

The little inkling of pride you felt knowing he kept putting off getting the negatives developed — not enough money, not enough time — yet was gone the next morning to have yours developed returns, now.

It's a much nicer rendition of it, your clothes not dirty and his arm around your waist, the other holding his hat to his chest. It's clear he preferred to give your portrait more detail, his own lagging somewhere behind in clarity and looking closer to the photo. You suppose it's easier to look at someone besides himself, but there's a clearer enjoyment in the lines of you, more care taken in the color mixes.

Ignoring the dense joy of the implications of that, of how obvious it is, proves difficult. Your cheeks twinge some from the wide smile before you realize you're even reacting.

"You'll be a big name someday," you say, and he may as well shrink in on himself beneath the praise, although he's heard it plenty of times before.

"Naw," he waves a hand. "Quit that."

"Really, Arthur." Scooting closer, laying your hands over his knee. He's moving his jaw when your eyes meet his, lays a hand over one of yours, heavy and warm. "It's beautiful. I love it."

"Good," he says. His jaw clicks. "I— uh, I love you."

The hunting knife you got for him seems small, though relatively equal. Arthur looks as pleased as ever studying it, half-mumbling appraisals of yeah, nice and sharp, sturdy to himself that likely would've stayed inside his head, if it weren't for wanting to show you he liked it.

A bone handle, which he feels over with his fingers before noticing it's engraved, fits easy in his palm. You were afraid you push your luck with maintaining its quality too far adding the tiny, vague bear shape next to the deeper cut of his name. Already impressive was the fact that you hadn't ruined it with the letters, being one of your first expeditions into anything of the sort.

"I would've gotten you one of those folding knives," you explain. "But they don't hold up as well, and I know you have one."

The army knife was Hosea's.

"Needed me a new huntin' knife," Arthur says. You know, because he's complained about his current one being close to snapping with all the skinning he does anymore. He squints at the handle, turns it over in the light from the fire. "Did you engrave the handle?"

"Yessir."

He smiles. "It's real nice," he says, pats his palm with the blade softly. It makes a dull noise, sturdy metal on skin. "Why a bear?"

"They remind me of you," you admit. Really, you'd spent a long time considering what else to add, because only his name seemed so plain; although he wouldn't be opposed to flowers or vines, they are a little more intricate than a simplified bear head. "Big and strong. Hairy, too. I'd like to hug one."

He snorts a laugh, but it seems thin. His eyes are fond enough on you that it couldn't be any rejection of your words, and so you brush it off. "You wanna hug a bear?" He asks.

"In a perfect world," you amend. "Don't they look warm?"

"You'd better stick to me," he says, smooths a palm over the thigh of his jeans. The nicest pair he owns, he promised you, because he feels ridiculous in slacks and seems to think you care what he wears.

Beyond thinking everything looks well on him, at least. You often find yourself concerned with that thought.

"I got you somethin' else," Arthur starts, running a finger over the bunched inseam at his own knee. "Well, uh— it's f'both of us, really."

Isn't that intriguing, you think, but your silent, undivided attention seems to make him outright nervous, so you say: "Oh?"

Some conflict happens over his face as he pulls his vest collar away and reaches into the inner pocket, takes out a stack of thin papers that he glances over before apparently relenting to something. Confusion finds you, until he takes a deep breath and holds them towards you.

"Read these," is all he says, and he sounds like it's almost painful.

He's written much, much more than that. Your stomach turns, once or twice, realizing they are pages from his journal. Uncertain why, until the first entries which are skittering on affectionate fade into ones much more flowery. They are all about you, days you'd spent together or times you hadn't, the things you've given him over the years and the things he wished he could've given you.

Each page makes your chest feel tight with a panicked joy, as if his hands were not fiddling with the new knife to occupy — distract? — himself but clenching hard at your heart.

One, near the beginning, says he thought of pickin' a pretty lil' flower, God bless it, I feel ridiculous; on the back of the next is pressed a variegated tulip, crumbling with age but holding firm to whatever adhesive glues it to the paper. Again, that creeping smile, like thyme. Another entry is entirely about your hair, because it had brushed his arm. Only a few sentences made up that page, below the cursive a choppy sketch of your horse.

Certainly, Arthur stays busy in his head. You've always known as much, but never figured any of it was about you. Not like this, anyways, though the dates spread from the week before Blackwater and you can only wonder what laid in that journal he lost before.

"Oh, Arthur," you start, looking up from a third-way through, feeling giddy but not wanting him to watch you so intently while you finish them. No wonder he was shy. It's his heart. "You're so sweet."

"Finish readin' 'em," Arthur says, doesn't meet your eyes at first. When he does, they're gentle. "They get sweeter, y'know, better finish 'em. 'Cause of that."

He is nervous. Hardly moving, besides the tongue running over his teeth beneath his lips, and the rambling every time he opens his mouth. You don't mind, never have. He's endearing like this.

Outings you'd went on infrequently, the dates of his favorites underlined, you're noticing, based on the tone of his words in them; his worries and fears about courting you, and some of what you mean to him though, with its succinctness, you have a feeling he wouldn't dare put all of his genuine love to findable paper; things he likes about you, and one page where he admits that he cannot keep himself from documenting you in every other entry, which tells you this small collection is hardly everything. The previous entries turn over in your mind again, and you are struck on a random page for a moment as their meanings take hold, realizing they were especially sliced from his journal to show you.

The entries leading to the last are what set your mind and pulse ablaze. From the first appearance of the word marriage, you swallowed your idea of what may be coming — Arthur's breathing changing beside you doesn't help any, and it certainly does not help that he leans down once you've reached the last page, plucking it from your hands. Before he does, you notice quite a few crossed out lines, scribbles as if he were frustrated with not being able to find the right words.

"Think I've got the balls on me to read this one aloud, at the very least," he says, voice laced with a chuckle. Breath comes uneasy, but you collect yourself enough to gather the pages back into a neat, ordered stack in your lap. "Unless you'd rather spare me," he adds, nudges your knee with the toe of his shoe.

"No." Your voice sounds strange, even to you. "Do me the honors."

Arthur bites his cheek, nods and lets it fall as he smiles. Still, his hand finds the back of his neck, the page held between two fingers that remain surprisingly steady. The knife lingers in his hand beneath it, and isn't it just like him to propose holding a weapon.

Propose. It takes its first toll on you, rolls over your back in shards of tingling.

"December twenty-fifth, eighteen ninety-nine," he starts, eyes flicking to your face every other word until the intensity of your gaze must make him too anxious. "It's a nice little life, livin' with the one I love," — rubbing his mouth, sighing some — "Jesus, I always gotta be sappy." You laugh, though it comes out more forceful than you intended, and relax some until he continues. "The thought of another day where anythin' could happen 'n' we ain't bound is somethin' I hate."

Arthur pauses, stands up and places the journal entry on his chair. You take his hands when he holds them out to where you sit, grunting when he hauls you off the ground with more force than you expected, feet shuffling into place to stick all-too-close to his. His hands are burning, skin feverish when you grab his wrists, as if you'd ever want to stop him as he eases onto a knee before you.

And his eyes throw you off balance, too, catching the light just enough that you can tell they are stinging. So are your own, now that you think about it, but intelligent thoughts go out the window once you sense him about to speak.

"I wanna be 'til death do us part," Arthur confesses, fumbles to catch both of your hands in his in an awkward, squeezing hug of a hold.

The way your bones catch on one another, well— it's not a sensation you'll forget, like the first time he kissed you and you felt it still a week later, warm pressure on your mouth if you got too lost in the memory. He looks as good, looks so nice, and you know your fingers would be shaking if he weren't crowding them together, steady.

When he says your name, the blood is rushing through your ears too loud to hear it clearly; you almost want to ask him to do it again. "Will you marry me?"

Nodding, face slack before it spreads in a grin. "Yes," you say. "Of course I will."

His is hidden by how he lets go of your hands, catching them before they fall in stupid, limp joy back to your sides. He lays kisses along the knuckles, all three rows of them. It's so awfully saccharine and yet you could never tell him to quit being sweet— not now, not as he stumbles to his feet after you pull him up and shake off his hold to grab his face, tugging him into a kiss.

Arms come around your waist, squeeze tight enough to hurt, or to hold in place. Arthur runs a hand over your back, breaks the kiss to slide a hand into your hair and press your face to his chest, caging you in his arms. He smells warm, like good cologne, and you know he's been planning this.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #gender neutral reader #neutralreader #arthur morgan #ask #oneshot #fluff #sfw #rdr2 #reader insert #proposal fic

116 notes · View notes

laswells-ashtray · 5 months ago

Note

Your writings are so good that I’m entrusting you with this simple prompt: Dragon Hybrid Price and (Any Hybrid) Nikolai.

Do what you will dear wizard writer.

For the sheer sake of you never implied how silly I could get with this, I'm sillying it up:

Bear hybrid Nikolai [because it's too fucking good] and dragon hybrid Price standing about one day, the two sergeants and the lieutenant are training together while the older two men watch. They're on someone else's base, a hybrid-less base but they're making do with what the have.

John's leaning back against the wall, wings pressed up against the brick in a way that has to be uncomfortable or at least that's what everyone assumes. He's rubbing at the base of one of his horns as if trying to soothe a headache and he looks quite frankly exhausted when another Captain appraoches.

John decides that in comparison to this man, he looks like Marilyn fucking Monroe.

"Captain Givens, you look about as good as I feel." John is at least trying to keep a good relationship with the other team even if they have a habit of pissing off each of them.

"Too fuckin' right. Just got off the phone with the Missus and had to help her convince my little boy not to shove his Batman figure up his nose. It's exhausting." The man complains, running a hand over his face tiredly.

John makes a sympathetic noise but doesn't hide his amused look. "Oh, I'm all too familiar with that feeling." The other day he'd had to convince a group of rookies that Soap is indeed a liar and that oil paint is in fact not edible just because it has oil in the name.

"You have kids?"

"Yes." John should've been smarter than to think that Nikolai's silence was a good thing, he doesn't get a chance to correct the bear hybrid before the other Captain asks:

"How many?"

"Three." Nikolai tells him while watching the boys train in the distance.

For a brief moment, John wants to tug on one of his fluffy ears and tell him to quit it. On the other hand, fuck it, why not?

"Yeah, three over there are mine. Different mums but I was a bit of a tart back in the day." He's reliant on the fact the human knows nothing about hybrids, specifically dragon hybrids for it to work. It's no secret that dragon hybrids can live a lot longer than the average human if they're careful about it but to those types of hybrids, John is still a toddler, horns still in one piece with wings that are still vibrant and healthy.

He can see the amusement in Nik's big brown eyes, he likes it when John sinks down to his level of teasing humans. The only one exempt was Kate, they respected her too much and she wasn't an idiot, she'd never believe half of the stupid shit they've all told people throughout the years. Besides, Kate is family. She has five hybrids protecting her back and the average CIA agent is still more scared of her.

"Riley, MacTavish and Garrick? They're yours?" The human asks in disbelief. Simon was going to kill him for this later, Kyle and Johnny would inevitably laugh themselves hoarse.

"Aye. Didn't find out about Riley until he was a teenager and his Mum got in contact. Looks fuck all like me but he's certainly mine. Lad certainly wasn't a chipper wee thing but I managed to win him over, SAS was his choice, I just put him on the task force because I owed it to his Mum to keep an eye out." He's talking out of his arse now and he knows it but the captain seems to be hanging on his every word. Nikolai is making the conscious decision to look away from him but he can see the faint shaking of the bastard's shoulders, he's laughing.

"MacTavish was from an eventful night up in Glasgow one evening, we didn't know if he was mine or Nik's until we saw the little blighter's eyes."

Good on Nik for how quickly he sorts himself, turning around and nodding approvingly. "Ah, but young MacTavish has always favoured me. Would've been a good bear cub, very grizzly."

The captain looks over to the three men training with wide eyes, tilting his head as he stares at them all, surveying them before he looks back to John.

"And Garrick is yours too?"

Kyle had been ripping on him for being old earlier so maybe he plays it up just that little bit more.

He nods, looking over at Gaz with the most proud look he can muster, it's real but he can pretend it isn't just for the bit. "He was an angel when he was a tot, good sleeper and learned to talk quick. Was always a little grumpy that he didn't have horns too but he got over it eventually. Got him a blanket with a dragon on it when he was two and he didn't get rid of the thing until he was fifteen. Big Mumma's boy though, spitting image of his mother and more than proud of it."

It almost saddens him that the interaction ends when a sergeant whose name he can't remember calls over the captain about something but the sound of Nik's deep, gruff laughter is anything to soothe his short-lived annoyance.

Truthfully, he forgets about the entire interaction within a few hours until Soap barges into his temporary room on the base with a positively gleeful look.

"Price, I don't know what the fuck you did but Gaz is due to kick yer heed in."

"Excuse me?"

"Givens won't stop asking him about his dragon blankie."

Shit.

"And what's this about you and Nik playing who's the daddy when I was born?"

Shit.

#captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kate laswell #this was less about nikprice and more about me having fun but in my defence im not apologising

82 notes · View notes

atsadi-shenanigans · 1 year ago

Text

Feeding Alligators 42 - Slaughterhouse Four

Rated M for language and violence.

Y'all meet the paladins again. It goes…about as well as expected.

On AO3.

Another small room with another door. This one already open. Astarion crouches down next to the frame, clinging to the shadows, face intent as he peers out. Then he glances to you, motions you over and places a finger over his still bloodied lips.

You ease over, walking toes-first, shifting your weight along the sides of your feet as smooth as you can. An inner balcony rings the second floor. Nobody is up here right now, but two voices talk in low tones below. It’s Fuck Off and Short Shit. Another guy leans against the wall by the front doors, cleaning his fingernails with a big fucking knife.

There were four of them. Astarion just killed the shit out of Kitchen Lurker, which should leave just these three.

You touch his shoulder. Motion, “Three?”

But he shakes his head. Shows four fingers. At your stares, taps his ear (looking way too amused) and points right below y’all’s feet.

Either they got reinforcements, or one of the fuckers was out when y’all first came by.

You don’t like this. If one more can pop out of the woodwork, who knows how many might be luring in the woods or a fucking basement.

They’re currently clustered in this main room. Karlach had hinted that they’d be tough, and you’d agree that anybody who can swing around that stupid fucking horse-killer sword probably ain’t somebody you want to tangle with.

A big fire pit hangs up like a chandelier. There’s bunks on the main floor, a screen, a desk, and a barrel near the door. It’s got the same fire symbol painted on that as the barrels you’d spotted outside yesterday.

“What is that?” you breathe.

Astarion leans in close enough his iron-drenched breath ruffles your ear (you absolutely do not shiver). “Lantern oil.”

They’re all so very close together down there…

The shining line hits so hard your eyes water and goosebumps ripple up your arms and across your chest.

You signal for you both to retreat.

This is gonna have to be fast and highly coordinated. Lurker had taken a long time between the first two patrols, but way, way shorter on this last one. Y’all will need to move.

The both of you scuttle back down the ladder and skedaddle to the roadblock. You pause a moment to glance back and yep, them barrels are still there.

The others spot you coming. Karlach looks alarmed.

“What the fuck,” she hisses as the two of you duck down to join them.

Oh, right. Astarion is a messy eater. In the daylight, his whole front is drenched from the nose down.

“He’s a vampire,” you say. “We ran into one of them, but she’s dead. Didn’t get to warn the others. There’s four in there. Karlach, you look real strong. Would you be able to chuck a whole barrel of oil lantern say, ten feet into the air?”

Everyone stares at you a hot second.

Karlach blinks through a handful of reactions, settles on a grin and a, “Fucking ‘course I can.”

she’s best girl

Shadowheart gives Astarion a very complicated look involving the most judgmental eyebrows you ever seen.

“This is gonna be the tricky part,” you say. Look to everybody. Fix on Astarion. “How good are you with that bow?”

“That depends on the target,” he says, you know, helpfully.

“Could an arrow open that barrel?”

“Perhaps if it was enchanted to thunder—oh. Oh, you delightful creature.” His fucking eyes almost glow above the red-lined grin that splits his face. He lets out the most murder-goblin giggle anybody ever produced.

“Am I missing something?” Karlach says.

Gale nods slowly. “A single, ordinary arrow wouldn’t produce the effect I believe you’re aiming for. You don’t actually have a thunderwave arrow, do you?”

“No,” Astarion says, still grinning. The man practically dances where he crouches. “Oh darling, this is going to be so fun.”

“I believe a thunderwave spell ought to cover it, then,” Gale says. “How do you intend to set it off? I’ll have to follow close behind Karlach, and I won’t have the time to conjure a fire bolt in addition to it.”

To which you look to Astarion. “The hanging firepit.”

He gives a bow. “I can absolutely provide, my dear.”

“Efficient,” Shadowheart says. Gives you a once over.

“Speak plain,” Lae’zel says.

So you do.

***

It’s the fastest and the slowest five minutes of your life. Karlach is practically hopping to go, with Lae’zel sneering on the outskirts of the group again. Y’all have moved up to the corner of the building, just out of sight should that bottom story side door open again.

Astarion strings his bow, draws and eases it, and checks his arrows. He can make the shot. You believe him; he’s shot well enough in the fights y’all’ve been in so far and he’s damn near frothing at the mouth in anticipation.

Karlach swings her arms a couple of times. Says to Gale, “I run real hot, yeah? I’ll have to grab it, sprint for the door, and throw it before I set it off.”

“I understand,” he says. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“Wyll and I will open those doors, and I’ll be standing by should it light off anyways,” Shadowheart says. She’s got her mace in one hand, but holds it as casually as anybody ever holds a mace. She seems more amused than nervous about this.

Astarion sets one foot on the stairs, ready tom sprint up and get to that inner balcony. But your gut gives a funny twist.

“Lae’zel,” you say. When she gives you a mean glare, “Are you quiet enough to go with Astarion?”

Astarion himself frowns. It’s a particularly bitchy frown, and when his mouth opens, you know it’s gonna be to gripe.

“I am well-trained in all forms of combat. Including stealth,” Lae’zel says, mouth curling around that last word like she bit into a rancid lemon.

“I hardly need a nanny,” Astarion says.

“They coulda moved around in the last few minutes,” you say. “I don’t want you getting cornered by yourself. Please.”

He shuts up so completely you wonder if you just offended the man. Then he looks away, clears his throat, and slaps on his more malicious grin. To Lae’zel,” Do see that you don’t give us away with all that rattling, dear.”

She glowers after him.

“You should probably stand back,” Wyll says. Poor man looks so resigned. Somebody with better people skills or social training’d probably know what to say; touch his arm, maybe, do something to reassure him and lift his spirits.

But they’re all stuck with your ass, and you can only nod and say, “Good luck.”

You stand out in the road, with the rotting carrion, as they form up. Wyll and Shadowheart by the door, stepping carefully over the severed limbs.

You catch Gale’s eye. Deadpan, “Why is the leg still in front of their door, Gale. Why. Why is that leg still there.”

He gives a kind of “yes, you were correct” shoulder roll and takes up position right behind Karlach next to the barrels.

You saw that movie Gladiator when you were in your twenties. You’d been on an Ancient Rome kick at the time. As you stood up on that balcony with Astarion, the image popped into your head.

A clay jar, filled with oil, topped with a burning rag. Catapulted into the air, tumbling end over end to smash into a tree and rain down fire on Gaul’s trying to protect their homes and people from a sadistic, all-consuming empire.

(What does that make you?)

The barrel ain’t a jar and will need something to smash it apart. Thus Gale and his spell.

He’s got this. Karlach seems confident, and Astarion will not miss.

Six people, all putting themselves in harm’s way on your word. It’d probably throw the whole thing off if you threw up over here in the road.

Time slows. You count to one hundred, the agreed-on mark. Astarion said he’d be in place (unless somebody went looking for Kitchen Lurker and found her slaughtered corpse). Karlach runs through a short regimen of stretches.

Wyll lifts a hand.

This is all your doing.

Drops it.

Everything speeds up so fast you almost can’t follow.

Karlach wrenches up the barrel. Turns to the door as smoke curls off her hands. Shadowheart and Wyll throw open both sides of the door and somebody inside yelps. Gale’s voice goes echo-y, talking fast, the air pressure drops so fast your ears pop.

One of the fake paladins (probably Short Shit) is fast on the draw; an arrow catches Shadowheart in the hand as she withdraws.

But Karlach charges up the stairs, eyes huge, grin bearing her fangs. Hits the landing and twirls herself and the barrel. Fucking launches the thing and shouts, “What’s up, motherfuckers?!”

Gale moves. Purple light flares. Less than a second later and a bone-shuddering blast kicks through your ribcage.

The barrel blasts apart. Gallons of lantern oil aerosolize as something drops from the ceiling. The bowl of fire plummets into the flammable mist.

The room combusts. A ball of fire so bright and so hot it prickles your face roars through the tollhouse. Your crew ducks back, except for Karlach who takes it head on, cackling the whole time.

You drop and cover your head. Blink when the heat recedes into cold.

The tollhouse is on fire. Black smoke billows into the sky. Through the door is solid, roiling flame. Nothing moves. Nothing makes a sound.

If they were lucky, Gale’s spell knocked them out and the blast caught them on an inhale and scorched their windpipes shut. If they were lucky, they never knew what hit them. It they weren’t…

“Should we put that out?” Shadowheart says.

You don’t want to start a forest fire. You start to nod.

And then there’s a shout inside. The tone grabs you buy the spinal cord, sends an electric jolt through your chest. You know that voice.

Astarion.

Then a reptilian roar. Metal crashing and shrieking.

Oh god, oh fuck.

Shadowheart raises her hands—snapped the arrow off but part still sticks through her palm and she grits her teeth and keeps going. She’s chanting, but you’re already off and around the side, bolting for the stairs. Footsteps pound after you and it’s Wyll. You hit the stairs, start up, and a flash of white hair above.

Astarion practically slides down the ladder. His face is covered in soot, he’s hacking, and an alarming amount of blood slicks down from a gash above his eye.

None of y’all get a chance to do nothing but spot each other. Because somebody else staggers out onto that patio. Hair gone, charred to hell, his armor smoking. Fuck Off has gone whole-body Harvey Dent. He stands up there, looks down at y’all, and then fucking launches himself into the air.

You got no time to do more than register how bad that’s gonna fuck his knees. Then the fucker lands—the impact should break his legs and shoved his femurs up into his pelvis to shish kabob his intestines. But he hauls himself up and that fuck off sword flashes in the light and oh.

He’s aiming at you.

A tug on your collar. You fall back. Movement above and around you as Wyll barely deflects the blow that woulda chopped you clean in half. But Harvey Dent is some sorta terminator on his last death match, and he don’t even slow. Just takes the parry, uses the momentum to spin that fucking blade around to come back down on Wyll. And there ain’t no way Wyll’s rapier is going to block that kinda momentum.

You think you scream. Your throat hurts. Wyll starts to dodge but everything is so fast—

A green and silver blur tackles Harvey Dent clean off the stairs. Lae’zel plows him face first into the hard-packed dirt before she has to tuck and roll and come up on her feet.

Harvey Dent still don’t slow. He’s up and swinging. Lae’zel’s fuck off sword has an easier time swatting his first strike off to the side before she sorta rides it up and damn near spears him through the eye.

Wyll shouts. A red flash and energy boils over Harvey Dent’s barbequed face. He staggers. Nearly drops his sword. Lae’zel comes in for a neck shot and he leans back. She misses. He brings a forearm up to pin her fucking blade. She’s got less than a second to figure out how to—

She drops the sword. Kicks out at his knee. He staggers, does not go down, and she ain’t got no sword. Wyll staggers next to you, clutching his side where that fucking sword caught him and opened his skin down to the ribs. Astarion is hunched over, clutching both his knives.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fu—

“Eat shit fucker!”

Red. A scream that lifts every hair on your body. Heat washes over you as a flaming fucking meteor plows into Harvey Dent. Karlach don’t even have her ax. She just grabs his wrist. Head butts him in the face. Takes his own sword and clubs the side of his head with it before she flings it to the side.

Her arm wraps around his neck. He still ain’t making any noises, though his feet kick as she hefts him up. Grabs the side of his face and—

She rips his head off. Clean off, like pulling off a drumstick from a Thanksgiving turkey. Except with a lot more blood.

“Bye bye, asshole!” she hollers, and lets the body fall.

You’re on your ass on the porch, popped up on your elbows. Wyll carefully slides down the wall of the tollhouse. Astarion grimaces and spits ash out of his mouth while Lae’zel reclaims her sword and she’s limping on her left knee.

Which is when Karlach, still grinning, lifts the head and screams in the slackened face. “I’m never going back, you sack of shit!”

The air from her lungs is hot enough to curl the bits of flesh still on Harvey Dent.

“I am never! Going the fuck back!”

And she cackles. Drops the head and crunches his face beneath her boot. And then stomps over to where she apparently dropped her ax.

“Never! Never! That bitch is never, ever taking me!”

And she sort of bursts into flame and storms into the still-burning tollhouse to go on some kinda blood lust rampage.

Previous - Index - Next Chapter

#feeding alligators fic #these two shitheads #astarion fic #bg3 fic #modern girl in faerun #tavstarion #astarion x tav #plus size tav #demisexual tav #slow burn

15 notes · View notes

poppysmc · 6 months ago

Text

Deconstructed: Chapter 7

The painting has driven Morgan crazy these past few days. She can't quite get it. The watercolour is challenging to work with… yet something about the colours, the transparency, the layers, the softness and the brush strokes attracted her. Morgan sighed. It was morning once again, and I barely got a wink of sleep.

This woman has taken over her thoughts. May it be her dreams and waking moments. Morgan busies herself with tidying up her things. Nothing is worse than a stiff brush; what a waste of money.

Morgan was exhausted. These past few days have been hectic. She had just finished her plates and had been running on 5 mugs of coffee that night. She may or may not have drunk the watercolour water once or twice…again. Tastes strangely of something savoury. It made her stomach churn unpleasantly.

Morgan takes the quickest shower of her life. It's too early to let Steve lecture her on punctuality. She can only take so much before she explodes. Morgan quickly looks around, smiling softly at her half-finished painting. Oil would be nice, too. Maybe next paycheck.

It was past morning rush in the cafe, and Morgan sulked. Her gaze fixed steadily on the door, hoping the woman would come in again. This time, she would really ask for her name. But she did not come.

Sam patted her on the back. "I am beginning to think this woman is a figment of your imagination." Sam teased. Morgan's eyes have been fixed on the door for the past few hours. Willing someone to come in.

Morgan lets out a deep sigh, forcing herself to turn away from the door. "It's not that- I… I'm just checking if the lunch hour is over."

Sam smiled at her knowingly. "I know you. You've been talking my ear off about this woman."

Morgan sighed. "I can't believe I didn't get her name."

Sam chuckled.

As soon as her shift ended, Morgan quickly changed out of her uniform and waved to Sam as she exited the coffee shop. She must arrive on time, not when it's free seating. She should get her spot in her Anthro class.

Morgan frowned at the contents of the letter. Poppy seemed so sad, and Morgan wished she could reach out and comfort her, but the best she could do was write a flimsy letter.

To the mysterious Poppy, keeper of my sketchbook.

Lately, you've been down. I want to know how to cheer you up. How can I help? Sometimes, we cannot help but put ourselves on a pedestal. I cannot pretend to know what you're facing, Poppy. I can only offer my support. I want you to know that someone out here is rooting for you.

I have barely gotten enough sleep these days. Between school and work, I barely have enough time to complete what has consumed my thoughts for the past few days. That is to say, you also consume my thoughts. Your letters are something I look forward to.

So… What's your favourite colour? I realize… You've told me a lot, but I do not know the simplest things about you. I hope you don't mind.

PS I attached a drawing of my cat to cheer you up. I do miss him despite him being a spawn of hell.

- Morgan

Morgan attached a quick drawing of her cat, the orange devil, back on the farm. She folds the letter over and slips it inside the desk compartment. It's such a pity that the weekend has ended, and now she has to focus in class. No time at all this week to focus on the drawing she's making.

Morgan stood up after class and approached her professor. "Hey, Ms Kingsley. Do you know who sits on my desk in your other classes? Poppy?"

Kingsley looked at her. "I don't have a Poppy in my class. Not that I remember." Kingsley smiled apologetically.

Morgan chuckled at Poppy's audacity, using a fake name. But she'd let her. After all, this is an innocent letter exchange. It was fun having someone to talk to. Someone who cannot judge her at first sight.

She found herself looking forward to Anthro class. Early as can be sitting in her seat, just to swipe her hand under the desk and light up at Poppy's letter. Morgan hoped no one noticed how she smiled when she read the letter.

Morgan shakes her head. Shaking off the thoughts of the woman on the other side of the letters. What was she like?

Dearest Artist, Morgan,

There is a hole in my heart that could never be filled. I'm sorry to burden you with my personal feelings. But as such… are the burdens of an only child. Just your letters are enough to brighten up my day… So thank you for not being tired of me yet.

Colour… What an interesting question. You could have asked about anything, but you chose this super hard one, heh.

I couldn't live without pink. I can imagine you rolling your eyes at the girliness of the colour, but it calms me. It reminds me of sunsets when the sky is coloured pink and blue. Always reminds me of good times when I was free to play under the sun.

Your cat is adorable. I cannot accept that this angelic-looking creature would be equated to a devil you so warmly call it. Thank you, though; it made me smile. I love animals as well… I used to dream of owning my own shelter one day. This is what I hope won't be an unrealized passion of mine. I am determined to make it come true.

It's only fair to ask you a question as well. What's your favourite song?

Poppy

Morgan smiled when she got the letter. Morgan smoothed over the paper and put it in her bag. Morgan couldn't help but conjure an image of who this Poppy is. Morgan is sure she isn't like the spoiled and arrogant kids in Belvoire well as much as she's seen.

Ms Kingsley's research was fascinating. A hierarchy in school is a recipe for disaster, but. She digress. She hoped Poppy was unlike the entitled kids in Belvoir. She seemed kind.

Dearest Poppy,

I am sorry to hear that… I wish in whatever capacity I can bridge the gap in your heart. I, too, have grown fond of our exchanges. I hope you don't get tired of me. Your letters have become an integral part of my day. Dare I say the most exciting part of it. You can always tell me anything that burdens you. People say I'm a good listener. Well… reader in your case.

I won't judge your favourite colour! You got me wrong on that one. It's nice that you love the sunset. I myself am a lover of the sunrise. I love the blues in the sky as it grows brighter. I am ashamed to say that I stare at it for too long as the blues become lighter, and I also become late for class on maybe one or two or… a lot of occasions. I can imagine you as an animal lover… well, you're kind enough to write back to a complete stranger. I wouldn't assume otherwise.

Favourite song, huh? So you want to get to know me really deeply, haha. Right now, it's "You make loving fun." Something about it is that I can feel the magic. I've never been in love, but I can imagine…. I've seen the movies and heard the songs… By far, it's my favourite way to describe what love is supposed to feel like.

For my next question, what is your favourite drink? I bet I can make it. I am awesome that way.

With endless fascination,

Morgan

Poppy smiled at the neat way Morgan wrote her letters. It starts off stiff, then becomes loopy as Morgan is excited to write something. She must admit, there is a growing pile of letters and sketches in one of her drawers. Poppy's eyes softened at the song. She'll for sure find the song and listen to it later. Poppy quickly pockets the letter as her friends approached, not wanting to be in the middle of another teasing session.

Veronica raised her eyebrows at the way Poppy pocketed something so fast. She did not comment and just handed her her drink from one of the coffee shops near campus, "Pour Decisions." Their signature drink that Poppy loved. They said some alumni made it when they were working there, and that's become the signature drink since then.

It's a witty name and nice coffee. Poppy only came in once or twice since she came to Belvoire. She couldn't find herself coming in when the barista she wished to see wasn't there. The barista never seems to be there. Poppy couldn't believe she didn't get her name.

#poppy min sinclair #poppy x mc #decon

3 notes · View notes

snowlupinwoodstories · 8 months ago

Text

Time To Get Your Nails Did!

Say hi to Jeremey, the red eared slider who has a date with a caimen girl. He needs his claws done because he's been neglecting them!

Jeremey tapped his claws against his shirt covered shell out of nervousness. He couldn’t believe he’d planned a first date without being sure he’d found a proper turtle claw salon! His nails were dull and he was worried he might be close to having them crack or break off since he hadn’t spent time making sure to keep up on natural filing. Sure they were long and attractive, but it wouldn’t be good if they snapped off in the middle of the date.

He did however find a salon that accepted walk-ins. He decided it was better to take the chance and get someone to touch up his nails the right way, rather than try and undo all the neglect at home.

It was a small place, nestled between a Starbugs and a Chinese take-out. It had faux plants in the window, and advertised itself as a premier nail spa. Jeremey entered, the door causing an electronic ‘ding’ to ring out in the small space. It was filled to the brim with chatter, several of the nail techs talking amongst themselves, or to their clients, seeming to run at least two conversations at once. He tapped his nails against his shell again. All the techs were women, and all those getting their nails attended to were also women.

At a turtle claw salon, or a claw salon in general would at least have one or two more masculine people at any time. He felt out of place, the bright lights showing off the soft pinks and yellows, the chatter, all of it reminded him this was not a place where he belonged.

“How can I help you?” A voice called from the back of the store as an alligator snapping turtle moved down the center of the store to the front.

Relief settled into Jeremey’s mind. Another turtle would at least understand what he was needing. Maybe this wasn’t a lost cause. “I’ve been kinda neglectful of my claw maintenance,” he told her. “I need some help,” he splayed his claws out, careful not to wiggle them so she didn’t think he was flirting with her. That would be awkward. “I have a date tonight.”

“Ouff, honey these need work,” she grabbed his wrist and pulled him over to an open station, pressing a button to fill the bowl with warm water. “Now why don’t you tell me about this date of yours.”

“Is she a nice girl with a large shell?” she chuckled as she began to scrub Jeremy’s claws, removing the dead worn bits, buffing them to the darkier more healthy color hiding underneath.

“Well, she doesn’t really have a shell,” Jeremey told the older turtle. “She’s a caiman. We met while at a Warhammerhead 40k tournament at the local game store. She whooped my ass, but really liked the paint job on my hound shark faction. She wanted to have dinner somewhere and get some painting pointers.”

“Oh, someone likes his girls big and scaly do they,” she guaffed, wiping down each claw with a soft towel, letting her get a better look at the poor cracked and worn talons. “Hmm, I’ve got my work cut out for me,” she muttered as she grabbed a bottle of oil and began rubbing it into the claws, helping to moisturize and bring shine back to the claws.

“W-well maybe. I mean she’s really attractive,” He choked back, watching as her claws rubbed the oil into his claws in small deliberate circles. “And she’s really smart. I didn’t expect her acrobatic katshark specialist army to route me as well as it did.”

“Is this some type of video game?” the matronly alligator snapper asked slowly working her way over the claws. Her own claws never stopped moving, rubbing in the healing oil and helping to fill in the cracks and snags.

“Not a video game. A tabletop war game. You buy the miniatures, the game pieces and paint them. Then you play the game with them,” he explained. “Each piece has its own rules and what they do. I just didn’t expect her army, which is made out of light weight models with gimmicks, would work so synergistically well against mine!”

“But she liked how you painted your pieces?” She put the oiled towel away, pulling out a very fine file and going carefully over areas that were damaged to further smooth the area. She’d re-apply the oil as she went making sure to lock in the moisture from the water in front of them.

“Oh yeah, she was really stoked that I’d done some really cool non-metallic metal, basically making the piece look like it was made of metal without using metallic paint. And the shading. Her army was cool too-she made her army bluegrey-orange-white calico! The amount of control you need on the brush to get those spots to not look like splotches is really difficult!”

“I see,” she stared off into the distance before asking, “Would you mind if I went a bit wild with the lacquer on your nails? I think I have a fun idea for your date!”

“Uhh, really just the clear lacquer is fine. It’s not like she knows turtle culture and I don’t want her to think I’m gay or something,” Jeremey pressed.

“Listen here!” She barked roughly grabbing his foot and pulling it towards her, “If she can’t handle a turtle with painted claws then turtles are too good for her. It's important to show them off, and may encourage you to spend extra time caring for them. “

She grabbed a white bottle of lacquer, and began brushing it on, the gray polish coating and sinking into the cracks and the rest of the claw, helping to protect and draw more attention. “You will feel better for it too, don’t let other ideas make you feel less of a person for honoring your heritage.”

Jeremey went silent, knowing better than to argue with an older matron about claw lacquer. He remembered his mother painting his claws red when he was a young hatchling, saying it brought out the red around his ears. Or when his mom and dad went on date nights, they’d both spend time lacquering each other’s claws in complementary colors.

He watched silently as she applied the gray lacquer to every other claw, making it obvious that she was planning to build some type of two tone effect. “How did you paint your pieces?” she asked as she picked over her colors.

“Oh, my army is painted in a dark blue gray with white accents. Really hard to get right, he let slip out.

“I see, then we’ll start with a dark blue lacquer,” she grabbed the bottle and began to tint the other claws. Once they were coated she switched back to the grey ones, coating them with a thin coat of bright white, thoroughly changing the color of the claws. She coated the blue ones with a thin coat of grey before switching to a much thinner brush, and that was where the artistry began.

Orange and blue-gray spots nestled together on the white claws, and white tips and edges further tied the look together on the blue-gray claws. A clear coat was applied at the end before she turned on a blue light and held it over his claws. “Just sit there a few minutes while I get your bill tallied,” she left him to grab an ancient calculator with paper printing out of it, typing each number with one claw at a time.

Ten minutes went by and Jeremey couldn’t help but admire his claws. They were shiny, bright, the cracks were well hidden and they gave a lovely clack-clack sound whenever he tapped them. He was surprised that the snapper only charged him for a fill and buff, but when he tried to ask she simply said, “Go land that gator-girl!” she all but shoved him out the door, with an excited cackle.

@bloobluebloo @standingpillar @doveghost @asordidbarwere @stoneshrike @saphoblin

#writing #furry #writeblr #creative writing #furry anthro #writerscommunity #turtle #turtles #turtle anthro #no ai used #no ai writing #alligator snapping turtle

4 notes · View notes

rosethreeart · 2 years ago

Note

Okay. Another prompt then maybe >:3

1.Ned got injured doing something dumb but Abigail thinks it is really serious. (Broke a few fingers or whatsnot oopsies) during work or what and comes home with a cast on the place he hurt himself.

2. Ned forgets to do his hair up all day (for whatever reason) and it is a world meeting day and Abigail doesn’t point it out to see people’s reactions to Ned w his hair down.

I went with 1 :D!

It's here on Ao3 too!

Summery: Ned takes a fall, and Abby is there to kiss it better.

Word Count: 726

Title: A Broken Hand is a Good Way to Get a Kiss

Concern was the first thing he was greeted with the minute he had walked into the door. Rapid questions were fired from all directions as Abigail flit about him, assessing any and all damage; the smallest of cuts or bruises would not go unnoticed as long as she's there.

“Abigail—”

“Are you okay? What happened? How bad is it? How—”

He grabbed her shoulders.

“Abigail.”

She slowly looked up as her breathing evened, hands still fidgeting, desperate to coddle. Even though he was the injured one, she was the one who looked like she wanted to cry.

That was one thing he loved about her. She was always so kind and caring towards others, always willing to put even complete strangers before herself. That type of kindness was rare amongst their kind. He was glad he gets to see it regularly now because of her. It’s even begun to rub off on him. Which was how he was even in this situation to begin with.

He took a deep sigh, eyes crinkling due to his soft expression as topaz met what was currently a royal blue. “I’m fine. I promise.”

Her shoulders seemed to sag slightly as she reached for his left arm, which was currently wrapped in a cast, “Can I ask what happened?”

He takes a few seconds to answer, too entranced by the way her small hands barely fit into his. How gentle and soft they were. How warm they felt….

She squeezes his hand slightly, worry now drawing back on her face as if relief was merely an eclipse.

“I’m alright I just…” He hesitates a moment, blushing slightly. He was never very good at expressing himself verbally.

He stammers a bit, “I..uhh..mm..”

Her head tilts slightly to the left.

He looks at the floor.

He needs to clean the carpet. The dishes need to get done too. Oh and of course the laundry—

“Lars?”

“Sorry, it's a little embarrassing.”

“That’s alright sweet pea, you don’t have to talk about it?”

He fails to force down a slight grin when that affectionate little pet name of hers rang in his ear.

“Truthfully I broke it falling off a ladder in the studio,” he finally admits.

He never really was one to brag about things he actually enjoyed, Abigail being one of the few exceptions to the rule, but he was quite fond (and very good) at oil painting. He had a small little studio nearby which he would occasionally rent out for cheap for local artists.

“Why were you on a ladder? What could an almost 7 foot-tall man need with any more height?” Abigail's eyes glistened as she teased, her lips pressed into a thin line trying to hold back a grin and laughter.

“I was trying to fix the curtains to let in some more natural light but…it seems I might have to go buy a new one…and a new curtain rod…and maybe a few buckets of paint...and a shelf…”

He was just happy the paint didn’t land on him, he would have looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. How embarrassing that would have been!

Oh how pitiful he felt, especially with that expression she gave him, as if he was a lost little puppy on the street who just walked into a wall.

“Aww I’m sorry babe, anything else hurt or just your hand?” She dusted and smoothed out his shirt, which had wrinkled from its usually pristine condition due to the…incident.

“Besides a bruised ego and some sore muscles?” I don’t think so.”

He leaned down as she stepped on her tipsy-toes to place a gentle kiss on his lips. Somehow he started feeling better already. Maybe he should get some more of those. Who knew? Maybe kisses could be a cure after all.

“Alright-y lets get you something for the pain and some warm food in your belly before you start feeling any worse,” She says, not waiting for an answer as she gently guides him into the dinning room.

Some food and something for the pain would be a good cure too though…

That beautiful portrait of her surrounded by a field of forget-me-nots and tulips could wait a while, he supposed. Besides, he’s got the real deal in front of him right now. The real Abigail was much better than a painting.

#my writing #hetalia #aph nyo america #aph netherlands #nedame

6 notes · View notes

botanikos · 9 months ago

Note

( relax ) - your muse gives my muse a massage - Horus

Smutty Starter Prompts || ✩

❝ I am delighted you decided to come over.~ ❞

Stella was gone for the weekend and Octavia was otherwise preoccupied in her room, no doubt listening to her music. Stolas had tried desperately to get into it once, had even taken her to a concert for one of her favorite bands, 'Occult Mother'. But it wasn't quite his taste, and it was so very loud.

With neither of them in immediate range, they were unlikely to be disturbed. They had started off in the study, talking about their favorite titles, astronomers, constellations, and the decline in well crafted spell-work among mortals. Though they agreed a sort of renaissance was emerging. From there, they wandered to the kitchen where Stolas poured them each a light glass of Chardonnay and stroll the garden. They made light chatter and Stolas pointed out his favorite flowers. He, of course, carefully leaves out the part where he speaks or sings to them when tending to their needs.

Now, after applying a light tincture of natural oils, setting out a few fresh lavender stems, and lighting some of his best candles, he pressed his nimble fingers and knuckles into Horus' back as he rest upon a long massage table. Kneading and pressing in the places that gathered the most tension before slowly gliding gentle pressure with his palms up his back. While Stolas may appear wiry and frail in stature, he does have strength and a thorough knowledge of the body.

❝ You are awfully tense, my dear falcon. Trust that I know just how to handle you and ease some of that pressure." The words were a breath against Horus' ear as Stolas leaned over him. He focuses his handiwork at the base of his neck. ❝ I know just how much we tense up when pouring over texts or studying old alchemy. ❞ He spoke from experience, of course. Though typically he was the one receiving a massage. Stolas however, was partial to a long hot soak in his bath after particularly long or stressful days. They never failed to take the edge off. And speaking of edges....

He felt a shiver up his spine, feathers ruffling with the rapid growing heat burning through him. The more time he spent with Horus, the harder it was to ignore his exquisite features, the intellectual stimulation, his charming elegance, his sharp wit - oh and not to mention the absolute dreaminess of his voice. Lost in these thoughts, sticky and sweet as honey, the Goetia Prince finds himself sinking against Horus' languid form. His hands no longer sought solely to relax, but to feel muscle and seek a similar thrill, hoping to elicit a mutual reaction. It was only with their continued meetings and exchanges that Stolas felt even remotely confident to touch him in such scandalous ways. Hardly able to contain himself, he nuzzles his face against the back of Horus's neck and gives a quick nip. Not hard enough to pull feathers, by any means, but enough to feel the quick tug of his beak.

Stolas startles with the soft moan that tumbles from his beak, blinking rapidly as he removes nearly all contact. A heavy flush paints the white of his face. ❝ Oh - I - my goodness. I am so deeply sorry. W-would you like me to stop? I really should have asked first. ❞

#✧･ﾟ･ﾟ✧ | ☾ | : stolas chirps.#sxlinvictus #✧･ﾟ･ﾟ✧ | ☾ | : my dearest falcon.#✧･ﾟ･ﾟ✧ | ☾ | : v : before the stars align.#readmore coz of length and also sliiiightly suggestive

1 note · View note

ravenveenova97 · 1 year ago

Text

Paldea Forbidden Fruit

Sunset mistakes

I was happily walking around the scorched trail with sky in toe looking around to every pokemon I saw "the vast amount of pokemon out right now is unreal, I don't know we're to start hehehhehe" I had my art pad in hand with a bag sling over my shoulder holding in my art supplies, I was looking around and found a nice spot by a pond with an amazing View looking out into the Paldea sea and from there I could see multiple pokemon around "well sky this looks like the spot wouldn't you agree" she smiles happily at me and nods.

I settle myself down by laying out a blanket and took off my art bag then opened it to get stuff out, I was looking amongst the things I brought and I couldn't think what I should use "hmmm i have water paints and pencils......but I also have oils too......maby I could use my coals......or my pencils" I was looking amongst them and Sky points to the water colours "hehehhehe you think I should do a water painting" she nods at me and I giggle "ok, water colours it is now.........what pokemon do chose to paint" i look around and i can see tons of Mabostives, maschefs roaming around but one pokemon walks up to me and i look into its eyes and address it "would you mind if i paint you.....Zoroark" the pokemon eyes widen as i saw through its ilution it was a Mabostive "hehehhe its ok you dont need to be scared" i pulled out some chocolate and snapped it in half and leaned fowerd handing it out to him "its chocolate, you might like it" he cut off hes ilution and reached out for it and brought it up to hes nose sniffing it, i giggled "its nice trust me just eat it like this" i broke a bit off for me and sky and we ate it to show him its ok.

Zoroark opens he's mouth and ate some and after he swallowed he's face grew bright, I took in every detail how he's eyes squinted and how he's smile carved, even he's ears perked up and did a little wiggle "heheheh see tould you it was nice, so can I paint you Zoroark" he finishes the chocolate and was licking off the remains of it off hes claws then looked at me wile giving a sweet but happy cry saying yes, I smile at him and nod and open my pad designed for water colours and started to paint him "I cant believe im actually painting a Zoroark hehehhehe" i was so happy with myself as they dont show there true form around humans due to not trusting them, but me hading out that chocolate gave him the courage to trust me "you know Zoroark, i find your species fascinating" he looked up at me as i looked down at him from the small hill i was sat on, he gave me a little head tilt like he was confused.

I softly smiled at him "I think all Zoroarks are stunning and beautiful pokemon......your eyes stand out the most..... beautiful and pure and as clear as the sea......how they shine in this light and how warm they look shows your not a bad pokemon as people make you out to be" i was painting hes fur wile i continue to talk to him "i meen look at you....your the definition of beautie and mystery.....your by far the most breathe taking pokemon iv ever seen" i was happily smiling and when i looked up i saw a glint of happiness in hes eyes.....like someone finaly saw him for the amazing pokemon he truly is.

I soften my facial expression and look at him "I mean it Zoroark.....I see beauty in this world and I see more than most don't.....I'm able to look past stereo types and see the soul for what it truly is" he eyes teard up and was smiling happily at me, i smiled at him and he walked up the hill and sat down next to me and looked at my pad and pointed at it "yep thats you" he seamed happy and i raised my hand up to hes cheek and gave it a little scratch, hes face turned into pure delight and i giggled "hehehhehe like that do we, well what about under here" i moved my hand away and strated to scratch under hes chin, this made Zoroarks leg start to go and i laughed "hahahahah dose that feel good zoroark" he was loving the attention i was giving him, after i stoped he had the biggest smile stretching from ear to ear.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and Sky handed me some water "ow thanks Sky" I turned to Zoroark and handed it to him "would you like a drink" he took the Cup out of my hand and happily started to drink it, never in a million years I thought I be sat like this with a wild Zoroark.......but it's nice.....I wish more people saw it as a stunning pokemon.....but like I said stereo types run thick with Dark types.....but I'm so happy i can be that one human that looks past that and see them for what they truly are.

I continued to paint Zoroark and I even let him do some painting of he's own hehehe, I love spending time with pokemon....it's why I chose to be a pokemon researcher....I love to make meany pokemon friends and bring there story's to light.....just like Zoroark here, time was moving on and I just finished the painting "and it's done, so Zoroark what do you think" I tilted my work to him and he looked at it and smiled nodding "hehehhehe I'm happy you like it" I had a big smile on my face and that's when he showed me he's painting, I looked at it and my eyes soften "is that me and Sky" he nods and me and hands it over for me to keep "realy....but you painted this.....dont you want to keep it" he shook hes head and waved it gently up and down for me to take, i slowly reached my hand out and took it off him looking at it with the most gentle smile iv done in years "thank you Zoroark i love it, you did sutch amazing job" he was happily crying out and i ruffled hes fur and scratched behind hes ears "and you keep Amazing me Honan" I turn my head up and I see Jacq lent over and I'm looking into he's breath taking eyes.

I end up blushing and my body shivers in nerves "Jacq what you doing here" he chuckles and stops leaning over me "I was just doing a bit of research over here, but bumping into you was a surprise" he looks at Zoroark that had its ears back sceard and Jacq kneeled down so he was Zoroarks hight "its ok im Honans friend" Zoroark looks at me and i nod, hes ears returned to natural as he's fear left hes body, Jacq saw the painting i had in my hands and he warmly smiled "did you do that for Honan"

Zoroark nodded at him still a little uneasy "I see it's painted beautifully good job" Zoroark worried face turned into a cute smile and he sat down and relaxed, Jacq moved he's hand out to scratch him under the chin and Zoroark melted "hahahah so you do like this" as soon as he said that I relised he was around even then "Jacq how long have you been watching me and Zoroark" Jacq looks at me and scratches the back of he's head "i guess from the very start" Zoroark scooched up so Jacq could sit next to me "start of what" he warmly chuckled and looked at me in the eyes "I saw you giving him Chocolate to make him trust you" I blinked a few times and all the blood rushed to my face "you have amazing skills with Wild pokemon Honan hahahhaha what other surprises are you hiding"

I look away quickly and scream internally "nothing there nothing" Sky giggled at my reaction and I felt Jacq place he's hand on my shoulder, I look round to were he put it and back up at him "you ok" I gulp a little and nod "hahahah that's good, but there no need to be embarrassed, just be yourself around me, ok" I nod and fidget a little wile playing with my hands "so did you come out here to do more of your art" I nod wile looking at my hands, but Jacq tilts he's head at me "are your sure everything ok Honan"

I was feeling my heart race a mile a minute in my chest and my body started to grow hot again, I was looking down still and Jacq moved infrount of me and placed hes hand on my thought head, I snap out of it and look up and when I do hes got a worried look on hes face "your quite warm, are you not feeling well" I'm looking into hes gentle eyes and i end up getting lost in them, it was like staring into fields of lavender...... beautiful and breathtaking.....I cant seem to look away.......there hypnotizing, i end up softly smiling as i could stair into hes eye every day and never get bored on how memorizing they are they truly are stunning, it was then the softest smile Iv ever seen on Jacq spreads across he's face, as he's eyes grow even more gentle "Honan you keep looking at me like that I'm going to start blushing" he averts he's eyes to he's side as he removes he's hand and sheepishly smiles "I'm sorry i didnt mean to" i blushed super hard and looked away, Jacq ended up lathing at me reaction and sighed "it's ok Honan don't worry about it"

I end up feeling my hands start to get clammy again and I'm starting to lose myself a little "I am sorry Jacq but...." I turn to him and raise my hands out and gently take off he's glasses "Honan?" I stear deeply into them and I smile softly "has anyone tould you that your eyes are breathtaking" Jacq cheeks started to turn a pretty pink hue and he averted he's eyes from me "no.....not really" I smile at him and hand back he's glasses "sorry I just wanted to see them better, I know there was a reason why I draw you a lot........I'm just mesmerized by how they look and how you smile....I love how the ends curl and how soft your face is when you do" my cheeks were red but I felt at peace being like this with him........even now with him not looking at me I can tell he's a softie with a pure heart.

Jacq ends up putting he's glasses back on and turns to me about to say something but he withdraws it "Jacq everything ok" he looks at me and he smiles but Its different like there pain behind it "yer I'm good....just surprised is all" I can tell he wants to say something but he's stopping himself, I end up changing the subject and stretch "well at least I won't be alone to watch the sun go down" I giggle and Jacq smiles at me again "I take you like watching the sun go down" I nod at him wile putting away my paint and pad back into the bag "yer when ever I get a chance i will go out and find some were to watch it, but so far iv not found that one place were it looks beautiful"

I zip up the bag and stand up moving off the mat then rolled it up "i see......well i can show you my favorite spot" i stand up and look up at him "really....you show me where you like to watch the sun set" he nods at me and holds out hes hand to me but he relised and laughed sheepishly "ops sorry.......I keep forgetting that I'm your teacher" I blush but walk next to him and take he's hand in mine "it's ok but I would have taken it eather way" Jacq sigs and tightens hes grip on my hand "your going to get me in trouble one of these days Honan" he laughed warmly joking about and i giggled "well nothing wrong with friend holding hands......right"

My eyes looked at him as I longed for he's touch........I can't seem to see him as a teacher to me anymore.....I guess what the girls said could be true......I do think I have a crush on him.....how could I not, not with gentle fetchers like that "I guess your right and it's not like the director be this far out given he's age hahahhaha" I let out a laugh and Jacq chuckled "well follow me I hope your ready" i nod and i say good Bye to Zoroark and we make our way to Jacq special location close to Casseroya lake, when we reached the area jacq sat down after letting go of my hand we peard out to the lake, i was stunned this view was stunning "Jacq how did you find this spot" he takes a deep breath and leaned back on hes hands "it was by accident, i was doing my research around this area a wile back, back before i became a teacher for Uva academy.......I was just checking on the pokemon in the area and I started to get a little sleepy, hahhahaha i may have fallen asleep with my research notes........but when i woke up i realised the sun started to set then........well i saw this" he looked out on the lake and closed hes eyes, he looked at peace and relaxed "this is my special little spot i come to every now and then......but there two other things that makes this location one of my treasures" i smile at him and look back out to the view "what two things are those" he looks at me and smiles warmly "the starts here at night are enchanting you can see them clear as day.....but the other thing you have to be lucky in seeing it"

He turns round and sees the sun hit the waters surface "if your lucky you might be able to see it tonight" I turn my head round and look as the remaining glow of the sun sunk into the water "but I wanted to show you the one miracle that happens here" just then as I looked into the sea I saw a hue of green and then as the sun set there was a flash, I looked at it on awe, taken in by this phenomenon "seams were in luck, we were able to see the green flash" my eyes started to well up a little and Jacq looked into my eyes and hes soft smile came back "what that the first time you saw the green flash" I wipe my eyes and look at him "yes it was.....I never thought I would see something as amazing as that......thank you Jacq"

He smiles brightly at me and pats my head "hahahha your welcome, IV never brought anyone here before.....so that makes you the first person" he looks at me and then away, my heart starts to beat faster and faster in my chest and I start to get butterflies.......I'm the only person he's shown this too........could the time be right, I move myself a little closer to him and im super red in the face "I don't mean on the lips, I ment on the cheek" I recall what penny said to me and I swallow my shyness and go and make my move, even tho im sceard right now, well I'm petrafide but......I need to know if he feels the same way.

I mean in and close my eyes and I'm inches from hes cheek, but Jacq turns round at the worst time and I end up kissing him on the lips, time stood still for us both for that moment and I felt sparks flying, I got lost in it so when I pulled way I was mesmerized for a moment but I snapped out of it and realized I kissed him on the lips, my face turned bright red and I pulled away so qwick "IM SORRY" I was freaking out and Jacq was dum founded for a moment "Honan did you just....kiss me"

I couldn't even look at him but instead I took off running "HONAN WAIT" I didn't stop running till I was out of sight and ear shot from Jacq "why did I do that" i was panting out of breath and tears started to drop from my eyes "why did i think kissing him prove any thing im so stupid.......iv messed up" i was feeling deep regret for what happened to the point I felt sick "what have I done"

That was one of the most emotional days iv experience in a while I kissed my teacher and I messed everything up.......its going to be hard being around him now.......I'm such a fool.

0 notes

makingimages · 1 year ago

Text

Leo was from a long time ago, the first one I ever saw nude. In the spring before the Hellmans filled their pool, we’d go down there in the deep end, with baby oil, and like that. I met him the first month away at boarding school. He had a halo from the campus light behind him. I flipped.

Roger was fast. In his illegal car, we drove to the reservoir, the radio blaring, talking fast, fast, fast. He was always going for my zipper. He got kicked out sophomore year.

By the time the band got around to playing “Wild Horses,” I had tasted Bruce’s tongue. We were clicking in the shadows on the other side of the amplifier, out of Mrs. Donovan’s line of vision. It tasted like salt, with my neck bent back, because we had been dancing so hard before.

Tim’s line: “I’d like to see you in a bathing suit.” I knew it was his line when he said the exact same thing to Annie Hines.

You’d go on walks to get off campus. It was raining like hell, my sweater as sopped as a wet sheep. Tim pinned me to a tree, the woods light brown and dark brown, a white house half hidden with the lights already on. The water was as loud as a crowd hissing. He made certain comments about my forehead, about my cheeks.

We started off sitting at one end of the couch and then our feet were squished against the armrest and then he went over to turn off the TV and came back after he had taken off his shirt and then we slid onto the floor and he got up again to close the door, then came back to me, a body waiting on the rug.

You’d try to wipe off the table or to do the dishes and Willie would untuck your shirt and get his hands up under in front, standing behind you, making puffy noises in your ear.

He likes it when I wash my hair. He covers his face with it and if I start to say something, he goes, “Shush.”

For a long time, I had Philip on the brain. The less they noticed you, the more you got them on the brain.

My parents had no idea. Parents never really know what’s going on, especially when you’re away at school most of the time. If she met them, my mother might say, “Oliver seems nice” or “I like that one” without much of an opinion. If she didn’t like them, “He’s a funny fellow, isn’t he?” or “Johnny’s perfectly nice but a drink of water.” My father was too shy to talk to them at all unless they played sports and he’d ask them about that.

The sand was almost cold underneath because the sun was long gone. Eben piled a mound over my feet, patting around my ankles, the ghostly surf rumbling behind him in the dark. He was the first person I ever knew who died, later that summer, in a car crash.

I thought about it for a long time.

“Come here,” he says on the porch.

I go over to the hammock and he takes my wrist with two fingers. “What?”

He kisses my palm then directs my hand to his fly.

Songs went with whichever boy it was. “Sugar Magnolia” was Tim, with the line, “Rolling in the rushes/down by the riverside.” With “Darkness Darkness,” I’d picture Philip with his long hair. Hearing “Under My Thumb” there’d be the smell of Jamie’s suede jacket.

We hid in the listening rooms during study hall. With a record cover over the door’s window, the teacher on duty couldn’t look in. I came out flushed and heady and back at the dorm was surprised how red my lips were in the mirror.

One weekend at Simon’s brother’s, we stayed inside all day with the shades down, in bed, then went out to Store 24 to get some ice cream. He stood at the magazine rack and read through MAD while I got butterscotch sauce, craving something sweet.

I could do some things well. Some things I was good at, like math or painting or even sports, but the second a boy put his arm around me, I forgot about wanting to do anything else, which felt like a relief at first until it became like sinking into a muck.

It was different for a girl.

When we were little, the brothers next door tied up our ankles. They held the door of the goat house and wouldn’t let us out till we showed them our underpants. Then they’d forget about being after us and when we played whiffle ball, I’d be just as good as they were.

Then it got to be different. Just because you have on a short skirt, they yell from the cars, slowing down for a while, and if you don’t look, they screech off and call you a bitch.

“What’s the matter with me?” they say, point-blank.

Or else, “Why won’t you go out with me? I’m not asking you to get married,” about to

get mad.

Or it’d be, trying to be reasonable, in a regular voice, “Listen, I just want to have a

good time.”

So I’d go because I couldn’t think of something to say back that wouldn’t be obvious,

and if you go out with them, you sort of have to do something.

I sat between Mac and Eddie in the front seat of the pickup. They were having a fight about something. I’ve a feeling about me.

Certain nights you’d feel a certain surrender, maybe if you’d had wine. The surrender would be forgetting yourself and you’d put your nose to his neck and feel like a squirrel, safe, at rest, in a restful dream. But then you’d start to slip from that and the dark would come in and there’d be a cave. You make out the dim shape of the windows and feel yourself become a cave, filled absolutely with air, or with a sadness that wouldn’t stop.

Teenage years. You know just what you’re doing and don’t see the things that start to get in the way.

Lots of boys, but never two at the same time. One was plenty to keep you in a state. You’d start to see a boy and something would rush over you like a fast storm cloud and you couldn’t possibly think of anyone else. Boys took it differently. Their eyes perked up at any little number that walked by. You’d act like you weren’t noticing.

The joke was that the school doctor gave out the pill like aspirin. He didn’t ask you anything. I was fifteen. We had a picture of him in assembly, holding up an IUD shaped like a T. Most girls were on the pill, if anything, because they couldn’t handle a diaphragm. I kept the dial in my top drawer like my mother and thought of her each time I tipped out the yellow tablets in the morning before chapel.

If they were too shy, I’d be more so. Andrew was nervous. We stayed up with his family album, sharing a pack of Old Golds. Before it got light, we turned on the TV. A man was explaining how to plant seedlings. His mouth jerked to the side in a tic. Andrew thought it was a riot and kept imitating him. I laughed to be polite. When we finally dozed off, he dared to put his arm around me, but that was it.

You wait till they come to you. With half fright, half swagger, they stand one step down. They dare to touch the button on your coat then lose their nerve and quickly drop their hand so you—you’d do anything for them. You touch their cheek.

The girls sit around in the common room and talk about boys, smoking their heads off. “What are you complaining about?” says Jill to me when we talk about problems. “Yeah,” says Giddy. “You always have a boyfriend.”

I look at them and think, As if.

I thought the worst thing anyone could call you was a cock-teaser. So, if you flirted, you had to be prepared to go through with it. Sleeping with someone was perfectly normal once you had done it. You didn’t really worry about it. But there were other problems. The problems had to do with something else entirely.

Mack was during the hottest summer ever recorded. We were renting a house on an island with all sorts of other people. No one slept during the heat wave, walking around the house with nothing on which we were used to because of the nude beach. In the living room, Eddie lay on top of a coffee table to cool off. Mack and I, with the bedroom door open for air, sweated and sweated all night.

“I can’t take this,” he said at 3 A.M. “I’m going for a swim.” He and some guys down the hall went to the beach. The heat put me on edge. I sat on a cracked chest by the open window and smoked and smoked till I felt even worse, waiting for something—I guess for him to get back.

One was on a camping trip in Colorado. We zipped our sleeping bags together, the coyotes’ hysterical chatter far away. Other couples murmured in other tents. Paul was up before sunrise, starting a fire for breakfast. He wasn’t much of a talker in the daytime. At night, his hand leafed about in the hair at my neck.

There’d be times when you overdid it. You’d get carried away. All the next day, you’d be in a total fog, delirious, absent-minded, crossing the street and nearly getting run over.

The more girls a boy has, the better. He has a bright look, having reaped fruits, blooming. He stalks around, sure-shouldered, and you have the feeling he’s got more in him, a fatter heart, more stories to tell. For a girl, with each boy it’s as though a petal gets plucked each time.

Then you start to get tired. You begin to feel diluted, like watered-down stew.

Oliver came skiing with us. We lolled by the fire after everyone had gone to bed. Each creak you’d think was someone coming downstairs. The silver loop bracelet he gave me had been a present from his girlfriend before.

On vacations, we went skiing, or you’d go south if someone invited you. Some people had apartments in New York that their families hardly ever used. Or summer houses, or older sisters. We always managed to find someplace to go.

We made the plan at coffee hour. Simon snuck out and met me at Main Gate after lights out. We crept to the chapel and spent the night in the balcony. He tasted like onions from a submarine sandwich.

The boys are one of two ways: either they can’t sit still or they don’t move. In front of the TV, they won’t budge. On weekends they play touch football while we sit on the sidelines, picking blades of grass to chew on and watch. We’re always watching them run around. We shiver in the stands, knocking our boots together to keep our toes warm, and they whizz across the ice, chopping their sticks around the puck. When they’re in the rink, they refuse to look at you, only eyeing each other beneath low helmets. You cheer for them but they don’t look up, even if it’s a face-off when nothing’s happening, even if they’re doing drills before any game has started at all.

Dancing under the pink tent, he bent down and whispered in my ear. We slipped away to the lawn on the other side of the hedge. Much later, as he was leaving the buffet with two plates of eggs and sausage, I saw the grass stains on the knees of his white pants.

Tim’s was shaped like a banana, with a graceful curve to it. They’re all different. Willie’s like a bunch of walnuts when nothing was happening, another’s as thin as a thin hot dog. But it’s like faces; you’re never really surprised.

Still, you’re not sure what to expect.

I look into his face and he looks back. I look into his eyes and they look back at mine. Then they look down at my mouth so I look up at his mouth, then back to his eyes then, backing up, at his whole face. I think, Who? Who are you? His head tilts to one side.

I say, “Who are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.”

I look at his eyes again, deeper. Can’t tell who he is, what he thinks. “What?” he says. I look at his mouth.

“I’m just wondering,” I say and go wandering across his face. Study the chin line. It’s shaped like a persimmon.

“Who are you? What are you thinking?”

He says, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Then they get mad after, when you say enough is enough. After, when it’s easier to explain you don’t want to. You wouldn’t dream of saying that maybe you weren’t really ready to in the first place.

Gentle Eddie. We waded into the sea, the waves round and plowing in, buffalo-headed, slapping our thighs. I put my arms around his freckled shoulders and he held me up, buoyed by the water, and rocked me like a sea shell.

I had no idea whose party it was, the apartment jam-packed, stepping over people in the hallway. The room with the music was practically empty, the bare floor, me in red shoes. This fellow slides one knee and takes me around the waist and we rock to jazzy tunes, with my toes pointing heavenward, and waltz and spin and drip to “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” or “I’ll Love You Just For Now.” He puts his head to my chest, runs a sweeping hand down my inside thigh and we go loose-limbed and sultry and smooth as silk and I stamp my red heels and he takes me in a swoon. I never saw him again after that but I thought, I could have loved that one.

You wonder how long you can keep it up. You begin to feel as if you’re showing through, like a bathroom window that only lets in grey light, the kind you can’t see out of.

They keep coming around. Johnny drives up at Easter vacation from Baltimore and I let him in the kitchen with everyone sound asleep. He has friends waiting in the car.

“What are you, crazy? It’s pouring out there,” I say.

“It’s okay,” he says. “They understand.”

So he gets some long kisses from me, against the refrigerator, before he goes home

because I hate those girls who push away a boy’s face as if she were made out of Ivory soap, as if she’s that much greater than he is.

The note on my cubby told me to see the headmaster. I had no idea for what. He had received complaints about my amorous displays on the town green. It was Willie that spring. The headmaster told me he didn’t care what I did but that Casey Academy had a reputation to uphold in the town. He lowered his glasses on his nose. “We’ve got twenty acres of wood on this campus,” he said. “If you want to smooch with your boyfriend, there are twenty acres for you to do it out of the public eye. You read me?”

Everybody’d get weekend permissions for different places, then we’d all go to someone’s house whose parents were away. Usually there’d be more boys than girls. We raided the liquor closet and smoked pot at the kitchen table and you’d never know who would end up where, or with whom. There were always disasters. Ceci got bombed and cracked her head open on the banister and needed stitches. Then there was the time when Wendel Blair walked through the picture window at the Lowes’ and got slashed to ribbons.

He scared me. In bed, I didn’t dare look at him. I lay back with my eyes closed, luxuriating because he knew all sorts of expert angles, his hands never fumbling, going over my whole body, pressing the hair up and off the back of my head, giving an extra hip shove, as if to say There. I parted my eyes slightly, keeping the screen of my lashes low because it was too much to look at him, his mouth loose and pink and parted, his eyes looking through my forehead, or kneeling up, looking through my throat. I was ashamed but couldn’t look him in the eye.

You wonder about things feeling a little off-kilter. You begin to feel like a piece of pounded veal.

At boarding school, everyone gets depressed. We go in and see the housemother, Mrs. Gunther. She got married when she was eighteen. Mr. Gunther was her high school sweetheart, the only boyfriend she ever had.

“And you knew you wanted to marry him right off?” we ask her.

She smiles and says, “Yes.”

“They always want something from you,” says Jill, complaining about her boyfriend. “Yeah,” says Giddy. “You always feel like you have to deliver something.”

“You do,” says Mrs. Gunther. “Babies.”

After sex, you curl up like a shrimp, something deep inside you ruined, slammed in a place that sickens at slamming, and slowly you fill up with an overwhelming sadness, an elusive gaping worry. You don’t try to explain it, filled with the knowledge that it’s nothing after all, everything filling up finally and absolutely with death. After the briskness of loving, loving stops. And you roll over with death stretched out alongside you like a feather boa, or a snake, light as air, and you... you don’t even ask for anything or try to say something to him because it’s obviously your own damn fault. You haven’t been able to—to what? To open your heart. You open your legs but can’t, or don’t dare anymore, to open your heart.

It starts this way:

You stare into their eyes. They flash like all the stars are out. They look at you

seriously, their eyes at a low burn and their hands no matter what starting off shy and with such a gentle touch that the only thing you can do is take that tenderness and let yourself be swept away. When, with one attentive finger they tuck the hair behind your ear, you—

You do everything they want.

Then comes after. After when they don’t look at you. They scratch their balls, stare at the ceiling. Or if they do turn, their gaze is altogether changed. They are surprised. They turn casually to look at you, distracted, and get a mild distracted surprise. You’re gone. Their blank look tells you that the girl they were fucking is not there anymore. You seem to have disappeared.

#susan #minot #lust

1 note · View note

reiding-writing · 1 year ago

Note

Ok hear me out read is an art professor and she invites the team to come to a showcase she planned for her student and the whole night is filled with her and her student laughing with each other and her fawning over her students and Spencer is in awe at the relationships she’s built while teaching

(Sorry for the long ask🤍)

favours [ s.r ]

Summary:

You’re in the final preparations for your students’ art exhibition, all you need now is as many people to attend as possible, leading you straight to your fellow professor and major mild work crush, Dr. Spencer Reid, to ask him for a personal favour.

WARNINGS: n/a

pairing: professor!spencer x fem!professor!reader

genre: fluff, two pining idiots in love

wc: 3.5k

masterlist!!

a/n: did i hyperfixate on this request bc it was so damn cute and proceed to write the whole thing in one sitting instead of over multiple days like i usually would? yes, yes i did.

thank you for requesting <33 the idea that someone genuinely thinks my writing is good enough to specifically want to read more of it makes me cry happy tears inside

Three days.

Three days until your class’ art exhibition, scouted by some of the most profound Art Directors in the country.

It was incredibly important, and you were pulling every string you could to make sure that your students got the absolute best results from it.

You’d asked almost everyone you knew to be in attendance, hoping that the more people who attended the exhibition, the more likely the scouts were to pick up your students from the amount of attention their pieces were getting.

That’s what lead you here. Stood outside of Dr. Spencer Reid’s office.

You had always been fascinated with his roots as an FBI Agent, not to mention his overwhelming intelligence in every subject you could possibly think of.

You can vividly recall the first time you met almost a year ago, and how he talked your ear off for almost an hour about the intricacies of the print of Monet’s ‘Woman with a parasol’ hung up in your office.

How it was actually a painting of Monet’s wife and son that he’d painted to capture one sunny and slightly windy day that they’d spent as a family.

How Monet helped create the genre of impressionism paintings through his works in the early 1860’s.

How oil paints were, and continue to be, some of the most widely used mediums due to its sheer versatility, and how easy its materials were to find.

And you explicitly remember how you questioned how this man wasn’t at all educated in the fine arts despite knowing so much about it.

You give three short knocks on Spencer’s office door, praying that he wasn’t currently in a lecture or busy with something else.

“Come in,”

You give an internal sigh of relief at his voice on the other side of the door, pushing it open and peeking your head inside first before entering and closing the door behind you,

“Oh,” Spencer blinked up at you as you entered, clearly not having expected it to be you, but his expression showing that he wasn’t disappointed that it was you either. “Are you alright?”

“I need a favour,” You cut straight to the point as you walk across his office, noting the copy of Vincent Van Gogh’s biography on his desk as you pull out the chair on it’s opposite side, it definitely not being something he’d usually read on his breaks.

That’s something you’d remembered about him. As much as Spencer Reid could talk for hours on practically any subject you could possibly think of, he was not one for small talk.

Spencer raised an eyebrow at you slightly. “A favour?”

You nod with a slightly pleading expression, silently begging him to accept before you even ask him the question. “So my students have their final exhibition this Saturday and it’s being scouted by some really important people and I really want it to go perfectly for them so I’m trying to rally as many people to attend as possible because popularity means attention and attention means a higher likelihood of getting scouted-”

You fall into a ramble of a tangent, only stopping when you’d physically couldn’t keep going due to a lack of oxygen, taking a sharp breath in through your nose.

“Long story short, I am practically begging you to come. You can bring anybody you want, you can bring everybody you know if you want to.” You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, your eyes desperately pleading with him to humour you. “I just really want this to go well,”

Spencer almost melted at your expression. You were clearly very passionate about your students and their futures and the expression on your face made any resolve for him spending his Saturday night curled up in his study like he usually would fly straight out of the window. “What time should I be there?”

Your shoulder’s visibly relax at his question, and you reach a hand across his desk to grasp at his, giving it a small squeeze. “Oh my god thank you you have no idea to much this means to me,”

Spencer mourns the loss of your hand on his as soon as you pull it back into your lap.

“The exhibition starts at six, but I want to give my class a test run of what the experience will be like before they’re actually bombarded so could I ask you to be there for around five-thirty?”

“Five-thirty is perfect,” His tone matches his expression, soft, pure, and completely willing to help you out with whatever you ask of him.

“I really owe you one for this, thank you so much Dr. Reid,” You sing Spencer’s praises in your head as you stand, clasping your hands together as you make a mental reminder to pay him back later.

—

“You’re down bad huh?”

He’d expected Morgan’s teasing, but that didn’t mean that his cheeks didn’t flush red at the comment. “She’s just a friend Morgan,”

“Just a friend my ass,” Morgan rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t that new episode of Doctor Who come out tomorrow, at six o’clock? You know, the one you’ve been raving about for the last two weeks about not wanting to miss?”

He couldn’t really deny that. He had been going on about wanting to watch that new episode, and how he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Yet here he was, declaring to the team that he was going to be spending his Saturday evening at a university art exhibition instead.

“I can record it and watch it when I get home,”

“Mhm, sureee lover,”

Spencer rolled his eyes with a small sigh at Morgan’s tone, beginning to regret his request for the team to accompany him. “Are you going to come or not?”

“Oh I’ll be there alright,” Morgan gave Spencer a sharp pat on the shoulder as he vacated to the kitchenette, and Spencer glanced towards JJ and Emily who both served him a short nod and knowing glances.

He was doing this for you. He could endure some teasing from his team. It’d be fine.

—

He noticed you before you noticed him, kneeling on the floor behind one of your students pieces to adjust the angle of the standing light so it would best show off the painting’s vibrant colours. You’d always had an eye for details like that.

He didn’t notice the unconscious smile that breached his features as his eyes landed on you, but Morgan definitely did.

“Ooh, look at you all blushing and smiling,” Morgan elbowed Spencer in the side lightly, to which Spencer cleared his throat and subconsciously adjusted his shirt collar, straightening his features out once more. “Shut up Morgan…”

“It’s the pretty lady with the skirt right?” Garcia leaned up on her toes to look over Spencer’s shoulder as you got up from your kneeling position, floor length skirt swaying loosely with your movement as you walked around the canvas to see if the change in lighting had made a difference.

Spencer had to consciously suppress a sigh. Maybe bringing the team here to witness him silently fawn over you was not the best idea. “Yes, she’s- the one with the skirt,”

He rubbed that palm of his hand down his face, turning to the group. “Stay here, i’ll be back in a minute,”

He gave them a glance as he made his way over to you, silently warning them to behave themselves like they were a group of children in a sweet shop.

“Hey,”

You turn on your heels at the sound of Spencer’s voice, your skirt twirling with you as your eyes first land on Spencer’s chest before looking up towards his face. “You’re here, oh thank god,”

You take his arm and pull him to stand beside you, turning his body to look at the canvas. “Do you think the lighting is right? Or is it still too shadowed on the bottom right hand corner?”

Spencer’s mind goes completely blank as you physically move him to where you want him to be, caught up on the warmth of your hand on his arm rather than your question. “It uh…”

He takes a second to recompose himself as he stares at the canvas in front of him, an array of vibrant coloured dots arranged in the vague silhouette of an autumnal park. “It looks perfect to me,”

Your nod indicates he gave the right answer. “Good, okay, that’s good,” You tap your hand against his arm for a second, biting the inside of your cheek as you analyse it for a few moments more.

“I uh- brought some friends with me-” Spencer nods towards the team with his head. “Well- they’re technically my co-workers but i’d still say they’re friends-”

Your eyes follow Spencer’s nod towards the six people gathered by the entrance, greeted immediately by a wave of smiles, and you mirror them with your own as you look back at Spencer again. “You are a literal god among men,”

You give his arm a squeeze before breaking into a half jog towards his team to introduce yourself, leaving Spencer to follow you with his eyes as he tried to hide the blush covering his cheeks.

“Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you all, I hope i’m not interrupting too much of your Saturday night,”

You won’t lie and say you’re not nervous to meet them, especially considering Spencer had mentioned the group being his co-workers and therefore FBI Agents, but you keep a positive expression on your face nonetheless.

“Oh don’t be silly, this is probably the most exciting Saturday night any of us have had in a while,” The petite blonde woman at the front of the group waves off your concern with a small laugh, one that you mirror with a small sigh of relief.

A few short introductions later, you send the group on their own personal missions, each set with a printed out sheet of paper containing various questions about the art pieces to ask your students, hoping to prepare them for the inevitable onslaught they would endure when the exhibit opened in 18 minutes.

18 minutes.

The glance at the clock hung on the wall reminds you of your time constraint as you eye the hall for any of your students in need of help.

Sure enough you find yourself repositioning a line of clay pottery whilst one of your students adjusts the small carpet under column they’re perched on to make sure they don’t fall off balance and accidentally shatter before the doors open, caught in pleasant conversation as you explain the best way for the glazing to gloss in the light.

“You really are down bad aren’t you?” Morgan’s voice interrupted Spencer’s unapologetic staring in your direction, and he sighs as he turned to give Morgan a pointed glare.

“Oh come on Reid, it’s so obvious,” Spencer has half the mind to stuff the sheet of paper in his hand into Morgan’s mouth to get him to stop talking.

“She likes you too you know,” Both Morgan and Spencer turn in tandem towards the new voice, one of your students who’d incidentally overheard the conversation as he focused on hanging up a black backdrop behind his full-body sculpture. “She talks about you in class all the time,”

Spencer’s cheeks automatically blush a dark shade of red at the revelation, not at all helped by the muffled chuckles coming from Morgan. “She’s sketched you a bunch too, she uses them as examples in our realism classes,”

Spencer thinks he might implode in this moment. You’ve talked about him in your classes? You’ve drawn him and shown them in your classes?

“Apparently your hair is perfect and she really likes the shape of your nose,” The student shrugs, only half invested in his own explanation as he staples the black fabric to the wall.

Spencer subconsciously brings his hand up to the bridge of his nose, tracing his fingers down it as he imagines what else you might’ve said without him knowing.

“Ooh, looks like the lover boy’s got a chance,” Spencer nearly does stuff his paper in Morgan’s mouth at that statement, pushing his arm as he shook his head, only causing Morgan to laugh further.

“Five minutes guys! Pack everything that you’re not using away! Remember, your art is your baby, treat it like it’s the most important thing to ever exist, and don’t forget to compliment your own abilities!”

—

“You’ve really got your whole heart in this haven’t you?” Spencer catches you mildly off guard as you lovingly watch your students promote their art pieces to the viewers of the exhibition from afar.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You chuckle softly at the question, turning your head slightly to look at him standing next to you. “I find no greater achievement in life that watching aspiring artists take their shot. Especially if i’m the one who’s had the pleasure of guiding them.”

“It’s really sweet of you to put so much of yourself into helping your students, i’m sure they’re all really appreciative,” Spencer could read the love you had for your students all over your face, and it only served to drown him deeper in his adoration for you.

To see someone put so much time, so much effort, so much love, into something that they ultimately had no benefit in was really admirable, and it was one of the things that he’d come to adore about your character.

It wasn’t just the fact that your hair shone in the overhead lighting, or the fact that you smiled like an angel sent down from the heavens. It wasn’t the lingering touches between you when you’d spend time together or the fact that you’d gone out of your way to read one of his favourite books during your lunch breaks so that you’d have something to talk about.

It was just you. You as a person. Even your flaws were flawless and he couldn’t understand how it was physically possible for someone to be so… perfect.

“Do you really like the shape of my nose?” The comfortable silence between you is broken by Spencer’s question, the words falling out of his mouth before he has time to think them over.

“Wh- I-” You immediately fall into a state of mild panic, your features flushed and your eyes darting around the hall as you attempt to maintain your composure. “How did- Who told you that?”

“I uh…” Spencer mirrors you in his flusteredness, internally punching himself for allowing the question to leave his mouth. “One of your students did… With the sculpture—”

He half-points in the direction of the full-body sculpture, a small semi-circle of people surrounding it as they examine the art and talk to your student about it, and you purse your lips as you make a mental promise to yourself to out the plethora of sketches that he’d made of his classmate as payback at his graduation.

“You— have a very drawable face,” You nod exaggeratedly as if it was going to get you out of the conversation, although Spencer’s apparent obliviousness rendered that strategy useless.

“..Drawable?” His eyebrows furrowed slightly, leaving small wrinkles above the bridge of his nose and casting his eyelids in a small shadow that you would die to take a picture of and recreate in charcoal.

“Uh, yeah, drawable, you’re an easy person to draw,” You shrug slightly, trying to offset your awkwardness as nonchalance, as if you drawing Spencer whilst he was bent over a book in the lunch room was a totally normal thing for anyone to do. “You’ve got nice facial features…”

You will yourself to stop talking because you know if you continue you’ll end up saying something that throws you right in the deep end and you’ll never mentally recover.

“Oh—” Spencer’s face flushes further if that’s even possible, a beautiful rose colour painting his cheeks that would make an absolutely perfect art piece. “Thank you—”

“No problem—” The two of you fall into a slightly awkward silence after that, and you find momentary solace in watching one of your students fall into what seems like an enrapturing conversation with one of the scouting directors about the nature of her painting.

“Hey uh— Dr. Reid,” You tear your eyes away from the exhibition and back towards Spencer again, surrendering to the inevitability of you having to push your way through the awkwardness between you if you wanted to continue your conversation with him.

Which you did. Very much.

“I’m uh— sorry if I made you uncomfortable by sketching you without your permission, that wasn’t my intention at all,”

“Oh— no it’s completely fine—” Spencer waved a hand in front of him as if to wave away all of your worries. “It’s really flattering actually,”

His sentence was joined by a small laugh as he raked his fingers through the curls at the base of his neck, the curls covering the inside of your most prized sketchpad. “And you don’t have to call me Dr. Reid all the time, Spencer is perfectly fine,”

He offered you a soft smile that made your heart flutter, and you find yourself only capable of responding with a nod, unable to form a coherent string of words in your head.

“Maybe you can show me them some time,”

You blink up at him for a second before you realise he’s talking about the sketches. “Oh, uh, they’re not very good—”

“I’ve seen some of your pieces, you’re incredible,” Spencer shakes his head at your assessment of your drawings. “’Don’t forget to compliment your own abilities’, it’d be a little hypocritical to tell your students that and then downplay your own don’t you think?”

You mentally curse his judgement as you’re reminded of his eidetic memory, something you’d found entirely fascinating when he’d first explained it to you.

“That’s not fair—” You let out a small laugh of exasperation, tucking your hair behind your ear.

Spencer smiles at your internal panic, and he decides now is a good of a time as ever to just make the leap. He liked you, and he was fairly certain that you liked him too.

“Do you remember saying you ‘owe me one’ a few days ago when you first asked me to attend the exhibit? If you show me your sketches we can call it even,” Spencer’s eyes trailed over every one of your features as your micro-expressions changed whilst you deliberated the question.

“And whilst we’re at it, maybe we can— go and get coffee together or something…” Spencer tried to ignore the pounding of his heart against his chest as he extended his proposal, and your eyes immediately flicker up to his as he finishes speaking.

“Like— a date?”

“If you’d like it to be…” The two of you were both horribly flustered by now, both of you practically radiating your emotions for each other.

“I— Yeah… I’d like that,” You smile that gorgeous, perfect smile up at him and he swears his heart melts into a puddle at the sight.

“Perfect..”

Thank god for mutual favours.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #asks 🫶

709 notes · View notes

kingkonoha · 1 year ago

Text

WE’RE AT THE FINALEEEE 💃🏾🤍 VACATION TIME! (I better see Erwin naked on a beach and covered in body oil or I’m gonna stop reading)

Your world building is very creative. It’s not the aot world, not 100% our world, but your own world that incorporates both!

Unfortunately I too would talk the reader’s ear off, so I relate to Hange

Heavy-lidded slate gray eyes stare into your own, typical deadpan expression painting the rest of the owner's face. You jump slightly at the sudden change, your heart doing the same but not entirely from the shock. <- this scared me as a reader I CANT IMAGINE HOW SHE FELT

His eyes snap to you at the touch of your warm skin, tense at first but then visibly relaxing when he remembers it's you. <- oh. Oh okay. Must be nice. JDJDJD “when he remembers it’s you” really got me!

“I’m starving. Want to grab a bite somewhere?” Erwin checks his phone to verify the time as he inquires. <- WHY IS MY BEAUTIFUL BABY HUNGRY. FEED THIS KING NOWWWWW .

His gaze doesn’t stay long but it’s enough for you to shoot him a toothy smile and thumbs up in agreement. <- and ladies and gentlemen here we have the reader, yet again, being adorable as hell. Thank you.

Erwin glances over to you and winks…<- REMIND ME WHY SHE WANTS LEVI AGAIN? BECAUSE . BECAUSE.

Erwin managed to find everyone a nice place to stay. That’s my man and I love him.

This trip was for him and Carly for their anniversary AND the place where he was going to ask her to marry him and she was a no good rotten cheater I can’t BREATHE. Erwin deserves the world he’s such a good man and he needs as much love as he gives and-

but Erwin stared you down before you could even protest any further. <- I’m taking his clothes off

I love how much Levi adores tea. It’s a canon trait from the anime of course, but here, it makes me happy because the modern world has no many varieties and tea can be a hobby for him.

Putting the SHORTbread biscuits on the TOP shelf is evil!

“No, but I did check on them. They are out like a light.” <- Erwin being perfect yet again. Not only is he helping put up groceries but he check on his friend while they were sleeping like the perfect kind amazing wholesome gorgeous beautiful person he is.

“I’d like to see you try.” A soft chuckle escapes his lips as he tosses some seasonings into the pan. <- we love a man who knows how to season and chuckle

…Levi start arguing with Hange about something again. <- I LOVE their friendship forever and always

I don’t know if this was intentional but the reader seems so happy on this trip, cracking a lot of jokes with Levi. I think it’s the combination of both falling in love and being on vacation and I LOVE IT! I too am excited to see what this trip has in store!

Chapter 8: June - Part One

☾ Pairings ➼ Levi Ackerman x fem!mute!Reader (she/her pronouns), set in a modern semi-fictional world

☾ Summary ➼ Due to childhood trauma, you find yourself an adult without the ability to speak. After years of working on it, you have found ways to live without a voice. Now here in your late 20s, you are 5 months in getting used to a new town. On a fateful day in late November, you and your adopted sister visit a local bookstore-café, unaware of the friendships about to blossom. Throughout the months, one friendship in particular develops into something more.

☾ Content/Warnings ➼ fluff, slowburn, oblivious feelings, romance, angst, mention of minor character deaths, trauma, illness, adoption, mentions of fire, disabilities, alcohol use, very light nsfw mentions, references to child abuse, smoking and alcohol abuse mentions, domestic violence, light assault

☾ Author's note ➼ Hi guys! Welcome to the final chapter!! As you can see, I will be splitting up June into multiple parts!! I don't know how many yet. I have multiple days planned, each with their own twists and surprises. I can't wait to get to day 3 and 4 AAAAAAAA. Anyways. This chapter is really slow but it's set up for the stuff later, I promise!! Happy summer, see you in my next update (hopefully soon)!!

☾ Word Count ➼ ~5.1k

As promised, you find yourself on a plane to the Marleyan coastal city, Liberio, in the middle of June. The flight was not as long as you thought but unfortunately for you, Hange forgot their earbuds. The consequences of their scatter-brained self fell onto you. Your sister decided to fill the space with their voice as they spoke animatedly about the itinerary that they've changed at least six times since the plane's departure. You offered to let them borrow your earbuds - mainly out of mercy for yourself – but they refused, stating they were yours to use. Not like you had a chance to really use them anyways.

For the most part, you were able to zone out as Hange’s words became a buzz. You opt to fill the time as you stare out the window and into the horizon, fleeting thoughts of what the future held flying by like the plane you sat in. Only when land could be seen breaking up the dark blue expanse off in the distance did you notice the silence. You're not sure how long it had been since your sister stopped talking. You twist your head around, fully expecting to see Hange asleep. This was not the case.

"Hi."

‘What are you doing here?' You sign curiously.

"What? Tired of me already?" A hint of teasing slips into his tone.

'No! I'm just confused. You're okay!" Your eyes widen in worry, hands flying everywhere.

"I'm kidding. Hange kicked me out of my seat to speak with Erwin." He turns his head in the direction of said person a couple rows ahead, talking just as lively as your sister.

Your eyes trail back over to Levi's face, taking note of the thin sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. His eyebrows crinkle in the middle the way they do when he’s agitated. You flicker your gaze down to see his hand tightly gripping the armrest that separated the two of you. His knee bounces so hard you’re surprised the plane isn’t moving with it. Levi is anxious, something you've never seen him be before now.

Reaching over, you gently place your hand on top of his. His eyes snap to you at the touch of your warm skin, tense at first but then visibly relaxing when he remembers it's you. You offer him a small smile, a look of relief washing over his face for just a moment.

You knew this was your first time flying anywhere but you assumed you were the only one. While you had stared out the window in childlike wonder, Levi must have been quietly suffering. You had enough tact as well as enough knowledge of your friend to know he wouldn't want to talk about it. Instead, you wrap your fingers around the back of his hand and turn back to the window.

You stay like that when the sea changes to land and don't let go even when the wheels hit the pavement.

The moment you step outside of the airport’s sliding glass doors, you're instantly hit with a gust of humid air. It's hot and you already feel a sticky sweat clinging to your clothes not a minute later. The late morning sun filters through the slats that vertically adorn the awning above the pick-up zone as cars stop and leave like a drive-through for people. Erwin had called for a taxi while you all had waited for your respective bags at the claim area. The plane had landed during the worst time, and it showed as you note there is no end in sight for the line.

“Well, it appears to me that I forgot that time zones exist and unfortunately we can’t check in to the condo for another couple of hours. Any ideas?” Hange whips around to look at the group, making sure to hold their hat in place before it can fly off in the breeze.

“I’m starving. Want to grab a bite somewhere?” Erwin checks his phone to verify the time as he inquires. It was a little past 11am which means that it had been about 6 hours since you had last eaten a full meal.

“Whatever is fine with me. But I think we may be here for the next couple of hours anyways.” Levi shrugs as his eyes scan for the oncoming taxi. They land on you for a moment, lingering. His gaze doesn’t stay long but it’s enough for you to shoot him a toothy smile and thumbs up in agreement. The corners of his lips twitch as he looks away.

“There’s a little café within walking distance of the place we’re staying, why don’t we go there? Maybe you guys can get some ideas for No Regrets while we’re there, huh?” Hange nudges Levi in the shoulder with their elbow.

“What are you trying to say, four-eyes?” Levi cuts his eyes over to your sister.

“Oh nothing, shorty.” Hange snorts back.

“Okay, okay, you two. The car is here, cut it out.” Erwin glances over to you and winks, as if to say ‘children’.

The ride to the café is relatively short. Since you were all staying a little less than a week, the suitcases were small and easily maneuverable, fitting nicely in the trunk of the car you sit in as it speeds down the highway. Luckily, the local people spoke the same language but the accent they had was something you were not expecting. It’s light and airy, but it’s obvious they had their own dialect.

By the time you sit down at one of the outside tables and order the rest of your meals, the clock reads 1:48pm and your stomach feels as if it will devour itself. Hange and Erwin are chatting about something off to the side while you take in the rest of your surroundings. It was overwhelming to say the least, but not in an entirely bad way. Bright colors and tan buildings overtake your senses. You rub your eyes, realizing just how tired and strained they were.

“Maybe we should have gotten you some caffeine?” Levi looks over to you as he sips the tea he ordered. It’s dark as usual, the steam from the hot liquid drifting and refracting the sunlight in a million different ways. There’s a look of peace on his face as he ingests it, a clear sign that he is pleased with the way it was made – which is hard to do for Levi Ackerman.

‘I’ll be fine. I’m sure I’ll sleep well tonight.’ You wave your hand dismissively when you’re done, shooting Levi a small smile. He doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t press.

“Do you know the plans for the next couple of days?” He inquires, staring over to your other two friends deep in conversation. They’re pointing to a paper itinerary they had printed out prior to leaving home.

‘Hange has changed it so much that I have no idea. I know we’re going to the beach tomorrow morning but that’s it.’

Levi says nothing else, the clinking of his teacup hitting the saucer being the only noise responding back. You start to wonder if Levi feels as you do – like a passenger along for the ride with Erwin and Hange helming the wheel. You wonder even more if he’s of the same mindset that you don’t really mind being thrashed around if you get to be with your friends, with him. A breeze blows past, granting a brief respite from the sweltering humidity and pulling you from your thoughts. You can’t wait to shower later.

Just as Hange said, the condo isn’t too far from the café. A few minutes walk from it, actually. The building where you would reside for the next week is massive, much more than the pictures gave credit for. You can hear the distant crashing of waves belonging to the ocean that sits behind it. When you step inside the cool, air-conditioned lobby, your mouth drops slightly. This was not like your typical residential condo complex.

The outside looks quite plain, white with light blue accents. But the inside? Marble flooring and gold embellishments flood your eyes. Dark, glossy wood makes up all the furniture with navy blue velvet to line the seating. A massive crystal chandelier hangs from the center which also splits a double curved staircase leading to who knows where, sitting under it are a couple of elevators. To your right sits a restaurant called Rumbling Bar and Grille and to your left, something that looks like a grand ballroom. Double French doors stand open outwards, and you can see more marble flooring filling the space. There’s a billboard hanging by the doors with multiple fliers about upcoming events tacked to it. The only noises you hear are the patrons at the bar enjoying an afternoon meal. You can’t believe Erwin had managed to book something so grand as this.

After your birthday party last month, Erwin had explained the reasoning for such an occasion, saying the perks that were planned for the next few days were from a trip he had booked forever ago - A trip he had booked for him and Carly as an anniversary present as well as a place to ask her to marry him. Considering after everything that had happened so many months ago, you can see why he didn’t want to bring it up. But then Carly called him to ask about using it for her and her friends and well, it was under his name. He said it wasn’t hers to take.

Erwin said he was fine about it all and would rather it be put to use by someone else, not to mention that it was all nonrefundable. He didn’t really go into details about what the perks were other than that some things were easily upgradable to fit the four of you comfortably. You can’t help but feel slight guilt for taking advantage of such a lavish gift, but Erwin stared you down before you could even protest any further.

“Little Berry!! Are you coming or what?” Hange pulls you out of your thoughts and your eyes zero in on Hange, Levi, and Erwin waiting by the elevators for you. Signing a lazy sorry, you grab the handle of your rolling suitcase and hurry to catch up with them.

The complex is set up so that every floor has one condo each, and there are about 30 floors in total. Due to that, every resident is given a private code that must be put into the elevator that gives it the permission needed to move to the appropriate floor. Erwin inputs the code he was given by the hosts and eventually the doors open up on the 27th floor half a minute later.

Your first impression of the condo is warmth. The owners have it decorated in a typical beach fashion but instead of the normal navy blues and grays, it was all oranges, pinks, and tans. Very much like a vibrant sunset on the beach.

The entire floor was built with an open plan. A large living room sits in the middle with spacious, comfortable looking couches and a massive flat screen TV sitting upon a long table up against the wall. A grand kitchen sits off to the side, separating itself from the dining room with a white marble island countertop that serves as a bar to eat at. Along the entire wall facing the ocean sit wide windows, starting from the floor and reaching up high to the tall ceilings. Natural light would not be a problem here.

Originally, Erwin’s booking had a single bedroom. Somehow, he was able to get something so last minute with 3 bedrooms, all with their own private bathrooms. A king, a queen, and a double twin. The men got the bigger rooms which left you and Hange in the smaller one, but you didn’t complain about that at all.

Your bedroom isn’t as small as Hange claimed, however. It’s big enough for two people, the same area as a typical hotel. On the far wall, a glass door separates the room from a small veranda that faces the ocean, equipped with a single garden chair and small round table.

You clumsily place your suitcase on the bed closest to the bathroom, grunting in effort as you do. Hange does the same, and smiles over to you in accomplishment. You and Hange didn’t have many similarities even though you’ve lived with them for more than half of your life, but you did share the need to over-pack for every trip ever made.

“We don’t have any plans for the rest of today, right?” Hange flops onto their bed and stares over at you. Their head slowly sinks into the soft pillows.

‘Not that I know of. I don’t even know what we’re doing for dinner.’ You shrug your shoulders and brush the hair out of your face that fell with the exertion of moving your suitcase.

“I was actually thinking about us making dinner and staying in to rest up for the next couple days.” You think for a moment and ultimately decide that’s not a bad idea. You were quite tired and wouldn’t mind relaxing.

‘We don’t even have groceries for that, silly.’

“Why don’t you and Erwin go? I trust you both to think of something delicious.” So much for relaxing.

‘I guess. But what will you do?’

“If you must know, I’ll be staring at the back of my eyelids.” Hange chortles as they move their arms across their eyes. You huff and start unpacking a few things before pulling off your suitcase and tucking it into the corner. By the time you stand up straight, you hear the light snores that belong to your sister.

In their defense, they have been pulling late nights the past week so that they didn’t have much to worry about while they were gone. So you didn’t have much to be mad about, not like it bothered you much to begin with. This was vacation after all, and they had practically planned it all with Erwin.

You step over to your sister’s bed and gingerly pull their shoes off, placing them on the floor by the glass doors. You grab the handles of her bag and tug it gently. They had packed way more than you did, and it showed in your face as you did your best to lift it off the bed without disturbing them. You pluck off Hange’s glasses and set them on the bedside table before brushing their hair out of their face, smiling down at them as you do. Doing this reminds you of all those nights back when you took care of Hange in the deepest part of their university years. Once satisfied, you grab your shoulder bag and quietly step out of the bedroom before closing the door with a soft click.

You twirl around to find Erwin busy typing away at his laptop on the sofa while Levi’s in the kitchen inspecting the cabinets, moving things around like he’s looking for something. You move closer and rap on the coffee table with your knuckles to get Erwin’s attention.

“Hm?” He responds, not bothering to look up at you. You knock again, finally getting his bright blue eyes to land on you. “Oh, sorry. What’s up? Where’s Hange?”

‘They elected to take this time to nap. We’ve been chosen to do grocery shopping for tonight’s dinner.’ Erwin chuckles at that.

“That’s Hange for you. That sounds great but I’m unfortunately in a pickle trying to get these reservations set for tomorrow. I’m sure Levi wouldn’t mind going with you, though.”

“Wouldn’t mind going where?” Levi calls from inside a cabinet, his back turned to you.

“Grocery shopping. We’re having dinner here tonight.” Erwin goes back to his typing, his eyes squinting as he reads along with something.

“Normally I’d say no, but this place has next to no tea and if I’m to survive this week, I need more than what the café had to offer.” Levi laments and finally wheels around to face your direction. Your eyes meet and you point to the elevator with a thumb. He nods and shuts the cabinet behind him before heading towards the doors.

“What do you want?” Levi mumbles over his shoulder towards Erwin.

“Whatever you two want. I trust you implicitly.” Levi grumbles more at Erwin’s response as he presses the button to call the elevator. It looks like whatever was on the menu for tonight fell onto the two of you.

The walk to the grocer was not a very long one. With every passing moment, you start to understand why Erwin chose this spot. It was close to everything you would need without having to rent a vehicle. However, because of how short the trip to the store was, it left you and Levi little to no time to decide what to make for dinner tonight.

Levi stands with his hands in his pockets as he stares at the selections of meat in front of him, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. You’re leaning against the shopping cart as you stare over his shoulder at the options. There were too many to choose from and you really had no idea what you wanted. You glance over to the glass case tucked into the corner of the store, filled to the brim with fresh fish and crustaceans sitting on a bed of ice. Levi didn’t even bother to look at it when you passed it the first time.

You both had already been here for half an hour, gathering small things for the rest of the trip like sunscreen, drinks, and snacks. Not to mention loose leaf tea in which Levi had spent 15 minutes of that time alone finding the right one. You would never tell him, but he is such a tea snob. You had mentioned taking a walk around as you both did the extra shopping to give yourself more time to think, but you find yourself still in decision paralysis as you stand shivering in front of the cooler.

“Any ideas yet?” You reach over and tap him on the back of the shoulder to get his attention.

‘Not yet. You?’ Levi clicks his tongue in slight frustration.

“Tch. Are we sure we don’t want to just eat out instead? It would save us the hassle.”

‘Levi.’

“Okay, okay. Pasta? How about pasta?” Levi points to the seafood bar. “With shrimp?” You stare at him incredulously, questioning if he can read your mind. But also confused, as you didn’t think he cared for it considering the uninterested tone. But still, you nod in approval, almost a little too enthusiastically. He hums back in response and gently pulls on the cart towards the freshly caught shrimp. You have no choice but to be tugged along.

You watch as Levi orders a pound of de-shelled shrimp in his usual monotone voice. The way his jawline tenses as he waits, the way his bottom eyelashes sit on his soft cheeks. His pouty lips, marred from his past mistakes. You don’t notice how hard you’re staring until his gray eyes cut over to you.

“What?”

‘Nothing, you just have an eyelash on your nose.’ Levi rubs his nose with a finger to rid of the imaginary lash.

“Better?” You nod, face heating up at being caught.

“Here you are sir.” The guy behind the counter calls out, holding a taped up package of the cold shrimp. “Anything else I can get you?”

“No, thank you.” Levi reaches over and takes it carefully before tossing it into the cart. He turns in your direction but looks past you to the aisles behind you. “Let’s go grab the rest of the ingredients and get out of here, yeah?”

With that, you and Levi weave and bob through the aisles you had once gone through already. Luckily with the grocer being so small to begin with, it didn’t take much time at all now that you knew what you were looking for. At one point Levi wanted something off a shelf but couldn’t reach. He stood there for a minute staring daggers into what looked like a package of shortbread biscuits. He of course didn’t say anything and instead twirled around and left down the aisle. You reached up to grab it after he disappeared around the corner and tucked it away into the cart.

To make it fair, you both decided to split the grocery bill and much to your surprise, it wasn’t as much as you thought it would be. If Levi wasn’t so stubborn, you would have offered to pay for it all. You can already picture Levi staring holes into your skull at such an offer.

When you get back, you note that not much has changed. Erwin is still on the sofa, scrolling through something and only stopping once he hears you placing paper grocery bags down on the counter. The TV is on, playing the local forecast for the rest of the week. It looks like sunshine and high temperatures.

“There you are. Find anything good?” Erwin places his laptop on the coffee table and stands up before making his way over to you and Levi. He sticks his hands in the bags to help unpack and eyes the fresh tomatoes, shrimp, and cream. Blue eyes then trail over the dry pasta that Levi currently held in his hands.

“Shrimp pasta?” He raises an eyebrow at you both.

‘Tuscan shrimp pasta.’ You correct him. ‘Levi’s idea.’

“Hm. Interesting.” Erwin chuckles at that and places it all down on the counter. You look up at him curiously as he does so.

‘What do you mean by that?’

Erwin leans down to whisper so that only you can hear while he sticks his hands back into the bag. Levi isn’t paying attention as he’s currently putting the cold ingredients away in the fridge.

“Pasta is one of his comfort foods. But the shrimp? He’s not a fan. Something must have changed his mind.” He pulls away and looks down at you with a gleam in his eye, an award winning smile blinding you. You fidget with the hem of your shirt as you consider his words.

‘Is Hange up yet?’

“No, but I did check on them. They are out like a light.”

‘I’m going to wash all this travel grime off then. Be right back.’ You turn on your heels to head towards your room at a brisk pace.

“So Levi...” You hear Erwin start just as you close the door behind you.

Hange is indeed passed out. When you left, they had their arm over their face. Now, they’re face down on their pillow and snoring away. Good thing you had moved their glasses when you did. You take a moment to gather some fresh lounge clothes before setting out your night wear for later. You take one last glance at your sister to make sure they were still breathing and close the bathroom door behind you.

The rest of the evening goes by in a blur. Hange had woken up by the time you got out of the shower – which took you a while to do as it was the nicest shower you have ever used. While you waited for Hange to clean up as well, you spent some time on the balcony looking out into the ocean as the sun lowered into the sky. Your skin warms in the golden light that came with this time of night. You watch as families pack up their things and leave the sandy shores, the sounds of small kids whining making their way up to you.

Dinner, as planned, took little to no time at all to make. Especially considering the four of you teamed up and tackled every part of it flawlessly, all working in sync. At some point, Erwin and Hange were on vegetable chopping duty which left you and Levi tending to the stove, stirring the cream sauce and sautéing shrimp respectively. You watch Levi out of the corner of your eye, noting how intently focused he is on the task at hand.

“You keep staring at me today, what’s up with that?” He doesn’t even look up when he speaks, choosing to do so once he finishes his sentence. Sharp gray eyes stare into your own and you force yourself to look away, opting to gaze down to the bubbling cream mixture before you.

‘I’m not.’

“Tch, could have fooled me.” His remark contains no traces of malice, so you know he’s not truly all that bothered.

‘Maybe you just have a slappable face,’ You tease. More like kissable, you think. Your cheeks flare at the flashing thought and mentally swat it away.

“I’d like to see you try.” A soft chuckle escapes his lips as he tosses some seasonings into the pan.

“Alright you two, stop flirting and move, the tomatoes are done.” Hange chirps from behind you.

Was that flirting? You don’t stop to dwell on it as you’re pushed away from the stove and far from Levi. You move to the other side of the island and lean against it as you watch Levi start arguing with Hange about something again. Erwin is doing his best to move them along before the food burns. You laugh to yourself at the scene unfolding before you, feeling your heart warm at it.

Whether it was from Hange’s soft snoring or the endless thoughts racing through your mind, you find yourself tossing and turning in bed. Reaching over to the side table, you pull your charging phone closer to you and click the side button, resulting in you flinching away at the sudden bright light. When your eyes adjust, you note the time reading well past three in the morning. You can already feel the imminent exhaustion for tomorrow.

You set the phone down carefully and push yourself up into a sitting position. Out the veranda glass doors, you spot the distant movement of ocean waves as the current pushes in and out of the shore. The reflection of the full moon glitters along the dark expanse. Without another thought, you pull yourself out of bed and throw on your thin jacket before padding out of the bedroom and through the front door.

Compared to this afternoon, the night is considerably colder and the breeze off the ocean made it even more so. You pull your jacket around you tightly, scolding yourself for not putting on more clothes. The bottom of your night dress ripples in the wind creating goosebumps up your legs. Besides the cold though, the night is gorgeous. There is quite a bit of light pollution from the night activities blaring through the streets so the stars are muted but otherwise it’s a very clear night, not a cloud in sight. The ocean, the moon, the muffled music in the background of the ultimately silent and peaceful night… you revel in it.

The waves lap the shore gently as you make your way over to the shoreline. Your bare feet digs through the soft sand and you chuckle to yourself. This is the first time you’ve ever been on something like this and it was strange. You get close enough to where the water stops and take a deep breath before taking a few steps more. When the salt water rushes over your feet, you jump in surprise. It’s a lot colder than you expected, but you chalk that up to the fact that the sun is no longer out to warm everything.

“Couldn’t wait until tomorrow to take a swim?” You hear a familiar voice grumble behind you. Startled yet again, you jump and snap your head to the visitor. Levi stands with his hands in his jogger’s pockets, black t-shirt billowing in the wind with his hair doing the same. The moonlight hits him like it always does, giving him a glow that only he can reflect.

‘It’s the only good time for skinny dipping.’ You sign back jokingly. He only rolls his eyes in response. He takes a few steps closer but not enough to get his feet wet, which you notice he’s completely laced up in sneakers. Must be the sand, you think.

“You’re a dummy. Can’t sleep?”

‘Too excited. I have a lot of thoughts.’

“Like what?” He smirks over to you and crosses his arms over his chest.

You walk over and stand beside him, tapping a finger on your chin like you’re lost in thought.

‘Like… what kind of sand mermaid I’m going to make you into tomorrow. Later today.’ You smile over at him.

“I’m sure whatever you choose, it will look great.” Levi huffs in amusement.

‘What’s keeping you up?’

“Perpetual insomnia…” He trails off and gives you a side eye before continuing on, “And I heard you leave.”

‘Afraid I might run off with someone in the night?’ You gain another huff from Levi, but he doesn’t say anything back. He shifts his weight, a subtle wince flashing across his face.

‘Need me to carry you, old man?’

“Oi, fuck off.”

Another cool breeze blows past, this time pulling your unzipped jacket back and exposing more of your skin to the open air. You’re now very aware of what you’re wearing in the presence of Levi. Not that you had planned to run into anyone, but you scold yourself again for not layering up even more. Your night dress didn’t show too much in terms of cleavage which was comforting. But then the fact that you had no bra on and the fabric was quite thin races through your mind. You catch his gaze flickering down before you can pull your jacket around you again. When you glance back up, he’s already looking in the opposite direction.

“The way I see it,” He clears his throat. “we can either walk along the beach until you’re tired enough to go to bed or we can head back and you can try your hand at sleeping now.” That was quite an ultimatum, you think. You rack your brain to see how tired you really were. Before, you might have head back after a bit. But now that Levi is here… well. You didn’t want to cut this moment short.

‘I don’t want to go back yet.’ Levi nods and starts off to the left, the soft crunch of sand emanating from every step. Yes, you were quite excited to see what else this trip had in store.

☾ Previous Chapter: May ☾ Next Chapter: June - Part Two

#˗ ˏˋ♛ 𝐓𝐀𝐘'𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘 ♛ˎˊ ˗

30 notes · View notes

trashmouth-richie · 2 years ago

Text

Eddie x Fem!reader

master list

summary: feelings burst. Fluffy. Fluffy fluffy. Eddie helps reader when she finds herself in a bind.

warnings: no minors gtfo- eventual smut in the series.

W.C: 11.8k 🫣

A/N: per usual thank you the my beta readers @sweetsweetjellybean

Clunk

Clunk clunk humm

You were already late for work this morning and now this? Must be a fucking Monday. This must be that bitch karma’s payback for you talking shit about Eddie’s van the other night when he backed it up to the garage to unload some shit he salvaged from the junkyard.

“You would think that since you’re a mechanic, you could tune up that piece of shit so it isn’t so fucking loud.”

Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, unloading another arm load of car parts from the back of the van to the middle of the garage, “don’t dog on the shaggin’ wagon, you know how much ass I get in this thing?”

The unspoken agreement you had with Eddie the other night after spilling your guts about your past, gave you more patience towards him than ever before. Instead of finding him repulsive, you two were almost friends.

“No I don’t and also I don’t care.” you say taking a bite of a ham sandwich.

“More than a public toilet seat,” Eddie boasts, “Ladies love it, feel like I’m Shaggy or something.”

More like his other four-legged snack-loving friend.

“I really hope you use a rubber, don’t wanna extend the Munson blood line anymore than you have to,” you bite back.

“Oh sweetheart, I always wrap it with the groupies, especially watching Jas bounce from Gareth, to Big D to Walt all in one night.”

“Well look at you, Mr. Perfect bill of health.”

Eddie smiles widely a stupid grin plastered on his face, “I’m so good at the doctors they even give me a sticker. ”

Now here you are, stranded at the gas station east of town, past Merrill’s pumpkin patch. Losing all faith in your sanity, you slam your hand into the steering wheel one more time. Your chunky boots clunk across the pavement as you pull the door towards you, a dingy brass bell dings overhead, alerting the gas station attendant that someone has entered the store.

“Back again?” the balding creep with the greasy combover presses. His coke bottle thick glasses full of breakfast pizza slime from his fingers from pushing them up on in place after sliding down the oils on his nose. A brown paper bag with orange spray paint sitting next to it sat on the counter, and a tinge of orange around his mouth.

With no time for small talk or shooting the shit with the local bachelors of Hawkins, you simply need to borrow the phone and call… fuck. You didn’t want to have to call Boom’s, but the other shops didn’t open yet, and you didn’t know any of them. The decision was made.

“I need to use the phone,” you say laying your hands on the counter.

“No can do, this is a business line,” he spits, bits of his barely chewed breakfast falling from his over stuffed mouth.

Irritated beyond belief you say through gritted teeth, “What? My car broke down, I need to have it towed.”

Showing no sympathy, the combover greaseball says, “That sucks, don’t it,” a throaty chuckle erupts from him. Clearly the man got off from making next to little effort in helping someone.

“Listen,” you say peering over the counter to read the slobs name tag, “Ralph— you’re going to give me the goddamn phone so I can get my car towed, or I’m going to tell your boss about your little huffing habit. Got it?”

His cheeks crimson at your threat, “…what’s the number?”

After dialing it wrong three times, Ralph’s oversized fingers and his altered mind getting hung up on where the 4 was on the dusty rotary phone, you hastily reach across the counter and grab it and the Hawkins phone book. Flipping through the worn yellow pages, finding the number yourself and slotting your fingers in the appropriate places to get the number correct, it finally starts ringing.

Angrily tapping your foot, the serenade of dial tone ringing loud in your ear.

“Boom’s” a bored voice says, after ehat seems like hours of waiting.

“Hey, — is Eddie there?”

A scoff is heard from the other end of the phone, followed by an annoyed voice, “Why who wants to know?”

You don’t have time for childish games with whoever this fucking prick is. “Jesus Christ what is it with assholes today? Is he there or no?”

“I don’t know, you stupid bitch— why don’t you tell me if Eddie is here or—”

A scuffle is heard as the phone falls to the ground.

“What the fuck did I tell you? Huh? I’ll drop your ass just name the time and place mother fuck— hello?”

“Eddie?” You ask exhaustedly.

“Tooty? Oh shit, you miss me so much you’re making calls to my work?”

“E—” you begin, frustration rising.

“Or did you call to gossip? Ooooh, tell me all about the salon drama, is it that blonde again, damn just slap her already I know you want to.”

“Ed—!”

“Shit if you’re worried about going to jail I’ll come bail y—”

“Edward Joseph Munson!”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, “Did you just use my full name? I only hear that when I’m in trouble with Wayne.”

“Will you listen to me?! I need help. I’m at the gas station east of town and my car won’t start.”

“What? What happened?” Eddie asks, his joking tone immediately fading to concern.

“I have no idea, but I’m already late for work—can you come pick me up?”

“Usually this is where a please would be.”

“Eddie!”

“Ooh even begging?”

“Goddamnit,” you say under your breath, “Eddie will you please, come get me?”

“That a girl, see that wasn’t so hard. So where are you?”

Eddie rolls up in an old orange and white tow truck, head banging with a cigarette hanging limply from his bottom lip. “So what happened?”

“Well I drove here, got gas, and then it just wouldn’t start.”

“Damn, I wonder if your starter is out.”

“Great, so what the hell does that mean?”

“Well, I’m not sure if it is that or not, but if it’s not that— it means that your car is probably going to need more work than it’s worth, but I won’t know until I get it in the shop.”

“Son of a bitch.” you curse, covering your face with your hands and tipping your head back up to the sky. Could this fucking day get any worse?

After buying the house last year, your savings were completely wiped out, the last few months you had been pinching pennies trying to build it back up

“I’ll tow it, but I don’t think Boom has any loaners right now,” Eddie explains, “but since I’m such a kind, handsome, good roommate….”

You roll your eyes.

“I’ll bring you to work.”

Shock evident on your face, “You sure?”

“I mean its either that or the city bus, and last I checked—Hawkins doesn’t have one.”

Eddie agrees to give you a ride until your car is fixed on one condition, the band gets to use the garage for practices again. Too tired to fight with him, you give in.

He backs the truck up, moving the steering wheel with one hand the other hanging out of the window, his tongue poked out through his lips. He jumps down from the truck and maneuvers the wheel lift into place by your front tires.

The muscles in his forearms jut out, tattoos dancing with each movement and covered in a thin sheet of sweat as he grabs the chains from the flatbed and hooks them along your front tires, securing them into place. Your car is lifted slightly giving enough clearance to be able to tow.

“Ready?”

Bouncing along side Eddie in the tow truck you sigh heavily, “fuck, I hate Mondays.”

“Okay, Garfield,” Eddie chuckles, turning down the radio and glancing towards you, a cigarette balanced between his teeth, “could always be worse,” he digs into his front pocket for his pack of cigarettes and hands them to you.

You smile weakly and take the pack from him, plucking a tanned filter from the pack and shoving it between your lips. Before you can even say that your lighter is in the car, he’s leaning over. A scratched zippo with a fading design on it, in his hand already flicked open, the flame threatening to go out with the help of the lazy breeze through the open driver’s side window. It’s the same lighter he’s had since you first bummed a cigarette from him when you were thirteen.

Leaning towards him you put the cigarette into the flame, inhaling deep— the cowboy killers burning the pinky tissue of your lungs. He flicks the lighter closed with a metallic snap and smiles out of the corner of his mouth at you. Suddenly your lungs aren’t the only thing burning.

“Thanks,” you say, trying to avoid the skips in your stomach, “I usually prefer menthols, but I guess, these’ll do,”

“Always gotta bust my balls dontchya?” Eddie laughs, a stream of smoke billowing out from his nose. “Hey, uh— I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but that gas station is rated 5 stars on the creepiest place in town.”

You glare your eyes at him, absolutely not having it, “they have cheap gas.”

“There’s a reason for that, and every drug dealer in town sells out of there,” Eddie scolds.

“You would know,” you say in a hateful tone.

“You’re right,” Eddie protests, looking at you earnestly, “I would know— it’s not a good place to be— no matter what time of day, so stay away from it.”

You knew he was trying to look out for you, and from what Steve said, — he blamed himself for the things Chad did to you. But it was never his fault, he didn’t know just like most of Hawkins didn’t. You lived with the Wheeler’s and not even they noticed until you walked home that night. You decide to let it be. For once in your life agreeing to what he had to say.

“Alright,”

Boom’s was on the opposite side of town, the rest of the drive you listened to Eddie hum along to the radio and snuck a peek at him playing air guitar. Despite him being so foul, and a royal pain in the ass, he was actually a decent human being.

No other men in their twenties could help you through your panic attack, aside from Steve. But Eddie? He was different from Steve in ways that you couldn’t grasp. You didn’t find yourself staring at Steve. Even if you had been swimming with him on more occasions than you can count. Sure he was good looking, but you never once understood why the girls at the pool practically flocked to him. Eddie hardly ever wore a shirt around you and your stomach ached each time you saw his broad shoulders and tattoos. Steve was like a brother to you, he scolded you and gave you advice, all with his hands permanently attached to his hips. A mother hen among his friends. Eddie teased and taunted you, his irritating behavior and the way he chewed his food, the way his hair was everywhere in the bathroom, the way his hair looked when he was fresh out of the shower, a towel slung on his hips. The way his hips made a ‘V’, small trail of hair from his belly button to his waistband. Fuck.

Is it hot in here?

What the hell were you doing?

There’s no way.

No fucking way.

Nope, not today.

Not ever.

…

But what if?

Eddie couldn’t understand what was going on with you in the passenger seat. Instead of bitching at him like normal, you were staring out the window. Looking as if you were fighting a storm in your cute little head. Maybe you were reliving the past. Silently suffering through something that he should have been there to stop. But judging from your reflection against the dirty window, you didn’t seem to be crying.

After that night, Eddie was putting in more effort to make sure you felt safe. He gave you distance. Avoided the bathroom in the morning, and stopped making dick jokes altogether. He still joked around, still acted like an idiot— but his perverted meter was dipped into the green zone, the safety net.

He meant what he said, you didn’t have to be afraid with him around. And he would do whatever he could to prove that to you. So when you called Boom’s earlier and asked for help— he dropped everything to make the trek across town to pick you up. Especially when you told him the gas station you were at. Known for being the skeeziest one in town, he worried about you being there alone.

Seeing the tow truck pull into the parking lot, Sean and Aaron had their noses pressed against the glass, the cheap flimsy blinds hung crooked over their heads.

“Damn,” Aaron exclaims, “you were right, that is her.”

“Told you, Munson hasn’t shut up about her since he moved in. Wonder if Chad knows where she’s been hiding.”

Eddie parks the tow truck and you both climb out. He gives you the keys to his van and tells you he’d be right back. Walking into the shop with a whistle on his tongue, he goes into Boom’s office. He’s sitting at a worn down wooden desk. Papers, and receipts clutter space where a framed family picture might be. A steaming styrofoam cup of coffee in Boom’s left hand suggested he stopped at the donut mart, and a dozen of glazed holes from heaven would be sitting in the break room, their sweetness tantalizing the crew all day.

Eddie raps his knuckles against the yellowed paint by the door frame.

‘Yep,” Boom chirps without looking up, reading the daily arrest records in the Hawkins Post.

“Hey, I brought Tooty’s Escort back, I’m going to bring her to work quick and when I get back I’ll move it.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Boom gripes, not looking up from the paper, sipping the coffee slowly.

“Dunno, I’ll take a look at it— “ Eddie shifts his weight from one foot to another, “I was wondering if I could maybe work on it after hours, or on the weekends.”

Boom considers what Eddie is saying, “off the clock?”

“Yeah, or maybe I could take some of my tools home? Work on it there?”

Boom thinks for a while, taking a sip of his coffee. His pudgy finger hovering near the name “William Hargrove” mulling over if he knew him. He finally looks up, “Whatever you wanna do, Eddie, you’ve got keys—I trust you.” Boom offers, “just don’t let those other two jackasses know what you’re doing and who for— that’s all they’ve been yappin’ about since you left this morning.

Eddie rolls his eyes, “I’m just helping out a friend, don’t know why they give a fuck.”

“Personally, I don’t give a shit— but you’re my best mechanic, and those other two are on their last strike with me. One more time I read their name in this paper and they’re both out of here, and when that time comes— I’m sure they’ll be lookin’ for someone to blame.”

The familiar scent of stale weed and a spilled rotting beer in the back of the van flood your nose. Even though his van was a dirty pile of shit and it stunk like hell, you’re thankful for Eddie taking time out of his day to help you.

He could have easily told you to fuck off, hung up on you the minute you called. But he didn’t. He kept good on his word even when he didn’t have to. He doesn’t owe you anything and yet here he was, proving to you again, that he could be someone to rely on. You peer at him through your lashes, falling deep into a spell of fondness. He was always clean shaven, showing off his babyish features. If you didn’t know his age you wouldn’t guess he was over twenty two, his youthful pale skin a glow like the moon across a lake at midnight. The deep browns of his eyes squint in the bright sun, his dark eyelashes almost kissing his cheeks. His thick ringed fingers tapping on the steering wheel as ‘Holy Diver’ plays gently in the background. The bob of his Adam's apple jutting out as he swallows and takes a drag from a cigarette.

You barely recognize your own voice when you say barely above a whisper, “thank you, by the way— not just for today but for the other night,” your fingers go back to the same nervous habit, twiddling the end of your cream lettuce hem shirt.

“Of course,” he says, a look of shock on his face, “I know I like to give you shit, but I wouldn’t leave you stranded somewhere.” He looks over at you lazily and smiles. The kind of smile associated with cool guys on tv, the kind of smile that’s crooked and truly only on one side of the face. And for the first time, you smile too, letting the warmth radiate through your body, venturing into places that you have to readjust your crossed legs to avoid entirely.

Pulling into the backlot of the salon, where you and Nancy smoke cigarettes and read trash magazines, you jump out thanking him again, the creak of the door slamming back into the frame as you wave goodbye.

“What time?” Eddie yelled after you, silently admiring the way the sun catches your face, highlighting your features, the slight breeze catching your hair, he can’t help the smile that dances on his lips. “What time are you off work?”

Walking back to him, he’s leaning his head back on the head rest, an arm hanging out of the window, a stupid grin on his face.

“My last client is at five and it’s just a cut, so probably six o’clock, why?” A creep of jittery shock threatens your nerves, fluttering your stomach and sending waves of fluster through your body.

“Thought I’d pick you up, unless you wanna walk home?” He smirks, tracing the small paint chip near where his fingers set on the door.

Biting your lip and moving back on your heels you make your way back to the door, “Okay.”

“Alright, I’ll be back at six.”

“Six” you repeat, turning on your heel and walking into the salon.

Eddie has thought about you all day, the cards of life and the hand you were dealt were shitty. But he was happy he was around to help in any little way he could. He thought maybe he was crazy, seeing shit when you smiled at him, a sort of shyness in the way you flirted by dipping your head into your shoulder almost giddy at him picking you up.

But that couldn’t be.

The rest of your day was monotonous. Shampoo sets, perms, cuts, rinse and repeat. The long haired metalhead hardly left your mind. When it’s just you and Josie left in the salon after your last appointment, it’s 5:30. She sits down, exhaling loudly. Her long dark braids trailing to her waist, cascade down the length of the chair as she leans back.

“Broke down again? Girl, you need a car that actually works.” Her hot pink fingernails dip into a bag of skittles, popping them into her mouth.

“I know,” you sigh, throwing yourself into your salon chair, “hopefully in the next few months I’ll have enough saved to get myself a new one.”

“So how did you get here? If we had someone else in the salon today I would have came and picked you up,” her mouth puckered into a sucking expression as she pops another skittle into her mouth.

“My roommate… he works at Boom’s so he towed it there and then brought me to work,” you express nonchalantly.

“Ooh the rich one who you used to work with?”

“Steve?” You say with a laugh, “No, Eddie Munson.”

“Eddie Munson? Why does that name sound so familiar? Ohh the infamous Hawkins bad boy, my cousins used to run around with him, some club or somethin’ ”

“Yeah, that's him, he’s turned himself around quite a bit since high school though.” The annoying need to defend him is obvious in your tone.

Josie’s eyes go wide, “Wait—“ she says, pointing a pink nail at you, “he had a girlfriend. He’s living with you? Shit, you’re a brave one.”

Heat creeps to your cheeks, the thought of Eddie having a secret girlfriend that you didn’t know about was almost torture on your soul, “no, no girlfriend… that I’m aware of at least.”

Speak of the devil and he will be present.

Opening the door with the sun waning behind him, peeking an orangy-yellow glow through his unruly curls, stood Eddie. His coveralls are full of motor oil and brake fluid. Black grease is smeared across his face, and his hands. Bandana still snug around his head.

“Oh shit,” Eddie blurts, eyes scanning around the room, bouncing from your face to Josie’s. Clearly uncomfortable in such a clean establishment. “Sorry, I’m uhh, a little early.”

Josie’s eyebrows are turned up in shock, her mouth slightly agape. “Damn, you’re the roommate!?”

Before she can embarrass you any further you blurt, “Josie, this is Eddie,” holding out a hand and pointing, introducing him to her, “Eddie this is my boss and the owner of the salon, Josie.”

Eddie waves with his fingers, “so you’re the one lookin’ after our girl here, the mechanic?” Josie asks.

“Uhh, yeah that’s me.” he puts a hand on the back of his neck and rubs it slow

Josie stands and walks towards you, a clicking of her heels and munching on her candy as she grabs your hand and drags you upwards, dragging you to the back of the salon.

Eddie looks around the room. The salon is decorated in light washes of pink and green and flowers decorate almost every surface, White painted baskets hang from the ceiling holding fake flowers. The salon chairs are black as are the mats under them. Green sinks in the back and cabinets overhead. Two mirrors on each wall and station with a name and family pictures decorate them. Eddie can’t help but notice that where you were sitting, there are only three pictures. A photo of you and Nancy looking like it was taken last summer, you’re holding up the keys to the blue ranch style house he now calls home. Another picture is of you Robin and Steve, in green Family Video Vests in front of the counter. You and Robin are both pulling one of Steve’s ears and he’s making a monkey face. The last picture is of you and Eyeball as kids, a portrait more than likely taken at a JC Penney’s.

“Don’t forget to lock up, okay? Enjoy your day off tomorrow. Eddie, be good to her!” Josie calls from the back, the heavy metal door slamming as she leaves for the night, a smile painted on her lips, shaking her head.

You walk back towards Eddie, he’s sitting in your chair, poking around at all of the different brushes and curling irons that were on your station. Your tired eyes scan him and find him in the mirror. “What is all this shit?”

“My tools to style, cut and color people’s hair.”

You’re standing behind him. You hesitantly grab one of his curls in between your fingers, noting how silky and smooth his hair is despite the split ends. “You could probably use a trim, Eddie. When was the last time you had your hair cut?”

“You think these curls have been in a salon? Please! I cut it myself thank you,”

“I can tell,” you mutter under your breath, going full hog and untying his sweaty bandana and tossing it onto the counter. “Come on, let’s go wash your hair, and then I’m gonna give you a trim.”

“You’re not cutting my hair.” Eddie protests, arms crossed and resisting.

“Your ends are dead, if you don’t take care of it now, it’ll keep going further up and then you’ll have to shave your head.”

Eddie practically trips standing up quickly. “Those are fighting words.”

“Do you really think I’d do that?” You ask in a bored tone.

“Actually no, but— okay fine! Only because you went to some fancy school.”

Eddie stomps over to the sink and sits down with a plop in the smooth cushioned black chair. You follow behind him and place your apron back around your neck, tightening it around your back. You lean his chair back telling him to lift his head from the headrest as you gather his curls into the basin.

Turning on the water and testing the temperature on your wrist, like a mother testing a bottle making sure it isn’t too hot for a baby, you gently put the spray into the ends of Eddie’s hair, gently working the spray up the length of his head to his scalp.

“Is the water okay?”

“Ow, holy shit!” Eddie yelps, his body flopping around like a fish out of water. You immediately turn the faucet the other way, apologizing profusely until you realize Eddie is shaking with laughter.

“Oh fuck, … you…” more laughing as he chokes out his words, “should have seen your face.” He mimics your face and bursts into a fit of giggles, you aren’t sure how long he would have kept it up if you didn’t put the hose directly into his face and throw a towel at him.

“Wipe that grin off your face or I’ll wax your eyebrows.” You spit at him, letting out a small laugh.

Mumbling from under the towel is faint but you swear you hear the word bikini.

Eddie finished cleaning his face and lays his head back into the sink again, you don’t ask this time but immediately start wetting his hair. “So,” he says, closing his eyes, so water won’t get in them, “I think I figured out what is wrong with your car.”

“Oh really? Is it going to be an easy fix?”

Not wanting to admit to you that he was working on your car for free or that he would borrow as many tools as he had to to get your car fixed, he settles for a half truth.

“Shouldn’t be too bad, gotta get some parts ordered for it.”

You let out a groan, “oh God— how much are they?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I just said, don’t worry about it, now treat me like one of your clients and tell me all the hot gossip in your life.”

Taking three giant pumps from the white shampoo bottle in the cabinet, you gently massage it into his scalp. Letting the cool smooth pearlescent liquid suds up. His hair feels like brown ropes of silk in your hands. All the years of having your hands in someone else’s hair were nothing compared to the odd feeling of lightly working the suds into Eddie’s mane. Baby soft. Luxurious in ways that contradicted the metalhead image he wore so well like a coat of armor.

You weren’t the only one admiring the way his hair felt in your hands.

Eddie is fighting hard not to melt into a puddle right there in Josie’s salon. Your hands were like magic against his scalp, your nails lightly scratching small circles against his skull. He was sure he’d fall asleep if he kept his eyes closed for any longer. It was the closest thing he could compare to what heaven would be like. Hints of tropical coconut mixed with crushed pineapple filled the air. He didn’t even realize you were talking until he opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of your mouth moving over him. Your face was concentrating on the story that you were telling, but it fell on deaf ears. He was in a trance. The scrape of your nails against his head was almost pornographic to him. The way your eyes were trained on the job at hand. The way your lips parted and moved as you told the story. The animated look in your eyes, sparkling with each slow blink, your eyelashes teasing him.

He had never noticed the features of your face before. Usually if he was this close you were staring up at him and pointing one of those glorious fingernails into his chest, yelling at him— eyebrows pulled in, your face set in a scowl. But now here you were, scratching an itch he didn’t know he had. Filling a void he wasn’t aware was missing. He could die right now and he wouldn’t even know it. It was almost orgasmic the way you were making him feel, all with just simply washing his hair.

He caught himself before you could notice it. He crossed his legs and willed himself to think of anything else. Shutting his eyes and imagining the least sexy thing he could think of. Not wanting to ruin the moment between you both and make you never want to trust him again because he had got an accidental semi while staring at you while you were wrist deep in shampoo, scrubbing his scalp like a woman in the 1800s washing clothes on a board in the creek bed.

Nobody had ever washed his hair before, that he could remember at least. He never wanted it to end.

“…but that’s crazy right? Like she’s a psycho!” The hazy fog of lust finally left Eddie’s mind, his other four senses returning. Looking at your face and seeing that you were hurt by the story you had explained, and ashamed that he wasn’t even listening, he agreed, not even knowing if he should.

“What a bitch.”

You giggled, smiling down at him. Finally realizing you had been scrubbing his hair for almost five minutes, lost in the story. A stupid distraction to force yourself away from the feeling of the silk length of his hair, the way it felt in your fingers. Not wanting to let it slip away. You gather it all in one hand and grab the hose with the other, starting at the crown of his forehead, you rinse the suds from his hair.

Bubbles circle the basin. Disappearing down the drain along with the same shared feelings of lust and yearning. Shoved down deep away from the surface, hidden beneath hardened surfaces, shielded away from the inner depths of the softening heart.

You ended up cutting half an inch from Eddie’s curls, careful to not lose yourself in his hair again, almost cutting yourself in the process. Hee watched with wide sad brown eyes with each snip. “It’s like I’m watching you cut parts of my soul away.”

You roll your eyes, “It’ll grow back, and when it does it’ll be healthier and longer.”

His bangs were the next to be trimmed, not even half an inch taken off. You place a leave-in conditioner spray to keep his curls soft and to help with the tangles. Knowing full well that Eddie didn’t even own a hair brush.

When you finish and are sweeping up his curls, Eddie stands shaking his head like a dog and running his fingers through it. “Alright, I’ll admit, it does feel better.”

Since the agreement was made for the band to practice every other day of the week in the garage, Eddie had been bringing you to work, and picking you up. On days the band wouldn’t be practicing, when he dropped you at home, he would leave immediately after, sometimes not showing up again until midnight. Coming home tired as all hell, and just like you had done weeks before, a Tupperware of food with instructions on how to warm it up taped to the lid, would be waiting for him in the fridge, each and every time.

There was no more yelling from you when the three members of Corroded Coffin showed up. There were also no more beer cans or greasy food wrappers on the ground either. Instead a trash can sat in the corner, and Eddie paid for pizza after you ordered it.

Actually the band was pretty good. You would never tell him that, that would simply go to his head. And with the ego he already had, he didn’t need another boost of confidence, leave that for the groupies. So every Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday night the band got together, playing covers from their beloved 80’s metal Gods and sometimes original songs they would write. All of them thankful that you let them practice in the garage, Big D picking you up into a bear hug and swinging you around like a rag doll.

“Jesus Christ, D, this is why the ladies run from you, you’re too aggressive, put her down!” Eddie barks. A pang of burning in his chest at the sight of you in someone else’s arms.

Big D sets you down and apologizes, “sorry Toots, and hey speaking of ladies, whatever happened with you and those hotter than hell twins?”

“Oh shit, Gareth hollered, “Fuck dude they were all over him, surprised he’s even able to walk with the way they were strung around him like cats in heat. You usually can’t wait to tell us about it, bragging until the next gig about it at least.”

“That’s cause he probably didn’t do shit, too chicken shit to handle them.”

Your stomach flips, so it wasn’t something you remembered wrong, there were two girls that Eddie had brought home that night. A strange feeling of angst washes over you, coating your mind with uncertainty mixed with inadequacy. Your cheeks warm, embarrassed by the way you are feeling. Excusing yourself to go order the pizza, you don’t see the way Eddie dismisses the guys, blowing them off with a “why don’t we keep our sexcapades to ourselves.” Or the way he throws a full beer at Big D.

After ordering the Corroded Coffin special, two large pepperonis, two large sweet and swine, and an extra large order of cheesy breadsticks— you go into the cupboard and bring out several bags of chips and five paper plates. Your favorite, sour cream and onion, and Eddie’s favorite, cool ranch Doritos. You let your mind wander. Thinking about him with those two girls. Realizing this is probably where he went at night after he dropped you off.

No need to feel like that when he was just your roommate, you shake the jealousy from your head. Just Eddie. Barely a friend. Yet he was still going out of his way to take you to work every day, till doing the chores you both shared. You let the silly feelings drop, carrying the chips and plates to the garage, shutting the door behind you. Pulling up your usual lawn chair, listen to the band play and finish painting your toenails.

When the boys end the song, they start again on the conversation they had started before playing, “dude I’m not dressing up as KISS again this year,” Jeff whines to Gareth “took me forever to get that white paint off my face. And don’t even get me started on the eyeliner.”

A spray of beer soaks the ground as Eddie spits it out, laughing hysterically about the memory of watching Jeff struggle lining his eyes like Paul Stanley. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “yeah I agree, I’m not painting your ugly mugs again this year, what else are you thinkin’?”

“We could all be different villains from scary movies. Freddy, Jason, Michael Myers’s, and Pinhead.” Big D suggests, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“Nah, no chicks wanna fuck something scary. I don’t know about you— but I tried all of last Halloween to get some tail and no girl would even look my way with all that clown paint on.” Gareth huffs twirling his drum sticks in his fingers.

“What about you Tooty?” Eddie asks earnestly, “Do you and Robin go bar hoppin’ on Halloween or do you usually stay home like an old lady knitting sweaters and handing out black licorice and molding fruit?”

Making a face at him, you paint the last coat of polish on your toe nail. “Actually, Nancy and I usually throw a party. Costume contests, kegs, beer pong… we kinda go all out.”

Eddie picks his jaw up from the floor, scoffing, “no way— Nancy Wheeler and you, throwing a rager on Halloween? I don’t buy it.”

“Call Steve and ask him, he’s the reigning Cherry Lane Halloween costume contest winner for two years running.” You say with a smirk on your lips, stretching your legs and crossing them at your ankles, the pretty maroon polish catching the dim light in the garage. “You guys are more than welcome to come, obviously it’s on Halloween night, and the only stipulation is to bring a good costume, and $5 for the keg.”

Eddie moves his tongue over his teeth, twisting his body to look at his band mates, all three of them shrugging and nodding. “Yeah, we’ll be here,

“Yeah, if you think you’re up for it. Sure.” You say nonchalantly.

The smell of mildew and damp carpet currently being air dried with a fan stung your nose. The soggy basement and the crumbling foundation of Sally’s Secondhand in downtown Hawkins was a hidden gem and only open in the afternoons on Mondays and Wednesdays, but they had decent prices and good quality items when you were in a pinch if you could learn to breathe through your mouth for the time you were there.

“So how’s the roomie situation going?” Nancy asks, holding up a hand mixer with two mixing parts and a wooden handle labeled for .10¢. You had scored gold when you found a gently used, practically brand new waffle iron. It was wedged between two cook books for only $2. The same one Karen Wheeler had used on Sunday mornings. You were hunting for discounted Halloween decorations still not sure on what you were going to dress as and Halloween was this Saturday, Nancy was searching for spare camera parts for Jonathan and a toy cowboy hat for her costume that she wouldn’t tell you about.

Putting a masking taped bundle of forks into the blue plastic grocery basket, your forks magically kept disappearing everytime Eddie brought leftovers to work, you let out a sigh, “It’s going okay, better than it was in the beginning. He’s fixing my car up and I cut his hair a few weeks ago. I um.. also told him about Chad.”

Nancy stops dead in her tracks, blue eyes wide, her small mouth agape, “wh-what?!” Nancy was shocked at the news, you nonchalantly delivered like saying ‘fine’ when some asked how you were. She knew how frightening that situation was for you, it was scary for her too. Seeing someone she loved and cared about hurt in ways she couldn’t even fathom.

“We ran into him while getting groceries—like a month ago. I had a full blown panic attack, and Eddie, he helped me through it.” You go into detail explaining everything that had happened. Leaving out the part of you being comforted by Eddie and the gentle way his thick hands caressed you while you sobbed into him like a child who lost their cat.

Nancy's face goes from shock and softens into content, “wow, honestly didn’t think he had a caring bone in his body, he always seemed like such an asshole.”

“I mean he still is, don’t get me wrong— I don’t think he’s giving donations to the local churches or anything, but he seems a little more reserved, if you will,” you say, adding a floral embroidered set of towels for every day of the week to your basket.

“Hmm,” Nancy says with raised eyebrows, and nodding her head, a silent confirmation of approval. Always looking up to Nancy, almost as if she was your real life sister, you admired her. She was always put together, whether you were shopping during the week or at home, she was stylish in a way that said, I will run the world, and have dinner on the table at 6. Her white huarache sandals matched her high waisted pink pastel shorts and white button sleeveless blouse. Effortlessly stunning.

Moving along the aisles you and Nancy both finger through the clothing racks. Pulling out neon prints and a pair Madonna—esque white lace gloves, they probably belonged to that muppet singing idiot, Tammy Thompson. Chuckling at how fashion trends in high school were borderline ridiculous. a denim vest in your size with safety pins on each hem gave you an idea for your costume. Finding everything you needed you were ecstatic to put it all together.

The carpet squashed beneath your feet the further you got into the store. The back room held vhs’s, records, tapes, and books. The records were in a milk carton next to a shelf of adult themed books. The fading sharpie written sign reading “Adult fiction for Women 25 cents” posted bold along the top of the shelf. Nancy discreetly placed, “Thursday and the Lady” by Patricia Matthews into her basket, covering it with matching salt and pepper shakers, a crimson tinge to her rouged cheeks.

Diving into the records you flip them towards you as you lazily scan through them. Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours, Thriller by Michael Jackson, Abbey Road by the Beatles, Kind of Blue by Miles Davis, stuck to the back of it was a small single, Ode to Billie Joe by Bobbie Gentry. It had been years since you heard it, tucking it into your basket, Nancy clears her throat nervously, the blush evident in her cheeks, “I’m ready if you are.”

The Saturday of Halloween the salon was closed, giving you Robin and Steve plenty of time to decorate for the party tonight. Eddie was working but was scheduled to get off around 5, just in time to come home and get his secret costume on.

Orange pumpkin printed garbage bags filled with autumn foliage lined the streets of Cherry Lane. Toilet paper streamers were in Mr. Derry’s tree, a prank the seniors of Hawkins High did to him every year, including egging his front door. Vinyl witches hung from doorknobs. Plastic ghosts holding jack-o-lanterns littered lawns. Fake strings of cotton resembling cobwebs with bendy plastic spider thrown around like glitter, lay atop shrubs. Orange lights were wrapped around the trees in your front yard, flimsy ghosts made of white sheets were hung from the branches. It was a child’s Halloween paradise.

“Higher, no lower, well now you’re just doing it wrong.” Steve was in charge of Robin who was in charge of decorations. The beer pong tournament would be in the basement, every strand of Christmas lights you could find were lighting the ceiling, table set up and cups in place. The tournament bracket started with Mike and El playing against Jeff and his girlfriend Ash. The kegs would be delivered later. Buckets ready for ice sitting on the deck. Robin and Steve were still arguing over who had the better costume last year. Twisting black and orange streamers together and hanging them in the doorway to the bathroom.

In the kitchen, you’re finishing up the Jell-O shots, small clear dishes full of cherry red jello made with everclear. A bitter threat to anyone brave enough to eat them. The spinach and artichoke dip is prepped in the fridge, along with 10 packages of crescent rolls, 5 packages of hotdogs, the fruit cut and ready to be put into Steve’s horrendous Jungle Juice that you would actively be avoiding. Nancy and Jonathan were bringing pinwheels and rotel dip. Dustin and Susie are in charge of bringing candy. It’s going to be a blast.

“Be right back,” Robin and Steve call out as they leave to go get their costumes. Putting the finishing touches on your costume your hand shakes with nervousness while swiping mascara on your lashes, the pre party jitters wracking your nerves. The ring of the doorbell startles you. The obnoxious ringing should be a dead giveaway but you don’t recognize it until the door is wide open and you’re face to face with Jesus Christ himself and three nuns. Or as you knew them, Eddie, Gareth, Jeff, and Big D.

You aren’t sure whose mouth is hanging open more. Yours or Eddie’s. Eddie is wearing a long sleeved cream colored gown, complete with a crimson sash. His usual black leather boots on his feet and a crucifix in his hand.

Eddie is the first to laugh, hands held out like he’s blessing the house before he enters it. “Aww sweetheart, you really are my #1 fan aren’t you?”

You are dressed as the most annoying on the planet, pain in the ass, voted most perverted of all of Hawkins: Eddie. When shopping with Nancy you found the vest, adding a few hand sewn patches and the best replica of Eddie’s DIO patch on the back, even shoving a pack of reds into the pocket, it looked pretty good. A twin of the aforementioned jackass. Borrowing Nancy’s cheap leather jacket when she went as Sandy from Grease last year, and putting holes into a pair of jeans and washing them as many times as you could to fray the edges, it was perfect. Complete with a horrible curly wig that you thought was a life dog upon seeing it.

“I was going for scary and scary annoying,” you shrug, “think I nailed it.”

“As hilarious and surprisingly accurate your costume is, the real winner for the party is going to be us” He gestured to him and the nuns. “figured I’d go as something that everyone says I need more of and you recognize the boys right? They’re dressed as your friends from work.”

The kegs finally show up and Eddie blesses the delivery man before he leaves. Fully throwing himself into character. Dustin and Susie are the first to arrive, dressed as Mrs. Doubtfire and Sally Ride, the first woman astronaut to go into space.

Dustin laughs so hard he cries at your costume. “Oh my God please you have to say, ‘forced conformity, it’s what’s killing the kids!’ Please Tooty Holy shit!”

Mimicking Eddie perfectly you saunter away and scream about society and how good Metallica is.

“Oh haha, so funny Tooty,” Eddie pouts, holding a beer funnel in his hands, “come on Henderson let’s see you put your money where your mouth is.”

The backyard is sprayed with foamy beer as Dustin very much can not put his money where his mouth is. Gareth’s up next, chugging like a champion and doing a lap around the backyard like he won a trophy. Eddie and Jeff shotgun beer, Eddie winning by a mile. Laughing and putting his hands in a praying gesture to bless Jeff for his shortcomings.

The rest of the party goers show up, Nancy is dressed like Annie Oakley wielding a fake shotgun and a straw cowboy hat and a long brown dress with fringe hanging from the shoulders. Jonathan and his long haired friend Argyle arrive behind Nancy dressed as Sonny & Cher. Argyle had given up the fast moving life in California once a Surfer Boys pizza arrived in Hawkins. He delivered to the house so much during the nights that Corroded Coffin was practicing that he had your order prepped and ready to go by the time you had called it in. He’d show up so blitzed out of his mind that he’d forget he was at work, sharing his different strains of weed with all the Corroded Coffin boys.

Robin and Steve are in the kitchen, ladling jungle juice into empty cups. The duo dressed as Thelma and Louise, Robin wearing a black muscle shirt and sunglasses, and Steve wore a white tank top with a neckerchief. Both talking in horrible southern accents.

Eddie is standing next to Argyle in the living room both holding almost empty cups of the forbidden jungle juice, deep in conversation about something called Purple Palm Tree Delight, but knowing them, it had nothing to do with a lavender paradise. You reach around Eddie to grab a pinwheel, taking a bite when Argyle, clearly stoned, goes wide eyed leaning into Eddie his eyes still transfixed on you he whisper yells.

“Yo, I swear to God, I just saw two of you.”

“Argyle it’s me, Tooty.” You explain standing next in front of them trying not to laugh. “This is the real Eddie, I’m just dressed like him for Halloween.”

Argyle leans forward and whispers into your ear, “Yeah okay man that’s what the aliens would say before they clone us and take over.”

He leans back and takes two big steps backwards, eyes wide in a horrified daze, before disappearing down into the basement.

“Don’t think I’ve ever said this before, but that guy smokes way too much.” Eddie chuckles, downing the rest of his jungle juice and eating the fruit at the bottom of the cup.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you warn him watching with your own gut twisting as the sweet juices of strawberry slither down his chin and down the slope of his neck.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says, smacking his lips, “I’m twenty six years old, I can handle my liquor.”

“Okay,” you reply, “just so you know, the fruit soaks up all the alcohol and Steve presoaks it all in everclear the night before. Last time he ate all the fruit he spent an hour in the bathroom crying about his love life or lack thereof. And besides, we have to play in the pong tournament in a half hour.”

“We?” Eddie asks, lips turned up and a slight blush to his cheeks, “I didn’t sign up for beer pong.” His dark eyes pour into yours.

Heat creeps up your neck as you reach for a Jell-O shot cracking the lid off and circling the dish with your finger before sucking it into your mouth.

“I signed you up,” you say, reaching for another Jell-O shot, “everyone had a partner but Argyle and Will, so I paired you with Argyle, and I’m with Will,” you slide your finger around the Jell-O dish and suck the cherry gelatin into your mouth, savoring the bitter bite to your tongue before you crush it between your teeth.

“You better bring your A game Munson,” you say, taking a step into him and poking him in the chest, “because I don’t lose.”

Eddie isn’t sure if it’s the alcohol that’s making him feel this way or you but suddenly he can’t stop blushing, laying the charm on thicker than peanut butter, “oh really?” he asks intrigued, “Well babe, I don’t think you know this but I’m the Forest Hills Trailer Park Pong Champion for eight summers in a row, so technically,” he’s leaning forward now, whispering low to get his point across. Your breath hitches in your throat, you can feel the tickle of his lips against your ear, his hair is brushing against your face, the faint smell of motor oil stuck in his curls, “I never lose either.”

He pulls back and your eyes lock. The heat flooding your cheeks burn, the ache in your stomach travels south and pulses with want. You can’t deny it to yourself, even dressed as Jesus Christ, Eddie is the best looking guy you’ve laid eyes on, and you were melting at the way his dark eyes gazed into yours, a smirk placed on his lips as he brushes his tongue over his bottom lip to catch the remnants of the horrific fruit juice. His eyes never leave yours as he takes the Jell-O shot dish you’re holding and sets it behind him on the table. The tension could be cut with a knife, thick and heavily hanging in the space between you both. Eddie opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by El screaming for Mike to get to the backyard instead of puking in the kitchen sink. Her Alice in Wonderland wig askew on her head and holding Mike’s mad hatter hat between her hands.

Running to open the sliding door you get it open just in time for Mike to projectile vomit off the deck.

“Christ, what did he eat?” Eddie asks from behind you, “damn Mike you’re such a pussy!”

“His dumbass didn’t eat all day and when he got here he decided that Jell-O and fruit would be a good option.” El says, rubbing his back as he pukes again and again, “I don’t feel bad for you Mike!”

Wiping his mouth on his forest green jacket sleeve, he murmurs, “Babe, I’m fine, seriously, a few pieces of bread and I’ll be in tip top sh—“ puke splatters wetly against the grass again.

You grab El’s hand and squeeze, “let me know if you need anything, okay?” She nods and smiles sweetly.

“C’mon,” Eddie says behind you, “let’s go so I can kick your ass in beer pong.”

You turn your head, half facing him, “game on, Munson.”

The sharpie bracket on poster board continued moving forward thanks to Steve’s basketball knowledge. Jeff and Ash beat Mike and El, Nancy and Jonathan beat out Gareth and Big D in a very close came both opponents having one cup left. Steve and Robin were beat out in the first round by Dustin and Susie, something King Steve would never be living down. Nex on the bracket to play would be you and Will playing Argyle and Eddie. Honestly it should be a piece of cake, a walk in the park. Will wasn’t the most athletic but last year him and Jonathan got second place against you and Nancy so the odds were pretty high. One thing you were absolutely certain of was that you would not be losing to Jesus and Cher tonight.

The basement is packed with everyone besides the ill Mike and faithful El. Argyle and a pink lensed Will are in the corner smoking a fat blunt the sequin jacket he’s wearing sparkles through the haze of smoke and the catches the lights. You haven’t seen him since Nancy and Jonathan’s wedding. But he’s letting his hair grow out, finally letting the bowl cut Joyce insisted on him having all throughout middle school and high school go. Steve has Dustin in a headlock for teasing him about winning against Mr. Hawkins High basketball star of 1985.

“Ya know for once, I was actually good, like really good, Steve overthrew the last cup and it was game over once Susie got the ball. She’s strangely amazing at beer pong. Probably found the mathematical equation from the distance of the table and her elbow to the solo cups.” Robin rambles on, only stopping to get her breath. “How are you? I haven’t seen you all night. Killer costume by the way, if you can’t beat ‘em be ‘em right?”

Robin and her absolute no filter mouth, always make you laugh, linking your arm with hers, “I really like your and Steve’s take on best friends driving off a cliff together to evade police.”

“JESUS CHRIST!” someone yells from upstairs.

Not missing a beat, Eddie can be heard returning the exclamation. “You rang?”

Rolling your eyes and looking his way, you laugh when you see him, holding up his arms in praise.

Robin’s voice bringing you back to the conversation, “Epic right? Steve thought we could be conjoined twins but then decided against it when he figured there was a small chance he could possibly get lucky tonight when that black haired girl at his job kept hinting that she wanted a date with him.”

“What!” you shout, “He never told me this!”

Robin rolls her eyes and takes another drink from her too foamy beer, “he’s nervous, I think he really likes her but doesn’t wanna fuck it up like he does everything else.”

Steve deserved to be happy and to have someone love him. He was always making sure everyone else was okay, you smile at the thought of him with a girlfriend.

“So,” Robin presses, wiggling her eyebrows, “Eddie looks good tonight,” a wicked smile dances wildly on her lips.

“I’m not at all buzzed enough to have this conversation,” you say, taking a peak at Eddie through your eyelashes, he was laughing loudly at something Steve had said, head thrown back, exposing his neck.

Will joins your side, reeking of weed and heavy musk cologne. “Tooty!” He squeals, wrapping you into a tight hug, “the house looks so fucking good I can’t believe it, also I heard that you’re living with Eddie? I’m going to need all the details!”

“It’s so good to see you, look at your hair!” You say holding his arms. Will threads a hand through his hair and laughs a little.

“Thanks, it’s new but it’s kinda growing on me, now, spill it. Tell me everything.”

“Next game!” Nancy announces, advancing her and Jonathan to the next bracket. “Argyle/ Eddie vs Tooty/ Will.”

Will grabs your hand and drags you to the beer pong table, “after?” He asks and you nod your head.

Eddie and Argyle are standing on one end, you and Will on the other. The cups are arranged into a triangle and filled with the warming pitcher of keg beer.

“You ready to go down groveling, sweetheart?” Eddie sings from across the table, eyes squinting when he leans on the edge of the table smiling at you.

Your stomach flutters, taking a long swig of Will’s jungle juice, staring Eddie down as you gulp the vile liquor and fruit punch combo down, “You ready to get your ass kicked, Munson?”

“Woo! That’s balls back ba-by,” you sneer, hooting and hollering as Eddie begrudgingly tosses the balls back your way. It was almost as if Argyle and Will weren’t even there, this game was between you and Eddie. You were definitely buzzed, between the warm beer and the Jell-O shots you had eaten you were feeling good.

When you miss the first cup, Eddie makes devil horns at you and howls at the moon like an idiot. You sink the next cup, earning a high-five from Will, and a sly grin from Eddie as he removes the cup and chugs the warm beer. He’s secretly excited that you’re so happy, letting loose, in your element, surrounded by your loving friends. You glowing with a sense of freedom. In that moment when your eyes caught his, he knew he was in trouble, you were wrapped around his finger and he didn’t think of hardly anything else, but you, your beautiful smile, the way your hair caught each light you were under. He was in deep, and for right now, he was perfectly and utterly okay with that.

It’s Argyle’s turn and he surprisingly sinks both cups, being awarded with balls back, as you and Will each take a cup and drink the suds down. Trying to distract him, you whip off your Eddie- esque wig and toss it towards Eddie, shaking your hair out like a wild woman.

Unphased by your antics he does it again and you groan. Four in a row? This guy was half asleep the entire game and all of a sudden he’s an athlete? They only have 1 cup left. Tension rises and the room goes to silence at Steve’s request. Argyle sinks it. Eddie erupts into cheers grabbing Argyle by the shoulders and jumping up and down.

“Redemption attempt!” Steve shouts, giving Will the ball. Will takes it with nervous fingers, blowing the ball to dry it slightly as you chug the last cup. He only has two cups to make. Will tosses the ball and the room goes silent, it feels like it’s in slow motion, or maybe that’s the alcohol. The ball soars through the air, bouncing against the rim of the cup lapping up the foamy beer, before it falls off and teeters off onto the table.

Argyle raises both hands in the air, “VICTORY!” the room erupts with cheers. Will apologizes profusely but you hug him tight, telling him you were happy he was your partner.

“Next game is Jonathan/Nancy vs Jeff/ Ash starting in 20 mins!” Steve hollers. The basement clears out as people go upstairs to use the bathroom and refill their drinks.

You expect Eddie to be gloating, cocky beyond belief. But he’s the opposite, coming up to you slowly, head bowed, upper teeth practically biting his lower lip in half.

“Good game sweetheart,” he says barely above a whisper, “not gonna lie, I really thought you guys were gonna win.”

Holding your chin high, face only inches from his, the brown pools of colored whiskey stare into your eyes. Placing a hand on his chest, the alcohol gives you enough of a push to cross the line. The thin gauzy material of the gown he’s wearing is sticky with sweat and warm from the heat radiating from his body. “Told myself I wouldn’t lose to Cher and Jesus tonight.”

Eddie let’s out a throaty laugh, “can’t believe he pulled that off, he didn’t make a cup all game.”

“Guess you get to continue wearing that tarnished crown, speaking of wardrobe… where the hell did you get this outfit?”

“You know that church across from the police station?”

“The one with the Jesus statue inside?”

Eddie raises his eyebrows and gives you a knowing glance, waiting for you to catch on.

“No way! Eddie! You broke into a church and stole an outfit off of a statue?”

“Amen,” Eddie says roaring with laughter, “ahh c’mon you can’t tell me it wasn’t a genius idea.”

Rolling your eyes, “I wouldn’t exactly call it genius, but funny? Yes.”

He laughs again, “not everyday I get a compliment from myself,” he says eyeing your costume, “you do make a pretty cute Eddie Munson if I say so myself.” he wasn’t even thinking anything of it, just blurted it right out.

Flirting came easy to him almost as a second nature, he was never nervous around women, usually finding the game of sex not just something he was good at but conquered with ease. But this, here, with you? Was a slippery slope. A different game for him entirely. He was a pawn amongst you and you were the queen, striking down whoever came near, holding all the power.

Your cheeks heat from his compliment, blood rushing through your body and warming your skin, he holds your hand to your chest, stroking your fingers with his thumbs.

A thousand bolts of lightening ignite you, he smells like smoke, ashy and burning, the cheap keg beer on his breath as he smiles softly at you.

“Tooty!” Steve calls from the top step, clinging onto it for dear life, “are you down there?!”

You’re the first one to break away, pulling your hand from his grasp, threading them together at the last minute, finger tips clinging to each other like velcro. The flames between you both extinguished fast, no oxygen left in the room to keep it going.

Getting to the bottom step and turning, you give him one last glance and a small smile, before trotting up the stairs to Steve.

Eddie opens the patio door to find Gareth and Big D blowing smoke into the sky and talking about the best DIO song.

“Shit man, where have you been? Didn’t your game end like 15 minutes ago?”

Eddie thinks of a lie quick, “Taking a piss why you wanna watch?”

“That’s weird,” Big D questions, “cause Gareth just came out of the bathroom unless there’s a magic bathroom you haven’t told us about.”

“What are you guardian of the toilet?” Eddie says slotting a cigarette between his teeth and flicking his zippo open.

“I mean he’s got a point,” Gareth interjects, “where have you been tonight, turning water into wine? Or are you healing the blind?”

“Cool it, Whoopi,” Eddie bites, “the fuck does it matter where I was or wasn’t?”

“You’ve changed dude. Used to be a ladies man, different chick every night. Smoking and drinking all night watching the sunrise. Fuck man you were hell on wheels. Then all of a sudden you move in here and you’re acting like the Pope, fixing up her car off the clock, bringing her to and from work, you’re like her fucking babysitter.” Gareth exclaims.

“Fuck off man, she’s Eyeball’s sister, and I’m just looking out for her.” Eddie grits through his teeth.

“Or,” Big D suggests, “you like her, I mean you still haven’t even told us about the twins— and you stare at her like she’s about to combust at any moment.”

“Yeah and what do you two know about anything?” Eddie spits.

“Clearly not shit, but you’re all fucking riled up about a girl you don’t like.” Gareth flicks his cigarette and goes inside, Big D following.

The door opens again, “listen man, I’m not in the mood for your stupid fucking advice.” Eddie groans, turning to see Steve standing at the door, an empty pitcher in his hand. “Shit, sorry, thought you were Gareth.”

“Nope kept my habit at home,” Steve says with a chuckle, setting the pitcher on the edge of the deck, “nice party, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, “ya know when Tooty first told me that her and Nancy threw a party every year I didn’t believe it, turns out I was wrong about her, seems to be a theme of mine lately.”

“She doesn’t let a lot of people in, but once you’re here, it means she trusts you, respects you.” Steve explains.

Eddie smiles softly, ashing his cigarette.

“She cares about you, ya know? She might not want to admit it— may even be scared to admit it to herself, but she likes you.”

Eddie gives him a look. Sure you were nicer to him, not threatening to kick him out anymore. You had let the band practice in the garage, even staying out there to hear them play. But that didn’t mean anything did it?

“How many times do you think she’s cut my hair?” Steve inquires, leaning next to the railing on the deck beside Eddie.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says honestly, “a dozen?”

Steve chuckles, “Never, not once, never even offered. You think she made elaborate meals for Nancy when they lived together? Wrong— she barely touched the stove. You move in and she’s changed, for the better. It’s like she’s coming back to life, and the only common thing in that equation, is you.”

Eddie mulls this over, could Steve be right? “I don’t know man.”

“I may not be Mr. Relationship but I do know Tooty, and you’ve softened her edges. Tamed that frightful girl we all love and adore. She’s got walls up, keeping people out, but not around you, not anymore.”

Eddie hangs his head, his heart bursting with sad euphoric bliss. He couldn’t go about this like any other conquest. And with you it would never be how it was with the other women. Faceless broads in mini skirts, praising him, doing whatever he wanted them to. He never saw you in that way. Holding you on a pedestal about the rest. He hadn’t been in a relationship in years. One too many times of being cheated on was enough for him. But you were hurt too, more so than he was. He was still licking his wounds with anything willing and able. You? You were a shell of yourself. He couldn’t act on this like he would with anyone else. He cared about you too damn much to make you feel like you couldn’t trust him again.

“And I know you care about her. Everytime I look at you you’re staring at her like a sad little puppy.”

Eddie looks up then, looking at Steve like he held all the answers to life’s questions. He turns and leans against the deck, elbows on the railing just how Steve was facing the house.

“Yeah, you’re right, I do care about her, more than anything. So what do I do?” He asks Steve.

Steve shrugs, letting out a loud sigh, “keep doing what you’re doing, she knows you care about her, just don’t disappear on her.”

Eddie turns his head from Steve and catches sight of you through the patio doors. He can see you taking a Jell-O shot with El, Robin and Nancy. A sleeping lump of clothes on the kitchen table with black hair must be Mike. You light up the room as you laugh when Robin makes a repulsive expression after taking her Jell-O shot. He can’t hear your full laugh, it’s faint through the glass. But, he doesn’t need to hear it to know the sound—having heard it more and more the last few weeks, the way you throw your head back when something is really funny, sometimes covering your mouth. He’s certain he’s never seen anyone more angelic in his life. Like you have sucked all the air from the room, even dressed in a sheer mockery of him, you’re radiating a glow that makes his heart swell. He has never cared about anyone the way that he does for you.

Seeing him through the doors standing next to Steve, he has a smirk on his face. A sudden rush of shyness creeps up your neck and you turn away from him, but you reciprocate his actions, smiling at him. A small gesture that melts him on the spot.

Eyes trained on you but still talking to Steve, Eddie beams, “I’m not going anywhere.”

A/n: see you in volume vii

Hope you all enjoyed this. There were some little hidden Easter eggs in this chapter, go to my askbox if you found them 💕

readmore eat my ass or this line you decide, whore.

—

#eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie x y/n #stranger things season 4 #stranger things #eddie munson smut

2K notes · View notes

jpitha · 2 years ago

Text

Hobbies.

Having hobbies isn't that unusual among sapients. One of the whole things about being sapient is having a curious mind and free time. After all, Mzurr wouldn't stop talking to anyone who would listen about the time he went rallying on Earth. He would show off his collection of models and facts about human rally cars every chance he got to anyone within 3 meters of him. It could be tiring really, but he was so excited. It was infectious.

No, what was unusual about the Humans was how hard they went into their hobbies.

When Fennipen - the K'laxi head of security - heard that the Human Emery down in Little Earth had assembled an entire antique steam engine from Earth's past in his quarters and wheeled it out to the common area, he paid him a personal visit. Station was worried, but they couldn't articulate why. "That Human is up to something worrying" was all they could tell Fennipen. “I can feel it.”

As Fenn approached, his olfactory system was assaulted with the smell of oils and metals and paint. It stood maybe a meter and a half tall, only a little taller than Fenn himself. It was...something. It was black metal with silver metal parts and a large brass wheel on the bottom. it was well oiled and like all Human machines looked uncomfortably like it was alive. Fenn’s fur poofed out angrily.

"Emery, what in the *untranslatable*, [oath against sanity] is that?" Emery's translator did its best, but he only got the description which he decided meant it was a good swear. When the translator failed to translate, which wasn’t often, Station chimed into his earpiece “Fenn is concerned and worried about your machine, Emery.”

“I got that, Station, thanks.”

“No problem! Happy to help!”

Emery turned to Fenn. "It's a vertical steam engine! It's a little one, but it's all here! Took weeks of shipping and assembly and getting all the little bits and parts. I even had to machine some of the bearings myself. I must have watched hours of videos about Babbitt Metal. Finally though, it's ready to go!" He spun the wheel at the bottom and surprising Fenn the massive thing spun easily and nearly silently, clicking and hissing as the seals moved up and down. "It's ready to fire, but Station said under no circumstances will they allow open flames. They were rather insistent, so I'll just use compressed air. It’s not exactly the same, but you’ll get the idea.”

“But why?” Fenn’s ears twitched in irritation, but his fur started to flatten.

"Just look at it!" Emery was beaming "It's so neat! And it was made back at time when we didn't have computer controlled precision machinery or even plastics. It's all steel, and brass, and oil, and leather, and felt."

By now a small crowd had gathered in the common. It was a mix of Humans and K’laxi and they were looking on at the machine and Emery and Fenn with mild interest.

Noticing the crowd, Emery opened the valve on his tank of compressed air with a flourish. Whooshing and with an odd susurration, it spun to life. After it was clear that nothing else was going to happen, the crowd made polite noises, and started to walk away.

Watching the machine, Fenn thought it was odd, but no more so than any other strange thing Humans did. He had to admit, the machine puttering away to itself was pretty fascinating. "What's that assembly of pipes on the top?" he found himself asking."

"Oh, that? It's a 5 chime whistle, here check it out!" and Emery pulled the chain hanging off the bottom. ****

Later that day, Fennipen was released from the infirmary with he physician complimenting him on wearing his active hearing protection. He only received "minor" hearing damage and did not need any further work done. Station reported that the sound of the whistle was heard nearly throughout the whole 10 kilometers of themselves. They also mentioned that at least 3 humans startled themselves into a bathroom ‘incident’ and 8 K’laxi ran for their suits thinking it was a pressure alarm.

Emery apologized profusely and was allowed to keep his steam engine - without the whistle - so long as he reported to Station one day in advance of wanting to operate it.

When it comes to hobbies, Humans go hard.

#humans are space orcs #humans are wierd #humans are deathworlders #sci fi writing #writing #trains are cool #humans and aliens #jpitha #the k’laxiverse #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians

555 notes · View notes

mrtwizz · 2 years ago

Text

Snow On The Beach [Part Three]

Alternative Title: Xavier and Tyler annoying Y/n for five thousand words straight

Wednesday Addams x Fem Reader slow burn series

Warnings: Xavier and Tyler slander, mentions of murder, hinted underaged drinking, just typical Wednesday stuff

Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: Wednesday and Y/n seek out more information about Joseph Crackstone, Y/n is pining after the Addams girl. And Wednesday is beginning to enjoy her presence? That's impossible, Y/n is just interested in the murder investigation...right?

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Quick note: I used the word to describe the reader's skin as 'pale' but I'm referring to the way skin pales when there's no blood in the body. I explain that in the fic but I wanted to clear that up before you read, this is an inclusive fic and is not targeted at white people. this fic is targeted for whoever wants to read it.

Eugene, Wednesday and Y/n make their way around the old building, all dressed in pilgrim garb.

“Eugene, give me your retainer.” Wednesday demands, looking at the lock to the meeting house.

“What? Why? Your teeth are really good, not as straight or white as Enid’s but-” Eugene begins to ramble.

Wednesday cuts the boy off, “Hand it over.”

The girl sticks her hand out, gesturing for Eugene to put his retainer in her hand.

Eugene takes it out and wipes it on his sleeve, “What if Mistress Arlene catches us?”

“Hive code, deny everything.” Wednesday responds.

“That’s not hive code!” Eugene exclaims, clearly not used to the girl’s mannerisms.

“What’s the deal with this Crackstone anyways?” Y/n asks, watching as Wednesday picks the lock.

“Stop talking, keep watch.” Wednesday says to Eugene, handing him his gently used retainer back.

Y/n follows Wednesday into the old meeting house, she lets Thing out of her bag and moves to stand in front of a creepy statue of some dude. The dude Y/n assumed to be Crackstone, looked like every other ugly middle aged white man she’d ever seen.

Thing tugged at the hem of Wednesday's dress and gestured over to a painting.

“The Old Meeting House, 1625.” Wednesday read out loud and studied the painting.

An old oil painting depicting a man, presumably Joseph Crackstone, standing over a fire gesturing out to a crowd. As Y/n looked closer she could make out the details of one of the girl’s faces, the girl stood out. She was dressed in a darker dress, and without a bonnet to cover her hair. And if Y/n stared at the girl's face long enough, it resembles that of a blonde Wednesday Addams.

“Wednesday…she kind of looks like you.” Y/n mumbled, not looking away from the painting.

“This is the girl from my vision.” Wednesday said, referencing the vision she had the day of the Poe Cup, “She’s even holding the same book. The black one she had outside Crackstone’s Crypt.”

The girl with black braids moved to where a dusty book sat in a display case next to a dagger. Y/n held open the glass so Wednesday could grab the book.

“This is the book,” Wednesday’s usually flat voice held something akin to excitement, “Codex Umbrarum.”

Wednesday turned to Y/n, “That’s Latin for ‘Book of Shadows’.” The fair skinned girl opened the book only to be bitterly disappointed, “Great, it’s a fake.”

She slammed the book shut, “I don’t know who Etsy is, but I doubt she was an outcast settler.”

Y/n would have laughed at how out of touch Wednesday was with the current world, except the door swung open.

An angry Arelene stormed through, holding an unwilling Eugene by the ear, “Just what the fudge are you two doing in here?”

“Mistress Arlene, how now?” Wednesday pretends to be pleased by the red haired woman’s presence, as if she weren’t doing what she was told not to do.

Y/n realized that Wednesday was a little too good at lying her way through things, and probably just as good at manipulating others to do her bidding.

“How now, indeed.” Arlene sneers, “I proclaimed the meeting house is under repair. I know thoust heard me.”

Eugene spoke up, “I told her the door was unlocked, and that you were dying to learn more about Crackstone.”

“Yes, and this display case was already open.” Wednesday lied.

“That book’s a replica.” Arlene said, not believing their lies.

Wednesday’s sharp tone came back, “You don’t say.”

“The original was stolen last month, during the two o’clock witch trial.” The woman informs.

“It was probably the only authentic thing you have in here, yet you still charge $29.95 a ticket?” Wednesday questions.

Y/n thought that Wednesday made a good point, almost thirty dollars a ticket? That’s absurd.

“Hold thy tongue. I’m reassigning the three of you, to fudge churning duty.” Arlene spits out.

“The original meeting house, the one in that painting, where is it?” Wednesday demands to know.

Arlene huffs, “How the hell should I know? I only moved here from Scottsdale in April.”

Y/n and Wednesday snuck out from under Arlene’s watchful eye before they both could go mad. Wednesday directed their walk towards the coffee house, claiming she needed help finding the Old Meeting house.

Wednesday stood, staring at a corkboard with all sorts of clippings attached to it. While Y/n shifted her gaze between the corkboard and to Wednesday’s side profile, noting the slope of her nose. And the way her eyelashes were so long they almost looked like they were fake, but Y/n knew better of the girl to assume they were extensions.

“I thought you two were supposed to be at Pilgrim World.” Xavier Thorpe’s voice came from behind the pair.

“Deserted it while our sanity was still intact.” Wednesday spoke, moving over to the counter where a little brass bell sat.

“Oh yeah? Want a coffee?” The boy leaned against the counter,”It’s one of the many perks of this wonderful assignment.”

Y/n rolled her eyes at the pitiful boy’s futile attempts at flirting, “We’re here for Tyler actually, need his help with something.”

Xavier’s expression fell, “Y/n, you know he’s bad news.”

“Yup,” Y/n brushed him off, hitting the little bell on the countertop.

Tyler came from around the back and there was immediate tension between the two boys, “You rang?”

Xavier scoffed and walked off, “Want the usual?”

“And some help,” Wednesday turned to open and place her map on the table, “You know the original pilgrim meeting house, the one for the 1600s?” She turned to face Tyler, “Do you know if it’s still around?”

“What’s left is out in Cobham Woods, but it’s pretty much a ruin.” Tyler glanced at Y/n, who stood at Wednesday’s other shoulder.

“Show me.” The girl orders.

Tyler stutters before pointing on the map, “There, but, look it’s kind of sketchy. Squatters and meth heads used that place as a crash pad. My dad had to clear it out every couple of weeks.”

Wednesday turns her focus from the boy to the map, “What’s this about?”

“Nothing.” She grabs the map and refolds it.

“You’re becoming obsessed with this monster in the woods thing.” Tyler notes.

“Would you rather I develop an obsession with horses and boy bands?” Wednesday asks sarcastically.

Y/n let’s out a huff of air that could be considered a laugh at the mental image of Wednesday Addams in a One Direction tee-shirt. Wednesday turns to look at the other girl as the two begin to walk out, “Thank you for your help.”

“Hey listen,” Tyler says, causing Y/n to turn around, “the ruins are kind of tricky to find.”

“Wednesday and I are big girls Tyler, I bet we can find them ourselves.” Y/n flashes a fake smile, all while just so happening to flash her elongated canines in the process.

“I know my way around the great outdoors.” Wednesday adds.

“Don’t tell me you were a Girl Scout.” Tyler jokes.

“I could eat Girl Scouts for breakfast,” Wednesday deapans, “actually, I have an uncle who went to prison for that.”

Y/n laughs at Wednesday’s absurd family history, and the look on Tyler’s face as the two turn around for the second time to leave. The two pass Xavier who looks at Wednesday longingly as they exit the building.

The duo make their way out to the forest where Tyler had told them the original Meeting House had been. The forest was eerie, and the worst part was the crows that cawed from above. There was a thick layer of fog that surrounded the trees and made it difficult for Y/n to navigate, but Wednesday seemed to have no problem in doing so.

They eventually made their way to what was now the ruins of the old house. Wednesday sat her bag on the ground, allowing Thing to once more leave its confides, as she walked further into the ruins.

Y/n looked around as Wednesday turned to face her and Thing, “I was expecting more too.”

“Who are you talking to, little girl?” An old man with nappy white hair and scruffy beard spoke from behind her.

While Y/n clutched at her undead heart, though Wednesday seemed unphased.

Instead she turned to speak to him, “Use the words ‘little’ and ‘girl’ to address me again, and I can’t guarantee your safety.”

This enraged the man, “This is my place. Get out.” He hollered.

“Thing, a hand here?” Wednesday addressed her trusty appendage.

The hand scurried from his spot on the ground next to Y/n, and up the man’s leg to his beard. He tightly grasped the beard, causing him to shriek. The man wrestled the hand as Wednesday looked around some more.

Y/n wondered how Thing was able to have, for lack of better words, the upper hand to the man with two hands and full body. She then realized that she should stop questioning logistics when it came to the Addams family, and that chances are there are either no answers. Or the answer would make even less sense than what is going on. She watched as Thing seemingly dragged the blond old man out of the ruins.

“There’s nothing here.” Wednesday comments.

Thing signs to the Addams girl, “No, I can’t just touch something.” She walked and looked around, looking for something she had to have missed, “My visions seem to happen spontaneously.” Both girls look back at Thing and his furious signing, “I would rather dye my hair pink than ask my mother for advice.”

Wednesday sounds appalled by the suggestion of asking her mother, and Y/n notes to not bring up her mother in any conversation.

Thing touches the ruin by his fingers, “Oh, you want me to prove it to you?” Wednesday slaps a stump of wood, not looking away from the hand.

“Wednesday, do you think that’s the best idea?” Y/n asks, watching as she touches things.

The girl disregards her concerns, “No.” She throws both hands against the wall, “Nothing.”

“Ah I bet this will give us some real insight.” She says sarcastically, holding a bag up, before dramatically throwing her head back.

Y/n becomes to feel more on edge, an uneasy feeling sinking its way into her gut. Telling her something bad was going to happen.

“My visions are about as predictable as shark attacks.” Wednesday grumbles, picking up her bag and moving to leave the ruins.

As she touches the gate her body goes rigid and her head throws itself backwards, throwing her mind into yet another vision. This time Y/n is quick enough to catch her body as it spins and falls to the hard ground.

Y/n sat there as rain began to pour, soaking the three of them. Until Wednesday woke from her trance with a start, sitting straight up.

“Y/n, Thing, I saw her! The girl from my visions. Her name is Goody Addams,” Wednesday recalls, “and I believe she’s my ancestor from four-hundred years ago.”

Y/n hears something from beyond the ruins, and Wednesday must have heard it too. Both girls get up from the mud and walk to the destroyed wood.

Y/n looks past the wood between the cracks and into the woods, “Must’ve been the old man from earlier.”

She looks again only to come eye to eye with a beast, she lets out a horrified shriek and stumbles back into Wednesday.

“Come on, come on!” Wednesday exclaims, wanting to follow the man killing beast.

The two run until the paw prints become footprints, and Wednesday crouches down to examine them.

“The monster’s human.” Wednesday voices what both girls had realized.

The footsteps of another come up behind the girls, “What the hell are you doing?”

The voice belonged to Xavier, he had impeccable timing didn't he?

Wednesday quickly stands and faces the boy, “We were following the monster.”

“You saw it?” Xavier is standing under an umbrella, “It’s here? Do you have a death wish or something?” Y/n shrugs, “I can’t really die, so.”

“What exactly are you doing here?” Wednesday’s attitude suddenly switches, she’d realized his perfect timing as well.

“I overheard you two saying you were going to check out the old meeting house. Guess you’re lucky I showed up when I did.” Xavier spoke, looking out past the girls.

“We did learn one thing, the monster is human.” Wednesday informs the tall boy, “Its tracks turned from monster prints to human ones.”

“Show me.”

Both Y/n and Wednesday turn to where the prints had lied only moments prior, now being completely washed away from the downpour. “Rain washed them away.” Y/n states the obvious.

Xavier scoffs, “I know what I saw, and Y/n saw it too.” Wednesday defends.

“I’m trying to keep an open mind.” Xavier says, trying not to smile.

“How big of you.” Wednesday mutters.

The three of them begin walking, “I do think you guys were right about Rowan.”

Y/n turns to the boy, “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“I texted him again today. I said maybe we could meet over spring break, and go snowboarding like we did last year.” Xavier states, “This time he texted right back, said he wouldn’t be able to make it.”

“Only you never went snowboarding last year.” Wednesday says, following the trick Xavier played on ‘Rowan’.

“And the mystery continues.” Y/n adds.

“Part of me wanted to blame his recent weirdness.” He pauses, “I didn’t want to think something bad had happened.” “The cover-up is always worse than the crime.” Wednesday states, causing both Y/n and Xavier to look at the girl.

“Now I need you to be honest with me,” Xavier stops, making the two stop with him, “why’d you go out to the old meeting house in the first place?”

“I was trying to learn more about Crackstone, and Y/n didn’t want me going alone.’ Wednesday states, “Figure out how he’s connected to this.”

“Yeah, you were trying to use your psychic abilities, right?” Xavier looks at Wednesday.

“What makes you think I have any?” Wednesday pretends to not know what he’s talking about.

“Lucky guess. When did they start?” The boy presses.

“About a year ago.” Wednesday turns so they can keep walking, “When they happen, it feels like I’m touching live wire. I usually enjoy that sensation.” She remarks, causing Y/n to look at her.

“Yeah, but you can’t control it, and that freaks you out.” Xavier continues, “My dad’s a psychic.”

“Vincent Thorpe.” Wednesday says, “My brother’s his number one fan. Watched his Vegas Special so many times that I’m surprised it’s not imprinted on his eyeballs.” Wednesday speaks of her brother with a peculiar sort of fondness. One that only someone with a younger brother could truly understand.

“So I’ve lived with the self-described master. And the first thing he’ll tell you is that psychic visions can’t be trusted. They only show you one part of the picture.” Xavier explains.

“I saw Joseph Crackstone in front of me, as clearly as I’m seeing you or Y/n now.” Wednesday stopped walking, “He gathered all the outcasts in the meeting house and burned them alive.”

“Okay he was a sadistic asshole. So what? It was four-hundred years ago. It’s got nothing to do with now.” Xavier spoke like every guy that never paid attention in a single history class Y/n had ever attended, which had been far too many.

“But what if it does?” Wednesday questions, “You saw Rowan’s drawing. Crackstone was standing in the quad.”

“You’re creating a story in your head, and using visions to back it up.” Y/n rolled her eyes at the way Xavier spoke to the girl in front of him, “They’re telling you what you want to see.”

Wednesday is appalled, “Are you mansplaining my power?”

Xavier rolls his eyes as he scoffs, “All I’m saying is my dad, the expert, would warn you that psychic ability isn’t rooted in logic. It’s triggered by emotions. And let’s be honest, emotion isn’t your strong suit.”

Wednesday looks to where Y/n stood behind her, “I believe Rowan was right. Something bad is going to happen, and I need to stop it. Starting with that monster.”

Wednesday turns to face Xavier momentarily, “Whoever it is.” Before quickening her pace.

Y/n sat with Enid as she got ready for her date with Ajax.

Enid turned to Wednesday who was trying to write her novel, “Too much?”

Wednesday turned to glance at the shirt the blonde werewolf held up and sighed, “I feel like you just napalmed me, Enid.”

Enid ignores Wednesday’s comment and turns to Y/n with another option, “So glad I have my date with Ajax tonight. Get my mind off of that trainwreck of an afternoon. I literally think I have PTSD. I didn’t even get to do my dance routine.”

“Oh no, what a pity.” Y/n laughs at Enid’s dramatic behavior.

“What kind of twisted psycho would want to sabotage such a life-affirming event?” Enid asks nobody in particular, the girl was really just talking to herself.

Wednesday stops typing once more, “You’re going to be late.”

Enid panics, “Is this outfit good enough?”

“I already told you three times it was perfect.” Y/n tries to comfort her best friend.

“Wish me luck.” Enid picks up her light pink coat.

“If he breaks your heart, I will nail-gun his.” Wednesday says.

Enid hugs Y/n before heading out, “Tell me everything.”

Y/n continues to lay in Enid’s bed, not wanting to listen to Bianca go on about whatever happened to her today. Not after such a long day, instead she listened to Wednesday type away at her novel.

An hour later Enid came back to the dorm, sobbing. Both Y/n and Wednesday do their best to console the distraught werewolf. But with little luck, she ends up crying herself to sleep while laying her head on Y/n’s lap.

Y/n found herself laying back on Enid’s bed, ignoring the burning sensation in her hips and lower abdomen as she did so. She technically didn’t require blood flow, but her heart still beat like it did when she was alive. She remembered back in the 50s when that witch had made it possible. Y/n can’t quite remember how, too many years had passed.

The witch had made it so her heart could beat. Blood didn’t flow, but it beat as any regular old heart would. It was a sensation that Y/n didn’t require but she missed, she also mimicked breathing so much so that she believed that she needed to.

Y/n yearned to be human for so many years, she once would have done anything to go back to that fateful night and save herself. She would have saved herself from all of those lonely years, and would have married whatever man her parents suited. She thinks about how unhappy she would have been married to a man, a loveless marriage just like her parents’.

Y/n drifted to sleep thinking about how horrid her life would have been had she not been killed that fateful night. She wakes once to the sound of Wednesday speaking to Thing as the two of them try to sneak out of the dorm. But Y/n decides to ignore it as Enid snores loudly, still using her thighs as pillows.

The next morning consists of getting up, and watching Wednesday as she puts up a board with photos that look like they're from a crime scene. Y/n doesn’t say anything as she watches the girl ‘decorate’ her side of the room, soft music that Wednesday must have put on playing as she does so.

“When I suggested giving your side of the room a makeover, I didn’t have Ted Bundy’s Pinterest in mind.” Enid says, looking at the pictures.

Wednesday turns to face the girl, “Still not as creepy as your stuffed unicorn collection.”

“Is this why you snuck out last night?” Y/n asks, getting up from her position on Enid’s bed.

“Thing and I made an un-sanctioned trip to the county morgue, to copy the files of the monster's victims.” Wednesday speaks as though this were a normal trip for her.

Enid shudders with disgust, “Okay there are so many levels of ‘ew’ in that statement and I don’t even know where to begin.”

Wednesday’s head shakes ever so slightly, “I need to get inside its head. Discover any patterns or anomalies. I’ve already made a big discovery.” She begins to take pictures off of the black cork board.

“Turns out, all of the monster’s victims have had body parts surgically removed.” The dark haired girl makes her way to where Enid and Y/n stood.

She hands pictures to Y/n, “The first one a kidney, the second a finger,”

Enid begins to feel faint as she looks at the pictures of severed body parts in Y/n’s hands, “Wednesday, I don’t feel so good.”

“Third, a gallbladder.” She puts a finger up silencing Enid and moves back to her board.

“And the bearded man, from the meeting house, two toes.” She slaps another picture on top of the small stack in Y/n’s hands, “Do you understand what this means? These murders aren’t mindless.” She goes back to the drawing board once more, continuing about her discovery passionately, “He’s collecting trophies like a seasoned serial killer. It’s quite impressive, actually.”

Y/n is so focused on Wednesday’s rant she doesn’t notice as Enid’s body sways and her knees give out from beneath her.

Both Y/n and Wednesday turn and look down at a now unconscious Enid, “Thing fetch the smelling salts. Again.”

“What even is the gallbladder?” Y/n murmurs, staring at the pictures in her hands.

Later that day Y/n and Wednesday sat next to one another in Botany with Ms Thornhill.

“While most plants rewards their pollinators with sweet nectar, many carnivorous varieties turn to sexual trickery. Or deception.” Ms Thorhill talked about plants while Y/n looked at the purple flower in front of her.

She could feel the eyes of Xavier burning a hole in the back of her skull, but she didn’t care. What she didn’t realize were the glances that Wednesday Addams stole every once and while. She studied the way Y/n’s face changed when she was paying attention vs when she was daydreaming. Wednesday realized she enjoyed the girl's presence more than she should, and chalked it up to Y/n being interested in her investigation and aided it.

“The orchid produces a pheromone that mimics a female insect, luring the males in. Now, once the plant is pollinated, what do the male insects get in exchange?” Thornhill asks.

“Nada,” Bianca answers, “just like all the guys at the Rave’N.”

A few kids stifled laughs, “Okay, okay. I know you’re all excited about Saturday. Which is why I haven’t assigned any homework.”

Students cheered at the prospect of not having any homework, “But I do still need volunteers or the decorating committee. Anyone interested, come and see me up here.” Ms Thornhill finished.

“Not gonna volunteer? That’s your strongest suit. Y’know, disco balls, spiked punch, and too drunk teen outcasts. Sounds like your kind of crowd.” Y/n teased Wednesday, who looked less than excited about the dance.

“I’d rather stick needles in my eyes.” Wednesday responds, causing Y/n to smile, “I’ll probably do that anyway.”

Both of them turn to grab their things, “Or you could invite someone, have some fun?” Y/n tried not to let her teasing tone drop, masking the twinge of hope she had.

Wednesday ignores Y/n’s comment as they pack up the rest of their things, instead the scratches on Xavier’s neck caught her attention. He was her prime suspect of her investigation after all, she wouldn’t be caught alive thinking about something other than her investigation.

“Don’t look so glum, I’m sure someone else will ask you to the Rave’N!” Enid tried to cheer Y/n up.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t even want to go to the dance.” Y/n lied, though she was not as skilled of a liar as she thought she was.

“Whatever you say.” Enid mumbles.

Later that day Bianca catches Y/n as she was in the library, studying between classes for an upcoming exam.

“Hey, Y/n.” Bianca greeted, sitting next to the vampire.

“Hi, Bianca.” Y/n greeted the same way, feeling weary of the siren.

“Well, seeing as neither of us have dates to the Rav’N. And I’m assuming Enid already has a date, the two of us could go together. As friends, of course.” Bianca asks, well no not asks she says.

“Oh! Well, how do you know I don’t have a date?” Y/n asked.

“Because a certain pig-tailed goth asked Xavier. He told me all about it already.” Bianca said, not thinking about sugar coating it for the girl.

“Oh, well it’s up to Wednesday who she goes with.” Y/n responds, sounding defeated.

“We can go together, baddest bitch duo.” Bianca says.

“Yeah, you’re right. We can go together.” Y/n responds, ignoring the ache deep within her soul.

“Great, sounds like a plan. I’ll leave you to your studying.” Bianca gets up and leaves.

Y/n didn’t know what game Bianca was playing at, but she decided she would go along with it anyways. After the conversation she had with Bianca, the studying she had once been doing was long forgotten.

Y/n packed up her notebooks and pens and made her way to her safe place, Enid’s dorm. Even though it was shared with the same girl that made her soul ache in ways she had never felt it ache before, it was still the most comforting place for her to be.

“Oh my God! Wednesday Addams is going to the Rave’N!” Enid squeals as Y/n enters the room, unannounced.

‘Jeez rub it in some more universe.’ Y/n thought to herself, before plastering on a smile.

“My stars, Hell must have frozen over.” Y/n joked, letting her presence be known.

“You know what you need now?” Enid asked.

“A bullet to the head.” Wednesday responded coldly.

“No! A dress!” Enid cries out.

“I already have one.” Wednesday deadpans.

Enid looks at the girl horrified, “Not the one you showed up here in, that thing was a fashion emergency not even lightning could resuscitate.” Enid turns to Y/n, “Back me up here.”

Y/n puts her hands up, “Hey don’t drag me into this.”

“Whatever, Thing?” Enid turns to where the hand sits on the music stand.

Thing responds by putting his thumb up.

“You need something that screams, ‘First date. Stand back bitches! I have arrived!’.” Enid exclaims, “And I know just the place.”

The next day after classes Enid drags Y/n and angry Wednesday to Jerricho to find dresses for the Rave’N.

The three stand in front of the frilly and pink boutique, ‘Hawte Kewture’.

“What kind of dystopian hellscape is this?” Wednesday asks, horrified.

“Our first group shopping spree!” Enid squeals, excited, “Y/n and I have them all the time, but this is the first one with you! The dance committee’s suggesting all white to match the theme, but that’s not gonna fly with us.”

Y/n adjusts her sunglasses in the reflection of the shop windows.

“Well, I have more pressing business to worry about than a stupid dress, for a dance I don’t even want to attend.” Wednesday says, turning to face the other two girls.

“But I thought we were bonding.” Enid says, clearly upset.

“I feel I’ll only slow you two down, you’re gazelles. I’m a wounded fawn. Cut me loose and go run with the pack.” Wednesday looked over as Yoko and Divina walked into the brightly colored shop.

“You sure?” Y/n asked, knowing damn well that Wednesday Addams did not want to go shopping.

Enid laces her fingers with Y/n’s and drags her along into the shop. Y/n was immediately overwhelmed by the different fragrances hitting her nose and the soft noise of some pop songs that were on the radio.

“You alright?” Enid asked, seeing Y/n scrunch her nose up.

“Oh, yeah just a lot of different smells. They don’t all compliment each other.” Y/n mentions, moving to look at the racks of dresses.

Quickly Enid begins to find dresses to try on, Y/n moves between the racks. Gently touching fabrics she thinks would feel nice against her skin.

Minutes later Enid returns, putting dresses back on the racks before shuffling through more. Shopping was Enid Sinclair’s superpower, she might not have been able to wolf out. But she was a God at finding just the perfect outfit for any occasion.

Y/n mindlessly looked at dresses, not really caring for any of the ones she’d seen.

Enid gasped as she saw a light blue dress, she grabbed it to look at it better.

“Try this on, now.” Enid demanded, shoving the dress into the vampire’s arms.

“Okay, miss bossy pants.” Y/n teases, moving to the dressing rooms.

Y/n takes notice of the way the silk material feels between her fingers, the pale blue glinting in the harsh lighting of the dressing room. She quickly takes off the purple pin-striped uniform that was issued to her at the beginning of the school year. Y/n had since taken it into her own hands and changed it, made it more her.

Her first years back at Nevermore, Weems had gotten mad and punished her for the altercations to the uniform. But after the second year she had decided it wasn’t worth the fight, and allowed the ‘young’ vampire to express herself within reason.

Y/n carefully slipped the dress on, and zipped it up before looking in the mirror adjusting the straps so it fit properly. She stared at herself in the mirror, taking in the dress. Then taking in the way the dress looked on her. It perfectly complemented her skin, which had paled over the years from a lack of blood flowing through her veins.

She had decided that this was the dress and quickly changed back into her school uniform. She left the dressing room with the dress in hand, she found a pair of white heels to go with the dress and purchased the items.

Enid had messaged her letting her know that she stopped by the Weathervane with Yoko and Divina.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday #wednesday 2022 #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams #netflix wednesday #wednesday series #wednesday x fem reader #wednesday addams x fem reader #wednesday netflix #enid sinclair #mine #slow burn

742 notes · View notes