#This is from two years ago but now I need to draw another that includes the new girl | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

souliebird · 7 months

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[[and then I met you || ch. 5]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to protect his new family from not only Hell's Kitchen but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

words: 4.4k

It has been one week since you saw Matt Murdock on the evening news, and it feels like it has been a complete whirlwind. First, you reintroduced yourself to him and let him know he was a father, then you had a nice little outing, and to tie it all up, a trip to the doctors to confirm what you already knew.

Matthew Murdock is the father of your daughter.

It is nice to have an official statement from a doctor and now you can start the process of changing Minnie's paperwork to include his name. You have to go to the courthouse to file for an updated birth certificate. Matt has very kindly offered to take that task on for you - he goes to the courthouse often for his job and he knows the ins-and-outs of navigating legal paperwork. You just have to go and drop off the right documentation.

You had a brief call last night, after Minnie had been put down, and decided that you would visit his office today to do just that. You are going to kill two birds with one stone - hand over what needs to be filed and give Matt more time with his daughter.

To your great surprise, your timid little Mouse absolutely adores him. She was not happy to have to be at the doctor's office yesterday and was on the verge of tears before he showed up. Her whole mood shifted, and she had spent the brief time you were in the waiting room and exam room telling Matt about different things around them.

You have a feeling, when you sit down and tell her the truth, she is going to be thrilled.

You told her that you are going to visit Matt at work today, and all morning she has been hunched over her sketchbook making pictures for him while you try to get in some hours at work. Try being the key word, as you've been thoroughly distracted by today's news cycle.

You were half listening to a puff piece about something or other when breaking news flashed across the screen. A neighborhood in Connecticut has been leveled by some sort of explosion, killing hundreds. They don't know if it was an accident or some sort of attack - the epicenter of the blast was a school, so it could potentially be either. You pray it was a freak accident, some faulty pipeline or a weird meteor, because the world doesn't need any more horribleness in it.

The idea that it might have been an attack makes you nervous. You've been through two horrible attacks on New York, and you didn't realize another big event so close to home would shake you so hard.

It scares you that you have to raise Minnie in such a harsh world, where monsters of all kinds are very very real and you don't know who you can rely on. The police and government have been shown to be all kinds of corrupt and people who can shoot laser beams fight each other in the skies.

You end up clocking out and going to sit with Minnie to get yourself to stop your doom-listening. She's got a few drawings scattered around the table and you pick up the one closest to you, smiling at her handy work.

You recognize the shapes as her interpretation of people - oblongs with stick arms and noodle legs. Unknowingly, she's made her first new family portrait. There are three blob-people all holding hands: you suspect you're the big orange one with a smile, Minnie is the little pink one in the middle with what you guess are pigtails, and Matt is the black one with red eyes, who is also holding a stick. To confirm, you ask her.

"Is this one Mister Matt?"

Her head shoots up and a big grin spreads across her face, "Yeah! And that's you and that's me and we're gonna go to the zoo!" There is a little flurry of motion and suddenly you are getting a picture show. She holds up the paper she was working on - there's another family drawing, but this time there's green scribbles all around you and a blue square with zig zags all over it. You guess that is some sort of animal.

"You want to go to the zoo with Mister Matt?" You ask, examining her masterpiece.

"Yeah!" She says, pulling over another picture that you know are her versions of flowers, even if they are all different colors. "And the park!"

"And the park? Wow, that's a lot of things to do. Do you want to ask him if he wants to go to the zoo with us when we see him today?" Minnie eagerly nods at the question and that makes you smile. "Okay, we can invite him to the zoo. When are we going to the zoo?"

The question makes her bounce in excitement, "My birthday!"

You laugh at her enthusiasm and give her a little back rub, "Exactly. We're going to go for your birthday. And get a big cake with whatever you want on it." That makes her a giggly mess and you temporarily forget all the bad things in the world.

You hand her back her drawing before kissing the top of her hair, "How about you finish this one up and we get ready to go see Mister Matt? We can only visit for a little bit, because he's working, but I bet he'll love everything you made him."

Greedy little hands take back the paper and instantly Mouse is hunched back over her zoo scene, purple crayon in hand. You get up and go to make sure that you have everything you need to bring to Matt in order. You are extremely lucky that the doctor has the ability to print out things in Braille, so you don't need to make an extra stop to get things translated.

You debate bringing Matt lunch, but ultimately decide against it. You don't want to push too much too fast, and you think it might be a little weird for his coworkers, to see a random person bring him homemade lunch. You know he hasn't told anyone yet about yourself and Minnie - he had shyly admitted it didn't feel real until the test results were given and you completely get it.

You tidy up until you spy Mouse dropping her crayons into her bucket and cleaning up her drawing area. You let her do her thing, then approach, "Let's put your drawings with the other things we need to give Mister Matt. That way they won't get lost or wrinkled."

She nods like you've just said something very wise and gathers up her stack of papers before handing them over. There's five in total; the three she showed you and two more full of colorful lines. You decide you'll listen in on her explanation to Matt on those two, as you're curious as to what goes on in her little mind.

Once everything is safe and ready to go, it's just a matter of getting shoes on. You go with your sensible sneakers while Minnie opts for her frog themed Wellingtons. The plan is for both of you to walk to the office, and after one final wallet-keys-phone check in your purse, you head out hand-in-hand.

It's mid-morning, so foot traffic is decent, but not heavy - nothing that makes Minnie too uncomfortable. Dark clouds are gathering on the horizon, and it makes you wonder if the rain that has been promised in the forecast will be coming sooner than expected and you are glad this outing is the only one you have planned. Taking Minnie around in the rain is never fun. It always seems like everything becomes more bustling in the rain and trying to navigate that with a crying toddler just makes you want to cry as well.

But the promise of her new favorite person and mild weather has her walking like the born and bred New Yorker she is - a determined little pout with no nonsense steps. No one will be trying to sell her things on the sidewalks once she gets bigger. If she had a different personality, you'd want to teach her to say "Hey, I'm walking here" just to hear a toddler say it.

As you spy the building Matt's office is in, you realize you should have sent him a text to say you were on your way. You did let him know vaguely what time you planned to stop by and he had assured you that they had no appointments - it was catch up on paperwork day - but that didn't mean walk-in clients hadn't come by. You're so close to already being there that you think the gesture is pointless, so you just keep walking until you get to the building.

"This is where we are going," you tell Minnie as you approach. You scoop her up to show her the business directory on the outside of the building. There aren't very many plaques to begin with, so it's easy to find the Nelson, Murdock, and Page one. "That is where Mister Matt works with his friends."

She leans out and feels over the embossed sign, running her fingers over the different letters. "'M'! For Minnie!" She says, pointing out the letter with a big smile.

"Exactly. Mister Matt's last name starts with M, too. That word is his last name - Murdock."

That gets her to turn back to the sign, fingers dancing over the letters, brows knitting with curiosity, "How is it spelled?"

You spell out Murdock for her and Minnie repeats each letter after you. You do this a few times until she's able to say it out loud on her own. You don't know how long she'll retain the information, as spelling isn't really on the board yet, but you're happy she's interested. You set her back down and she makes a beeline up the steps, grabbing and pulling at the door with all her three-year-old strength.

The lobby to the building is sparse, with basically only an elevator and staircase, with a door to what you suspect is a supply closet. "We're going up two staircases," you tell your daughter.

"Two!" She confirms before taking off towards the stairs. You have a brief moment of panic that she's going to zip up both sets faster than you can catch her, but to your great amusement, she grabs a hold of the banister with both hands and pretends to use it like a mountaineering rope to climb the stairs. She even adds little fake huffs and puffs. You follow behind her, ready to catch her if she slips. She doesn't, and when you get to the floor Matt's office is on, she turns to beam at you, clearly proud of herself, "We did it!"

"We did it," you parrot, offering out your hand again. She takes it and you lead her to the correct door. The same plaque that was on the exterior of the building also hangs beside their door and Minnie astutely points to it.

"Murdock!"

"That's right, it says Nelson, Murdock, and Page."

"Can I knock?" Mouse asks, raising her fist to do just that.

You hum, then gently explain, "This is business, which means work. For work, we don't have to knock. We can go in if it is open."

As soon as you say that she's opening the door and marching inside and you quickly follow her.

Matt's law partners, Foggy and Karen, are in the reception area with a man you assume is a client of theirs, talking in hushed annoyed sounding whispers. He radiates intimidation, with a huge black eye and what looks to be a makeshift cast made of duct tape around his right wrist. The three of them turn to look at you and you get the sense Minnie had the right idea in asking if she should knock first.

Your little one quickly latches onto your leg, turning timid in the space of a second and you can't really blame her. Part of you wants to turn and run.

Karen recovers first, breaking away from the two exasperated men to step towards you and going into receptionist mode, "Hi. You were here last week to meet with Matt, right?"

"Uh, yes, that's right. Is he, uh, available?" You ask, feeling like you no longer know how to speak English. The energy in the room is not a pleasant one and you very much feel like you've interrupted something important.

"He's on a call currently but I'll let him know you are here," Karen replies in a voice far kinder than what she uses to address the men behind her a beat later. She turns to them and points to the office you know is not Matt's. "In there. Now."

Foggy throws up his hands, like he's frustrated with whatever is going on and disappears into the other room. The man you don't know doesn't follow, eyes on you and your daughter as Karen crosses the room to knock on Matt's door before opening it and slipping into the office. You quickly decide you are not going to make eye contact with him, instead ducking your head and putting a comforting hand on Minnie's head. She's practically hidden herself behind your legs, clinging to your pants so tightly you fear they might rip.

"I like your boots," the man says into the quietness. You expect him to sound like gravel, but his gruff voice is rather soft, and you get the feeling he understands how to talk to children "My daughter used to have boots like those."

Part of you wants to tell the man to not talk to your daughter, but that would be rude and just because he looks like he's been through the ringer doesn't mean he's a bad man. You decide to let her determine how she wants to proceed.

You feel Minnie poke her head out from where she's hidden herself. At first, you don't think she's going to reply, as you know how she is, but she surprises you yet again by mumbling out, "They're froggies."

"Yeah? You like frogs?"

Mouse somehow tightens her grip, "I like animals." She presses her face against your leg, then admits, a little louder, "we're gonna to the zoo for my birthday."

That makes the man smile, and that changes his whole demeanor. Suddenly he looks friendly and kind and not like he's likely to stab you, "That's a good place to go for your birthday. How old are you gonna be?"

Before she can respond, the door to Matt's office swings open and Karen stalks out, followed by Matt, who seems much less agitated than everyone else. The blonde points to the unknown man, a little scowl on her face, "What did I say?"

The man holds up his hands defensively, stepping away from Karen and towards the office he was previously told to go in, "Alright, alright, I'm going. I'm going." That doesn't seem to help soothe her at all, as she grabs the man by the bicep and frog-marches him to join Foggy, closing the door behind them.

"They didn't make you wait long, did they?" Matt asks, bringing your attention back to him. There is a cut on his lip that wasn't there the last time you saw him, and your instinct is to ask if he is okay, but you don't know if you are at that level with him yet.

So instead, you address his question, "No, no, we just got here."

He motions back to his office, a smile spreading across his face, and you almost forget about the cut, "Come on back and we can review everything."

Minnie lets go of your pants only to take your hand again and you lead her into the other room. As you pass Matt, she looks up at him and gives a tiny wave.

"Hi, Mister Matt."

Matt's shoulders visibly relax at her greeting, and you can't help but start to smile, "Hi, sweetheart. How are you doing today?"

"Good! I maded you pictures," she says proudly. That causes him to pause as he starts to follow you into his office. You can tell he is surprised by the news - his voice gets a little choked up when he responds.

"You made me some pictures?"

"They are very good pictures," you advise, squeezing Minnie's hand slightly before letting go, "Do you want to tell Mister Matt what you drew for him?" She nods eagerly, so you point to one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Go sit like a big girl and you can tell him."

She makes a dash for the chair, and you take the time to address Matt, "I'm sorry, I should have called ahead."

He shakes his head, and as he walks past you to go behind the desk, he reaches out and brushes his hand along your arm. A little shiver runs up your spine at the touch and you tell yourself the action was so he could orient himself. "Not a problem, I knew you were coming. How is everything?"

"Everything is good," you reply, a little shyer than you intend to. "I, uh, have everything for you. Is there anything else I need to fill out?"

Matt shakes his head, "Just a signature and date. You've done all the work for me already. I don't think I've ever had to file where I don't need to actually do anything but sign the document. It's a refreshing change."

"Do you know how long it will take to process?" You ask as you move to join Minnie in sitting. "The website gave multiple timelines and I just want to be realistic."

Matt takes his seat with a cocky grin, "Not long at all, I know a few judges I can ask to push it through."

You flush at the idea of him asking a favor to a judge on your account, "That's not necessary, Matt, I don't mind waiting."

He shakes his head, getting that soft look again, "I don't want to wait. I want it to be official in the eyes of the government."

His words make you feel even warmer, and you distract yourself by pulling the file with all the paperwork out of your purse and pass it over to him. "Minnie's additions are at the bottom of the stack. The last five pages"

His fingers twitch slightly, and you wonder if he wants to flip right to those. You get your answer quickly.

"Minnie, is it okay if I go over the paperwork with your mom before you tell me about your pictures?"

"It's okay!" She replies, her voice much more cheerful now that you are alone with Matt. "Do you needs help?"

Her sweetness makes Matt smile more and he shakes his head, "Not right now, sweetheart. I need to read, and I can do that with my fingers, but after that you can help with some other things."

"Okay," she says happily, kicking her feet a little bit.

You catch her attention and motion to your purse, "Do you want a toy while you wait?"

She shakes her head and beams up at you, "No thank you, I'm a big girl!"

Both you and Matt chuckle at her declaration and he moves to open the file.

"There's multiple copies of everything," you tell him as you move onto business, "One printed text and one in Braille for the courts and the same for you. I have the same at home, as well. They are bundled in packets. The court papers are on top, Braille first."

He thanks you then begins to read the forms. Mouse sits up straighter in her chair to try and see what he is doing. She can just peek over the edge, and she watches in fascination as his fingers move over the pages. You wait quietly, not wanting to distract in any way.

"Everything appears to be in order. We will just need a signature," Matt says after a minute.

"Should I do that now?" You ask. The response is him offering you a pen, so you lean in to sign the various forms. As you set each document aside, Matt adds his own signature. It is silly how giddy you feel just having the forms finally completed. You don't know how long you've had just blank copies, waiting to be filed.

"And done," Matt says with a final flick of his pen on the last page. "I'm going to the courthouse on Tuesday, so I'll get it processed then. I'll push to get an updated certificate as quickly as possible."

You have to bite your lip to keep from smiling like a crazy person. This isn't some dream or far off fantasy. Matt isn't just saying he wants to be Minnie's father. He is following through, with urgency. This is something he wants and it's almost surreal for you - you are so used to promises being broken and no one being on the same page as you in your desires. Even if this is all for Minnie and not for you, it is still on the edge of overwhelming for you.

You never thought you'd be so happy over paperwork.

"Thank you, Matt," you whisper, leaning back into your seat to sit properly.

Immediately, Minnie parrots you, thanking Matt even though she has no idea what is going on.

"No, thank you. Thank you both," he says, and you wonder if he is also holding back from smiling. He gathers the papers and sets them aside before running his fingers over the folder you gave him and addressing his daughter. "Okay, sweetheart. Do you want to come tell me what you drew?"

You expect Minnie to stand on the chair and even prepare yourself to balance her, but that does not happen. She hops down and scurries around the desk to be at Matt's side and a moment later, he is pushing his chair back and she is climbing up into his lap. Embarrassment rushes through you - she's only ever behaved like this with you. She actually used to fuss and cry if anyone else tried to hold her. You haven't seen her sit in anyone else's lap since she had a say in who gets to hold her.

"Minnie!" You scold but Matt quickly shakes his head as he helps her up.

"It's okay, I don't mind," he tells you even though he looks completely shocked. If he wasn't her father, you wouldn't allow this, especially with someone so new to her, but he is her father, even if she doesn't know, so you don't tell her to get down.

Instead, you give a stern frown, "Minnie, you still need to ask before climbing on anyone, okay? Can you apologize?"

Your little girl nods, then looks up at him, "I'm sorry, Mister Matt."

"It's okay, sweetheart. Like I said, I don't mind, but your Mommy is right, and you should ask so I know you are there. Next time, you'll know. Now, your Mommy said there were five pictures. Which do you want to start with?" He asks, scooting his chair back to the desk while wrapping one arm around Minnie's waist to keep her secure.

Once she's able to, she leans in and picks up the first drawing in the stack. It is the family portrait, and you quickly get your phone out so you can record this interaction as Minnie lays out the picture. She then takes Matt's free hand and guides it to the paper before letting go to point at the circle that represents him.

"This is you," she tells him. He quickly finds where she is pointing and begins to trace the figure.

"That's me?" And there is definitely more than a little bit of emotion in his voice.

"Uh-huh, and that is me and Mommy and we're gonna go to see the duckies. Mommy said we can go again. But we're gonna get ice cream too. And a balloon," she says, moving her little finger all over the page.

You watch Matt's finger follow hers - first over the doodle of himself, then Minnie's, and finally yours. Then, he traces back to the center figure. "We're holding hands?" He asks tentatively.

"Yup!" She answers, popping the p. "Mommy says we gotta hold hands if we go outside."

Matt licks his lips a little and you see his muscles flex under his jacket as he holds Minnie a little more firmly to his chest, like he doesn't want to let go of her. "That's a good rule."

"Mommy makes good rules," your little one replies wisely. That makes your ego sing a little. Mouse has always been good at doing what she's told, and you are proud that she understands your rules keep her safe.

Before she moves onto the next picture, you gently prompt her. "Sweetie, was there something you wanted to ask Mister Matt?"

Matt's head jerks up at that, looking right to you with brows slightly knit. Minnie bounces in his lap just a little, squirming so she can turn to look up at him, "I'm gonna go to the zoo! For my birthday! Do you wanna go?"

His lips part in surprise at the question and before you know it, he has both his arms wrapped around Mouse, hugging her to him. She instantly responds, looping her little arms around his neck and squeezing back. He rests his cheek against her head, and you see him slightly rock her from side to side. "I would love to go with you to the zoo, sweetheart."

Minnie giggles into his neck and you one hundred percent know that the transition to suddenly having two parents is not going to be hard for her at all. It might be confusing because Matt won't be living with you, but you have never seen her so comfortable with someone who isn't you. You know it's not just because he gave her a toy. They just click together so well.

You switch from video to your camera so you can sneak as many pictures as you can of Matt and Minnie hugging. They've completely forgotten about you and that is a-okay.

In this moment, nothing else matters to you - not the strange man in the other office or the devastation a few states over or all the other trivial things that nag you and make your stomach turn.

Your world is right in front of you and for the first time in a very, very long time, you really, truly believe everything is going to be just fine.

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

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@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment

#soulie writes #fanfiction #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #and then I met you #theres plot hints

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moonchildstyles · 6 months

Text

hemlock

oleander part two: sneaking away to see harry, y/n learned more than she bargained for

wordcount: 16.7k+

—————

The blunt of (Y/N)'s teeth sunk into her bottom lip, holding back the lingering smile that wanted to curl her features. More than once, she peeked through her lashes to the darkly dressed figure sauntering through the apothecary.

True to his word the last time they had met, Harry returned to the apothecary sooner than usual. It had only been a pair of weeks since she had seen him previous when she was being carted away from his castle. He had been on her mind since, hoping he wouldn't wait the usual two months before she would see him perusing the shelves once more.

The second that she had seen him step over the threshold of the front door, her heart fluttered through her chest in a rattling beat. A lopsided curl made a home on his own features, but they both stayed quiet.

They both knew they couldn't exactly boast about their clandestine meetings. Their encounters were unspoken secrets that they could now share in fleeting glances and small smiles.

It was seemingly harder than ever to keep her eyes to herself and her feet behind the counter this time. That alluring draw of him had been elevated that much higher now that there was more of that connection forged between. More than once, before falling asleep, she sent herself sweet dreams with the final thought of just how concerned he was, reaching for her when she woke up after the storm.

As if knowing exactly what was on her mind, Harry flicked his gaze over his shoulder to her. She didn't turn away in time, instead allowing her skin to warm when his eyes grazed over her skin.

He was the first to break the contact before he absently reached for a bundle of lavender sprigs and started towards the counter. They both knew he didn't really need anything new, but shopping for more was the perfect excuse to share space once more.

"Did you find all that you were looking for, sir?" she asked, repeating the same script she had always given him when he dropped his purchase on the counter.

"I did, thank you," he smiled, canting his head as he watched her take her time checking him out, "The weather has been rather intense lately, don't you think?"

She had her head down as he spoke, though she didn't mask the smile that bloomed across her features. She knew what he was getting at. "Definitely. The storms have been unlike the previous years. I had a bit of trouble a few weeks ago during one of the thunderstorms, but I'm doing much better now."

"Good. I am happy to hear that," he drawled, his voice thick like the velvet she remembered glazing over her skin when she woke up in his castle. "I hope the weather stays stable for a little while longer, as I'm planning on throwing a dinner party in the coming weeks."

(Y/N) perked up, her meandering fingers slowing. "Really? A dinner party?"

"Yes," he cemented, linking his dark eyes with hers in unwavering contact, "I am planning on it being an intimate affair, only a few in attendance. I do not have the specifics planned out yet, but invitations will be sent out in the coming weeks."

She really hoped she was picking up on the correct message he was passing along, and it wasn't just her dreamy heart that told her that she would be one of the few receiving an invitation. Her lungs squeezed at the thought of rejoining him at the castle, even if it included the prying eyes of others.

Collecting herself, she passed back the lavender bundle. "I am sure it will be wonderful, sir. I can't imagine you would plan anything less than flawless."

"We will have to see," he started, dropping coins on the counter without having to be told the price, "I expect it to be perfect as long as the right guests show up."

Another meaningful glance was shared between them. A slight quirk appeared on his lips.

"Until next time, (Y/N)."

Blinking with a flutter of her lashes, she swore she felt her skin warm despite the low temperature of the shop. "Until next time, sir."

Using the window beside the counter, (Y/N) watched him head straight towards a midnight carriage drawn by bone-white horses. Pulling over the cobblestone, the coach headed straight back towards the castle, no other stops made.

—————

The rickety stool under (Y/N)'s feet wobbled some as she stretched to the tips of her toes. Her breath was stuck in her throat each time she felt that small stool creak under her feet. No matter the dropping of her stomach every time her stability tottered, she kept up her task of hanging the herbs from the lines criss-crossing through the apothecary.

Just as she took another twined bundle of lavender from her basket, intending to add it to the row that needed a few more days of drying before being added to the shelves, a knock sounded on the front door of the apothecary. The sound took her by surprise, her balance waning with her hand over her head and toes stretched in her boots.

The door was unlocked, right? The shop had been open for hours; there was no reason to give a knock to the door.

Nonetheless, (Y/N) carefully climbed down from the stool. Looking towards the door, she saw an unfamiliar, pale face looking through the glass. The sight had a zip of fear going up her spine, her hand fluttering up to rest on her throat. The man on the other side of the door didn't have any reaction to her fright, his features set in expressionless stone.

While she didn't recognize this man, there were small details that she could also see in Harry. This man had pale skin, and dark eyes. He looked to be impossibly still, stuck in a moment in time.

He could clearly see her through the glass, a surefire sign that the shop was well open and ready for customers. Still, he stayed out in the late morning dew, patiently waiting for her.

While there was no way he hadn't caught her reaction, (Y/N) still tried her best to school her expression into something pleasant. Moving across the shop, basket of lavender at her hip, she opened the door for her new patron.

"Good morning," she greeted, feeling the touch of frigid morning air grazing her skin, "How may I help you, sir?"

Ignoring her initial question, he only asked, "May I enter?"

Taken aback, she floundered over her response. "Um—I—" she stumbled. She'd never had to invite a customer in while the shop was open. Collecting herself, she bowed her head as she opened the door wide enough for him to make it through, "Yes. Please, come in."

He moved deftly over the floor, barely making a sound on the floorboards. "You are Ms. (Y/N), right?"

Giving a fluttering blink of her eyes, (Y/N) nodded her head. "Yes, I am."

The man silently pulled out an envelope from his jacket before passing it off to her. Cautiously taking it from his grip, she tried not to appear as curious as she felt when she peered down at the elegant letter now in her hands.

On the front, in glimmering, burnished gold lettering was her name scripted in looping font. Just the weight alone was enough to show just how important this correspondence was, as if the hand-delivery wasn't enough to give away as much. Only for the fact she still had an audience, (Y/N) refrained from slipping her finger under the blood red wax seal enclosing the flap.

Instead, she tucked it behind her back before looking up towards the footman.

Only, he was gone.

She just barely caught him on his way out, the length of his dark hair fluttering behind him as the bell above the door tinkled. The sound was decidedly quieter than when she had pushed the door open herself to let him in. She hadn't even heard him cross the space, the floorboards giving nothing away under his footfalls.

There was no chance to say anything to him—thank him for the delivery, ask him who the letter was from, anything at all, really. She was unable to catch even what direction he disappeared in, only knowing that she was now alone.

A grin plucked at her lips at the thought.

(Y/N) didn't waste a second before she was pulling out the letter once more, wanting to open it as soon as possible while she had the privacy.

Allowing her eyes to peruse over the gorgeous stationery, she could see the faint flecks of shimmer in the ink used to spell out her name. The wax seal was a vivid red color, embossed with a bold S wreathed in thorns. Doing her best to keep the wax intact, (Y/N) carefully picked at the edge to flip open the flap. Inside, a folded letter awaited on another piece of rich stationary.

Her breath was stolen as she unfolded the paper, looking over what exactly had been so important to be delivered directly to her hand.

It was an invitation.

The ink was the same burnished gold, accented with filigree style line work across the edges. There was a texture to the page, (Y/N) unable to keep from running the pad of her thumb across the page. It was luxurious—the kind of correspondence she figured nobility would have the privilege of receiving. And, it was addressed to her.

A week from today's date, she was requested to be present at Harry Styles' home for a dinner party in celebration of the turn of the season. The same party he had told her about a week prior.

There was no doubt she would appear mad to any onlooker that dared to peer through the windows into the shop, seeing as how she was grinning down at the letter. She had hoped this was what Harry had been telling to her without actually saying it—that she would be invited to his home for this dinner. Her heart sped up behind her ribs, her breath shorting in her lungs at the idea of rejoining him at his home.

Without permission, a squeal escaped (Y/N)'s lips. She couldn't help herself as she twirled her dress fanning around her ankles, as she pressed the letter to her heart.

There was no doubt she was mad now.

—————

(Y/N) had been riding high all day after her special delivery, only for the comedown to have her face planting into the earth.

There was another body found. Another young woman laid to rest in the woods with her throat ripped out and no blood left in her body.

The village was submerged in shades of blue for the rest of the night, including her father by the time he made it home. He had gone out with others of the town to help carry the woman back to the village in hopes of giving her a proper burial with her family.

He had been practically silent since he scaled the stairs of the apothecary, joining her in the flat above. His energy was hard to ignore, even if her mind continued to wander more than once to the letter she had spent hours memorizing when she had been alone. She had been so excited when receiving the correspondence, but now that giddiness had to live alongside that simpering grief the rest of the village had slipped into.

There was nothing but the sound of cutlery clinking against their chipped flatware, dinner nothing more than a warming stew and the last of the summer vegetables that had been harvested. Her father saw their home through unseeing eyes, as he couldn't seem to focus on one space for too long before he was flitting to the next. (Y/N) matched his silence, keeping to herself in hopes of allowing the night to pass quickly. In the morning, hope would be restored to her neighbors and she wouldn't feel so out of place still feeling excitement for her invitation.

"What is that?"

Blinking with a flutter of her lashes, (Y/N) checked back into the unexpected moment. "Pardon?"

Her father's eyes were fixed over her shoulder, towards the kitchen where the leftovers of the stew were simmering on the tiny stove implanted in the space. "What is that?"

Twisting in her seat, she tried to follow his gaze. "There are some leftovers if that is what you are wondering—"

"No," he cut her off, pushing his chair away from the table before stalking towards the kitchen.

At the last moment, she realized what exactly had caught his attention.

During the hours she had been left alone while he aided the village in bringing the young woman in the woods home, she had read and reread and reread the invitation as many times as she could. She admired the gilded writing, the exquisite seal, and every luxurious detail. She had left it out on the counter while she cooked, leaving it in arm's reach.

That was where it still sat.

That was where her father was headed.

For the first time, she felt fortunate for her father's aching joints and the long hours he had been on his feet—even before the trip to the forest. He was moving slow enough for her to jump up and cut him off, as if she were joining him in finding whatever he had fixed his attention on.

"This?" she asked, plucking up another piece of mail that the Wayfields had sent along with Margret the day previous. "It is only a recipe from Mrs. Wayfield—for her potato soup and the bread with the bubbles she's so skilled at making."

She waved the envelope for her father to see, though it was decidedly less ornate than that of the one she was currently hiding behind her back. If she could, she would have crossed her fingers in hopes of him falling for her ruse.

He blinked as he took in what she was trying to pass off as the same piece of mail that had the wax seal and glimmering writing. "There was another letter, (Y/N). Where is it?"

Her palms began to sweat. Her father would not be happy to know she had been requested by the Count, especially not on a day like today when he had undoubtedly spent plenty of time with those who accused Harry of being a monster.

"I do not—"

"What are you hiding behind your back?"

"Nothing." Her response came too quickly. Her father's eyes narrowed.

"(Y/N)."

"It is really nothing," (Y/N) tired again, digging up any kind of excuse she could, "I was doing inventory for downstairs, and—"

"(Y/N)," he said once more, his voice edging into something sharp and steely. Now wasn't the time, he was telling her. "Let me see."

She only swallowed, keeping her hand stuck behind her back.

Everything happened in a vacuum then. Time was ticking with her heartbeats while staying still in the middle of the kitchen. It didn't take much for her father to reach around and grab the letter, ripping it out of her hands before she could even tighten her grip.

There was panic sifting through her veins as she saw him look over the letter, the flap roughly pulled open with the letter folded open with careless fingers. She took quick strides towards him, intending to pull the stationary right out of his hands, to keep him from damaging the page any more or looking over the invitation. There was barely a fight, her father raising it out of her reach with his gaze hardening more and more with every word he read.

"This is from him? And, you are trying to hide it from me?" he seethed, looking to her with blazing eyes, "After everything that has happened today, you are trying to protect him?"

A lump sat heavily in her throat, (Y/N) attempting to swallow around it through her eyes never left the letter that was above her head. "It's not like that, father," she tried to argue, "You know he has nothing to do with all of that. It is only a dinner party; I think he is trying to get to know us more, and he knows me from shopping downstairs, so—"

"How do you know?!" he boomed, breaking for the first time (Y/N) had seen since her mother's passing. "How do you know he has nothing to do with the dead girls? How do you know he doesn't have everything to do with it all, (Y/N)? You think it is safe to attend a dinner party at his dungeon? You welcome his advances knowing all that you do?!"

(Y/N) was rooted in her spot, listening to the tirade her father bubbled off. There was nothing she could say, nothing that could satisfy him no matter how carefully she picked her words.

"I know he is a well-off man, (Y/N)," he continued, taking her silence as response enough, "But you do not know him, no matter what you have been telling yourself. You daydream, and romanticize, and let your head wander too far from reality. How can you find reason enough to think it is safe to attend a party at his home? Have you already forgotten what you saw in the woods? Do you realize how easy it would be for you to join them?"

His words stung. He had always had a problem with her active imagination, the willingness she had to let her mind wander and come to the prettier conclusion, the softer avenue. Is that what she had done with Harry? Was that the missing piece? While she was wondering what it would be like to glide across a ballroom in his arms, feel the soft of his lips over her cheek, what the swirls of his curls would feel like between her fingers, the rest of the village was seeing the sharpened teeth and soulless eyes of a beast. Was she really that naive?

"I have not forgotten about that night, (Y/N). I have not forgotten about the night you were missing, either—wherever you truly were."

Dropping her gaze to the floorboards, (Y/N) felt her eyes sting.

While she knew he couldn't have been completely accepting of her lie, this was the first time he had acknowledged that her word hadn't been completely true.

"I am not letting the next body we find be yours, (Y/N). You are not going to that dinner party, do you understand me?" His command was emphasized with the sound of paper crumpling in his fist. He was ruining her invitation.

(Y/N)'s tongue was too dry for her mouth, unable to form a single word.

In a blurry moment, she was aware of her father stretching across the space, throwing the stove door open to reveal the small fire confined to the space. He tossed the letter in, the seal melting and slopping off the page while the paper singed and blackened at the edges before ashing away.

"Do you understand me, (Y/N)? Look at me, and promise me you will not go."

Tears welled up in her eyes as she watched the page burn away. How could she have let this happen?

"Do not take the last of my family away from me," her father pleaded, finally seeming to break through the cloud in her head.

"I will not go," she agreed in a distant voice. "I understand."

When her father wrapped his arms around her, (Y/N) wanted to reciprocate with her heart though she could only do so with her arms.

—————

(Y/N) crawled on her hands and knees, ignoring her designated companion for the afternoon, as she weeded the herb garden. Lucy chattered away behind her as if they both didn't know (Y/N)'s head was miles away.

In her imagination, she was at the grandiose castle that no one else in her village had seen the way she had. She was there with the kindest man she had ever met, the man who cared for her in the middle of a storm when he could have kept moving and abandoned her to her own devices. She saw him when he rushed across the hallway, panicked that she might not be as well as he thought. She saw him as he positioned himself between her and the group of rowdy men spilling out of the pub. Those small things were more than she was sure he even knew, actions that someone who was practically a stranger wouldn't do unless they had a good heart.

She pinged between the castle, and back to the kitchen of her flat. There, she saw the way her father's eyes had blazed at her, anger boiling under his skin as he reminded her of what he had to lose should she end up one of those in the woods. She saw hints of the mourning man she had met after her mother's passing and her sister's departure. In the end, she knew he was nothing more than a scared father, seeing danger where she didn't. She had never seen him like that before.

Was she truly so blind? Her father was scared enough to shout and holler at her, keep her from ever spending a second alone, while she couldn't find a single clue as to what would make him think as much when it came to Harry. If she were being honest, she found him to be a better man than her sister's husband, and yet her father had been more than happy for Arabeth when she announced her engagement. Was her head truly so high up in the clouds that she could miss something so terribly wrong with Harry?

More than once, despite promising to her father that she wouldn't attend the dinner, she had considered what it would be like to go anyway. Though that thought never made it too far as soon as she remembered just how easily information like that would spread through the village—everyone was too nosy for their own good and would love to share a sighting of her up at the castle despite her vow. Besides, as dumbfounded as she was when it came to the aversion some felt to Harry, she couldn't deceive her father any more than she already had.

She loved and cared about her father, even if they were on the opposite sides of so many debates these days. He worried about her beyond reason at times, but she had to understand him. Even if that meant skipping out on the dinner party and going against the romantic heart sitting in her chest.

"Right, (Y/N)?" Lucy bubbled.

"Right," (Y/N) blindly answered, blinking out of her head. She didn't have a single idea of what exactly she was agreeing to, but it made Lucy happy.

She had given the right answer.

That was all that mattered.

—————

Twirling around on ornately beaded shoes, (Y/N) looked up in wonder at the castle walls covered in gorgeous, hand-painted patterns. Her dress fanned out around her like creamy frosting on a tea cake. From steps away, she could feel Harry's eyes on her as she traipsed around his home, adoring each and every detail she found.

"There is more, if you are ready to move on?" he offered, bouncing his eyebrows as if to tell her that she definitely wants to be ready to move on. She couldn't imagine what else he could show her on this tour that could top the places that had already blown her mind.

Nonetheless, she placed her palm in his offered hand, biting back a smile at the feel of his cool skin.

He guided her through the halls until they hit the back door. Outside, a garden awaited. Trees full of dripping wisteria greeted her, the lilac shining like the moon above. Lines of honeyed foxglove and velvet roses drew the boundaries around a perfect lawn. He pulled her along with him to the middle, beams of moonlight highlighting the pale shade of green he had dressed in for the occasion.

"Dance with me?" he asked her, coal eyes adoring over her features.

All it took was a nod of her head before she was pulled towards him, a symphony striking up without warning.

He twirled her through the grass, fallen wisteria petals kicking up around her gown, the roses swaying as if reaching out to touch them. Harry looked like a prince, complete with soft hands and a tender smile.

After twirling enough to get a giggle in her chest and head turning, Harry pulled her to his chest, settling down.

"I have missed you so, darling," he crooned, lips by her ear, "I fear I can no longer wait such stretches between seeing you—I don't have the strength to deprive myself." Looking up at him, she saw deep shadows cast across one half of his face while the other was bathed in the pastel light of the stars. "You take up more and more of my mind everyday."

An easy grin took place on her lips. He thought about her as much as she did he?

"Kiss me, darling."

Eagerly stretching to the tips of her toes, (Y/N) didn't hesitate to pucker her lips. She could feel the tip of his nose grazing her own, skin chilled against her heat.

The faintest brush of his lips against hers, lashes fluttering—

Breathing in a gasp, (Y/N) was pulled from her dreams. Despite her stilted breathing, her heart had never been so steady in her chest.

While she tried to never read too much into her dreams, she couldn't help but to feel as if this night had been a sign. She had just decided that tomorrow night, she would stay home as usual, skipping the immaculate dinner at the Count's home, only to find herself touring his grounds in her dreams.

She was supposed to join the fray tomorrow, she cemented. She would find a way to keep the event from her father, from the nosy neighbors, anything to keep the night from souring.

So many variables sung through her, asking how at all she would make it up to the castle without an escort, how she would even skirt past her father in the first place, how, how, how. (Y/N) ignored them all for the time being, instead allowing a smile to settle on her features as she laid back.

This time tomorrow, she would hopefully be in his arms.

—————

"Goodnight," (Y/N) pleasantly chirped, accepting her father's hug and kiss on the forehead.

"Goodnight, love." His parting words were the last she heard from him before they both retreated to their separate bedrooms.

The moon was bright in the sky as she closed the door to her bedroom. With her window open just a crack, there was little sound tittering through the village. The only vestiges of the busy Friday came from the tavern down the block that was just beginning to gear up for the night.

While the prospect of others milling about the center of town was a worrying obstacle, (Y/N) was grateful for the kind of cover their presence would offer. The dinner party was set to begin in an hour, and she was going to have to sneak through town and up the winding path to the castle.

There was no way she was going to make it on time, given the fact she had to wait to ensure her father was truly asleep, ready herself to attend such an event, and make the trip sans carriage. It wasn't an impossible list of tasks, she just hoped that she would still make it in time for dessert.

Creeping across her room as quietly as possible, (Y/N) tried to prep herself as much as she could without alerting any of the creaky floorboards or sweeping too quickly through her room. She couldn't be sure exactly what her father could hear from his quarters. She couldn't risk him entering and finding her going against his direct wishes of staying away from the castle.

It wasn't until the only blinks of light came in the form of twinkling stars and a sliver of the moon, that (Y/N) was both ready and almost positive that her father was well asleep. She couldn't be completely sure of the latter unless she waltzed into the bedroom and saw him asleep with her own eyes, leaving her to assume the snoring she heard wasn't just an elaborate ruse on his part. Having raided her closet, attempting to find her most lavish of pieces, she was left in a plain purple dress with small beading here and there—it was the same gown she had worn to her sister's wedding, though it was nowhere near as ornate as what she could remember of Harry's estate. She hoped she would still be found acceptable at least.

Donning her cloak, she took the first step in her plan. Every move she made was calculated and careful as she pried open her window enough to slip through. Dangling her feet over the edge, she felt around for the small ledge offered underneath her window from the sloped awning that wrapped around the building. It wasn't anywhere near stable enough to hold her weight for long, but it was enough to help her down before skirting towards more stable avenues.

Her skirt caught on the sill for a lingering moment, keeping her from landing as gracefully as she had hoped on the textured ledge. With the heels of her boots clattering against the side of her home, (Y/N) cringed with her eyes crinkling closed. She could feel her heart in her ears, pumping against the confines of her throat as she waited for the slam of her father's door. Long, laborious moments passed before she realized with flooding relief that she had garnered no attention; her father was still well asleep and the patrons of the pub kept up their own noise down the street. She allowed herself then to carefully slide down the uneven awning on her bottom, until she could safely hop down to the soft soil at the back of her home.

The landing was nowhere near graceful, but it was silent. Straightening up and brushing off the debris that landed on her gown, (Y/N) allowed a small sense of accomplishment to take her. For her first time sneaking away, she had done alright for herself.

Peering at her herb garden instinctively, she could make out the gaze of her moon-eyed black cat. The kitten played with the bugs floating around, stopping for a moment to match (Y/N)'s eyes.

A small smile perked over her lips. She could only take this as a good sign—she was doing what she was meant to tonight.

The first few strides away from her home were done as quietly as possible, with her head down and hood of her cloak on. There was nothing going on in her head other than the hope and prayers that she would make it out of this without being caught. She wished the most pleasant and calming dreams upon her father, anything to keep him deeply in his sleep.

It was when she had cleared the block of her home without a single person spotting her that she had picked up the pace. The event had to have started at least a half an hour ago, and she had to hustle there if she wanted to experience any of the get-together before the festivities ended. If she was quick, she could make it to the castle within the hour.

That was if the dark didn't scare her off first, of course.

That juvenile fear followed her on her trek, breathing down her neck enough to push her into bursts of jogging over the path until she felt as if she had outran her invisible enemy. More than once, glancing towards the woods that weren't that far from the path, her active imagination was sparked, showing her all the things she hoped she would never truly see.

Forcing herself to keep her focus, (Y/N) did her best to keep her head down and attention placed on the tail end of the party she was eager to catch. Working over the steep hills and sloping declines, she attempted to push herself to go as fast as possible while still keeping her breath in her corset. Every time she looked ahead, she allowed a small celebration knowing that the castle was looming closer and closer with every pace.

As time ticked on and a bead of sweat dropped down the back of her dress, (Y/N) could only hope she made it in time and wasn't turned away despite the disheveled state she would no doubt turn up in.

Her legs pumped harder at the thought.

—————

(Y/N) didn't have much memory tied to the lawn of the castle from the last time she had visited. She wasn't even conscious during the arrival, and her departure had seen her entirely wrapped up in Harry himself. This left the sight of the foliage around the otherwise dreary exterior quite the sight.

As if she had conjured it herself, Harry had what could only be described as a grove of wisteria trees surrounding the grounds. Lavender petals swept across the ground, leaving what emulated a floral moat around the castle itself. From down in the village, she couldn't glimpse any of this, their forest having cut off sight of the magnificence. It was along the facade of the home that she saw long flower beds filled with the gaping mouths of foxglove stalks, blood red roses with thorn laden stems, and bushels of small white flowers growing from purple spotted stems. Hemlock, she knew them to be called—another poisonous variant Harry had unwittingly planted.

Out front, there wasn't a single carriage or horse awaiting its master's arrival. She wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but maybe the evening was going to drag so long that everyone's transportation had been shooed away for the time being.

Scaling the sloping hill that led up to the grandiose entrance of the castle, (Y/N)'s huffed breath created small puffs of white in front of her. Despite the chilled temperature, she was still overheated rom her strenuous trek all the way up.

Approaching the door, she gave herself a moment to primp over the details of her appearance. Pulling her hood from her head, she attempted to smooth out her hair, hoping the twine she had holding back specific strands could hold for a bit longer. Dabbing at her features with the neck of her cloak, she tried to eradicate any sweat that had prickled her features. Though she knew she was dressed nowhere near as nicely as she figured Harry's other friends would be, she still brushed her hands down her dress in a final act before raising her hand to knock at the door.

Her heartbeat stilled in her chest as she waited.

When she first heard the click of the knob on the other side, she immediately straightened her posture.

While there wasn't much she could expect, given there was nothing there for her to compare this evening to, (Y/N) definitely hadn't anticipated having Harry be the one to greet her. After finally meeting one of his staff, he had thought the footman that had delivered her invitation would be the one to deal with the menial task of welcoming her in (or shooing her away).

Instead, she was gifted with the sight of Harry in an all black getup. The only pops of color came in the form of a forest green cravat and the hint of rouge on his lips. She shied away at the thought of the flush coming from the mouth of a young woman. His skin was just as creamy as she remembered, the planes of his face cut and severe. Nonetheless, when he looked at her, softened edges jumped out, gentling even his dark gaze.

Making an effort to keep herself from floating over to him as if a moth to a black flame, (Y/N) rooted herself in her spot. "I am so sorry I'm late," she offered, her voice a bit watery and uneven, "I hope you can still accept me, despite the hour."

The smile that had filled her dreams bloomed across Harry's features, his rouged lips acting like rose petals.

"You are not late at all," he told her, eyes bright and dazzling, "I could never start without you, my guest of honor."

(Y/N) felt flushed as he welcomed her in with a flourish, bowing out of the way as if she had any right to that caliber of greeting.

"Guest of honor?" she asked, stepping over the threshold with shy paces. If she had known as much she would have ran less and dressed nicer.

"Did I not tell you?" he smiled, shutting the door behind her as she untied the neck of her cloak, "I thought I had put that on every invitation."

"I think it may have slipped your mind," she told him, playing along with his game.

Shrugging, he gave her a roguish smile, taking her cloak only to throw it across the back of a lounger planted in her foyer. "It may have." Sidling up next to her, he offered his arm for her to take. (Y/N) settled her hand in the crook of his elbow, biting back the fluttering grin that plucked at her lips. "I suppose we have time for that tour now that you're here, right?"

Instead of following right after him, (Y/N) turned to him with confusion knitting her brows. She knew he had to be a bit unconventional given his reclusive status, but she figured he knew better than this.

"But, your guests. Should we not join them for dinner?"

Amusement lit up his features, shatters of green appearing in his irises. Dipping his chin as he looked at her, he whispered, "May I share a secret with you?"

(Y/N) couldn't help but to fall into a conspiratorial role with him. She had hoped she would earn a chance to learn everything about him. "Of course, you may."

Harry huffed a laugh at her intrigue. Ducking his head, he positioned his mouth by her ear. He was close enough she could feel a chill radiating from his skin, his breath fanning across her own.

"I only invited you."

Rearing back, (Y/N) felt both flattered and bewildered by his admission. "But," she started, searching his eyes for any kind of tease, "I thought this was supposed to be a party. It's not much of one if there's only me."

He gave her a shrug, shoulder bouncing with her hand still settled in the bend of his elbow. "Why would I invite others if I am only wishing to see you?"

Flattery won out over the bewilderment she felt then, a shy smile taking her features. The only way she knew she wasn't dreaming was the degraded state of her dress—she always dressed herself immaculately in her imagination.

"I am especially happy I could make it, then," she decided, peeking up at him through the fan of her lashes.

The feel of his gaze tracing over her face had (Y/N) straightening her posture with a tickle going down her spine. It was if he were taking note of everything, keeping her expressions to himself for later. A pleased smile plucked at the corner of his lips at whatever he found as he dropped his gaze down her neck.

"I am, too; more than you know," he shared after a heartbeat, collecting himself before setting his gaze forward. He bobbed his arm under her grip, edging her towards the grand. "Shall we?"

Though she felt a touch of deja-vu, finding herself in another predicament where she was unchaperoned with Harry at her side once more, (Y/N) was beginning to no longer care what even her father would say should he catch her. No wonder Harry kept to himself and did as he pleased—it was rather satisfying.

With the silence their only companion, she nodded her head.

"We shall."

A dazzling smile spread over his lips.

—————

(Y/N) was enchanted as she traipsed through Harry's home, her hold on him being the only thing keeping her from being lured away by whatever trinket or art piece that caught her eye. He pointed things out as they went, allowing her to fawn over the grandness he lived in. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a fond smile on his lips as he watched her. Though she didn't have an exact idea of what it was like to go on a promenade through royal grounds for a courting date, she figured this is what it felt like.

His home reflected his personal taste for dark colors and luxurious details. Vases full of the purple blossom she had found out front lined the halls, mixing with the musk of the familiar herbs she sold to him. Deep greens seemed to be the running theme through the color scheme, allowing any other hue to emulate a bloom through the brush of the forest floor, or the night sky peeking through the canopy of trees. There were rooms upon rooms shielded behind heavy walnut doors, no less than a handful down each hall he took her to. There were too many for (Y/N) to keep track of, though Harry seemed to know exactly what was behind each door without a moment's thought; even when she swore they had been turned around and looped in a circle, he knew just where they were with a description of every hidden room.

With the sheer amount of space he was showing her, Harry didn't have time to show her every single room, to push open the door and introduce her to the space, instead offering the highlights as they went. (Y/N)'s favorites came in the form of a budding library (the walls were complete shelves along with freestanding cases that cozied up a sitting area in the middle; the shelves held enough books to keep anyone busy for over a year but there was still room to grow, giving the possibility to read for a lifetime when full), an adorably grey tea room, and a painter's studio set up for portraits. Even with those spaces that took (Y/N)'s breath and sparked a world of imagination, her most preferred spot was the newly erected structure out behind the castle. It was a greenhouse, he'd said. An entire home the size of her own flat with the sole purpose of nursing and growing any and every kind of plant.

"It's a budding interest of mine," he said when they had stopped to admire the glass-paneled house through a stretching window of the castle, "You've inspired me."

It was like he knew that would have her blood warming and her teeth sinking into the pillow of her bottom lip.

Soon enough they turned down a hallway familiar to (Y/N). This was the same wing that housed her room he boarded her in during the storm.

"Remember this?" he prodded with raised brows, taking her down the walkway.

Tipping her head back, she set her sights on the ceiling. Above was the same muted floral mural that had been painted across the rest of the castle ceiling. With her eyes following the thorned vibes through the different blooms, (Y/N) absently nodded her head.

"This is where my room is."

It wasn't until she heard his huffed laugh that she realized what she had said. Her eyes rounded out in horror with embarrassment warming her skin.

"I-I'm so sorry—I misspoke—"

"It's alright," he soothed her, flexing his arm under her hold, "You are the only guest to have ever stayed in this room, so it is yours in my eyes as well."

Harry led her towards the chambers, pushing open the door as if it was another new space for her to explore. Inside, it was just as she remembered, thick velvets and cozy furs. Another bouquet of flowers was delicately perched on the table as if in wait for her. The only difference came in the ornate wardrobe that was now pushed against the wall in front of the four-poster bed. The doors were wide open, showcasing whatever hung inside though from where she stood, (Y/N) couldn't see a single stitch of what it was.

"Go take a look," he told her, dropping his arm as he urged her forward.

Without the anchor of his body, (Y/N) drifted towards the open wardrobe, her hands a bundle at her waist. When she saw what exactly had been showcased inside, she felt her jaw fall into a gape.

Hung up on a satin wrapped hanger was the most gorgeous gown she had ever seen. The fabric was glimmering and slick like silk, redder than anything she had ever seen—as if the fibers had been dyed with fresh blood. The skirt was full, layers of crinoline underneath though the overlay still draped and folded atop the filler. The bodice was a stiff corset, cut with scooping neckline that made (Y/N) want to blush at what it would look like on, tapering straps holding the whole garment upright on the hanger. She kept herself from reaching out to turn the dress, though she wanted to know if she really did see the edge of a bow stationed at the waist for it there was even more dress to be fawned over.

"What do you think?" Harry prodded, his voice closer behind her than she remembered.

She kept her eyes forward, on the crimson masterpiece. She could only imagine how long it would take to craft something so stunning.

"It is gorgeous," she sighed. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she turned to look at him with a pleasant smile on her lips. She wasn't here as the guest of honor to give out her fashion advice. "Just like the rest of your home," she recovered as if she hadn't been standing, staring at the dress for a handful of minutes, "Breath-taking."

His pale lavender lids were on display as he looked at her through the fan of his lashes, a huff of laughter falling from his lips. "Thank you," he told her, "But, what about the gown?"

"Oh," she sounded, happily taking the excuse to lay her eyes upon the dress once more. Was it possible more of the skirt had unfurled, as if the fabric was closer to that of a blooming rose than a stationary garment? "I've never seen anything more beautiful," she shared honestly, "It would be impossible to find anything to compare."

"You won't have to worry about that," he mused, stepping around her to pull the hanger from the rod. "Since this one is yours already."

(Y/N)'s jaw dropped at his declaration. Her eyes downturned as she took in the full of the gown, unsure of what exactly to say to such a claim.

"I-I," she floundered, unable to find her words, "I'm sorry?"

Harry looked genuinely pleased with her reaction, proud of himself for finding something she clearly loved so much. "I had this made for you," he told her, presenting the gown to her as he held it up, "When I decided that I wanted to invite you over, I figured I couldn't exactly celebrate my guest of honor without a gift. I hope I didn't assume too much, but I thought you might even like to wear it this evening."

She had been struck speechless as she listened. Not once had she ever received a gift so grand, so gorgeously outside of her means.

"But, please," Harry continued when she didn't give an answer, his expression falling some though he tried to hide it, "Do not take this as something you have to accept if you do not want it. You look wonderful already—heartbreakingly so, if I'm honest—and I do not want to force you to change if you'd rather not."

Unable to hold back her own plume of laughter, (Y/N) shook her head. In what world would her refashioned nightgown look heartbreakingly wonderful? As she had said before, there was nothing that could compare to this dress.

There had to be etiquette that came with accepting a gift of this caliber, but (Y/N) preferred to use her ignorance to her advantage at the moment. It couldn't be considered too offensive if she loved something he had made just for her.

"I love it," she reiterated, sneaking a cautious hand out to trace her fingertips over the silken fabric, "I would love to wear it tonight, Harry."

He brightened immediately at her acceptance, relief touching his features now that he was no longer floundering over his present. "I'm glad," he cemented, laying the garment on the edge of the bed with a flourish, "I will give you a moment to change before we start for dinner, if that's alright?"

While the draw of the gown was significant, (Y/N) kept her eyes on the man who had given it to her. A giddy smile was on her lips as she looked up at him. With this gift, she would almost look as if she belonged at his side—it would make sense to see her on his arm to a stranger's eyes.

"Thank you, Harry."

Bowing out of the room, he stopped to tip his head to her. "It is my pleasure, darling."

—————

Having had enough practice with tying her own corsets and stuffing herself into various dresses for church and other village-wide occasions after her sister moved away, (Y/N) didn't take much time to change into the crimson couture. She had lingered over the process a bit, savoring the feel of the expensive fabric and the novelty tying system on the back (there really was a bow at the bustle, too!), but she had been more excited to meet with Harry once again. Once she had the dress adorning her body—the piece a perfect fit—, she had spotted a few extra pieces lying around the wardrobe that she couldn't help but to use to her advantage.

A pair of beaded red slippers were snug in the corner of the wardrobe, levels above what she currently had on her feet and had trekked up to his castle in. On a shelf built in above the rod the dress had previously been hung up on, were a pair of long white gloves—the kind (Y/N) could only picture on a princess. She couldn't help herself as she drew on the gloves, the satin glimmering alongside her dress. Using the twine she already had in her hair, she tried to twist her strands into something more elaborate to match her new attire. When she finished, she had settled on an updo, keeping everything out of the way as to show off the gown in its entirety.

Looking at herself in the mirror, (Y/N) had never seen herself in such a light. The scooping neckline of the dress showed off more skin than she knew a woman could even show in public, the swells of her breasts pushed up and swelling over the corset. The skirt draped itself over her form, creasing and folding in waves that flourished out before hitting the ground. Turning to the side, she could glimpse the bow that had been fastened to the bustle of her dress, a detail she loved more than she had thought. Her gloves came up to the mid of her bicep, the addition making her feel more regal than she had any business to. She felt the only thing missing was a rouge to be swiped over her lips and a red flush to her cheeks.

Leaving behind her now designated room, her rudimentary gown left behind in a puddle on the floor, (Y/N) half expected Harry to be stationed across the hall from her like the last time she had emerged. Instead, she found herself alone in the stretching corridor. Her heels clicked over the floor as she made her way down.

While she had already had an eyeful of the space the pair of times she had been escorted down this same hall, she still found something new to look at with every turn of her head. If not for the fact Harry had to be waiting for her on the other side of the castle, she could have luxuriated for hours here.

Traipsing through for the first time on her own, (Y/N) noticed small details she had overlooked in Harry's presence—particularly the lack of staff. Other than the footman she had seen a week prior, there didn't seem to be anyone else here with Harry despite the size of his home. She would have figured there was a team of people, different departments and leads that would have been tasked with taking care of the grounds, the different wings, everything. And yet, she seemed to be the only beating heart around.

Perhaps he wanted to have privacy for the night, she figured. Harry definitely was the type to request something of the sort.

Retracing her steps until she found the same set of grand stairs Harry had escorted her down after she recovered from her fainting spell during the storm, (Y/N) was proud of herself for navigating the maze that was this castle. Just as she crested the mezzanine before the final set of steps to the ground floor, she caught sight of her waiting prince.

Harry seemingly hadn't realized she was there as she caught him cozying up to a familiar black cat. She could hear the low murmurs of his croons to the moon-eyed kitten, petting his fingers under the scruff of her neck while she leaned into his touch. (Y/N) couldn't contain her own coo once she saw him press a kiss between the cat's ears.

With that, he realized he was no longer alone, having been caught doling out affection to what (Y/N) had previously thought to be a stray.

"(Y/N)," he started, gently setting the kitten down back on her paws before she scurried away. He still hadn't looked at her as he brushed his hands down the front of his coat, "I am so sorry. I hadn't realized you were—"

His words were suddenly stuck in his throat when he cast his gaze upon her.

(Y/N) have never seen him at a loss for words before, his dark eyes wide with mouth in a soft gape as looked at her. While she had felt his eyes on her before, this moment was different than what she had experienced prior. It was as if his hands were on her, fingertips glancing down her throat, sweeping over her collarbones and cleavage. Her bare skin was chilled where she swore she felt his eyes linger, goosebumps awakening. Was this how he felt when she looked at him? Could he feel how drawn to him she was? Was her romantic heart too high up in the clouds as she assumed that he could experience that similar warm chest and twirling gut that she did when she saw him?

There were intentions behind his eyes—more than what was acceptable for him to say out loud.

"You look... I don't think there are any words that could describe how you look right now, actually."

Despite the shy peal of laughter his words elicited from (Y/N), he was thoroughly serious as he spoke. The sentiment only made her heart flutter in her chest.

"Thank you," she smiled, descending the stairs. Harry didn't hesitate to offer her his arm when she reached the landing, pride puffing his chest when she took it without question. "I hope it's alright I'm using a little extra I found in the wardrobe."

"It is more than alright," he beamed at her, dazzling smile to match the fractures of green swimming to the surface of his coal eyes, "Everything in there is yours now."

"You don't mean that," she laughed off, diligently following him as he brought her to the dining room.

"The whole wing could be yours if you asked," he countered, his offer seemingly serious despite his grin.

Before she could argue, he pushed open a grand door, leading her into the dining room. Inside, a long table sat at the center of the room. Ornate candles lit the space, showcasing hints of gold and shining onyx among the otherwise muted room. On the table was a feast (Y/N) had never seen the likes of before.

Meats, cheeses, wines, and breads were placed all throughout on pristine china. Steam rolled off the dishes in alluring waves, like the smoke from a candle freshly snuffed. How his staff had pulled something off so elaborate without making a single noise, she couldn't comprehend, but she wasn't about to start asking questions in the face of greatness.

"My goodness," she murmured. Looking at this spread, she was suddenly grateful that she had taken such an exhaustive route up here. She had all the room in the world to try everything in front of her.

"I was unable to ask for your favorites before tonight, but I hope you'll find something to your liking," Harry prattled, much too modest given the sight before them.

"I have no doubt," (Y/N) responded, allowing Harry to guide her to an empty chair at the head of the table.

Once he helped her settle in, he took his own seat on the opposite end of the table. "I hope you don't mind," he started, a goblet in hand already filled with a deep wine, "But I told my staff to take the night off. We'll have to serve ourselves, but this way we'll have more privacy." A beat passed before a furrow appeared in his brows. "Unless you would prefer their presence. I know this is our first formal meeting, so..."

"No, no, it's alright," she waved him off, not feeling the need to have others present while she dined with him. Besides, she would hate to have been promised the night to herself only to be called back. "I think we'll be able to keep a handle on ourselves."

(Looking down, she just missed the way Harry looked at her with his dark eyes gleaming and a shrewd curl to his lips at her words).

While it was surely odd for Harry, (Y/N) didn't mind serving herself—she did it every day, anyway. With her eyes bigger than her stomach, she couldn't help but to overfill her plate with the way she wanted a bite of everything. Before she knew it, there were three different cheeses, more kinds of dinner bread than she knew even existed, and helpings of figgy chicken, creamy potatoes, and rosemary scented greens. If she could get away with it, she would be grabbing seconds.

Flicking her gaze up when she realized just how rude it must be to be so engrossed in her meal when her host and sole company was just across the table, she found his eyes already on her over the rim of his wine glass. The crystal just barely hid the amused curl of his lips.

"I apologize," she mumbled, dropping her gaze though she could still feel his eyes on her features.

"No need," he said, waving her off, "I'm glad you want to try everything."

Eased some, she picked up one of the gleaming silver forks complimenting her place setting and began picking at her food. "Do you have any favorites?" she questioned, feeling a bit silly to be asking what his favorite food was.

He shrugged in response, canting his head some as he raised his wine glass. "I tend to favor the wine at a dinner party, if 'm honest." She watched as he took another sip, the deep red color seemingly staining the crystal. The center of his lips even seemed to take on the dye, emulating that tint of rouge he had started the night with. The wine lingered in the bowl of his glass, seemingly thicker than any spirit she had seen before. "I'd rather hear about your favorites, (Y/N)," Harry said, tipping his head towards her with his features lit up with the amber candlelight.

A small curl tugged at her lips then. It was an interesting feeling, being so drawn to him and finding comfort in his presence, then remembering that he didn't even know the color of the rainbow she preferred or the season she thrived the most under. Trivialities didn't seem so important when there was that innate need to be around him.

"What do you want to know?" she preened, unsure of where to start when it came to herself.

The reflection of the candlelight emulated stars in his eyes as he fixed his gaze to her. His eyes felt like a pair of hands on her body once more.

It was only when he flicked them up to match her own, that he spoke again:

"Everything."

—————

"... I had never seen my sister so mad at me before," (Y/N) laughed, setting her chin in her hand, unconsciously leaning towards Harry from where he relocated to sit at her side.

The dinner part of the evening had ended some time ago, (Y/N) satisfied with her fill while Harry nursed his never-ending glass of wine. The attention had shifted then, turning to any anecdote of information he could pull out of her on his quest to learn the everything he requested to know about her. Soon enough the space between served to be too much for either of their liking, ending with Harry sidling up beside her, taking one of the unoccupied seats at her side. The intensity of his gaze was unwavering as he listened to anything and everything she had to say, unwilling to miss a single detail no matter how minute the story it was that she shared. More than once (Y/N) had attempted to redirect some of the conversation to him, only for him to casually mention the kinds of travels he'd been on and the people he'd met before he brushed it off in favor of hearing more of her voice. She wondered if he even knew just how intriguing he was, how fascinating his own stories would be to someone like her, who had stayed in the same village all her life.

"I could imagine," he smiled at her, the cut planes of his features having melted down into soft curves and rounded edges, "You sound like you were a little terror."

(Y/N) was prepared to counter his teasing remark when the echoing chime sounded from the grandfather clock stationed at the head of the room. The heavy gonging detailed out the time having turned into midnight—much later than (Y/N) had anticipated staying out when she had snuck out at nine.

Her shoulders fell when she realized that her night had to be coming to an end soon.

"What is wrong?" Harry asked, picking up on the decline in her expression.

"It's getting very late—later than I thought," she started, turning to him with regret ready on her features, "I won't be able to stay much longer if I don't want anyone noticing I'm gone."

Harry finally seemed to pick up on the time then. She had shyly shared with him earlier that she hadn't exactly gained permission to join him for the evening, and had still gone anyway, making it so her cover for the night had to be pristine should she want to keep herself out of trouble.

"I suppose it is rather late," he mused, a pinch appearing between his brows as he stared at the clock, "But, we still have some time, don't we? I don't know if I'm ready to send you home yet."

The flattery went straight through the ladder of her ribs and to her heart as she listened to him. While she knew better than to linger longer than what she could handle, she knew she wasn't ready for the evening to end either.

"I just do not want to scare my father again, not after I had disappeared during the storm."

"Was he very upset?" he asked, concern in his eyes when he turned to face her.

(Y/N) rolled her lips between her teeth. It wasn't a particularly light topic bringing up the reaction her neighbors had when it came to him. "I hadn't told him that I was with you that night, but I think he knew anyway. There are some... gossips in the village that I think tried to convince him that you had hurt me or tried to keep me away from home."

His brow creased further at her words. "I am well aware that there are some... unsavory attitudes present when it comes to me and the fact that I don't associate much with the day-to-day of the village and that there have been concerns when it comes to what is being found in the woods, but," Harry paused, his gaze intent on hers with the shattered green of his eyes floating in his irises, "You know I would never hurt you, right, (Y/N)? I care about you—more than I probably should, but the last thing I would ever want is to bring you harm."

She was not the person that needed to be convinced of his intentions, (Y/N) having seen the genuine concern in his eyes when she woke from her fainting spell, having felt his soft touch, having heard the gentle way he spoke to her as if she were a wounded animal. She knew where his intentions lied and she felt safe within them, but she was still taken aback at the clear set of his eyes, honesty lining his features. She had never doubted him before, but now there was no room for any kind of counter argument that could wiggle in the back of her mind.

"I believe you," she told him, her voice a sudden whisper as if sharing a secret not to be heard by the walls, "I know you better than they do, and I'll trust your intentions over any rumor. I trust you."

Harry's eyes rounded out as he listened to her, taking in her genuine take the same way she had his.

"Thank you," he smiled, matching the soft volume of her voice. Glancing once more at the clock, Harry stood to the full of his height with his hand outstretched towards her, "I don't want to land you in any trouble, but if you have some extra time to spare with me, there was one more place I wanted to show you before the night is over."

She didn't have to think before she was placing her palm in his, the chill of his skin leaving no other effect but goosebumps on her own.

—————

(Y/N)'s heels clicked on the glossy, black floor under their feet as Harry escorted her to a grand set of double doors they had initially passed by during his tour. He held a proud smile on his lips when he pushed the door open, the hinges gliding without a noise.

Stepping over the threshold, (Y/N) was drawn in by the sprawling ballroom inside. It was the kind of space that would fit in perfectly for royalty, she thought as she fawned over the sparkling floors and high ceilings. Green and gold accented the space, more flowers spilling out here and there. The walls were elaborately furnished with filigree and art, mirrors strategically placed as if the space didn't look big enough on its own.

"I've never actually used this room before," Harry murmured, following after her as she took in the space.

"How could you not?" she answered in awe, twirling around in search of every detail, "I would host parties every night with something like this."

There was amusement in his tone when he responded, "I think it's rather obvious that I didn't care much for other's company—except for you, of course."

Her skin warmed at his words. He was teasing her again. She didn't know what to say, only biting back a shy smile as she settled on her feet, turning to find him already looking at her with a clear gaze.

"I was hoping, before the night is over, that you might dance with me."

Harry offered her a pale hand, his features softened in wait for her response.

She didn't have to think before she was placing her palm over his, fingers curling into a hold. "But there's no music?" she said, canting her head.

Pulling her towards him, Harry matched her gaze. "That's nothing to worry about," he shared, his voice suddenly a low secret between the two.

While (Y/N) didn't exactly understand how he was going to replicate any music without a single musician present, she didn't have time to ask before he was placing a firm hand on her waist and clasping their joined hands in a stiff hold. Instinctively, (Y/N) settled her own hand on his shoulder falling in line with his moves.

(Y/N) was far from well versed in the proper moves needed to pull off any kind of elaborate routine, but as she looked into his eyes, she didn't need to think before she fell in line with Harry's guidance. After only a moment, the clacking of her heels the only noise, suddenly the ballroom was filled with the delicate singing of a violin and thrumming keys from a pianoforte.

She wanted to turn her head, to see if there was a hidden stage that she had missed, but she held her gaze steady with Harry's. A dazzling smile pulled at his features, his hand squeezing at her waist as he twirled them around.

"Better?" he murmured, his voice mixing with the music.

She could only manage a nod of her head, her own lips beginning to curl to mimic the set of his own.

Taking a deep breath into her lungs, (Y/N) dropped herself squarely in the moment. This was everything her romantic heart had always desired: flourishing music while she twirled in a gown made only by the finest hands, a handsome, heart-fluttering partner at her side. Poems were written with the sole purpose of attempting to put into words what the feeling she had in her chest was like. Paintings were made depicting the light that came with dancing with one's beloved. Her own dreams urged her to find something like this in her lifetime.

Time stood still where she was, feeling the cool weight of Harry's hand in her, and the effortless gliding he evoked from her. The music swelled and dipped, taking her through the seasons with Harry twirling and holding her every hour. It could have been days that she stayed there, her eyes fluttered closed with a quiet smile on her face, and she would have barely realized.

Blinking her eyes open, she saw Harry looking down at her. This was her one—the man in her sonnet, the one in her portrait, who she'd seen in her dreams.

"I wish I knew what the inside of your head was like," he told her, drawing her away from him only to twirl her in a swirl of crimson. He brought her back to his chest, his hand on her waist slipping to loop around the curve—highly inappropriate though (Y/N) wouldn't dream of stopping him.

"It is nothing special," she shied away from his words, turning her head as he led them around in the ballroom in a structured circle.

"I doubt that," he said, dipping lower until his lips were at her ear, "You are nothing less than absolutely special, (Y/N)."

Harry drew her away from him once more, holding his hand up above her head as she was twirled. As she spun, she just barely caught her reflection in the gilded framed mirror hung on the wall. The slash of her red dress caught her eye first, bright against the deep green and dark shades splashed throughout the space.

But the most jarring part of the sight was the fact that she was dancing alone.

Harry was nowhere to be seen in that small glimpse, her hand holding nothing but the thin air.

Before she could truly catch any kind of detail, she had been spun away and back to Harry's chest.

Not even a single heartbeat of time had been missed while (Y/N)'s skin erupted into goosebumps. What an odd trick of the light, she thought. She must have had more wine than she initially figured.

"Is everything alright?" Harry asked, keeping her firm against his chest though now there was a cream between his brows.

Shaking her head, (Y/N) cast that glimpse out of her head. It wouldn't have been that hard for him to blend in with the rest of the ballroom, she argued, with the way he was dressed in all black.

"Yes, I'm alright. Just a little dizzy, I think," she laughed, tightening her hold on his hand. If she really was growing that dizzy and the effects of the wine hitting her that hard, she was going to have to make a real effort to stay upright.

"Stay close, darling," Harry murmured, "I've got you."

(Y/N) all but keened at his words, doing as he said and happily staying close to him with the planes of his chest pressing against her corseted breasts. The music reached heights and valleys around them, the strings of the violin singing in a tenor (Y/N) had never dreamed of hearing so smooth. She was transfixed in the moment, twirling and stepping, allowing Harry to guide her every which way. Even when her inadequacy showed, he kept his hold on her strong, catching her through the stumbles with a small smile as if a promise to keep that misstep between them and this empty ballroom.

A gasp left her lips when Harry stopped them only to fluidly dip her backwards with his face hovering over hers. He held her steady with his arms turning into steady bars around her back and her own looping around his neck. Her gasp turned into a fluff of giggles leaving her throat, never having felt anything like this before. Harry laughed with her, lingering in that stance as she dropped her head back, extending her neck with her eyes closed.

Time stood still then, (Y/N) luxuriating in the feel of faux-floating in his arms. She swallowed when she felt the icy touch of the very tip of his nose skimming the column of her throat. She felt her lips stretch into a dreamy smile as she cracked her eyes open.

To the side of them, hanging from its gilded frame, was the opulently large mirror she had peeked at a handful of minutes prior. This time, when she peered at her reflection, she could no longer deny what she had seen before.

With her eyes wide, (Y/N) saw herself hovering in mid-air, no other soul present in the ballroom. There were indents in her dress where she knew Harry was holding her, where her skirt flared around their feet and had been pushed back by his legs. But she was the only one seen in the reflection.

Her mouth dropped into a gape, a quiet gasp falling from between her lips.

"(Y/N)?" he started, righting her position as she went stiff in his arms. She couldn't tear her eyes off of the mirror, watching as the space around her interacted with her with phantom hands. "What is wrong? What are you—"

In that moment, though she could only see him from the corner of her eye, she figured Harry had to have caught on to what she was seeing—or not seeing, really.

That pause in the universe as they danced finally resumed in that moment, the trance broken. (Y/N) scrambled out of his arms, dropping her own from around his neck as she stepped back. Her heels clacked over the floor, her skirt dragging. There was no more music tinkling through the space, only echoing silence.

A pinch knitted her brows together, her head tipping as if she could catch another angle and suddenly see Harry in the glass.

"D-Do you see it, too?" she whimpered, hoping against all odds that she wasn't losing her mind right now. What was in that wine?

"(Y/N)," he started, stepping towards her with the movement echoing in the silent hall, "I can explain."

That had her whirling around in her spot, decidedly moving out of reach from. His response was far from reassuring.

"What?" she sounded. What was there to explain? All he was supposed to tell her was that yes, he saw his reflection missing too, but that mirror had always been faulty—he was working on fixing the issue, it was nothing for her to worry about.

This time when she looked at him, (Y/N) swore Harry's eyes had grown darker. The smatterings of green had shied away, leaving only the coal-like expanses against his pale skin.

He was real, right in front of her. She felt the planes of his body, the strength of his grip. She had seen him through the village, let him hold her, she had seen him interact with others as well. Why couldn't the mirror see him?

"A-Are you a ghost?" (Y/N) choked out, feeling as crazy as her question sounded. Mary and Ethel would be proud of the nonsensical explanation her brain had handed her.

When she saw him roll his lips between his teeth, gaze flitting past her and towards the mirror at her back, (Y/N) felt her spine stiffen.

"Not quite," he started, expression grim, "It's complicated."

While she hadn't exactly had a preferred response in mind, she figured it would have been better than a simple declaration of it’s complicated. (Y/N) began backing away from him then, clarity entering her mind in a chilling sweep.

Her head had been so in the clouds, luxuriating amongst the swelling music and fanciful notes. She had been too preoccupied with everything Harry, the way she was drawn to him, keening under his attention and mooning over every word of flattery he gave her. Now, details began to fall into place.

His skin, in her hand and pressed to her chest—even through layers of clothing—was cold. She had never given it much thought, just assuming that he was one of the few that ran colder than others and took the chills easier. Now, she could only see the pale pallor of his skin and the temperature and wonder how easily he would fit in with the corpses found in the forest. His eyes were always so dark, (Y/N) barely unable to differentiate the center from the iris, only when she squinted and took the time could she pick out the shades of green inside. Normal people didn't just... lose their reflection. Mirrors caught it all, no matter how dingy or foggy. Harry was invisible to the glass.

Her eyes dropped to the center of his lips where the pillows housed a small tint, red and warm.

"What are you?"

When he took a cautious step towards her, (Y/N) all but stumbled back, itching to keep the current chasm of space between them. Harry stopped where he stood then, dropping his gaze from hers.

(Y/N)'s heartbeat sounded in her ears while she awaited his response.

"It is... hard to explain," he answered, "Can I show you something that might help? My library—I can show you there—"

Drowning out the rest of his words over a rush of blood pumping through her body, (Y/N) stared at him. Her insides twisted as he took in more and more of him. Her father had always said that with her head so far up in the clouds, the fall was going to shatter her when it happened. It appeared that fall was happening now.

Was he really a demon like the church women said? Was he the predator that committed those heinous acts scattered about the woods? Warnings had been everywhere: the way she was drawn to him like a moth to a singing flame, the way he reeled her in wish his unmatched beauty, and the way everyone around her seemed to know better. She had willingly walked into the lion's den, though there was no telling what kind of beast had truly laid claim to the territory. She was nothing but a stray bunny, a lamb separated from the flock, that had witless fallen into a trap.

"(Y/N)," Harry said, his voice cutting through her whirling thoughts, "Please. Don't be afraid of me." She watched his throat bob as he swallowed, his features tight with shining eyes. "I promised you, remember? That I would never harm you. You said you believed me."

Despite how disconnected she wanted to be, (Y/N) felt something in her chest crack as she listened to him. She was scared and confused, overwhelmed by the unknown that was standing in the room with her, but there was still the person she did know there as well. And that person looked heartbroken.

"I just don't understand," she whimpered, fearing the volume of her own voice.

A spark returned to him then, hearing her response. "I can explain," he said, stepping away from her towards a pitch black chaise lining the wall, "Give me a moment, and I will explain as much as I can."

She was sure she was meant to take his lead, joining him on the velvet cushion, but her feet didn't allow more than a drag. She wanted to understand him, but she could understand him just fine without crawling in his lap. Instead, (Y/N) followed him far enough to watch as he took his seat from where she stood a meter away.

"(Y/N)—"

"Tell me," she started, her voice bursting through before she had given much permission, "Are you—... You're not human, are you?"

Her words hung in the air between them, echoing through the too big, too silent ballroom. She didn't need to hear him to know what his answer was.

"No. I'm not."

Harry had his eyes fixed on her, watching for every reaction she gave. (Y/N) wished she could have been stoic like the elder women of the village, or less reactionary like her sister, instead she was an open book doling out every reaction on a silver platter for him to consume. While she had been expecting as such, her head would never—could never—comprehend the answer he gave.

"I am what is called a vampyr," he cautiously continued after a moment.

With her mouth agape, she watched him, waiting for more of an explanation than some unknown word.

"What does that even mean?" she peeped when he said nothing more.

This time, Harry avoided her eyes as he searched for the right words. He leant forward in his seat, placing his elbows on his knees as he dropped his gaze to center on the glossy floor. Only if he peeked through his lashes could he see her.

"It means," he started, a heavy breath pushing his lungs to expand, "That, I am dead. But, I am able to be among the living."

The edges of (Y/N)'s vision began to swirl as she tried to comprehend what he was so simply serving to her.

Dead.

Harry is dead. But, here he was, living and breathing, blinking with his heart steady in his chest, right in front of her.

She breathlessly tried to ask for more information, though barely any thought came from her mouth. "Wh-W—Dead?"

Flicking his head up, Harry hesitantly matched her eyes. "My heart no longer beats, but, still, here I am," he offered, tone gentle and forgiving, "I don't know how it's possible, but I've been existing this way for a long time. I don't understand it either, (Y/N)."

Her lungs felt stunted as she couldn't help her own eyes from dropping to his chest, where any normal human's heart would be pumping blood through full veins. She thought, if she waited long enough ,started hard enough, that she could prove him wrong somehow. What if Harry had it all wrong, that he had been convinced by someone—something—that he wasn't like anyone else? Here she could prove to him (and herself) that his heart was beating and he was alive and everything she had slowly been putting together was nothing more than the effects of too much wine and an overactive imagination.

Alas, there was no bold evidence that his heart was hammering against his chest as hers was. Instead, he was silently still, skin pale and chilled.

She fell to the ground then, her dress fanning around her form with her hands limp in her lap. Looking at Harry with pleading eyes, she wanted nothing more than for this to be a cruel joke.

"Bu—Harry?"

Rolling his lips between his teeth, Harry closed his eyes, unable to continue watching as she crumbled under the weight of the truth.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't have any answers on why or how," he started, feeling as pained as she, "All I know is that I woke up this way after a night I can't remember, and have been attempting to figure it out since."

She canted her head, observing him as he sat with his eyes shuttered. "But you... You don't look dead?"

This seemed to be the wrong question to ask as he dropped his head, leaving (Y/N) from gleaning anything from his expression. "There are things I need to be able to maintain myself or I would wither away like any other person, but..."

"It's complicated?" (Y/N) finished for him, feeling the lame weight of the explanation on her tongue.

Harry nodded his head, keeping his gaze down. "It's complicated."

(Y/N) base level instincts wanted her to run, bolt from the castle and make her way back home in a puddle of tears and seek out the shelter of her father. Harry's half-explanations and full deceptions should be enough of a warning sign to compliment the red flags others around her had seen and pushed her to acknowledge.

Despite it all, as she sat, watching him wrestle with his speaking his own words as much as she was hearing them, she made no move to leave. Maybe she hadn't completely crashed down just yet, because she swore the longer she sat here, streaks of intrigue and curiosity sparked through her head.

Besides, through the muck and the revelations slowly sweeping over her, a near silent thought in the back of her head reminded her that he promised he'd never hurt her. If he had truly wanted to harm her, he would have done it by now, right?

"What do you mean that it's complicated?" she asked before she had even given permission for her thoughts to float around the room.

"I have had to do things—things I am not proud of—to be able to stay alive—or whatever I am. But, I am trying to move past them and grow into something more," he told her, his words turning into a plea as he finally matched her gaze, "I promise I am different now."

That base instinct inside of her triggered a gut feeling (Y/N) couldn't ignore. Flashes of the woman she found in the woods blinked through her memory, her nightmares intermingling with the grotesque sight.

"The people in the woods," she murmured, unsure of what she wanted out of bringing this up. She wasn't asking, but she hoped Harry had an answer for her, though she feared what that might be.

Harry looked to her with a clear gaze, his shoulders sloping in defeat. He looked pained as he fought to pick out the right words for her. "That is not me," he told her, though he looked far from finished, "But, it's who I used to be. I have not done... that in a very long time, but Mitchell—m-my footman—he-he's trying to learn. He doesn't know how to contain himself yet, but he will."

Vividly, (Y/N) could recall the sight of the bloodless corpse, all color leached from the woman's features. The frayed column of her throat, ripped out of the way in favor of the flesh and muscle underneath. The woman had been deliberately stowed away, carefully placed after being mauled and used until she had nothing left to give. The memory warped until Harry was standing over the woman's body, blood cascading down his mouth and soiling his clothing

A shudder wracked down her spine.

She remembered thinking just how impossible it would be for a human to do what she had seen.

"You've done that to others before?" she whispered, fearing how badly her voice would crack if she attempted anything louder.

Hanging his head in shame, Harry nodded his head. "It's been almost a hundred years, but yes."

A hundred years.

Harry on the outside was a young man, not the kind of person that spoke of decades of his life out in the world. He showed no age, and yet, he didn't hesitate before offering a number.

She had thought it was wild just how much he seemed to have travelled while being so young.

(Y/N)'s world turned on its head then. She must have really downed the wine during dinner. Maybe even the scent of the wisteria and the foxglove had worked its way into her brain and was taking more and more of her sanity.

She had to leave.

Stumbling to her feet, (Y/N) swallowed around her dry through, her breathing coming in concerning puffs with her corset tight around her torso.

"I need to go," she told him breathlessly, "I-I—I'm sorry, I need to leave."

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and started out of the ballroom. She needed space, this castle was too small, the walls too tight, the corset digging in too deep. She had made it just to the double doors before she was aware of Harry's presence behind her, his steps silent over the floor.

"(Y/N), wait," he pleaded, "I can explain everything, I-I promise. I've never had to explain to anyone who didn't already understand, but I'll learn, please give me a chance."

Her pacing never wavered as she burst out of the ballroom, hustling through the winding halls and gloomy decor until she found herself heading towards the front door. The pounding of her feet over the glossy flooring matched that of the beating in her chest, her ribs sore and lungs aching.

Just as she placed her hand on the door, aiming to push it open and allow herself to spill into the night, a cold hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"(Y/N), wai—"

Twirling around, (Y/N) startled with a gasp ripping through her throat. On instinct, the vision of the corpse in the woods in the back of her mind, she cupped her hand over her neck as if that could stop him from ripping it out.

Harry's hand dropped from her shoulder immediately, his gaze dropping to where she had protectively clutched her throat. Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession, a whimper involuntarily dropping from her lips.

He crumbled at the sight, despair washing over his features. (Y/N) didn't know what to do as he fell to his knees, looking up at her with glittering eyes, more and more shatters of green appearing. His fingers clutched at his waistcoat, skin turning bone white from the strength.

"(Y/N)," he almost cried, "I—You have to believe me. I would never hurt you, you know that. Please, please don't be scared of me." Glittering tears pooled in his eyes. "I am more devoted to you than I think I even realized, I would sooner sacrifice myself than let anything hurt you. Please, just... I don't want to frighten you, I'm sorry."

She was rooted in her spot as she heard his pleas over the rushing of blood in her ears. Under her palm, she could feel her pulse thrumming in her neck.

What kind of predator was he, to crumble and bow before his prey? No vulnerability could be shown during the hunt, even from the most skilled of hunters. And yet, if Harry were the lion here, the one stalking and waiting for the moment to strike, he was doing a poor job of keeping the upper hand. With the way they were positioned—(Y/N) with her back to the door, knob under her other hand, and Harry at his knees before her,—she could easily escape before he had a chance to do anything more than to grasp at her gown before the material inevitably slipped from his hands.

He'd had plenty of better—easier—opportunities to hurt her. Tonight alone, when he dipped her low, neck on display, as they danced in the ballroom, he could have easily made her into one of the many found in the woods. Instead, he had held her carefully, skimming his nose over the skin in an affectionate touch before pulling her to his chest. Countless times prior—the night in the storm, when she had slept so soundly in that bedroom, the night walking alone through town—he could have stolen her away without a single soul to witness.

Instead, he had cared for her. He put her somewhere safe to wait out the storm and sleep off her panic. He had ensured she hadn't walked home alone in the dark with a rowdy tavern bubbling with drunk patrons. He had treated her like royalty all night, never once looking down on her should she not know the proper etiquette. Even now, he was pleading with her to please understand him, that he had never wanted to simply scare her.

For a moment, she wished she could have seen what this looked like to a spectator. She wanted to know if all of her emotions were seen as plainly on her face as she felt them in her chest. The comedown was gradual and mind-clearing, but Harry stayed right where he was, patiently awaiting any kind of response she could give him.

(Y/N) had the upper hand here.

Lowering her hand from her throat, her shoulders dropped into a declining slope. Unpinching her features while her lungs evened out.

"I am overwhelmed, I think," she told him, swallowing down the thick lump in the throat, "And, confused. But I believe you."

Relief came over him at once, his posture slumping as he collected himself. A beat passed before he rose to his feet, exhaustion touching at his unblemished features.

"Thank you," he breathed, looking at her with a clear gaze and unguarded expression, "I understand. I was confused once too—it's not easy to comprehend." Wetting his lips, he tipped his chin with the downturned eyes of a scolded pup. "Perhaps, I can ready the carriage for you to make it home, and rest for the remainder of the night. And, if you are still open to seeing me again, I will give you whatever answers I have to anything you want to know."

Too many trains of thought were passing through her head at the moment, keeping (Y/N) from giving him a clear answer. While she was sure right now that she wanted to know everything about what he was and who he was, explore the half-truths she had learned, there was no telling what kind of clarity the morning would bring.

"Okay," she answered quietly, not wanting to give anything more away until she knew more. She made a move to step around him to which Harry caught on and allowed a wider berth for her to pass. "Let me change, and then I will be ready to leave."

"You don't have to do that," Harry stopped her, his sullen expression returning with delicate heartbreak, "The gown is yours. You can keep it."

When she offered him a small smile, she could see the pieces of him mending back together. "I think this may be a bit hard to travel in and hide from my father, that's all," she told him, shooting her palms over the skirt, "I will have to come by to collect it another time."

It was like watching the sunrise the way a smile bloomed over Harry's features, dazzling and hopeful.

"Another time, then."

—————

From the carriage ride, to trekking back to her room, and finally settling in bed after doing her nightly ritual, (Y/N) had been left alone with her thoughts.

No one had caught her, that much she knew from the fact her father was still snoring in the other room and the tavern was still bustling with no attention paid in her direction. At least, she didn't have to worry about that. That way, her head could be filled with endless questions.

No matter how scared she had been in the moment at the castle, (Y/N) knew that she was never in any real danger. She didn't understand Harry and who he was revealing himself to be, and she doubted she ever truly would, but she knew in her heart that he was never going to harm her. The kind of man that would rather sit and speak, drop to his knees with words of devotion, couldn't be that much of a monster, could he?

Confusion muddled her thoughts. Every time she reassured herself, she heard glimpses of the word Dead wrapped in his voice, detailing out just how his heart was still in his chest. She saw the memory of the dead woman in the woods, and the countless others she had been spared of seeing with her own eyes. While he may not be the culprit of these bodies, he had been once.

It was an odd thing, the curiosity she felt.

She wanted to know him. She wanted to be close to the man that she had met and practically courted with these last weeks. She wanted that man and had allowed her heart to stake a claim on him. But, she was confused with the part of him he shared tonight.

Staring at her ceiling, (Y/N) attempted to reconcile everything she knew.

Those two facets of him could both be true, she thought. He could be the kind of creature that had done things she didn't want to fathom, while also being the kind of man that she had sought out and had embraced her in those small ways. Tonight, she had feared a threat that had been brought about by the unknown and the lack of understanding she had around him, but never once was the real Harry the thing that had frightened her.

She could be comforted and confused by him at the same time, too.

A rustle from the herb garden had (Y/N) tentatively peering out her window.

Amongst the leaves and bundles was the moon-eyed cat. The same one that she had last seen in Harry's arms.

She was going to speak to him again, she decided. There was more she had to know about him and her heart wasn't ready to shy away from him yet.

—————

when the flower of hemlock is consumed, it can poison the lungs and cause death through suffocation.

ahhhhhh! the ballroom scene was the first thing that came to mind and inspired me to write this whole piece so that was a lot of fun to come together and I really hope you guys like it! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any ideas or whatever you want to share please sent them in!

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thebearchives · 1 year

Text

paper-thin walls | m.s.

PAIR. neighbour!mick schumacher x single mother!reader

SUMM. noisy neighbours was the last thing mick was expecting after the long f1 season. he's tired, he's stressed, and believe it or not, he's ready to give his neighbour a piece of his damn mind.

WC. 5.6k

NOTES. first fic of 2023, everyone cheer!! i'm trying out new styles of writing, so please lmk how you found this fic.

WARNINGS include excessive use of the word 'fuck' (i'm sorry), and...shirtless mick? as always, don't be a ghost reader!

rest and relaxation, mick. that’s what toto had told him before he waved him off at the airport. we need you in prime shape for the next season.

mick tossed in his bed, migraine prickling the back of his head as another screech came from the wall beside him.

look like you haven’t slept in months, mate. george had thrown an arm over his shoulder, cheeky smile playing on his lips as he brought a finger up to poke the obvious bags under mick’s eye. look alive, mick. it’s only gonna get worse from here.

it wasn’t official yet, but soon, news would drop about lewis’ retirement and mick’s subsequent promotion to the empty mercedes seat. he supposed that george was right. the season had only just ended and yet already, his shared calendar was filling up faster and faster with events, testing sessions, and appearances for the new season.

i’ll tell you this now. get all the sleep you can get this break. lewis rolled his shoulders back, stretching his neck side-to-side. the now eighth-time champion yawned loudly, muttering about how he was glad to be escaping the early mornings of simulator practice that happened closer to the start and end of the off season.

mick couldn’t help the sigh that escaped his lips. it was strange, really, how quickly the idea of sleep had turned from attainable to something as out-of-reach as his seat on the grid had been the year prior. except, only his fight for his seat came with much less crying and screaming from his next door neighbour.

now listen, mick didn’t hate kids, alright. in fact, his older sister had brought a wonderful little boy into the world some years ago, and mick didn’t like to brag, but he was certain he was his nephew’s favourite uncle;

( “you’re also his only uncle, mick.” gina rolled her eyes as she watched mick toss her son up in the air.

mick waved her off, laughing along with his nephew. “i’m still his favourite, aren’t i, jonah?”

he had directed the second half of his sentence to the boy in his arms who, when addressed, nodded rapidly and smiled at his mom with his crooked teeth.

“yeah, mama! uncle mickie is the best uncle in the whoooooole world!” )

so, yeah, it was fair to say mick liked kids. but when that kid is crying her little lungs out at 2:53 in the morning for the third night in a row? yeah, that’s when he draws a line.

a beat passed before another set of pitiful whines reverberated from the wall. mick pulled the pillow out from under him, and stuffed it over his head instead, hoping to drown out the sounds.

his first order of business as a mercedes amg driver? move the fuck out.

your eyes were red, beady with unshed tears as the figurative hammers slammed against your head.

amelia was sick— had been for the past three days now. you had been trying to soothe her cries for the past hour, but to no avail. your heart broke to see your little angel’s face contort in pain as her whole body ached.

it’s a simple cold. your pediatrician had told you such with a small smile. she was holding on to a red lollipop that she reached over and handed to amelia. the two-year-old had reluctantly reached out and grabbed it before rushing back against your side. her forehead was burning up as you pushed her bangs away from her face, face visibly worried. it’s viral, hon. the seasons are changing. nothing to worry about.

you had a sneaking suspicion that the lady from the fourth floor with the hacking cough had been the one to infect your little girl. if only the elevator doors had closed on her that day.

( you pressed the ‘door close’ button repeatedly, willing it to close before anne from the fourth floor would reach the elevator.

amelia giggled with each press of the button. “i wanna try! i wanna try! mommy, please can i try?” she had stood on her tippy-toes, teetering over and grabbing onto your dress as support.

you smiled, hand leaving the button to instead ruffle her hair. “it’s all yours, little lady. have at it.”

amelia reached over and pushed her finger against the ‘door open’ button. you held in a groan as the door jerked in the opposite direction. you tutted lightly, pushing amelia’s finger to the next button over. “wrong button, baby.”

amelia ‘ohh’ed, finger pushing against the button one again, but it was too late.

you watched as anne rushed to the elevator door with a rejuvenated fervor, wanting so badly for the doors to close right before she got on. you prayed to schindler elevators that the doors would close on her.

schindler elevators inc. was unfortunately not a god, and thus, anne got on.

“good afternoon, dear.” anne sniffled out, turning to look at the little girl in front of you. “thank you for waiting, dearie.”

amelia smiled, “you’re welcome! what floor?”

anne coughed loudly. you tried to hide your grimace. “fourth, please.”

the doors finally closed and amelia tugged on your dress once again. you smiled at her hopeless face, reaching up to press the fourth floor button.

anne had coughed and sneezed a few more times before she nasally said goodbye and got off on her floor. )

anne was a sweet lady, you wouldn’t deny it. but at this moment in time, you couldn’t help but curse her with all the malicious intent you could muster. you were tired. amelia was tired. and yet, nothing you were doing seemed to lull the girl into a state of slumber.

faintly, you could feel the guilt creeping up on you. the walls of your apartment complex were thin— you’d learned that the hard way. you were aware of how amelia’s cries were probably making their way into your neighbour’ houses and into the hallway, but quite frankly, you couldn’t even pretend to give a shit while you pulled amelia into your arms and took her on a little walk around your apartment.

her loud cries slowly turned into sniffles and low whines as you rocked her around your house, showing her all the framed pictures hung around your house. one of her hands found its way to your hair, twirling some strands while the other stayed nestled between your bodies. your shirts had come off long ago— skin-to-skin was always a great comfort for amelia, and you could tell that the material of her sleeves and your t-shirt was overstimulating her greatly.

even dressed in just a diaper, amelia’s arm, and subsequently, the rest of her body, was burning up from the fever she was running. you had a feeling that the medicine you had given her before her scheduled bedtime was wearing off, but amelia had refused to drink her milk and you were reluctant to give her another dose on an empty stomach.

you hated to rouse her once she had finally quieted down but after being a mother for two years, you quickly learned that too much empathy could lead to your downfall. amelia needed to take her medicine now so that she wouldn’t have another meltdown in an hour’s time, and if that came at the expense of her crying just a bit more, it’d have to do.

you hesitantly pulled amelia away from your skin, hushing her lightly as she started to resist and whine. “i know, i know. i’m sorry, baby. i know it hurts.”

you made your way to the kitchen. you talked amelia through every step, hoping to keep her distracted long enough to pull out an applesauce cup from the pantry. “we’re gonna eat some food and then give you your medicine so your body stops hurting. okay, baby?”

amelia shivered lightly as your hand grazed over her stomach. she watched with wet eyes as you grabbed a spoon and attempted to open the cup— it was quite hard, doing everything with one hand.

“can mommy put you down?” you stopped and looked down at amelia, who frowned before slowly shaking her head and leaning into your chest again. “you wanna sit in my lap?” amelia nodded, a shuddered breath escaping her as she let herself calm down.

you worked quickly, sitting down with a tired baby in your lap and peeling open the cup. you fed amelia with slow bites, hoping she kept her food down this time. after she finished about half the cup, she started to fuss, pushing her face into your arm to avoid eating anymore. you were too tired to care about the fact that she had rubbed applesauce all over your bare arm.

you decided against giving her the next dose of medicine until she stopped being fussy— if there was anything amelia had seemed to hate more than being sick, it was taking her medicine. the one she had been prescribed was grape flavoured, and it was by far the worst flavour of medicine you had the disgrace of stumbling across. you pitied your daughter. truly, you did, but you wanted her to get better, and if this grape-flavoured syrup was the only way to nurse her back to health, you’d do whatever it takes to get her to drink it.

amelia was now sitting on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket as her clammy skin made her feel cold. she watched you with narrowed eyes as you manoeuvred around the kitchen to find her medicine and her sippy cup filled with water. although you had tried your hardest to hide the bottle from her, amelia recognized the purple bottle instantly, shaking her head furiously and whining out a no, mommy.

you sighed, not wanting to experience the third meltdown of the night. half heartedly, you wished for her to just stop crying and go to sleep, entirely too exhausted by caring for a sick child while running on a combined two hours of sleep.

you couldn’t help but mentally scold yourself; god, you were such a bad mother. here your daughter was— sick and in need of your comfort— and instead of comforting her, you’re frustrated with her tears and couldn’t stand to hear another cry. you were just so tired. yet, you had no right to complain— you knew being a single mother would have been hard, but you still went through with it.

you took a deep breath in, trying to stop yourself from spiralling.

you carried amelia in your womb for nine months alone. you had gave birth alone. you had spent the last three years raising amelia on your own, and god damn it, a sickness would not make you question your worth as a mother. not over your dead body.

“alright, mimi.” you crouched in front of where amelia had been sitting, a weak smile on your face to try and coax her into drinking her medicine. “you’ve gotta drink your medicine if you want to feel better, okay?— no, don’t give me that look. mommy doesn’t want to give you this either, but you have to drink it or else you’ll continue hurting all night.”

the young girl sniffled, eyes already watering again. “but it’s yucky!”

you placed the sippy cup on the ground beside you, reaching up to caress her cheek lightly. “it is, but it helps you feel less icky and achy, okay?”

amelia stared at the bottle in your hand, a frown clear on her face. you wished she hadn’t taken up your stubbornness.

“we can do this the easy way, or the hard way, amelia.” you gave her a slightly stern look.

amelia shook her head before pushing it back and into the cushion of the couch.

hard way, it is.

you leave me no choice, amelia. you placed the plastic feeding syringe filled with 5 mL of the purple medicine, and reached out to hold onto amelia. you sat down in her spot, holding the girl down by her arms as she started to yell and flail her limbs. after she realized her arms were being held, she began to kick her feet, trying to roll out of your arms.

your grip didn’t loosen, leaning forward to grab the syringe once again. you held the syringe near her mouth, and amelia immediately started to scream louder, yells turning into sobs. again, very faintly, you worried about the noise and your neighbours, but you pushed forward.

you placed the syringe against the inside of her cheek, releasing some of the medicine. amelia stopped crying for a slight second to swallow before going back to her loud cries. the migraine from earlier returned as you repeated your actions twice more before tossing the empty syringe to the table and pulling the girl up in your lap.

amelia gagged loudly, and you couldn’t stop the loud no, no, no! no throwing up from escaping your lips. you grabbed her sippy cup before helping her wash down the medicine. god, children were so dramatic.

amelia, whose hands were now free, pushed the sippy cup away after a few sips. her lips were downturned into a big pout, and her eyes were glassy. her breath shuddered, still recovering from her outburst from seconds ago. you cooed gently, pushing her hair away from her forehead and eyes.

“see, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?” you imagined that if she knew how, amelia would respond to you with a death glare.

you pulled the girl closer to you, hand on her hair, smoothing it down as she placed her wet cheek against your sternum. you whispered quiet compliments to your baby as she started to calm down, hand coming back up to grab your hair and tangle her fingers into it.

it was quiet— no sounds aside from your whispers of i love you’s and amelia’s heavy breathing (her nose had stuffed up not too long ago). it had stayed quiet for maybe twenty seconds, until the silence was broken by a rather aggressive knock on your door.

amelia startled, and your heart dropped. fuck.

mick wasn’t sure when he finally dozed off. the little girl from the other side of his wall had finally quieted down, and he could faintly hear another woman’s voice coaxing her to calm down.

when he came to again, it had of course been due to another meltdown from the girl. he’d startled awake, pillow falling from his face and onto the floor beside him. his heart rate was erratic, and it took him a few seconds to get a bearing of his surroundings. when the next cry resonated through his room, he couldn’t help the loud groan from escaping past his lips.

mick sat up in his bed, suddenly feeling a strong wave of rage crash over him. it was late, and he was tired. it was past 3 am now, and mick schumacher had had enough.

the last few days had been stressful, to say the least. mick was going to be an official driver on the grid next season, for mercedes, and as excited as he was, he was also nervous— extremely nervous. yes, it was off season, but everyone knew that off season meant preparing for the next season. there really weren’t any “days off” in formula one, not really— if it wasn’t driving, it was sim work, and if it wasn’t the sim, it was working out to keep those muscles in shape.

frankly, mick had mentally exhausted himself by worrying for his next season in formula one, and with the lack of sleep, the man was nearing insanity.

he could feel the frustration, the exhaustion, and all his anxieties start to build up; start to consume him. he let them consume him.

as if on autopilot, mick got out of his bed, walking out of his bedroom and directly towards his front door. another loud cry came from across the wall, this one louder from all the rest.

if mick had been in his right mind, he wouldn’t have opened the door and rapped his knuckles against his neighbour’s door rather aggressively. but alas, mick had finally exploded, and who better to release his frustrations on than his next-door neighbours who couldn’t shut the fuck up at 3 am on a wednesday night.

the second he registered his hand on the painted black door, he paled. fuck. mick felt like he was slapped in the face— what the fuck was he thinking? what the fuck could he possibly do? yell at whoever opened the door? tell them to shut their baby up? fuck. fuck.

mick held his breath, pulling his hand back. should i run for it? his eyes flitted from the door in front of him to his own. a beat passed, the door didn’t open, but he could still hear whining and muffled murmurs. it was louder now that he was out in the hallway— his walls had been thin, but perhaps the ones that lined the sides of the hallway were thinner. maybe they didn’t hear me.

before he could decide between standing his (now, remorseful) ground, or turn tail and hurry back home and sleep with his shitty “noise-cancelling” headphones on, the door opened. his head jerked up at the sound, eyes raking over your figure as he worked up the nerve to look you in the eyes.

you were a sight to behold, dressed in a plain black sports bra and loose, plaid pajama pants that coincidentally mirrored the colours of mercedes. the quick ponytail you had thrown your hair into some hours prior was now a ghost of what it should have been— most of your hair slipping out and splaying over your shoulders. the tangled ends could only have been caused by the young girl held in your arms. she was covered up more than you were, but from where the blanket fell off her shoulder and exposed her arm, mick could tell she was just as bare, if not more. (skin-to-skin, he’d realize some hours later as he laid on the couch and stared at the ceiling, this time wide awake on his own accord.)

your eyes, mick quickly learned, told stories clearer than even the most renowned storytellers. they were droopy and bloodshot with the lack of sleep. mick could read the exhaustion through them from miles away. aside from that, they were also bleary— as if you were seconds away from bursting into tears yourself. the girl in your arms sniffled, dragging his attention away once more as he scanned his eyes over her rosy red cheeks and irritated nose. oh.

a rogue wave of guilt crashed over mick, almost drowning him in the process. in his blind rage, mick hadn’t even considered what could have possibly led the girl in your arms to cry. it seems that the lack of sleep had killed his brain cells— rid him of all common sense and critical thinking. she was sick.

the air was rather quiet around you three— aside from the little girl’s sniffling and heavy breaths, silence filled the air. mick mulled over what he should say.

the girl in your arms shivered and you shifted her closer. another second of silence passed and you decided to take the reins of the conversation. “hi, are you here about the noise?”

mick could do nothing but nod, still feeling regretful for having knocked in the first place. his lips turned upwards into a sheepish smile, hand ruffling his already messy hair.

“listen, i’m really sorry. my daughter hasn’t been feeling the best for the past few nights, and i went around to let the rest of the hall know…” you trailed off, cocking your eyebrow as you asked him a question. “i don’t think i saw you around?”

mick stuttered. “uh, yup. yeah. sorry, i was out of town for the past few weeks and only just got back,” he gestured to the door to the right of your own. “ i live next door.”

you winced. “ah, that means you’re on the opposite side of my bedroom. i’m sorry, really. amelia rarely gets sick but when she does, she’s quite the force to be reckoned with…the noise should go down now, hopefully. her medicine wore off, and she’s just gotten a new dose. let’s both hope she sleeps like a baby, yeah?”

the light chuckle that escaped your lips made mick’s heart warm. the sheepish smile turned into a shy one. “yeah, of course. i’ll let you guys go to bed, then,” he gestured his head to amelia, who had somewhat fallen asleep against your shoulder, a line of drool dripping from her open mouth. “sorry for bothering you guys this late at night.”

you lightly shook your head. “i should be saying that to you. i’ll try my very hardest to make sure you’re able to catch up on sleep now!”

mick smiled and wished you a good night, turning back towards his door. you slowly let the door shut, the whirring and clicking noise signifying that it had automatically locked.

mick yawned as he reached his door. his hand fumbled to find the doorknob, eyes bleary with sleep. he pushed the doorknob down. it didn’t move. huh?

he tried again, and again, and one more time. each time the doorknob didn’t budge. mick became frantic, and for the second time in the past five minutes, he found himself thinking— fuck.

mick had boasted about the new upgrades for his apartment building for months to anyone who listened. how could he have possibly forgotten that his front door automatically locked? that he could only get in if he had his keys or if someone was inside? (“well, what if you get locked out? what then?” “don’t be stupid, gina. i’m not an idiot, i’d never do such a thing.”)

who’s the idiot now? mick groaned, hands pulling at his hair as he crouched down. he felt like crying. he was so fucking tired. now that it was finally quiet, now that amelia had finally stopped crying, mick was locked out of his house with no way back in. what a fucking night.

mick stared at the tiled floor under him, gnawing on his lip as he thought of his options. it was 4 in the morning, not a single person would be awake and working at the front desk. he couldn’t call anybody— his phone was inside, plugged into the wall to charge after two days of use. even if he had it on him, the only people who had copies of the key were his mom, his sister, and hank, the man who worked the front desk— no one that would be awake, nor close enough to come up and unlock his door for him.

his eyes flickered back to your front door, shaking his head before the thought could even fully form. he was not going to bother you again, especially not now. mick leaned his head back against his locked door, accepting his fate and slouching onto the tile. the metal of the door was cool against his bare skin causing a shiver to run down his spine.

time was going by extremely slow, or at least it felt like it was for mick. his knees were now up to his chest, trying to find some reprieve from the cold air that breezed through the hallway’s air conditioning. he wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting like that, or when his eyes had finally shut until he was roused by the sound of your door opening. he raised his head, making eye contact with you for the second time that night. you looked mostly the same as before— tired eyes and unruly hair— the only difference now was that you had traded your sports bra in for a white shirt and a cardigan.

you cocked your head lightly. “oh? what are you doing out here?”

your voice was quiet, soft. mick felt his cheeks heat up, the embarrassment returning.

his smile was sheepish. “i forgot my keys.”

your expression shifted, a round ‘oh’ shape forming on your lips as you nodded. before you could respond however, your eyes widened and you immediately stepped back into your apartment, leaving mick all alone in the hallway. again. mick blinked, unable to comprehend what just happened.

you returned back outside with a soundtrack of quiet jingling. you brandished the keys in your hand to the boy sitting in front of his door. “almost just made the same mistake.”

mick nodded, an airy laugh escaping his lips. “i don’t suppose amelia knows how to open doors yet?”

you shook your head, “with those new child-safe knob covers? god, i hope not.”

the air became quiet, neither of you speaking many words. mick found himself wishing the silence would swallow him whole. he caved.

“so what—”

“would yo—”

mick flinched, instantly backtracking. “sorry, you go first.”

“no, no. it’s okay, you can go first.”

“no, really. it’s okay, it wasn’t very important, anyway.” mick pushed himself off of the ground, now coming up to stand against his door instead. “please, say whatever you wanted to.”

you pursed your lips, staring at his figure before sighing. “alright,” you nodded, “i was just going to offer if you’d like to crash on my sofa? it’s awfully cold out here, and you’re…”

mick glanced down at his bare chest at your gesture, cheeks flaming hot enough to drown out the cold breeze of the air conditioner. he crossed his arms, trying to cover up his chest, though you had already seen everything he had on show.

he shook his head, adamant on not inconveniencing you further. “no, that’s alright. i’m here because of my forgetfulness, i can deal with it.”

you couldn’t help but copy his movement. “your forgetfulness came from the fact that amelia, and by extension, myself, kept you up most of the night because of how loud we were. if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

mick went to argue but you cut him off. “really, it all comes back to me, so let me help you.”

the german boy was silent, mulling over his options in his head.

“it’s a pull-out.”

his eyes met yours again. “you’re sure?”

“yes, of course.” you nodded excessively. “i was just about to go down to the laundry room–” mick’s brows furrowed, and it was your turn to smile sheepishly now. “— i forgot to grab the last load of laundry earlier because of how cranky ‘melia was being. if you don’t mind waiting for another 5 minutes, i can quickly go grab the load and let you settle in for the night?”

mick nodded, hand coming up to scratch at the base of his neck. “no, of course. take your time. i’ll be here…s’not like i’d be able to go anywhere, anyway.”

you smiled at his words, eyes brighter than they had been the first time you two spoke. “great!”

you pulled the cardigan closer to your chest, walking down the hallway as fast as you could without bursting into a full sprint. had you really just done that? had you really just invited a stranger you had briefly acquainted with not mere minutes ago to spend the night in your apartment? yes.

you pushed the down button on the elevator. and then again, willing it to get to your floor faster. fuck, your mind was going crazy with the what ifs.

what if he was a creep? you haven’t seen him around since before tonight. ‘out of town’ he says. for what? what if he was a serial killer? that would make sense. he’d fled the town to not look suspicious, and now he’s back for his next victims. yes, that was it. (in the future, mick would listen to your retellings of this story with a look of disbelief. “you thought i was going to kill you!?” “of course, i did! i didn’t know you!” “you offered that i stay the night!” “well, i don’t always make good decisions now, do i?”)

the elevator ride was rather short, and uneventful— no anne from the fourth floor to pull you from your thoughts with a hacking cough. you chewed on your lips as you mulled over the man you had left upstairs.

the laundry room was quiet and dark. of course, it was expected for four in the morning— not everyone was as disorganized as you were. you rushed your way around the familiar room, grabbing the basket you had left behind and unloading your dryer. you had to work quickly to get back before amelia realized the warmth next to her was simply your heated blanket and not you. you also had to get back to him.

by the final fitted sheet pulled from the dryer, you had made up your mind. there was just no way that your next-door neighbour. he seemed nice— too nice, a voice rang in your head. you shook your head, ridding yourself of the negative thoughts. everything will be just fine.

he was right where you left him— albeit, now returned to his slumped over position against his door. your footsteps were quiet, yet still managed to rouse him back to reality.

you sent him a sheepish smile. “i didn’t take too long, did i?”

“not at all.” he shook his head. “you’re fine.”

a hum escaped your mouth followed by the nod of your head. you reached into your cardigan’s pocket to pull out the keys, unlocking the door quietly and pushing it in with your hip. you held the door open and gestured for him to come in.

his hesitance was obvious and in your head, you cheered. definitely not a serial killer.

“an open door usually means you can enter, you know?” you gave him a soft smile. he returned it, though it looked slightly more like a grimace.

“are…” he started, arms crossing over once again, feeling bare under your gaze. “are you sure? really, it’s no problem for me to stay the night out here. hank will probably be in the office in another hour or two. ‘s not a problem, i’ll just wait for him to get here and i’ll get into my apartment. plus, amelia’s only just fallen asleep, and i’d hate to m—”

“oh, will you just get in here already?” you couldn’t help but reach out, lightly grabbing his arm before tugging him in. you guided the door shut with your foot, making sure it wasn’t too loud before turning around to look at the man in front of you.

his eyes were wide, flickering from your face to your hand, which was still wrapped around his arm. you followed his gaze, your own eyes widening as you quickly dropped your hand. your hand felt like it was on fire— his arm was cold, icy from the air conditioning, and a stark contrast from your warm ones. it felt like you’d given yourself an ice burn.

you cleared your throat, yet stayed silent, not knowing what to say.

the man across from you was in a similar boat, cheeks dusting a light pink as he focused on the heat emanating from where your hand once was.

“i’ll show you to the couch, if you’d like?” your voice tilted up at the end of the sentence. “i have a feeling our layout is the same, so the bathroom should be in the same spot, if you need it.”

he followed behind you with a quiet murmur agreeing about how similar your floor plans were.

your eyes widened as you entered the living room,.empty syringes and dirty tiny baby dishes were strewn across the coffee table. you placed your laundry basket to the side, hastily picking up your earlier mess with an apology.

the shake of your neighbour’s head went unnoticed by you as you rushed into the kitchen and back out. it wasn’t until you had presented him with the pull out that he spoke again.

“you know,” his voice was rather quiet, conscious of the baby sleeping just a little ways away. “you really should not let strangers into your home.”

for a second, you nearly felt your heart stop— this was it. he really is a serial killer— until you caught his expression, once again riddled with guilt as if he was overstepping. as if you hadn’t invited him in.

“you’re not really a stranger though, are you?” at the cock of his head, you continued. “you’re my neighbour who i’ve inconvenienced all night.”

“you don’t even know my name.”

you nodded. “alright, i’ll bite. you bring up a good point. so what is it then? your name?”

“...mick.” he had a slight smile playing on his lips.

“well, mick.” you gave him a small smile, initiating a handshake. “my name’s y/n. now, we’re neither strangers, nor neighbours with no names.”

mick couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over his lips, hand warm in your hold. “i suppose you’re right, then.”

you quickly left to grab the man— mick— a few pillows and a comforter from your closet. “i’m the door at the end of the hallway. if you need anything, you can knock on that door and let me know.”

mick nodded. “of course. thank you again, really.”

“not a problem.” you smiled, already making your way out of the living room.“i’ll see you in the morning, then.”

as you walked out the room, you couldn’t help but turn once more, eyeing the blond-haired man who somehow didn't look so out of place as he messed with the teddy bear that you’d forgotten to pick up from the couch. you smiled.

“goodnight, mick.”

“sweet dreams, y/n.”

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stellisketches · 6 months

Text

Random MCD Headcanons that have nothing to do with anything (Part 5???)

Sorry I haven't made any real posts in forever. My drawing phone broke and college has been a bitch so i haven't really gotten the chance to make anything (though I finally made some more progress on the next chapter of my rewrite). In any case, please accept this next installment of head canons I wrote like 10 months ago and completely forgot about in lieu of anything that requires actual talent. Love y'all:

Laurance lost an incisor tooth in a fistfight when he was 19

When he got turned into a shadowknight it grew back, now he purposefully goes out of his way to loose teeth just cause he knows he can grow back an unlimited supply

Hayden has a cat named Bog Butter. He’s the color of butter and he found him in the bog.

Vylad’s favorite vegetable is avocado

There are three major guard academies in Ru’aun: one in O’Khasis, one in Scaleswind, and one in Bright Port.

Bright Port’s is the largest and most well known

O’Khasis’ is the most prestigious

Scaleswind’s academy is the most difficult

The bare minimum age to join is 14, though most people join between 16-19

Every guard must have a minimum of 2 years training to earn the actual title of Guard, however to serve in O’Khasis you need a minimum of 4 and for Scaleswind a minimum of 5.

Part of that training includes apprenticeship, so they do get some in-field experience with their mentors (think unpaid intern)

Technically you can train for up to 8 years, however most people only train for 2-5.

Garroth was in academy for 3-4 (although to be fair he had been trained in sword fighting since he was like 9)

Laurance went for 5 years and Dante went for 6 ½

Dante lied about his age when he enlisted though

He was barely thirteen

Both went to the Bright Port Academy however they were in different divisions at different times since Dante is younger, so they really only saw each other in passing and never actually talked to one another

The only personal interaction they ever had was one time at the academy Laurance was trying to get back to his dorm after a night of copious drinking and partying and could barely walk out the front door of the bar. Dante (who was pretty tipsy himself) ended up half-carrying back to Laurance’s dorm before going back to his own. Neither of them remember this.

Katelyn’s two older brothers’ names are Kaj and Khareem

Khareem is the oldest, then Kaj, then Katelyn, then Kacey

Occasionally, when he is absolutely, positively, 100% sure he is alone, Zane will sing to himself sometimes

Dante once did a Zane impression in front of everyone and Garroth got so freaked out by how realistic it sounded he made Dante swear he’d never do that voice around him again.

The worst argument Kenmur and Emmalyn ever had during their marriage was whether their system was heliocentric or geocentric (Kenmur argued the former and Emmalyn argued the latter)

In most colleges across Ru’Aun, there is usually some statue of Enki that students will leave offerings to before their big exams

Offerings vary, but it’s usually something like food, money, trinkets, or paper. It varies on how important the exam/how desperate the students are

Kenmur went to one of these colleges for a few years

One time he fell asleep the night before his final exam and he woke up like an hour before his exam was supposed to take place and in a fit of panic he dumped his entire wallet in front of the statue. He passed with flying colors.

One time at the Narhakan college someone left a life-sized horse statue made out of gold. No one has any idea where it came from or who left it. It’s become kind of an urban legend among all the colleges

Zenix never learned how to read and by god he isn’t about to wimp out now

Garroth tried to teach him once and it… did not go well

Let’s just say Garroth still owes Emmalyn a book from that incident. And a new table.

Zianna came from the same region that Esmund was native to

Katelyn absolutely despises the feeling of sand in her shoes

Dmitri and Nekoette raided the Bright Port guard academy kitchen the first night they got sworn in

Dmitri also had to go to the infirmary after getting shot in the arm by one of Nekoette’s loose arrows

Laurance can play the piano and used to play it at some of the taverns in Meteli

Levin and Malachi both know a good bit of Elvish thanks to spending so much time in Yggdrasil

They switch to Elvish for the majority of their arguments

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morallyinept · 3 months

Text

A full transcribe of OBERYN MARTELL'S dialogue/lines from the TV show GAME OF THRONES.

Includes full dialogue, and dialogue from any deleted/additional scenes available.

I've created this as a point of reference when writing for Pedro's characters, and I hope you find it useful. Even if you just want to read the dialogue. 🖤

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO CHARACTERS DIALOGUE

☝🏻Dialogue has been fully transcribed by myself using reference to original scripts (if available), audio subtitles and using my own two ears. Therefore, mistakes can be made, however I have tried to be as fully accurate as I can. If you spot an obvious mistake, please kindly let me know. Where audio is not clear, I have marked with *inaudible* Scenes are separated for ease of reference.

FULL SCRIPT DIALOGUE: (ALL EPISODES - OBERYN WAS IN 7 EPISODES IN SEASON 4)

EP 1 S4 TWO SWORDS

Look at this one. How lovely is she?

They like them pale in the capital. Shows they don’t work the fields.

Do I frighten you?

You like?

You’re a bit of mischief, aren’t you? I think she likes you.

You’re not timid, are you?

Do you like women?

The two girls can leave. You stay.

Everyone who works for Littlefinger is on offer. Take off your clothes. We’ll be here a while.

I’m a prince, boy. Have you ever been with a prince?

Take off your clothes.

My way.

__________________

Forgive me for staring, I… I don’t see many Lannisters where I’m from.

We don’t like the smell.

Hm! You know why all the world hates a Lannister? You think your gold and your lions and your gold lions make you better than everyone. Can I tell you a secret? You’re not a golden lion. You’re just a pink little man who’s far too slow on the draw.

Long sword is a bad option in close quarters. When I pull my blade your friend starts bleeding quite a lot, I’m afraid. So many veins in the wrist. He’ll live if you get him help straight away. So… decisions.

Apologies, my love.

Ellaria Sand, my paramour. The King’s own Uncle Imp. Tyrion, son of Tywin Lannister.

And what are you? His hired killer?

How did that come to pass?

We’ll need a few more girls, yes?

You don’t partake?

__________________

Seems I visited the Lannister brothel by mistake.

Even Dornishmen.

Let us speak truth here. Joffrey is insulted. I am only the second son after all.

I was invited to the royal wedding.

The last time I was in the capital was many years ago. Another wedding. My sister, Elia and Rhaegar Targaryen, the last dragon. My sister loved him. She bore his children. Spoiled them, rocked them, fed them at her own breast. Elia wouldn’t let the wet nurse touch them. And beautiful, noble Rhaegar Targaryen… left her for another woman. That started a war and the war ended right here… when your father’s army took the city.

They butchered those children. My nephew and niece. Carved them up and wrapped them in Lannister cloaks. And my sister. You know what they did to her? I’m asking you a question.

Hm! So have I. The one I keep hearing is that Gregor Clegane, The Mountain, raped Elia and split her in half with his great sword.

If The Mountain killed my sister, your father gave the order. Tell your father I’m here. And tell him the Lannisters aren’t the only ones who pay their debts.

__________________

EP 2 S4 THE LION AND THE ROSE

Hello.

Not you.

__________________

Your Grace, Lord Tywin.

I don’t believe you have met Ellaria. This is the Lord Hand, Tywin Lannister and Cersei Lannister, the Queen Regent. I suppose it is former Queen Regent now. Lord Hand and Lady Cersei, Ellaria Sand.

Bastards are born of passion, aren’t they? We don’t despise them in Dorne.

I expect it is a relief, Lady Cersei, giving up your regal responsibilities. Wearing the crown for so many years must have left your neck a bit crooked.

They call it the rich man’s disease. A wonder you don’t have it.

People everywhere have their differences. In some places the highborn frown upon those of low birth. In other places, the rape and murder of women and children is considered distasteful. What a fortunate thing for you, former Queen Regent, that your daughter Myrcella has been sent to live in the latter sort of place.

__________________

EP 3 S4 BREAKER OF CHAINS

You’re greedy.

You’re calling my beauty an acquired taste?

Your loss.

Does that surprise you?

Then everyone is missing half the world’s pleasure. The Gods made that and it delights me. The Gods made this and it delights me. When it comes to war, I fight for Dorne. When it comes to love, I don’t choose sides.

What are you, 25?

Someday, if you’re lucky, you will wake up and realise you are old. That pretty ass of yours will sag. Your belly will grow soft and your back will ache in the night and grey hairs will sprout from your ears. No-one will want you anymore. Make sure you’ve fucked your fill before that day.

They will all have to line up behind you.

Lord Tywin.

Would you like to sit?

Some wine?

I’m sorry about your grandson.

I don’t believe that a child is responsible for the sins of his father. Or his grandfather. An awful way to die.

Are you interrogating me, Lord Tywin?

Some believe the sky is blue because we live inside the eye of a blue-eyed giant. The king was poisoned.

I did. This is why I know.

Rather suspicious. Why haven’t you thrown me in a dungeon?

You think we conspired together?

The death of my sister.

She was raped and murdered by The Mountain. The Mountain follows your orders. Of course I blame you.

You are unarmed and unguarded because you know me better than that. I am a man of reason. If I cut your throat today, I will be drawn and quartered tomorrow.

So you deny involvement in Elia’s murder?

I would like to speak with The Mountain.

He might not enjoy it as much as he thinks he would.

But you want something in return.

Why?

Well, you made the Tyrell girl a queen. Asking me to judge at your son’s trial isn’t quite as tempting.

I never realised you had such respect for Drone, Lord Tywin.

You’re saying you need us? That must be hard for you to admit.

__________________

EP 5 S4 FIRST OF HIS NAME

Your Grace.

A poem, actually.

I couldn’t very well refuse a royal escort.

Not a very good one.

For one of my daughters.

Eight.

The fifth is difficult. I named her after my sister, Elia.

Yes. But I can’t say it without turning sad. And after I turn sad, I grow angry.

Which joke is that?

We can avenge them.

You really believe Tyrion murdered your son?

We will have a trial and we will learn the truth.

The last time I saw her she was swimming with two of my girls in the Water Gardens. Laughing in the sun.

You have my word. We don’t hurt little girls in Dorne.

Anything at all.

I will have it sailed down to Sunspear for her.

__________________

EP 6 S4 THE LAWS AND GODS OF MEN

These meetings aren’t always going to be this early, are they? I was up late last night. So, does this mean I am a master of something now? Coins, ships?

Lord Varys is right. I have been to Essos and seen the Unsullied first-hand. They are very impressive on the battlefield. Less so in the bedroom.

__________________

Lord Varys.

And yet everyone does.

Five years.

‘Tis a big and beautiful world. Most of us live and die in the same corner where we were born and never get to see any of it. I don’t want to be most of us.

You are from Essos. Where? Lys? I have an ear for accents.

I have an ear for that as well.

How did you get here?

One you don’t like telling people.

My paramour Ellaria, she would find you very interesting. You should come to the brothel and meet her. We brought our own wine, not the swill they serve here. We have some lovely boys on retainer, but… You did like boys before?

Really. Girls? Hmm. I hope you won’t be offended when I say I never would have guessed.

What then?

Everybody is interested in something.

Such as?

__________________

I think you have made your point, Grand Maester. You have a lot of poison in your store.

Tyrion said “and you know the debt is paid.” What debt?

__________________

How could you possibly know all this? Why would he reveal such plans to his wife’s maid?

And did you?

Fuck him like it was his last night in this world?

__________________

EP 7 S4 MOCKINGBIRD

I did spend some time with an absolutely stunning blonde the other day.

Your sister.

Cersei approached me. We spoke a great deal about her daughter. How worried your sister is about her. She was trying very hard to pretend she had not come to sway me against you. I think she may have even believed it herself.

It was difficult for her to hide her true intentions. It is rare to meet a Lannister who shares my enthusiasm for dead Lannisters. She desperately wants to see you killed.

Yes, I know. We met, you and I. Many years ago.

Unlikely. You had just been born. Our father brought me and my sister Elia with him on a visit to Casterly Rock. My first time away from Dorne. I didn’t like anything about the Rock. Not the food, not the weather, not your accents. Nothing. But the biggest disappointment… you.

The whole way from Dorne, all anyone talked about was the monster that had been born to Tywin Lannister. A head twice the size of his body, a tail between his legs, claws, one red eye, the privates of both a girl and a boy.

When we met your sister, she promised she would show you to us. Every day we would ask. Every day she would say “soon.” Then, she and your brother took us to your nursery and… she unveiled the freak. Your head was a bit large. Your arms and legs were a bit small, but no claw. No red eye. No tail between your legs. Just a tiny, pink cock. We didn't try to hide our disappointment. “That’s not a monster,” I told Cersei. “That’s just a baby.” And she said, “he killed my mother.” And she pinched your little cock so hard, I thought she might pull it off, until your brother made her stop. “It doesn’t matter,” she told us. “Everyone says he will die soon. I hope they are right. He should not have lived this long.”

And what about what I want? Justice, for my sister and her children.

I disagree. I’ve come to the perfect place. I want to bring those who have wronged me to justice. And all those who have wronged me are right here. I will begin with Ser Gregor Clegane, who killed my sister’s children and then raped her with their blood still on his hands before killing her, too.

I will be your champion.

__________________

EP 8 S4 THE MOUNTAIN AND THE VIPER

I like to move around.

You learn this during your years in the fighting pits? I always drink before a fight.

Today is not the day I die.

I’m going to kill that.

Size does not matter when you’re flat on your back.

Never.

__________________

Have they told you who I am?

I am the brother of Elia Martell. Do you know why I have come all the way to this stinking shit-pile of a city? For you.

I am going to hear you confess before you die. You raped my sister. You murdered her. You killed her children. Say it now and we can make this quick.

Say it. You raped her. You murdered her!

You killed her children.

You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children!

You raped her! You murdered her!

You killed her children!

Wait. Are you dying? No, no, no... You can't die yet. You haven’t confessed.

Say it. Say her name. Elia Martell. You raped her. You killed her children. Elia Martell. Who gave you the order? Who gave you the order?!

Say her name! You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children! Say it! Say her name! Say it!

__________________

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO CHARACTERS DIALOGUE

#pedro pascal #oberyn martell #pedro pascal characters #oberyn martell game of thrones #PPCU #game of thrones #oberyn martell dialogue

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steddieasitgoes · 4 months

Text

@steddiemas Day 30: Smut Themed Sentence Starters

I ended up using two sentences: "Who needs a sleigh ride when I can ride you instead" and "Is that a candy cane in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

Tags: Established Relationship, Implied Smut, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Eddie Munson Is A Menace, Steve Harrington Is A Romantic

wc: 1345 | Rating: M

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Steve is a hopeless romantic.

Always has been and probably always will be.

Eddie pretends to hate it, but Steve knows the truth. That under all that leather and loud music is a giant teddy bear who swoons every time Steve shows up with a fresh bouquet of flowers or a pack of his favorite cigarettes from Melvalds.

Everyone else may be fooled, but not Steve.

Which is why Steve has to pull out all the stops for their first winter together as a couple.

He set the bar high last year when they were just friends and now he has to top it. Not because Eddie’s expecting it or anything, but because he wants to. Eddie deserves it. And honestly, so does Steve.

After watching hours of romantic holiday movies and driving around the local towns to see what winter activities they have to offer, Steve draws up the plan. He rents a small cabin two towns over where the snow is already two feet deep with more on the way and buys tickets to all the fun events the town has to offer. Well, almost all of the events. Ice skating is out of the question after last year’s incident left them both battered, bruised, and so sore they could barely get out of their own beds for the Hopper-Byers New Year’s Eve party.

So far, the vacation is everything Steve hoped it would be. They’ve played in the snow, eaten the best apple pie he’s ever gotten his hands on, and strolled around town whispering judgments about the over-the-top Christmas decorations people have outside their houses. They’ve also made themselves comfortable in the cabin — breaking in the bed and the couch and maybe even the indoor hot tub once or twice.

But today is the real showstopper. The grand finale to their little winter weekend getaway and the entire reason Steve booked this place in the first place.

They’re going on a reindeer-pulled sleigh ride through the picturesque snowy terrain of the town.

Or at least they’re supposed to be going on a reindeer-pulled sleigh ride.

“What do you mean you double booked?”

“It seems we accidentally scheduled you and another party for the two o’clock sleigh ride,” the woman behind the counter says. She’s older, graying hair pulled back in a neat bun and thin glasses falling down the bridge of her nose. Steve glares as her lips turn up in what is supposed to be an apologetic smile as she continues. “Since the other party included children, we assumed you wouldn’t mind giving up your spot for a refund.”

“Well, you assumed wrong,” Steve snaps, hands slamming down on the desk a bit more forceful than he had hoped. “You didn’t even give me a courtesy call to let me know of the cancelation.”

“We were just about to do that.”

“Bullshit! My reservation was scheduled for ten minutes ago. If you were going to call you would have done it the moment you realized your mistake.”

“I am sorry for the inconvenience Mr. Harrington but we only realized the error when the other family checked in early.”

“So if I was allowed to check in early like I tried to do, you would have let us keep our reservation?” Steve asks, growing more and more irritated by the second.

He and Eddie have been freezing their balls off for almost an hour now outside of the rustic shop. Even bundled up in their winter coats, beanies, and hand-knitted scarf and mitten set from Claudia hasn't been enough to keep them warm. It’s why he sent Eddie off in the direction of the hot chocolate stand while he tried to work his charm and get them into an earlier slot.

“Well, no, that’s not what I’m saying, but—“

“This is ridiculous,” Steve huffs, tugging at the hem of his scarf. “I booked this trip specifically for this sleigh ride and now you’re telling me I can’t go on it.”

“I understand your disappointment Mr. Harr—“

“Stop calling me that!” If there’s one thing Steve hates more than being unjustly inconvenienced it’s being referred to be his surname. He doesn’t need to be reminded of the man he shares his name with. Not now, not ever.

“Um, sorry…” the woman trails off and glances down at her schedule. “Steve. I can offer you a voucher for the trouble. Unfortunately, we are booked up for the rest of the week.”

“Keep the voucher and shove it,” Steve hisses before shoving himself away from the counter.

It takes him a minute to reign in his anger as he stomps his way toward Eddie. He’s sitting on a bench holding two cups of hot chocolate. Judging by the way his body shivers, they’re not doing much to keep him warm.

“Uh oh,” Eddie says, setting the cups aside when Steve gets closer. “I don’t like that frown.”

“Yeah, well, get used to it. Gladys over there fucked with our reservation,” Steve sneers, plopping down on the bench. “Said they doubled booked us and voided our reservation to give to some couple with kids because she “figured I wouldn’t mind.” Of course, I fucking mind!”

“Oh sweetheart,” Eddie sighs, tugging Steve until he’s tucked securely under his left arm. “M’sorry. She sounds like a bitch.”

“Those kids aren’t even going to remember the sleigh ride when they’re older! But we would have!”

Eddie nods in agreement, nuzzling his cheek into the soft cotton of Steve’s beanie. The contact is almost enough to extinguish Steve’s anger. Almost.

“Now the vacation is ruined.”

“And you say I’m a drama queen,” Eddie teases, pulling away and twisting on the bench to face Steve. He tucks one leg under him and lets the other dangle off the bench before joining their hands together as best he can given they’re still wearing mittens. “Our vacation is not ruined. It’s been fun. Maybe our best one yet.”

“Yeah, well it could have been even better.”

“Oh come on,” Eddie tsks, squeezing his hand. “Who needs a sleigh ride when I can ride you instead.”

“Eddie!” Steve gapes. He can feel what little heat is in his body crawling its way to his cheeks, turning them a bright shade of red if he had to guess.

“Or you could ride me,” Eddie says, before leaning forward. He gets his lips on the shell of Steve’s ear before continuing, “You know I’m not picky.”

Suddenly the blood rushing to his face takes a detour traveling down, down, down until it settles in his dick. Steve can feel it twitch at Eddie’s word and the feeling of his warm breath against his ear.

“You’re a menace.”

Eddie hums, glancing around to make sure no one is watching them before letting his hand drift to Steve’s lap. He moves slowly at first, teasing him until his hand finally settles on the apparent bulge in his pants.

“M’ you like it though, don’t ya big boy,” Eddie says, giving an experimental squeeze before pulling his hand away completely. When Steve looks up, he’s staring at him with those big round mischievous eyes of his. “Is that a candy cane in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

Steve groans both in pleasure and in exasperation. He buries his head in the crook of Eddie’s neck for a moment before pulling away. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“Hey, it put a smile on your face didn’t it.”

It did. Though, if he’s honest with himself, Eddie always puts a smile on his face. Even when he’s being an annoying, teasing, little shithead. Leaning forward to close the distance, Steve gives him a quick kiss on the lips before pulling away.

“Christ, your lips are freezing.”

“Better take me inside and warm me up.”

Steve gets himself on his feet before turning around to offer a hand to Eddie. “Come on then, I think I know just how to get you nice and warm, baby.”

#steddiemas #steddie #steddie fic #steddie smut #steddie ficlet #steddie fan fic #steve harrington #steve fic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington ficlet #eddie munson #eddie fic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson ficlet #stranger things #stranger things fic #dani writes

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thetriumphantpanda · 10 months

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Stolen | Marcus Pike (Day One)

Series Summary | A week on from the biggest museum theft in history, you find yourself shipped to D.C. to track down the most important British archaeological artefacts, stolen from right under your nose. You didn't plan on Special Agent Marcus Pike getting under your skin in the process. Special Agent Marcus Pike didn't plan on falling for you either.

Pairing | Marcus Pike x Archaeologist/Curator F!Reader

Word Count | 4.4k

Warnings | Marcus being the biggest and best gentleman ever, some flirting, food consumption, but nothing else I can think of.

Authors Note | OKAY. So, I watched The Mentalist and IMMEDIATELY knew I needed to give this sweet boy his happy ending, so here we are. This fic is super self-indulgent so I apologise in advance. I'm currently completing my master's degree to become an archaeologist so that's where this really comes from. This is a reader insert and whilst there will be very few physical descriptions in this fic, it is assume reader is British, although not explicitly stated, and she has the nickname 'Jones' - guess where that one came from? 👀 If you like this then please consider reblogging, commenting or popping into my ask! I'd love to hear from you all! And a massive thank you to my darling @morning-star-joy for being the best beta for this fic, ilysm.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The ticking of the clock is starting to annoy you. It’s silent in the room, three people, including you, sat around waiting for the appearance of the team of people who were hopefully about to make all your problems go away. They’re late, which is even more annoying, because every second lost to waiting for these people are seconds lost trying to locate what had been stolen from you.

You pull at the dry skin around your thumbnail, pulling it a little too far, drawing blood. You suck the side of your thumb into your mouth to stem the bleeding which helps, before you’re checking the watch on your wrist, annoyance bubbling beneath your skin. Fifteen minutes late and counting.

Your assistant is sitting next to you, writing God knows what in her notepad. Normally her eagerness to please and her exceptional organizational skills were welcome by you, but the scratching of her pen on the paper is just adding to your irritation. Sat next to your assistant Lizzie, is Peter, an aging Metropolitan Police officer who is no doubt completely out of his depth. He’s starting to bald, and age had not been kind to his face, which is wrinkled and makes him seem far older than he already is. When you’d first met a week ago, he’d introduced himself and told you he hoped this would be his career defining case to crack because he was less than a year away from retirement and his hefty pension.

What he had wished to be an easy case had turned into something much more complicated than anyone could have imagined, which is why the three of you were now sitting in a glorified glass cage in Washington D.C. Waiting for someone to hopefully help crack the case and crack it quickly. Although your boss wasn’t here, you could feel him breathing down your neck.

Another look at your watch and it’s now twenty minutes late.

“This is ridiculous.” You mumble, turning in your seat to look around at the office outside of the meeting room you were in.

Men in suits wandering around with folders in their hands, women sat at desks typing their way through reports. There’s what you assume to be an intern walking hastily through the bank of desks, dropping mugs of coffee down to people who don’t even acknowledge his presence. Then, you spot two men walking towards your meeting room with purpose. They’re deep in conversation with each other, one holds a similar manila file as the rest of the office, the other, older and more handsome is the one who pushes open the door.

“Sorry for making you wait,” God his accent is jarring, what you wouldn’t give to be back in London, surrounded by your own people, “We were just catching up on the files.”

Pete is the first to stand, he shakes the hand of the older man who introduces himself as Marcus Pike, head of the Arts Crime division here in DC. The younger man is Steven, his partner. There’s already a strange air of respect between the men, law enforcement officer to law enforcement officer, even if they do work on completely different sides of the ocean.

Lizzie introduces herself quietly until they fall to you, “Nice to meet you both,” You say stiffly, reaching out to shake their hands and tell them your name, “I’m the Curator of the department of Britain, Europe and Prehistory at the British Museum, I’m hoping you might be able to help us.”

Marcus motions for you all to take your seats, taking hold of the folders from Steven, “We’ve read the files but maybe you could take us through what happened?” He’s directing the question toward Pete, because of course he is, but Pete is deferring to you.

“About a week ago,” You begin, opening your own files, “There was a break-in at the British Museum as I’m sure you’re aware from your own files,” You shift some papers around to find the clutch of photographs, “Highly sophisticated from what Pete has been able to tell us – the thieves managed to cut out CCTV coverage and the alarms before they even entered the museum, which meant no-one knew anything was wrong until I came in the next morning to find half of my collection gone.”

“What exactly was taken?” Marcus asks, thumbing through his files to find the answer that obviously isn’t there – if this lot can’t put together a case file properly, how the hell are they going to help you?

“The most recognizable would be the Sutton Hoo helmet,” You slide a photo of it across the table to him, “Anglo-Saxon, incredibly important archaeological find, along with this gold belt buckle from the same collection,” Another photograph is slid across the table to him, “And this purse lid and the collection of coins found within it.” The final photograph is passed to him.

“You have any leads?” Marcus speaks, again mainly towards Pete, who again, defers to you.

“We managed to pick up this CCTV from the pub across the road, which shows the group of people loading the items into a van,” You slip the print outs across to him, “Pete and his team managed to track the van to a depot just outside of Heathrow airport, that was raided less than twenty-four hours after the heist, but it was empty,” you sigh, sliding more grainy CCTV printouts over the table, “Then we’ve picked them up getting a flight here to D.C. but after that, the trail has gone as far as we can follow, hence why we’re here.”

This time Marcus speaks directly to you, “Any idea on motive?”

You shake your head, “We can’t figure it out if I’m being honest,” You massage your temple, a familiar ache brewing behind your eyes, “We know a lot of our collection in the museum is contested, the Benin Bronzes and the Parthenon Marbles for example, countries have been calling for repatriation of their items for years, but this is all British, everything they took belongs in that museum, so apart from it being a massive fuck you to us, we don’t know.”

Marcus and his partner are silent as they study the photographs you’ve given them so you decide to keep talking, “All of these items are instantly recognizable too, the second they appear on any market, black or otherwise, we’re going to know about it, so it can’t be about selling it for money either.”

Marcus is nodding in understanding, “It’s not a lot to go on,” he shrugs, turning to Pete, “Do you have the flight number you tracked them on?” Pete nods, slipping a bit of paper across the desk to Marcus, “We’ll have a look at the CCTV on our end and see if we can pick up the trail here, in the meantime, Pete feel free to make yourself at home here, we can get you a desk set up so you can work alongside us,” He turns to you, “I’m assuming as Curator of such a large collection you have work to be doing whilst you’re here too,” His tone is dismissive which has rage pooling inside you, “We’ll call you if we have any news.”

“This case is my number one priority,” You interrupt, “I want to be as closely involved in this as Pete is.”

It’s Marcus’ partner who is speaking now, “With all due respect ma’am, this is a job for law enforcement, these heists can get dicey, and we wouldn’t want you putting yourself in any unnecessary danger when we’re more than capable of handling this ourselves.”

“Please,” You snort, “I was an archaeologist before this, I’ve worked in literal war zones, so don’t talk to me about unnecessary danger,” You stand, noticing that Marcus’ expression softens a little, “I want a daily meeting on the progress of the case starting tomorrow morning so I have something to report back to our board of directors, and I want to be present when you follow any leads out in the field, these items are incredibly fragile so I want to be the only one to handle them when we find them, understood?”

Marcus nods his head, giving into your demands, “We can meet every morning at ten for a progress report if that works?”

You nod and start gathering your belongings, noticing as Lizzie follows suit. Pete is also standing, smoothing out his uniform as he shakes the boys’ hands again, letting them know he’ll walk the two of you out before coming back up to get on with some work.

“I want to know everything Pete,” You say to him when you finally get outside, stress gets the better of you and you’re reaching into your jacket pocket for the packet of cigarettes and the lighter you’d bought at the airport when you’d landed, “I need to know whatever they’re planning – if they leave anything out of those morning briefings I want to know, are we clear?”

You think you might actually scare Pete judging by his expression, “Of course,” He’s stuffing his hands in his pockets as you light the cigarette and take a long drag, “I’ll keep my ears open for anything.”

You check your watch as you take another drag of the cigarette, “I’ve got to get back to the hotel for a check in with Hartwig, you’ve got my phone number,” You direct to Pete, “Anything happens, give me a call.”

He nods in understanding and is taking his leave as quickly as he can, leaving you with Lizzie to wait for a cab.

“I really do hate Americans sometimes,” You mumble, “The biggest theft from a museum, possibly ever, and no sense of haste in them at all.”

“At least he was cute.” She shrugs, and your eyes are going wide, “What? I’m just saying if we’re here for the foreseeable future, it’s nice to have something to look at whilst we’re here.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” You try and say sternly, but chuckle anyway, Lizzie had become a fast friend in the year she’d worked for you, “Is your jetlag killing you as much as mine?” She nods, “I don’t think there’s much left for either of us to do once I’ve caught up with the team back home, so just take it easy for the rest of the day, yeah?”

You ride in a cab together to the hotel, bidding each other goodbye with flimsy plans to meet for dinner if neither of you fell asleep before then. The room you’d been given was huge, king size bed, a bathroom that not only had a full walk-in shower but a bath as well, a desk that you’ve already made into a makeshift workstation, laptop currently plugged in and charging. There was a lovely view out of the window, but it was one you couldn’t fully enjoy, wondering where in this city, if anywhere, your precious artefacts were being kept.

There was a chime from your laptop, signaling someone had joined the video call, so you set yourself up and accept the invite. Within seconds there were three or four squares of your colleagues back in London, and Hartwig Fischer, the museum’s director, who skipped all pleasantries and headed straight into wanting an update.

“We just finished meeting with the Art Crimes division here,” You begin, “We’ve brought them up to speed on what was taken and where Pete and the Met had managed to get to with the investigation, we’re working with two agents who have said their first port of call is to see how far they can trace the gang from the airport here and then take it from there.”

“And I assume you’ve stressed the importance of this collection to them?” Hartwig is speaking now, “It’s imperative we get them found and back where they belong as soon as possible.”

“I did,” You nod, noticing the roll of the eye that your boss, Mark, gives at his question, “We’ll have progress meetings here in D.C. with the team every morning at ten, so I’ll schedule calls with all of you at around four each afternoon your time, but I’m afraid that’s all I have to update on.”

Everyone says a mumbled goodbye and you’re about to close your laptop when an email pings into your inbox from Mark. He’s been a good boss to you since you made the premature switch from archaeological field work to curatorship nearly three years ago, always had your back and had supported your ideas for displays and conservation. As a man who had spent his entire career working up the Museum’s staff structure, you were somewhat of an enigma – archaeologist turned curator, he’d affectionately taken to calling you Jones, after Indiana Jones, which, whilst it had annoyed you at the beginning, was now the best term of endearment you could come to expect from him.

Doing a great job already, Jones. I know you’d rather be here than the States but we’ll hold the fort. Go get em. All best, Mark.

You smile but choose not to reply. Instead, you toe off your shoes and shed your suit jacket before climbing onto the bed. You set an alarm on your phone for an hour from now, hoping that Lizzie would do the same so you could have company for dinner later, before falling into a fitful nap, full of images of your precious antiquities in various states of damage and decay.

When you wake from your nap it’s clear that you’ve slept through the alarm you set. It’s dark outside and you can see through the window that the city outside is lit up. You roll over and check your phone. Three texts from Lizzie who obviously hadn’t been as lucky as you to fall asleep.

Dinner? I didn’t manage to fall asleep.

Taking from your silence you did, I’ll wait.

Okay, I’m starving so I’m going out to hunt for food, speak later.

Then there are two missed calls from a number you don’t recognize. It’s an American number, so you’re dialing back before thinking, just in case you’ve missed an important development in the case. It takes three rings for someone to pick up.

“Agent Pike.”

“Oh, hello, I just woke up and had some missed calls, so I was just checking in.”

You can hear some shuffling on the other end of the phone and then the background noise dissipates, “Sorry, should have known jetlag would have been a killer for you,” You hum in agreement, “Listen, I didn’t upset you earlier, did I?”

What an odd question.

“Marcus, I don’t know you, how could you upset me?”

“I don’t know,” You think you can picture him shrugging on the other end of the line, “Felt like maybe I’d been a bit dismissive of you, if we’re going to work together then I wanted to make sure we’re all good?”

You really did have bigger problems to worry about that didn’t involve making sure Agent Pike thought you hated him, but he was right, if you were going to work together, you needed to be able to trust each other, “We’re all good, don’t worry, I’m just getting a lot of stress from my side.”

“I can imagine,” You hear him sigh a little at the other end of the phone, “Have you eaten?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Have you had dinner?” He asks again, “If you’ve been sleeping then I assume not, I can show you the best twenty-four-hour diner in town if you are hungry?”

You’re about to refuse, wanting instead to order room service and soak in the bath, but then your stomach makes the most unholy noise, and you think that a measly room service portion isn’t going to cut what your body obviously needs.

“Sure, okay,” You reply, “Where shall I meet you?”

“You’re in luck, because it’s just around the corner from your hotel, I’ll meet you in the lobby in an hour.”

“Wait, how do you know where I’m staying?”

“I’m a federal agent, it’s my job to know.”

You’re about to reply when you hear the familiar tone of being hung up on. You hang up yourself, throwing your phone to the bed as your drag yourself into the shower to freshen up. You’d come straight off the plane and to the offices and then back here to promptly fall asleep and you felt gross. You tied your hair up into a knot on the top of your head, deciding that right now, Marcus Pike was not worth washing your hair for, before standing under the hot stream of water for longer than anticipated.

You rush to get ready, throwing on the first thing you can pull from your suitcase, which happens to be a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt that you remember wearing to one of your first excavations. Its threadbare by now and you have to wear a t-shirt underneath it to be semi-decent to go in public, but it’s always been like a comfort blanket to you.

When you exit the elevator and head into the lobby, Marcus is already waiting for you. He’s in the same suit as he had been this morning, clearly coming straight from the office, but he’s left his FBI badge behind thankfully. He stands and greets you with another handshake.

“I hope you’re hungry,” He speaks as he leads you from the hotel, “I think this is my favourite place in all of D.C. to eat.”

The walk to the diner is quiet. Marcus is typing on his phone as you walk, lifting his head only to make sure he’s not going to immediately walk into someone or something. He mutters something about emails piling up and a mumbled apology, but it’s not long before he’s guiding you into a diner on the corner of a street and greeting the waitress on the door by name.

The waitress, who clearly knows Marcus well, is leading you to the very back on the diner and into the last booth they have available. You shimmy into one side and Marcus does the same opposite you. He doesn’t reach for the menu like you do though. If this is his favourite place to eat you can only assume that every person who works here knows exactly what he’s going to get.

Your point is proven when the waitress brings two mugs of coffee, filling his first. You put your hand over yours so she doesn’t pour any in, “Sorry, can I just get a glass of lemonade please?”

She smiles at you and nods, taking your mug away. You watch as Marcus adds creamer to his coffee and an unholy amount of sugar, he must notice your face of disgust because he’s smiling, “What?”

“I just don’t know how you can drink that stuff so late at night,” You shrug, looking down at the menu, “I can’t drink caffeine past three in the afternoon because I’ll be awake all night.”

“Occupational hazard I suppose,” He takes another sip, “Our team works odd hours a lot, art thieves don’t seem to rest much so this keeps me sharp.”

You nod in understanding before turning your attention back to the menu. It’s huge, far bigger than any menu you’d see in London, you’re spoilt for choice, “What do you usually get?” You ask.

“Chocolate chip pancakes,” He grins, “Side of bacon if I’m feeling it.”

You look at your watch, “At nine at night?”

“Don’t tell me breakfast for dinner isn’t a thing across the pond?”

“I mean, I’ve been known to eat a bowl of cereal late, I guess.”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

When the waitress comes back you decide to follow his lead, chocolate chip pancakes and a side of bacon – when in Rome and all of that.

“So, have there been any developments today?” You ask, sipping the lemonade through your straw.

“I’ve got Steven searching the CCTV from the airport, if we can pick them up there then we’ve got a good chance of following them to wherever they might be keeping your artefacts, but it’ll be at least tomorrow morning before we know anything.”

“Is this what you’ve always done?” You’re not great at making conversation with people you don’t know, but the thought of an awkward silence is too much for you to handle right now.

“Pretty much, I worked Art Crimes down in Austin for a while and then transferred to D.C. just over a year ago now,” He’s draining his coffee and motioning for the waitress to top him up, “How about you, you said you were an archaeologist before this, right?”

You nod, “Yeah, worked as a field archaeologist straight out of university, got to travel the world, which was pretty cool, and now I’m confined to the walls of a museum that a lot of people hate these days.”

“Why the change?”

There’s a pause for the waitress who drops two huge plates of pancakes in front of you, you have to admit they look pretty bloody good. Marcus covers his in syrup and passes you the jug, you add your own syrup and dig in.

“Fuck, that’s good.” You can’t help yourself from moaning as you chew on your food.

“I told you they would be good,” He smiles, digging into his own plate, “So, why the change?” He asks again.

You shrug your shoulders, “I had an accident, recovery meant no fieldwork, and I had to pay my rent somehow, so this seemed like the natural jump to make.”

“What kind of accident?”

You look him dead in the eyes, “Pass.”

He’s looking at you whilst eating and you think he might press you, but he relents, “So, London then, always wanted to go, is it as good as everyone says?”

“Probably best not to ask the person that lives there but it’s decent,” You start eating your own food again, “It’s a great city and it’s a lovely place to visit if you enjoy being busy but it can lose its magic when you live there too long.”

There’s a long silence whilst the two of you continue eating and you can’t stop the way your brain thinks back to Lizzie’s observation. You must admit that Marcus is pretty cute. No. You try and tell your brain, we are not doing this here. But it doesn’t relent, tracing the curve of his nose and how his eyes are the colour you like your coffee in the morning; how his plush bottom lip, shiny from the sticky syrup, is just begging to be kissed. No, absolutely not. Just because you’d spent the last however many years focusing on your career and trying not to die and as a result were the loneliest person you’d ever met; didn’t mean we need to start fantasizing about the very cute FBI agent sat across from us.

“You alright there?” Marcus’ voice cuts through your thoughts.

You shake your head to rid yourself of your thoughts, “Yeah, sorry, guess I’m still pretty tired from the flight.”

“Understandable,” You notice he’s finished his food, “You done there?”

Your own plate is half finished but there’s no way you can fit anymore into your stomach, so you nod, he motions for the waitress, who clears everything away and brings your leftover pancakes back in a to-go box for you, along with the bill.

Marcus is reaching for it, but you swat his hand, “What are you doing?” You ask.

“Paying for dinner?” He says defensively.

“Don’t be silly,” You murmur, rooting around in your bag for your wallet, “Company card,” You smile, flashing the card from your bag, “If they’ve got me out here chasing after thieves, the least they can do is pay for our food, right?”

“Remind me to always phone you for dinner then.” Marcus muses, a glint in his eye that has you swallowing deeply.

Paying is relatively painless once Marcus has explained how to properly tip the waitress, still something that confuses the hell out of you, even once he’d shown you how to do it. You’re standing and gathering your bag as he reaches for your to-go box, “Don’t worry, I won’t steal them, I’ll carry them whilst we walk.”

“My hands do work, you know?” You tease, and the way his Adams apple bobs as he swallows at the innuendo isn’t lost on you.

“Just trying to be a gentleman after we got off on the wrong foot earlier.”

“Are you a gentleman for all the women you barely know, or am I special?” You tease, as he holds the diner door open for you and starts on the short walk back to the hotel.

“You might joke but you’re not far wrong.” He’s chuckling but there’s an undercurrent of something else to his voice, maybe frustration, which tells you there is much more to Marcus Pike than might first meet the eye.

It’s another short walk until you’re back in the hotel lobby. Marcus hands you your box of pancakes before he stands awkwardly with you whilst you wait for the elevator to arrive at the ground floor.

“Well, thanks for showing me the best place to eat when I inevitably forget to do that during the day,” You smile, a genuine one this time, “Hopefully you’ve got some more places to recommend?”

“You have no idea how long that list is,” He’s got his hands stuffed into his pockets and he’s rocking back and forth on his heels, his nervous habit, you observe, “Maybe if you’re not busy with meetings tomorrow I can show you the best Italian place?”

Just like you were earlier, you go to open your mouth and decline when you stop. Sure, he’s supposed to be a professional colleague, and an Italian restaurant is a far cry from the diner on the corner, but what would you be doing otherwise? Room service and an overpriced glass of wine followed by no other option that sorting through all your emails. Just because you were here on important business didn’t mean that you couldn’t enjoy D.C. whilst you did it, and was it so bad if that came with the company of your lead agent who just so happened to make your knees a little weak?

“Do they have tiramisu and good white wine?” You asked as the elevator door opens, Marcus walks forward with you, putting his hand across the divide so it doesn’t shut prematurely.

“The best outside of Italy,” He claims, “Not that I’ve ever been, that’s just what the menu says.”

You laugh, “It’s a date then.”

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#pedro pascal #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike fic #Marcus Pike fanfic #marcus pike fanfiction #Marcus Pike smut #marcus pike fluff #Marcus pike imagine #Marcus pike x you #Marcus pike x reader #Marcus pike x female reader #Marcus pike x f!reader #the mentalist #the mentalist fic #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist fanfiction #Marcus Pike Pedro Pascal

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rosalynesimp · 11 months

Text

Special day.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI

Tags: Fluff, flirty, smut, pet names

Summary: Alcina brings you a special gift for your special day.

Word count: 2664

Notes: I apologies for any mistakes, English isn’t my first language :’) Hope you enjoy it anyways <3

It’s been about a year since you made it to castle Dimitrescu and stayed here as a personal maid of Lady Dimitrescu herself. She always said that you were the best maid she ever had and it surely flattered you. Alcina did her best to encouraged you every week, maybe even twice a week if she got time. Usually you just stayed over her Chamber for the night and spent time with her as you talked and cuddled.

You noticed her flirting with you few months ago. It was nothing special but she definitely hinted you that you’re the one she needs the most. You found it a bit weird since Dimitrescu never let anyone stay close to her, except for her daughters.

Not to mention, they were quiet annoying while they buzzed around the castle and woke you up every single day at 5am. Including today. You sigh, rubbing your sleepy eyes as you stretch out your body before sitting on the bed and looking around. Not to mention, Alcina gave you the personal room with single bed that was quiet enough for two people.

You walks over the common bathroom, washing your face quickly before getting dressed. You loved the smell of fresh cleaned uniform and you smile slightly, looking over yourself in the tiny mirror. You ties your hair up in a ponytail, finally walking off to the hall. It is so quiet. Other maids usually wake up at around 6am to do cleaning around the castle and cook the breakfast for the Lady.

“Mother calls you.”

Bela says from behind your ear, making you squeak. You didn’t expect her to show up. She laughs at you along with two other sisters before they disappear.

Lady Dimitrescu isn’t asleep? You frown slightly as you walk down the hall, reaching her Chamber. You knock twice, hearing quiet “come” from behind the door. You walk in and stay in the door frame, waiting for Lady’s next move.

“Oh, it’s you, dear. Come over, don’t be shy.” She says in a sweet tone.

You do as she said and walk closer to her, still keeping the distance between you two. She sits at her vanity, brushing her dark hair, holding the pin between her teeth.

“Why are you awake so early, Mistress?”

You ask quietly as you look at Alcina through the mirror and she smiles slightly at you.

“You don’t ask silly questions, do you, pet?”

She chuckles as she turns around to face you.

“Mommy’s got plenty of work to do today.”

You nod, your cheeks turn bright red.

“You need anything, ma’am?”

You ask Alcina quietly and hear another soft chuckle.

“Be here at around 9pm, please.”

“Wh-“

“Now go work, dear. Enough talking.”

Dimitrescu cuts you off and gives you a sweet smile, before turning around to face herself in the mirror again.

You nod, whispering “yes, Mistress” before heading off to the hall to get your job done. What is she planning?

*****

Alcina flickers before your eyes the whole day. She knows you are watching and makes sure you see her every hour or two, giving you soft smiles every time she walks past you. It got quiet annoying in the middle of the day, you couldn’t stop thinking about her request for you.

You finish your work at about 5pm and got plenty of time for yourself. After a warm shower you walk to your room, shutting it closed as you don’t want to see any of other maid. All of them are quiet talkative and love to drink tea after getting their jobs done. So do you but you are not in a mood today.

You take your sketch album and a tiny piece of a pencil that has left, thinking where to get a new one later, before you start sketching. You have no thoughts in your mind who you want to draw this time so you let your fantasies take a control.

You always loved to draw, since you were a child, but never had enough time for that. As soon as you got at castle Dimitrescu you found out that you can spend your evenings however you prefer. The only rule was to stay as quiet as possible in case not to disturb the Lady.

Of course, Lady Dimitrescu noticed you sketching as you sat under the stairs quietly. The next day she gave you a sketch book and a pencil so you could draw comfortably without using a piece of coal.

Since then you tired your best to draw every time you’ve got a free minute. You look down at the page, noticing the woman you drew looks exactly like the Lady and you blush, close the sketch book and hide it under your pillow. How come that you drew her by memory?

The answer was on a surface: you knew every inch of Alcina’s face. You found her really beautiful and elegant and you couldn’t get her out of your mind.

You sigh, laying down on the bed, closing your eyes. Two hours left till your meeting with Lady Dimitrescu so you decide to take a quick nap before you head to her.

*****

“Come in.”

You hear the strict tone as you knock on the door and walk in, closing the door behind you. Lady Dimitrescu isn’t dressed as usual. She has a black long dress that exposes her curves. The dress is sleeveless and also has a long cut on the side, showing off her silky pale leg.

“Mind helping me, dear?”

She asks quietly, patting her shoulders as she put her hair away from her neck.

“Oh… Sure.”

You quickly walk over to her, helping her to hook up her necklace.

“Ah, thank you, little mouse… I’ve been struggling with it for around five minutes and almost lost my mind.”

She smiles at you before turning around, placing her hands on her waist.

You smile at her, trying your best not to stare at her breasts that seem to be even bigger in this dress. You swallow hard and she notices it, letting out a low chuckle.

“Hm? Like the view, pet?” She smirks.

“Sorry, Mistress.”

You mumble, looking down at the floor.

“Come on now, dear. I’ve got something for you.”

She gets up from her vanity and walks off to the hall as you quietly followed her. You couldn’t help but stare at her swaying hips. Seems like she swayed them on propose. Soon enough you walk over the room that has always been locked. Alcina takes a key out of her tiny bag, unlocking it and letting you go in.

It is a quiet beautiful small room in reddish colors with golden candles all around it. There is nothing but a couch in the middle of the room and a comfortable chair in front of it with a tiny coffee table by its’ side. You frown slightly as you look over your shoulder at Alcina, who stays in the door frame with her arms crossed on her chest. Her lips curls into a sly smirk.

“What’s that for?”

You ask, sitting on a chair.

“Ah, dear… Think again, make your little brain work.” She chuckles.

You frown more, looking around once again, trying to get a tiny hint.

“Look at the table, pet. Does anything catch your eyes?”

She says as she walks around you, placing her hand on your shoulder.

You shiver under her touch and look at the small coffee table near the chair. Your eyes widened a bit as you notice a fresh sketch book and a pencil on it. You look up at Alcina, surprisingly, she is looking down at you the whole time with a smirk upon her lips.

“So…” She begins.

“Do you… want me to draw you?” you ask nervously.

“Correct, little mouse! Good job.”

She laughs, patting your back.

Alcina walks toward the couch, sitting on it in front of you, crossing her legs. She smirks once again, raising an eyebrow. She waits for your reply as she keeps staring directly into your eyes.

“Y/N?”

“Oh… I don’t kn-“

“Pretty please?”

She pouts.

“You don’t want to upset your Mistress, do you, pet?”

“Of course…” You nod.

She then gives you a big smile, placing her bag away before elegantly laying down on the couch, facing you.

You immediately get nervous as you never drew from nature but you don’t want to disappoint Lady Dimitrescu so you agree. You take a pencil and a sketch book, staring at Alcina for a while before you start to sketch the lines of her body. She stays quiet and patient for the next ten minutes before she sighs and looks at you.

“It’s quiet stuffy in here, isn’t it, little mouse?”

She slightly unbuttons the dress on her chest.

“It is…”

You nod at her but keep drawing.

Alcina smirks and lights up her cigarette, takes a long puff before the cloud of smoke floods around the small room. You smiles to yourself, noticing how she melts behind the smoke for a few seconds. You keep sketching her, paying attention to every detail of her body. She stays quiet and all you can hear is scratching sounds of your pencil against the paper.

It takes you an hour until the sketch is fully finished. Thankfully, Alcina was patient enough and just relaxed on the couch this whole time. You get up, walking across the room to show her the sketch and she sits, patting her lap, inviting you.

“Come sit with me, would you?”

She smiles and pulls you closer on her lap.

You blush but don’t hesitate, making yourself comfortable on her lap. Lady Dimitrescu is so close, you can feel the coldness of her body. She brushes your hair behind your ear before looking down at the sketchbook, noticing how detailed the sketch was. You look up at her and smile slightly.

“My…” Alcina begins.

“…How talented you are, my dear pet. You’re definitely the connoisseur of women’s bodies”

She teases.

“Oh… I… Thank you.”

You smile at her.

It isn’t the first time you both are so close but every time it feels like your first time and you blush like a kid nearly her. Lady Dimitrescu is obviously a charm and she knows that too well.

“Now…”

She gently puts you down on the floor as she gets up.

“…I’ve got something special for you, little mouse. As a reward…”

You can see her smirk widely as she walks closer to you and ties your eyes with a black strip of cloth. You shiver at her touch but nod. Alcina takes the sketchbook away from your trembling hands, puts it on the coffee table. All you can hear next is her heels clatter against the wooden floor and quiet rustling of her dress before she speaks again.

“You may take the strip off those pretty eyes of yours.” She says.

You do as she said, slowly take the strip off and open your eyes. You gasp as you see her sitting on the couch with her legs crossed but… the only thing she is wearing is her dark red lingerie that barely covers her intimate parts of the body. You feel your mouth becomes dried and your heart skip a beat. She looks so… stunning.

“Like what you see, little mouse?”

Alcina smiles as she walks over to you.

“Yes, Mistress…”

“Happy Birthday, dear.” She says quietly.

You look up at her, your eyes widen. It definitely isn’t your birthday today and, not to mention, you don’t even know when your actual birthday is. Dimitrescu chuckles as she notices you hesitate and answers your silent question.

“It’s been a year today since you’ve got to my castle, Y/N.” She says in a soft tone.

“Since we both are not aware when your birthday is I thought… It would be a great idea to celebrate it now.”

Alcina gives you a sly smirk.

“Oh… It’s not worth it. But thank you…” You mumble quietly.

“Are you upset, little mouse?”

She asks you softly, placing her hand on your shoulder as she speaks.

You shake your head and look up at her, feeling her grip of your shoulder. You moan softly, feeling your shoulders relaxing under her touch. Dimitrescu smirks and raises her eyebrow as she steps closer, placing her index finger under your chin, making you look into her eyes.

“Oh, dear… Careful with those sounds of yours.”

She lets out a soft chuckle before she leans down to you. Your lips are inches away from hers and you gasp but don’t pull away. You can notice the desire in Alcina’s golden eyes that sparkle even brighter when she looks at you.

“You’re trembling, Y/N…”

Dimitrescu murmurs, caressing your cheek with her fingers.

“Are you scared of me?”

“No, Mistress… Not at all.”

You shake your head slightly.

“I jus-“

She cuts you off by softly pressing her lips against yours. You gasp again at the sudden move, dropping the pencil on the floor. Alcina laughs, slightly pulling away to look into your eyes. She licks her lips, raising an eyebrow.

“You alright, dear?” She chuckles.

You nod, still feeling her moist lips on yours. Dimitrescu chuckles once again before gently picking you up, making you wrap your legs around her waist. She slightly kisses the pinkish cheek of yours, brushing her lips against your soft skin before she presses your lips together one more time. This time Alcina kisses you with more passionate, caressing your bottom lip with her tongue, asking for permission. You let out a quiet moan and open your mouth, letting her in. Your tongues dancing together as she holds you close against her body.

“M-mistress…”

You whimper.

She doesn’t say anything, sliding her hand up your thigh, gently squeezing it, making you moan once again. Oh, how she loves those sounds. Alcina smirks, gently nibbling at your neck.

You can feel the knot in your stomach, your panties become wet in a second and you know the vampire lady feels it well. You hold her shoulders, digging your nails into them as she licks your collarbones.

“It’s enough for today, Y/N.”

Alcina says, slowly pulling away from you.

“But! Mistress, I-“

“Enough. Don’t you dare to contradict my words, little mouse.”

She frowns as she gently places you back on the floor.

“My apologies…” You nod.

She grabs her dress, quickly putting it on. You glance over at her but Alcina is quiet and cold. Her sudden mood change takes you by surprise and you can’t say a word. You watch Alcina taking her bag and heading off toward the door.

“What are you waiting for, Y/N? A special invitation?”

She frowns.

You shake your head, taking the sketchbook and picking up the pencil from the floor before quickly escaping the room. Alcina shut the door closed and locks it in case anyone would like to sneak there.

You both walk quietly to your own rooms before Dimitrescu stops and places her hand on your shoulder. She kneels to your height and gently caresses your cheek with her thumb, slowly touching your bottom lip. Her actions make you blush and you look away but she makes you look back into her eyes.

“I’ve got work to do now, little mouse… But I’ll wait for you at my Chamber tomorrow. Be there by 9pm, got it?”

She almost whispers, smiling softly at you.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You nod at her, squeezing the sketchbook in your hands.

“Good girl…”

Alcina smiles.

“…Sleep well, dear.”

With those words she leaves you alone in the hall and closes the door behind herself. You smile softly, heading off to your own room, quickly getting ready for sleep.

You can’t get Alcina off your mind… Her silhouette appears every time you close your eyes. But you don’t mind at all. With the thoughts of her you slowly drift off to sleep.

#lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitriscu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x female reader #re8 lady dimitrescu #resident evil 8 #alcina demitriscu #castle dimitrescu #fanfic #lady dimitrescu smut

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mxanigel · 13 days

Text

15 lines of dialogue

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

Thank you for the tag, @arendaes! It was difficult to stop at 15 lines, haha.

1) “Hurry up with the details before Hange attempts something we’ll all regret.” 2) “I don’t understand grief. Why it lingers. Why it rears its ugly head whenever it pleases. Rena died five years ago. Why does… why can I still ache this much?” 3) “Don’t sell yourself short. A terrible person wouldn’t offer to carry me through this forest.” 4) “Don’t you dare pull a Levi on me.” 5) “I’m still alive. I feel like I shouldn’t be. But as long as I am alive, I don’t want every moment to be dark. And if I can provide some light, some joy, even if it’s just a smile, I feel like my time with Rena mattered.” 6) “My home is with the two of you, after all.” 7) “She just likes to remind me what a fuck-up I am at every opportunity.” 8) “Pull me back up. I’m giving this another try.” 9) “Saving you is still a work in progress.” 10) “I need you to take the lead here. I trust you.” 11) “I-I’ll try to commit it to memory so I can draw you a picture.” 12) “I don’t want to take a life. When I do, I’ll live with that weight until I join them. But I’ll do everything in my power to help find a better path forward for what remains of humanity. And I’ve accepted that path sometimes requires fighting to the death.” 13) “I don’t hate you. I’m trying not to hate anyone. Including myself. Hate just makes everything worse. But hatred is hard, so hard to avoid.” 14) “I don’t envy the choice you had to make. Right or wrong, you’re the one who must now live with it. Like I do with the choice I made just now.” 15) “Th-There’s that too, but love isn’t about fucking. At least, it isn’t for me. That part’s… like a perk? When you’re in love. I, ah, like being close to the person I love. Physically. But that closeness can be the touch of a hand. Or it can be more. But it doesn’t always have to be. For me, anyway.”

No-pressure tagging @ruthvelyan @poetikat @captastra @saraptor @druckkugelschreiber

@marythegizka @spindleweedss @korblez @nightingalesighs

@dr-paine @milesmentis @gardensystemtv and anyone else who'd like to play!

#tag games #OC: Shion Miller #fic: cut to the feeling #aot fanfic #I'm just a puddle of feels going through this fic again <3 thank you for the excuse to do so~#oi tumblr what's up with your tags not sticking (I apologize if you get multiple notifications...)

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bestfriend491 · 11 months

Text

“I wanna win this trophy!”

Headcannons/ Drabbles

Is she competitive?

Ramonda

Ramonda is surprisingly very competitive.

Her competitiveness mostly shows with random things that aren’t really important.

You noticed it while you were dating, but you only got a proper glimpse of how bad it can get years after you got married, when a simple game of cards at a family function nearly ripped some of your relationships with your relatives apart.

If she has to work with a team to win something, she can get a bit carried away, which is why everyone prefers to let her work alone.

If you two are in a team she’ll make it known that she wants to win and you need to play to your best ability.

Though you absolutely love her, you can only take small doses of competitive Ramonda.

In the rare case that you team up with her in a competitive event, nobody is off limits.

This includes your kids.

“Ramonda I have no clue what that’s supposed to be.”

“Yes you do! Look at it properly, Y/n!”

You squinted at the picture that Ramonda was trying to draw, searching through your brain for any memory of anything remotely close to looking like it.

“Oh wait. I think I have it! It’s… a crown.” you declared proudly.

“Nooo!”

Just then the timer for 1 minute went off, telling you that your time was up.

You grew relieved knowing that the pressure was no longer on you to guess what she was attempting to draw. That was until you saw your wife’s face.

“What was it?” Shuri asked, clearly also stumped.

“It. Was. A. Chandelier.” Ramonda said through gritted teeth.

Instantly a round of laughter went through the room, T’Challa being the only one at least trying to pretend that he wasn’t laughing.

“What?” Ramonda asked.

“Mother, that looked like anything but a chandelier.”

That got another chuckle out of you, prompting you to give Shuri a high-five.

Ramonda dismissed all of you, rolling her eyes as she went back to her seat. When she sat down next to you, she leaned towards you, placing her hand on the side of her mouth to block the kids, her competitors, from seeing what she was saying.

“Sthandwa sam. You know I love being your partner in all sorts of challenges, I really do. But you are not working hard enough on this.” she whispered.

“Ramonda. My love. It’s a game. Let the kids win for once.”

“No. I want that trophy!” she pointed to the makeshift trophy that you’d been using for game nights since Shuri had made it when she was 5.

It held sentimental value to the both of you, but it was far worth anything after that fact.

Ramonda made it seem like the grand prize of the century, much like any other insignificant prizes that were offered during competitions.

You stared at her, locking eyes. A sort of staring competition began between the two of you, another regular occurrence between the two of you during times of competition.

Ramonda held her ground, not budging off of her statement.

After what seemed like forever, you relented. Throwing your hands up in defeat.

“T’Challa. I’m going to need you to trade partners with me.”

Ramonda gasped “Are you serious!?”

“Ma, no! Why can’t Shuri trade with you?! “ T’Challa whined.

“T’Challa you know Shuri and your mother being in the same team would only cause more trouble in this already terrible match. Let's even the odds.”

Seeing that he was still hesitant, you went on, “Remember what happened when we played Monopoly that one time?”

He shivered at the memory.

“All the screams. All the tears.” you said with wide eyes.

“That was years ago. Shuri was much smaller then. She can handle herself now.” he argued.

Now , you mimicked Ramonda, whispering with your mouth covered, “Just do it so we can be done with this game.”

Not pleased, but knowing what needed to be done, he traded seats with you, gaining a shocked expression from Ramonda.

‘What a relief.’ you thought.

#queen ramonda #ramonda #thoughts that might turn into stories #queen ramonda fluff #queen ramonda x female reader #queen ramonda x reader #ramonda drabbles #ramonda headcannons #x female reader #x reader insert #x black reader

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leoniestarlee · 3 months

Text

Illyrian Assassin (7)

Pairing: Azriel x OC

Word Count: 1.9k

Warning: past trauma, slow burn

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)

A few days later, a soft tune hummed from my mouth as I hanged up one of Willa's drawings on the wall in my new room at the House of Wind. Rhys wasn't lying when he'd told me to buy whatever I wished. Personally, I hadn't actually picked anything with my words, but I'd brought Amren with me while I'd looked at furniture and it didn't take me long to realize this morning that any furniture I looked at for too long, arrived here.

Willa was quieter than usual since her small outburst, only speaking to me needed and that carved a part out of my heart. She'd apologised, wrote at least five letters but she was still quiet and reserved to herself. I could only hope that by the time Rhysand got back here today, after spending the day with Willa, he'd have news on if she'd spoke to him or not.

I folded my clothes, putting them into the chest of drawers that sit under the window facing the city below. Beside the chest of drawers sat an elegant velvet purple armchair that I'd already claimed as my reading chair. In the center of the room was a bed that could fit three Illyrians, including their wings, and near that was a door, leading to a bathing room I'd already told the girls they can use.

Willa and Daisy had their own rooms on either side of me, but Willa asked for another bed in case Daisy ever wanted to sleep in her room, and of course, I'd agreed straight away. The last thing I wanted was for her to be more upset or angry with me.

My bedroom door opened and I looked around the door of my wardrobe as boots sounded against the marble to reveal Azriel walking into my room, his eyes focused on me while he carried two boxes. I offered him a small smile, turning back to the dress I was previous hanging up.

"How do you like your new room?" Azriel asked, the sound of boxes being placed on the floor behind me echoing against his voice.

I quietly closed the wardrobe, turning around to see him pulling my belongings out of the boxes. "Much bigger than my last one," I mused with a smile as I leaned back on the heels of my feet. "But the view is amazing."

He chuckled, placing a few of my books on my bed. "I thought you would like the view."

"Did you pick this room for me?"

A smirk with a shrug of his shoulders. "Rhys asked me if you'd want a view of the city or of the back of the mountain. I'd suggested this room because of the number of times I'd stop past your old apartment to find you staring out your window."

"Do you always observe everything?" I joked, picking up my books from the bed and walking over to the empty bookcase near my reading chair.

He raised a brow at me as I looked over my shoulder at him. "Spymaster, remember?"

"Samrtass, remember?" I counted and he chuckled, shaking his head as he started to unpack the next box and I gently put away my books.

"Have the girl's rooms been set up yet?" His footsteps sounded toward me, and I kept my back to him as I rearranged the books to my standards.

"I spent the morning focusing on their rooms before mine." He passed a few more books to me over my shoulder and I took them. "I'll leave the decorating to them, since they probably have their own ideas."

"I've got a feeling they'll ask Rhys to paint their rooms," he said, walking away from me as I laughed. "It'll be good to have your girls here though. Cassian and I have needed—What's this?"

I turned around on my knees at the drop in his tone as he held up my old sketch book from many, many years ago. My jaw slackened as I remembered what I drew in there and he, out of everyone, was now holding it.

"Oh, that's nothing," I lied, a fake smile on my lips as I stood and pushed away the nerves in my body. "Just something from when we were younger."

"Is this the same book you were constantly drawing in when we were young and you threatened to break our bones if we looked in it?" he asked, his brows rising as a smirk tugged at his lips.

"What? No, of course not," I quickly said, walking toward him and hiding my surprise that he'd remembered. "That book is just filled with boring things."

His smirk grew as he held the book up and out of my reach as I stopped before him. "You're lying, angel. I always know when you're lying."

Butterflies erupted from the nickname he used to call me when we were younger, but nervous stabbed through those butterflies as he looked back to the sketchbook above my head.

"I'm not lying," I lied through my teeth. "I'll just put it away if you will give it to me, please."

"Hmm," he drawled, his scarred fingers brushing down the spine of the book softly. "I've always been curious about your drawings."

My face slacked. "Don't you dare."

"You'll forgive me." And then he turned, running straight out my door.

"Azriel!" I shrieked, running out the door behind him. My dress nearly tripped me up, but I picked up the bottom of the pastel purple skirts and rushed up the stairs. He was much further ahead than me, but I didn't give up.

The worry of him seeing inside of that book is what gave me to adrenaline to continue chasing him. I'd made it up the stairs with him out of my vision. My heart dropped as I rounded the corner into the sitting room to see his lips parted as his eyes scanned the page, his face unreadable.

"Stop!" I yelled, launching forward and taking us both down on the couch. "Don't look at that!"

But it was too late. My eyes landed on the page he was staring at as I grabbed his wrist, pinning it to the couch beneath us. I couldn't look at him—couldn't meet his gaze as my eyes stared at the pencilled sketch of his face on the left page, every detail shown by shading and on the right page, his hands sketched with every ridge and line of his scars perfected.

"Aurora," he softly said, his other hand resting on my hip.

It was then I realized I was straddling him, my legs on either side of his muscled thighs as one of my hands pinned his arm down next to his head with the book in his hand and my other arm heled me up to stop my body from landing against his.

"Sorry," I mumbled, releasing the grip on his wrist and starting to get off him, but his grip tightened on my hip, keeping me firmly in place. "I, um—Shit."

I avoided his eyes as I looked away, hiding the faint redness I knew was on my cheeks as he closed the book with one hand, leaving it beside his head. His hand reached up; his scars rough against my chin as he moved my head to look down at him. His hazel eyes were bright with a small smile on his lips and I only blushed harder, ignoring the tug in my stomach as I felt heat course through my body from our position.

"You drew me," he breathed, his eyes trialled over my face, flicking down to my lips for a split second before looking back into my eyes. "That's why you never allowed us to look in it."

"I was young, and a female stuck in an Illyrian camp," I countered, pushing his hand away from my face. "I drew many things," I added, swatting his hand away from my hip before moving off him.

He sat up on the couch, holding the sketchbook out to me as I stood in front of him. "You did," he mused, and I reached my arm out to grab the book, but he pulled it back out of my reach. "Yet, you only drew me. Not Cassian. Not Rhys. Me."

"And?" I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest. "I spent most of my time with you, it was just easier to draw you."

"It would've been easier for you to draw Cassian's wings than my scars, angel." He gave me a pointed look.

"You're a pain in my ass," I mumbled, whirling around and heading back to my room.

His footsteps followed after me, but I didn't look back at him as he said, "That I can be, but why did you draw me." Silence as I descended down the stairs. "I know you didn't draw only me because it was 'easier'. Why did you draw me?" he pushed.

"I was young and bored," I argued, reaching my floor. "Stop thinking into it so much."

"Can you blame me? You always drew in this book whenever you could." His hand gripped my elbow, stopping me to face him. "Do you know how many times Cassian, Rhys, and I tried to get this book." He held it up and my eyes stared at it, instead of him. "For a whole three years, we tried to find it when you didn't have it, but Cauldron you had it hidden somewhere good that even my shadows couldn't figure it out."

"Why did you three care so much?" I looked away from the book to him as he stood up straighter.

A shadow flickered across his eyes. "Because when you sat behind that bakery and drew in this book, it was the happiest we every saw you," his voice came out soft like a pillow cushioning my heart. "We wanted to know what made you happy so we could help you. You tried to hide it, the sadness, but we always saw through you and then when your eyes were focused on this book, you were truly happy."

"I—" My words couldn't form in my mind as I stared at him, blinking away the realisation that years ago I wasn't as skilled at hiding my feelings as I am now.

This whole time, after all these years, the three of them knew. They could see I was unhappy when I thought I'd master the fake happiness to keep them happy. But all this time, they knew I was lying, and they wanted to make me happy.

"Now you know," I said above a whisper.

His brows furrowed. "What do I know?"

"That the only source of my happiness back then was yo—"

"Why are you two standing in the hallway?" Cassian asked from behind Azriel.

I clammed my mouth shut, looking away from Az as he stepped to the side to reveal me to Cassian who watched us with raised brows.

"We were just chatting," I said sweetly, a small smile on my face.

Cassian's eyes were sceptical as he looked at me and then to Azriel, where his eyes widened. "Is that the sketchbook?"

"You've got to be kidding me," I whispered in annoyance, low enough that neither of them could hear me.

"No," Azriel lied, not a sign of the truth on his sculptured face. "It's a new sketchbook for Willa."

"You'll be lucky if Rhys didn't buy her a hundred already," Cassian laughed, his wings tucking in tight behind his body. "You two hungry? Mor's made afternoon tea at the townhouse and sent me up here to fetch you both."

"You know I can never say no to food," I laughed, walking toward him with a small skip in my step. "I'll fly with you."

Because I don't trust myself in Azriel's arms. I don't trust myself to not say something that'll change everything in our friendship, I don't add.

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the-shy-wolf · 1 year

Text

I’ll be posting this to Twitter tomorrow, but since I’m more active here, I’ll go ahead and post. To everyone who has supported me up to this point, I appreciate everything, more than you will ever know. Despite my claims of being an ‘edgelord’, I think it’s no secret that that’s absolutely not the case. I’m an incredibly sensitive person. So sensitive, in fact, that I’m easily stressed when it comes to certain things. I’ve been having to take frequent breaks from the internet due to my extreme levels of anxiety. My anxiety has been so bad, I now have seizures due to my stress levels being so high. Don’t worry, I am working with a therapist and psychologist with this, and with therapy and appropriate medication, I can beat it.

With that being said, I’m sorry to say I’m stepping away from the Deltarune fandom. I’m sad and extremely conflicted about it, because it was Deltarune that helped me make so many friends and meet so many people. This is my first time having a place in fandom, I was briefly involved in the Adventure Time fandom, but that was years ago and it was a brief thing. I’ve never had this many eyes on me, and it’s overwhelming. My time and the emotional investment I’ve been putting into fandom/art has felt like a second job, and I’m not okay with that. I originally started posting art, because I was inspired. It’s also helped me cope with the loss of my brother. But it’s no longer a coping method, it feels more like a chore and it no longer brings me happiness. I’ve been harassed by anon hate/criticisms mercilessly, and it’s taken a toll on me. I’m 30 years old, and if I have not developed a thick skin now, it’s safe to say I never will. Which is another thing I want to bring up: I no longer want to draw ship art of Deltarune characters, and that includes Kris and Susie. I’m tired of the shipping discourse/hate, and to be honest, I don’t want to only be known for shipping characters from a game. I think it’s made people not take me seriously as an artist at all, and it’s no longer enjoyable. I started shipping the characters because they both reminded me of my partner and I, but now, it’s all anyone ever relates my work to, and that includes oc’s. It’s frustrating. I’m a short, brown headed enby. Bram is a big freckled long haired dude. My ocs look like us. Please stop mixing the two- it ain’t that deep.

I’m sorry if this came out of the blue, but after receiving my diagnosis yesterday, I need to cut back on my stress levels, and a lot of that stress stems from fandom. Will I draw DR in the future? Maybe. Especially once new content is dropped. Idk if it will be shipping, but it’ll be something. I will, of course, continue to support all of my art friends. You’ve been nothing but kind and supportive of me, and despite my absence, I care very, very much. So much, in fact, I isolate myself from everyone because I don’t feel worthy to associate or even share my art. I know that’s a shitty excuse, but it’s true. There is a voice in my head that keeps telling me I’m not worthy to even associate. If this disappoints my friends/supporters, I’m so very sorry. It’s how my brain has always worked.

I also want to apologize for leaving my other sm accounts. I was not trying to worry or cause panic. I don’t think too many people even noticed, which is good. It’s not the first time I’ve deactivated. My hands get busy and sometimes deactivating and stepping away is a good reset button for me. But I wanted to throw all of this out there. I’m sorry if this is disappointing or upsetting, but I want to be honest. About all of it.

Thank you for reading, again- I’m so sorry. I’ll probably reactivate and post this message to Twitter tomorrow.

#self

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darkdarkroom · 2 years

Text

~ Don’t Get Me Wrong ~

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Every Saturday for the past three months, Eddie Munson has been dropping in to the record store where you work. And for the same amount of time, you’ve been pretending not to notice he’s just there to see you. It’s a game you’ve both been playing, but today is the day you bring it into the endzone. It’s a classic idiots sort-of-friends to lovers thing, with Eddie at his most adorably oblivious.

No warnings, just fluff and a very small hint at a sexy dream.

Author’s note: this is my first fic in over four years and I’m only too happy to be back on my bullshit for Eddie Munson - shame it’s the night before part 2 comes out. i like italics a little too much and can’t write kisses to save my life, but I hope you enjoy this nonetheless. reader is as gender neutral as i can manage through editing - angel as a nickname is the only vaguely gendered term used. In a bid to get this out before part 2 drops I did not proof read - it is 2:45 am, i am not sorry. MASTERLIST

---------

No one could say that working at a record store is the greatest job in the world, but it certainly has its moments. Getting your hands on the latest tapes first? That’s pretty cool. Playing your favourite tracks whilst you work? Another great perk. Working the Saturday shifts? Mmm, not so hot.

At least they weren’t so hot, until one morning three months ago. After the Starcourt Mall had that freaky fire, Hawkins locals had needed to look elsewhere for their retail therapy. So, you’d been getting a lot of new customers in the weeks that followed, which was excellent for business, but less so for your peace of mind. Eventually things settled down, and you've been left with a few more regulars – including one particularly striking regular you’ve come to know very well.

The first time you’d met Eddie Munson, he spilled an entire blue raspberry slushie down his front upon tripping through the door. Naturally, he was mortified, but you?

You were enchanted.

Maybe it was the way he spoke at a hundred miles per hour as he tried to mop himself down with a single black handkerchief, or maybe it was how every time you told him it was okay, his cheeks would colour just a little bit more. Perhaps it was something in his eyes – oh, those eyes. Eddie’s eyes still stop you in your tracks every time, something in those soft pools of molten brown drawing you in like a magnet. It’s so unfair – one look and you were entirely done for.

Anyway, you’d felt incredibly sorry for the poor guy, insisting he take whatever band tee he desired as a gesture of goodwill - “The step is totally uneven, it’s an accident waiting to happen. Not your fault at all”.

Eddie had picked Metallica, doing his best to hide his delight at expanding what you now know to be an extensive collection. “This place is pretty cool,” he’d remarked, ducking into the backroom to get changed. “Might come in more often”.

And come in more often he did – every single Saturday since then. It hadn’t taken you long to start expecting his arrival, and then anticipating it. There’s a difference between the two states, you realise; expecting just means you know you’re gonna see him. Anticipating means you’re actively waiting for him.

This is exactly what you’re up to now: actively waiting for Eddie Munson. It’s close to 5:30, about the time he always shows his face. He’s only been late once, a few Saturdays ago – very late. You’d assumed he was out of town for some reason, but two minutes after closing time, you’d heard a frantic tapping at the window. How could you not take pity on him, standing with his gut wrenchingly sad face pressed against the glass and a fistful of dollar bills meant for the new Rolling Stones single. Letting him in had been a no brainer, though you’d gotten shit from your manager the next day.

The following week, after giving an entertaining and animated monologue about his band's latest gig, he’d suddenly reached into his back pocket and pulled out a can of soda – your favourite soda. It was going “spare”, you see, as he’d “accidentally” bought it but didn’t like the flavour. He'd sheepishly pushed it across the counter, heading out of the store in a rush before you could thank him.

He’s funny like that; cocky and attention-grabbing one second, and painfully self-conscious the next. The slightest compliment can reduce him to a blushing, stuttering mess, something you discovered when you told him you liked how his hair looked one morning. His eyes had widened, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his ripped jeans. “Uh, I, uh... I brushed it” he’d admitted, shuffling his weight from foot to foot. “Don’t always remember to do that”.

He remembers now. At least, he does every Saturday, but you’re careful not to draw attention to it.

After three months of regular conversations, the two of you have built something closely resembling friendship. Since day one, though, there’s been something else there. Something exciting, something electric.

Something impossible to resist.

Waking up for work has never been easier – you're not even thinking about work, you’re thinking about Eddie Munson. He’s in your daydreams, and your night dreams too, for that matter. There was that one particularly good dream, where you found yourself by lover’s lake and he had his van and -

Yeah, you can dwell on that one another time. Can't have anyone catching you with that faraway look on your face and asking what you’re thinking about now, can you? It’s hard to focus, though, when you know he could appear at any minute.

Oh.

There he is.

Eddie approaches from the other side of the street, his standard uniform of denim vest over leather jacket making him impossible to miss. You wonder what band tee he’s got on today – last week it was Dio, and the week before it was Ozzy... and why exactly have you remembered that, hmm? It seems that no matter how cool you play it on the outside, your mind is brimming with information about the gorgeous metalhead you can’t get enough of. Yeah, it’s clear as day – you've got it bad for Eddie Munson.

But if your judgement is correct, Eddie Munson has it just as bad for you – and today is the day you’re gonna do something about it.

He pauses at the roadside for a moment, looking from left to right as if deciding where to go next. As if he hasn’t done the same thing every Saturday for the past three months. You suppress a smile and pretend to look busy, shuffling a stack of tapes into place as you await his inevitable arrival. It’s a silly little game the two of you are playing, but it’s one you enjoy – he pretends he’s not there just for you, and you pretend you haven’t noticed.

You don’t have to look up to know he’s approaching. The jingle of those metal chains hitting his thigh with every step gives him away, and you risk a sideways glace as he stops to browse near the entrance. He has his back to you, thumbing through a stack of records as he stalls for time. Walking straight up to you would give the game away, so he always puts a little effort into his whole “just passing through” routine. It’s probably very convincing to the untrained eye, but you know him and the store a little too well: that’s where you keep the week’s top charting singles, and Whitney Houston has been number one for the past three weeks. He’s looked at exactly the same thing for the past two Saturdays, and unless his taste has drastically changed, there’s nothing remotely interesting to him there.

Still, you respect his commitment to the bit, keeping up your side of things by letting it play out however he chooses. A customer approaches the desk with an armful of tapes, and Eddie takes your distraction as an opportunity to move a little further in. He’s in the rock section now, this time rifling through the stacks with purpose. You know what he’s looking for, but he’s a little too late – the new AC/DC album sold out two days ago. You watch him realise this as you hand the customer her change, and he tries to reign in his obvious disappointment.

He waits for the customer to depart, before making a leisurely turn towards the counter. He’s now the only person in the store besides you, so it would be pointless to pretend not to notice him; you look up and smile warmly, his deep brown eyes meeting yours instantly.

Magnetic.

No matter how many times you play this game, you can’t help the way your heart jolts and your stomach twists at that first second of eye contact. Eddie Munson does something thrilling to you, something more addictive than anything you know he sells. It clearly has an impact on him also: he swallows hard, barely maintaining his attempt at a cool façade as he approaches you.

“'Afternoon, angel” he begins, placing his palms flat on the countertop as he smiles winningly at you.

Angel.

Now it’s you who’s trying the hardest to keep cool. He uses nicknames so breezily, but the effect they have on you is almost embarrassing – like he steals a little bit of your breath with every angel, sweetheart, or darling he tosses your way. One word from Eddie could reduce you to a daydreamy disaster on an off day, but today you’re not gonna let him win that easily – this is a game after all, and it’s time for your next move.

“Hey, Eddie! How’s it going?” you reply brightly, noting the flicker of delight in his eyes at the mention of his name. The first time you used it had him visibly flustered, seemingly surprised that you even knew who he was. God, how could you not? He was by far the most interesting person in this otherwise dreary town, but that fact seemed to be lost on him entirely. He’d written himself off a long time ago, but every time you use his name you remind him that you see him. It didn’t take you long to notice the effect it has on him, that little thrill never seeming to wear off.

Excellent.

“Ah, y’know, not too bad” he grins, before glancing over his shoulder to the rock section. It gives him a second to compose himself, a little more relaxed when he turns back to face you. “You don’t happen to have any more Who Made Who’s around here, do you?”

You pretend to think about this for a second, as he watches you hopefully. “The AC/DC record? Oh, I’m so sorry, it sold out like two days ago”

Eddie’s face drops, and he steps back from the counter slightly in his disappointment. It's like kicking a puppy, but you’ve gotta get him down a little further before you bring him back up again. “Yeah, it was gone waaaay quicker than we thought. Can’t even order in a new batch just yet, it’s impossible to get hold of a copy if you haven’t got one already”.

He seems genuinely put out, nodding in resigned acceptance as one ring-clad hand comes up to rub at his cheek. Music is the very blood that runs through his veins, so it makes sense that he’d be so deflated. You can’t bring yourself to drag this out any longer, so you move into the endzone with a tone of airy nonchalance. “Unless, of course, you happen to be friendly with the salesperson, who’s nice enough to keep a copy behind the till for you just in case you don’t come by in time”.

His head snaps up, eyes wide with renewed hope. “No way, you haven’t... have you?”

Without breaking his gaze, you reach behind the till and slowly reveal the cassette box you've kept hidden since the day the shipment arrived. Sure, your colleagues had teased you mercilessly about it ever since, but the sheer relief and delight on his lovely lovely face could make any amount of ridicule worth it.

Eddie pushes himself back from the counter, arms thrown above his head as he stares at you in wonder. His mouth gapes open, lips forming shapes that don’t quite make it into words; you’ve rendered him speechless, something which you – and anyone else who knows him, for that matter – would think to be impossible. Fighting to keep a victorious grin off your face, you tap at a few buttons on the cash register. “So should I ring this up, or...?”

“Yes, god yes” he manages finally, the words coming out in a breathless flurry of excitement. He approaches the counter once again, dipping a hand in his pocket to withdraw a beaten up leather wallet. “You... you’re something else” he adds, seemingly without thinking; the second the words leave his lips he falters, cheeks colouring and gaze dropping as he counts out a few bills. Before he can place them on the counter, though, you reach out your hand until it’s a fraction of an inch away from his.

“Seven dollars then, please” you tell him, palm open. Physical contact: it’s an unexplored frontier in your little game, and you’ve cornered him into making the icebreaking move. You’re on fire today, not least because of the heat you feel as his fingertips brush against yours for the very first time.

Hello.

It’s a gentle, innocent touch, but you can tell by the way his lips press together that it means as much to Eddie as it does to you. He lets his hand linger much longer than he probably should, those beautiful eyes flicking up to meet yours as he studies your response.

One heartbeat, then two, then three pass as you draw the moment out. Loud, insistent heartbeats that he’s probably close enough to hear, maybe even feel -

That’s enough now.

You grasp the bills and draw your hand away, turning to the cash register and away from his burning gaze. Try to calm down a little. You’re almost at the home stretch. Out of the corner of your eye you can see him compose himself, flexing the hand that touched yours as the other tugs self consciously at a lock of his hair. You count the bills into the cash drawer, exactly the right amount. No need for change, thank god; the last thing you need right now is more physical contact to addle your brain, if you want to bring this game to a perfect finish.

You slide his purchase across the counter, setting an easy smile on your face. “All yours”.

All his.

The tape, and you.

Have been since the first day you locked eyes across this damn record store.

“Thank you, so much. You’re a wonder” he says, sliding the tape into his pocket. “Honestly, I owe you one”.

Here we go.

“Oh yeah, you definitely do” you reply, leaning casually against the wall behind you.

Come on, Eddie, take the bait.

He takes a few steps back, and then one forwards, brow furrowed as if contemplating something.

You know you want to.

Eddie nods almost imperceptibly, decision made. “How about... how about dinner? I mean, how about I take you to dinner. Dinner with me. Obviously!” he rambles, eyes darting from side to side as he tries to regather his words into something far smoother than he’s currently managing. “That is if you’ve not got plans, or like... you know, if you even want to...”

As much as you’re enjoying him adorably losing his cool over finally asking you out, it’s time to land this thing.

“I’d love that!”

Eddie freezes, tongue poking out from between his blush-pink lips. “Really?”

“Yeah, dinner would be great”. And then, just to drive the point home: “Dinner with you. Obviously”.

He lets out a deep breath, unable to stop a beauteous smile from lighting up his entire face. ‘Okay, cool. Excellent” he says, a hint of relief mixed in with the joy he’s clearly feeling.

“We could do tonight, if you’re not busy? I finish here in like twenty minutes”.

Scheduled it two weeks ago, just in case.

How you’re still managing to keep it this cool on the outside is beyond you, your mind racing as you consider just how perfectly things have fallen into place. Dinner with Eddie. A dinner date? Shit’s getting real now.

“Not busy at all”.

He thinks for a moment, and you can almost see the moment an idea clicks into place. “Weather’s nice, don’t think it’s gonna rain tonight. You fancy heading up to the lake for a picnic?”

He watches you carefully, still slightly unsure of himself. So oblivious – there’s no chance in hell you could ever say no to that offer.

Hang on, the lake?

Don’t think about your dream, do NOT think about your dream.

“That would be perfect!” you smile warmly, doing your best to offset his nervous energy.

It seems to have worked; he settles into a laid-back stance, head cocked to one side and arms folded across his chest. “Yeah, cool. My van’s parked round the corner, I’ll be the guy with the sweet tatts in the driver’s seat” he quips, taking a few steps backwards. “I’ll grab some food and see you in twenty, angel”.

Eddie turns and strides out of the store, shoulders back and head held high. Ahh, he probably thinks this is all his idea. That’s cute. He’s cute, the boost of confidence looking good on him. God, if you’re this caught up in him already, how are you gonna make it through dinner?

The next twenty minutes pass all too quickly and yet maddeningly slow at the same time. You have a change of clothes in your bag, and make sure to give your hair a quick seeing to before you head out.

A date with Eddie Munson.

A date, with Eddie Munson.

Not that he’d called it a date, of course. Maybe you’re getting ahead of yourself here, maybe you’ve got the vibes wrong, maybe -

No, come on. You can read that man like a fucking phonebook, and every number in there is yours. This back and forth can only go on for so long – you're both ready for something more now.

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

You see him the second you round the corner, leaning up against the van with his shoulders hunched. His left hand plays with the rings on his right, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. It takes a few moments for him to realise you’re there, but when he does his demeanour changes entirely. He stands up straighter, puffing his chest out as he gestures to the van. “Your carriage awaits” he says, opening the passenger side door with a flourish. Showmanship – that’s something he’s always excelled at.

That same gentlemanly spirit emerges once you arrive at the lake, with Eddie rushing out to open your door before you even have a chance to unclip your seatbelt. He reaches out to take your hand, steadying you as you hop down into the meadow. Like earlier, you let your hands linger just a little longer than necessary.

The catch in his breath is audible, and sends a pleasant shiver up your spine.

He has to let your hand drop as he closes the passenger side door, lips pressed together as he regains his composure.

So, here you are.

Lover’s Lake.

It’s a still night, with the soft spring breeze pushing ripples across the dark water. Quiet, too; you look around for signs of other late-night picnickers, but it seems you’re the only pair around. Eddie stands and observes the scenery for a moment. From the corner of your eye can see his attention turning back to you, his hands diving back into his pockets as he takes it all in.

You know exactly what he’s feeling – this is unfamiliar but exciting territory. Being alone together in the van was something, but now you’ve got this beautiful view and the promise of an entire evening for just the two of you. A picnic was a bold idea. A romantic idea. He has to know what he’s gotten himself into, and you’re certainly not complaining. This is definitely a date, and Eddie’s definitely keen to get things going.

He rifles through the back of the van, letting out a victorious “Ah ha!” when he emerges brandishing a rolled-up tartan blanket. “Knew this would come in handy someday”. A paper grocery bag is next, which he tucks under one arm, before turning to flash you a winning smile. “Wanna pick a spot?”

You nod your head to the left, where the bank starts to slope towards the water. “View looks good from there”.

“Over there it is!” he declares, before marching over to get set up. He’s diligent and thoughtful, smoothing out the creases in the blanket before laying out the food with great care. Once he’s satisfied with how it looks, he turns to you for approval.

He needs that, you realise. His stance is confident, but his eyes betray a hint of uncertainty. “I’ve never actually had a picnic before” he admits, messing a hand through his hair. “There’s some bread and stuff for sandwiches, and I grabbed some strawberries for something sweet... sorry, I should’ve checked what you like”.

Mentally he’s kicking himself right now, and you’re only too quick to ease his concerns. “Eddie, this looks perfect, thank you!”

The compliment hits the spot. Eddie relaxes instantly, allowing himself a satisfied smile as he surveys his work. “You’re very welcome, angel. Hungry?”

“Starving!”

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

Any worries you may have had earlier are washed away before you’ve even moved onto dessert. Conversation with Eddie flows so easily, the two of you laughing and talking like this is the most natural thing in the world. Without the barrier of a counter between the two of you, you find yourself moving closer to him without even realising it.

He talks at great length about his band, throwing his head back as he mimes a guitar solo that’s totally gonna bring the Hideout roof down on Friday night. “You should come!” he exclaims, swaying a little as he speaks. “It’s not the biggest of crowds, but we always make sure it’s a rad night”.

“I’d love to!”

He seems genuinely surprised by your enthusiasm, leaning back on his hands as he studies you. “Really? You’re not just saying that?”

“No, I mean it. I’ve heard so much about your music, I’d love to see you perform” you assure him, tucking your legs up under you. “Why are you so surprised?”

Eddie hesitates, one hand tugging up a clump of grass as he ponders over the answer.

“You’re just... you’re just like, the coolest person in Hawkins” he says, looking away from you to stare out at the lake. “It’s kinda unexpected that you’d wanna spend time with me”.

Honestly.

How oblivious can one guy be?

“Eddie... I need you to really think about this right now. Why are we here tonight?”

He turns back to face you with a frown, unsure of where you’re going with the question. “Because I asked you?”

“Yes, and why did you ask me?

“Because I owe you one”

You’re getting closer to the point now, more insistent even as he remains utterly clueless. “And why do you owe me one?”

“Because you kept back a tape that...”

Eddie falters, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Because you kept back a tape for me. One you knew I’d like”. His voice is quiet, eyes narrowed at the ground as he considers the sequence of events.

“And why would I do that?”

The pause that follows your question is drawn out, but you don’t rush him. His eyes widen, as if seeing the situation clearly for the first time. The hesitation you see in them is replaced by something stronger, something brighter:

Hope.

“Because... because you like me?”

He phrases it as a question, but the emphasis on the like tells you he understands perfectly.

“Because I Like you” you confirm.

He lets out a gentle breath, cheeks colouring as he lets his knees drop. The smile that pulls at the corner of his mouth is irrepressible, but his shyness won’t let him meet your eyes just yet. His voice comes out as little more than a whisper - “I like you too”.

Just saying the words out loud embolden him, and he finally manages to bring his gaze up to yours.

How do his eyes still get you so soft, every time? Little creases decorate their outer corners as he smiles, shuffling closer to you on the blanket.

“I really like you” he continues, “Like... seeing you in the shop is the highlight of my week. Yeah, the music’s cool, but I only really care that you’re there”.

“So it’s not the Whitney Houston records you keep coming back for?” you tease, and he nudges you with his shoulder in response – he’s that close to you now, your knees touching as you let yourself lean into him.

“Oh, Whitney’s a babe, but you... you’re really something special”.

He means it, not looking away like he did when the words slipped out earlier. Eddie owns the compliment, swallowing hard as he reaches out to rest a hand on your waist. “Knew from the first moment I saw you, angel. Just didn’t think I had a hope in hell of getting you”.

You can’t suppress the smile his words provoke, moving in closer as he pulls you into him. “Eddie, you had me from day one”.

“Day one?! Why did we wait three whole months then?” he asks, mock incredulously. His voice is still soft, though, and his face is barely two inches away from yours. When you don’t answer, his other hand comes up to brush across your cheek. The touch is featherlight, the callouses on his fingertips a reminder of exactly who it is you’re so close to right now.

A moment passes, as the two of you let the tension build as high as you can take it. It’s Eddie who relents, his heavy-lidded gaze soft and filled with desire. “No more waiting” he breathes, before he gives into the moment and closes the gap between you.

Eddie Munson is kissing you.

His lips move fervently against your own, warm and soft but more and more urgent as the kiss deepens. Your hands are in his hair, and the hand on your waist pulls you into him, your bodies pressing close together. Breathing becomes irrelevant; to kiss and only to kiss is the all-consuming thought.

You’ve both been waiting for this moment, and are making the most of every single second. It doesn’t matter that you’re in the middle of the meadow in full view of anyone who may pass by. This kiss is intimate, euphoric, everything you’re thinking conveyed better in actions than in words.

You don’t know how long you’ve been kissing for, and you don’t care. When your lips finally part, Eddie holds you close to him, unwilling to let you go just yet.

“Wow” he whispers, his breath ghosting across your lips.

“Wow” you agree, as you smile up at him. He looks perfect, softly lit by the moon as he holds you against his chest. Neither of you speak for a moment, basking in the glow as your breathing slowly returns to normal.

Who needs that dream when this is what reality gives you? Granted, it didn’t end here, but -

“What are you thinking?” he asks suddenly, his voice snapping you back to the present.

“Oh! Nothing”

It comes out a little higher pitched than you’d aimed for, and Eddie notices. He leans back a little to get a good look at your face, curious eyes searching for clues. “Everything okay?” he says, the hand on your back moving to stroke up your arm. “My jacket is all yours if you’re feeling cold”.

He’s too sweet for his own good, honestly, the concern on his face plucking at your heartstrings. Those puppy dog eyes are hard to resist for too long, and you let out a deep sigh before attempting to explain.

“I’m fine, it’s just... I had this dream...”

You let your words trail off, unsure of how to continue. Eddie’s eyes light up as he leans in closer, head cocked to one side. “A dream, you say?”

“Mmhmm”.

“And was I in this dream?” he asks, his tone playful as he leans ever closer. Embarrassed, you move to bury your face in his chest, but his hand comes up to gently but firmly cup your chin. He holds you there, eyes searching yours with a molten intensity. “Was I, angel?”

“Yes, Eddie, you were” you say, enjoying the glint of delight that appears in his eyes. He makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat, thumb stroking your skin as he revels in your closeness.

“You gonna tell me about this dream?”

It's tempting, it really is. Eddie could get anything out of you if he really wanted, but you know he’d never push it. This is information for another day, so you smile softly and let your hand come to rest on his shoulder. “Eventually”

“Eventually?” he echoes, amusement playing across his lips. “I can live with eventually”.

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, a gesture so sweet and full of adoration that you can almost feel your heart skip a beat.

Dreams can wait; how you are right now, with Eddie Munson? This is so much better.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #stranger things #joseph quinn #x reader #edited to add the formatting tumblr killed #mine

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