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gutsby · 5 months

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Mr. Dixon

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Your efforts to seduce the DILF next door have all failed spectacularly, so you decide a wet hot car wash in front of his house is in order. Mr. Dixon is less than impressed with your antics and plans to teach you a lesson in good manners and ‘neighborliness.’

Warnings: NSFW. Dad's friend Daryl! Drastic age gap!! Daryl's a dirty old pervert in this one :-) Voyeurism. Masturbation. Descriptions of oral sex (m!receiving). Dirty talk. Degradation. Slight misogyny. Daryl may or may not masturbate out a window at some point.

You had an old pair of Daisy Dukes and a dream.

Faded, frayed, and two times too small for your frame, the shorts hiked an inch up your ass every step you took across the room. Made it damn near pointless bending over before the man in front of you—he could see every inch of your butt regardless—but you did it all the same.

This was Mr. Dixon, after all.

Cool blue orbs illumined by candlelight took the sight of you in and flitted away just as fast. His hands busied themselves with the gun he was taking apart, while you reached for the bullet that had just rolled onto the floor.

“Here you go, Mr. Dixon.”

Your voice had a charming lilt as you held the round out to him.

“Over there,” Daryl grumbled, jerking his head toward the end of the table, “An’ what’d I say ‘bout callin’ me tha’?”

“I feel weird calling daddy’s friends by their first names.”

You shrugged and chucked the tiny piece of lead into the pile of ammunition like Daryl had told you to. Then you sat down beside it, crossing your arms.

He could be so cruel sometimes. Just fooling with his pistol and barking orders like a drill sergeant. Never looking at you longer than a second, and if he did, just shooting you a glare or wounding you with a scowl.

He’d been the toughest nut to crack out of all your father’s friends. No matter how straight-laced and upstanding the men around Mr. Grimes had made themselves out to be, you’d always found the fault line—the weak spot that got you access to the filthiest parts of each one. You’d teased and you’d flirted, earned a couple groping touches and open-mouthed caresses from the likes of the late Mr. Walsh and many others. But never Mr. Dixon.

Even now, sitting across from him in your skimpy Wrangler cut offs, wedges, and a skintight, starch white tank top stretched so tight over your tits the fabric was practically see-through, it was like you were invisible to him. You kicked your feet out in front of you as they dangled from the table and actually felt yourself pout at the feeling of frustration bubbling in your chest.

“I wanna help.” Sounding pitiful.

“No use,” Daryl said as he studied the barrel of the gun with an inscrutable expression, “Already told yer dad, ain’ no use for little girls on the range.”

Your nostrils flared as you started back on your feet.

“I am plenty useful, Mr. Dixon. And I— I’m not the little girl you think I am,” you fired back, sounding more miserable and juvenile with every word you spoke.

At the last, Daryl looked you up and down. It was hardly more than a passing glance, but deliberate enough to be expressive. Emotive.

He looked repulsed by you.

And, rather than dignify you with a response, he simply discarded his firearm on the table and left the room. You trailed behind him into the kitchen and watched him swing the refrigerator door wide on its hinges. Blue eyes surveying the shelves for a can of PBR, most likely.

“I can do anything you need me to,” you rejoined in a huff, desperate to be heard, “I’m twice the shot my old man ever was at my age, I can track if I need to— hell, I’m always doin’ stuff, Mr. Dixon. Things.”

You weren’t sure what rattling off your talents to a man who clearly had no interest in hearing them would accomplish, but you tried it anyway. You sounded like your father. When both of Mr. Dixon’s eyebrows raised in mock surprise and he plopped down on a bar stool opposite you, you wanted to melt right into the floor.

“Doin’ stuff, huh? Thangs?” he mocked your twang.

You gripped the door frame so tight your knuckles turned white. Daryl took a couple swigs of beer and stared you down through every swallow. He brought the can back to the counter, near-empty now, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I got a couple thangs for ya ta do,” he started, grinning, “Why don’t ya put those pretty hands ta work, throw a little apron on, and just...bake me a fuckin’ cake?”

“Funny,” you spat. You felt a surge of bile rise in your throat at the sight of his smug expression.

“Wash my car?”

“Fuck you.”

Daryl’s amusement only grew as the forbidden F-bomb flew from your lips—a word he knew Rick would never tolerate if you’d been in his presence. Presently, his eyes raked over your slight, shaking form at the threshold of the room and figured himself pretty lucky to have provoked such a strong reaction from you. He polished off the last of his drink in a single gulp.

“No need ta get all foul-mouthed, Ms. Grimes, I only—”

“Fuck. You.” Your reply came slower and a touch more measured than he’d expected. Even punctuated with a hint of a smile, making sure to stretch that Southern drawl when you added, “Dar-yl.”

It was the first time you’d ever used his first name.

You weren’t sure you liked it.

Daryl, on the other hand, felt quite certain the sound of his name suited your mouth just fine. A subsequent stir in his jeans wiped the smirk clean off his face, and he began to shift in his seat.

Before he could speak, you were already turning on your heels to leave. Formalities escaped quicker than your anger, and your fingers seemed to move of their own accord to flip Daryl off over your shoulder as you strode out the door, far out of his sight.

Meanwhile, and much to his chagrin, Mr. Dixon was already growing ill with the sounds of your parting wishes bouncing loud off the walls of his skull. Before the front door had even closed, his fingers, too, seemed to move involuntarily and do a thing they probably shouldn’t have done: touch the mound in his jeans.

He rubbed his clothed erection and groaned.

You were such a fucking brat.

Daryl had always thought with a father as eagle-eyed and attentive as Rick, you’d never reach this level of naughty, haughty, and straight up cunt-like, but here you were. Doing Lori proud the way you’d gotten another one of Rick’s best friends wrapped around your little finger.

You were good like that, and still too dense to understand a fraction of the effect you had on him while you did it. The way you’d been looking at him earlier, Daryl was sure you’d convinced yourself he hated you.

If you could only see him now, spitting in one hand and unzipping his fly with the other, freeing his cock, and finally, finally getting his fingers wrapped fast around his shaft with the sole thought of you on his mind as he did. If you could watch him shudder, close his eyes, draw a deep, jagged breath through his nose to scour the air for the faintest trace of your scent lingering there—maybe you’d get it.

Daryl slid his hand down his cock and exhaled a shaky breath. You would simply never “get it,” because he’d already promised himself he wouldn’t let that happen.

As his thumb grazed the head of his red-hot, leaking cock and imagined it was your tongue doing all the work, he had to remind himself this was nothing but a fantasy for him. There was just no way in hell he’d sink to Shane’s level and actually lay his hands on you, no—he was better than that.

He was a man of principle, furiously jerking his cock in his kitchen with the thought of his best friend’s daughter on his mind. He just couldn’t touch you.

Damn if those tits didn’t sit nice under that top, no bra to hold ‘em in. And those shorts…

Daryl felt his head drop back as a wave of pleasure coursed up his spine. In his mind, you were sucking him now, hollowing those soft, sweet cheeks around his member and bobbing your head up and down, again and again, eyes never leaving his. Maybe you’d know to cup his balls, use your tongue to draw a couple lazy shapes down his cock. Any way you wanted it done was exactly how Mr. Dixon needed it, he’d decided.

He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and fucked his hand like a man half his age.

Someone like you.

Scarcely nineteen and so oversexed they might burst.

The difference was Daryl would explode any second now; he had only to hunch over, pump himself a few more times, and finally shoot his load, pretending it was spraying your insides and not the floor of his kitchen.

He’d intended to do just that, clenching his jaw at the filthiest thoughts of you yet, when suddenly, a sound shook the house.

Daryl dropped his cock and looked right out the window.

Down below, outside, you’d laid heavy on your car horn. Let the noise blare a couple seconds before Daryl came bounding over to the window.

When he did, the man thought his legs might buckle.

You were standing beside his truck in the driveway, sponge in hand, soaked head-to-toe in water and soap and smiling brighter than he’d ever seen you. The fabric above your tits was translucent now, clinging like a second skin and affording his lustful gaze every inch of your torso. Your free hand was waving up at him.

Daryl inched the window open with trembling hands.

“Mr. Dixon, this truck is filthy!” you shouted from down below.

Swallowing and blinking was all he knew how to do, it seemed. Finally, Daryl managed, deadpan:

“I know.”

You placed your hands on your hips and narrowed your eyes up at him.

“Have you always been such a dirty old man?”

Fuck. It was like you knew what he’d been doing, crouched over in the privacy of his home while he drooled and dreamed of fucking you stupid. He watched you cross the front of the car.

And lean down to start rubbing your sponge across the hood.

Daryl sincerely feared you might hear his loud groan the second it rose to his throat. He gritted his teeth, tried to fight the sound, but came up short with nothing to show for his efforts but a whimper slipping past his lips.

You started swirling your sponge in circles, tits shaking with every movement you made.

“Too bad little girls ain’t good for nothin’,” you sighed.

When you leaned flat across the metal surface below you, Daryl pictured himself standing behind you, taking his dick and shoving it deep between your folds. Stretching you out and making you scream into the space in front of you.

Slowly, discreetly, Daryl’s hand drifted back to his cock.

“Yeah. Too bad,” he mumbled as you bent over to soak your sponge once more. When you straightened up, you made sure to squeeze the thing over your chest so the water would douse your front. Daryl took the window frame in one hand and his cock in the other, leaning out just slightly to ask, “This the ‘stuff’ ye’s talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Thangs, really,” you answered dryly.

The two of you exchanged a brief smile, and Daryl’s hand started stroking his length.

Lucky for him, and unlucky for you, the size of the window wasn’t primed to make you privy to the sight of him pleasuring himself. At most, you saw a forearm moving gently back and forth. You bit your lower lip and kept your sponge moving in loops.

“Well these ‘thangs’ are gonna get ya in a whole heap of trouble with yer daddy if ya keep this up, girl,” Daryl warned, nodding toward your house with a wary look.

“It’s empty, Mr. Dixon. Whole place is mine for the weekend,” you replied with a sly intonation.

Finally, you stopped long enough to get a hand back down to your shorts. Facing Daryl still, you popped a button on your denim cut-offs and looked up at him with a glossy, innocent stare. You pretended to feel for something that wasn’t there, snagged the band of your light pink thong, and lifted it up to Daryl’s hungry gaze. You saw his bicep visibly strain as he jerked his cock even faster.

Back inside, Daryl was panting, groaning, reeling at the thought of you all alone in your house next door, splayed out across your bed in a baby pink panty set. He soaked in the sight of you and curled his toes into the floor as a new jolt of pleasure broke out through his body.

He was closer than he’d ever been. He rested his head against the window and watched you run your hands over your body, down your front, in your shorts. He imagined your fingers grazing your cunt and how wet you must’ve been then, imagining him right back and fucking him steady with your eyes.

For a moment, your eyelids fluttered, and a blissful look crossed your features. Daryl rutted his hips at the thought of you finding your clit in front of him—desperately wanting to be the source of that pleasure himself—and pumped himself even faster.

“Darlin’, I…I need ya. In such a bad fuckin’ way.” He couldn’t keep the tender term of endearment from dancing on his tongue. The sight of you alone had his brain on the fritz.

You slipped your hand out of your shorts and brought a couple honeyed fingertips to the edge of your lips.

“How bad, Mr. Dixon?” you asked, eyeing him intently.

Daryl whined and felt his insides churn with the threat of release. He knew he couldn’t hold on much longer.

“So— so bad. Need to fuck ya so bad.”

That satisfied your affirmation-hungry itch well enough. You pushed two digits between your lips and started to suck.

From that point on, you didn’t need to see him or hear him or be there waiting patiently on your knees to get a mouthful of his cum—you knew it was coming. Daryl’s face contorted with a blissful, fucked-out expression, and suddenly he was pumping that space below the window full of his load, likely spraying the whole damn thing on the wall.

You stood back and admired your work. Daryl had all but collapsed with both hands planted on the windowsill, wet, brown locks hanging low in his face as the aftershocks of his arousal washed over him.

He was panting and barely able to meet your gaze. You couldn’t quite read the expression.

At any rate, you knew your job here was done.

With a hand waving sweetly back up at him once more, you eyed the mess of a man—your father’s best friend—and started to reach for your bucket and sponge. You buttoned your shorts back up and took a step from his truck. When it seemed Daryl was just then starting to open his mouth to speak, you beat him to it and called out, cheerfully,

“See ya around, Mr. Dixon!”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon one shot #daryl dixon imagine #daryl x reader #the walking dead #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #twd imagine #smut

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sashi-ya · 5 months

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東京 NIGHTS mini event

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑳𝑰𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑰𝑴𝑨𝑮𝑬ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𓂃 ࣪˖ toji fushiguro x f! reader

⤹˚ synopsis. a miserable Toji founds the living image of his death wife in you, a sex worker at Kabukicho.

requested by: Anonymous ➡ omg i've been waiting for you to write for jjk!!! please Sashi, can you write an nsfw toji x f! reader with the prompt The red lights of Kabukichō. tw: MNDI. dark! content. reader is a sex worker from the kabukicho red district. toji has no respect for you. oral, rough, spanking, slapping, unprotected sex, cream pie implied, you look like Megumi's mom. first time I write for Toji pls be soft on me. wc: 2k masterlist

A lucky round, for the very first time at Pachinko. Fushiguro Toji feels pleased; he lies on the backrest of his seat, right in front of an old machine and next to many other people desperately trying to win something. The more desperate they get, the more they lose.

Poker, Mahjong, horse races. money, lose the money. lose your life, lose the time until it is over.

“It looks like you have a lot of luck tonight, mister” a woman whose face he simply ignores, paws his wide frame.

“Get off, bitch” he mutters, scaring her away with his sharp -but really tired- eyes.

The lady walks away, spitting expletives that Toji couldn’t hear -nor cared to do so-. However, consequences were about to hit him.

Two guys, or maybe gorillas, appeared right behind his seat. “Sir, I must ask you to leave” one of them says, trying to snatch him from behind, passing one of the arms around his neck.

Unfortunately for them, as well as for Toji, the strength and speed of his Zen’in body allows him to not only avoid the attack but also smash the head of the aforementioned gorilla against the Pachinko machine.

“Fuck you” he grunts, knowing too damn well the aggression didn’t come because of him disrespecting a lady but rather because his “luck” wasn’t welcomed into their business.

Honestly, given the right moment, Toji would have killed them both in no time… but tonight was different; some years -he doesn’t even remember how many- have passed and today marked the anniversary of his wife passing.

Toji stole a bun from the guy that was sitting by his side and walked away from the Pachinko parlor before the astonished looks of the people there. Nobody dared to follow him, they knew death would find them if they dared to mess a single second more with that man.

His steel blue eyes shine red as the lights of Kabukichō receive him in their sensual embrace. The attractive concupiscence of beautiful women dancing on windows catches his attention, but no woman is enough to make him feel any type of pleasure.

He is well aware of the many scams there, but he is sure nobody could scam him more than he could scam them.

Many women and men come closer, wearing revealing suggesting outfits; they touch him, they call him inside their “shops”. Yet, Toji still walks unaware, as if possessed. Some even offer him their services for free, his handsomeness is undeniable; his strong physique, delicious and tempting.

“Sir, sir!” you call him, tapping insistently on his wide shoulder. “SIR!” you repeat, as he seems not to hear anything around.

Toji turns around, all of a sudden, grabbing your hand to stop poking him. “What the fuck do you want, I don’t wanna fuck you… you…” he angrily barks, stopping immediately after watching your face.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t trying to… your… your wallet just fell from your pants” you tell him, scared and feeling the tight grip intensify around your wrist.

His eyes burn holes into yours, his expression turns troubled, darker. He is not blinking, and perhaps even not breathing.

“Do you work here?” he asks. “It’s my first night… I was promoting that- bar” you point out to the entrance of a quite ratchet facility of red and pink lights and semi naked woman pictures on their walls. “I… your wallet” you murmur, showing him the black ragged leathery pouch that feels light and empty.

He lets your arm go and takes the wallet with absolutely no interest. His eyes, however, never let go of your face… you must be an interest to him?

“You… what’s your surname?” he asks, as if he was waiting to hear something revealing.

You frown; why would a complete stranger ask for your surname? Men in here only want one thing, and to them what’s your name is totally irrelevant for that purpose.

“It’s (Surname)” you tell him, either way. You had nothing to lose, after all.

He seems relieved but also a little disappointed. Truth is, that you look incredibly similar to his late wife… “Come here, I want you” he simply states, pulling from your hand to the inside of your work place.

You follow him with no time to say no… you wouldn’t say no anyway.

There is not much your boss can do either; he is in fact pleased to know that right after he hired you, you have already given him a client.

You open the door to the “rooms”. Precarious looking places that no man cares about as they only care the true purpose of his visit.

Once inside one of them, you close the door, and the red lights bathe both of your bodies as if it was a blood bath.

“Sir, which service would yo-“ you ask, but you are immediately silenced by his hand on your mouth. He pushes you to a round bed, making your back hit violently the mattress. You blink twice before he could pounce into you.

Toji is big enough to smash you with his body, and you honestly would love to die underneath his prominent chest tonight.

“I don’t care about the services you give, spread those legs” he orders, slapping the inner side of your knees.

You let your legs open wide, falling to each side. The short skirt you were wearing invites him to taste you; the buffed man with a scar on his lip sees everything you have to offer.

He smirks, so dark. And then, takes his black shirt off. His body is by far better than what you thought that tight shirt had already revealed to you. Each muscle perfectly showing like it’s been sculpted on his skin. The wide shoulders and prominent collarbones and pecs… he is the total embodiment of carnal desire.

Toji’s brute hands rip your almost transparent thong now; the elastic band snapping on your hipbone makes you squirm owning yourself to get his hand around your neck. “Stay still, bitch. You will have enough time to squirm around once I fuck you”

Your insides tremble, your core tenses. Such a disrespect makes you hornier instead of mad.

“Y-yes…” you stutter, finishing your words with a loud moan as his fingers penetrate you. Your back arches, and the more it does, the more he squeezes your neck.

With lack of air and probably blue lips, your eyes turn white from pleasure. Your legs tend to close but you can’t as Toji prevents them to shutting.

“Hold on there, don’t close them. I need to prep you, you are too tight to me” he spits, reaching deeper with curled beckoning fingers hitting your top wall. You clench to the sheets, coffing and trying to grasp for some air… this man will kill you, and you will be smiling at him.

He takes his fingers out of you, giving you some seconds to rest. You watch your own arousal dripping down his hand and forearm. Toji sticks his tongue out in a disgusting, yet absolutely sexy way, and licks your salty products right from there.

“Not as good as my wife, but still good” he murmurs, leaving you startled… he has a wife?

Well, not exactly.

He turns you around from your right ankle, this man’s strength surpasses any limits. Your face hit the mattress, leaving you a little bit dizzy from the fall. Immediately after you could react, you feel two big hands lifting your ass from under your lower belly.

Knees carved on the bed, and also head as one of his heavy hands pass from your waist to your nape.

You sense two fingers spreading your folds, and the wet tongue of him licking from your clit to your ass. He has absolutely no decorum to do it, he does it so disgustingly lustful. Toji’s nose buries in your perineum as he sometimes focuses on your throbbing clit, sucking hard until your inner thighs begin to spasm and tremble.

Some spanks are added, that leave your cheeks burning. He goes even down, hitting the back of your thighs, a place that hurts but makes it even better. You are sure by now you must have created a pool of your fluids underneath you, and if not… well, you are most likely about to.

“Ehj… so wet…” he pants once he stops eating you out.

With difficulty you see him through the mirrored walls cleaning his mouth with the back of his forearm. Slanted eyes peek through black strands of hair, they meet yours and It’s both scary and hot.

Toji smirks, so devilishly and turns you once again around from your leg. You are like a mere doll to him.

He buries his fingers in your cheeks, making your lips pout and your eyes widen. You are still panting, so your breathing sounds loudly in between your fingers and a drop of saliva pools right in the middle of your lower lip.

That man has the look of a murderer, of a devil. With just one hand he gets rid of his grey pants along with his underwear. Your eyes confirm why he mentioned the need of you getting “prepped” as he exhibits his hard sex.

Purplish tip, veiny. It is not gigantic, but still constitutes a challenge for anyone to be able to take it. He is not going slow, nor carefully… and you know that for sure.

“I’m going raw, hope you are ready to become a single mother” he lets you know, as if you didn’t know already. You limit yourself to nod. You are honestly more worried for the integrity of your insides than that.

Toji kneels on the bed, sitting on top of his heels. He grabs you by your hips, pulling you over his lap to get your sex closer to his. A sex that with the simple touch of his warm precum covered tip makes your already overstimulated you to shiver.

His fist, also veiny, clench around his shaft. Toji pumps up and down two or three times and then plays with your wetting mess and his, giving you little slaps with his tip.

Strings of transparent lubrication mix; your neediness is that big you squeeze one of your breasts… it seems eternal, the wait, the desire…

The penetration. “Ngh…”

You arch your back while Toji penetrates you deeper and mercilessly, there is no escape as he has you trapped by the sides of your hips. Your toes curl, feeling the stretching of your cunt, and swearing his tip has probably reached a place nobody has ever reached inside you.

He begins fucking you, without moving a single muscle but his muscular arms. He is using you as a fleshlight, and his eyes are fixed in your beautiful pleasure façade.

“Keep moaning that way, you are almost identical” he grunts, moving you in and out faster and harder.

You aren’t very sure to who you are almost identical, but your brain has become nothing but a mere dumb slave of that lustful sexual torture.

He lifts from his heels, along with you. Your face and barely any of your nape remain on the mattress. To him moving your body, he adds his own hip thrusts. The sound of your skin slapping is almost as loud as your whining.

His forearm is the only thing holding you up by the small of your back, while his free hand now rips your little shirt open. Your breasts bounce in pure freedom, calling him to bite them so brutally. And so, he bends over to reach for your hard nipples.

Toji’s eyes never leave your façade, he seems possessed as he enjoys and also suffers.

“Fuck you bitch, how come you are that similar to her… you do the same fucking face” he spits, slapping your face and then burying his index and middle finger inside your mouth.

You choke but suck desperately. Your moans get muffled by his salty fingers; your sex has already undergone the stage of climax more than twice.

He can go for hours, pumping deep in you, biting your breasts, slapping you… and he does, until your conscious begins to fade, and he wishes to fill you up.

“Hold my cum inside, maybe I can give the fucking clan another kid” “Sir…? Which clan?”

I only touched her; I only fucked her because she looked just like you… I miss you, I miss you, I miss you so much...

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sentientcave · 30 days

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Heavy Weighs the Crown

Had to stop working on everything else and write a whole bunch of this instead. Usually I like to finish things that I think might be on the longer side before I start posting, but we're gonna live on the edge with this one. Expect updates in 1-2 Bearimys.

Chapter One - Sweetpea

Next Chapter >

Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, Large men picking up reader like a football, No Y/N, A spot of magic, Some exposition, Reader's dad (deceased) was a real piece of work, Reader descriptions kept as neutral as possible but keep in mind that she is a character to me and does have a specific appearance so things might slip through. This is just me having a bit of fun with a fantasy setting because it is my favourite type.

~3.4k Words - MDNI

Sunlight streams down through the light scattering of clouds above, as you carry your nearly empty basket into town to buy a few things for your auntie Kate. She’s not truly your aunt, but over the past few years it’s hard to think of her as anything less than family. She’s not warm, exactly, but she’s honest, and you know that you can trust her with anything.

Kate would usually be at your side when you go into town, watching the crowd with hawkish intensity, as though she still expects agents of the new king to materialize and snatch you away, but she’s away on business, and her wife much less paranoid. You expect that anyone who was ever looking for you has given up on you now. After the civil war, there was a time of instability, and you laid awake many nights, half expecting armed men to break into your bedroom and snatch you away, but everything is smoothed over now, and there’s no reason why Price would feel like he needed you to cement his rule.

You’re happy to just let him have the kingdom. You have more freedom as an ordinary girl, and you’re happier now than you ever have been. You were miserable living in your father’s halls, just a spindly little flower growing without enough sun or rain. And your people are happy now too. It twists your stomach something fierce, to think that your father was never a good king, but the reality is that he wasn’t. People starved while he feasted behind his walls. He sent good men to wage war on his behalf, to die in far off lands when they should have been home building better lives for themselves and their families. He allowed his chosen men to terrorize the women and children and old men living in the towns still. Things had been bad.

So yes, let Price have the crown, and the castle, and the responsibility and anything he likes. What difference does it make to you now?

What matters now is the sun on your face, and the gentle sound of birdsong around you, and the dull bite of the occasional stone through the soft leather soles of your shoes. The air smells sweet and green, although there’s a slight prickle at the back of your nose that tells you that there will be rain tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest. There’s nothing to worry about aside from whether or not the children in town will like the end of the book you have tucked into your basket.

You see a young man sleeping by the side of the road on your way into town, his horse tied to a long halter while he lounges beneath a tree. As you pass by, a bird flying too close startles the horse, and it pulls up the peg it’s tied to, and bolts. The young man doesn’t stir, so you dash after the horse without a thought, dropping your basket so you have both hands free to seize the halter.

You try to dig in your heels to stop the big, white-stockinged horse, but it half-drags you a little ways down the road before finally stopping, swinging it’s head around to look at you as though you’ve personally offended it. “Come on,” you tell it, exasperated. “You don’t belong out here.”

Arms wrap around you from behind, hands much larger than yours close over your wrists. “You’re awfully pretty for a horse thief,” a voice says in your ear.

“I’m not a horse thief!” you protest. “I was trying to help!” The horse snorts, as though it intends to tattle on you for something that you most certainly were not doing.

“And you didn’t think to wake me up?” The man behind you lets go of one of your wrists and spins you around, the movement smooth and graceful, like you’re two dancers at a ball, rather than two strangers meeting along a country road. But when you look up, you find the all too familiar face of one of Price’s knights.

“Sir Garrick!” you gasp.

“Princess,” he says, smiling. He’s far too handsome, his smile bright, teeth a little bit too sharp. “How very nice to see you. I thought for sure you’d have left the kingdom by now.”

“No! Oh no.” You push against his chest uselessly. He’s strong, so much stronger than you. Despair claws at your ribs. Your nightmare-come-true may be wrapped in a pretty, familiar face, but you have no desire to return to the capital. “Please let me go. I promise I don’t want the kingdom. Price can have it— You can have it. I just want to be left alone, I swear, I’ll never—”

“Hush, sweetpea.” He tucks a few of your thin braids behind your ear, fingertips grazing down your neck. “I have to bring you in. But you can make your case to Price. Maybe he’ll let you come back, alright? Don’t fret. He’s always been reasonable.”

You’re not certain how to get out of this. Sir Garrick has kind eyes, but his grip is like steel. He lifts you up easily and sets you on his horse before you so much as think of protesting or making a feeble attempt to fight him off.

“We’re not far from the capital. We can make it there before dark,” he continues, voice low and reassuring, as though you’re worried about the travel, and not the destination.

“But— What about my aunt? I should let her know where I’ve gone.”

“We’ll send word. Don’t you worry, your majesty.”

“No, no, don’t call me that. That’s for kings and queens, and I’m neither.” I’m no one, you want to shout.

He's amused by that, amused by you, as if you're just being a silly little girl. "I suppose we'll settle on sweetpea for now." He holds his palm out and three little white birds materialize and fly off in different directions, spectral and iridescent as soap bubbles. And then he swings into the seat behind you and pulls you most of the way into his lap, wraps strong arms around your waist, and nudges his mount into a walk.

“So,” Sir Garrick says conversationally, his voice low, lips far too close to your ear. It’s overly familiar, but you’re already practically sitting in the man’s lap. “What have you been doing out here all these years?”

“Um. Gardening. Embroidery. Taking care of my chickens. Lessons, for some of the children that live nearby. Just letters and arithmetic. I’ve been thinking about organizing a proper schoolhouse.” You can feel your nerves bubbling up as you babble, thoughts coming to you disorganized and stilted. “I never realized how few people can read. It seems a shame. I do a few hours of reading around town, help out at the church. I keep busy. I haven’t any real purpose, so I have to go out of my way to make one.” You sigh, thinking of how you had left things at a particularly gripping point in a story you’d been reading to the town children. They’ll be disappointed if they never hear the end of it, but you still have hope that Price will decide you’ve become something of a country bumpkin with no place in the court, and let you go back home soon. “How have you fared? Is your family well?”

“Quite well. My sisters will be glad to see you again. They always thought you were sweet. Rosie’s opened her own dress shop in the city, and Camellia has five children now. I think Kylie and Jorah were just two or three last you saw them. My mother lives with Cam to help out.” Sir Garrick’s mother and sister used to work at the palace, and he had been apprenticed to the court wizard before he specialized in battle magic and became a knight. You hadn’t been friends, exactly— You’re not sure you ever really had friends— but he’d always been nice enough, when your paths crossed.

“And what of you?” you prompt gently. “Have you found yourself a wife?”

He laughs lightly. “I’m working on it. I’ve a girl in mind, but I think she’ll take some convincing.”

“Oh I doubt that, Sir. You’re perfectly unobjectionable.”

“High praise indeed, princess.”

The two of you chat idly as you travel, mostly about nothing, but it’s pleasant enough. Sir Garrick— Kyle, he insists you call him— is far more charming than you remember, and he makes you laugh so much that you’re certain that you’d simply fall right off the horse if he wasn’t holding onto you so securely. He’s the very picture of a romantic hero, all chivalry and smiles, handsome in the dappled light under the canopy of trees as the road carries you from farmland to forest. You come to a bridge, and he dismounts so his horse can drink, and lifts you down so you can stretch out stiff muscles. His touch lingers, strong hands resting on your hips for a few beats longer than would be appropriate, but you don’t really mind.

You part from his company so you can relieve yourself a little ways into the trees, glad he’s not concerned about you making a run for it. His assurances that Price can be reasoned into letting you go home once you’ve spoken to him is enough to make you cooperative. You’re certain that he’ll take one look at you now and send you right back home. You’ve never had any luck with the young men in town, and if that’s any indication, you’ll be back to your little bedroom in Kate’s house before the week is up.

You fix your clothes and walk back to the road, humming lightly under your breath. Kyle is speaking to a flat glowing disc that hums with energy, floating above his palm. He gives you a smile and a nod and retreats to the tree line while he finishes his conversation. You catch a glimpse of a face on the disc as he turns, searing blue eyes meeting yours for a moment. Price, certainly. You recognize those eyes.

Kyle’s gaze slips over to you again as you kneel by the creek, one arm keeping your skirt out of the water while you trail the other hand through the water idly, the cool stream a pleasant offset to the heat of the afternoon. If you were alone, you would consider stripping down and going for a swim, but as nice as Kyle is, he’s still a man, and not one you know particularly well anymore, if you ever did.

When you look over again, he’s tucking the crystal disc into the front of his tunic, and a wolf is behind him, stalking out of the woods, low to the ground and ready to pounce. “Kyle!” you shout, pointing behind him. He turns quickly, a spell glittering on his fingertips, but the wolf pounces before he can cast it, both crashing into the packed earth along the side of the road.

You rush over, although halfway there you wonder what help you expect to be, and an arm snatches you around the middle, hauling you back. You’re beginning to get a bit annoyed at how much you’ve been manhandled today, and you start kicking as you’re lifted off your feet. “Let me go!”

“Easy, sweet girl. Let the lads say hello,” a deep voice says behind you, the sound rumbling through you like a cat’s purr. “No danger ‘ere.”

You look at Kyle and the wolf again. Only there isn’t a wolf anymore, just a large, naked man laying on top of Kyle, kissing him ardently and more than a little messily. The sound of it makes your cheeks burn. “Oh.”

The man who was a wolf stands up, and you look away, too flustered by the sight of so much bare skin to do anything else. The big man puts you down and turns you to face him, putting your back to the werewolf. “Johnny, put some clothes on before you say ‘ello. We know you were raised by savages, but you don’t need to act like it,” he says firmly, his heavy hands on your shoulders.

You stare at the skull embroidered on the black tunic in front of you, recognizing the emblem, and then the black fencers mask tied around the man’s face, obscuring even the shape of his features. You see a glint of light when he drops his chin to look at you though, gleaming eyes that look at you inscrutably. You know him, by name and reputation and deep, rumbling voice, if not by his face. No one knows him by his face, but he was as highly ranked a knight as Price was, one of your father’s personal guard before the war. Often tasked as your guardian, a solemn but comforting presence always. “Hello, Ghost,” you say, cheeks burning all the hotter. “Been a while.”

“Not as long as you might think,” he says. You can almost hear the smile in his voice. “Been keepin’ an eye on you.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. “For how long?”

“Knew where you were this whole time. Wun’t about to let you disappear, princess.” He tucks you against his side, keeping an arm around your shoulders protectively. “Johnny. Come meet our girl. Best behaviour.”

Johnny the werewolf grins at you as he walks up, still adjusting the drape of the tartan fabric around his hips, broad chest bare and dusted with hair, swirling blue tattoos printed on his scarred skin. His hair is shaved on the sides, a stripe of it left long in the center. “Nice ta finally meet ya, princess. Officially, anyway. We’ve bumped intae each other once or twice, but I was told no’ ta approach unless ye approached first, aye? Shame ye never did.” His smile is crooked, his too-bright blue eyes intent on yours. “Think we’ll get along.”

“The whole time?” you ask, skipping back a few paces in the conversation, glancing up at Ghost. “But Kyle said—”

“Sorry, sweetpea,” Kyle says airily. “I lied.”

“Typical tricksy wizard shite. But dinnae ye worry none, we’ll keep him honest for ye.” Johnny grabs your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, and then to the inside of your palm. His rough fingertips push your sleeve back, and he kisses the inside of your wrist too. When you squeak, he gives you a heated look and does it again, teeth grazing sensitive skin as he opens his mouth and licks a stripe across your pulse.

You’re warm from the tips of your ears to your chest, your breath catching on ragged nerves. You tug your hand out of his grip and cradle it with your other, like you’ve been burned by his brash touch.

“Johnny,” Ghost says, exasperated. “S’that what you call best behaviour?”

“She likes it, sir.”

“I most certainly do not!” you protest.

“Oh, aye ye do. Werewolf, ye ken. Can smell ye.” Johnny taps the side of his nose and winks at you. “Ye dinnae need ta be embarrassed, sweetpea. Ye can hardly blame yerself, faced with all this.” He gestures to his admittedly impressive physique, the broad and lean shape of near-perfect manhood on immodest display.

“Let’s move.” Kyle’s hand brushes your elbow. “You can ride with me again.”

Ghost shakes his head and turns, pulling you with him. “No. Come meet Nox.” He whistles, and a huge black shape hurtles down from the sky, glossy black wings snapping open just before the creature hit the ground, flapping a few times so that it lands lightly on four mismatched limbs, stirring up dust leaves. You shrink back against Ghost’s side, eyes wide. A gryphon.

The massive beast has a raven’s head and wings, and shiny black fur on it’s haunches. The catlike tail, with it’s tuft of feathers at the end, twitches back and forth as the bird head tilts to regard you, dark, slit-pupil eyes watching you with interest.

You look up at Ghost for reassurance, and he nods. “Go on. Offer ‘er your ‘and. She won’t bite. Hey, girl?” he scratches the gryphon behind the ear, and it opens it’s mouth to make a vibrating, keening sound that makes Kyle’s horse snort nervously. “That’s right, sweetpea’s a friend.”

You offer your outstretched hand to the giant creature, bolstered by Ghost’s calm, and it sticks it’s beak under your palm, making the same keening sound again. The last of your apprehension melts away, and you step closer, smiling. “Aren’t you a pretty girl?” You scratch the spot where her beak meets her feathers, and her eyes close for a moment.

Johnny reaches for the Nox’s side, and she whips her head around and hisses at him, her throat feathers fluffing up defensively. “Och, yer no’ goan ta git my fingers, ye wee beastie. Thought ye was gettin’ soft.”

“Away, Johnny. Let the girls get to know each other.” Ghost stands behind you and guides your hands to points just behind Nox’s jaw. The gryphon croaks and leans her head on your shoulder, nudging Ghost with her beak.

“Not so scary,” you coo, pressing your face into the soft cloud of feathers. “What a sweet girl.”

“How about it, Nox? Can she ‘op up?” Ghost asks. The gryphon croaks again and backs away enough to lean her front half down. Ghost picks you up and sets you on her back, on a flat saddle that sits right behind the joint of her massive wings, which fold up over your legs like she’s holding you steady. He pats Nox on the neck and starts walking, and she follows, padding beside him, sticking her beak between the joints of his leather armor playfully whenever he takes his hand off her.

You grab the edge of the saddle, mindful of Nox’s feathers, and it takes a moment to adjust to her movement. It’s not the side to side sway of a horse, but she’s steady, like she’s trying her best not to spill an inexperienced rider. Thoughtful of her.

Behind you, Kyle scrambles up onto his horse, and Johnny hustles to catch up, positioning himself on Ghost’s other side, giving Nox a wider berth.

“Thought we weren’t supposed ta tell her we were watchin’,” Johnny said. “Price said—”

“She ought to know. I wun’t too ‘appy about it in the first place, but a deal’s a deal.”

“A deal with who?” you ask.

“I’ll let Price tell you that much, sweetpea. But if it were up to me I’d’ve dragged you back home years ago.”

You shake your head tiredly. “Home is where I was. And I’m going back as soon as this business with Price is done. I don’t know what he wants, but I’m sure we can work something out. Kyle said he’s reasonable.”

“Oh, did ‘e?” Ghost asks, amusement colouring his deep voice. “S’pose that’s ‘ow ‘e had you comin’ along purrin’ like a kitten, hm?”

The blood drains from your face as you turn to look at Kyle, but he doesn’t look guilty, or like he’d been lying to you. “Well, again, I’m perfectly happy to cooperate. There’s no reason why he wouldn’t let me go when he gets what he wants, is there?”

Johnny chuckles, exchanging a look with Ghost that’s inscrutable. “Aye, ye’ve got a point. I’m sure ye’ll have no trouble dealin’ with the old man. Born diplomat, aren’t ye?”

Your stomach twists with nerves. It’s been many years since you’ve seen John Price. You don’t know him as well as you know Ghost. You’d always found the big, faceless man strangely comforting, easy to talk at, if not to, especially when you were still young and silly. But John Price, when he fixed you with those fathomless dark blue eyes, had always rendered you speechless, turned your usually clever tongue to lead. He was a knight captain then, a natural leader of men, a hero. Not someone that your father wanted you to get close to. It’s easy for you to see why now, with your father dead in the ground and Price wearing the crown, but you were glad for any excuse to stay away.

You wish you could ask Nox to fly away with you on her back, maybe home, but maybe somewhere else entirely, where no one knows you, where you can start again without the weight of the crown hanging heavy over your head, an executioner’s ax waiting to fall.

***

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

#Fantasy AU #cod mw fanfiction #x reader #x fem Reader #141 x reader #Heavy Weighs the Crown #Cave Writing #This is mostly gonna be fun and light-hearted I just really enjoy fantasy and I've been watching a lot of DnD content lately #“He's always been reasonable” Kyle lies thinking fondly of his boss - the least reasonable man in the realm #Let me know if you need any content warnings in here but I feel this one's pretty light

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2btheanswertothequestion · 1 year

Text

(The final part of November Paramedic; part 6 is here and the AO3 version is here. If you want to avoid the smut, you should read on AO3.)

Eddie's apartment is full of song, but for probably the first time since he moved in it's not metal.

Max sings This Old Heart of Mine with gusto, her attention glued to her fingers as they move on the fretboard. She's in an awkward position, sitting slumped and with her leg propped onto five pillows on the coffee table. An elastic bandage is wrapped around her knee. Steve was right – she did exacerbate the injury by walking on it, and had to spend the next three days on bed rest. The knee already looks a lot better, less swollen but likely still tender, not that she's uttered a peep about it. Today is the first day she's been up and running, though not without support. Since crutches is the uncoolest kind of mobility aid Eddie took it upon himself to dig out a cane from his closet for her to use. When he asked if she liked it, she said it was great for thwacking people; he assumes that means 'yes'.

On the other end of the couch, Gareth taps along on a handheld drum. Max felt like she kept losing the rhythm and wanted extra help. Eddie is certain she was doing fine, but hey, if it calms her last-minute nerves, so be it.

The song ends, the last note lingering in the otherwise silent room. Max heaves a sigh, guitar slipping from her grip as she relaxes into her seat.

Gareth is beaming with pride; Eddie feels it too. Approximately two months of practice led to this. Just two months! He knows that she's been diligent, but still – it's impressive. Damn, he has the raddest little neighbor.

He rests his elbows on the couch's backrest and pokes Max's shoulder.

"It sounds great. You'll do amazing tomorrow."

She nods, lips tugging into a sweetly pleased smile.

"I'm ready," she says. Craning her neck, she locks their gazes. "Are you performing too?"

"No. The stage will be only yours. Although," he pats the acoustic in her lap, "I will of course be there and make sure you treat DragonSlayer with the respect she deserves."

Max's eyes crinkle with mischief.

"She won't react to you ever again after I show her what real talented fingers can do," she says, wiggling said fingers at him, and giggles when he gasps like a Victorian lady at the implied vulgarity. Turning to Gareth, she asks, "Are you gonna be there?"

Gareth's expression crumbles.

"I can't. Something is going around at work and we're short-staffed, so I'm no longer free," he says miserably. "I'll come next time. You'll do it again, right?"

She smiles wryly. "Unless I crash and burn."

Eddie pushes off the backrest and rounds the couch. He hates to spoil the mood any more, but…

"Before I forget," he says, piercing them with an unamused look. He also tries standing with his hands on his hips, but there's no way he can convey the same bitchy determination Steve can with the stance, so it feels hollow. He crosses his arms instead. "You two need to stop conspiring against me."

They blink at him, baffled.

"What?" Gareth says.

"You've been trying to set me up with Steve!"

"Well, yeah," Max says. "But not with him."

"Yeah, not with her."

It's Eddie's turn to blink. Releasing a breath that shudders with emotion, he closes his eyes and rubs circles on his temples.

"You're telling me you've worked independently of each other this entire time?"

"Seems like it!" Gareth laughs, though the mirth dims quickly. "But… who's done the best job?"

They whip toward each other. Their postures are tense, bow strings drawn and ready to shoot. Flames of competitiveness engulf them. Weirdos.

Gareth points at Max. "I made them go on a date!"

"I made them go on two dates!"

"I'm the reason they got to know each other!"

Max scoffs. "Oh, please. As if I wouldn't have eventually introduced them."

"Would you?"

"Sure. They're both older brother figures I can't get rid of who're hopelessly single and into men." She shrugs. "Why not?"

Eddie gasps again, this time more like a grandmother who's been presented with an incomprehensibly scribbled drawing from her toddler grandchild.

"I'm an older brother figure to you?" he asks, bending down to Max's level, his tone patronizingly light.

She sends him a withering look and reaches for her cane.

"Well, they almost kissed on my date!" Gareth shouts.

Max’s jaw drops. She loses her grip on the cane but gains a terrifying intensity in her eyes. A chill runs through Eddie, the tips of his appendages tingling. This is the closest he's ever gotten to catching frostbite.

"What," she says flatly.

Eddie scrambles away, metaphorically and physically, in case she decides to smack him anyway.

"N-no, we- It wasn't- Our faces just- But we didn't!"

"But it was so close," Gareth says, fingers pinched and with maybe the fraction of a fraction of an inch of air between his thumb and forefinger.

"Huh." Max continues staring Eddie down like she's plotting his murder for keeping secrets. He's about to point out that he can't be set up with Steve if he's dead when she swivels back to Gareth. "I'm making them go on a third date."

"Wait, what? When?"

"Open mic tomorrow night," she says, like he's an idiot. The scrunch of Gareth's mouth indicates that he agrees with her.

"Shit." He pats himself down, in search of something. "What time is it? Where's my phone? If I text him now I can schedule a spontaneous hang-out for tonight!"

Eddie's eyes double in size.

"Woah, woah, woah!" he exclaims, hands raised and palms facing out, as if he's warding off wild animals. "You have Steve's number?"

Gareth pauses his search to tilt his head at Eddie, like he's a puzzle he can't figure out how to solve. Or maybe just like he's a huge fucking moron. "You're telling me you don't?"

Eddie clamps his lips together; fights the urge to fidget beneath their judgmental stares. Max slowly shakes her head.

"Dumbass. You need us."

Eddie makes an ugly face at her. "Shut up."

She tuts. "So aggressive. That's a symptom of sexual frustration."

"I'm not-"

"Remember: thin walls."

"They're not that thin! I never hear you!"

"Because I know how to keep my business to myself. And you've heard me practicing the guitar, haven't you?"

He has. Shit. He buries his face in his hands.

"Shit."

"That's right," Max says snippily. "I hear everything. Every. Thing."

"Oh," Gareth says. He squeezes her good knee, oozing empathy from every pore. "Oh, you poor, innocent girl."

She soaks it up, lamenting, "It's been awful."

"Yeah… But, um. You realize that if they get together, then… "

Gareth trails off as Max nods miserably.

"Yeah, I know. I'm resigned to my fate."

Eddie pushes the heels of his hands into his eye sockets until he sees stars. He needs friends who are less invested in his sex life.

Max leaves soon after, cane clacking louder than necessary against the floor. (Eddie suspects he might not get it back once she's healed.) She stops in the doorway on her way out. While smiling in a manner that makes him break out in a cold sweat, she tells him not to take his car to the open mic and to dress nicely.

And then she's gone.

Gareth harrumphs.

"She's planning something for tomorrow. Damnit. This is unfair, you know. She's known him longer; she can talk to and influence both of you in ways I can't. I'm at a disadvantage here."

Eddie, without replying, twirls on the spot and faceplants on the couch.

Gareth groans above him. "Oh, what is it now?"

'Same as always' is what he'd like to say. Instead, he saves his breath by rolling onto his side, curling up his legs, and giving Gareth a look. It must convey how he feels, because Gareth's irritation melts off, replaced with something gentle. He squats by the couch and brushes a stray lock from Eddie's forehead. A bit like how Uncle Wayne would when he still lived at home.

"Eddie, man, you don't have to be nervous. He likes you."

"That makes it worse," Eddie says, voice raspy and thick, and fuck, he's not going to cry over this, is he? Bawl when a boy doesn't like him is normal, not when they do. "He likes me now, but if he finds out I'm his obsessive quasi-stalker? Then what?"

"I think you're blowing this out of proportion," Gareth says. He starts scratching at Eddie's scalp; it's good enough to dry his tears and slow his pulse. "Max knows about the calendar and she doesn't mind!"

Eddie snorts derisively. "Because she's nineteen and doesn't yet understand how some actions can have terrible consequences."

Gareth frowns at that with obvious disapproval. "She's still an adult. For that matter, so are you and Steve? Just talk to him about it." He sighs. "Look, I don't think he'll mind so much that he'll never get over it. And if he does… it sucks. But you'll live. There are dozens of hot guys out there, waiting to be swept off their hot… feet." He pauses to snicker.

"You're so bad at this," Eddie whispers; Gareth snickers even more.

"You know why I've stuck by you all these years?" he asks once done laughing. "Why I even started hanging with you in the first place?"

"You had stoner aspirations and I zero qualms selling weed to fourteen-year-olds?"

Gareth flicks his forehead. "Because you're cool. And likable. And you make people happy when you're around. So go out there tomorrow night and sweep those hot feet!"

Eddie snorts. Then again. His diaphragm tightens, air forces past his pursed lips, and then his body shakes with laughter. Gareth is grinning proudly, of himself and possibly Eddie as well. He snakes his arms around Eddie's waist and pulls him so close the mirth rattles through them both. It takes an eon, but at last, the laughter abates. Eddie’s lungs are sore and his eyes are wet with happiness, and he's still got an armful of best friend clinging to him.

"I'll call you the day after tomorrow." Gareth punctuates the promise with a squeeze, before pulling back. "Lunchtime. And I'll expect progress. Okay?"

Eddie nods. "Okay."

Gareth beams, ruffles Eddie's hair, and then he too leaves the apartment.

Eddie turns onto his back and stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t sigh as much as make noise while gravity pushes the air from his lungs. He could fall asleep here, on this uncomfortable couch. Turns out guitar lessons, worrying, and funny friends deplete your energy.

Before his eyelids slide shut for good he drags himself up to brush his teeth and go lie in his real bed. He needs a proper night's sleep if he'll survive tomorrow.

He wakes up on Saturday having dreamt of Steve. He eats his breakfast while thinking of Steve. He replaces brake pads, rotates tires, and talks to clients while thinking of Steve. He returns home and showers off the sweat and oil while really thinking of Steve.

He also spends a lot longer than usual contemplating how thoroughly he ought to wash himself. Fate dictates that if he cleans as if he might get laid, he won't be. However, if he's perfunctory about it, he's more likely to score. Ultimately, he does an extensive scrub. Rather be presumptuous and get nothing than be unhygienic and get lucky.

Then comes the worst part: picking an outfit.

Max told him to wear something 'nice'. Jesus. 'Wear something nice', what did that even mean? Dress less like himself? Dress more like himself? Something skimpy? Or snug? He has those leather pants that make his legs look divine, but they might be too much. He doesn't want to look like he's trying as hard as he is. Also, he's going to an open mic in a coffee shop at seven in the evening. There will be high schoolers, retirees, families with children, and others present who do not need to see his dick imprint. 'No' to the leather pants.

But maybe…

The hangers clatter and screech as he pushes them aside. Sticking his arm far into his wardrobe, he then pulls it out grasping his other battle vest.

The one in leather.

He hasn't worn it out yet. It's only recently finished, and almost ended up looking too nice, too pristine. It's not really him, not the way his frayed and trusty denim vest is. But it's still a thing of beauty: band logos immaculately painted onto the leather and spikes adorning the shoulders, collar, and lapels.

It's fucking badass. Him, though a little nicer.

He pairs the vest with his tightest Metallica tee – the one with the sleeves shorn off and the neckline cut into a v deep enough to show both tattoos – and distressed, black jeans, rips over the knees and a big hole along the inside of one thigh. The retirees will just have to fucking deal with some exposed skin.

A crowd is thronging inside Connie's when he arrives ten minutes to seven. They've built a makeshift stage on one short side, crammed between the cream'n'sugar station and a huge monstera. Microphones, stools, and a keyboard stand upon it. All the café's tables are pushed to one half of the floor, letting people mill between them and the stage. None of them seem to be his people, though.

Eddie weaves through the crowd, scanning it for short redheads and tall hunks. Nothing… nothing… not-

"Eddie!"

He turns, coming nose to nose, like tip to tip, with Steve, who's… wow. Call him the moon and Eddie a wolf, because he's about to start howling.

He's wearing pants, not jeans, that hug his hips without being obscenely tight and a fitted, teal dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled up and the top two buttons left undone, allowing yet another tantalizing peek of the sculpted pecs beneath. Nice but not too formal, if you ask anyone. Positively edible, if you ask Eddie. His mouth is actually watering a little, which is a sign he's been staring for too long.

Lifting his gaze from Steve's chest to his face, he realizes he could've taken his time because Steve is also staring. At Eddie.

Steve's breaths are slow but deep as he bites his lip hard enough to dent it, tongue flicking out to soothe the mark. Eyes glowing like embers, he trails them over Eddie's body, threatening to set him ablaze.

Eddie's jeans are too fucking tight for this.

"Starting to worry you wouldn't make it," Steve says, low and gravelly.

"No, I just, uh, running a bit late…" Eddie says, faltering as Steve drags a finger along the lapel of his vest.

"Haven't seen you in this before," he murmurs.

"It's new. First time wearing it."

"Where'd you get it?"

"I made it."

Steve's brows jump. "You made it?"

"Make like one-third of my clothes and heavily alter the rest. Metal's all about DIY, baby."

Chuckling, Steve grabs both ends of the attached leather belt and opens the vest for a better look at the Metallica shirt underneath. He doesn't ask any questions about the band, thank God, because Eddie's brain is too liquid to answer. If Steve opened the vest a bit more he'd be undressing him. Or if he tugged at the belt Eddie would stumble into him, he's so off balance.

But Steve does neither; he closes it and lets go.

"I left the others at the table. C'mon."

The rest of them also look nice, Robin in suspenders again, this time paired with shorts, and Lucas in a black sweater-red jacket combo that reminds Eddie of all the cool boys he pined over in high school. Both of them gush compliments at the sight of his vest; their childlike enthusiasm is a pretty effective boner killer, phew. The only one not mentioning his outfit is Max – she's silently staring at the tablecloth, hands in her lap and head bowed.

"Hey, Red," he says.

She looks at him, eyes like clear ponds and her freckles stark against her white skin. It might be his personal bias, but she's the prettiest of them all tonight. Canary yellow t-shirt dress and oversized jean jacket, one shoulder artfully slipping down. Loose, wavy locks cascading past her shoulders. Barely chipped nail polish and glossy lips, but no other makeup. She's radiant.

And she's shaking.

He slides into the chair next to her.

"You're still ready?"

Max nods.

"You know, I still feel like puking every time I perform."

"Yeah?" she breathes.

"Yup." His fingers encircle her wrist, squeezing. "You're gonna crush it."

She smiles tightly.

"Do you want us to film it?" Robin asks. "To show your mom?"

Max's first reaction is a frown, which evaporates at the mention of her mom; then she nods so hard she's indistinguishable from a bobblehead.

"Yes!" she says, and that's the last bit of conversation between them, for the next second the lights dim and Connie ascends the stage to announce the start of the open mic.

It's three hours long, with fifteen performers given ten minutes each, plus a few for getting on and off the stage. Max is number eight, which means she'll have about an hour and a half to sweat before it's her turn. And maybe she does manage to sweat it out and dry off, because when her time comes she strides up with the poise of a seasoned veteran.

A café worker helps her up and adjusts the mic for her. She hooks the cane on the stool and situates the guitar across her lap – one of the younger audience members shouts "Dragon!" to everyone's amusement. Once the laughter stops, she puts her mouth to the mic and emits one stuttering breath.

"Hi," she says. "My name is Max, and I'll be playing two covers and one song I wrote." She giggles as some onlookers whoop their approval. "All three are dedicated to one person here tonight. He knows who he is."

Then she plays. It's the best fucking thing Eddie has heard, not just tonight, but ever.

Her voice is strong, her rhythm is perfect. When she pauses for breath her expression defaults into a blinding smile. She breezes through The Isley Brothers and Stevie Wonder as the crowd claps along. Eddie manages to tear his eyes from her only once, to view the others' reactions. Robin tries to hold her phone steady as she sways in her seat, Steve is misty-eyed like a proud dad, and Lucas…

Lucas sits slumped forward, chin pillowed on his hands, pupils huge and dark. Lovestruck.

After You Are the Sunshine of My Life she takes a breather, sipping from her bottle of water. There's a shift in the air; the audience settles, mood sobering. When she resumes playing, the notes are softer, slower. A melancholy made bearable by her warm tones.

Max's song is about a happy then and an uncertain now. It's a song about guilt and regret. About apologizing and vowing to improve. About past loss and about future hope.

Above all, it's a promise.

It strikes like a blade through Eddie's chest. He shouldn't be hearing this. None but three, or maybe just one, of the people in here should. It's not for their ears, because they can't ever truly understand. It's too personal. Yet, she plays it for them. Tearing open her flesh and breaking her bones to show them. Listening to this is a privilege.

Her last note is a tattoo – covering up those before her, impossible to erase by those following her.

Max smiles and bows, again like a pro. As the café erupts into deafening applause, Lucas shoots from his seat. Appearing by the stage, he extends his arms to her. She hooks hers around his neck and lets him lift her down. Smiling at each other, they rest their foreheads together like they're the only ones in the room. Shit, perhaps they are.

They walk back to the table with Max's cane underneath Lucas' arm, she using him as her crutch. Arriving, the first thing she does is ask Eddie:

"How was it?"

He schools his expression.

"Red. I'm ditching my band. From now on, you and me – duo."

She boxes him in the shoulder, the shine of her smile rivaling a star.

The rest of the open mic is nice, even though the highlight is over. Still, live music is live music (and leaving in the middle would've been unacceptably rude), so they stay until Connie closes the night by thanking everyone present and encouraging them to come back next time.

Outside, they stretch their unused limbs until their joints pop, then walk a few blocks to Steve's car. It makes sense for Eddie not to have taken his van, he tells himself. The BMW is big enough for all five to sit comfortably, and he'll save on gas. Still, there's a disappointment pooling in his gut, because this means Steve will drop off Lucas, Max, and Eddie at their places before driving himself and Robin home. It's not a bad thing! He has yet to figure out how to breach the subject of the calendar. But… getting some more time to talk to Steve without amateur musicians drowning out the words would've been nice.

(This is what he gets for being so thorough in the shower.)

"Well," Robin says, hands clasped behind her head, as the BMW beeps unlocked. "I'll see you guys later."

"Where are you going?" Eddie asks.

"Steve and I live just past that building," she says, pointing. "So, I'll walk while he drives you guys."

Oh.

The disappointed pool freezes. Eddie swallows thickly. This is fine. It means nothing. Steve will drop everyone off and then go home, as planned.

He gets shotgun. Really, it's given to him because Max and Lucas commandeer the backseat, snuggling up on one-and-a-half seats while DragonSlayer claims the third. Eddie doesn't mind in the slightest – not when the kids are so close they're basically on top of each other, slotting together like a pair of puzzle pieces. Watching them separate when they arrive at the apartment complex will be devastating.

Except.

They do not go to the apartment complex. They go to a neighborhood Eddie's never been to before, parking outside a two-story house. So, they're dropping off Lucas first, then Eddie and Max, and then Steve will go home. Just as planned.

"I'm staying with Lucas tonight," Max says. "The DragonSlayer is all yours, Eddie."

She slams the door shut, the two of them walking up the shingled pathway hand in hand.

Steve hums pleasantly. "I think that did the trick – they're an item again. About time, don't you think?"

"Uh, yeah, yep, sure took them long enough, yeppers," Eddie's mouth says with negative input or permission from his brain.

Steve grins before pulling out, shirt straining against his arm as he turns the wheel and holy shit, Eddie is alone in a car with Steve!

Is everyone conspiring against him?!

Steve makes small talk during the drive, recounting which songs he recognized, sharing his favorite performances, asking for Eddie's more knowledgeable opinion. Eddie responds to the best of his abilities, which is to say 'poorly'.

When they stop by a red light and Steve absent-mindedly undoes the third button on his shirt, Eddie’s mouth dries up and he stops responding altogether, fearing his tongue will crumble to dust if he tries. If Steve is put out by Eddie's conversational skills reducing to various affirmative noises, he doesn't show it.

Finally reaching the complex, Eddie resolves to at least croak a 'thank you for the ride'. But when he turns to do just that, Steve is already looking earnestly at him with his large, honeyed eyes.

"It's really nice of you, teaching Max to play. Thank you."

"Oh, 'twas nothing." Eddie clears his throat. "She's a good student."

"I'm curious: is there a difference between acoustic and electric?"

"Not really. Electric is a little easier, 'cause they're smaller and the strings are lighter."

"Acoustic sounds better, though," Steve says and laughs at Eddie's answering grimace. "All right, maybe not to the metal master," (Eddie stifles a gigglesnort; what an adorable dork), "but to a common listener, such as myself, acoustic is nicer. You can try to change my mind if you want, though."

"By… playing both for you?"

"Yeah."

Eddie gulps audibly. "N-now?"

Steve's smile is almost too wide for his face. He cocks his head, a lock of hair falling into his eyes, who are gleaming like gold in the light of the nearby street lamp.

"I'm not busy."

Eddie leads them up the stairs to his fourth-floor apartment. Their steps echo in time with the drumming of Eddie's heart. His grip on the DragonSlayer is unyieldingly stiff, lest it slides from his clammy palm.

This is fine. Steve is going to listen to him play and then go home, just as planned.

Like the building, the locks are old; his key jams and needs to be rattled before the door opens. He lets Steve in first, then closes the door behind them. Steve waits patiently, back to the wall and chest inches from Eddie's. Has the hallway always been this cramped?

Eddie turns to fumble around for the light switch, breath hitching when Steve touches his shoulders. Grasping the vest's spiked lapels, he pulls it off Eddie's frame and hangs it on the coat rack. Next, he grabs the guitar – warm, dry skin brushing Eddie's – and props it by the doorpost. Last, he looks at Eddie, his eyes searching, searching, searching…

Disregarding his sensibilities, Eddie nods.

Steve kisses him.

The force of it sends them stumbling, Eddie's back slamming into the wall. Their mouths smush together and their noses bump; for a moment it's too hard, too much. But then Steve angles his head, their lips melding, and it's perfect. Like silk sheets and rose petals, like champagne and chocolate truffles, like summer nights and meteor showers.

Steve mumbles something about waiting, about wishing, about finally. He's touching Eddie everywhere, chest pinning him against the wall, hands running up and down his arms, thigh pushing between his legs. His hard cock pokes against Eddie's groin, and it feels so thick.

All of Eddie's nerve endings are lighting up, sending tingles to converge in his belly before shooting back out to his limbs. He has no regrets. Everything he's done or that's been done to him was worth it, because it led to the best fucking kiss of his life. Steve will have to keep him after this – exposing him to this kind of touch only once would be cruel.

It's gentle, is the thing, but with the passion of a thousand lovers. Steve cups his face, tipping it, thumb caressing his cheek and fingers rubbing circles in his hair. His lips, soft but determined, parts Eddie's for a quick taste that leaves him wanting.

Eddie tries chasing, but Steve withholds – fucking teases – and goes back to nipping and licking. Rolling his hips until Eddie gasps, then slipping in his tongue to stroke the roof of Eddie's mouth. Then he starts over again, repeating the cycle until Eddie is whining, his knees so weak he slumps onto Steve's thigh.

Grabbing hold of his ass, Steve hoists him up. Eddie squawks, legs automatically wrapping around Steve's waist. Steve grins, juuuust on the wrong side of smug, and steps away from the wall, carrying Eddie like it's nothing. It would be infuriating if Eddie wasn't too busy wondering if, and if so for how long, Steve could fuck him like this.

"Bedroom?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, it's, uh, through there," Eddie says, pointing in what might be the right direction.

Then he yanks Steve's head back by his pretty hair and swallows his moan. Because with Steve's hands occupied, it means Eddie can do whatever he wants. And what he wants is shove his tongue as far down Steve's throat as he can.

It takes them a while, but they reach the bedroom. Steve deposits them on the bed, bringing them from vertical to horizontal in a smooth slide without breaking the kiss.

Eddie wraps tighter around him, wanting to feel him everywhere and always. Alas, Steve disentangles them with a chuckle. He sits up so he's kneeling, legs spread, Eddie's thighs resting on top of his. A hungry glint in his eyes, he undoes one more of his buttons, then forgoes the rest by pulling the shirt off like a sweater and flinging it aside.

Eddie wastes no time touching him, groping the firm pecs and caressing the soft belly. The coarse hair tickles his palms.

"Fuck me, you're perfect," he murmurs.

Steve giggles, pink blooming on his face. Coaxing Eddie's hands off him, he arranges his limbs on the bed, and Eddie lets him – he can do anything as long as he does it shirtless. He smooths his hand over the Metallica logo, pretty much petting his chest, before rucking the shirt up to Eddie's chin. Steve's eyes are black, more pupil than iris; he thumbs at the tattoo on Eddie's ribs.

"I was hoping you'd have more," he says. His other hand slides across Eddie's leg, fingers ghosting the edge of the large hole before one slips inside, tucking between the denim and the skin of Eddie's thigh. Eddie gasps; Steve smiles. "How much do I need to take off to see all of them?"

"Why don't you find out, big boy?" Eddie says, breathless but grinning, scooting closer to rub his ass on Steve's dick.

Steve rips off Eddie's shirt, tosses it where he tossed his own, and crashes their lips together as he unbuckles Eddie's belt.

Eddie hums into the kiss. It's perfect. Steve is perfect. The whole thing is as if out of a dream. Jesus Christ, it is straight out of one of his fantasies. The only thing missing is… is…

The uniform.

Fuck. He can't do this. Not like this. Fuck.

Eddie breaks the kiss, gently pushing Steve away.

"Eddie?"

He shakes his head, eyes screwed shut. Looking at Steve right now is impossible – the shame will consume him. He shouldn't have let it go this far.

"Eddie? What's wrong?" Steve asks. "Please, I-"

"There's something you gotta know." Eddie forces his eyes open. The least Steve deserves is to be looked at while given the truth. Also, this is the first and possibly last time Eddie will see Steve on top of him. He should savor it. "I haven't been completely honest."

Steve's eyes dim. "You're married."

Eddie goggles. "What? No! Shit, I've never had a relationship go past the three-month mark. No, it's… Um…"

He sighs. Here comes the music; time to face it.

"You know that calendar you did? Gareth told you his mom had it?"

"Yes?"

"He lied. It's mine. I have the calendar." He inhales deeply, then lets it all out in one fast gust. "I recognized you the first time we met and I thought you were so hot and Gareth thought we should try finding you at the university and we did and then we hung out and now, uh, now we're here."

Steve blinks owlishly. "Oh."

"Yeah. I've jerked off to your picture for two and a half years and I thought you should know." Eddie rubs his eyes; they're burning, and his nose is clogging. Shit, not now… "So, um. If you want to stop, if you never want to see me again, I understand. I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

"It- Huh?"

Eddie's jaw slackens. He gawks up at Steve, who calmly meets his gaze. But it can't be this easy. It's never this easy, not for Eddie.

"S'fine." Steve shrugs. "Was that all?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"Good."

He dives back to resume the kiss, except this time it's hotter, dirtier, Steve licking behind his teeth and sucking on his tongue so Eddie's toes curl. He yanks Eddie's jeans and boxers down to his thighs, Eddie's cock springing out. Steve grips it, but doesn't stroke or squeeze – just holds. Eddie starts rocking into his fist and oh, oh, it's so good but not enough. He's so hard his head is spinning and he needs Steve's hands and his cock and he needs he needs he needs-

"Eddie," Steve says into Eddie's mouth. "What d'you want me to do? Tell me."

"Mmm, I want… Fuck, I needed you inside me two years ago."

Steve licks a wet stripe along his throat. "Whatever you want."

Then he sits up and flips Eddie over. Eddie grunts at the sudden movement, but his cock between his stomach and the mattress feels heavenly, and Steve parting his ass cheeks is even better, so he's not complaining.

He's especially not complaining when Steve leans down, rubbing his nose against Eddie's tailbone.

"You're okay with any part of me inside you?" he asks, breath warm on Eddie's skin.

Eddie groans. "Yes. Anything! Just touch me!"

Steve does, dragging the flat of his tongue from Eddie's taint up to his hole.

Eddie keens, burying it in the pillow due to those damn thin walls. It probably doesn't help, because he's being loud. He usually is, but not like this. Turns out Steve's tongue is amazing no matter where he puts it. He swirls it around the hole, laps heavily against the rim, slowly loosening Eddie up.

He writhes and moans, cock leaking precum on the sheets. Jerking forward, he humps the mattress for two sweet, relieving seconds before Steve grabs him by the hips and holds him in place. He would've griped about it if Steve hadn't immediately plunged his tongue into Eddie's hole. But Steve does, so Eddie screams instead.

Fuck the walls, he's having the time of his life.

He has been rimmed before, two or three times, but not this intensely. He hasn't been fucked by another man's tongue. Because that's what Steve's doing, lips on Eddie's ass and saliva dripping down his taint. He's as far in as it can go, tongue thrusting and stroking and… oh. Oh! Oh, fuck-

Eddie jolts, despite being held down, because Steve just flicked his tongue tip against someplace sensitive. He whines, begging Steve to do it again. Steve laughs, the sound reverberating through Eddie's ass, and does as told. And again. And again.

He flicks. Eddie screams.

He flicks. Screams.

Flicks. Screams.

And Eddie's on fire. His legs are shaking, his insides are thrumming, the pleasure courses and courses in electric waves and shit, did he just come?

"Holy shit, I think I just came," he says, fingers cramping where they've clutched the covers.

Steve pulls out with a slurp.

"Oh, cool," he pants. He crawls up the bed, his hard cock dragging a wet trail on Eddie's leg. "D'you wanna take a break or keep going?"

Eddie groans. What kind of a fucking question is that? His cock is still hard, and Steve's cock is hard, and Eddie is reeling from the best orgasm he's ever had, and does he want to keep going?

"Steve…" he says. "If you don't fuck me now, then I'll… I'll… " He trails off, slurring.

"Yes," Steve says, catching on anyway. "Okay. Yes."

He sounds wrecked. Glancing over his shoulder, Eddie is met by perfect hair in disarray, cheeks flushed and blotchy, a chin glistening with drool, and Steve's wild, ember eyes. Assured he's not the only one losing his mind, Eddie thumps his head back on the pillow. Bending his knees, he pushes his ass into the air and reaches back to spread his cheeks with his own fingers.

"Then hurry up, big boy," he croons, index finger circling the spitslick rim. "Before I do it myself."

Steve laughs, high-pitched like he's drunk. He fumbles for Eddie's lube and a condom he brought, thank fuck, because Eddie only has expired ones.

Lying on top of Eddie, Steve aligns their arms and interlocks their fingers, and pushes in. Eddie whimpers, because as loose and cock-starved as he is, Steve is huge, the tip alone wrecking his already sore ass. Steve shushes him gently, brushing away sweat-damp curls to plant a soft kiss at his nape. He rocks slowly, squeezing Eddie's hand and rubbing his hip, until the stretch gets better and the pain eases.

And then they fuck. Or maybe 'make love' is a more fitting term, because they hold hands during most of it. And sometimes, Steve will ease off, going so slow and sweet it borders on edging, drawing high-pitched noises from far down Eddie's chest. Then, once satisfied, he speeds up again, fucking harder while whispering compliments into Eddie's skin.

He makes Eddie come two more times, by fucking him and by jerking him off. At least, Eddie thinks that's what happened when he wakes up some hours later. He got a little delirious with pleasure at the end, though, so he's not a hundred percent sure.

He yawns and stretches. It's dark out, but the blinds are open and light pours in from the street lamp that for some reason had to be positioned right by his window.

"That light is the worst," Steve mumbles, burrowing into the pillow.

"Hmm, yeah. But I don't have to have my own lamp on. I save on electricity."

"Economical." Steve laughs, peeking up from the bedding. He's beautifully rumpled, bathed in shadows and light. "How d'you feel?"

"Awesome… did you clean me up?"

"Kinda had to – you passed out. I'm not letting you sleep with come crusting all over you," Steve says, nose scrunching.

"Not my fault. Blame your cock!"

They laugh again, together. It's nice. But it would've been nicer if there wasn't still one tiny thing nagging in the back of Eddie's head.

"Hey," he mumbles. "When you said… that the stuff with the calendar was fine, did you mean it? Or was your judgment clouded by horniness?"

Steve snorts. "'Course I meant it. I don't mind."

"Jesus."

"Do you want me to mind?"

"No. It's just that I've been putting off telling you about it because I was afraid you'd be upset. It's pretty creepy."

"Yeah, but…" Steve props his head onto his fist and shrugs one shoulder. "I guess it would be creepier if it were someone else. But it's you, and I like you, so… it's just flattering."

A grin stretches across Eddie's face. "You like me?"

"Uh, yeah." Steve rolls his eyes, but his face is also splitting in half. "Don't you like me?"

"I do."

Eddie winds his arms around Steve's waist, pulling him in for a kiss.

"I thought so," Steve says after their lips part. "I just didn't know how much – if you wanted to just fuck or if you wanted something more. Max was hinting you wanted more. And your friends seemed too invested for you not to want more. Then Robin told me 'he definitely wants more'. So I knew it was safe to go."

"Christ, dude, I like you so much I've given myself ulcers worrying you didn't like me back!"

"Sorry," Steve says unapologetically. "You can stop worrying."

They embrace, trading chaste kisses as they snuggle. Alternating between whispering nonsense and drawing patterns on each other and simply looking, unabashed and unhurried.

Then, Steve pulls away with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He asks, "So where do you keep that calendar?"

Eddie's heart and stomach leap, trading places and knocking every other organ off course. He lunges at Steve, coiling around him like an octopus and trapping him to the bed.

"Nooooo!"

Steve guffaws. "I'm not gonna look for it! You'll have to tell me where it is."

He cocks his head at Eddie, sweet, innocent, evil. Eddie groans with the vigor of an annoyed pre-teen. Releasing Steve, he points at his desk.

"Top drawer."

Steve flies up, rummaging through the drawer before Eddie can blink. Whooping in triumph, he holds the calendar in front of himself and begins flipping through it. Eddie pulls the comforter up to his nose to hide his blush.

"April is missing?" Steve asks.

"The model was a cop."

"Ah."

Steve reclaims his spot on the bed. He's reached November and is scanning the photo with an approving smile.

Eddie grunts. "Are you admiring your own photo?"

"So? It's a good picture." Steve smirks at him. "I know you agree."

Grumbling, Eddie hides completely beneath the cover. This is what he gets for being honest. He's never telling the truth again.

"What do you say about me fucking you while wearing the uniform?" Steve asks.

Eddie throws off the comforter and catapults into sitting.

"We can do that?"

"Sure," Steve says easily, like he didn't just turn Eddie's world upside down. "Unless…" He leans in, lips hovering over Eddie's. "Unless you want to fuck me while I wear it?"

They don't fall back asleep until hours later.

(In fact, they sleep in until 11 am, when Eddie's alarm goes off. Gareth calls by lunchtime as promised, but Eddie misses it. He's too busy getting fucked against the shower wall.)

"You're not allowed to break up," Max says later that day, during their guitar lesson. The open mic might've passed, but she needs to learn more if they'll perform together. "It'll be awkward if you're exes. I won't be able to hang out with Steve if you're next door – I'll have to move."

Eddie smiles. He should point out they're not really together yet; that they've only barely started dating. Instead, he says:

"We won't."

And he can't explain how, but it's as if some higher power whispered all the answers to him while he slept in Steve's arms and he knows, he just knows, that he's telling the truth.

------------------------------

Thank you for reading. You're the best.

Oh, and I realize that I introduced things that excited a ton of people (such as Eddie meeting everyone else), so I might have to write a mini-sequel where that actually happens. Not now, though. Later.

Tag list: @rougenancy, @raisedbylibrarians, @yourebuckingkiddingme, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @emma77645, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @eddielives1986, @stevesbipanic, @the-redthread, @fandemonium-takes-its-toll, @henderdads, @gay-little-bitch, @lenore1232, @zerokrox-blog, @eddiemunsonswife, @cherrycolas-things, @ediewentmissing, @princess-eddie, @atombombbibunny, @ajamlessbaby, @dogswithforks, @grimmfitzz, @cutiecusp, @cuips-not-cute, @manicallydepressedrobot, @messrs-weasley, @madaboutmunson, @mightbeasleep, @suikatto, @brassreign, @snapshotmaestro, @courtjestermunson, @csinnamon-fox, @spectrum-spectre, @spinmewriteround, @just-super-fucking-gay, @escapingthereality, @oneweirdcryptid, @deehellcat, @misticageri, @lovelyscot, @linkydinky06, @rynnytintin, @anything-thats-rock-and-roll, @theysherobinbuckley, @freddykicksasses, @winterbuckwild, @sideblogofthcentury, @subparbrainfunction, @pemsha

#eddie: max is only 19 she's too young to know stuff #gareth who is 1 measly year older than max: 👁️👄👁️#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fic: november paramedic #eddie munson #steve harrington #gareth stranger things #max mayfield #lumax #my writing

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fanfic-lover-girl · 3 months

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Double Standards: Malfoys vs Potters Edition

It's interesting how people view the Malfoy vs Potter men. The Malfoys are often considered shallow while the Potters are lauded for befriending the "downtrodden".

James Potter befriended Remus Lupin, a disadvantaged werewolf. He and his friends became animagi for Lupin. That's great and all...but then why was Remus so hesitant to go against the status quo and speak out against the marauders - to do his job as prefect?

And James treated Wormtail like trash too.

‘How thick are you, Wormtail?’ said James impatiently. ‘You run round with a werewolf once a month –’

Nice to say that out loud where anyone can hear, Jamie.

‘Put that away, will you,’ said Sirius finally, as James made a fine catch and Wormtail let out a cheer, ‘before Wormtail wets himself with excitement.’ Wormtail turned slightly pink, but James grinned.

“Lily and James only made you Secret Keeper because I suggested it,” Black hissed, so venomously that Pettigrew took a step backwards. “I thought it was the perfect plan… a bluff… Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they’d use a weak, talentless thing like you… it must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters.”

You really don't get the vibe that Sirius or James held little Petie in high regard, do you?

It can't be more obvious that Sirus and James were top dogs and Peter and Remus were just add-ons.

As for Harry, where to start with him? He shows little empathy for other people and has a nasty habit of describing people in dehumanizing ways (eg. Aberforth, Salazar Slytherin, Marcus etc). He has probably described Tom Riddle, the guy who murdered his parents, as attractive more times than his own girlfriend Ginny. He latched on to Ron because of his family and honestly, Hermione feels like a pity friend at times. Harry hardly likes being around her without Ron. Harry has another nasty habit of giving his best friends the silent treatment until they come crawling back to him, even when he is in the wrong too (re firebolt for Hermione and Ron believing Harry entered his name in the goblet of fire).

‘Hullo,’ said the boy, ‘Hogwarts too?’ ‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘My father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking at wands,’ said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. ‘Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first-years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.’

Yet, no one seems to give Lucius and Draco any credit. These people are supposed to be snobby, pureblood supremacists. Yet, even though Harry was dressed in decrepit muggle clothes, Draco still engaged him in conversation. Draco had no idea who Harry was, had no clue he was famous at the time, and still made several efforts to talk with him and continue the conversation even when Harry was cold and aloof.

And Severus Snape moved off to the other side of the Hall, away from Lily, to where the Slytherins were cheering him, to where Lucius Malfoy, a prefect badge gleaming upon his chest, patted Snape on the back as he sat down beside him …

Lucius knows 'Snape' is not a pureblood name. He could see Snape's clothes were probably old hand-me-downs. He knows Snape is way below his class. Yet, he still welcomes Snape warmly to Slytherin. What reason would he have to fake pleasantries with a poor half-blood? I doubt Slughorn or the other bigoted purebloods would care if Lucius left his seat in disgust at Snape's presence. Even as adults, it is indicated in the narrative multiple times that Lucius holds Snape in high esteem. Draco held Snape in high esteem too despite being a halfblood.

The same Snape that James Potter tormented for no good reason - because Snape existed. Instead of targetting the purebloods like Avery and Mulciber, James and his delinquent loser gang went after Snape, the poor half-blood. Harry literally did nothing as Snape lay dying in the same shack that Lupin almost killed him in two decades prior.

Harry describes Pansy as being pug-faced...yet Draco still dated her. Even though Crabbe turned on him, Draco still grieved for him afterwards. Compared to Harry who only dates the prettiest girls and body shames other girls if they don't meet his standard and only cares about people who do things for him, like him and are loyal to him. It's only when the people he dislikes die for him that he changes his tune and suddenly they become great people.

How can people say the Potters are less shallow than the Malfoys??Draco and Lucius will always be high-class elitists who believe in sticking with their 'own kind' but give credit where credit is due.

#anti harry james potter #anti james potter #petter pettigrew #remus lupin #harry potter series #draco malfoy #lucius malfoy #severus snape #anti marauders #harry potter #double standards #malfoys vs potters #severus snape deserved better #it's possible that lucius may have groomed snape too...but i'm not quite sure about this #pro draco malfoy #potters vs malfoys #this is my opinion #if you don't agree just leave me alone

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bubuslutty · 1 month

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40-something Moon Man ROCKS the Dancefloor! (REAL NOT CLICKBAIT!)

pairing: Marc Spector & Female Reader

word count: 4026

warnings: none

summary:

Marc Spector accidentally goes viral on TikTok after his uni student neighbour/friend drags him to the club with her.

a/n: i wrote this in a silly goofy mood and i love marc sooo much <3 Also I used Darling instead of Y/n cuz im funky like that.

“Please, Marc.” Darling begged the 40-something man while he tried to clean his flat.

“No.” Marc answered flatly, wearing a very washed-out and loose t-shirt and a pair of dark blue shorts. His hair, now longer was tied at the back of his head in a tiny man bun.

“Why??? We’ll have so much fun and you need a night out to dislodge the stick up your ass.” Darling groaned and fell on her knees in the kitchen, ready to hold onto his legs and beg if need be. Marc sighed and ignored the 19-year-old teenager on his kitchen floor as he cracked another window open and increased the volume of the radio on the window ledge, BBC Radio 1 playing a Central Cee song in the flat as he picked up stray books, papers, food wrappers, socks and random junk, a bin bag clutched in one hand and a laundry basket clutched in his other arm.

Marc finally got himself to start cleaning his flat, he read that it would help his mental health to live in a cleaner space. That’s why she was over, she was meant to help him clean so it wouldn’t be too overwhelming on his own, and motivate him to get on with cleaning so he finished faster and could escape her non-ending yapping sessions. But now, it seemed like she was more interested in annoying him, which is literally second nature now, a natural reaction she had to him, annoying the shit out of Marc.

I mean, he could literally kick her out, and scare her enough that she’ll leave him alone for good, he’s done it before, to other people. He’s tried, but she’s Steven’s friend and he can’t do that to him. And he knows deep down he actually enjoys her presence and would kill anyone that hurts her then himself. He cannot lie, the kid had a big heart and was incredibly kind and patient. He was a little jealous that her parents were able to make a girl like that because Marc knew he could never produce that level of goodness into the world. He can never come close. She was too good.

Marc dropped the basket on a chair and the trash bag on top of it, letting out a long sigh and putting his hands on his hips. “Why do you want me to go with you?”

Darling’s miserable puppy eyes immediately vanished and she got up from the floor, walking up to him with a huge grin on her face. “Well, first of all, you’re my friend, and I like hanging out with you.” Marc raised one brow and didn’t say anything.

“I found this club with great music and I really want to try it out,” Darling said shrugging.

“Why don’t you go with your friends? People your own age.” Marc asked, his arms now crossed over his chest. “People from my uni are… I never really enjoyed going out with them, sure, nothing terrible happened cuz we always stuck together but uh-” Darling tried to explain and Marc failed to understand why the hell she wanted him to go with her out of all people.

“I’ll just be in the way if I go with you. And I can always pick you up at the end of the night, you know?” Marc said and Darling frowned in confusion, “In the way of what?”

Marc almost laughed in disbelief but held it together, “Don’t you want a boyfriend? No one will get close to you if I’m with you.”

Darling looked unimpressed, “What boyfriend? You mean drunk finance bros with an Andrew Tate mentality? Plus, I don’t do hookups, I have anxiety, mate.” Marc was confused and Darling remembered he wasn’t as chronically online as she was, so he probably had no idea who the abomination of a man was.

“I just want the experience. I just want to dress up and dance all night without men I don’t know breathing down my neck.” Darling explained, picking lint up from her way too big t-shirt with a Pikachu plastered on the front, so she wouldn’t have to look at him in the eyes.

Marc understood and thought about it for a second before picking up the trash bag and walking to the area that was his kitchen and putting it on the floor, next to the bin. “You want me to be your bodyguard?”

Darling’s head snapped up, eyes wide, “No! I mean- Yeah, sure..”

Marc pondered over the thought and asked, “When?”

“This Friday.” Darling quickly answered, smiling big and all, excitement radiating off her in waves.

“Alright, but so you know, I don’t dance.” That’s also what Chad from High School Musical said but go off. Darling knew to keep her mouth shut instead of calling him out.

“Thank you. Thank you so much!” She squealed, jumping up and wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Alright, enough.” He grumbled even though he was smiling, and ripped her away with his hands on her shoulders. “You won’t regret this,” Darling promised and Marc just nodded, he’ll see about that.

“Now, do me a favour,” Marc said, turning around and picking up two trash bags in his hands. “Take out the trash.”

Darling groaned and Marc fixed her with a look and her shoulders slumped, taking the bags out of the door to put them downstairs.

🌙

“How do I look? Be honest.” Darling asked, standing in the corridors as Marc locked his door and shoved the keys in his pockets, his black leather jacket held in his other hand.

Marc straightened his back and analysed her outfit from head to toe. She was wearing a sleeveless, backless sparkly blue top paired with jean shorts and white trainers. Simply put, she looked pretty and it surprised Marc a little, he didn’t know she was capable of wearing anything but washed-out old t-shirts with unhinged slogans on them. It was an addiction at this point, she loved buying the weirdest t-shirts she could find on the internet. She even bought him a t-shirt once that said “I lactate”. And swear to God, Marc almost killed her right then and there. It’s still ranked as one of her “biggest Ws” whatever the fuck that meant.

“Not ugly,” Marc answered flatly and Darling grinned, that was Marc’s way of saying she looked nice.

“And you look great, did Jake pick the clothes?” She asked, looking him over.

“No.” Marc lied and she giggled, because the one who dressed cunty every single time without fail, was Jake, and unfortunately, Marc didn’t possess the level of serve Jake did.

Marc was wearing a black short-sleeved button-up, unbuttoned at the top, where his David’s star necklace glinted against his tan chest, paired with black trousers and black shoes. Simple, clean. His hair was brushed back this time, but still, some curls fell over his forehead no matter how many times he ran his fingers through it.

“Let’s go,” Darling said after checking she had everything she needed in her small handbag.

The two decided to take the underground rather than Jake’s cab because it was faster than being stuck in traffic in central London. It was a bit busy and lots of people looked like they were heading to clubs and pubs for the night, dressed in all sorts of manner. Marc was honestly just looking around and taking everything in, he had never witnessed London’s nightlife like this, maybe saw some things from rooftops while tracking someone, but that didn’t count.

He saw an alarming amount of young men dressed in techs, standing in hoards. And girls wearing matching bodycon dresses. The underground station was hot, extremely loud and stinky. Darling was standing next to him, complaining about the prices that TFL charged. How ridiculously expensive the tube and trains were, even with a student oyster. He just hoped he wouldn’t get a nasty headache by the end of the night.

They hopped on the tube when it came, screeching to a stop, people spilling out of it in crowds. When they got in, they sat across each other as more people sat around them. And if it couldn’t get any louder, a man walked in with a big speaker resting on his shoulder and a cracked iPhone gripped in his other hand. “Bassline Junkie” blasted loudly as he sang along, and soon enough, a group of rowdy teenagers, around Darling’s age, started singing along too. Darling started laughing and Marc watched as the man started approaching them, goading the sitting people to get up and start singing with him. Darling got up and shouted the lyrics at some girls as they sang together. They somehow managed to drag Darling away from her seat, holding each other and singing loudly, multiple phones recording the scene. When they reached their stop, Marc got up and pulled Darling by the hand out of the tube before they missed it.

“BYE!” She shouted over her shoulder, laughing and breathing hard.

Marc let go of her hand and watched her put her hands on her knees, panting and straightening, fixing her hair and looking at Marc with bright eyes, “I’ve never done that before.”

He smiled a little, “Good job.”

“To the club!” Darling pointed in the direction of the gates, pulling Marc by his arm.

When they left the station, Darling let out a shuddering breathing, suddenly feeling very cold in the polluted crisp air of London. Marc noticed and frowned, “Don’t get sick.”

“Wow, thank you, Marc.” Darling rolled her eyes and started walking down the street, Marc following her behind. She turned around, walking backwards, “By the way, I have your jacket so I won’t get sick.”

“I’m not giving you my jacket, dipshit.” Marc said and Darling rolled her eyes, “Yeah, whatever you say.”

They spent 30 minutes trying to figure out where the hell that club was, bickering while following the map on Darling’s phone. At some point, she ended up locking arms with Marc after a rando whistled after her when she walked by and had to physically stop Marc from turning around and bashing the man’s face in.

When they finally reached the club, Darling was so excited and Marc had a hand wrapped around the back of her neck, guiding her through the crowds of people to the bar so they could get a drink in their system first and take in the place. “You’re paying, by the way,” Darling said over the loud music, taking a sip of her cocktail, this drink will probably be her first and last. She didn’t plan on throwing up on the pavement, and she wants to be able to remember tonight.

“You’re the one taking me out, aren’t you supposed to be paying?” Marc asked, leaning in so she could hear him over the music. “I’m paying for kebabs later. 50/50, yeah?” She said and he hummed.

He looked around and noticed how a lot of people were dressed, it faintly reminded him of the early 2000s with twists to fit today’s fashion trends. He could tell that this was the look Darling was going for, then he finally allowed himself to actually hear the music and was surprised when Flo Rida was blasting from the speakers, the floor vibrating under the weight of the bass.

“Come on, let’s dance,” Darling said after she finished her drink and dragged him on the dance floor, drink still in hand. Rihanna was now playing and Marc was a little mortified because he doesn’t remember the last time he danced in a club. Darling gave him encouraging nods while she practised a Just Dance routine without missing a beat as Marc nodded to the music, finishing his drink and trying not to laugh at her and failing miserably.

At some point Darling got rid of his empty glass for him and ran back, almost crashing face-first on his chest if he didn’t catch her. “THAT’S MY SONG!” She shouted over the music and Marc immediately recognised the beat. It was that Usher song that even the aliens from outer space could recognise, the one and only: “Yeah!”. Marc was a little confused because he was sure as hell she wasn’t even born when it came out.

“I WAS BORN TO SERVE CUNT AND SLAY THE CLUB!” She shrieked and Marc knew she must be out of her mind because there’s no way one drink made her say shit like that. He was dragged to the centre of the dance floor and Darling started busting moves he never saw her do, and Marc had to admit, she was a good dancer. But he was a great dancer.

He ran a hand through his curly hair and watched her dance with fire in her eyes. Marc smirked. Alright , if this is how this is going to go, then so be it. He popped another button open from the top of the shirt and rolled his neck, getting his muscles loose, nodding to the beat. Darling watched him as she bounced with the beat and honest to God, Marc started krumping. Krumping in the club.

Darling’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets and she screamed in delight, hyping him up with her whole body, “I knew you could do it!”

He was good. Really good.

So good in fact that the people around them started to notice and the space between them got bigger, creating a clear space where they could see Marc and Darling better. Darling didn’t even notice, her eyes glued to Marc who was absolutely destroying the dance floor. She didn’t even notice the phones pulled out to record the scene. And when it looked like Darling was starting to lose against Marc, a random girl squeezed herself through the crowd, handing Darling her drink and started dancing battling Marc. Darling was losing her mind, laughing and having the time of her life. The crowd hyped both the girl and Marc.

Marc was smiling the whole time, his curls moving this and that way, now falling over his eyes, sticking to his forehead. His face was warm and his necklace kept constantly swinging as he ate up every single person who decided to battle him. In between songs, he kept being offered drinks while Darling kept complimenting his skills. She was proud to get him out of his shell and was genuinely so grateful that everything went as planned. But most importantly, she was proud of him.

Hours later, by the time they left the club, the two were walking down the streets, singing together to a Britney Spears song, arms linked and still warm and sweaty. Darling had Marc’s (Well, it was actually Jake’s) leather jacket draped over her shoulders, keeping her shielded from the cold wind. Meanwhile, Marc may as well unbutton his shirt all the way down and take it off because it was sticking to him and a huge, very generous chunk of his chest could be seen, still shining with drying sweat. His hair was a little crazy because no matter what he tried to do, it refused to stay still and he didn’t have anything to hold it with. But that’s alright, he looked very pretty and he had a great time to care about his hair at the moment.

The two made their way to the first kebab place they saw. “What do you want?” She asked, looking at the old and worn menu above the counter, on the wall. “A number 2.”

“Bossman, let me get two number 2s and two Coke Zero’s.” Darling said and the man nodded, “£22.98, please.” Darling reached for her purse. “I got it,” Marc said, digging in his pocket for notes before she had the chance to protest.

“I was going to pay.” She mumbled, rubbing her eyes, feeling tired.

“You can pay next time.” He said, patting her head.

“You always say that and you never let me.” She complained, leaning her weight against him, cheek squished against his warm arm. “Yeah, yeah.” Marc checked his phone for any notifications and scrolled a bit while waiting for their food to be done. When they got their food, they left the joint because there were literally no seats in there, you just collect your food and leave. Marc held the plastic bag in one hand and wrapped the other around Darling’s shoulder just in case she tripped, she didn’t drink much but she exhausted herself to the bone, and he didn’t want to end up in the ER looking after her.

“Do you want to eat in the tube?” He asked.

“No, I’ll get sick. Aren’t there any chairs anywhere?” She asked.

Marc hummed and looked around, spotting a park? A garden? It was really small and fenced, and in the middle, there was a big statue of a man Marc couldn’t recognise. He walked closer and saw that there was an empty bench inside. Perfect.

They got settled down, Marc unwrapped their food and Darling complained about the cold bench against her thighs. “Sit on the jacket.” He said, opening his Coke and taking a sip.

“But then my back will touch the bench.” She complained and Marc rolled his eyes.

“Just eat your food.” He said and they dug in.

They didn’t speak for a long time, both looking up at the dark sky. There were no stars to be seen due to the city lights, but they could see the moon and the clouds. It was as peaceful as London could get. When they were done, they collected the trash in the plastic bag but didn’t move, still sitting on the bench, looking at the moon together. “Uhm-” Marc spoke and Darling turned to look at him. As soon as she met his eyes, he snapped his mouth shut.

Darling didn’t say anything, just looked at him with an open expression, eyes heavy-lidded due to sleepiness. Marc licked his lower lip and parted his lips to speak but nothing came out. So instead, he opted for squeezing one of her knees in his warm hand, trying to make her understand what he was trying to say with his eyes.

He wanted to say thank you. He wanted to say that he appreciated her taking him out with her. He appreciated her patience and kindness. He appreciated how she never judged him for being himself. How she was brave and strong and didn’t get scared easily.

And Darling understood.

🌙

It was around 12 in the afternoon the next day when Darling got a text message from one of her uni friends. She frowned in confusion, she usually never received any messages from them during the weekends. She put her spoon in her cereal bowl as she chewed, and paused the YouTube video she was watching on her laptop.

Darling opened the message. It was two messages actually, one of them read, “Is this you?” And the other was a link.

She suddenly felt scared as her finger hovered over the link, she was sure she had a good digital footprint. I mean, she had profiles where family and friends followed, and she also had separate accounts online where she caused havoc without revealing her identity. And she was sure there was no way anyone she knew in real life could find her accounts and link them to her. She was careful.

Darling opened the link and instead of loading in a browser tab, it opened the TikTok app. Now, what the hell is this?

At first, she didn’t know what she was looking at, but her brain caught on and she felt like screaming. It was a video of the day before, from the club. There she was dancing battling Marc in the middle of the circle. Her jaw was on the floor, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Then she looked at the likes and screamed because why did it have 2M likes?

Her finger pressed the comment section before she could think and was flooded with comments like “This is what I mean when I say I want to go to the club”, “Okay but why did he eat?”, “Where is this??”, “Get this man in a Step Up movie NOW”, “Goo Goo Ga Ga”.

Darling leapt off the bed laughing and scrambled out of her flat, phone in hand. She didn’t even bother to wear slippers and instead ran over next door, Steven’s door, knocking quickly. When the door didn’t open in a millisecond, she turned the doorknob and walked inside without bothering to shut the door properly behind her, “Marc, you have to see this!”

Marc was in bed, shirtless and wearing a pair of loose PJ bottoms, wearing his reading glasses as he read his book. Well, he wasn’t reading it now . He was looking at Darling with an annoyed expression. She ignored it and ran to him, but not without throwing a quick “Hi, Gus” to the tank. She dived knees first on his bed and he sighed, slamming his book shut and placing it on the bedside table.

“What do you want?”

“Look!” She held her phone in front of his face and he tried to comprehend what he was looking at. Darling saw the moment he realised what it was, he grabbed the phone with both hands, a look of horror plastered on his face. “All of London saw the video. You’re viral, Marc.”

“Delete it.” He said without ripping his eyes from the screen.

“What?” Darling frowned.

“Delete it. Right now.” He repeated.

“It’s not my video. I can’t delete it.” Darling said and Marc dropped the phone in his lap, gathering his head in his hands, groaning. He truly had fun, but he didn’t know how he felt about all of London seeing this video.

Darling picked up her phone again, “I’m going to send it to DuChamp, he’s going to love it.”

Marc screamed and ripped the phone away from her hands, scaring her. She got scared not because he had taken her phone but because she never heard the man scream before. “Give it back!�� She said, trying to grab her phone but Marc didn’t let her. It was a struggle because not only Marc was stronger, way stronger, but he wasn’t wearing a t-shirt so she didn’t have any grip on him, except his shoulders and hair. But she knew if she even thought about pulling his hair he’d throw her out of the window. “I’m going to report the video so it can be taken down.” He said and Darling gasped, “You don’t even know how to do that! You never used TikTok in your life, boomer!”

“Watch me,” Marc said through gritted teeth as Darling struggled against him, then she somehow managed to wrap her arms around his free arm and threw herself down on the bed, back first and swung her legs up to wrap them around his head, choking him. Marc let out a surprised shout, his eyes sent 500 million invisible daggers to Darling. He threw the phone down on the floor, out of her reach and lifted her off the bed, her legs still wrapped around his neck and she screamed when he flipped them around and slammed her down on the bed, head first, WWE style.

The two kept wrestling and clawing at each other until Darling ended up in a headlock, Marc squishing her body on the bed with his whole weight, “Help!” She wheezed, clawing at him, trying to get away from him. “Quit it.” He hissed as she tried to kick him with the heel of her foot on his ass.

A cough startled the two out of their fight, both of them looked up and Marc froze.

“What are you…doing?” Layla asked, looking at Marc, then back down at Darling. She had her phone in her hand, and a big Tesco shopping bag in the other. God bless her heart, she brought her disaster of not-technically-divorced husband groceries.

“Oooh, is that the bad bitch you fumbled-”

🌙

Tag list (pls ask to be added or removed): @bobastayhigh @weblesstherains @h-leigh @unspokenmoon @ahookedheroespureheart @thursdaywritings @gebstargeb @softieekayy @fem-moony @peachjellypackets @pakhiya @darlinglittledevil @anixluxtt @mrs-cupidd @gebgeb @poeticabomination

this work is part of the "I'm friends with the moon" series. You can read it as a stand-alone or delve deeper into this AU.

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eddiemunsons80sbaby · 4 months

Text

Never Say Never

Chapter 7

Pairing: SingleDad!StevexReader

Summary: You are a 32 year old single mother, raising your seven year old son on your own. After being widowed at 30 and going out on awful dates with disgusting men for the past month, you have decided that you're giving up. You already had your great love. One person can't possibly get lucky enough to have two in their lifetime. But then your son starts playing baseball and the coach might just change your mind about that.

No posting schedule.

18+ only for eventual smut

Word Count: 8.4K

1 2 3 4 5 6

“Now, Eli, remember what we talked about?” you asked your son from the driver’s seat.

You were on your way over to Steve’s house for the cookout and you'd had to lay down some ground rules for your son before you'd left. You could not bear a repeat of the ice skating disaster, especially not in front of his friends. You could just imagine how horrified they would be for you with your son desperately trying to find you a man like you were some pathetic spinster who couldn’t manage to get one on your own.

You could. You absolutely could if you wanted to. You could if there were any decent options out there. Options that didn’t include guys who collected their toenail clippings like they were trading cards or who didn’t call their ex to ensure they drove by while you were at dinner because they were just using you to make them jealous.

But there were options, weren’t there? Steve was an option. Steve was an option that was perfect. You'd yet to find a flaw in him and it was beginning to frustrate you. Maybe that was why he wasn’t an option. How could you ever be good enough to compete with his perfection? Your entire body sagged with exhaustion at the mere thought of trying to be good enough for him.

“I know, mommy. No talking about marriage or dating.”

“And?”

“And definitely no telling Steve that I want him to be my dad.”

“Yes, exactly,” you nodded, smiling at your son in the mirror. But the face that greeted you did not smile. He looked absolutely miserable, deflated, as if you'd taken a needle and popped the balloon that was all his hopes and dreams. You felt like the worst mother ever.

Was it really so awful that Eli wanted a dad? Janice was right. He had a dad. Justin would always be his dad but Justin would never be able to be there for him. He wouldn’t be there to cheer him on at games. He wouldn’t be there to talk to him about dating. He wouldn’t be there to teach him how to shave. He wouldn’t watch him graduate high school or show him how to drive a car.

Of course your son wanted someone to step into those shoes. Of course he wanted someone who could be everything he was missing. It wasn’t awful that he wanted a man in his life but it was mortifying that he was asking some guy he barely knew to not only be his dad but to be your boyfriend. Hell, your husband, because those two were already planning out a wedding, moving in together, being a fully formed family. How could you get him to understand why it wasn’t okay to say those things without breaking his little heart?

“Listen, buddy…I know you want a dad. I know you see Jeremiah with Steve and you are seeing everything that you don’t have. I know how much you miss your dad and there’s nothing wrong with wishing you had that. And Steve is wonderful. I can see why you would choose him but the thing is, you can’t just choose someone. It doesn’t work like that and Steve barely knows us. You can enjoy spending time with him and hanging out with him. You can even love him but you can’t just ask someone to be your dad and you definitely can’t ask someone to be my husband. That has to be something that the grown ups decide.”

“So why aren’t you deciding it?”

“Eli, we barely know each other.”

“So? Jeremiah and I barely knew each other when we decided we were gonna be best friends. Don’t you like him?” your son stubbornly asked and damn, he looked so much like Justin. Justin used to get that exact look on his face when you were being a pain in the ass, which was quite often if you were honest.

“I do. I like Steve a lot.”

“So, why don’t you guys go on a date? You went on a date with those other guys and you said it was awful. But you didn’t know them. You already know Steve and you said he’s wonderful. Just go on a date and make the decision.”

Once again, you found yourself wishing that life were as simple as your son seemed to think it was. But it wasn’t. Nothing about this was simple. You were a mess. You were the emotional equivalent of a town leveled by a tornado. You couldn’t get out of your head long enough to even allow yourself to relax with Steve. How would you ever ask him out?

“I’m sorry, Eli. I’m sorry if Mommy hasn’t been doing a good enough job.”

“What do you mean?”

“I try. I try to be both for you. I know you’re missing out on something and I try to make up for it but I know I can never be everything your dad would have been for you. I’m sorry if you’re feeling like this because I haven’t done enough.”

“No, mommy. You’re the best mommy in the world. You read comics with me, we have backwards dinner, we build legos together. I don’t want Steve to be my daddy because you’re not enough. I want Steve to be my daddy because I think it would make you happy too. You’re the best mommy and you’re so sad sometimes. I hear you crying and it makes me really sad. I know it’s because you’re all alone. I just want you to be happy and when you’re with Steve you smile all the time. I think being a family with him and Jeremiah would make all of us happy.”

You blinked fast and furious against the tears, “Buddy, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You make me so happy. I’m not ever alone because I have you.”

“But you need a person. You always say daddy was your person. I know I make you happy but I think you need someone to be in love with like Belle and Beast or Aladdin and Jasmine. You take such good care of me. You should have someone to take care of you and Steve is a nice guy. I think he would take really good care of you.”

You slowed as you turned onto Steve’s street, releasing a slow breath. Your son wasn’t wrong. Steve would take amazing care of you. He would take amazing care of your son. You didn’t think he could ever be capable of anything less than amazing.

He was everything that authors wrote about in romance novels. He was the leading man in every romantic movie you'd ever watched. He was the guy you imagined in your dreams when you were a little girl, picturing the guy you would marry, your soulmate, your person. He was fiction come to life, the very definition of flawless. And you just kept getting in your own way, terrified to move forward, scared of what that could mean, of the power that would give him, knowing you couldn’t survive another loss.

Maybe Janice was right. Maybe your son was right. Maybe you needed to take that step, to stop being frozen in time and finally start moving forward. Maybe you needed to stop being petrified of what could happen in the future and just enjoy the moment, now, while you had it. Maybe you needed to stop living with a ghost, a ghost who wasn’t there anymore, a ghost who couldn’t love you. Maybe Justin would want you to be happy, would want your son to have someone in his life. Of course he’d rather it be him, but if it couldn’t be, you had to believe that he wouldn’t want them to be all alone. He would want to know they were taken care of.

“You know what? How about we let this one play out on its own and see what happens?” you asked your son, turning to him as you parked the car in the drive. “We don’t even know if Steve likes me or would want to go on a date with me. You never know what could happen but you can’t force it to happen, okay?”

There it was. There was that bright light shining in your son’s eyes that you loved so much. There was that hope that everything was going to be okay. No, not hope, belief. His little seven year old self just believed that everything would work out and you envied him for that, wishing it could be so easy for you. He nodded eagerly at you with a big toothy grin but there was something a little mischievous in his expression that left you a bit uneasy. Had he heard all your words or, like usual, had he only heard the parts he wanted to listen to?

“Eli…” you began but then your door was being wrenched open and a voice was screeching in your ear.

“Oh my god! Steve said you were coming but I didn’t believe him and now you’re here and I finally get to meet you! I am so excited!”

A blur of dark blond hair, white teeth, and flailing arms grabbed onto you, pulling you from the car and into a bone crushing hug. You gasped for breath, your brain racing to catch up to whatever the hell was happening right now. Who was this person and why were they so excited to see her?

“Robin! Jesus Christ…”

Steve’s irritated voice rang over the squeals in your ear and then the girl’s body was being pulled away from you. You blinked, dazed from her crazed welcome, to find Steve pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighed deeply, shaking his head.

“I’m so sorry about that. She’s like a tidal wave that’s just crashing over you before you can even run and then suddenly you’re drowning. She’s been bouncing around my kitchen, watching out the window for the two of you to get here.”

You glanced from Steve to Robin who was clicking her fingers together, bouncing on her toes, a huge grin separating her face in two. So, this was the best friend. It came back to you now that you could get proper oxygen to your brain once again.

She was pretty, the kind of pretty that just was without even trying very hard. Dark blond waves fell down to her shoulders. Deep blue eyes sat atop a perky nose that was splattered with freckles that continued along her cheeks. She wore a black tee with cargo pants and tennis shoes. She had minimal make-up on, just a touch of mascara and lip gloss and you found yourself deeply grateful to have found a kindred spirit that was in Steve’s life, someone who didn’t paint her face fully before heading out into the world.

“So, you’re Robin, I take it,” you said, offering your hand. “It’s so good to meet you. Steve’s told me about you.”

“Oh, I have heard sooooo much about you!” Robin laughed, taking your hand and pulling you into another hug. “I practically feel like we’re already best friends. Steve talks about you non-stop.”

“Robin!” Steve hissed.

“Whatever.” She waved her hand with a roll of her eyes. “He does. Of course he tells me everything. That’s the perks that come with being best friends. There is nothing I don’t know about Steve. I mean, absolutely nothing.” She started laughing, finally releasing you as she took a step back, her hands flailing wildly. “Like, did you know that when he was a baby he crawled backwards? I mean, like this.” She placed her hands in front of her, pantomiming a backwards crawl. “Isn’t that hysterical? Who crawls like that? Until he went backwards down some steps and conked his head. Oh! And one time, we had a blood drive at our high school and Steve went. He was being all cocky, thinking he didn’t need the cookie and juice. He was a man and could handle a little blood being taken, right? Until he passed out in the boy’s bathroom and had to get six stitches in his head from where he hit it on the urinal. Gross, right? Oh! And this one time…”

“Robin, seriously,” Steve groaned, holding up his hands. “Please stop.” He turned to you, eyes rolling upward, an annoyed smile tensing his face.

“Fine,” his best friend huffed, folding her arms but then she leaned into you with a grin. “But if you want to know the best stories about Steve, you know where to go.”

“Best stories about Steve?” came another voice as a short, curly haired guy appeared on the front porch. “Oh, I definitely have a few of those. Remember when Billy Hargrove pantsed you in front of the whole school? That was pretty humiliating.”

You choked back a laugh, looking apologetically at Steve when he shot you an annoyed look. You shrugged, pressing your lips together hard. Okay, nobody wanted to get pantsed but he was the popular guy, the guy all the girls wanted. How bad could it be?

“I mean, it’s embarrassing but it can’t have been that bad,” you said sympathetically.

“Oh, it was that bad. Our boy decided to go commando that day. The whole school got a first eye look at his twig and berries.”

“Why in the hell were you going commando?” you asked, snorting.

“I didn’t have any clean underwear, okay? My parents were out of town and the maid wasn’t coming for another two days and I didn’t know how to do laundry. I had no other choice.”

Your eyebrows lifted, “You didn’t know how to do a load of laundry when you were in high school?”

“Are you kidding?” the new guy chortled, bounding down the steps and approaching Steve, propping his elbow up on his shoulder. “King Steve? Mr. Richie Rich? He had people to do that kind of shit for him. Why would he ever get his hands dirty like that?”

“You know, who needs enemies when I have friends like the two of you?” Steve cringed, roughly raising his shoulder to knock his friend’s elbow off. “Do you find amusement in humiliating me as much as humanly possible?”

The curly headed guy shrugged with a grin so wide, you could see all of his teeth. Even his eyes joined in, squinting into slits, the smile taking up his whole face. He was adorable. He might be grown but there was something so boyish about his features that just made him precious and darling, like Eli when he gave you those big eyes and that sad face. You could see this guy getting whatever he wanted because that face would be hard to refuse.

“It is a constant source of pleasure in my life, Steve. So, thank you for that.” He stuck his hand out to her. “Dustin.”

“Y/N,” you replied, giving his hand a quick shake. “I’ve heard all about you too. The unofficially adopted little brother, right?”

Dustin laughed, “I guess. More like I got stuck with this guy because my mom decided he would be a good role model for me. She signed him up as a babysitter even though I was way too old and far too smart to require one.”

“Mommy, can I go inside and find Jeremiah?” Eli asked, hands pulling at the hem of your top. He was obviously not finding this conversation very interesting.

“Yeah, kid. He’s out back with Miles in the sandbox. I’m sure he’s just waiting for you. It’s all he’s been talking about since he woke up this morning,” Steve answered. “Go on through.” Folding his arms, he rolled his eyes toward you. “Jere loves when Miles ‘plays’...,” he made air quotes around the word, “in the sandbox with him. Really, the big oaf just digs and then sprinkles sand all over my house.”

Another car pulled in the drive and you turned in interest. Steve hadn’t mentioned anyone else being here for the cookout. A boy with a fade stepped out from the driver’s seat and a girl with long red hair emerged from the other side. The back door opened and a boy with a prominent nose and jet black hair appeared, holding the hand of another girl with shoulder length light brown hair. Apparently, this was a bigger gathering than he’d originally told you.

“You made it!” Steve called out, approaching the newcomers.

The boy with shaggy hair was getting into the trunk, “Yeah. We were just waiting on Lucas.” He rolled his eyes toward the boy.

“Sorry that I had work to do, Mike,” Lucas muttered. “You know, it’s tax season. It’s not my fault that so many people always wait until the last possible minute to take care of it.”

“Well, Max is working on a new case and yet she still managed to be ready on time,” Mike shot back.

“Yeah but it’s barely begun. I have the first meeting with the client to talk legal strategy and next steps this week. Besides, it’s easy to have lots of time when you’re working from home, right Mike? How’s that novel coming along?” the red head challenged.

“It’s coming! I got another seven hundred words written yesterday. You know, writing a novel is not as simple as you all seem to think it is. There’s a lot of research that goes into it.”

“Research? Into a fantasy book based off your DnD adventures?” Steve laughed. “What are you researching? How to still be cool when you’re a massive nerd?”

“Hey, my Mike is very cool,” the girl who’d been in the back with him stated in defense.

“Thanks El. I have to research mythology, folklore, history. It’s not just all make-believe. Some of this is based on legends that have been passed down through generations. I also have to research weaponry and battle tactics. It’s not just as simple as sitting down and typing.”

“Okay, okay,” Lucas chuckled, holding up his hands. “You know we’re just messing with you, man. We’re all going to be celebrating right along with you when you become the next great author.”

“Yeah,” Robin piped in. “We’ll throw you a party with balloons and everything.”

“You guys are jerks,” Mike muttered but there was just a hint of a smile on his face as he said it, letting you know that they were all just messing around.

“So, you must be Y/N,” Max said, stepping into you, offering her hand which you took in another handshake. Did everyone here already know who you were? “Sorry about that. Quite a way to meet all of us. But in case you missed it, I’m Max. That’s my husband, Lucas. That’s Mike and his wife El.”

“Nice to meet you.”

The new foursome looked to be about the same age as Dustin. Had Steve babysat all of these guys? There were hugs all around and then Dustin was helping Mike haul in what looked to be dishes for the cookout. That reminded you and you opened the back door, pulling out a foil covered tray.

“Oh, you didn’t need to bring anything,” Steve commented.

“I wanted to. I mean, isn’t it customary when you’re invited to a cookout to bring something?”

“What did you bring?” asked Robin eagerly.

“I baked some lemon bars,” you answered with a shrug. “Nothing fancy but they’re Eli’s favorite.”

“Ohh! Yummy. I love lemon. It’s just such a fun flavor, you know? It makes me think of sunny summer days or really clean stuff. My mom loved lemon Pledge when I was a kid and after she cleaned the house, the whole place smelled like lemon.”

“Alright Robin, how about we all head inside?” Steve offered with an amused snort. They all made their way toward the house and Steve hung back, walking alongside you. “Sorry about all of this. My friends can be a bit…well, much when you first meet them.”

“I think they’re wonderful,” you assured him with a smile. “Seriously. I love how close you all are.”

“How do you know we’re close when all you saw was us picking on Mike?”

“Oh, the way you all just banter back and forth. But it’s just that, innocent teasing. To a casual observer it may appear that you all annoy each other but you really only pick apart the ones you love the most. And you all do it with a smile. I can just tell.”

“Have excellent skills of observation, do you?” he asked, those hazel eyes soft like the caramel in the middle of a chocolate.

“I like to think so.”

“Okay.” His hand fell on your arm, stopping you just outside the door as the others went in, leaving the two of you on the porch. “So, tell me oh keen observer, what do you notice about me?”

You paused, your heart fluttering in your chest because you noticed everything about him. You noticed the way his hand always ran through his hair when he was nervous. You noticed how his eyes couldn’t just be described as hazel, how they shifted like a mood ring, sometimes more gold or more green or more brown. You noticed how soft his face went whenever he spoke about his son. You noticed how calloused his fingers were from his time spent doing manual labor. You weren't sure there was anything you hadn’t noticed about him. He had completely consumed your thoughts ever since that moment he turned around at the ball field.

“Okay. You’re a hopeless romantic even though things didn’t turn out right for you. You haven’t let it jade you. You still believe that you’ll find your happily ever after. You know the divorce was the right thing but you worry sometimes that it is going to affect Jeremiah in some long lasting way. Your parents never divorced and you think they should have because their dysfunctional relationship had an awful impact on you. But you can’t help wondering if you’re doomed to screw up with your son because you never had a role model to show you how to do it correctly. Neither of those things should you worry about by the way because I have also noticed that you are an amazing dad. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for your son and he is one of the happiest, most well-adjusted kids I have ever seen. You are giving, almost to a fault. You would bleed yourself dry for the people you care about until you had nothing left. You don’t ever stop to take care of yourself because you’re too worried about other people. And you are absolutely infuriating because you don’t seem to have a flaw. You just seem to be about as perfect as a guy can be.”

You inhaled a deep breath, watching his face, wondering if you'd said too much. You hoped you hadn’t offended him in any way. None of what you said was meant to be an insult. You thought everything about him was commendable. He’d had a tough childhood but he hadn’t let it turn him bitter. His marriage had failed but he still had hope that he could find his person and that was beautiful. To still have hope in the face of defeat was a lovely thing and something a lot of people couldn’t hold onto once life had knocked them down a couple times.

His lips pursed into a tight smile, his eyes looking off to the side before coming back to you, “Trust me, I’m not perfect. I mean, you’re not wrong about anything you said except for that. Anyone in that house right now would be happy to list my many flaws for you if you asked.”

“Like what?” you challenged because so far, you hadn’t been able to find a single one.

“Well, I can be really overprotective. Robin and Dustin get very annoyed when I meddle in their lives.”

“That just means you care a lot and you want what’s best for the people you love,” you shrugged. “Sorry, not really a flaw. Try again.”

“I’m really insecure,” he stated. “I’m always questioning everything I do. I didn’t used to be that way. I used to be arrogant as hell. I never doubted myself but now I doubt myself all the time. I doubt myself as a parent. I definitely doubt myself with women.”

“That just means you’re open to learning and being better. None of us have it all down. You think I don’t doubt myself as a parent on a daily basis? We all do. And dating? Forget it. I haven’t dated anyone since before Justin. I have no idea what I’m doing. We’re all just learning as we go and trying to be the best versions of ourselves we can be. Not a flaw, Steve. It just means you’re human.”

“Okay, well, how about the fact that I married the wrong girl and stayed with her for way too long?”

“You’re loyal,” you shrugged. “Maybe to a fault but you tried. You tried everything you could to make it work because that’s who you are. You didn’t want to let her down. You didn’t want to just walk away and give up. You still care about her and have a good relationship with her. Do you know how incredible that is? That you saw the mistake, recognized it, rectified it, and then did what was right by your son?”

“You know, you’re going to give me an ego problem. I already had one of those. It didn’t end well for me. I work really hard to stay humble and that could prove difficult when you’re telling me I’m perfect.”

“You, Steve Harrington, are perfectly imperfect. You recognize your weaknesses, you work hard to be better, and you do everything in your power to make sure the people you love are happy. Even I will admit no one is perfect but you’re pretty damn close.”

“You think so?” The words barely a whisper as he leaned into you, his lips a breath away from yours. “Because I think…”

“What the hell are you two doing out here?” Dustin huffed as he threw open the door again. “I thought we were all here for a cookout.”

Steve’s eyes rolled, his head falling back and you had the distinct impression that he was annoyed you'd been interrupted. You couldn’t say you didn’t feel the same way. Your lips tingled, yearning for something that hadn’t happened. You were pretty sure he’d come really close to kissing you again but the universe didn’t seem to want it to happen, regardless of what you wanted.

____________________________________________________________

“Men never really grow up, do they?” Robin mused from her spot in the chair next to you.

You were sitting on Steve’s deck, relaxing with a glass of wine after a dinner of barbecued chicken, corn on the cob, grilled red potatoes, and a salad. It was delicious. The chicken had been just blackened enough without being burnt, the barbecue sauce caramelizing delectably. Steve was definitely a good cook, just one more little check on the perfection side for him while the opposite side sat blank.

“Not really,” you laughed, watching as Mike, Dustin, and Jeremiah chased Steve, Lucas, and Eli, all of them armed with Nerf guns, Miles bounding behind them all as if he didn’t know which team he belonged to but he wanted to be a part of it. “My husband…Justin, he was just a big child at heart. The Christmas after Eli was born he bought him three lego sets for Christmas. I commented how silly it was because he was only nine months old. But he really bought them for himself. It gave him an excuse to get the toys so he could play with them and build them.”

“Lucas is like a baby,” Max chimed in. “He whines if I don’t give him enough attention. Seriously, you should have seen him a few months ago. I had this big case, a woman accused of murdering her husband. I was working really long hours and he would whine about how he was missing his Max time.”

“That’s sweet though,” you told her, taking a sip of your wine, the bubbles dancing pleasantly along your tongue. “He missed you.”

“It’s annoying,” Max snorted, but then her face softened as she rolled her eyes. “But yeah, he is pretty sweet. I guess I’ll keep him for a while.”

“How about Mike?” you asked, leaning forward toward El.

“Oh, Mike is definitely a manchild. He plays video games all the time and his friends still come over to play DnD. I kind of thought he would grow out of it but he hasn’t. They still have DnD night every single Thursday.” She shrugged, grabbing an olive from the bowl on the table and popping it in her mouth. Leaning back, she tucked her legs underneath her. “But it works out because then Max and I have girls night every week.”

“I love girls night. My friend, Janice, and I try to do them every once in a while but that’s been harder since…” you broke off, unsure if any of them knew about what had happened to Justin.

“Since your husband passed?” asked Robin gently, her hand coming to rest on your arm. “Jeremiah told Steve that Eli’s dad went to heaven. I’m so sorry. That had to be awful for you.”

“It was. It…wasn’t expected. He wasn’t sick or anything. He was a Marine. He was stationed in Somalia for a humanitarian mission. It was supposed to be peaceful. He said it was nothing to worry about because they were only going over there to help. There was no fighting. He wasn’t supposed to…” You ran a hand over your mouth, willing yourself to keep it together in front of these people you'd only met a couple hours ago. “Anyway, I don’t know all of the details. Of course not. I’m not a soldier so I’m not allowed to. But there was some civil strife, locals who didn’t like American involvement, and he was caught in the crossfire.”

“Jesus,” Max whispered. “How long ago?”

“It’s been a little over two years now. Eli was five when it happened. They send people to your door to deliver the news.” You cleared your throat, eyes scanning the sky, emotions raging to get through that you were battling back with everything you had. “Two people in uniform knock on your door and trust me, when you’re married to someone in the military, you know what that means. They show up and send a wrecking ball straight through the middle of your life. He…he was sent home and we were able to have a funeral. I was told I should consider myself lucky because some people only get to bury an empty coffin or…pieces.”

“Oh my god,” gasped El, her hand covering her mouth.

“I couldn’t find any luck in what had happened. I was left a widow, a single mother…alone. My son was left fatherless. I went into a dark place for a while and if it hadn't been for my friend, Janice, I don’t know if I would have made it out of the other side. That little boy right there…” You pointed to Eli, tears glistening in your eyes. “He’s the only thing that really forced me to keep going. I knew he needed me.” Your palms pressed into your eyes, pressing the tears down and away. You took a long drink of your wine before releasing a forced laugh. “Anyway, what a horribly depressing topic of conversation. Let’s talk about someone else, please. El! Mike is writing a book? That has to be exciting.”

“I don’t know if exciting is the word. He’s been working on it for the past five years,” she groaned. “He works part-time at the local bookstore but if it weren’t for my job, we wouldn’t be able to pay the bills. I want to support him. I know this book means a lot to him but I did not think it would take up this much time in our lives.”

“Why hasn’t he sent it out yet?” asked Robin. “Hasn’t he had it finished for a year?”

“He says he’s still polishing it. Honestly, I think he can’t get out of his own head. I think he’s scared to send it because he’s scared of getting rejected.”

You leaned forward to set your empty wineglass on the table, “I get that. Rejection is terrifying and he will probably get a lot of them. Most authors don’t sell their books to the first person they send it to. Some of them get a hundred rejections before they find the publisher who is willing to take a chance on them. But he’s never going to know if he doesn’t take the leap. Have you talked to him about it?”

“Kind of.” She cringed, shaking her head. “Not really. I want to support him, you know. I don’t want to push him but I’m really tired of having to work all the overtime I can just to keep us afloat. I feel like I’m paddling a sinking boat while he’s just sitting in the back trying to enjoy the ride.”

“Then tell him that. You shouldn’t be the only one supporting you two. You supported him while he worked on his dream. It’s done now so he needs to bite the bullet and see what happens. And in the meantime, he needs to start working more hours to help out. You can tell him how you’re feeling without bashing him and you can still support him while expecting him to do his part too.”

El smiled, “Thanks. You’re pretty smart about relationship stuff.”

“Well, I was married for eight years. I don’t know. I always found open communication was the way to go. Men are not mind readers. They cannot begin to fathom the amount of emotions or thoughts that race through us every single day. When I just told Justin what I was thinking or how I was feeling, he always tried to do what he could. Hiding your feelings isn’t going to help anything. Just put it out there. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Robin smirked, “Well, in that case, let me send some honesty your way.” Leaning in, she propped her elbows on her knees, wineglass held between both of her hands. “That guy over there?” Her eyes flitted to where Steve was lifting Eli over his head as the boy giggled. “He may be a dingus but you’d be hard pressed to find a better guy than him.”

“I never said Steve wasn’t a good guy,” you stated, your stomach twisting, wondering where this was going.

“I know. But he likes you. I mean, he really likes you and he’s too much of a chicken shit to say it so I’m going to say it for him. Because that guy, he deserves the world. He deserves everything good and wonderful. He deserves true love, happy endings, and all that romantic shit. And meeting you, I can see why he likes you.”

“I don’t understand. I mean, we’ve been hanging out but only because Eli and Jeremiah are friends and they want to spend time together.”

Max snorted into her wine, “You really think he’s been hanging out with you just so the boys can spend time together? Please. Steve wears his heart on his sleeve, okay? He’s been inviting you to everything because he wants to see you.”

“When he talks about you, his face gets all glowy,” El grinned. “He definitely likes you. And Steve, well he’s not had the best luck when it comes to women.”

“Because he picks wrong,” Robin added, “but this time, I don’t think he has. Now, I know you have a complicated past and I don’t know where you’re at as far as being ready for something serious. And I like you. I really like you. I think you’d be great for him but please, don’t start anything with him if you’re not ready to be all in. Because that man has been through more than his fair share of heartbreak and I don’t know that I can stand to watch him go through it again.”

“Yeah, the whole divorce with Nance really fucked with his head,” Max sighed. “It made him question everything, knowing that he’d tried to stick it out for so long with someone who was wrong for him. Then his choices after that were just all bad. He’s lost a lot of confidence. That King Steve swagger has been long gone for a while. The last girl was super clingy and asked him to move in after only a few months.”

“Oh! Janet. She was, like, creepy stalker obsessed,” El exclaimed. “She still asks me about him all the time when she comes into the grocery store. She is super convinced they’re soulmates. I’m telling you, that woman is not right.”

“No, she’s not but my point is, just don’t make him your rebound guy, okay?” Robin requested, bringing the conversation back on point. “He deserves so much more than that. And I haven’t seen him look like this when he’s talking about a girl in…” She paused, lips pursing. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look like this. So, you’re obviously special to him and because of that, I think you have the capacity to absolutely shatter him. Just make sure you’re ready before you dive into anything.”

“I…uh…yeah, obviously,” you stammered, a flash of heat, like standing in front of an oven, suddenly racing over your body. Shit. You were about to have an anxiety attack right here in front of all these people. “We’re not even…I wouldn’t…I…you know what? I need to use the bathroom. I…”

“Are you okay?” asked El, concerned.

“Fine. I just…I’ll be back…”

You stumbled through the house, past the kitchen, the living room, and finally into the bathroom. Your hands pressed against the door, pushing firmly, trying to focus on the feel of the wood underneath your skin. Dampness clung to your skin as you looked around frantically, focusing on the pattern in the backsplash above the sink, blues swirling with greens. Your hand reached for the faucet, turning it on, closing your eyes, allowing the sound of the water running to clear your head. You wiggled your fingers, pressed your middle finger and thumb together, feeling the pressure as you felt your muscles relax, your breathing slow, your heart rate come down.

“Jesus Christ, get it together,” you muttered to yourself.

What were you doing? What were you thinking? Even his friends thought this was a bad idea. You couldn’t tell Steve that you liked him. What if you hurt him? What if you were so broken that you couldn’t give him what he needed? What if you thought you were sure but you weren't and then it all went wrong? No one could be certain of anything. Nothing was guaranteed in life. You knew that better than anybody.

Cupping your hands, you collected water and splashed it onto your face to cool your body. Opening your eyes, you jolted when you caught sight of yourself in the mirror, rivers of black running down both cheeks. Grabbing onto Steve’s hand towel, you ran it under your eyes.

“Shit! Oh my god!”

The towel was cream and now it was covered in streaks of your mascara. Your eyes darted around the bathroom. For what, you had no idea. You stuck the towel under the water, attempting to rub at the streaks with your fingers but that only made it worse. Now they weren’t just streaks but massive black blobs covering the fabric.

“Hey,” came Steve’s voice from the other side of the door and you jumped, knocking the toothbrush holder into the sink.

“Jesus!” you yelped, picking it up, placing it back.

“Are you alright in there?”

“I’m fine! I’m fine. I just…I…”

With a groan, you unlocked the door and pulled it open, holding his towel out to him. He looked down at it and then back up at you, obviously confused as to why you were offering him a soaking wet towel and you burst into tears.

“I’m sorry. I was…I was hot and I just wanted to wet my face but then my mascara ran and I didn’t know and I wiped my face on your towel and then it got on it and I tried to wash it out but I only made it worse and now your towel is ruined and I’m a mess and I…”

“Whoa. Whoa,” he said softly and then he was taking the towel and he was holding you. One hand cupping the back of your head, the other on the middle of your back. His thumb ran soothingly up and down the back of your neck and your eyes slipped closed, sinking into the feeling of being held, being taken care of. “It’s just a towel. I don’t care about a towel. I care about you. Are you alright, honey?”

He wanted to know if you were okay. He cared about you. And did he just call you honey? Was he kidding right now? Did he have to make it even harder to walk away from the possibility of him? All you wanted to do was curl up in his arms and allow him to carry it for a while. All the pain, all the exhaustion, all the uncertainty. Just let someone else ease your burden for a bit but that wasn’t fair to him. His friends had made it clear to you that you were the last thing he needed in his life. You would only bring complications.

Steve deserved someone who could give them their whole heart and you couldn’t. You weren't even sure you had any to give. Justin had taken so much of it with him and all you had left was for your son. This man was too good to only get pieces and that was all you could offer.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, placing your hands against his chest, pushing back gently. “I’m good, really.” You wiped at your eyes with the backs of your hands, trying to laugh it off. “I don’t know. Just an emotional day. It happens to me sometimes.”

“You sure?” Those eyes. You felt like those eyes could see you in a way no one else had. When Steve looked at you it felt as if he could read right down to your very soul. “The girls said you looked like you might be having an anxiety attack or something. They were worried, wanted me to come in and check on you.”

“I was.” Sometimes honesty was the best policy. Maybe if he knew how entirely messed up you were, he wouldn’t be so interested anymore. “It happens, since my husband…I see a therapist and I have tools for it. I know what to do. I’m fine now. I’m just sorry I made everybody worry and destroyed your towel. I can buy you a new one.”

“Fuck the towel, seriously,” he scoffed. “I was just worried about you. Is there anything I can do?”

“No. Thanks for checking on me but really, I’m fine.” You put on the best smile you could muster, holding your hands out to the side. “See? All good now. We should really get back to the fun, yeah?”

“I don’t know how much fun is happening. Mike just busted out the cornhole boards…”

“Cornhole!?” you exclaimed, probably a little too excitedly. “I love cornhole! Let’s go!”

“You love cornhole?” Steve questioned as if questioning your sanity.

“Of course. What midwesterner doesn’t love a good game of cornhole?”

“I mean…me? It’s okay, I guess.”

“Oh what? Not challenging enough for Mr. I played every sport imaginable? It doesn’t quite have the excitement of shooting a ball into a net or hearing that crack when the bat hits the ball?”

“Not really. I mean, yeah, I like to win but…I actually wanted to ask you…”

“Later! Cornhole!”

No. Nope. You were not giving him the opportunity to ask you anything. You turned, hurrying through the house as he rushed behind you. Sliding the glass door open, you stepped onto the deck, greeting everyone’s worried face with a bright smile. You were fine. This was fine. Everything was going to be fine.

“Hey, we were worried when you ran off like that,” Max said, eyebrows knitting together. “You okay?”

“Did you get attacked, mommy?” asked Eli.

“Attacked? Who’s attacking her in Steve’s house?” asked Mike.

Dustin shrugged, “You never know. Steve, did you attack her?”

“What? No. Obviously I didn’t attack her!”

“I didn’t get attacked,” you sighed.

“Then why would Eli ask if someone attacked you? Do you get attacked often?” questioned Max.

“My mommy’s feelings attack her,” Eli explained. Oh, sweet, sweet boy, but you really wished he’d stop talking. “Her heart goes super fast and she can’t breathe and she has to look at stuff and listen to stuff.”

Mike frowned. “Her feelings attack her?”

“It’s an anxiety attack, dingus,” Robin huffed, smacking him in the chest.

“Ow!” Mike protested, rubbing his shirt. “That hurt. Excuse me for not knowing what that meant. I pictured a bunch of emotions chasing her down and beating her with a stick.”

“Oh…we should add something like that to one of our campaigns,” Dustin grinned. “Imagine, you drink a potion or have a spell cast on you that sends your emotions outside of your body. It gives them corporeal form and they start attacking and you have to figure out how to battle them back or…no! You have to figure out how to control them to make them go away. Oh, that’s some existential shit right there.”

“Dustin!” Lucas shouted. “Maybe not the time. She’s clearly having a breakdown.”

“I am not breaking down. I’m fine,” you protested.

“Isn’t that what an anxiety attack is? Should we call an ambulance? Are you like completely losing it?”

“Jesus Christ,” growled Robin. “She’s obviously okay now. An anxiety attack is not a complete mental break you idiots. It’s something that happens in response to stressors around you. Your heart pounds, you get dizzy, you shake, you get hot.” She stopped, turning to you. “Wait. It happened right after we…” Robin’s eyes moved from Max to El and then back to you. “Oh shit. Did we cause…what we said…is this our fault?”

“What? No!” This was the last thing you needed. You barely knew these people. “No. You were just looking out for your friend. I get that. It wasn’t you. It…”

“What do you mean looking out for their friend?” asked Steve. When your eyes went wide and you didn’t answer, he stepped into Robin. “What does she mean? What did you chuckleheads say?”

“Nothing,” squeaked Robin and when he glared, she flinched. “Okay, fine. I may have told her that you like her and that I just wanted her to be sure before she started anything with you because I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“Steve, we were just looking out for you,” El added. “We know how rough you’ve had it with relationships. We didn’t want to see you get hurt.”

“We know after Nance you haven’t trusted yourself. You’ve chosen wrong every single time. I mean, you dated that complete whackadoo, Janet, and look how that ended. You almost had to get a restraining order. She’s still obsessed with you.”

“You like my mommy?” asked Eli, his eyes lighting up. “He likes my mommy!”

Jeremiah shrugged, “I already knew that. I wanted to know if she likes my daddy.”

“She does. She told me in the car that he’s wonderful but she didn’t know if he liked her back but he does! So now they can go on a date!”

Oh my god. This was awful. This was your worst nightmare come to life. You reached out, grabbing onto the back of a chair as you listened to the myriad of voices around you. You weren't even sure you wanted to have this conversation with Steve. In fact, you'd convinced yourself not to and now they were all having it without you, whether you wanted them to or not.

“Jesus, Robin! Are you kidding me? I know you like to meddle in my life but this is insane, even for you!”

“Steve, it’s not insane. And look, her kid just said she likes you. So, why don’t you two stop dancing around each other and just go get coffee already like I told you before. I didn’t tell her not to date you. I like her. I just don’t want you to be her rebound from her dead husband.”

Weights pressing on your chest. Your hands grasped at your clothing, pulling, desperate to loosen the pressure.

“Oh my god!” Max shrieked. “Robin, you can’t just say that like that.”

“I’m sorry! I’m panicking! I say stupid shit when I’m panicking!”

No. Not now. This couldn’t happen now. The world was spiraling, spinning, one hazy blur and you couldn’t find a single thing to focus on. Forget trying to listen to anything when the sounds of their yelling were filling your head completely.

“You always say stupid shit!” yelled Steve.

“But my daddy did die. It’s okay to say it,” Eli piped in.

“We know your daddy passed away but there could have been a gentler way of putting it,” Max told him.

There was no air. Your chest was painful, a python constricting and squeezing around you until you couldn’t breathe.

“Maybe but my point was that you two need to stop acting like shy teenagers with a crush and just go out and bang each other already because you’re not fooling anybody. We can all see how much you want each other.”

“What’s banging?” asked Jeremiah.

“I don’t think they should do that. That doesn’t sound very nice,” Eli disagreed.

“Jesus Robin!” growled Steve.

The entire backyard swam around you, the green of the grass blending into the brown of the fence, the blue of the sky. You couldn’t breathe. You opened your mouth wide, hoping for precious oxygen to make its way where you needed it to but nothing was happening. You couldn’t do this. The entire backyard shrunk down to a single pinprick of light and then the world went black.

Chapter 8

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goldeunoias · 1 year

Text

Soft.

A/N: FUCKING REPOST BC TUMBLR FLAGGED IT

this is the only flagged thing i’ve ever gotten and literally it was a chubby reader fic screw thaaaaatttttttt

this is for the kinkiest jay stans out there ngl

@jaylaxies I DID IT

pspspspsp please tell me how it is/do you like members being written this way please 🖤

Word Count: 5.1k (of insanity)

Synopsis: Chubby! Reader x Sugar Daddy! Jay

Warnings: ..........idk even how to like describe it uh, public teasing, semi-ish public teasing, dirty talk, daddy dom jay for the win, multiple orgasms, guided masturbation, fem oral, men oral, messy sex, like kinky dirty messy sex yall, um, pet names like cupcake and pumpkin and princess, there’s some...let’s say my imagination ran wild and i couldn’t even finish reading it bc i got flustered at my own self

_______________________________________________

How you guys met....

Even at first glance, you were the absolute cutest.

“Is it just a table for one?” You asked him softly, Jay almost missing the question because he was too busy staring at you.

Jay snapped out of it and shook his head, clearing his throat. “Uh no, I’m expecting a client here soon so for two please,” He remarked, giving you a smile.

You smiled back at him and his heart couldn’t help but sing at how the roundness of your cheeks became accentuated.

Adorable.

Jay spent the next two months visiting the same restaurant at the same time, clinging onto the moments when you’d smile sweetly at him or get bashful and look down at your feet as you led him to his table. He constantly made the excuse that this restaurant was close to his office and clients liked coming here, which was true, but of course, there was more to his motives.

“Table for one today?” you asked him like always. Perhaps on purpose or by accident the button-up blouse you wore was buttoned down lower than usual and he felt like such a pervert but he couldn't help but internally swear at how soft your cleavage looked. To add onto it, you also wore a pencil skirt instead of your normal black slacks and at that point, he would’ve given up his investments just to be between your plush thighs.

As he followed you to his usual table he quickly took a couple of motivating breaths, fidgeting with his hands slightly.

“So, what are you doing after work?” Jay inquired as you led him to his usual table in the back.

You chewed on your cheek in thought as you set down his menu, looking around to make sure your boss wouldn't see you loitering around.

“Probably nothing, maybe watch some trashy television or something,” you shyly giggled, fumbling with your hands as you felt his carob-eyed stare.

“Then, if you would like of course, would you like to go out on a date with me? I promise I won’t take you out to dinner here,” Jay joked, your heart racing as you saw his expensive smile.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise at the remark, mind faltering for a bit.

Jay only chuckled at your silence, fumbling with the edge of the menu.

“You may say no, as long as it’s not the whole I’m not worthy of love and affection or something along those lines,” he joked plainly. His sense of humor was rather dry but it made you giggle nonetheless, playfully whacking him with the spare menu you had.

“I’m not that cliche of a person, though maybe thirteen-year-old me would have said something along those lines. I just well,” you stood up a bit straighter, “I just thought you’d never ask y’know?” you spoke playfully, looking around before leaning down near his face so your coworkers wouldn’t hear any of what you were about to say.

“I mean between you and me, the food isn’t that great for the price you’re paying. Someone coming here routinely to eat is either a. Trying to be sly and smooth and is falling miserably, or b. Is a crazy person for thinking the food is actually worth the price to enjoy so routinely.”

Jay clutched his hand over his heart at the subtle dig you made at him and could already feel his heart swelling with your personality as well as how gorgeous your features looked up close.

“So, can I safely say that this failed attempt to be sly and smooth has won over the girl I’m currently pining for?”

You pouted brightly in feigned thought before smiling and nodding at him, grabbing a sheet of paper and pen from your pockets to write down your number and availability.

“See you around then,” you remarked before smiling and walking off, Jay having to kick himself internally for staring at you walk away a bit too intently.

****************************************************

Present...

****************************************************

He couldn’t touch himself.

He made a promise to you and it would be unfair to break that to you when he asked you of the same. Instead, Jay rested his head against the shower wall with his eyes squeezed shut, trying to think pure thoughts but his mind kept circling back to sticking his member between your chubby thighs and hearing you whimper as he moved in and out of them, or perhaps your plump cheeks filling up as you tried to wrap your mouth around his tip.

He was going crazy and he’d never felt so desperate or horny, not even when he was a teenager going through puberty. He turned the water to cold in the hopes it would bring him back to sanity since you were already fast asleep in his bed, and he’d feel like a complete jackass to wake you up for something like this.

Unfortunately, the cold water wasn’t helping and his heart picked up in speed when he heard you knocking on the door, his absence soon waking you up from your nap.

“Jay? Is everything good? I thought you were just going to the bathroom. Why are you taking a shower at 2 in the afternoon?” you inquired innocently through the door.

His mind went blank because he had no idea what to come up with besides the truth, though he wasn’t sure the truth would be something you’d want to hear.

“I just, um….thought I needed to take one to reset my brain y’know” Jay lied measly, never being the best at this sorta thing.

“I’m coming in you’re being weird,” you told him, opening the door Jay’s heart was pounding in his ears as you saw through the glass door the very prominent erection that was in front of your eyes.

“Oh,” you stated, shifting on your feet awkwardly. “Were you about to…touch yourself?”

The eyes you gave him went straight to his heart as he avidly shook his head, clearing his throat.

“Well, no quite the opposite actually I…well you…. shit, princess you looked so adorable in your sleep shorts and t-shirt it just did something to me, “ Jay awkwardly rambled out, wanting to sink onto the floor.

You nodded and went to the shower door, opening it before getting down on your knees, and shifting back and forth on the bathroom rug.

“Princess you don’t have to-”

“I-I want to. But I don’t know if I will be as good as you want,” you informed him, opening your mouth and softly wrapping your mouth around his tip.

“Shit, wait princess let me sit down first” Jay breathed through gritted teeth, his cheeks getting rosy.

“Then I’ll join you,” you whimpered out gently sitting up on your knees and moving inside the shower with him, clothes still on. As Jay sat down on the bench in the shower he couldn’t help but stroke his member with the fervent drops of precum leaking out: the cool shower water was partially soaking your head and getting onto your shirt as well, the temperature causing your nipples to prod against your shirt more prominently.

Hesitantly you leaned forward and took his tip inside your mouth, saliva already beginning to coat his member in anticipation.

“Fuck princess” Jay groaned deeply, his legs shaking as his eyes fluttered to the back of his head. You watched his reactions to make sure you were doing things right, satisfaction coming over you when his abdomen clenched at the texture of your tongue running along his vein.

“Seongie, look at me” you huffed, slowly licking a long strip on the side of his member to get his attention. At the sensation, Jay couldn’t help but buck into your mouth some, hurried apologies leaving him when he saw your cheeks get full.

“Here princess, hollow your cheeks out some more? Just like that~, good girl~” Jay praised through half-lidded eyes, watching as tears rolled down your plush cheeks. His praise made you want to take more of him in your mouth despite the ache, Jay noticing it and stroking your cheek affectionately.

“Careful cupcake, don’t hurt yourself. Come up for air yeah?” Jay teased, gently pulling you off of him. Your face was disheveled and your breathing was ragged as you licked some of the saliva that coated your lips, a slight whine leaving you when he wouldn’t give you wanted what you wanted.

“More please,” you rasped out, a yelp leaving you when Jay tugged at your nipple.

“More?”

You nodded.

“More what?” he teased, flicking your nipple with his index finger. Your breath hitched and you shifted as you felt drops start to collect in your underwear, feeling bashful all of a sudden.

“Princess, can you do something for me?”

“I-it depends on what it is,” you countered, biting down on your lip when Jay gestured for you to sit between his legs with your back against his chest, Jay’s hands massaging your inner thighs.

“Can I touch you pumpkin?”

You nodded and Jay tsked, his breath tickling your ear as his hand found its way between your legs.

“Daddy likes it when his princess uses his words, mmkay?”

The sound of his voice made you squirm and you couldn’t help but clench around nothing from the sound, rushing out a timid “yes daddy”. You felt bashful at your own mouth saying the words, watching as Jay reached for the shower head and turned the water to something warmer, one of his hands holding one of your thighs open.

“How does this feel?” Jay questioned gently, tilting the shower head so a stream of water was hitting your puffy clit. Even through your shorts and underwear, the sensation made your toes curl, a choked groan leaving your mouth as he clicked the setting to something harsher.

“It feels weird-oh god,” you whimpered out, eyes closing shut at the fluttering sensation.

“I wonder how sensitive your chest is princess, shall we find out?” he quipped with a smirk, moving the shower head so streams of water pressed lightly against a pert nipple. Your body felt hot at how much whining you were doing at such simple feelings, your moans getting caught in the back of your throat as an effort to suppress them.

It only made Jay tsk in “disappointment” at your attempt to hide your sounds from him, giving you the shower head in one of your hands.

“Aw princess, you know I told you not to be so shy around me~”

You could only whine in reply, having a feeling where this was going.

Jay hummed and guided your hand so the water was pressing against your clit once more, Jay using his other hand to wrap around your free hand and guide it to your chest.

“Look at how turned on you are princess, your nipples are just begging to be teased,” he whispered in your ear, guiding your hand so that you rolled the hardened bud between your fingers. Your jaw went slack and the back of your head dug into Jay’s shoulder, Jay using your other hand to press the water even closer to your clit.

“Daddy Iwantmore,” you gasped out, writhing as you felt such delicate but intense sensations.

Jay chuckled and kissed your temple, turning off the shower water while one of his hands guided yours into your shorts and past your underwear. “Such a good girl princess using your words for me,” he praised softly against your ear, grinning against it when your breath stuttered when you felt your slippery arousal.

“Have you ever fingered yourself pumpkin?”

You shook your head and stuttered out a “no”, squirming against his back when he slid both yours and his inside. Jay had to hold onto your waist to keep you from squirming around too much as his and your index fingers pushed passed your walls, the lewd sounds from your core echoing against the shower wall.

“Mm, aren’t you just the cutest? Here let daddy help you, yeah?” He cooed softly, pushing his and your finger inside until you both felt the spongy part of your walls. “You feel this princess? If you press against it, like this,” your breath caught in your throat as he did so, “it feels really good doesn’t it sweetheart?”

“Yes but i-it feels weird,” you couldn’t help but note, your eyes fluttering as he slid another one of his digits in. He guided his and your hand so the movements inside your core were languid, your toes curling every time your fingers pressed against your spongy walls.

“Raise your shirt up f’me princess, so I can see those pretty nipples of yours.”

His blunt way of dirty talk instinctively made you clench around now just his fingers as you used both of yours to roll your shirt up, shivering as the cool air made contact with them.

“Play with them, show me how you make yourself feel good,” he purred gently in your ear, his thumb rubbing over your clit gently as a means to convince you.

You gulped but massaged your breasts softly, whimpering when you tugged at one of your hardened nipples then switching to rolling the tender bud between your fingers. Jay couldn’t help but grin since with every ministration you gave yourself he could feel you clench down on his fingers like a vice, the lewd sounds echoing against the shower walls as you soaked his digits.

“What am I gonna do with you princess, you’ve already soaked my hand from a little foreplay,” he teased, speeding up his fingers as drops of essence ran down his hands. He suddenly stopped much to your displeasure and chuckled when he held his fingers in front of your face, sticky white-tinted droplets running down his fingers.

“Not only that, but you’re fucking creaming yourself as well. Have you ever done that before sweetheart?” He inquired as he sucked the digits, groaning at the taste. You shook your head and he smirked as he held his middle finger to your lips, exploring your mouth with the digit as you tasted yourself.

“You can be messier than that. Add more saliva,” he commanded with gentleness to his voice, using his free hand to tug at the other nipple you didn’t get to. You groaned against the digit and did as he instructed and let the droplets of saliva gathering in your cheeks run free and drip down his hand and some onto your chest.

“Good girl~, the more saliva the less your mouth won’t blister when you take me in your mouth,” he informed, gesturing for you to get back on your knees for him. You eagerly did, your body buzzing with excitement and lust as you were face-to-face with his member.

“Are your knees okay on the shower floor princess?” Jay inquired tenderly as he stroked your plump cheek, finding the way you puffed them up in thought adorable.

“Mhmm, it’s okay it doesn’t bother me,” you soothed him, sticking your saliva-coated tongue out as an obvious hint for him to give you what you wanted.

“Tap my thigh three times if it becomes too much for you,” he reminded you as you took the whole tip in your mouth, humming contentedly. The deep groan he let out against the shower walls was more than enough motivation as you tried to relax your throat to take more of him, Jay’s hands coming on either side of your face to stroke the tears forming in the corners of your eyes. You could tell when he was looking fully at you and when he wasn’t because every time he did so you’d feel him twitch in your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks so the saliva trapped in pockets could coat his member as well.

Jay bit down on his upper lip and rested his head against the shower wall to keep his composure, his thighs shaking and abdomen clenching being a glorious site to you. Feeling like teasing him a little you slowly pulled off of him and called his name softly, Jay staring at you through half-lidded eyes as he caught his breath.

“Daddy, don’t you want to look at your princess?” you asked him sweetly as you licked the underside of his member, your saliva coating every expanse of it. Jay groaned out your name and shuddered at the feeling, a knot forming in his lower abdomen as you suckled softly at the tip, sticking out your tongue to cushion the underside.

“Shit wait princess I’m close,” he panted out, trying to gently push you off of him. You hummed around him and shook your head no, the vibrations making him choke on his own breath. He’d never felt this level of need before and he couldn’t help but wonder what the hell was up with him.

But he knew it was you, the girl who he’d become so enamored with that as soon as he looked down at your soft and pleasing eyes he felt the knot in his stomach snap, holding your head in place as hot ropes of white enter your mouth.

“Spit it out princess don’t swallow,” he pushed softly through ragged breaths, already feeling bad that he came in your mouth in the first place.

“Like this?” you questioned with innocence, letting your jaw go slack so drops of his cum trickled from your mouth and down your jaw some even landing on your still-exposed chest.

Jay swallowed thickly at the sight and could already feel himself get hard again at the sight; though he never considered himself a person for messy sex, the way you looked in front of him had him questioning and disregarding any morals that pertained to the topic. He grinned and pressed two fingers against the center of your tongue to gather the remaining droplets of his cum that may have remained, holding it up some so that it leaked down onto your chest with the other droplets.

“Mm princess, just like that.”

****************************************************

After much convincing, you’d found yourself being taken to perhaps one of the most expensive shopping centers in the city, practically everything that you’d looked at having at least four numbers for the price.

It didn’t seem to bother Jay in the slightest, almost encouraging it when you’d shyly point to the shoes or skirt that had caught your eye. You’d never been one to go out shopping in public, something about the anxiety and the stares always getting to you. However, it seemed Jay had a knack for picking up on any slight change in your emotions, squeezing your hand, or kissing your cheek while whispering to you how beautiful you were any time negative thoughts entered your head.

While Jay went to the bathroom your eyes couldn’t help but stare at the size 00 mannequin wearing the loveliest lingerie you’d seen: it was a babydoll dress with lace straps and accents, all in an alluring shade of crimson. You were so enamored by it that you didn’t see Jay come up alongside you and rub the back of your hand, causing you to jump slightly.

“What’s got you staring so intently princess?” Jay drawled, following your stare as he looked at the lingerie. “Do you want to go inside and try it on for me? I’d love to see you in it,” Jay couldn’t help but remark, his hands massaging your hips.

“It wouldn’t like that on me you know,” you couldn’t help but remind him, cheeks getting hot.

“I know that, that’s why I want you to try it on because you’ll look so pretty in it,” Jay complimented, gently grabbing your hand and leading you to the store before you could protest.

As soon as you walked in you felt the store clerk’s judgemental eyes on you and you immediately wanted to cower away, Jay noticing and squeezing your hand.

“Excuse me but I was wondering if you had that lingerie on the mannequin in my lovely girlfriend’s size?” Jay asked confidently, holding a stare with the store clerk.

“It’s gonna cost more because of extra fabric you know” the clerk chided pointedly, her demeanor disappearing when she saw Jay take out his black card.

“Ma’am if you don’t want me to disrespect you as a worker on commission then do not disrespect someone who I care about please,” Jay said through a dazzling smile, the store clerk cracking and doing as he said without another word.

Now you stood in a large and fancy dressing room with Jay’s honey stare on you as you held the expensive fabric in your hand, rocking back and forth on your heels.

“Close your eyes while I get changed please,” you asked softly, still not entirely used to being undressed in front of him.

Jay complied and closed his eyes, though his brain was racing with so many thoughts that he thought his mind would explode.

“Okay uh, I guess you can open them,” you remarked softly, watching intently as Jay’s chest rose sharply.

“Shit~ I should’ve asked you to try it on at home so I could say all the things I’m thinking,” Jay whispered, standing up and moving until your back hit the mirror.

“You’re just being silly,” you giggled out, your heart beating a mile a minute as his hands danced on the hem of the dress.

“I’m not, I’m being serious kitten,” Jay cooed even softer so only you could hear, his hands massaging your soft thighs. He bent down some and started kissing your jawline softly and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sensation, his hands going up to tug at your hardening nipples through the silk.

“Stop sucking in your tummy princess you know how cute I think it looks,” Jay purred, sinking to his knees and raising the dress to lay soft kisses on your stomach his mouth going lower and lower.

“J-jay what if the clerk hears,” you whispered softly, clamping your mouth over your hand when you felt his tongue prod at your clothed clit.

“Can princess wait until she gets home then?” Jay inquired as his index finger pressed against your sticky wet patch, circling it with the pad of his finger. “Your cunt may soak my seats at this rate,” he teased as he stood up. “But I can wait princess, so let’s get you changed and you can take this home and model it for me yeah?”

“O-okay,” you whined out, Jay teasing you even more by squeezing your face so your mouth went agape, his tongue gently flicking against yours for a second before pulling back. The entire time he led you outside the mall you felt like you were in a daze, Jay opening the car door for you with a sinister smile.

He started up the car and buckled your seat belt for you, his deep voice whispering in your ear sending shivers up your spine.

“Take your underwear off for me princess,” he ordered gently, Not moving the car until you complied, watching as he put them in the pocket of his jeans. You couldn’t help but shift side to side as you felt sticky beads leak from you and onto the expensive leather seats.

“Aw, princess must be dying to be touched huh? I can already see your cunt leaking on the seats and we’ve barely left the parking lot.”

“J-jay” “Is that what you should be calling me right now?” He warned you, looking at you with a raised brow.

You gulped and your face got hot, moving around as you felt more droplets escape you.

“Daddy please I just want to be touched don’t be mean, please,” you whimpered. At a red light, Jay turned and looked at you, loving how your eyes were already welling up with tears rolling down your soft cheeks.

“But when I’m mean you get wetter, so shouldn’t I tease you a bit more princess? Make you finger yourself with those small hands, knowing they can’t reach any of the places I can? You probably get off to that thought when you touch yourself don’t you,” Jay pouted, squishing your face as he looked back at the road again.

“No, I listened to you. I don’t touch myself as you asked, see I’m being a good girl so reward me please,” you choked out, his harsh words indeed making you so wet you felt arousal cling to your inner thighs.

“That’s my good girl~” Jay praised, his hand that wasn’t on the steering wheel going between your sticky inner thighs. You eagerly spread them and let out a staggered mewl as you felt his warm hand come in contact with your slippery clit, your legs instinctively spreading at the feeling.

Jay chuckled as he saw you in his peripheral, a twisting and desperate mess. “So cute of you cupcake. You used to be so shy with your sounds, now look at you, legs spread eagerly rutting into my hand as you’ve never been fucked before,” Jay stated matter of factly, your hand gripping his wrist as a way to usher his fingers inside of you.

“You made me like this,” you panted out, head resting on the car window as he slid his middle finger inside, his thumb gently stroking over your clit.

“I did princess?”

You whined a “yes” and groaned when Jay slid a second digit in, curling them briefly before pulling them both out. You wanted to complain but his essence-soaked fingers were quickly in your mouth, and you eagerly swirled your tongue around the digits.

“Such an obedient princess, good girl~” he hummed, retracting his fingers from your mouth and cleaning them off with his own, sucking your saliva and essence onto his tongue.

He pulled into the driveway and it felt like you could barely walk as he opened the car door for you and tossed the keys to his attendant, thanking them sincerely as he grabbed the bag carrying the lingerie.

“Wanna go upstairs and get changed for me?” he whispered in your ear, rubbing his hand over your stomach and hip affectionately. You gulped and nodded, still feeling like you were in a lustful daze as your legs struggled up the stairs.

“Since Maria just cleaned the master and spare bedroom meet me in my office yeah? I’d hate to mess up all her hard work, or distract any of the workers with our chattering” he said with a sinister grin. You knew that wasn’t the only reason why as you rushed out a bashful okay, going upstairs to the bathroom.

It was because his office was the only room that was soundproof.

You changed into the outfit and put a sweatshirt and some shorts over your entire, just in case you happened to run into the many staff that worked there. Gathering up your courage you knocked on his door and opened it when you heard his voice, body getting hot with anticipation when you saw him at his desk.

The top buttons of his dress shirt were undone and he’d set his glasses on the table as you stepped in, raising his brows.

“Hi princess,” Jay drawled as he leaned back in his office chair, flicking his head towards the door. “Go ahead and lock it for me yeah?,” he hummed, his hand going down to massage the bulge in his pants.

You turned around and did so and shimmied out of your shorts and sweatshirt, Jay biting down on his lower lip and leaning back in his chair as he took you all in. Slowly but surely you shuffled your way behind his desk so you stood right in front of him, leaning against the desk while he drank you in.

Jay chuckled and cocked his head to the side, a side grin on his face. “Princess is still wet isn’t she?” he remarked, grabbing a pencil and pressing the eraser head against your swollen bud. Even through your lingerie underwear, the sensation made your legs waver as you hummed in agreement, your face burning as you rutted into the sensation.

“Did I make you this needy sweetheart? So desperate to cum that you’re rutting something as simple as this,” He teased as he stood up, his body now pressing yours against the desk even more so as he circled the pencil slowly. You let out a “yes” and buried your face in his dress shirt, your breath getting heavier from such a degrading sensation.

“Turn around princess and spread yourself for me,” he commanded in that same gentle voice he always had when he was turned on, rolling up his sleeves as he kneeled down so his face was right in front of your soaked core.

“W-what are you gonna-” Your cheek pressed against the cool oak as Jay pulled your underwear down and slid a digit in, his warm mouth simultaneously coming to envelop your swollen clit.

You rested against your desk and let out a muffled groan as the knot broke almost instantly, your legs shaking as you struggled to hold yourself up while your core pulsed around his digit.

Jay pulled back and let out a deep chuckle, your ears perking up when you heard the sound of him unbuckling his belt.

“You came as soon as I slid a finger in princess?” Jay inquired, kissing the tops of your thighs and massaging them with his hands.

You gulped and nodded, feeling slightly embarrassed. “You’d just been teasing me for so long I-I couldn’t hold it back,” you murmured whimpering when Jay slid two digits in and started scissoring your core. Your back arched slightly when Jay came to hunch alongside you, his breath tickling your ear as you spoke.

“You wouldn’t believe how many times I have to hold myself back sweetheart,” Jay rasped in your throat, the bulge between his legs resting against the side of your thigh as he continued to scissor your core. His breath was heavy and he was slowly losing his mind, kissing your shoulder messily and nudging your head with his own to tilt your head back. He began leaving messy marks alongside your jaw and neck, the warmth of his tongue and saliva being felt across every expanse of skin he could find. Jay chuckled when you whined and try to hide away your face, causing him to stand up and remove his fingers, motioning for you to sit up and sit on his desk.

In doing so the syrupy essence that leaked profusely from you was now spilling onto his desk, and you were doing your best to show restraint from rutting your core against the cool wood, your head dizzy was a pleasure.

Jay put the two essence-soaked fingers against your lips and hummed a “good girl” as you sucked, holding your chin in his other hand as you stared at him with hazy eyes.

“Stay focused on me princess~” Jay cooed, shaking your head slightly to tease you.

“You have a long night ahead of you.”

-----------------------------------------------

if you liked this PLEASE PLEASE let me know bc the i’d be inclined to do this sorta thing for other hyung line members 👁👁💕

likes don’t tell me anything and don’t make me more likely to write for members, i go off feedback <3333333

#jay smut #enhypen smut #enhypen imagines #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen scenarios #enhypen jay smut #jay scenarios #enhypen jay scenarios #enhypen hard hours

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a-god-in-crime-alley · 3 months

Text

So I’mma do a quick rant on Tim and the whole “forever 17” thing people are always going on about.

Disclaimer: some of this is based on my own experience with how I changed as I got older and comments from people that I went months and years without seeing.

I’m AFAB so it’s not quite the same. But I’ve never been one to remember a skin care routine and have relied on good genetics and good hygiene to make this point.

When doing some calculations for another post (you’ve probably seen that post I reblogged about the batkids ages) it hit me WHY it doesn’t look like Tim has aged.

Sure it might just be a style choice because DC wants to keep a chokehold on their Teen audience with Tim. (Even though Damian is RIGHT THERE!!! DC stop making Damian look like Tim for the love of GOD!)

A lot of people don’t actually CHANGE that much from ages 16-24 as long as they are keeping to the same exercise routines and diets. With the exception of Tim’s Brucequest, he kept to a fairly stable routine for Years!

The reason most people change so much early on is because they drop off their usual exercise (gym class) and repetitive diet (school or packed lunch). So you see people’s weight fluctuating (this can have an effect of visible face shape) hair either thinning or thickening and skin either clearing or getting more acne.

Add this to Tim probably having pretty good genetics (his mom looked like she was maybe pushing 30 when she died but was probably closer to mid 40s. Both Janet and Jack were around 10 years older than Bruce, who would have been mid 30s at the time.)

Tim not showing any signs of facial hair can also be down to genetics. Some cis men just NEVER get more than a single chin hair, maybe a max of 5 sparsely scattered along their chin. Those guys usually just pluck them out. They never actually have to shave. Though I think we Have seen Tim shaving again one point. Can’t remember when.

Either way, it makes sense for Tim not to actually look his age in any more than muscle mass. He’s noticeably built compared to how he was when Damian was introduced. (When the artists are going for a more realistic art style.)

Then considering his most recent dimensional adventure to save Bruce after the shit with Failsafe, you see just how much older he looks next to his mother (from that universe) and she didn’t seem that surprised with how he looked. Meaning her version of him is probably around the same age, and anyone who read that issue can see she looked pretty young.

Add all this to the fact it’s Canon that Jason is 23! He’s only at most 3 years older than Tim but is probably closer to 2 years older. (With Jason being 15 going on 16 when he died. And Tim was 12-13 by the 6 month mark after Jason died and Tim became Robin.)

So in conclusion, DC needs to stop acting like Tim’s still a Teenager and acknowledge that he’s a lot closer to 21 (hell, if we go by proper calculations he SHOULD BE 21).

What I’m saying is give us Tim going out for drinks with his older brothers. Have him show up at Jason’s after something bad happens and ask if he’s still up for that drink (in reference to that one time Jason offered to get a 16 year old Tim into a bar.)

Give us Funny Drunk Tim shenanigans to balance out that Dick is a miserable drunk! Have Jason get stuck babysitting both of them because he’s the only one that can actually hold his alcohol. Have the Girls be watching and laughing from across the bar because they unintentionally had their Girls Night and the same place the guys had their Boys Night.

Please DC, I am Begging you!

#tim drake #dick grayson #jason todd #Batfam #Tim isn’t 17 and I will die on this hill #neither are any of the Core Four #Connor isn’t even SUPPOSED to look like he’s aging because he was artificially aged in the cloning pod #Connor looks like a young 20 something and he’s supposed too!!!!#Literally all three of the others are Metas with powers than make aging moot!#Bart has super speed and such has super Healing #Cassie is a Demigoddess!!!!

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barcalover86 · 11 months

Text

GAVI ONE SHOT part 2

Summary: After Xavi finds you in an intimate moment with Gavi at your office, things are starting to have a turn.

Will you lose your job?

Little spoiler alert, so you know what happens - Gavi- panick attack (Real Madrid - Fc Barcelona)

Part 1 here 👆

Gavi was kissing your neck and took your hand to put it on his hard one. You didn't even hear the footsteps because you were so into the moment, until Xavi, after several knocks, came into your office.

When you saw him, you panicked so hard that you almost fell again.

Gavi took his shorts to cover himself, but it was obvious that he was only in his underwear, on your office bed with you besides him.

What Gavi felt in that moment was something that he had never felt. He wasn't scared for his career, but yours. He knew Xavi wouldn't let go of him because he was an important player, but you.. you were at the beginning. The time when you had to make your trust to others and now because of his stupid men needs, you could leave the team.

He didn't feel something for you, this being the second time he actually looked at you. You were only a clumsy girl who had a chance to work at her dream job and know he had ruined it.

When Xavi saw the two of you together, he immediately closed the door.

"Gavi, ponte los pantalones y en 5 minutos quiero que estés en mi oficina, y/n!" (Gavi, put on your pants, and in 5 minutes, I want you to be in my office, y/n.)

He somehow felt miserable. He looked at you only to see you looking at the floor. He felt sorry, but it didn't affect him. He was only a football player and you a girl that had nothing to do with him.

He left you without saying a word, and you went to Xavi's office like he had told you.

"Can I come in?" you asked while knocking

"Si, por favor"

You sat in front of him. He looked at you with disappointment.

"I wanted to offer you an opportunity. To give you a chance to make your dream come true. You seemed a girl who didn't make any problems. I was never that wrong in my interly life, y/n! I get it, you like Gavi, but why here? Why couldn't you wait 4 more hours? Why risk it all?"

Your eyes were starting to tear up. You were afraid that if you opened your mouth, you will cry. You wanted so bad to tell him that it wasn't your fault, but somehow it was. You let Gavi touch you.

"Now don't you stay here and cry! I wanna know the truth!" he was now more furious.

You didn't want to blame Gavi. You just couldn't. You were afraid of his career more than yours, and that made you question your heart. You weren't in love, were you?

"C'mon, y/n! I am trying to give you a chance to explain your behaviour!"

"I don't know what to say, truly. I am so sorry that this happened, and I don't know what got into me. I would never do such things like that, especially at work! I am not even experienced with this stuff. Why would I want to try it at work and risk my job? I truly don't know what got into me. I just couldn't refuse. My body couldn't say no. Lo siento mucho, Xavi!"

He was so disappointed in you, but understood that fact that you were in love. He wanted to make you learn from your mistakes, especially since you are only a 18 year old. You were just a child. But as well, he couldn't get over the fact that this might happen again, so he asked you to go home and come back tomorrow when he would tell you his final decision.

You were sure that he would want you to never come back there.

Gavi was sad all day long. All the thought was your face when you saw Xavi.

"Hermanito, que pasa?" asked his sister.

"Nada"

The next day, he saw you going to Xavi's office. Your face was sad and tired. Tomorrow, they had an important match with Real Madrid, so he had to go to training.

The match was at 20 (8 p.m.). Now, it was 2 hours earlier, and Gavi was freaking out. He didn't see you where all the people that worked for Barca were. He started to panick. Maybe Xavi fired you for real. Pedri was really concerned about his friend and felt sorry for both of you. Gavi said that it was his fault and the night before he couldn't even sleep. All he thought about was you. Where were you, how were you, what were you doing? It drave him insane. He was crazy over you.

He saw Xavi and decided to go and ask him about you, but then Xavi walked away angry.

That was it. You were gone, and it was only hid fault.

In the chancing room, he was so silent that everyone was concerned about him. He usually talked to everyone and now he didn't even had the energy to be awake.

"Vamos gavi, te necesitamos para ganar. Por favor, despierta estos 90 minutos y luego puedes estar tan triste como quieras." tried Balde to cheer him up, but only made him even sadder.

"Come on, Gavi, we need you to win. Please wake up these 90 minutes, and then you can be as sad as you want."

The first 20 minutes were balanced. Both teams were going hard for the win. You were staying home watching the match. Now you had another reason to watch it. Gavi. He seemed ok, not in pain at all, but that was all a lie. He suffered the most.

He was trying so hard to keep his mind on the game, but every minute, he was looking for you. Maybe you came here later, but that wasn't the case. Maybe Xavi even told you never to come again to this stadium.

All these emotions were killing him, and at the minute, 30', when everyone in the stadium was shouting his name, he felt his heart break. Barca was going to attack. Pedri gave the ball to Lewa, and he scored. 1-0 for Barca, minute 31'. Everyone was screaming. Every Barca fan was happy, even you at home, except Gavi.

He fell to his knees, camera to him. At first, he seemed so happy for the goal, but the true was that he started to cry. He was crying so hard that he couldn't even breath anymore.

He tried so hard to catches the air, but not a chance. His face went pale and his mind stayed on your face. He started to panick and again, looked for you. You weren't there and that made him lose his mind. He fell on the floor, unconscious.

Now people were screaming in shock.

You didn't know what happened. Was Gavi OK? He was not!

Doctors came and took him out of the field. Xavi was in completely shock and was scared for the boy. After 5 minutes of him staying with the doctors he called your name.

"Y/n-"

AHHH HOW WAS THIS? Part 3 ? Let me know if you like this !

NOT MY GIF!

#fc barca #fc barcelona #football #gavi #pablo gavi #pablo gavira #pablo martín páez gavira #gavi x you #gavi imagine #gavi x yn #gavi x reader

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gabessquishytum · 6 months

Note

I saw another prompt on here about Dream cheating, and honestly? Yeah!! Give that morally questionable man a morally questionable situation.

So old money families tend to marry new money families mostly bc the money has run dry for them, and new money wants the prestige of the older more established families have. Burgess is one of these odious new money men. Stupid and cruel, he wants the prestige of the old aristocracy. Not that marrying Dream will lead to any real power, but the respect behind the Endless name is well endless even if their wallet isn't. A perfect situation for him to waltz right in and buy a bride for his son.

Who should have been Death, but Mother Endless was insistent that the heir and spare chose their own spouses. So poor Dream was the one chosen to be miserable.

He hates Alex with a burning passion, and Alex isn't too keen to keep his mouth shut about his new husband's attitude either. They fuck occasionally when Dream deigns to waste his precious time with Alex's modest three inches, but it's not enough.

He meets Hob at one of Roderick's parties. The one where he publicly pushed his husband away and told him to go chase some other skirt. The one where Alex was found in the arms of Roderick's gardener. Not that Dream cares if it keeps Alex from touching him, but he has to keep appearances up and has a row with him in front of everyone.

Hob sees all of this go down and cuddles up to Dream. He gives Dream drinks and they talk the night away about various topics from history to art to what the fuck Dream is doing here with Alex. He plys Dream with drinks and sweet words. None of which he really needs to convince him to follow the other man home and get his back blown out. They fuck all night and he sends Dream home full of his cum and minus his underwear. His outfit torn in several places and missing some of the bedazzled embellishments.

Alex wants to say he doesn't care. That Dream can have as many affairs as he wants bc that means he can do the same. And maybe at first, he believes that. But watching his husband come home cum drunk and completely in love with someone who isn't himself? It would make any man crazy. Maybe crazy enough to lock Dream in a room and brick it off, just so he's never made into a cuck again.

- 🤜 Anon

Ooo yeah. Maybe that first night Hob is just having some fun - he likes humiliating these aristocratic types who think they’re better than him. He likes the idea of seducing Dream and spoiling his honour. But after that one night, Hob is genuinely addicted. He wants to be Dream’s regular lover, wants to treat him so good and then send him back to his ridiculous little husband. He marks Dream all over and makes sure that he stinks of sex. He even gets a tattoo on his forearm to show how deep he’s had his hand inside Dream’s pretty little body. He moves in the same circles as Alex and Dream regularly, so the rumours swirl and Alex gets more and more frustrated as Dream flaunts his affair with Hob everywhere. He won’t even let Alex touch him, these days. And ok, maybe Alex is doing exactly the same thing with Paul, but he doesn’t flaunt it to the whole world!

So, he makes sure that Dream can’t humiliate him any more.

When Hob comes around looking for Dream after only 36 hours, Alex feigns ignorance: “he left, I thought he was with you”. Hob doesn’t believe a word of it, he can sniff out a lie from a mile off. Alex threatens to call the police if Hob doesn’t leave, so he goes. He calls Dream’s family and small circle of friends. Eventually he calls the police and reports Dream missing. But after a week, he still hasn’t turned up. Alex gives the same old story, and Dream’s infidelity was well known enough that it’s believable that he would just run off without telling anyone.

Hob isn’t taking the bullshit any longer. He shows up at the house again and shoulders his way in, punches Alex out with one right hook. He finds Paul, who won’t look Hob in the eye and keeps looking like he wants to run. Eventually he murmurs that Hob should check upstairs.

There are a bunch of bedrooms in the mansion, and it’s pretty clear that only one of the doors has been recently plastered over. Hob kicks and finds bricks underneath, and he’s fucking horrified. Surely Alex hasn’t left Dream in there to starve?

He hasn’t, but it’s almost that bad. There’s a small grating in the room next door, through which Alex and Paul have been passing food and water. They’ve left Dream inside with no clothes, no bed, no stimulation. By the time Hob gets to him he’s literally blue, shaking in the corner, unable to speak. Hob carries him out and refuses to let go until the paramedics turn up and get him hooked up.

The haunted look doesn’t leave Dream’s eyes until his divorce comes through. When Alex gets 15 years in prison, Hob promises Dream that he’ll kill him the second he steps out of the jail. That’s the first time that Dream manages a wobbly smile.

Hob and Dream have their wedding dance on Alex’s grave. Maybe it’s a bit over the top but it feels appropriate to prove that he always was, and always will be, a loser.

#🤜 anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw kidnapping #cw cheating #cw infidelity

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the-badger-mole · 6 months

Text

AU Bot Plots: All the Single Parents

It was a terrible idea. Zuko asked himself for the thousandth time that evening how he had allowed Haru to talk him into it, but still, he checked to make sure his blazer was on straight and his hair (shoulder length now that he didn't have Mai pushing him to keep it cut) was pulled back neatly into a low ponytail. He'd just spritzed on his cologne when there was a timid knock at his door. He saw it crack open, and Izumi, his precocious seven year old, poke her head through the door.

"You look nice, Daddy!" she said. "But why are you so dressed up to go fishing?" Zuko turned to face his daughter, his brows drawn down in confusion.

"Fishing?" he repeated. "Who told you I was going fishing?"

"Uncle," Izumi said. She clambered onto Zuko's bed and sat crosslegged on the foot. She had a serious look on her face that was much too old for her chubby-cheeked face. "He said that he has been telling you to get back out there for years and that there are lots of fish in the sea."

"Is that so?" Zuko asked, scooping his daughter up into his arms and kissing her cheek. "Well, I'm not going fishing. Uncle was just being silly. And he shouldn't discuss things like that with you."

"He didn't say it to me," Izumi said. "I heard him talking on the phone with Uncle Haru."

"Izzie," Zuko chided gently. "What have I told you about listening on other people's conversations?"

"Not to," Izumi replied, sullenly. "But Uncle talks so loud!" That got a chuckle from Zuko.

"Be nice," he told her. "Uncle's hearing isn't what it used to be. He doesn't always realize when he's being loud."

"My hearing is just fine, Nephew." Iroh rounded the corner from the living room and stared sternly up the stairs at Zuko and Izumi. Zuko and Izumi grinned at each other, then Zuko turned back to Iroh with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, Uncle," he said. He set Izumi down and let her run down the stairs into Iroh's waiting arms.

"You're forgiven." Iroh cast a magnanimous gaze up at his nephew. "You should get going. You wouldn't want to be late."

"Wouldn't I?" Zuko groaned. He vowed never to speak with Haru alone ever again. His friend was deceptively convincing.

After saying goodbye to Izumi and Iroh, Zuko made the drive to the cafe bar in midtown where the city's most desperate divorcees were gathering to find their next failed relationship. It was just for practice, Zuko told his reflection in the rearview. It had been three years since his acrimonious divorce, and now that his daughter was in elementary school, Iroh and Haru had convinced him that it was time to get back on the dating scene. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Zuko wasn't exactly dying of loneliness, but he felt the absence of someone to hold and kiss acutely sometimes. And he saw how Izumi looked longingly at mothers with their children occasionally. Mai was a rare presence in Izumi's life. Even rarer since she started dating and eventually gotten engaged to Kei Lo, the man she'd insisted she wasn't having an affair with during the last days of their brief, tumultuous marriage.

Zuko had tried dating over the years, but he'd never met anyone who lasted more than a few months at most. And it had been over a year since his last attempt. This time would be different. He was 34, in therapy, and doing pretty well for himself. Despite the large scar covering a fourth of his face, he knew he was generally considered pretty handsome. He was ready for this. He was open to it. He was...regretting his decision to leave his house.

The crowd in the cafe bar was...grim. First of all, it was mostly men, and even if Zuko had been interested in men, they all looked tired and miserable. He seemed to be among the few who'd made any sort of effort with his appearance. The few women present were a good ten years older than he was, at least. The best looking among them was around 50, if Zuko had to guess. She spotted him and eyed him with interest. She really was very attractive, with a challenging smirk and a dangerous gleam in her eyes. She showed off her voluptuous figure in a curve hugging red cashmere sweater and pencil skirt. Her name tag introduced her as Jun. He wasn't sure if he was ready to take a chance on such a large age gap, but he figured a flirty conversation over couple of glasses of wine would make this evening not a total waste of time, anyway.

He was still contemplating going over to start a conversation, when the door to the bar opened again, and caused the bell drilled into the back to ring. All thoughts of wine with the woman in the red sweater left Zuko's mind, when he saw the newcomer. She was around his age- maybe slightly younger- in a blue dress with grey sneakers. She stopped at the welcome table and filled out a name tag, like the other attendees of the single parents' meet up, and stuck it onto the outside of her white cardigan. Zuko was close enough to read her name. Katara.

Katara seemed to be as reluctant as he was to be there, but she took a breath put on a smile, and stepped into the crowd of suddenly eager looking men. Then Zuko hung back for the next ten minutes, watching as she fended off advances from the men brave enough to approach her. Zuko couldn't blame her, even though this was the point of the evening. The men who approached her were the pushiest, leeriest and in many cases, oldest of the group.

Someone came up beside Zuko and cleared their throat. He found Jun at his side, smirking at him over a glass of whiskey on the rocks. Zuko thought she'd decided to approach him after all, but instead she nodded in Katara's direction.

"You'd have a good shot," she told Zuko. "Why don't you go introduce yourself?"

"Oh...I...I...um," he stammered. That was humiliating. When was the last time he'd gotten tongue tied?

"Articulate," Jun purred, her smirk widening. "Listen, this is a pick up scene for people not looking for someone to introduce to their kids. You and she are clearly still unjaded enough to be looking for romance, so why don't you save you both the time, and rescue her from that guy who's old enough to be her father?" Zuko looked over to where Katara was being chatted up by a wiry man who was still clinging to his receding hairline for his life. She had a wry smirk on her face and seemed to be handling herself just fine. She caught Zuko's eye over the man's shoulder and raised her eyebrow ironically, as if sharing a joke with Zuko. His mouth went dry, and he felt the back of his neck heat up. He turned back to Jun.

"And what if I told you I was hoping to get to talk with you tonight?" he asked. Jun's dark eyes sparkled with mirth and her mouth slid into a slow, sultry smile.

"Oh, honey," she chuckled, brushing his cheek with her knuckles. "You couldn't handle me. And you've been staring at her since she came in. Man up, and go say hi." She passed Zuko the rest of her drink, which he drained in one gulp before he squared his shoulders and made his way across the room to Katara and her suitor.

"Excuse me," Zuko interrupted. "I just wanted to...to come introduce myself." The man who'd been talking to Katara turned to Zuko with a scowl.

"We're in the middle of a conversation," the man snarled. Katara rolled her eyes at him.

"Actually," she said. "I think we're good. Thanks so much for the information, but I'm not that interested in stocks. It was nice meeting you, though, Niko." Katara pushed off of the wall she'd been leaning against and walked off, with Zuko not far behind.

"Are these things always this boring?" Katara asked.

"I wouldn't know," Zuko told her. "My friend talked me into this."

"My sister-in-law threatened to stop fixing my car if I didn't come," Katara sighed. She looked around at the crowd appraisingly. "Maybe I should have just taken my chances. The bus isn't so bad."

"I don't know," Zuko said with a shrug. "I think the night just got interesting." Katara smirked up at Zuko, and his breath caught in his throat at the way her bright blue eyes caught the light.

"I saw that cougar you were chatting up," she said. "I'll bet tonight has been very interesting for you." Zuko's face went beet red, he could tell without a mirror.

"That wasn't...what that was," he tried to explain.

"Really?" Katara shrugged. "Gee, that's too bad. She's pretty hot. But... maybe her loss, my gain?" Katara smiled coyly at Zuko. Agni, was she flirting with him? Zuko cleared his throat.

"We could grab a couple of drinks and see how it goes," Zuko suggested. Katara's smile widened.

"Sounds good to me."

#atla #zutara #au bot plots #single parents mixer #met after messy divorces au #THE YEAR OF CONTENT!!!!

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luciuscaelus · 1 month

Text

Our Story (Fanfic)

Chapter 1 Promises

“Now, sing O Muses, of that brave boy Odysseïdes, Sparta has he visit'd, Pylos twice, with Athena the wise queen…”

“Stop it,” Telemachus giggled. “You’re acting like your father.”

“No, I’m not,” said Peisistratus. “You’re acting like your father.”

“No, I’m not,” said Telemachus. “Unlike him, I don’t have many deeds to brag about.”

“Doesn’t sailing for the first time count?” Peisistratus insisted. “And if you don’t like this song I can always make a new one for you.”

“No thanks, Peisis,” Telemachus said. “At least, leave it till my birthday.”

“That I can arrange,” Peisistratus replied, seriously.

And they locked their gazes for a long time, until Telemachus finally burst out laughing. Soon Peisistratus joined him, and their laughter quickly flooded the entire palace. It died down eventually, as the two young men slowly calmed down. Then Peisistratus started:

“I’m so glad you’re here, Tele. Had it been another usual day, I’d be hunting with my brothers in the fields. Not that I don’t like hunting, it’s just that I’ve so many things to talk about and my brothers always find them either boring or childish. You might be the only one I could chat with. Ah, I wish you could visit Pylos more often.”

“Yeah,” Telemachus nodded. “It feels like such a long time since we last met…has it been two years already?”

“One whole year plus nine months, to be exact.”

“Right, I’m not gonna doubt you. After all, you’re better with this than I am.”

“That’s about the time since your father returned home, yep.”

“Before he set out again, you mean.”

“He set out again? About when?”

Telemachus sighed. “About one year and eight months ago. Said it was something concerning a prophecy someone named Teiresias told him—”

“Teiresias? The Teiresias? But isn’t he already dead?”

“Yep. My father had visited the Underworld, literally.”

Peisistratus gasped. “What—Oh my, that was some nostos your father had. Anyway has he met any great hero there? Like Theseus? Or Heracles? Or even my brother Antilochus?”

“He saw your brother there alright,” said Telemachus. “And Heracles, who even talked to him…”

“That’s so sick!” Peisistratus exclaimed. “I wonder if we’ll be having an adventure like this in the future, say, just you and me, maybe plus someone else, I don’t know.”

“You know what? It would be great!” Telemachus blinked his eyes excitedly. Why have I never thought about it before? Hanging out with my friends? It’s such a great idea! And father is going to be proud of us…

proud…

He’s going to be proud, isn’t he?

Telemachus wasn’t so sure. He remembered basically everything in that day, when his father again departed from Ithaca, this time to somewhere unknown even to himself. He remembered that it was a sunny day, that the chanting of birds was glorious, that the sweet scent of olives was mesmerizing, that the airy dance of cloud was elegant. These he remembered well, but most vividly he could recall that very scene, that very conversation—

“Father, I want to come along,” he had said. “I want to be with you wherever you go, so we can at least share some thrills and fun together.”

“No, Tele,” his father had answered, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t bring you on board, not this time.”

“Why?” He had been so confused. “But I’ve always wanted to explore the worlds outside Ithaca, to see the giant oak in Dodona, the reputable land of Calydon, the seven gates of the famous Cadmea…I want to have an adventure, father. Just like you did.”

He remembered that look well. That look his father had gave him, those eyes with such agony, such sadness. Is it panic, panicking at the thought of his son following him down the miserable path that was meant for his own to take? Is it fear, fearing for the life and sanity of his son? Or is it sorrow, sorrowful over the naïve and innocent spirit of his 20-year-old son? Or is it pain, painful about the fact that he doesn’t even qualify as being a father, who never had the chance to see his son through the childhood, and hadn’t gotten to know this brave young man his son has become, before his fate was calling him to sail out again?

For a long time both of them didn’t speak, and the look was growing wearier and wearier and…it seemed as if another decade had passed inside his father’s mind, another decade filled with tribulations and torments. Telemachus couldn’t help but feel his regret. Regret that he ever said those words, regret that he wasn’t with his father when he needed him. The hands. He could feel his father’s hands gripping his shoulders tightly. But finally his father had lower the head, and sighed heavily. In a low voice, Odysseus had begun. “Tele, you have to understand. This cruel world is not as entertaining as it may seem, or sound in those tales. It’s dangerous out there, filled with monsters, storms, ruthless gods, and…and things that can go beyond your very imagination. Things that are so terrible, so overwhelming…”

He hadn’t finished the sentence, instead he was choked with sobs, and Telemachus had felt so guilty, and so helpless. But he had tried his best to withhold his tears, and had started to comfort his father. “Then I’ll face them bravely, father, like you would do. Like a true son of Odysseus would do.” Telemachus had put up with a smile. “As a true Odysseïdes.”

“Oh Tele…” Odysseus had moaned with tears. “Oh…for ten years I haven’t seen your face, in one month I haven’t gotten to know you better, but look, what an undaunted man you have become, when I’m away!” Finally, he had cracked into a smile. “Yes, that’s my boy!” He had said with sincere happiness, though the pain was still present in his voice. But at least, Odysseus had smiled.

And Telemachus had exhaled with relief.

“Father,” he had continued. “I wouldn’t insist if you really don’t want me along, but I need to know where you’re going, what you’re going to do, and how long I should wait for your return. Could you please tell me, just for mom’s sake and mine?”

And Odysseus had nodded. “Don’t worry about your mother, Telemachus. Penelope knows about this, and you have every right to know it as well.” He had stopped, and looked towards the western sky. As Telemachus followed his gaze, Odysseus continued. “Do you remember the story I’ve told you, about that prophet Teiresias in the Underworld? I had asked him about my fate, and he had answered:

‘…When someone else runs into you and says you've got a shovel used for winnowing on your broad shoulders, then fix that fine oar in the ground there, and make rich sacrifice to lord Poseidon with a ram, a bull, and a boar that breeds with sows. Then leave. Go home, and there make sacred offerings to the immortal gods…’

“So you see, Telemachus, I don’t know where I’ll go to, but I know what I’ll find. It may be a long voyage, or it may be short. Who knows? But I’m going anyway, because I am Laërtiades, son of the honorable Laërtes—one of the legendary Argonauts.”

“I see,” Telemachus had said. “The blood of dauntlessness runs deep in our family.”

“Precisely.” Odysseus had laughed proudly. “You, my son, will also share this honor, in the future perhaps, when you take on a journey of your own, and build your fame with your own feats. But today, the journey is mine to undertake, and with the blessing of the prophet, I’m very certain that I will make it home again.”

“Okay.” With a serious face, Telemachus had nodded. “Then I’ll try not to surpass you.”

They were both grinning when an owl started to whoop from the forest.

“Wait, dad,” Telemachus had suddenly called. “If not this time, then when?”

Odysseus had given him a slight smile. “When I return, son, I shall take you to Dodona, where the oaks are august; then we’ll visit Calydon, where twenty two heroes had once gathered to slay that giant boar; then we shall go to Thebes, where twice had the Argives waged war against, one of them being the father of a king whom I have befriended; and then,” Odysseus had patted Telemachus’s right shoulder. “Then I will bring you to Pylos again. And know that I won’t be gone for long. This is a promise.”

“Swear it on the river of Styx?”

“I swear it, on the river of Styx.”

Gradually, Telemachus had returned the smile. “Thank you, dad.” He had said, voice cracked with the bittersweet taste in his throat. “Thank you so much.”

He remembered the hug, the kiss, and the departure of his father clearly. He remembered how often he had doubted that whether his father would ever make it back again. He remembered that worried look of his mother, who had often stood by the shores of Ithaca, waiting, waiting. But he also remembered, that Odysseus had made a promise.

And here they were, in Pylos again, weren’t they?

And it only took him eight months, didn’t it?

So, there’s nothing to worry about. After all, there’s nothing that can waver the resolve of Odysseus’s homecoming. And thus he shall always return. Always.

All because of his love, and his promise.

Telemachus nodded to this fact. Love, and promise. That’s what my father was proud of. And if I have found the courage to love, to make a promise, then will Odysseus be proud of me, even with the knowledge that I may travel afar, likely into an ocean of danger, and a sea of trouble?

Then will we get to have our adventure, and get back safely? Will we get to tell our tales, and make our own story?

So to Peisistratus he said these words, with all his heart:

“And I’m sure we will. Of this I give you my promise.”

#It has stayed in the drafts for days #it’s on discord now but since I did this on tumblr might as well post it #greek mythology #tagamemnon #odysseus #telemachus #pisistratus #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #epic the musical #I’ve thought about all the chapters and yes you’re gonna see many familiar places and people #Imma explain chap 1 here a little bit #Sing O Muses? Had to be done #And it’s in dactylic hexameter #One sad thing is that Ody cannot stick around until he made that sacrifice for Poseidon #Ody staying for one month is actually from his own idea (when he was still a Cretan who claimed to know himself)#And dw the course has been plotted using three maps #I’ll calculate the time later on cuz Imma try sth like the Captain’s Log recording #Oh and the winions are considered real here #so it’s also an epic fanfic lol #I’ll see how far I can go

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theealluringstoryteller · 1 month

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Agaisnt The World Around Us

Chapter 5: The wedding

Clara snuggled her son relishing in the warmth his body gave as she read the words off the pages of the book she found in their small library in the village. Despite him being 13 she appreciated him still wanting to read to him and cuddle him when he wanted to spend time with her or in need of comfort. Castin silently followed along with his eyes, one almost swollen shut due to the fight he got into with boys much older than him. Clara hated how her sweet boy was treated among people in their village and she tried her best to make up for it by doing everything she could at home. “And then ‘swoosh’ Perseus swooped down on his flying horse towards Andromeda determined to save the chained princess from the sea monster ‘Cetus’ ”

She continued on with the story warmly smiling as Castin cuddled a bit more closer to her, drowned in the story escaping the day that he had.

“After the mighty Demi God slayed the horrid beast he took Princess Andromeda back to her father King Cepheus and asked for her hand in marriage-" “Ughhh!” Castin groaned loudly turning his head up the shift in the story. “Awe come on Cassie! All heroes deserve love-” “But he’s in his prime! He’s gonna throw it all away for some…chick!” Castin huffs crossing his arms over his chest suddenly uninterested in the tale. The young Castin grumbled to himself about how weak Perseus was. “What man would rather settle down instead of living a life full of honor!” Frowning Clara closed the book unhappy with her son’s thought process. “Who said it wasn’t honorable to be in love?” She questioned wanting to get down to the source of his disdain! “Only girls fall in love! It’s stupid and silly!” Castin went on. “It’s not manly at all!”

Appalled Clara scoffed “who told you all of this…horse shit?” She demanded snatching his chin and turning his face towards her. His eyes now softening he shrugs his shoulders feeling bad about getting his mother upset. “They say so! It’s not the Intacian way!”

Clara sighed mentally cursing those who put such an idea into her son’s head. “Cassie,honey, don’t believe to their bullshit! They are nothing but a bunch of miserable pathetic old men who are unhappy with their lives because they couldn’t manage to get a woman even of low standards to fall in love with their miserable asses!” Clara begins motioning Castin into her arms. Scooting back into his mother’s embrace Castin remained silent knowing that now it wasn’t the best time to cut in with his warped opinions. “Let me tell you my little love, you’re going to find a woman when you grow into a man and you’re gonna be so in love with her and her you because you deserve that! You’re by far better than those low life roaches who told you that it wasn’t manly to be in love-your father loved me very much!” She tells him hugging him closely. “And this woman you’re gonna find-she’s gonna be everything you’ve ever dreamed of-”

“Maaa! I don’t dream of girls!” Castin whined at the thought. “Oh please don’t lie to your mother! I wash your clothes!”

“Ma!” Castin groaned again, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

“Oh hush!” Clara chuckled softly pinching Castin’s side.

“My boy! You’re home!” Clara cheered rushing up to her son who now towered over her. A bright smile on his face he embraced her closing his eyes in relief now that he’s home and away from the camp that had too many funky bodies and none of his mother’s delicious cooking.

“I missed ya too, ma!”

“You better! The amount of time I stay up thinking and worrying about you!” She exclaimed letting go so she could do a look over of her son.

She tsked at his lanky figure “Are they not feeding you? What you have to be an official soldier to get a decent meal plan?!” Clara continued to fuss causing Castin to smile and laugh to himself at his mother’s behavior.

“Gisela! Isn’t that the boy you’re brother-”

“Shush!”

Castin developing keen ear picked up not to far from his home. His eyes catching sight of two girls around his age walking by huddled together as they peered over at him while whispering horribly.

“He’s cute! Maybe you should ask him out?”

“What?! What if he says no?”

Smirking Castin lifted a hand “Sup Ladies!” He greeted jerking his chin up in a nod. The two girls gasped then awkwardly laughed stopping their stroll now that there was an air of opportunity.

Frowning Clara glanced between the girls and her son. She studied the two before her eyes went from slits to calm within seconds.

“I’m sorry girls but my son here desperately needs a bath! Camp has lice!” Clara huffs looking at Castin’s hair full of disgust. “Yeah! Unfortunately that’s what happens with some soldiers in training!” She tells them shrugging her shoulders, ignoring the look her son was shooting her way. The woman shooed away the girls who held a displeased look on their faces.

“Maaa!” Castin cried dramatically raising his arms asking ‘why?’

“Trust me Cassie I’ve seen those girls buzzing like a hover fly in other warriors in training faces and I’ll be damned if you came home with something far worse than lice.”

Ushering her son into their house Clara began what Castin would refer to as rambling “I did you a favor! You need a girl who doesn’t get so excited over male attention! Someone who shares something you also love-like reading! Oh and she has to be sweet! You need a nice girl! To keep that heart of yours safe and full of love.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah Ma!” Castin rolls his eyes happy to be home. “I’ll be sure to marry her when I find her”

Castin stood tall at the alter his Commander suit felt like bricks anchoring him in place as his eyes were glued to the approaching figure in all white. He couldn’t believe how beautiful she looked making her way towards him, towards their future together, a one sided love. Ethereal is what came to mind as he saved this memory in his mind. Many years ago his mother told him and now it’s happening! He was in love! Goddess how he loved her. It plagued him! Turned every other woman into faceless humanoid creatures who could no longer sway him with their attention and empty affection.

His eyes only saw her, he only wanted her. Somehow she casted a spell and poof! He was her’s and she had no clue. That was the bittersweet part of this wedding. He was marrying the woman he loved while she was marrying the man she loathed.

Omorose barely spared him a glance as she stood emotionless at the alter beside him. Rhett shook his head throwing Castin a short look of disappointment at failing to win over the Baroness, before be started the ceremony.

“Today is one that will be marked in our new found history. Where two enemy nations set their hatred, division and differences aside to unite and become stronger together as one through the union of Intacian warrior commander Castin Hammer and Imperial Baroness of the coastal Empire Omorose Fentress. Bear witness as they commit themselves to each other and as their commitment serves as a bond between the Coastal empire and Intacia!”

A mixture of low groans and whispers creeped up once King Rhett finished the opening speech of the wedding ceremony.

In the coastal empire Weddings were a show. The richer you were, the higher or title the more elaborate your wedding is expected to be. Ballads were song, Dances were performed and the tales of both families histories were told high lighting where the union was a grand one. It was quite the cultura shock when Rhett went straight into asking

“Baroness, before the Goddess and everyone here do you take Castin to be your husband? Do you accept him as your partner and your equal for the rest of your life?”

“I do.” Her voice voided and empty as she sealed her fate, intertwining her life seconds before he did the same.

“And Castin, before the goddess and everyone here do you take the Baroness to be your wife? Do you accept her as your partner and your equal for the rest of your life?”

“Yeah…I do.” He said softly stealing a glance at her from the corner of his eyes. The empty look in her pretty honey eyes pained him to see. A consequence for him being a total ass.

“Then I king Rhett of Intacia and of the Coastal Empire bind you two together forever. Castin you may kiss your wife.” Rhett announced motioning him to step forward.

“Gladly!” Castin smirked.

Omorose mentally frowned as she was pulled into the kiss. She didn’t bother putting much effort into its Castin lead it.

While it brought Castin butterflies it brought Omorose nothing but disgust especially when he moaned into the kiss. And the sound of cheering and clapping only made her sour more.

Pushing him away she noticed the look of disappointment on her now Husband’s face.

“Hey you know you didn’t have to push me away like that towards the end.”

“You were getting carried away for something that doesn’t mean anything on a personal level.” She snipped maneuvering her dress around prepared to get far away from him as possible.

“Yeah you’re right…my bad. Kinda got carried away there.” Castin admits hoping she would be a little more kinder to him like she was with her close friends and Nina.

Rolling her eyes Omorose searched through the crowd for a familiar face she could socialize with instead of the husband she wanted to avoid.

Moving closer he asked “Look…could we at least dance?”

Throwing him a look Omorose scoffed her heeled feet carrying her and her long gown away as a frustrated Castin followed.

“Hey! Come on…look you’ve been doing this for months. I am your husband! Okay? You just can’t keep avoiding me.” He pleads wishing to reason with her.

Not bothering to entertain the thought Omorose kept walking.

Castin signed in frustration watching her go “Are you serious?!”

With her head held high Omorose was completely unaware of the power she held over Castin who suddenly felt like the rejected boy of his village once again. The feeling causing him to crave alcohol to wash away the ill feeling.

He might as well make the most of his wedding night! Nothing else was going to come if it but partying and drinking himself stupid.

As a heavy weight he took the nearest bottle offered to him and chugged as much as possible desperate for rejected feeling to disappear. Perhaps if he got drunk enough one of the Bar maids would start mirroring Omorose’s looks and his feelings for her even if he no longer thirsted for meaningless conquests.

At the kings table Omorose listened to Rhett go on about giving the scoundrel friend of his another chance. She didn’t see how it would matter now that she tied herself to the hound.

“Dun da da dun da da!” A drunk voice sung loudly as a guitar’s strings were abusely played.

“Of course.” She hissed seeing Castin standing on a

Table top dancing with one of the barmaids that were on the clock. He looked absolutely stupid in her eyes. An embarrassment.

Rhett cursed excusing himself to retrieve his friend before he made a bigger fool of himself.

“No!” Omorose told herself standing from her seat and swiftly leaving the party to her room. She couldn’t allow herself to stay and be humiliated by a man who seemed to lack any control or self respect.

Once in her room she kicked off her heels and made her way to her vanity. Staring at her reflection ‘Stupid! Stupid! stupid girl with a sympathizing heart for her country’s enemy! Look where that weak caring heart got you. Pathetic!’ She thought.

‘Married to a man who is known to fuck anything as long as it has a warm hole! A damn dog! Now you have to lay it a flea covered bed because you want to fix your family’s mistakes like the fool they tried beating out of you!’ Her mind continued to berate her. Her nails sunk into the flesh of her palms as she willed the horrid thoughts away. Tears gathering in her eyes as negative feels swept over her.

“You always knew you were damned to a loveless Marriage don’t act surprised now. It was practically a birthright. But you’re not going to allow that or him to define the woman you are. You’re stronger than that!” She tells herself sinking her nails further into her palms to stop herself from shedding a tear.

A shaky breath forced its way passed her lips as the feeling finally left her. Forcefully she smiled at herself in the mirror before pulling out her journal and pen.

Passing the time writing in it waiting for the party to end up staying dress in case Aurelia or Nina came looking for her.

Nina sighed from afar watching the whole interaction go down. In the pit of her stomach she felt a sense of regret for not pushing hard enough to get Omorose not to go through with the marriage. To her it was clear it was going to end in shambles quickly.

“Let me go see about that child of mine.” She says to a random intacian man that brought her over a drink.

“Yeah! Tell her I said ‘good luck’ cause it is needed.” He laughed taking the cup she handed back

She couldn’t get through the threshold of the banquet hall before she was stopped by the King.

“Nina wait! Let Castin go to her! He needs to.”

“You don’t think he burned that bridge and pissed on its ashes enough!” She questioned raising a brow.

Defeated Rhett knew she was right and couldn’t argue. Bowing his head tiredly he said “Let him try one more time. Maybe now that she’s his wife he would finally pull his head out of his ass.”

“Goddess willing…”

To entranced in her thoughts the sound of her bedroom door opening without her permission startled her. Within seconds her dagger she stashed on the underside of her vanity was in her hands ready for use.

Castin looked at the weapon then at her scoffing a little amused.

“Come on babe really a knife? If you were going to kill me you should’ve done it before our wedding! It’s a little too late now.”

Sneering at the man Omorose sat the weapon on the vanity and picked up her pen.

“Stop with that.”

“What? You’re my wife I can’t call you sweetheart?” He asked. His buzzed mind enjoying the attention.

“It was arranged! It’s nothing on a personal level so there’s no need for pet names.” She spat pressing her pen harder into the paper.

“Who care if it was arranged? You and I walked down the aisle that makes you my…” he trailed seeing her get upset. “Come on say it with me now” he laughs hoping to get more of a reaction out of her.

“We are one flesh serving one Queen sweetheart, get use to it.”

Closing her eyes Omorose lifted her fingers to her temples and proceeded to give herself a message.

“So are you planning on coming back down? I mean come on leaving your own wedding reception kinda early is tacky don’t you think?”

“Tacky?!” She couldn’t help but scoffed. “Yet you were embarrassing me!”

Taken back Castin screwed up his face “what?! How was I embarrassing you?”

“You’re excessive drinking.”

“Ugh it’s a wedding babygirl. People drink. It’s not that weird.”

“Encouraging drunk people to drink!”

“Ok sure people got a little drunk but once again it’s a wedding. When else,”

“And you’re rhythmless ‘dancing’ with the rhythmless Barmaids?”

“Hmm? What about the barmaids?” He asked not sure if he heard her right. She turned giving him the ‘you heard me’ look.

“Uh come on? No! No! You know that’s not what that was.”

“A tasteless rhythmless eyesore everyone was forced to watch! Not even a single drop in that bottle could spare you a half an ounce of grace for such a badly preformed sensual dance.” Omorose went on grimacing at the thought. “Or for the poor girl who tried so hard to catch the beat but couldn’t! Disgraceful!”

‘If you’re going to disrespect me and this marriage so soon you could’ve at least looked decent while doing so.’ She thought.

“Okay! So I’m social! Not everyone is as introverted as you.”

“So go be social!” She waved towards the door.

“Nah I’m staying here with you.”

“Besides the Queen bounced after you left and that was the only thing keeping the party going soo… I think we’re done.” He says loosening his collar.

“The Queen asked about you. Ya know.” He went on helping himself to a bottle of wine gifted to her by an imperial nobleman wishing her luck and voicing his disdain for not being the Groom.

“She did?” Omorose inquired curious as to why.

“Of course! You’re the Bride and you just dipped out of nowhere.”

“So did you tell her why I left?”

“Well I told her you and I decided to call it a night early because you were so eager to have your husband on your wedding night.”

The color in Omorose’s face drained at his words and audacity. Picking up her cup of old wine she chucked it at him with so much hate behind it.

“How dare you!” She hissed.

“Oh I’m sorry? Was that not what you wanted me to tell her?” He asked raving in her anger. It was the first time she spent more than a second on him he was lapping it up.

“Oh dag my bad. I mean if you would’ve just stayed you could’ve told her yourself.”

“Asshole.” Omorose grumbled her eyes like daggers as she glared his way.

She returned to her journal her handwriting turning sloppy as she jotted down what was needed to be recorded in it.

The squeaks of the facet and water running nearly made her blood boil.

“What are you doing?” She demanded not in the mood to continue with his fuckery.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m drawing a bath.” Castin stated obviously now growing tired of his wife’s attitude.

“Why?” She bluntly pressed him.

“Because I’m covered in sweat and wine and general party juices.”

“Not here.” She states wanting him out of her space

“Uh what makes you think I can’t?”

“Because I said so.”

“So you have a messed up attitude…that means I can’t be clean.”

“I don’t give a damn what you do as long as it’s not in my room?” Omorose replied

“Correction this is our room.” He corrected picking up a bottle of Omorose’s expensive oil infused bubble bath “and if I want to take a bath in our room I can do that.”

“Our room?” She asked in disgust. The night just kept getting worse.

“I mean you’re welcome to watch.” He smirks.

“I’d rather choke on the food I didn’t get to eat tonight.”

Annoyed at the whole ordeal Omorose thought of a way to piss him off like he pissed her off even if it was childish.

Shifting her dressed she sat herself more comfortably in her vanity chair picking up the book she was reading the night prior subconsciously scheming.

‘The window’ her subconscious pointed out. Curious if it would work she looked over to not only see through window but Castin.

Despite her feelings towards him she can admit that he was physically flawless when it came to his built and the scars marking up his body only added to his appeal.

Castin felt a boost of confidence seeing her look this way. He teased earning an eye roll. Turning back into her book Omorose pushed down the slightly embarrassment that crept over her.

Relaxed in the water Castin informed his wife of the Queen wanting them to ‘promenade through the garden’ so people could see them in the next upcoming weeks. Boldly he tried to suggest spending time outside of that request but was shot down with a dry “No”

“It doesn’t matter what you were going to say. The answer would’ve still been, no.”

Curious and a little bitter Castin grilled her on why.

“I have far better plans with far better company, that won’t cause me an exhausting headache.”

“Okaaay. The personal attack was kind of unnecessary. Who do you have plans with?”

“Lord Reyes.”

“Lord Reyes? Really? The dude from the Library?” Castin huffs remembering walking in on the two smiling and giggling to each other closely over something he couldn’t understand.

In sudden jealously Castin demanded “W-what do you have to do with him?”

Tiredly Omorose mouth turned smart “And you need to know because?”

“Seriously?” He gave her a pointed look. Shaking his head at her answer he decided to ask another question “oh so what is this Lord Reyes like?”

“What do you mean?” She countered dumbly.

“‘ What do you mean’ what do I mean? What do you think of him? Do you think he’s handsome?”

“As a matter of fact I do! Not that it matters since this is a fake marriage!”

Pissed off by her last sentence Castin corrects her in a low tone “This is not a fake marriage. It’s an arranged marriage.”

Seeing the displeased look and hearing him let out a breath, Omorose believed that their conversation session for the night ended.

Standing she looked over at him with her arms crossed over her chest.

“What?” He asked dejectedly.

“Can you hurry up.” She demands wanting to wash this lack luster day off.

“Relax there’s plenty of hot water. I’ll be out soon. You’ll get your turn.”

“Well make it real soon.”

“How about this the more you tell me to hurry up the longer I stay in here.”

Not happy with that she looked back at the window and made her way over to it. “What are you doing?”

Unlatching the widow she slid it open inviting the cold night air to creep in like fog.

“Are you serious?!” He raised his voice not believing she could be so childish.

“It’s freezing! Can you close that please?”

“No I’m getting a sudden flash of heat! Must be the dress…”

“So petty.” He grumbles “Fine!” Castin stood up from the water without warning.

With a cringe Omorose adverted her eyes hearing the water splash and puddle on the floor.

Sensing she still wasn’t happy Castin once again asked “what? You got what you wanted. I’m out! It’s all yours.” He motioned to the tub.

“Good now leave!”

“No I’m not leaving.” He retorts drying himself off

“You didn’t leave me I got in!” He pointed out.

“It’s different!”

“How’s it different?”

Rolling her eyes annoyed at that fact she couldn’t think of a solid answer.

“Go ahead do your thing.”

“Not around you!”

“Don’t worry sweetheart. I’m going to bed I’m not looking at you.”

Omorose stayed glued to her spot watching as he got into her bed much to her disliking. His face turned away from her and stayed that way. Taking in a gulp of air she unzipped the seamless zipper and allowed her gown to pool around her revealing the white lacey thong she wore underneath.

Worried he would turn to sneak a peak she quickly got in the tub thankful that it was a heated and filtrated model but the cold air still bit at her. Splashing at the water she wordlessly got Castin’s attention who was tired of her and her shit.

“What! What do you want now? What do you want me to bring you?”

Pointing over to her vanity Castin glanced over to see her book lying opened on the page she left off.

“Your book? Naw you shouldn’t have left it there.”

“Why not?” She pouted sinking into the water.

“Because I’m already comfortable. Besides! Didn’t you say you didn’t want me to see you?”

Grimacing at him quoting her she lets out an irritated groan.

“Just bring me the book please?”

Puffing out air Castin got up from bed “Fine. If you say so.” He shrugs crossing the room to get to her vanity. He picks up the book telling himself to not be disrespectful enough to sneak a peak.

“Can you close the window?” She requested since he was up now.

Agreeing since he too was cold Castin made the extra journey to close the window before he noticed that the fire was low in the fireplace.

“Hey that fire is getting kinda low don’t you think?” He pondered out loud. “Where do you keep the wood?”

Raising her arm she pointed towards the corner closest to the fireplace her eyes not leaving her book once it was handed to her.

Castin hurriedly tended to the fire wanting to get back to bed since his alcoholic buzz left his system completely now. He turns but the way that the moon light casted itself over his wife caught his attention and he couldn’t but to see her in all of her glory.

“My Goddess…” he gawked his mind already capturing and saving the image to his memory like a camera. “Now that’s a view worth getting outta bed for.”

Out of anger and loss of dignity Omorose kicked her leg up at a certain angle getting water all over Castin landing her into a predicament that from sour to sweet.

For the past few months, she's been working so hard to keep the wall she built up between her and Castin.

A wall she knowingly built brick by brick after each distasteful encounter she had with the army commander to protect her, her feelings, and her time. A wall that was crumbling slightly as she watched him, her newly married husband, and his hard exterior fall in front of her as he asked her

"Please just tell me why do you hate me?"

Her heart softened just a bit at his cracked exterior but she hid it behind her voice as she spoke "So the embarrassing me with the lingerie gift you gave me the time you ever met me slips your mind-"

Castin opened his mouth to speak but the fierce glare made the words he wanted to say faltered into sounds "I- sorry no! Go on." He apologized

"I've tried to get to know you Castin but each attempt showed me what type of man you are. A dipso, egotistical rake who hangs around degenerates who think and acts the same way! The way you automatically viewed me as an object you could have the pleasure of fucking! Why wouldn't I hate you?" Omorose wailed tearing her watery eyes away from Castin's crestfallen face.

The young wife hid her face back in her book shakily admitting

"Too many people-Men and women view me the same way...it's degrading to know that instead of acknowledging everything I've done, all that I have accomplished they-" Omorose bit her lip, pushing back the sob that almost slipped.

"I'm very well aware of the fact that people want me in their beds. It's hard not to notice Castin! I promised myself at the age of 15 that I would wait and fall in love with someone who wanted me entirely and not just for my body but I failed! I failed myself when I agreed to marry you for the sake of the new kingdom. And now I'm stuck being the trophy wife to a man that saw me as a glorified sex doll the first time he ever saw me! That's why I hate you."

Her words and the sound of her voice cracking broke Castin's heart. The last thing he wanted was to hurt the woman he was in love with and moving forward he would be damned if he knowingly did so.

Castin took a deep breath. Every word his wife whimpered out processing in his mind. "I-I'm really sorry." He apologized the words he wanted to say, the things he wanted to confessed jumbled in him.

"Can I just um... can I ju-just think for a second? Thanks." He asked catching a glimpse of Omorose's pretty honey-colored eyes gloss over with vulnerable tears that gathered at her water line.

He finally got his answer and it left him speechless, seeing her push back her tears over it left him aching.

He was among a group of people that Omorose loathed but had to silently deal with instead of the people she felt at peace with and that tore him apart inside.

"Look. That's not me! Okay. Ev-everything you said…that isn't me." He started

Omorose scoffed pulling her knees closer to her chest "That is not you? The man you've been since I met you isn't you?!" She rolled her eyes causing a single stream to fall down her face.

"No, no I-I know I-I know I have a reputation! Okay?

Th-th-the brawling, the drinking, and just…generally being a rake but, that's not me! Okay?" He stressed hoping she was listening to him and was actually taking his honest confession to heart. "That's not the man I want to be" he paused searching for a reaction but received none. "Look I-I know I may not be explaining this well but," Castin's trailed off staring at the book cover held in Omorose's delicate hands. The ring on her finger shone under the dimmed light, the same one he placed there only a few hours ago catching his eye.

'Rhett is right.seems like he's always right. Castin thought, thinking back to the advice Rhett gave him before ordering him up to his new room in the palace.

"Drop the manly Intacian act. Be yourself Castin!

That is exactly what won me the Queen's heart, and it can be the same for you."

Taking another deep breath Castin prepared to drop the one thing he felt protected behind, the wall that shielded him these past years, all in hopes that Omorose his wife saw him in a different light.

"You know I really did read that book. When I was a kid...I wasn't just-trying to have something to say…okay? I-I really like that stuff." He awkwardly stated.

Omorose peaked over her book after listening to Castin struggle with his words and it made his heart skip a beat.

"Look I don't know how to explain it alright. I just feel like there's me everyone else sees and then there's the me that's really.me and the me that everyone else sees I hate it okay? I'm not that guy!" He admits feeling a wave of mixed emotions wash over him.

"Then why do you act like that? Why pretend to be someone you hate?" Omorose questions putting the book down entirely. Wanting to understand why someone would torture themselves like that.

"Because I-... I-I don't know. I was different when I was I-I was like you and then being a warrior in Intacia i-it's it's just different. You have to be strong and respected. You have to fit in." He explained feeling slightly smaller under her stare.

"Look! It's all really confusing to me... but every time I look at you it's clear. The man that I want to be is the exact type of man you would fall in love with. You remind me of everything I really care about of-of who I was back then- n-no no of the man I know I still am.

I-I just need your help."

Omorose felt her eyes soften at the stuttered admission, the honesty in his voice and the look in his eyes shined a new light over him. She cast her gaze to the ceiling contemplating whether she could forgive him and let go of her grudge she had against or not.

"I-Look, I know I screwed up. I'm used to charming people to get my way and I tried to do it with you with all the gestures and all the flirting and I'm sorry.

That's not who I want to be anymore." Castin said following her gaze

"Hey look at me. I want to change." He says looking into her eyes once she looked back at him.

"For you. I just need you to show me how. Just please give me a chance." Castin begged, moving closer to Omorose who's heart speed up as her husband leaned in to kiss her.

The Baroness has never been in such an intimate moment before, she guarded herself well before getting married and now without any experience or idea of what to do in that moment besides kissing him, she felt even more vulnerable. And when he whispered that he wanted more against her plump lips she felt a flutter in her tummy. A mixture of excitement and anxiety as her smothered voice asked "sex" between kisses.

"No! No! I don't mean like that. I mean-" he broke into a light-felt chuckle " No I do want you like that. I really do but, I-I don't just want to you physically okay? I-I love you an-and before we do anything I need to know that you're really into trying to make Because if you're not and this is just some heat of the moment thing for you then I-I can't cause it's not just that for me and I don't think it ever will be... so please don't go through with this and then hurt my feelings later."

Omorose could feel it in her heart that she forgave him right then and there in his vulnerable state, asking her not to hurt his feelings and string him along. Something she would ask something she would say.

"Are you for real about this? Am I your husband or just some warrior the Queen forced you to marry-"

Omorose stepped out of her character, reaching up to grab Castin's face to kiss him. It surprised him for a second, feeling her soft lips on his. Though a bold action he could still tell that it was a shy gesture.

"You and me," Castin said pulling away and placing a kiss on Omorose's forehead. "Let's just start over?"

He smiled softly going in for a kiss

"Okay." Omorose softly agreed.

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