#and only very hopefully d) a set of Some Nice Things | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mrssoapmactavish · 1 month

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do re mi, abc – steve harrington

this entire blog is 18+. minors dni. shoo.

this entire post is nsfw. no minors. none. i don't want to see you here. go read something else, shoo!

the title should (hopefully) make it a bit more obvious. nothing gets the girlies going like a nsfw alphabet!! these are all my hot takes, so if you don't like 'em, i can't hear you (:

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

steve harrington is an angel. an affectionate motherfucker. after sex before sex and during sex, he's full of love and he's nothing but a sweetheart. asks you if you need a snack, water, cleans you up– but not before holding you against his chest for a solid 10+ minutes. shit, there have been times you guys take a little nap together all curled up. he'll take the best care of you, though; running you a bath if you're sore afterwards and throwing towels into the dryer so they're warm and fluffy for you, ordering food if you're too hungry for a snack but too tired to cook, and making sure the bed is tidied and made so you can lounge together and be little home bodies, which is something he only recently realized he adores with you.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

as much as people know him as steve "the hair" harrington, he's a big fan of his hands. not just because he likes them, but he knows you like them. the way you'll stare when he's handing you a coffee, when he's had to manipulate that bat of his, the way you fluster when he's setting his hand on your thigh while he drives. the biggest and his most favorite thing about his hands, though, is how useful they are in regards to you. how would he be able to hold your hands if he didn't have any? how would he bring you flowers, coffees, treats, things that remind you of him? how would he lift you up to fuck you in the shower? when it comes to you, as much as he wants to act like he's just some man easily swayed by something like your boobs– not that he's not, he could stare at them for days, anytime you guys are about to argue and he sees them it just turns into sex instead– his favorite part of you is your neck. it should be obvious, really with how he'll give it hickies for days, he'll mash his face into the crook of your neck to provide you both comfort, the way he treats it so tenderly when you ask him so nicely to wrap his hand around it. it's the home of your vocal chords, and there's no sound he loves more than the sound of your voice, so he worships the place it originates from, obviously!

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

in the beginning of your relationship, steve tries to stay normal about this. he'll keep it safe, wrap it up and toss away the condom, an occasional load on your tongue if you've got your lips wrapped around him and won't let go, the odd time or two he missed you so dearly that the first kiss back had him cumming in his pants. now, later in your relationship and later into his development from carefree teen to tired babysitter and grown man, that greatly changes. he's embarrassed at first, to tell you that he doesn't see himself with anyone other than you. getting over that? it's a slippery slope to raw-dogging it. it's also at this time the two of you get far more comfortable; he loves when you soak his face, arm, pelvis, chest the first time he let you grind against his jungle of curls. he also loves to do the same to you, always promising and following through to clean you up after, whether it's on your thighs, stomach, just ontop of your folds, your chest, back. the first time he doesn't manage to pull out in time, though? let's just say steve discovers something new about himself. he always knew he wanted to be a dad, as many little harringtons as you'd allow him. he never thought you using that against him as dirty talk would have him going round after round in the hopes that maybe, oh maybe, it would take.

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

steve is very open about many things. you adore his lack of filter from his very obvious puppydog nature, and he never quite understands why people would hide these kinds of things. one thing he will take to the grave, however, is he knows where all your pairs of panties are going. the black lace ones you just bought that seem to have vanished in the washing machine? you'd never suspect your sweet stevie to be the culprit, you'd just assume he was being polite and the sweetest boy, offering to do the laundry this week. you know full well it's him, it's why you've gone from buying expensive pairs of nice underwear to getting slightly cheaper, so that when your stevie slips it off of you and it's never seen again, you're only down 10-15 dollars instead of 40. he can't help it, he excuses it as nothing but unwaivering love for you. how much and how greatly he feels about you effects him all the time, even leaving him to jack off holding your pretty little panties against his cock as he strokes it when you haven't been around much.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

steve harrington is well-experienced in hook-up culture. he can fuck and chuck like a professional athlete. staying long enough that domesticity is sexy, though? a whole new ball-game for him. the longest relationship he's had was with nancy, and we all know how that ended. he's not used to being at a point in a relationship where he can say that, yes, the idea of fucking a kid into you is so unbelievably hot. give him time, give him safety, and make sure steve feels loved and appreciated.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

steven harrington, the man that you are. he adores you, wants nothing more than to look you in the eyes, watch your face contort whenever he does something new or fucks you a little deeper. anything with you two looking each other in the eyes is his favorite, missionary the standard, a cowgirl here and now to mix things up. his absolute favorite, though? it has to be those times when your legs go from around his waist to your legs going over his shoulders, calves on either side of his head, caged in underneath him. you'd called it something weird, a mating press or something along the likes, and he doesn't care to know the name. all that matters is he swears to hell, heaven, and beyond that he can watch himself bulge in that pleasant little expanse of skin that shields your insides, can feel the gummy kiss of your cervix against his tip, and god the sight of you falling apart when he gets you both oriented like this.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

while steve is a mostly silly guy, he tries to keep things serious in the bedroom. sure, he'll say something a little teasing that'll make you smile and giggle, maybe something that even earns a full-on laugh that he normally utilizes to press his girth inside of you. but overall? he's stone-cold serious. we've seen how intimate this man is (which i'll touch more on later), so keeping the vibe all about how much he loves and cares about you, adores making you feel good– that's the goal! there have been times though, don't get me wrong, where there are goofs that basically make the whole rest of the moment a gigglefest. the time you guys broke your bed? hilarious! steve felt a mixture of guilt and overwhelming pride knowing he– literally– rocked your world so well he broke your bed, so he offered to foot the bill for a new bed, even helping set it up and test it out. the time he nearly dropped you in the shower? not as funny when it happened, but afterwards you still refuse to let him lift you against the tile.

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

this is another demonstration of steve's growth as a person. closer to his king steve days– when he was still pretty active on the swim team and all, mind you– he was pretty close to completely shaven. sure, he kept it just neat and trimmed down below the belt with a thin little happy trail, but that's it. now when it comes to his starcourt days, as he let his chest hair start to grow out, he did the same all the way down. it got a little ridiculous at one point– he was mortified when you got a pube in your throat and nearly threw up because it just wouldn't dislodge itself– but that was enough for him to know you love that steve prefers leaning closer to natural. nowadays? that man has a happy trail to drive you crazy, he keeps it as neat and tidy as he can near his dick without cutting himself but it's still got something there. he heard someone say it was a sign of masculinity somewhere, never really could get back to the entire bare-naked routine.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

okay. this is the fun part. we all know steve is a hand-holder during sex, that he's got chronic cling problems, and that he's nothing but a golden retriever in a human form. but it's so much worse because you return it, actively seeking him out whenever. hell, the first time you told him you loved him, he was balls deep! it's no wonder sex gets him all mushy with you; every time he sees that blissed-out look on his face, he's reminded of the fact that, yes, there are women out there who love him, and you're the one who loves him the most!

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

steve doesn't have the highest drive. i know, that's like sacrilege to say, but he really isn't he likes the touch of someone else. sure, if you left him right and riled before you're going off to work he'll quicky rub one out thinking about just how much he's gonna return the favour later after his own shift. but mainly? he prefers to get horny, seek you out, and rock your world for some time, then just get right back to life as if nothing happened. now. as mentioned in the dirty secret section, he's a little panty thief. consider this the only non-emergent exception to steve's iron-will. if he's got a pair of your panties handy, he'll need enough time to basically wear those out. he'll be exhausted and not very good at hiding what he's been doing– a big reason for why he's not a big fan of giving himself a tug– and the only shred of decency he has is the fact that he knows to keep his little tools hidden.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

praise kink. this should be a given, the man will whimper so pretty for you if you tell him just how good he's doing at making sure you won't be able to walk at work tomorrow. free-use. it takes a long time to drag this out of him, and it also happens entirely accidentally. you were just trying to wake him up on his birthday with some breakfast-and-head (he still hates that you won't just be normal and stick to breakfast in bed, but the name always has a little smile on his face), but god the way he moaned for you because you were just going for him, unprompted. needless to say, it started quite the conversation. hair-pulling. come on. look at that fluffy crown atop his head! give it a tug at those beautiful brown roots, watch him have to stop his thrusts for a minute so he just lose all composure and piston into you until you cry. breeding kink. there is no good goddamn way in hell you can have sex with this man without him letting loose inside you. if you don't? god, the whimpers that leave that man's lips. "baby, please, did so good for you-" "honey, sweetheart, please, y'killing me here-" "please, i'll clean you out after, just can't stop, you're so good to me" bondage. this is a post-starcourt development. he's still scared and felt out of control about being tied, beaten, tortured. it was actually recommended to him by a therapist to explore that, to regain control however he can, help himself slowly get over that. so when steve's felt especially out of sorts, you two will set some time aside, plan something out, usually with him in fuzzy cuffs with a safeword in place. it's really the trust that gets him going, but the fact that he has to put his pleasure entirely in your hands and you just run with it, it makes him lose his mind in the best way possible.

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

call him old-fashioned, but he mostly prefers to keep anything going on between you two with clothes off to happen at home, in either his or your bed. that's not to say you two don't have a habit of going at it whenever you both feel like it. you've done it in the back of his beamer, his pool, the shower multiple times, the backroom of scoops ahoy (a one-time venture, you nearly froze the skin on your back off being held up against the walk-in for that long), the backroom of family video (robin can't prove it, but she knows it happened), even a few parties when you were both still in school. the best place in his mind, though? eddie's van. he had no idea why his backseats were soaked, and that was alllll you.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

all alone, steve is more focused on romance and intimacy. sure, he gets a stiffy now and again, but he can mostly ignore it if he's not entirely in the mood. with you, though? the man is a live-wire, a cherry bomb– only a moment's notice away from cracking into flames, burning you with that fiery adoration. you're smiling at him? he's got last night on his mind, when that same smile was what triggered sloppy, messy, yet oh so tender sex. that pretty little sundress you've got on? the flashes of skin have him feeling like a pubescent teen again, all worked up. you being good with the kids? god, he can already picture you down the line, a little harrington in your arms while he makes breakfast, now he's hard and he needs you. basically, you turn him on in general. it's hard for him to not get all excited when you are around, so tender, perfect.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

degradation. steve is a sweetheart, already having more than enough problems with his parents, so please don't give him more. even if it's supposed to be hot– he can understand that lots of people are into that, really, but he can't grasp it for himself– it just makes him all insecure and ruins the time for him. just stay nice and sweet, just for him. inflicting pain on you. anything above a smack on your ass or– more recently– a hand on your neck is a no. he could never hurt you, seeing you in pain triggers his protective instincts and kills his vibe entirely. threesome. this one is a bit trickier, a little more of a gray area, but it's still enough to make steve uncomfy. he won't entertain the idea of bringing in another girl– he doesn't need more hands on him other than yours, that's more than enough for him– but he has, sheepishly, thought before about expanding his trust just enough to let a friend in at some point. the closest he'd gotten to accepting this as a reality was when you and him were stoned with robin and eddie, robin had run off to the house phone to call vickie, and eddie had been telling you– who had been so nicely playing with steve's hair and made him so drowsy you assumed he was asleep– that he'd never slept with anyone before. sure, he knew eddie had a reputation of being a freak, but with the growing kinship and the deep trust and understanding he started to feel for the other boy, he genuinely considered asking eddie if he'd want to give it a try with you two. he never got the balls to say it, though, but it still sits in his mind sometimes.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

king steve would never consider going between a girl's legs. he believes in the toxic male stigma, that women are just around for a man's pleasure. after nancy, his mind changes slightly, but with the long time apart he changes. now, though? steve harrington is a munch. he doesn't know if it's just because he loves the reactions he gets out of you– you get so loud and you pull his hair and your legs get hooked over his shoulders and it makes him feel so strong, not to mention he loves when he makes you feel so good you squirt and he gets a physical show of how good he did– or if it's because it's you, but he just adores it. (you know exactly why: steve harrington is a man of unwaivering service. he loves you, and he'll do whatever he can to show you that. plus you also know he just loves the way you taste, so he won't say no if you ask nicely. he's also whined about wanting to taste you before, so you know he actually enjoys it, but won't point it out to embarass him.) in regards to receiving, he won't say no if you offer, but he's not going to be an asshole and ask/demand you to suck him off. he doesn't mind being woken up with your lips around him, but he won't wake you up to handle his morning wood. he enjoys it, sure, but not enough that it takes precedence over fucking you, so he won't necessarily choose it openly.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

harrington is a very versatile man. that being said, he can do either or; he can fuck you like your lives depend on it (he can manage a quickie, or his jealous streak flaring up means he's got to pound you till your mascara's running from your pretty tears in the bathroom of the hideout), or make the sweetest, gentlest love of all time to you (nearly every time the upside-down gets him hurt or in danger, you two take the chance to affirm each other of the unrelenting love shared by the two of you).

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

while it's entirely possible, steve prefers not to do quickies often. sure, they've happened between the two of you before (see above, also at his work, your work, between picking up and dropping off the party of gremlins), but he prefers getting to take his time with you, slowly work you open and fuck you until you fall apart, then put you back together with all his love and tenderness.

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

the more steve risks his life trying to save hawkins and protect the kids, the less he cares about considering things 'risky'. fucking you bareback? psh, he nearly died from those bats, it pales in comparison. that being said, there are certain things he contemplates longer before actually trying it. one big thing is the whole idea of pegging. sure, he's heard some great things about it, even seen a couple decent pornos of it when he sneaks them from work, but the idea still spooks him; he's not sure how it would feel for him, whether he'd like it or not, how you'd react to the idea, etcetera etcetera.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

'big boy' harrington isn't necessarily booksmart, but he's keen enough to know himself. he can go 1-2 rounds himself before he gets overstimulated and the aching throb of his cock starts to hurt more than it feels good (another thing he'll think about exploring one day with you, but definitely not soon), so he gets you handled first. if he doesn't have you falling apart 5-6 times when you guys have sex, he's disappointed in himself and convinced he did a poor job. reassure him that yes, he's doing amazing, he needs to take it easy on himself.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he'd never really thought about toys before you came around and introduced him to them. sure, the cuffs are a given (see kinks) and he knows lots of girls your age have vibrators, but when you two settle into something more serious than just a casual fling, he's letting himself warm up to the idea of them being more prevalent. things like you holding that wand vibrator of yours against your clit while he's fucking into you drives him crazy, the one time you held it between his hard cock and his balls when you were giving him head made him see stars; hell, even watching you ride that pink silicone cock had him clawing the walls like an animal! as soon as he starts getting comfortable with you using them on him, he starts going out of his way to buy things he'd find fun. they start simple enough at first; cheesy bachelorette party gifts like edible underwear, sex dice, blindfolds. eventually though, he gets things like flavoured lubes, sensory balms, gags... he starts going a little wild, to the point where he's been given a monthly budget for these kinds of splurges so he doesn't go too overboard. he's a curious man who just loves the hell outta you, let him indulge in all the weird things he sees and finds neat ):

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

steve's a stubborn, impatient man. he can handle teasing only so long; both giving and recieving. it's like a time bomb, a countdown of restraint before he gives in, relenting to whatever carnal desires the two of you will be indulging in.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

again, another instance of development; king steve would never be caught dead making noise in the sack. he's of that toxic mindset that he should be silent, only hearing his girl, and that it's just a fuck-and-done thing. the new and improved steve, though? god. i cannot even begin to explain this without going feral. it starts simple enough; he'll growl, huff, puff, groan here and there. he'll even moan for you if you get him worked up or sensitive enough! later down the line when he realizes you're it for him, he gets a little more lucid. he'll start to whine for you if he's needy, even whimpering so pretty, and you really can't get him to shut up. he can start quiet, but most of the time you two have to usually shut each other up with a liplock, otherwise you will most definitely get caught or a noise complaint. he's not even ashamed; he knows you love it, so as long as you're not too mean about him being loud, he'll continue to do so unashamed and unabashedly.

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

steve doesn't need to see you in lingerie. most of it he finds tacky and overboard– sure, there's a few sets you've tried on before that have him gaping at you like a fish out of water, but those instances can be counted on two hands– and it's just more he has to take off of you. he does love you in as little as possible, though; his sweatshirt and panties? he's hard as a rock. a pretty sundress? he's got his hand on your knee and slowly working up. don't get him started on the mini skirts you wear to parties with no panties on underneath, or when you do wear them and take them off during the night to slip into his hand.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

steve harrington has a big dick. whether that's long and average width, or average length and girthy i'm not sure, but it's big. you've gotta be stretched open and worked properly, can't just go sticking it in and breaking you, now, can he? it's also got a nice little upwards curve to it, something that your gag reflex doesn't love, but god does it hit all the right spots inside you so much easier. we've all seen steve's arms, too, so you just know that he's got some pretty veins to it. not too much, just a few small ones up and down, but one large and pronounced vein on the underside that pulses so prettily when he's worked up. he's got some big, heavy balls too, ones that are extra sensitive, even just little touches have him writhing and gasping for air. i also like to picture that his dick, much like that mane of hair, is uncut. au naturel, as the french would say.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

steve had an average-for-a-teen-boy sex drive back in his king days. now? he's a little more mellowed out. that's a total fucking lie, this man would easily fuck you all day if he could. he's just so full of love and adoration and you wreck him, so it's only fair he does the same to you! he'll settle with whatever you give him, though, as long as you know he loves you beyond anything else.

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

this is another generalization: most of the time, he'll stay awake until you fall asleep. if you won't, whether it's because it was a quickie or you have something to do, he'll stay up with you, just being lazier because of all his expended energy. now, when the exception applies, treasure it. there's nothing sweeter to the eyes than a sleeping steve harrington, conked out after a passionate encounter, hair all mussed up as he snores softly against the pillows, breathing all peaceful and tanned skin littered with hickies from your pretty lips.

#archers rambles #archers thoughts #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington headcanon #archer speaks #archers 18+ emporium #18+ mdni #18+ only

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python333 · 2 months

Note

since i just woke up from one and came here to seek comfort and get it out of my head,i had the idea of "why not ask them if they'd like to write such a thing?" So here i am.

The main thing is reader having a really grotesque, explicit and horrific nightmare (that's how most of mine are) could be getting tortured,put in a meat grinder,you get it,work your magic and write as you wish haha.And after they wake up with a heavy and tight chest, horrified naturally,it being out of their control,could you have the 141 members comfort us? Perhaps one way of getting most of their reactions would be setting up a scenario where they had to camp and sleep in the same place, something of the sorts,so yeah.

Honestly still not over the nightmare yet that shit was horrific haha,but yeah,hope this'll be a nice writing for you,if you wish to do so.Take great care of yourself dear,and take as many breaks as you need<3

how the sausage gets made — python333

— — — —

synopsis you have a very graphic nightmare, the 141 comforts you!!!

relationships platonic! 141 & gn! reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 3.2k

warnings nightmare about getting put through a meat grinder (not too graphic, but the imagery is still there), usage of [c/n] (code name/call sign), 2nd person pov (you/yours/youself)

note hi!! this is actually right up my alley, i really enjoyed writing this!! :D hopefully this somewhat comforts you/helps you get over the nightmare, and hopefully this was horrific enough for you!! ALSO i have a discord server now!! enjoy :3

You’re in some sort of freezer, it seems.

Your vision is a bit blurred at the edges, and your head feels awfully heavy, making it hard to keep upright on your neck. Your shoulders feel tight and tense, as though the muscles in them were physically bundled and tied into tight knots. Though, they aren’t tense in the way they typically are. Somewhere in the back of your mind—as your gaze wanders around the blue-tinted room you lay in—you can recall times after sparring sessions with a few of your teammates when your shoulders felt tight, and it was nothing like this. Those times, you could feel the knots as though they grew roots from your shoulders to your wrists. Unlike now, your shoulders feel lighter than those times.

Those times. You aren’t sure what “those times” refers to. All you can see and think about is the light blue tiling of the ceiling above you. It’s strange; you’ve only seen tiling like that on dingy bathroom floors in the public gym you used to go to. It’s never been on the ceiling like that. Huh.

You can’t really feel your hands, which is even stranger. You know where they are—they’re right at your sides, laying on the stingingly cold concrete floor of whatever room you’re in—and can hear the echoing taps they give whenever you lift and hit them lightly against the floor, but yet they feel numb. You move one of them, not nearly as off-put by the numbness as you should be, and lift it up and over your face. It looks normal. No, yeah, that’s my hand alright. Don’t know what I expected.

You put the hand back on the ground and using both hands you push yourself up from the floor, letting out a small grunt as you do. It takes an uncanny amount of force to push yourself upwards, but you manage to do so anyway, and you finally have a look at the room around you. You look ahead of you. Blue tarp. It’s shiny and almost looks woven, and if you squint your eyes enough, it looks grainy. You look to your left. More blue tarp. It’s of the same quality, the same quantity, and is in all aspects the exact same as the other blue tarp. You make a quick prediction before looking to your right, and, lo and behold, another blue tarp. How shocking.

It looks the same as the other two. Frowning, you look behind you, and surprisingly you are not met with yet another blue tarp. This time, there’s a large, shiny, stainless steel machine behind you. It’s a good ten feet away, about the same distance away as the tarps, and for some reason it beckons to you. Like Princess Aurora to her spinning wheel, you find the strength to push yourself up to your feet completely, and immediately you begin walking towards the metal machine without much resistance.

It doesn’t really hit you that you have no idea what this machine is or what it does. You don’t think you’ve seen anything like it. As you get closer, you can see a few items strung from the ceiling past the machine; weird plastic-clear looking tubes that are linked together in the same way clowns at parties twist balloons, and there’s iron-cast skillets hung on the ceiling from invisible hooks. Huh. Weird. Despite the oddities of the items strung from the ceiling, you keep walking towards the machine.

When you get even closer, the machine becomes less blurred and comes more into focus. It looks completely untouched. There’s a large funnel at the top, one that requires a ladder to get to—conveniently, there’s a ladder set up on and welded to the machine itself—and beneath that is a horizontal tube that tapers off into a smaller, funnel-like shape at the end with a much smaller opening. You tilt your head curiously at the machine. It’s so shiny. Though, the longer you stare at it, the grainier it gets.

Suddenly, cutting through your thoughts, you feel a harsh push at your back that almost has you knocking into the machine. Before you can even turn around to see who felt that they had the audacity to push you so harshly, that same entity that pushed you quickly lifted you into the air. Whatever they’re using to hold you up feels like absolutely nothing—as if they were just gathering enough air molecules to swoop you up.

“H—” You try to protest, but your throat doesn’t work. Before you can say anything, it just gives out, and leaves you wheezing for a moment before trying again only to discover that, to your horror, you cannot talk.

Your throat seems to close up every time you try to say anything. All that comes out are breathy wheezes and coughs that leave a strangely bad pain in your chest. As you try to stop your coughing, whatever is picking you up quickly dumps you into the large funnel on top of the machine. It’s cold and bites at your skin unforgivingly, making you hiss in discomfort. You don’t even clock how the cold is irritating your skin, despite you being fully clothed and none of your bare skin being exposed to the metal of the machine.

You try to move your hands to the sides of the funnel to push yourself up, but you move at a painfully slow speed, and can’t do anything but stand still. Like a mannequin, you’re forced into a standing position and can’t do anything but stand in the funnel. You look down, and you’re standing on what seems to be some sort of cylinder. The bottom of the funnel ends around your mid-calf.

Oddly, this reminds you of those nightmares you used to have when you were younger, where you were running from something or someone but moved too slow to get away.

Suddenly, the cylinder begins to move.

It spirals in place, making you quickly lose your balance and soon you’ve fallen in a lying position on the cylinder as it turns. It starts at a slow pace but starts to speed up, in time with your panic. You try to scramble to your feet but your limbs don’t allow it, keeping you stuck in place, the cylinder starting to turn even faster.

You’re uncomfortably folded and pushed through the small ending of the funnel as the cylinder keeps moving, and once you’re through, you start to hear a strange whirring.

It’s loud and sounds like some sort of shitty metal fan. It clangs against the sides of whatever tube you’re in and occasionally makes a horrible screeching noise that, if you could, you would cover your ears to escape. You turn your head to the side ever-so-slightly and see the “metal fan” itself—four sharp blades that spin clockwise, with a weird hole-filled circle behind them. You furrow—or, well, try to at least—your eyebrows at the sight.

The fuck is that? You don’t realize you’re getting closer to it.

The cylinder is now turning at an exceptionally fast pace, and only when you’re a few feet from the blades do you realize just how close you are to them.

“Wait—” You finally find your voice, though it sounds far away and is muddy in your ears, “Stop, stop—”

You’re not sure what else to say. You can’t tell if you’re begging, commanding, demanding, or anything of the sort. All you know is that the cylinder is going faster and faster, at an almost punishing pace that leaves you wondering what you could’ve done to deserve whatever the hell is happening to you. The blades emit an ungodly screech each time they get caught on a bump on the insides of the tube, and as you get even closer you can spot bright orange rust on the blades.

The texture is enough to make you gag. You’re getting closer, and closer, and soon you’re barely a foot away from it. The screeching and the whirring is so loud. You can’t hear anything else—or, wouldn’t be able to hear anything else, if there was anything else to be heard.

You can barely continue your train of thought before you feel a sharp, cold rush through your ankle.

You hadn’t been paying enough attention. You didn’t realize how close your feet had gotten to the blades.

The sound it had made when it was cut off was sickening. A loud pop, the same kind of pop that sounds when you break open the tab of a can. You open your mouth to scream but nothing comes out, and suddenly the rest of your leg is getting shredded by those same blades, and dear God, it’s so cold. It feels like dry ice cutting right through your calves, making its way up to your knees, soon to your thighs, much faster than you can process.

Your thoughts come in small fleets that go as soon as they come and you’re never able to continue or dwell on a single one, always getting interrupted by the white-cold pain that literally cuts through your upper thighs. You can’t feel anything from the waist down. You can’t feel your legs, your feet, and you’re losing feeling in your hips—

Your hands desperately grasp at the cylinder, and you’re not sure what you’re doing but you’re trying to do something, anything, as long as it delays the inevitable shredding of your torso and head. But it doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t. Whatever you had intended to do doesn’t work, and soon there’s a sharp cold pain that cuts into your ribcage, and suddenly you can’t even feel your stomach.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you can recognize the small sobs that escape you.

Your chest is the next to go, and soon it’s your shoulders, and even though they’re not gone yet your hands have already gone numb, and you’re bracing yourself for the sharp-cold pain to reach your neck when suddenly—

You wake up, body immediately getting into an upright sitting position and your chest heaving as sweat drips down your forehead. The sweat is cold and your breathing is loud in your ears, your ears which are filled with ringing, the sound of just anything enough to make your breath hitch and a sob crawl into your throat. With open-mouthed pants, you blink rapidly at the space in front of you, before quickly raising your hands to your face and letting out a loud, shaky sigh when you can actually feel the air moving through your fingers.

They aren’t numb. You plant them on the ground and just feel around, the rough fabric of your tent gliding under your hands. You shake your head vigorously, letting out another relieved sigh when you find that it’s still attached to your neck and hasn’t been sliced through. You move your legs and they’re still attached to your body. Everything is still on you. You’re in the same clothes you went to sleep in. You have all of your body parts. You are in one piece. Nothing is missing. You’re fine.

Despite repeating to yourself that everything’s okay—you’re physically together, you’re in a tent in the middle of the fucking woods and the worst thing that could happen to you is getting jumped by a bear in your sleep—nothing feels okay. There’s still the phantom feeling of getting put through a meat grinder that keeps a perpetual tremble in your bones, that keeps you unknowing of how to act like you’re in one piece. Not act. You are in one piece. But you aren’t. You swear, even though it was just some stupid dream, that it felt real enough to have actually happened.

“[c/n]?” Soap’s tired voice snaps you out of your thoughts. Right. We’re sharing a tent. You quickly whip your head to look at him, chest still rising up and down rapidly as your unstable breathing continues. You don’t say anything, simply staring at him with wide eyes.

“Are ye alright?” He frowns, quickly growing more awake the more concerned he gets, “Whit’s wrong?”

Maybe you’re in some form of shock, but you find yourself staying silent out of the fear of something happening. You’re not sure what that ‘something’ is, but it’s there, and it’s holding you back from even attempting to speak. Your breath hitches and your throat stings.

“Hey, uh,” Soap pushes himself up with a grunt and walks over a short few steps to you, kneeling down once he’s beside you, “Jist breathe, everything’s gonnae be alright.”

You know he’s not exactly the best at comforting people. He’s always been better with more technical things, and would much rather help you with math homework or something over trying to comfort you after something traumatic. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—of course he does, and he wishes he was much better than he is now at it—but he can never manage to find the right words.

He puts a tentative hand on your shoulder and you stare at it as it reaches you, flinching back immediately when you can actually feel his hand over your shirt. He pulls his hand back instantly, expression growing even more concerned.

“Do ye wannae tell me whit happened?” Soap whisper-asks. When you quickly shake your head ‘no’, Soap thinks for a moment before offering, “Do ye want me tae get onyone else?”

You think about his words for a moment before nodding. He sighs.

“Who?”

Your gaze flickers from the exit of the tent before going back to Soap.

“… Cap’n Price,” You quietly decide. Soap nods and reluctantly gets up, making his way out of the tent.

A few minutes later, you hear Soap walk back into the tent as well as another set of feet that trail right behind him. You look up and over at the entrance of the tent and see your Captain. His eyes are immediately on you, and as soon as he sees the mystified look in your eyes, he’s quick to make his way to you and kneel down beside you.

He doesn’t know what to say for a moment, you can tell. He instinctively brings a hand up to put on your shoulder like he typically would in situations like these, but something causes him to bring his hand back down and away from you. Maybe Soap told him how you reacted earlier? You brush off the thought for now, more focused on whatever Price is trying to do.

The reason you wanted him here instead of the others was mainly because you felt the least embarrassed around him. Which was weird, considering that he’s of the highest rank compared to you and the others, but still—you can’t imagine him judging you, not even for the most outrageous things. Maybe he’d have a small fit over you saying “soccer” instead of “football”, but otherwise, you can’t think of a world where he judges you for something like having a nightmare.

And sure, the others have them too and probably wouldn’t judge you either, but still. Price will probably always be your first option for situations like these.

“Soap hadn’t told me what happened, yet,” Price says softly, “D’you mind filling me in?”

If this were anyone else, you’d be fighting the urge to jump off a cliff, but because it’s not, you simply answer, “Nightmare.”

Your voice is a little clearer now, much to your relief, but it still carries that rasp from earlier. It doesn’t pain you to talk, but it does shock you that you even can, considering that you could barely form a whisper in your nightmare. And yes, that’s a silly thought, knowing that all of that was a nightmare, but you couldn’t care less about that right now.

“A nightmare, alright,” Price hums, before suggesting, “My tent’s bigger than yours, y’know. You wanna bring your sleeping bag over there, so we’re all together? Power in numbers, yeah?”

You nod mindlessly, agreeing with anything Price says. He smiles at you and hesitantly puts a hand on your shoulder, doing it slowly enough that you have plenty of time to let him know if it’s not okay, but you allow it. Price shoots a look at Soap and the latter nods, confirming whatever Price’s silent look asked him.

“Alright,” Price gives your shoulder one last squeeze before standing up, waiting for you to stand up as well. Once you do, he starts to walk out of the tent, expecting you to walk after him. Surprisingly, Soap gets up as well, sleeping bag and pillow in hand. Huh. Maybe that’s what he was confirming. You quickly pick up your sleeping bag and pillow, movements a little more stilted than usual as you didn’t expect to actually be able to move as quickly as you can now, and follow Price out of your tent.

You shiver as you walk out into the cold outside of the woods, and are quick to walk to the much bigger tent across from yours.

When you enter the tent, Gaz remains asleep while Ghost almost immediately wakes up. It’s uncanny, the speed at which his eyes open and dart to your figure—as if he was never asleep in the first place. You push those thoughts aside and wait for Price to walk in.

“Wh’t’s goin’ on?” Ghost asks sleepily, his British accent making his slurred words nearly impossible to decipher.

“They’re stayin’ in here for the rest of the night,” Price answers for you, nodding over to you as he refers to you.

Ghost looks over at you and you can sense his raised eyebrow despite not being able to see it. You look to Price to explain your situation for you again, and once he sees you look at him, he explains, “Nightmare.”

Ghost blinks before nodding understandably. Almost immediately, he conks out and goes right back to sleeping like the dead, making Price snort. Price turns to you, and gestures towards the empty spot next to Gaz, the spot conveniently empty and just perfectly sized for your sleeping bag. You walk over there as quietly as you can, shuffling around Ghost’s and Price’s sleeping bags, and gently lay your sleeping bag down next to Gaz’s.

You set down your pillow inside of the sleeping bag and kneel down as quietly as you can, a soft rustling sounding from your sleeping bag as you settle in. You turn on your side and let out a quiet sigh, eyelids already drooping with exhaustion. You’ve turned towards Gaz, and he’s turned towards you, and you look over his sleeping face for a moment before deciding to catch up on your own rest.

Just as you’re about to close your eyes, you watch his open.

“...” He stares at you for a moment, before he sleepily whispers, “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“… Y’good?” He asks, looking at your still-glassy eyes and very-clearly-worn-out expression.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” You answer, trying to offer a tiny bit of reassurance.

“Alright,” Gaz hums, accepting your answer easily, and closing his eyes once again.

A small smile graces your lips. You’re all used to going to sleep easily, of course, on missions like these—you kind of need to be, given that you’re all military. It took you a bit, but you eventually got used to it, and gained that skill just a few months after joining the task force.

Speaking of which, you find yourself drifting off to sleep not long after Gaz closes his eyes again, and soon enough, you’ve already fallen asleep—this time, without nightmares or dreams.

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gravedigginbbydoll · 1 year

Text

pencil shavings and shared smiles {pt.1}

Fem! Teacher Reader x Teacher! Eddie

Masterlist Next

AN: Heyo! So I was watching Abbott Elementary and got sad, so there’s that. Hopefully, this will be a multiple-part thing but do not expect regular updates. I am a busy gal, lol. Also not heavily edited!

WARNINGS AND CONTENT: Minors DNI!!!, Noncanon, Hawkins AU, Normal Hawkins, Rumors about Eddie, Eventual Smut, Very fluffy, Outcasts and Bullying, Mentions of Loneliness, Flirting, Fem!Reader, use of Y/N, older! Eddie, short-haired Eddie, 1995/1996 Hawkins, F! Reader has a dark past, angst.

Summary: The last thing anyone expected Eddie Munson to do once he graduated was to go off to get an Education degree. Now he’s approaching 30 and the coolest music and drama teacher in Hawkins. Enter you, a new teacher at Hawkins Middle School. You moved to the little sleepy town of Hawkins from the city, hoping to give kids joy in learning while also settling into a calmer town. You meet Eddie while moving your stuff into your classroom, and he piques your interest. But people talk, and you can’t help but wonder…Is he the monster they claim he is?

You walk through the doors, arms heavy with the large box full of posters and decor for your classroom. You walk briskly through empty hallways, cursing yourself for not asking the nice older woman working the front desk for some assistance. Finally, you turn one of the labyrinth hallways into what should be your hall. English. You sigh out of relief. For such a small town and school, you felt as though the hallways went on forever. You’re about to turn into your room when you hear rambunctious laughter and shouting from a nearby hallway. Your curiosity is peaked. It’s late in the summer. Most teachers are here to set up, but some are home, enjoying the days before the school year starts.

You scurry to put your box haphazardly in your classroom, the only one devoid of posters and books. You then walk as quietly as you can in your heels, the soft clicking against the tile almost silent with all the excitement in the classroom. Finally, finally, you reach a point where you can peek into the door, seeing the back of a man dressed in a dark flannel, the sleeves rolled up so you can see the tattoos littering his skin and rings on his hands, his nails painted a chipped black. His hair is wild and wavy, cut shorter on the sides and longer on top. He speaks animatedly to a group of young kids, all of them seemingly 13 or 14. They look at him with stars in their eyes, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

“So upon the last blow by Lady Eda,” He gestures to the petite girl to his left, her hair in colorfully beaded twists, her shy grin with a mouthful of rainbow braces. The rest of the kids sit on the edge of their seats, awaiting the following words. “The mighty and powerful dark wizard is laid to rest!” The kids erupt in joy, shouting and jumping out of their chairs, a few members hugging the petite girl you assumed was ‘Lady Eda.’ The mysterious man clears his throat again, and the kids rush to their chairs and sit intently. “You are cheered on by the crowd of townspeople, all leading you to the tavern, where you sing and dance the night away. The town is now free of his evil. Congrats, heroes.” He speaks warmly in his raspy tone, the kids in front of him beaming and seeming to burst with joy. “And with that-” He puts down a folder and folds up some journals, “We finish the campaign.” He gets up, showing you the distressed and torn jeans and combat boots on his lower half. “Now get out of here, twerps. I’ll see you with the new fish soon. You can show them the ropes.” The excited chatter continues; the kids grab their bags and stuff their things in them. They all hurriedly leave the classroom, finally noticing you and seeming to tone their excitement, nodding a ‘hello ma’am’ to you, except for ‘Lady Eda.’ She sticks behind, enveloping the man in a tight hug as he chuckles and hugs her back, leaning down and gently telling her to enjoy the rest of her summer. She nods excitedly, running out the doors after her friends, barely noticing you.

You peer out of the shadows, knocking on the door frame, seeing the man gather up his stuff and mutter at a volume so low you almost miss it, “Fucking Doyle.”

You furrow your brows and smile a bit, amused by the mystery of this man and his evident hatred for a teacher you knew was in your hallway. “I’m no Doyle, but it’s nice to get a feel for who I should avoid,” you joke, your tone light.

The mystery man attempts to stand up quickly from his bent position of picking up things, hitting his head on the edge of a desk, “Oh- I- Shit!”

You fight a smile, biting your lip at this man who’s quite a character. You expected mostly bored housewives and businessmen in Hawkins, but it was shaping up to shock you quite a bit.

He carefully got up this time, holding a hand against his head and spinning on his heel. His big brown doe eyes and a slight smattering of freckles make your heart jump a bit. He had smile lines and a shy smile, his facial hair short and scruffy. You feel your cheeks heat. Fuck. You didn’t expect a young man around your age who was so damn attractive at Hawkins Middle School, of all places.

His face broke out into a shy crooked grin as he walked towards you, a hand held out towards you. “Hi. I’m Eddie Munson. You can just call me Eddie. I teach music and drama. I also run the DnD club here- that’s what the kiddos were doing here.”

You shake his hand gently, feeling the calloused fingertips against your palms. “Hi. I’m Y/N Y/L/N. You can call me Y/N. I’m teaching English. I’m down that way,” you point back towards your hallway.

He nods, smiling, removing his hand from yours gently. “Well, nice to see someone younger than the dinosaurs in that hallway.”

You snort, feeling heat creep across your skin immediately and covering your mouth. “Sorry- Is it really that bad?”

He nods, and his face molds into a false sorrow and pity expression. “I heard that Mrs. Winnow was around at the birth of Christ.”

You snort again, another laugh bursting as you smile at Eddie. “You’d think with that kind of life, she’d be teaching history, wouldn’t you?”

Eddie grins devilishly, shaking his head. “Nah, she’d immediately make all the other teachers obsolete. They need their jobs.”

You grin, your heart pattering with joy at the young coworker. You were glad to find someone in a similar age range. So far, you only met your neighbors in your rundown apartment, who were around 40, and a few coworkers, who were above 50.

Eddie cocks his head at you, leaning against the doorway, his arms crossing his chest, covering his distressed Metallica concert shirt. “So, you’re new to Hawkins, huh?”

You laugh humorlessly, sighing, looking up at him. “That obvious, huh?”

He smiles softly, an expression reading I’m sorry. “Eh, most of us grew up here. It’s not a town that people are really flocking to. So what brings you here?”

You fiddle with a loose thread on your blouse, biting your lip. You don’t want to say too much, so you shrug and smile. “I wanted some change from the big city. So I closed my eyes, spun around, and pointed at a map. Lo and behold, fate decided Hawkins.”

He nods and still has a crooked smile as he turns, grabbing up his messenger bag full of items you assumed he used for the campaign. “Well, let me know if you want to meet some living humans, not fossils. I have a few friends here, and none are quite at retirement age yet.” He grabs a piece of paper he had about, jotting on it quickly, then handing you the parchment, smiling. “My number. In case you want to take me up on the offer.”

You pocket the number, looking up to thank him. You look up, and his back is turned toward you as he exits the school, lifting his hand and waving while calling over his shoulder, “Bye, city girl! Good luck with the fossils.”

You fight a smile as you walk back to your classroom, your fingers brushing the parchment in your pants pocket.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once you set up your classroom, sweat dripping down your forehead, you realize you have no books for your bookshelf. You frown, biting your lip. The classroom looked terrific, with posters for books you felt were classics and a few inspirational ones. With soft lamps and lights along with the desks arranged, you should be satisfied. You curse yourself, knowing a teacher’s salary is not enough to splurge on books, but you can’t help but hate how only the textbooks are on the shelf. You head out of the school, determined to get more leisure reading books for your future students.

You head to a local bookstore, fondly named ‘Hit the Books.’ An older man with small glasses is behind the counter explaining to a very disinterested edgy teen how to use the register. You look at the expansive store, surprised how it could stay open in such a small town with so few customers. Next, you head over to the Young Adult and Children’s section. You grab a few books, holding them in your arms as you walk from aisle to aisle. Eventually, your stacked up to your chin with books, struggling to hold them. You hear a chuckle behind you and cautiously turn, waddling like a penguin to avoid spilling novels everywhere.

There stands Eddie, his grin clear as day. He’s missing his flannel, now just in a short sleeve, his tattoos in full view and adding to his grungy look. “You need help? It seems like you’re carrying a library there.”

You feel heat travel across your skin and shake your head, backing up a little, “I got it-” You almost trip, Eddie catching you by your shoulder, and his eyes twinkle with amusement.

“I think I’ll help anyway,” He grabs half of the stack of books, his own at the bottom. You spot ‘Merlin’s Woods,’ a book you recognized as one that had been among the fantasy books for teens and children. You fight a bit of a smile at this, Eddie helping you to the register. The young teen girl lights up at his appearance, her thick black eyeliner exaggerated by her wide blue eyes. The older man, however, looks on in a bit of disdain, making you frown slightly.

“Mr. Munson! How’s it going?” The young girl asks, clearly more alert than before, ringing up your books along with Eddie’s. You’re about to interrupt her and let her know you’ll pay for your own when Eddie squeezes your hand without looking at you, smiling and catching up with the girl. Eddie then looks at you after paying, a smile on his lips.

“Do you need help lugging out this library to the car-”

The older man, still gruffly bothered by Eddie’s presence, shoves a box in the young girl’s arms and hands Eddie his book. “Don’t worry, Mr. Munson; Julia can handle it.”

The young teen Julia looks at the older man in protest, her brows furrowed. “Mr. Munn, I’m supposed to work the -”

He cuts her off, holding up a hand. “Shush. Go help the missus with her books.”

She groans, mumbling as she stacks the books in the box. You look to Eddie, his smile faltering as he looks at you, holding his book. Something tells you the bookstore worker does not like Eddie. Something else tells you that Eddie knows. You open your mouth to say something before Eddie clears his throat, glancing at Mr. Munn.

“I guess I better head out. I’ll see you around,” He says softly, smiling at you gently before turning and quickly jogging to a motorbike outside. You watch him sling a leg over the bike and drive away, feeling a twinge of hurt and sadness. It may not have been your fault, but you couldn’t help but feel for Eddie.

“Careful with who you surround yourself, Miss. That Munson boy is trouble. He may have straightened out a bit since heading to college, but he is still a bit delinquent. Be careful,” The old man gruffly tells you, pointed looking at you over his glasses. “You look like a nice girl.” You feel your skin prickle with disdain and heat travel from the back of your neck across your chest. Nice girl. You hate that phrase. It meant docile. Obedient. You ignored the older man’s stare, turning towards Julia.

“C’mon, my car is out here.” You lead the young disgruntled teen toward your modest, rundown car, opening the trunk. She huffs as she places the box in the back, clearly heavy for her small frame. You close the trunk and turn towards her, about to utter a thank you, when she stares hard at the floor and kicks a small pebble before sighing.

“Mr. Munson isn’t a bad guy. Just so you know,” she softly says, looking up at you, her big eyes full of sincerity.

You nod and smile softly, “I figured. But do you mind me asking why Mr. Munn is so set against him?” You tilt your head at her, and she huffs out a breath, annoyance at the older man clear across her face.

“Some dumb old rumors the geezer still believes from the ’80s. Mr. Munson was the town’s troublemaker and outcast. There are a lot of crazy rumors about him. I don’t think they’re true, but he never tries to disprove them. He came back to help outcasts feel safe at school. Give them a teacher to trust,” The young girl’s voice is thick with emotion, and you can picture she was one of the outcasts Eddie helped. It pulls at your heartstrings.

“Well, thank you, Julia. I appreciate your help. And don’t worry, I won’t listen to the rumors,” You playfully wink at the girl as she weakly smiles and waves goodbye before retreating into the small shop.

You climb into your car, starting up the engine as you bite your lip and wonder…

Who really is Eddie Munson?

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson older #teacher!Eddie #stranger things AU #stranger things au fanfic #older eddie munson #eddie munson au #pencil shavings and shared smiles

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utilitycaster · 8 months

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This campaign does have wizards aplenty, from our allies and guests (let's hope someone can fix Ryn; wonder how Vasselheim is treating Prism) to the antagonistic figure of the millennium himself, Ludinus Da'leth. And Halas is, of course, still in his gem. I have briefly touched on them, in fact, when they converged upon Tishtan to fuck around and find out. But this isn't about them.

Whose world is at stake here? Who is being shaken at their very foundation? Who is out here kicking ass, taking names, making pacts, and killing birds? And so it's my dubious and self-inflicted honor to present:

The Cleric and Paladin Breakdown Tracker

Episode 69

(nice)

The rules, for those not familiar with the shifting set of guidelines I frequently employed: this is a non-exhaustive list (that means that if I don't have anything funny to say about an NPC we haven't seen in 20 episodes do not ask me where they are. they haven't been seen in 20 episodes). Spinoffs into sorcerer, druid, or other territory may occur as the plot demands, but for the time being we're sticking with the god squad.

Weva Vudol: Matt described her genesis as a person who abides by the Andrew W. K. creed; she does what she likes and she likes what she does. While adherents of the Raven Queen are probably having a rough time of it, no resurrection does mean Speak with Dead is probably having a real moment right now, and honestly she's weird enough to possibly dig the vibes of Jrusar at the moment. 4/10.

Deanna Leimert: It's been a few days but I suspect things are still highly tense between her and Sunny D, and going to God City Central probably doesn't give her much time to relax and regroup. Also I have to imagine Vasselheim is going to be MAD WEIRD about an aeormaton and a wizard. 7/10. Holding it together but I bet any stitches of her knitting right now are impossibly tight (if that's how knitting works idk I'm a crocheter myself)

FRIDA: Speaking of, here's the aeormaton themself! They were feeling bad upon separating from FCG. They needn't have worried (see below) but they don't know that, and yeah I think the vibes in Vasselheim for them are going to be iffy already and the fact that the city is (highly understandably given their history) going into lockdown, probably a bit on edge! Hopefully Bells Hells remembers to ask Keyleth to give them a message or something. 7/10. (She's not on here but I like to think that Prism is THRIVING despite having frowned-upon magic. I think she's having a GREAT time, and I hope she joins the Slayer's Take, I think it would be good for her.)

Unnamed Duskmaven Cleric in Jrusar: I do not know why the Duskmaven clerics dress like Sofina Honoramongthievesvillain, but they do. Anyway rather like Weva Vudol, while things are bad I think that the Raven Queen's clerics tend to have a sort of implacable calm about them (see also Lieve'tel, who is not on this list). 4/10.

Teven Klask: Too hot to be bothered. A little confused by the edicts of Asmodeus re: the truce though. Just like a Betrayer to not explain the situation. 3/10.

Yu Suffiad: I love when people think Yu was some kind of genius of strategy because not only did they get figured out by a tiny unhinged werewolf gnome man, they, far more crucially, bargained away the artifact needed to power the Malleus Key until after the solstice. Literally their entire mission was "hey we need this object before the solstice, to be used in a machine on the solstice, for the solstice" and they were like yeah I'll get it in a month, sounds fair, and then the people they let get away destroyed the machine that was supposed to use it. Anyway with that in mind I'm assuming their dumb ass got shoved into a mirror by Zathuda, whom I would like to see again, because the return of the Silt Verses has reminded me that menace in a Scottish accent is always a fun time. 9/10.

FCG: You know, bit of a rollercoaster for them! He's had some good Commune answers and some less so Divination answers; he can't get drunk; the Staff of Dark Odyssey did NOT play nice; Dancer's still understandably afraid of him; Shithead has finally been lay to rest. I think it's going to be straight down the middle for a while, honestly; such is the nature of adventuring. 5/10.

Pike Trickfoot: Zero idea of her mood right now actually, like I assume Sarenrae has been freaking out but that's the extent of it, so she's here more because either she is blissfully unaware that Delilah was below detectable levels when Laudna came back, in which case like 4/10, or she has been harboring a dark secret in which case more like 8/10.

Jester Lavorre: SENDING IS DOWN THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT COULD EVER HAPPEN 10/10

Caduceus Clay: I have to imagine the Wildmother has made her concerns clear. Also, Molaesmyr was, when last we left it, sort of on fire, which can't be like, great for him. Time to see if 7 years have improved upon his coping mechanisms. 7/10.

Fjord: Improbably, a wildcard. Given that Jester's probably freaking out, pushed into a position of stability and calm; given that the gods are definitely freaking out, the Empire is wilding out, and also that I would be shocked if Caleb and Beau didn't let the others in the Nein know that if they don't hear from them for a while, pushed in a position of running around waving his hands like Kermit. 6/10 but specifically taken as an average of 3/10 and 9/10.

Vax'ildan: technically I don't know if he still counts like a paladin but doing so for reasons of comedy. Anyway, not sure what you can give a bowling ball full of screams but an 11/10.

#critical role #critical role spoilers

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aziraphales-library · 7 months

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Hey! So I just read a Tumblr post about a costumer always going to this one coffee shop and asking for the most disgusting thing ever and NEVER drinking it (and one time they took a sip, they said yuck). And it got me thinking. Do you have any fics here about A or C doing something once as a joke or whatever and then it scaling and they can't back out now, but like, humorous? Could be this sort of setting, could be any other setting. The only tags I can come up with for similar things is the fake dating/married, but I'm pretty sure I've already read most of what's there and I want something different to that anyway. Hell, it doesn't even need to be A and/or Z who are stuck in that situation. I just really wanna read more stuff like this.

Hi! There isn't a specific tag for this kind of fic, really. But you might find similar fics to enjoy on our #misunderstandings tags. And here are some fics I think fit the idea you're describing...

Would you like to get a drink? by AppleSeeds (G)

Crowley has been drooling over the handsome checkout operator in his local supermarket for months and finally summons the courage to approach him. Unfortunately, it doesn't take long for Crowley's brain to shut down completely.

Calling All Catchers by Quefish (E)

Crowley is horny and puts out a personal ad, Aziraphale knocks on the door.

Ways to Make You Smile by WickedWriter (M)

Crowley has always been awkward around anyone who he develops feelings for. While Aziraphale is always nice to him, he can't help but screw things up when trying to flirt. But when he starts making latte art to impress his angel, it was only a matter of time before he found a way to cock things up again. Rated M for adult themed jokes and puns

Sansevieria by KissMyAsthma & leukozyna (M)

Crowley is on the prowl for a rare plant. Unwilling to pay such a high price, he takes a stroll to the plant shop to look for an alternative... then meeting a handsome stranger who happens to own the plant of his dreams. How far will Crowley go to seize a cutting of this botanical masterpiece? Or: when you want to get a cutting of a rare, expensive plant, what do you do? You slither your way into the pants of its owner (too bad if you fall in love on the way)

Thrown for a Loop by MickyRC (T)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of a large amount of yarn will be assumed to be a knitter. It is a truth universally acknowledged among crocheters that this is annoying as hell. In his many years crocheting, Aziraphale has never been one to let that assumption stand. But faced with an opportunity to join a knitting group run by a very sweet new shop owner, he decides to play along. Even if it means he has to pretend he wants to learn how to knit. Even if it means he has to hide his skill with a crochet hook. It’ll be worth it to get to know Crowley better. Probably. Hopefully. (It will.)

Waking Up Slow by the_moonmoth (E)

“Then you’ll just have to come back with me," Aziraphale said. “You what?” “You’ll have to come and isolate with me, at my cottage.” The thing about messing with people, Crowley thought, was that sometimes, they genuinely surprised you. After both being exposed to coronavirus, total strangers Crowley and Aziraphale are forced to wait out their isolation together. A tale of soft winter romance by the sea.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #adult omens #misunderstandings #miscommunication #mistaken identity #human au #mod d

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aquanova99 · 1 year

Text

Interrupted Affair

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Felix x Reader

A/N: To the lovely people who requested these there were three very similar requests so I have made some changes to all three and combined them into one story, I apologize but I do not want to write a similar story three times or more over.

A/N: In some translations Danae means she who judges

A/N: I hope you are all having a good holiday season! Drink water, take care of the mental health. I am trying to write much more now that I actually have no school to worry about for the upcoming six months so hopefully more will be coming out soon

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The walls felt cool on your back. In fact, it was the only thing grounding you from the fact that all you wanted to do was scream from the pleasure filling you as you kept sliding up and down ever so slightly with every thrust. I felt one of Felix’s hand gripping your thigh more or less keeping you in place, the other pressed too softly against my throat. The strength I gained from immortality had proven to be a perk whenever I decided to try anything new like this. Felix had proven too eager to please now that you had finally been turned. Our breaths came out in pants, moans escaping our lips every so often.

“I do wish you wouldn’t hide from me Danae, I would have joined in.”

A primal growl escaped from deep within Felix’s throat, “We’re busy.”

“Yes, I can hear that but it seems we are about to be called into a trial soon, so I would suggest getting yourselves decent.”

I couldn’t stop myself from laughing at Felix’s clear irritation. “I guess we’ll have to pick this up later,” I brought his face towards mine for a kiss deep enough to let him know you were not finished with the plans you had made for your day off.

“There is no guessing little one. We will be finishing this later.” He pushed against you one more time. He moaned against your lips but set you down gently. Both of you making quick work into changing into guard ready attire. You do your best to walk and tie your hair up in a sleek ponytail. Supposedly, it’s the only I ever have a chance of looking the slightest bit intimidating. With quick precision you lined your eyes and touched up any possible makeup that had more or less been smudged with the last hour.

You found Demetri leaned against the wall outside of your shared quarters, “Sorry to interrupt you two.”

“No… you aren’t. Wipe the smirk off your face Metri.” Felix gently pushed his forward and you trailed behind the two. Jane strode up next to you as Alec went ahead with the two males.

“Gross. I can still the two of you on each other.”

“Play nice Jane,” I responded ruffling the young girls hair, “Don’t hate love.”

The young girl stuck her tongue out at you, and then linked her hand in yours. I could hear Felix ask Demetri how much they had before we all had our audience.

“About 15 minutes. Its that Cullen boy.”

“Cullen? Carlisle’s coven?”

Demetri just nodded as he pressed forward, “Mhm. I think Aro believes he is finally offering his services to our cause.”

“Services? What can he do?” I had heard about Carlisle and his rather… complicated relationship with one of your leaders. No one had brought up him siring any others.

“Mind reading cara. Different from Aro, he can read whatever is in the forefront of your mind but he has no need to touch anyone.”

“Sounds invasive.” I grumbled, why would anyone want that around them.

“It is. Lets hope he’s not actually here for that. I don’t see the need for that anyway. Aro may have to work a bit more to understand what everyone is thinking but his gift is not a necessity.” Felix echoed your thoughts.

Jane’s hand squeezing your was enough to jar me from asking anything else, “Danae…could you do my hair before we into the trial?”

“Sure hun, braid today?”

“No there is not much time, could you just do a bun?”

“You can’t do it yourself sister?” Alec teased

“I can, I just like it when D does it.”

“I can do your hair if you really want me to Alec.” I winked at Jane and let her pull me aside for a second while she pulled out some ties. It was a simple bun really, you decide to put a small braid around it while she pulled pins from a small pouch she carried with her at all time. She handed a ribbon as you put the second pin in her hair to secure the braid, “Well you certainly came prepared, didn’t you?”

“I knew you would say yes.” She smiled as she grabbed your hand once again. I couldn’t help feeling a protectiveness over the young vampire. She had such a sad maturity behind her eyes, you had found yourself bonding to her first. You found out later that it had stressed your now mate beyond your comprehension. As Jane and I descended into the throne room, I took in the once terrifying throne room. While the methods that your family had come to use were not always pretty they were you found out, necessary. It was hard remembering all of the details from your human life, you had been unfortunate enough to be found in the middle of a rather serious confrontation. It was supposed to be a walk to clear your head on what your next step in life was.

You remember walking for so long you got lost. A beautiful parallel to where you were in life. Lost. Not knowing what you were doing. Confused. Unsure of whether you had made the right career path. You had spent your life forcing yourself to be good at school, studying the hardest subjects, just for a chance to get out of the home you had learned to hate. A family stitched together by necessity and hate. You had learned to differentiate different kinds of footsteps. Learned different ways to hide. Learned ways to escape. By the time you finished college, you only went back out of a need to for a warm place to sleep. Often times, even that was not promised. You snuck out of your room again after the yelling began, two angry pair of feet stomping towards you. Surely to ask you to start paying more than you already were towards their house. You were tired. So tired.

While you knew you had shielded yourself from everyone, you would have never expected that included supernatural beings. It was so late, seeing two of the most beautiful creatures you had ever seen huddled over what you would later find out was another one of their kind. Someone making a show of their meals. Felix and Demetri had been sent out to take care of the issue. Demetri made eye contact with you first. Beautiful, you thought. There was no other word to describe him but it was the other vampire that would captivate nearly every thought from then on. Beautiful too, but in much different light.

“Felix.” The blond one said tentatively

Felix. The man turned around to face me. A face so used to masking emotions in stressful situations faltered. “How—”

“I- I’m not sure.”

“We… should take her to Aro.” Demetri nodded at his friends suggestion. He began stepping forward, this was enough to register the danger you were actually in. Your legs twitched, ready to sprint, knowing it would mean nothing.

“Relax darling, we just want to talk. It seems you’ve caught us at a bad time.” Demetris voice was satin, “Felix, why don’t you take our new friend to pick up whatever she needs for her trip I’ll see if I can find her after I’ve finished…cleaning up?”

Felix turned to walk towards you. Run, that’s what your body wanted, as if your legs were screaming at me to run. Sprint. Walk away. Turn around. No command worked. You had become a statue in your own right. Felix gently had rested a hand against your arm in an effort to get you to start moving forward. You remember looking up at him still unable to move, every instinct was screaming at you. You were going to die. So, why were you so calm?

“I don’t believe we have met properly, little one. I’m Felix.”

“Danae.”

He chuckled a bit, as if surprised, “Did that name mean something to your parents when they named you?”

“Maybe, my grandmother gave it to me.” A distraction. A very well thought out distraction. And you fell for it all the same.

“Well, Danae. Let’s take a walk and I can explain everything you saw tonight.”

“Doesn’t feel like I have much of a choice.” You grumbled. Still, you took his outstretched arm. He immediately explained what you had just seen. That you couldn’t be allowed to go back home. It didn’t necessarily sound like a bad thing if you were being honest. If you came back now, and they were awake… your bruises had just healed from the last time you misjudged. It was always worse for you when you finally came back after a while of hiding, the punishments never got easier. If they did it was only when they had forgotten what they were so angry about in the first place. You had managed to stay away long enough for them to forget they were even mad a few times.

“Would you like to go pick some things from your home?”

“Not really. I probably do need some clothes I guess.”

“That’s all you want?”

“Yeah? I don’t need anything else. But since you guys are vampires I’m assuming you can help me sneak in?”

“Of course, this is rather… sudden. Would it be easier to leave a note or we can have someone make it appear as though something happen.” You should have been concerned, shocked maybe that it would all happen so quick. He wanted you to hesitate. But this was the only chance you might get.

“No. I just need my clothes. I don’t want to stay in this forever.”

“We can always acquire some newer clothing items later as well.”

“Perfect. I only need to get a few things then.” Felix stared for half a second too long. Too eager. Way too eager. He had become eerily silent until you made it to the run down house you had been forced to live in for entirely too long. Felix scrunched his face probably reeking at the smell of alcohol and cigarettes even you could smell from the outside. You pointed, “Is there anyone in that room? Can you tell?”

“I can and no. It appears whoever is in there is asleep.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief, “Thank god.”

You could worry about how he knew they were asleep later. Right now you would focus on avoiding any questions as you felt his eyes burn a hole in the back of your head as he helped you in. You went straight to your closet as quietly as you could, you moved a wall panel and grabbed a backpack and turned back to face Felix. It had been ready for years, but where would you have gone? You had next to nothing.

“Ok. I’m ready.”

Felix ignored you. His eyes scanning the room. It was the only time you’d felt frightened around him. He seemed to understand something you were not ready to divulge quite yet. He glided over to your bed, lifting it with ease. You shouldn’t have been surprised his vision was heightened along with his other senses. He set the bed down too gently for someone his size. Going to another spot where he seemed to inspect the floorboards. You had taken to make sure nothing would seem out of place. Yet, he seemed to know what you were hiding under one of the less creaky boards. He made no move toward it, just stared. He stood there for a few seconds longer, you noticed he had stopped breathing.

“Felix? I want to go now.” His head slowly turned to the side, nodding ever so slightly. You scrambled down, eager to get away from this house and not worry about being dragged back, or being forced back from lack of funds. Anything, literally anything seemed like a better option. Even if it meant an eternity of being frozen like Felix and Demetri. Thirsting for blood for your only diet. Better than being starving, you supposed.

You wondered when Demetri would show up, the walk through different alleys was painfully silent. Felix stopped you somewhere barely illuminated by the night sky, “what was under the floor?”

“Nothing.”

“I have no time for games Danae. What was it?”

“It feels like you know already.”

“There was blood all over that room.”

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, “there’s not.”

“There was. Covered by bleach maybe but stains everywhere.”

“I—what does that have to do with the floorboard?”

“The smell is stronger there. You realize you’ll be living with creatures that thirst for blood constantly?”

Embarrassment. Shame. Guilt. You weren’t proud of how low you had stooped. “It won’t be an issue. It was a long time ago. The knife there is only in case I needed to protect myself.”

“Da—“

“We are done with this conversation, Felix.”

Demetri jumped down from another building, “Nothing. I had to look for you.”

Felix nodded, “take her back to the castle. I left something at the square.”

Demetri scoffed but shrugged off his friend, carrying you off towards your new home.

“Danae.”

“Hm?” Caius’ voice cut through the air, you wondered if you would ever not flinch at the sharpness in his voice. An unfortunate side effect to his voice being all to similar to your late fathers.

“I assume you’ve been briefed on the individual on its way here?”

“Yes, Master Caius.”

“Good. You please ensure your gifts surround the entire guard in attendance.”

“Of course.” You had never been able to use your gifts in a trial. Like Felix, I wore the cloak of a lesser guard. Someone meant to fade into the background, not that Felix ever blended anywhere. Caius was risking you no longer being a secret. You wondered just how intrusive the Cullens boy gift could be. You had to work quickly as the younger vampire threw the doors open to the throne room, hardly waiting for the secretary to let him in. Officially I couldn’t stand him, was he always this rude?

“Edward to what do we owe the… pleasure of this visit?” Aro tried his best to remain calm

“I come asking for assistance.” His eyes darted to all three kings. Probably wondering why the sudden silence

“Assistance? In what?” Caius made no effort to hide his annoyance

“I wish to be done with this life. I have nothing left for me.”

That seems a bit dramatic. Aro motioned for him to come forward and show his thoughts. Edward didn’t hesitate. It wasn’t until you were past his eyesight that you glanced at Felix. He waved his hands ever so slightly, then placed them back to his usual position. Calm down, he warned. Your faces must have given you away. I suppose it wasn’t shocking he knew you were annoyed yourself, you often had trouble keeping your face void of your own personal feelings towards others.

“You can tell us, you know?”

You looked at Felix, his voice chillingly quiet. “Hm?”

“We’re all broken here, little one. We may understand better than you think.”

God you’d put your poor mate through the ringer. It’d taken years before he finally broke through the wall you’d spent years building up. Jane had been the one to get you to officially talk about what had happened, as young as she was she was the best bet anyone had at building up your shield, but it was Felix that saw how deeply it affected you. Telling your story was quick, it was after all, done and over with. No need to dwell on it. Felix was the one to ask the hard questions to make sure you were really alright. Slowly you both dug deep into your experiences, trading stories in exchange for telling your own.

You’d grown to accept eachothers past. Now you couldn’t imagine living without him. So, in a way, you understood the crazed vampire standing before you. Aro made sure to squash any sympathy remaining.

“You told her about the secret?”

“Yes.”

“And Alice knew how the girl would react to your disappearance?”

“Not the jump. I foolishly hoped her vision had been wrong.” He gave out more details to all but ensure the nail in his coffin, “you saw how reckless I was to be involved with a human. I even caused a pile up in a desperate attempt to try and save her from a nomad.”

“Yes. James, Victorias Mate.” Victoria? One of the girls from Heidis coven?

“I almost endangered the secret when I saved her in the parking lot. Clearly, I have done more than enough to warrant punishment.”

“Indeed. However, true. We…” he gestured to his brothers, “decide a worthy punishment. It would be rather rude of us to not let our dear friend Carlisle know of what’s to come.”

Edwards eyes shone bright with panic. This was not part of his plan. “My family had nothing to do with this.”

“Perhaps not but, instead of leaving the already skeptical town you live in, you convinced them all to stay. They should all be smarter than that.”

“Please, there is no need to involve them. I take full blame.”

“Oh of course young Edward. But as you said punishment is in order, a swift death hardly seems to fit the crime.” Aro turned to Caius, a silent conversation happening before turning back to Edward, “or perhaps we do nothing, after all the secret has not actually been compromised from what you have shown me.”

“B-but…”

“Perhaps as a favor to an old friend? Yes.”

Edward concentrated on Aro. Desperate to know what he was really thinking, “So that’s your final judgement?”

“Yes I believe so. Brothers do you have any hesitations?”

Both shook their heads and waved him off, Edward walked out of the room slow for even a human, only pausing at the door “Thank you for the audience.”

Everyone was still until we could no longer hear his footsteps, safe from hearing distance.

“What’s your actual plan brother?” Caius asked

“Unfortunately, what I said was true. There is no definitive way to prove he endangered our kind. He will force our hand sooner than you’d think.”

“Felix, Demetri. Be on standby please. We wouldn’t want anyone to make a scene at the festival. After all, it is in honor of our dear Marcus.”

“Don’t you tire of using that joke, Aro.”

“Not really, no.”

The rest of you were excused from the throne room. As the kings continued their conversation. A secretary already dispatched to call Carlisle. Felix and Demetri left to keep an eye out. You were left to laze around until then. Maybe Heidi knew more about what was going on with Edward if she happened to keep in touch with her old coven mate, then again her old coven was such a touchy subject for her. You decided against it, Heidi already had a lot on her plate with your day today. You all waited around the throne room for the moment the Cullen boy would inevitably return. Fortunately you did not have to wait long. Unfortunately, he did not return alone.

“What a happy surprise! So Bella is alive after all. Isn't that wonderful? I love a happy ending... they are so rare.”

Jane had been sent out shortly after Felix and Demetri, apparently speeding along the process. Edward explained Aro’s gift to Bella, conveniently leaving out that his gift had no use at the moment. Aro decided to see if Janes powers worked on Bella when his failed, stupidly the Cullen boy tried to protect her. The girl was screaming at Jane to stop.

“Ugh are you kidding me?” Oh god I just said that out loud, didn’t I? Caius smirked at your outburst, you would never live this down, “sorry.”

“Quite all right my dear, is there something you’d like to say?” He was absolutely baiting you but well…better to say you misunderstood not like he could tell you would be lying.

“I just find interesting that she’s crying over someone who knew exactly what leaving would do to her. Bloodsinger or not, he lied to her. Look at her. She looks like she hasn’t ate since this guy left.”

“Knew?” She turned to him, and the tiny vampire that accompanied them, “you knew and you left me anyway?”

“Bella please understand.”

“So you meant it? You didn’t love me?”

“If he loved you we wouldn’t be here right now.” You grumbled, “and you know what while we’re at it? This is the guy you lost it over? He couldn’t even be bothered to go visit a headstone before deciding it was time to die? I mean—“

“Danae…” Aro raised his hands urging you to calm down

“Sorry.” You could see Demetri fighting a smile, but you could almost guarantee Felix was going to scold you for being so bold in front of the kings. Aro continued with Janes test on Bella. Nothing, as suspected.

“Hahahahahaha. Remarkable. She confounds us all. So, what do we do with you now?”

“You already know what we have to do Aro.” Marcus cut in

“She knows too much. She’s a liability.” Caius stated afterwards

“Tsk. That’s true. Danae?” Me? I was not an executioner of any kind. Then again you’d just made a scene to rival the ridiculous ginger haired vampire, so I suppose there could be a worse punishment. You were almost immediately tackled by Edward, but your mate had trained you well. And he was weak, to be quite frank. You managed to throw him towards Felix, who effectively held him still as you stalked back towards Bella. You saw Demetri holding Alice, you wonders if she had tried to help her brother. You were steps away from the dumb founded girl when Alice chimed in,

“Wait! She’s going to be one of us. I’ve seen it.” She pushed away from Demetri but Aro held his hand up.

“That will not be necessary.”

“She could be useful someday. She obviously has some kind of abilities.”

Behind you Edward struggled to gasp out a single “No…Bella.”

“Has Edward not told you? We have our own shield of sorts. Edward hasn’t been able to use his gift since stepping in this room.” Alice glared at him for the lack of information. He struggled against Felix. Alice’s scanned the room looking for anything that might help them. “Can you guarantee no one else knows of our kind?”

Her hand flinched back instinctively, “Well, she didn’t— not really. She told someone who already knew.”

“Shut up. Alice. Shut up!” She dropped to her knees, she had come into your small town to save someone unknowingly dooming someone else in the process. “No… no no. She’s lying!” The gravity of her choice was settling in. Giving up her own life meant little to her but to punish a friend for what? Someone who she now knew didn’t care for her enough to stay behind. Such a shame. You almost wanted to comfort her, but this was part of the job. She couldn’t go back.

You looked towards Aro. He nodded as you stepped forward, “I am sorry about this. You deserved… better.”

You turned her toward Edward both now kneeling on the ground, he was thrashing to try and save the girl he got into this mess. You wondered how Aro would force him to live. Bella’s screams filled the room. Edward snarls echoing in reply. It only took a minute to drain her. Felix effectively ripping off Edwards head as her body dropped to the ground. You wondered if that would be the last thing he saw or if Aro was ensuring he wouldn’t try and bring matters into his own hands again.

“I was hoping for a happy ending this time.” He turned to the tiny vampire who was frozen in fear of what was coming next, “Alice you can either stay here and await for the tour today to wrap up or suffer the same fate as your brother. We will wait until Carlisle can come so we can explain any…misunderstandings. Heidi should be here any moment.”

There was a squeak that seemed to escape Alice as a sign of agreement as she stood to the side to await for the remaining member of the coven to join the rest of you for the tour. You wondered if she would partake now that you had your fill. The tour came and left you were able to get seconds since Alice was to numb to move from her spot. Every once in a while she would let out a small whimper but nothing more came from her. The lower guard were released minus yourself, Felix and Santiago as you had to wait some more for Carlisle.

“Is Edwar— I mean are you….”

“We have no plans in letting him die dear Alice.” Aro said bored. The secretary poked her head in after a while to let everyone know the other Cullens had arrived. “Felix, put our friend together again please. We don’t want to make a bad impression. Gianna, bring them in please.”

The pair came in hesitantly, the woman’s eyes glazed as if she had been crying. “Welcome to our home Carlisle!…I assume this is Esme?”

“Aro.” He nodded his down slightly to the leader of the three, waiting too long to answer his questions. Staring into his eyes too long for anyone to miss what was happening, “yes, this is my wife and mate.”

“Hello. I’m…so sorry there’s been a misunderstanding”

Aro tilted his head “…yes. It would seem so. Shall I debrief the events that occurred these last few days?” Edwards screamed as the venom glued him back together. Esme tried to rush over to him but was stopped by Alice. A quick head shake in warning of what could happen. She grabbed her husbands arm as she turned back to face the leaders.

The pair nodded as Aro went on to explain how Alice’s vision has come true. Bella had withered away, Carlisle flinched when Aro explained how Alice saw Bella jumping. What we now know was cliff diving, and explaining how Alice had immediately told the Cullens that had been around what had happened when she did not see Bella come up. Alice was told to explain about the reservation and holes in her visions. Another name you were unaware of, Rosalie, broke the news to Edward who decided to call Bella’s home. Where the misunderstanding took place. The rest was quick.

“I appreciate you sparing my son.”

“Sparing? He is still being punished. But as you all can’t seem to respect the law you will be the one to carry out his sentence.” Carlisle and Esmes eyes grew wide, the former looking at his old friend, begging him to reconsider with a single glance.

“Oh it’s nothing like that Carlisle. You are both to ensure he stays alive and out of sight from humans at all times. This does mean you will likely have to stop human interaction so much but, we think he should have to pay for the life of that poor girl. And you all broke the one tule we have at the end of the day. If Edward decides he doesn’t actually care about his family the way he claims he does, you will be the one to end his life.” Aro said calmly

With that everyone was silent. Edward would love a miserable existence, never able to complain about the volturis rather gracious act. From any other perspective at least. And punishment is still served. Edward couldn’t lift his eyes from the ground.

“You may go.” Caius waved them off, the stumbled against themselves as they began exiting the room

“Oh Carlisle?” Aro stopped them, “if anyone from that reservation says anything, it will be your job to take care of all of those children as well. Are we clear?”

Carlisle’s lips tightened into a thin but nodded as turned without so much of a goodbye to his old “friend.”

Finally, everyone was dismissed. Today felt…dirty. I felt dirty. It was time for a bath. Felix started one before you said anything,

“Are you alright?”

His hand caressed your face as you waited for the water, while o be honest you weren’t sure. You felt…fine? But also, guilty?

“I don’t know. It seemed so unnecessary all the things that guy did. He knew the risks, did he think he could get away with it? Or maybe he thought Carlisle’s friendship would save him?”

“Well. It did save him. Aro would not have been so generous to anyone else.”

“Does it get easier?”

“Being the one that finishes the job? Yes and no. You learn to compartmentalize.”

“Sounds exhausting”

He chuckled, “it can be. Let’s try not to get too riled up in front of the kings, yes? You get away with for being a newborn more or less but I doubt they will let it slide again.”

“I mean he deserved it. I thought you would have been proud of me.” You playfully nudged him away. Sticking your tongue out. Playfully getting closer to dangerous territory.

“Proud? Yes. Always. But I would rather not have to punish you for something we can control.”

“I don’t know, you punishing me sounds like a good time.”

“Hmm. I do recall being interrupted while we were in the middle of something earlier?”

“This is true, should I invite Demetri? He was so eager to join us.” A growl escaped from Felixs throat as he scooped you up, a smirk growing on his face as he threw you down on the bed.

“ I suppose we’re going to find out exactly how much you enjoy punishment after all.”

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Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @artaxerxesthegreat @aunt-pipie @imtoanonymousforyou @jelly-fishy-babie @quarthly @venusdelaroix @volturiwolf @xcastawayherosx

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barbiewritesstuff · 1 year

Text

Wife, girlfriend or Whatever: Chapter 3

-- I'm alive lol! I would like to apologise for how long this took me, the rest should be faster but omg life just kicked my butt these past few days (weeks really :/) Hopefully I should be back on track tho!!!

Also a huge thanks to the wonderful @lgg5989 who beta read this :D you're the best bestie!!!

Previous Part

Taglist: @luckyladycreator2 @feedthemadness-sweetie @ravensmadreads @lgg5989 @mslizziesblog @littlebadariell --

You hurriedly brushed your teeth before changing yet again, removing the dress and opting for a thick pair of tights, a nice long skirt and thermal, albeit flattering black top. Being a Texas native, you had never fared well in the cold, and even like that you were scared you’d end up with the flu. Still, time was running out and if you didn’t set out soon, you’d be late in the lobby. Before stepping out of your room, you quickly applied the bare minimum of makeup you usually allowed yourself to walk out of the house with and made sure your lipstick wouldn’t budge by blotting it against a tissue.

You rushed out to meet him, but as usual, you found you were the first one there. Beau, despite his reputation as a stickler for the rules, rarely made it anywhere on time if you weren’t there to annoy him into hurrying up. Sometimes herding Beau Simpson to and from places on a tight schedule felt more like performing a series of very impressive minor miracles. As organised as he was – and you were sure he must be, because the base ran fine before you started working there – he was more than comfortable relaxing when he knew you were handling things. Not that you minded, you really quite enjoyed it, but you sometimes worried that the stress of it all would encourage a few early white hairs. Although, if you had told Cyclone, he would have remedied that in the blink of an eye, so perhaps the fault was on you.

The lobby was warm, heated up by a roaring fire near the reception desk. You moved closer to it, turning around to warm yourself up evenly, but every time you faced the large glass doors and saw the white coat of snow New York was sporting, the heat lost a little of its appeal. You had seen snow before but only in movies and commercials and the need to know if it was just like you had imagined was too great to ignore.

You stepped outside into Time Square, letting the cold air hit your face and redden your cheeks before squatting down next to the two small christmas trees decorating the left side of the hotel’s main entrance. You removed your glove and put it in your pocket before gently lowering your hand into the snow under the amused gaze of one of the Edison’s uniformed doormen.

“First time?” Beau asked, appearing behind you, scaring you enough that you lost your balance. You fell hand first in the snow. The footman lunged forward to help you up, but Beau was faster. He slipped one hand under your arm and lifted you up.

“It feels funny,” you said, “I thought it would feel softer. This is so gritty.”

You shook your hand free of whatever clumps of snow had clung to it but some debris remained, to dry it and make him pay, you wiped your hand on his beautiful black velvet trench coat.

“It’s mostly ice, I think. Plenty of people have walked through it, it’s probably more like city slushie by now,” he replied, amused at your small act of revenge, “We’ll find you some nice snow.”

“It’s okay,” you smiled, the hand you had fallen on now cold and pale, “Do snowball fights hurt? They look so fun,” you asked, putting your glove back on.

“Depends, snow is pretty nice but ice is so painful. My family has a snowball fight on Christmas day every year. The first one to go inside would lose and be on chores duty for a week. My brother, because he’s a cheater, used to pack his snowballs with ice and throw them straight at me, I used to get bruises the size of my hands all over my legs and arms,” he laughed.

“Must be nice,” you smiled.

“It is. We tone it down nowadays, my siblings have young children so we have to be careful,” he said, returning your smile.

“Such a good uncle,” you patted his arm, “You seeing them for Christmas?”

“Yes, can’t wait to get another round of ‘oh Beau, still single?’” he groaned, “Can’t get you to be my fake wife for that one too, I suppose?”

“Depends,” you replied, “What’s on the menu?”

He chuckled, “A traditional dinner, board games, roasting smores by the fire and outrageous amounts of Christmas music,” he said.

“And a snowball fight?” you questioned.

“Obviously,” he said, his voice deep and convincing.

“Christmas mass?” you questioned again.

“No,” he replied, “We’re not – you know… Are you?”

“Sure,” you replied, not meeting his eye, suddenly scared it would change things. Your faith was private to you and you’d never advertised it, revealing it amounted to telling him one of your most precious secrets. It was only normal for you to be nervous.

“We were just never raised that way,” he said, wincing at the awkwardness of the situation.

“That’s fine,” you replied, “We were.”

He let out a surprised, “Oh,” under his breath.

“One of the only two things my mother and I agree on,” you volunteered, “Ain’t nothing in the whole wide world like a Southern girl, and fighting’s best done on your knees.”

You looked at Beau, who had suddenly turned bright red, “Oh you pig!” you exclaimed, hitting his shoulder with the back of your hand.

Someone cackled behind him and you looked around to find the doorman and a valet. The valet, a young man of about your age, at least had the decency to turn around and shove his fist in his mouth to keep himself from laughing, but the doorman was turning purple, silently screaming in laughter.

“I hope you’re laughing at him,” you told them, they suddenly turned very serious.

“Yes ma’am,” the valet said.

“Yes ma’am,” the door man agreed, hiccuping as he tried to stop one last bubble of laughter from coming up to the surface.

“I’m sorry,” Beau said, having composed himself, “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“You’re late,” you stated, turning your attention to the clock. Even without your snowy intercession, he was, as usual, running behind schedule.

“Fashionably late,” he replied with a lazy smile and a wink.

“It’s rude to make a lady wait,” you said.

“Oh there’s a lady? Where is she?” he asked, looking around and over you, pretending to look for someone else.

You gasped in outrage, “Piss off!”

“I’m sorry,” He laughed, “You scared of being cold there, Michelin Man?”

“Rightly so, some asshole made me fall in the snow,” you replied with a small smile

“I’m not an asshole, I’m your husband, you adore me. I’m the light of your life, your one and only love --”

“I want a divorce,” you deadpanned.

“Sorry, sweetheart, you need grounds for divorce in NYC,” Beau shot back as the two of you began to walk down the street.

“I have grounds, my husband bullying me is grounds,” you said firmly.

“Nope, not admissible,” he replied, his voice light as he smiled at you with his eyes.

“Yes it is, I believe it falls under cruel and inhumane treatment,” you replied, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“Nuh uh,” he said, wrapping his hand over your finger, “You need five years of specific acts of cruelty for that to be admissible. The cruelty must rise to the level that the Plaintiff is physically or mentally in danger and it is unsafe or improper for the Plaintiff to continue living with the Defendant. I believe that’s the rule,” he added with a laugh.

“Oh, love it when you talk legal to me, Admiral,” you said, trying to make your voice as sultry as possible. He looked at you with a raised eyebrow, “How do you even know that stuff anyway?”

“I watch a lot of court tv and true crime,” he shrugged.

“Court tv?” you repeated, astounded, “Can you act any more elderly?”

“It’s interesting!” he laughed.

“It’s boring, nothing ever happens,” you retorted before pausing and taking in his appearance. He wore a blue button up shirt, and presumably the same pair of jeans he had worn the evening before, together with the cream knit cardigan and carefully styled hair, he hardly looked like the type to enjoy hearing about gruesome murders, “Wouldn’t have pegged you as a true crime guy…”

“No?” he asked, “What would you have pegged me as then?”

“Hmm,” you thought for a second, “You seem like a documentary kind of guy.”

“True crime is kind of a documentary, right? And it’s not my fault, my last girlfriend got me into it,” he replied.

“Right,” you said, “Ex-girlfriend?”

“Yes, I have some of those,” he replied, looking amused.

“When was your last ex-girlfriend?” you asked, thinking back at your entire working relationship. You had always known him as a single man, or rather, he had never mentioned a woman and you had been quite happy to assume he didn’t have anyone to come home to as it made you feel slightly less guilty about the thoughts you were having about him.

“Aren’t you getting curious?” he laughed, “I don’t know, about three years or so?”

“Huh.” you said. You had been right in your assumption, you’d started working as his secretary a year and a half ago, but the confirmation was slightly overshadowed by the fact that a flutter of butterflies had suddenly taken flight in your tummy at the thought that Beau might be single. As if that meant you had a chance, your brain scoffed.

“Anyone since?” you asked.

“No,” he replied with an amused smile.

“Really? Not… a crush? No one you like?” you prompted, your stomach suddenly full of butterflies.

“Oh God, this is like talking to my mother,” he rolled his eyes before smirking, “Just you,” he said, “My darling wife.”

“You’re insufferable,” you told him, trying to mask yet another pang of hurt as the butterflies died and gave birth to confusion.

“True, but you’ll have to put up with me if you want the best cup of coffee of your life,” he said.

The promise of coffee was enough to get you moving and after a short cab ride, you found yourself standing in front of a charming little coffee shop hidden between two ivy covered houses. You walked in behind Beau, feeling slightly self conscious about the way the high heels of your boots clicked on the tiles, drawing attention to you as you descended the few steps towards the main floor. You stopped short when people turned to look at you, suddenly very aware of how much you stuck out like a sore thumb.

Beau turned to you, sticking out his hand for you to grab. You placed your hand in his and came down the remainder of the steps, shooting him a grateful smile. He nodded towards a booth at the end of the room, hidden away from stares and loud conversation and you made your way there while he ordered. He came back a minute later with two chocolate covered waffles and two large coffees.

“Anything you want to see specifically?” he asked after sitting down next to you on the plush bench.

“Nothing really, there’s too much to squeeze into a day…” you said, “I kind of want to go window shopping…”

He hesitated for a second, “Okay,” he said, “But we’re going for a walk in Central Park… And we’re doing the catacombs.”

“Fine, but you’re winning me something at the holiday market on Union Square,” you shot back.

“What my wife wants, she gets,” he winked.

“Uh uh,” you shook your head, “You haven’t proposed yet. I overheard the cabbie, I know what you’re planning,” you added, playfully squinting at him.

“Drink your coffee,” he ordered you with a grin. You made a big show of huffing and pouting before grabbing your mug in both hands and taking a sip. Beau hadn’t been joking, this was quite possibly the best coffee you had ever had and the gingerbread syrup they had drizzled in tasted homemade.

“Holy shit,” you breathed.

“Told you,” he smiled, taking a sip of his own drink, “I used to come here every Saturday when I lived here. Didn’t live too far away actually,” he said, leaning back against the back of his chair. You could see the mental map he was consulting, calculating the time and amount of miles that separated him from his old home, “It was so bad. The showers kept breaking, our windows were shot twice in our first year of living there, and there was a really funky smell coming through the vents whenever we turned the aircon on…” he laughed.

“I thought you were from Missouri,” you said.

“Hmm,” he agreed, “I was deployed here for a few years before they moved me to California though.”

“Do you miss it?” you asked.

You knew how much Cyclone secretly hated California. In the summer, he spent half of his days complaining about the heat and humidity and when winter came around, he kept up the lamenting, raging against Cali’s lack of white Christmasses and fake Christmas trees.

“No,” he replied with a smile, “There are worse places to be deployed to, though. Anchorage Alaska is pretty bad.”

“Hey! Anchorage is nice!” you protested.

“Sure, if you like mining towns and mind numbing boredom,” he said, “Please tell me you’re not from Alaska,” he added, looking at you with a frown on his face.

“My dad is, he moved to Texas and met my mom there in the eighties. I’ve been a few times in the summer, it’s not too bad,” you shrugged, “Chugach State Park is amazing. The trails are really nice and the views are spectacular. When we went to visit, we did a glacier walk, stayed the night in a camp and by complete luck we managed to catch the northern lights -- I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful in my life -- I also think we managed to go dogsledding and we definitely went on one of those flightseeing tours, which was so cool. It would probably be quite boring for you though,” you said.

“Why would it be boring?” he asked, looking at you with a strange look in your eyes. If you had been any less oblivious, you would have seen it was love.

“You fly F-15s,” you replied, thinking the tiny aircraft you had flown in wouldn’t even compare to the speed and exploits his usual planes managed to pull off.

“Flew. I haven’t been in a plane for years now, unless you count the minuscule amount of flying I have to do in order to keep my licence,” he sighed, looking a little sad.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“It’s not your fault. It’s part of the job, I knew that when I accepted the promotion to Admiral,” he said, sounding sad, “I miss it sometimes, but seeing what those kids do up in the air sometimes makes me think I’m better off on the ground.”

“I know it doesn’t matter, but I’m happy you don’t fly too often. I don’t have to worry so much about you crashing. I know you’re safe,” you said, looking into the pools of chocolate on your plate to avoid crossing his gaze.

“Careful,” he chuckled, “I might start thinking you care for me,” he added, brushing a strand of hair out of your face and gently tucking it behind your ear. You felt a blush creep up your chest, washing over you like angry waves crashing onto the beach, it seemed to fill your lungs and your breath caught for a second. He removed his hand and picked up his cutlery to tuck into his own waffle, unaware of what such a small touch had accomplished.

“So, what do we start with?” he said, as soon as he had swallowed his last mouthful. You were still chewing on a piece and hurried up when he looked at you with an amused smile, “Come on, we only have a day,” he teased.

“I,” you started, covering your mouth with your hand, “I say we take a walk through Central park first.”

“You’ll be okay to walk on those shoes?” he asked.

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” you replied, “I guess you’ll just have to carry me when my feet hurt,” you winked.

He chuckled, “Hey, like I said, anything my wife wants, my wife gets.”

“Okay so Central Park then what?” you questioned as the two of you made it out on to the street once more.

“Window shopping, catacombs and Christmas fair? We can end on dinner to talk about the bet?” he offered.

“Sounds good to me, Boo-bear,” you replied.

Beau let out a annoyed laugh, indicating just how much he hated the new nickname, “You’re on, Honeybunch.”

----

Central Park in the snow was truly something to behold. Even though you had never really been fond of cities and their parks -- it all felt a little too much like keeping nature caged like a bird -- you had to admit that under its white blanket, it looked lovely.

You looked at everything, immortalising it all in your mind, from the tiny blades of grass poking out of the snow to the top of the branches of the tallest trees, looking beautiful with the backdrop of New York peaking through, busy as ever with its bustling traffic and rushing people. You stood there for a while, so concentrated that you didn’t notice Cyclone had gone until he was already back, bumping your elbow with his gloved hand, handing you a cardboard cup.

“We’ve just had a coffee,” you said after taking a sip of the warming beverage.

“Don’t pretend you don’t have like, nine espressos a day when I’m not there to stop you,” he scoffed.

You rolled your eyes, unwilling to concede he was right, “Could be worse,” you said, glancing at him, a cup in one hand and a cigarette in the other “I could be addicted to something deadly… Like cigarettes.” you said, like you, you thought.

“Will you stop?” he asked, annoyed.

“I don’t know, Beau, will you?” you retorted.

“No, I won’t,” he bit back, “They’re calming.”

“So’s a stress ball,” you replied.

“Oh, the weather outside is frightful

But the fire is so delightful

And since we've no place to go

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

It doesn't show signs of stopping

And I brought some corn for popping”

“The speakers are new,” he mumbled, searching around to find where the sound came from and finally seeing the box speakers hidden in bald bushes.

“Hmm,” you replied, taking a sip of your drink.

“How’s the coffee?” he asked.

“Not bad,” you replied, “Want me to hold yours while you smoke?” you offered, holding a hand out to take his cup.

He nodded, placing his cup into your open palm. You turned it around in your hand, trying to see what he’d ordered, something had been written on the sleeve, but whoever had been writing down his order possessed the worst penmanship this side of the equator, you were sure, as you were entirely unable to decipher it. Your curiosity couldn’t be reined in, however, so you took a small sip.

Catching you in the act, Beau raised an eyebrow at you.

“Wanted to know what Admiral Simpson liked to drink,” you explained, “Wasn’t expecting vanilla latte,” you added with a teasing smile, “Is that almond milk I taste?” you asked. You had been witness to many a rant about milk substitutes, and although he had calmed down once he figured out you liked soy milk in your coffees, you never would have thought he’d crossed to the ‘dark side’ as he put it.

“You breathe a word of this to anyone…” he threatened, the corners of his lips coming up in a smile.

“I already put it on the base facebook page,” you joked, waving your phone at him, “Admiral Beau Lloyd Simpson likes to drink girly starbucks drinks,” you pretended to read from your dark screen.

Beau squinted playfully at you, “You better not,” he replied, “I’d never hear the end of it.”

“You’re right, I haven’t. HR would be wondering why I’d be having coffee with you in the first place,” you said.

“We’re allowed to get coffee. I get coffee with you all the time,” he said, sounding confused.

“No, you get coffee for me all the time,” you replied, “Which you’re not even supposed to do, by the way. I’m your secretary, it’s part of my job.”

“You’re not my P.A,” he said, his tone bordering argumentative.

“All I’m saying is that there’s a difference. A line we’re not meant to cross, and we’re already toeing it now,” you said, “They’ve already made comments about me coming here with you… I don’t want them to think --”

“To think what?” he asked after a moment of silence, his voice quieter than before.

“That we’re --” you hesitated, “That you’re more than what you are…”

“Which is what?” he asked, “Your friend?”

“My boss,” you replied. Beau froze, stopping in the middle of the path. You followed suit, much to the displeasure of a group of dutch tourists visiting the city for Christmas. They walked around you, throwing annoyed looks at you that you were too distracted to notice.

“Right,” he said, “Make up your mind, would you? One second you’re pissy because you want to be friends and I don’t and now it’s the opposite, you’re giving me whiplash.”

“I’m not making you be my friend,” you laughed, “But I’m not in the habit of hanging around people who aren’t friends, so I’m going back. Call me when you need me for the function, or text me, I don’t care,” you said, turning around and walking back down the path towards the metro station, fully intending on going back to your room and drowning your broken heart in cheap wine while you cried your heart out in front of a silly romcom.

“No, please,” he said, running after you, “Please come back. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” he added, grabbing your arm.

“Beau, let go of me,” you said, you body stiff and your face stoney.

“Y/n please,” he begged, “I’m sorry.”

“Fine,” you breathed.

“Why did you ever leave?” you asked, changing the subject, “This place is magical.”

“I got my orders,” he shrugged.

“Hmm, I forgot. When the Navy calls, you answer,” you replied.

“For now, yes,” he said, kicking a snowball with his foot.

“Oh?” you asked.

“I might not, if I had someone else to think about,” he said quietly, his eyes still on the ground.

You gasped, “Oh my Goodness, is eternal bachelor Beau Simpson looking to settle down?” you asked with a smile, slightly surprised by the admission. The butterflies that had died in your stomach in the hotel lobby came back in full force, fluttering about your insides with all the energy of a toddler on a sugar high.

Beau chuckled at your teasing, “Yes, weirdly, I don’t want to die alone,” he replied, half-serious.

“Oh you won’t,” you said.

“Not what my tinder says,” he laughed uncomfortably, “I think I got like, seven matches in the past three months? Turns out older guys aren’t prime real estate,” he added, a certain sadness around his eyes that you couldn’t quite place.

“Okay, first off, you’re a person not a cottage,” you retorted, eliciting a laugh from your companion, “Second off, any girl would be lucky to have you,” you said, “You’re nice, you’re funny, you’re smart, you have a good career --,” you added, counting his qualities on your fingers.

“Seriously,” he chuckled, “Stop it or I will think you care for me.”

“Would that be so bad?” you asked, your voice so low and barely audible that when a group of children ran past you, laughing as their friends threw snowballs, your words were swallowed by the noise.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you lied, remembering his comment about whiplash. Quit toeing the line, you thought to yourself.

“When we finally kiss goodnight

How I'll hate to go out in the storm

But if you really hold me tight

All the way home I'll be warm

The fire is slowly dying

And my dear, we're still goodbying”

“So HR spoke to you?” he asked.

“No, but I don’t want to give them a reason to,” you replied, “Or give them a reason to withhold your promotion.”

“They wouldn’t,” he said with a scoff.

“With all the fraternisation rules? You bet they would, and there would be an investigation and I can’t have that marring my record. I don’t want my next job asking questions and possibly going back on their decision to hire me,” you said firmly, a fire in your words.

Beau let out a sigh, “Where are you going? I don’t think I ever asked you.”

“Advertising firm in Santa Barbara,” you replied quickly.

“Santa -- that’s like a three hour ride,” he said.

“It is, why? You thinking of visiting?” you teased.

“If you’ll have me,” he said, looking at the floor.

“Of course I would, you’ll tell me all about your new secretary,” you smiled.

“Hmm, about how horribly incompetent she is,” he grumbled.

“Oh hush,” you said, gently swatting his arm, “She’ll be fine. Don’t jinx yourself by saying these things…”

“We still haven’t found one, and you won’t be there to train her. I’m not holding out much hope,” he grumbled.

“Oh, is that why you’re so pissy? You’re cross I won’t be there to train her?” you said, teasingly.

“No --” he started, only for you to interrupt him.

“Look, there’s nothing to it. Half of my day is spent nagging you to look at your diary, and the other half is just nagging you about other things,” you said, poking him in the side with your finger, “Easy peasy.”

Beau hummed, taking a sip of his vanilla latte.

“Promise me you’ll check your diary for her,” you asked, stopping him with an arm in front of his waist and turning him around to face you.

“Could be a ‘him’,” he replied..

“Beau,” you said, “Promise me.”

“Have you ever been ice skating?” he asked with a grin, evading your questions.

“Beau, I’m serious,” you said, trying not to laugh.

“So am I,” He grinned, pointing in the distance at the Lake, where hundreds of people whizzed around on ice skates, making tiny trails in the ice.

“No,” you said, “Oh, no. That’s not happening.”

“It’ll be fun!” he exclaimed, trying to grab your hand. You swiped it away right in time, holding it behind your back.

“No, I’m not dying of hypothermia after skating on a stupid lake and falling through the ice miles away from home!” you exclaimed.

Beau laughed, “You’re not going to die, the ice is thick, it’s safe!”

“You don’t know that,” you replied, feeling your eyes widen at the sight of everyone on the ice.

“Look, I’m way heavier than you are, if anything breaks, I’ll be the one going down. All you have to do then is run,” he laughed, “You won’t mind, you’re already such a chicken.”

“Don’t call me chicken!” you exclaimed, your previous fear long forgotten.

“Then come ice skating, Mcfly,” he said, smiling at you, “Tell you what, you come ice skating with me and I’ll promise to check my diary.”

“Ugh,” you said, pretending to sound annoyed, “Fine.”

You followed him down the path towards the lake, trying to calm your nerves by watching the scenery. Too soon for your liking, you made it to the crowd. After getting ice skates, you gingerly walked onto the ice, Beau sliding right behind you.

“Your teacher has arrived,” he grinned.

"The fire is slowly dying

And my dear we're still goodbying

Long as you love me so

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!"

Frankie sang. Cyclone stretched his hands out in front of him for you to take. Secured by his strong grip, you dared to take a step forward.

“See, it’s safe,” he smiled.

You skated forward, doing as he told you, getting a little more confident by the second. After a few moments, he let go of you, moving backwards so you would skate towards him like a child taking their first steps.

“You’re a natural,” he laughed, despite the fact that he had been trying to teach you for over forty-five minutes and that you had only moved about three metres away from the bank. His eyes were trained on you, ready to catch you in case you slipped, and before you could warn him someone skated straight into the back of him, pushing him forwards. He tried to catch himself but the more he tried to, the more he slipped, making him look a little like Wile-e Coyote running in the air seconds before falling off a cliff. Eventually, gravity won and Beau fell straight into your arms.

“If you wanted to hug me, you could have just asked,” you teased, both of you laughing loudly. You helped him up, steadying him with one hand firmly against his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” the bumper said, “Are you hurt?” the girl asked Beau. She wasn’t much younger than you, college aged probably, but her hat and scarf, so large and warm, made her cheeks red, giving her a pleasant baby face.

“Only his pride,” you replied for him.

“Good,” she grinned, “He seemed like he needed humbling,” she winked at you before turning on her heels and skating away.

Beau opened his mouth to say something but as soon as Let it Snow finished, another song crackled through the speakers.

“New York on Sunday

Big City taking a nap

Slow down, it's Sunday

Life's a ball, let it fall in your lap

If you've got troubles

Just take them out for a walk

They'll burst like bubbles

In the fun of a Sunday In New York"

"Now--" you said, pausing.

"That's not--" he started.

"Yeah, that's Bobby Darin," you chuckled.

"Must be a mistake..." he mumbled. You had heard so much Frankie that the change of voice felt jarring.

"I mean it's a good song," you said, looking at him confused, "It's just... not Frankie…"

"Aww look at you," he smiled, "Frankie... Y/n, do you have a crush?" He teased

"Stop it," you laughed

"Frankie and Y/n, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n--" he sang, the end of it lost in your glove as you brought your hand to cover his mouth.

"Just teach me how to ice skate," you laughed

"You can spend time without spending a dime

Watching people watch people pass

Later you pause, and in one of those stores

There's that face next to yours in the glass

Two hearts stop beating

You're both too breathless to speak

Love smiles her greeting

Then the dream that has seen you through the week

Comes true on Sunday in New York

Comes true on Sunday in New York"

“Speaking of stores, how about we go window shopping,” he offered, “I think I’ve done enough skating for today,” he added, skating back towards the bank and his shoes. You followed right behind, finding your boots amongst a pile of trainers, covered in brown slush.

“Was your pride that bruised?” you teased, trying to wipe the grime off.

“No,” he laughed, “it’s getting close to lunchtime, and I’m starving. We could go to that Christmas fair, if you want, it’s really not that far away,” he offered. You nodded, feeling less like bambi now that you were back in your own shoes, despite the heel and height difference.

“Sure,” you said, “I’d kill for a --”

“Coffee?” he finished for you.

“No,” you lied, earning you one of Beau’s brightest smiles.

“You’re such a liar,” he replied, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

“Fine! I need a coffee,” you admitted, “I’m getting the withdrawal shivers.”

“Junkie,” he teased. You stuck your tongue out at him and he reciprocated, “Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you your drink before you pass out. At this point I’m sure it’s the only thing keeping your heart beating.”

“You’re pretty good at keeping my heart beating too,” you said, “No that’s not what I meant,” you quickly added as soon as your words sank in.

“Nothing wrong with being madly in love with your husband, my dear,” he replied, a sly smile on his face.

“Shut up,” you replied, “And you’re not even my fiancé, you haven’t proposed yet,” you shot back, pointing an accusing finger at him, “I need you to put a ring around this finger before you call yourself anything other than my boss,” you said.

Beau chuckled, making your heart skip a beat, “You’re high maintenance, you know that?”

“And proud,” you grinned, “I don’t do wife stuff for secretary prices,” Beau looked at you, returning your smile, laughing a little. You let your eyes wander, a rare treat you never usually granted yourself for fear of betraying your distinctly unprofessional thoughts about him.

He looked good. He looked relaxed. He looked nothing like his permanently stressed, high-strung California self. His hair had started off as neat and gelled, but the New York breeze had tousled it, making it look adorably dishevelled. Together with his cold-induced rosy cheeks and easy smile, it was hard to deny that New York suited him.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, his eyes searching yours.

“Nothing,” you lied, “What are you thinking of getting?” you asked, spotting the USS Maine monument in the distance and its seasonal market, already bustling with people despite the fact that it had only opened half an hour ago.

It smelled fantastic. The mix of mulled wine, baked goods, and savoury dishes floating over to you suddenly made your stomach growl, you sped up a little walking past the first block of stalls and towards the B block where most of the food kiosks stood. Beau bee-lined for a stall, getting himself a loaded portion of chilli but you hesitated. Despite what your stomach had loudly proclaimed, you weren’t actually all that hungry. Still, it was lunchtime and scared you’d faint, you bought yourself some oranges and a coffee from the nearest beverage stall.

You sipped on your drink, immediately feeling the rush of caffeine surge through your body. Your hairs stood on end, and the beginnings of a headache you had been feeling for the past hour suddenly disappeared. Huh, you thought, putting your oranges in your coat pocket, maybe I do need to cool it on the coffee.

“I found a bench,” Beau said, coming up beside you.

“Go you! Shall we cross that off your bingo card?” you replied, sarcastically.

“Meanie,” he said, “I’m not eating standing up.”

“Okay,” you replied, expecting him to leave you alone in favour of his bench, but the hand that wasn’t holding his chilli came up to tug at your sleeve.

“Come sit with me,” he said

“Is that an order, Admiral?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow at him teasingly.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you,” he asked, winking at you.

“In your dreams,” you said, laughing, “You promised you would win me something,” you pointed at a stall towards the back. Little metal cowboys made their way around the scene on a track, ducking behind and in front of wooden mountains, evading players with ease as their owner looked on, occasionally letting out a “Next time maybe,” or a “Almost got him,” whenever they missed a shot.

“A sharpshooting game?” he asked, sounding unimpressed.

You let out an airy laugh, “Scared you’ll miss, Boo-bear?”

He stood up, “What do you want?” Cyclone asked.

“I want that big sailor bear,” you answered, pointing towards a huge stuffed bear, wearing a little sailor’s cap and collar.

“Okay,” he answered, walking off in that direction with you hot on his heels, “You know I have a marksmanship medal, right?”

“Prove it to me,” you said, holding back the wink you wanted to send him.

Beau gave the man five dollars and picked up the pellet gun.

“Don’t forget, you need five cowboys down for the bottom tier, ten for the middle tier and fifteen for the top tier,” the attendant reminded him, sounding bored.

“How much for the bear?” Beau asked, nodding towards the pedestal.

“All of them need to be knocked down on the first shot, sir,” the attendant said.

Cyclone raised the gun and nodded at the man. He pressed a bright green button by his side and the music started, a familiar song from the soundtrack to The Good, The Bad and The Ugly, as the cowboys slowly came up to speed, circling around the circuit on their tracks. Beau looked down the scope and steadied his footing. You looked on with bated breath as he pulled the trigger, shooting down every little figurine with one single shot.

“I’m impressed,” you said, “It would appear you didn’t get your medal from cereal box tops after all.”

“You better name the bear after me,” he winked, barely hiding his offence at your jab.

You stood up on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek, “I’m teasing, I never doubted you,” you whispered in his ear, wondering if the close proximity had the same effect on him as it had on you, “But you do look adorable all huffy and offended…I need to rile you up more often.”

You lowered yourself back down, accepting the bear from the man and hugging it tight, laying your face against its fluffy head, “I think I might call it Addy. Short for Admiral, because having a bear named after my boss is just a little weird.”

“Addy is still naming it after me, though,” he said with a wink.

“True, but it’s a whole lot more covert than calling it Beau, especially since my family and my friends know who you are,” you replied, cheekily.

“Oh,” he smirked, raising his eyebrows in surprise, “Am I often a subject of conversation?”

“Sure, I tell my sisters aaaaalllll about how much of a pain you are,” you said, purposely bumping into him, “and that you never check your diary.”

“Oh my God, what is it with you and that diary?” he exclaimed, exaggeratingly rolling his eyes to make sure you knew he was trying to annoy you.

“Because,” you poked his side, “I spend hours of my day making sure it’s up to date,” you poked him again, “And you,” he grabbed your hand, spinning you around into his arms, immobilising you in the process, “Never,” you wriggled, “Check,” you wriggled again, “It!”

“Bullshit,” he laughed, “you’re just using it as an excuse to talk to me.”

You blushed. It was a jab, but what had started with genuine annoyance at the fact that he never knew what needed doing during the day had, at some point, become an excuse to visit him in his office. You suddenly felt acutely aware of how Beau’s arms were wrapped around you, squeezing you against him, and how horribly inappropriate all of this was. An embarrassed blush washed over you, feeling ashamed of both your feelings and how pathetic it was for you to resort to finding excuses to talk to him.

“Sir,” someone said, tapping Beau on the shoulder, “A rose for your wife?”

Beau froze, much like he had in the cab. Taking the opportunity to make him pay for accidentally making you embarrassed, you spoke before he could.

“Oh he’s not my husband,” you corrected the salesman in your most innocent voice, erasing all traces of your usually noticeable southern accent to match his midwestern one, “He’s my daddy.”

“I’m so sorry, miss,” the salesman smiled, “You here for college?” he asked. You were grateful, probably for the first time in your life, that you looked a little younger than you were. Out of your office clothes, carefully curated to look mature and competent, you could pass as early instead of mid twenties.

Granted, there wasn’t all that much difference, but men had a tendency to treat you differently based on which one you portrayed, getting the right one to get what you wanted was an art form that you had just started to master.

You tucked your hair behind your ear, smiling sweetly at the salesman, “Sorta, I’m doing a phd,” you replied.

“Well, that’s wonderful,” he said, “Sir, a rose for your little girl, I’m sure there’s nothing in the world that would make her happier. A beautiful rose for your beautiful daughter,” he winked at a dumbfounded Beau.

“Yeah, daddy,” you cooed, “Nothing would make me happier.”

Cyclone took the rose, and paid the guy, before turning to you, “You’re going to pay for this,” he threatened, handing you the rose after gently slapping you over the head with it.

“What? Don’t like it when I call you Daddy?” you asked, pushing your luck.

“Stop it,” he demanded, his voice leaving nothing up to interpretation. Just when you thought you were actually in trouble, Beau smiled.

“You’re no fun,” you said, teasing him now that you knew you hadn’t made him cross, “Thanks for the bear, and the rose.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, “Should I be worried?”

“What are you talking about?” you asked.

“The blatant manipulation,” he simpered, looking shocked you’d even ask.

You chuckled, “No, I’d never manipulate you,” you smiled, holding Addie up in your arms, squeezing him tight.

“You are a menace,” he grinned, “Where did you even learn how to do that?”

“Youngest daughter,” you shrugged, “And it’s the whole ‘gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss’ thing women need these days to get out on top,” you winked.

“Wow,” Beau said, “I’ve never felt older… I understand most of these words individually but put together…”

You laughed, “If you can’t convince them, confuse them,” you replied.

“See, I might find that funny if I even remotely understood the context,” he said, sounding confused.

“I’m not sure it fits, to be honest,” you replied, taking the last sip of your coffee. You threw the cup into a trash can with a pout, “No more coffee, makes me sad.”

He chuckled, “Tell you what sweetheart, you quit caffeine and I quit smoking,”

You turned to him in shock, “You serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he replied, “Which is what you’ll have if you keep drinking coffee like that.”

“Deal,” you said, sticking your hand out for him to shake.

“Deal,” he replied, “You ready for the catacombs? If we leave now, we’ll get there right on time for a tour to start.”

“Did you memorise the times?” you asked, peering over at him.

He nodded, “It starts at the hour.”

“Still creepy,” you said.

“Shut up,” he smiled, “Want the rest of my coffee?” added, handing you the cup.

You took it gratefully, bringing the rim up to your mouth before stopping short when you caught his eye, “You ass!” you exclaimed, swatting him on the shoulder.

“You don’t want it then?” he inquired.

“You’re so mean,” you said, dropping the cup into the next trashcan you passed.

---

“I hate this,” you mumbled, watching the guide take out an old fashioned dungeon key from his pocket. Beau had sworn this wouldn’t be creepy, just something fun that he never got to do when he lived there.

It didn’t seem fun. Even the raving review on the brochure didn’t seem all that enticing to you. Although, you had to admit that half of the creepiness of the catacombs were, at the moment, due to the guide. You had never seen anyone so well suited to the role, but his easy charms, generous winking and colgate-commercial smile had quickly become unnerving in the underground lights when you realised just how much he looked like Anthony Perkins in the 1960s version of the film Psycho.

The guide walked ahead of the group, guiding you all in a massive hallway of concrete with a domed ceiling. Despite being underground, a puddle of water pooled by one of the doors.

“Relax, will you?” Beau chuckled, “Someone probably dropped their water bottle.”

“You don’t know that,” you whispered back, unconsciously scooting closer to him. He swung an arm around your shoulders protectively and leaned closer to whisper in your ear,

“You’re right, we’re trapped in here with zombies, one of them must have gotten up during the night to take a leak,” he whispered, his hot breath fanning across your neck, making you blush. Your heart sped up, although you weren’t sure if it was because of him or because of the sudden flash of fear you felt when he mentioned zombies.

“I can assure you, miss, that there are no zombies here,” the guide said, “Despite what your companion is telling you,” he added, winking at you.

You shot him an uneasy smile as he stared, fixing you with an unblinking look that made your hair stand on end.

“This is more like -- errr -- an apartment building for corpses. A middle class option for people who wanted to have the luxury of a mausoleum without having to pay to build something of their own,” he added, as if that was meant to reassure you in any way.

“Right,” you answered, trying hard not to imagine what that would entail, but the more you tried to erase the picture from your mind, the more it came up, flashing before your eyes every time you blinked. A loud bang resonated in the catacombs, making you and the rest of the group jump. Beau instinctively grabbed your upper arm, dragging you behind him to protect you.

Footsteps approached, loud and echoing and followed by an incredibly unpleasant shriek, getting louder as it got closer. Beau backed away diagonally, practically sandwiching you against a wall, his large frame covering you almost entirely. You could just about see the tour guide, still staring at you. He winked, and smiled.

The noises got closer and closer and closer. It seemed only yards away now, and then, it turned a corner and a small man appeared, dragging a rusty maintenance trolley behind him.

“Alright, Jim? Gave my people quite the freight,”

“Aye, sorry about that,” Jim replied, raising a hand in apology, “Just fixed a leak in maintenance closet three. We’re all good for the concert on Friday.”

“Ah yes! I almost forgot!” The guide exclaimed, “There will be a Christmas concert here on Friday, tickets are five dollars a piece but people who have done the tour get a one dollar discount. If you’re interested, you can find all information about attendants and ticket pre orders on our website.”

“It’s a good one this year,” Jim said.

“It’s a good one every year, Jim,” the guide corrected him, his tone so final it made Jim pause.

“Aye,” Jim replied, “It is a good one every year.”

The rest of the tour went by without a hiccup. The history of it even began to sound interesting, but your enthusiasm never failed to die down a little whenever the guide turned to you. You managed to catch a glimpse of his name tag halfway back up the stairs towards the surface, and if you hadn’t already been so unsettled by his unblinking gaze, which seemed to always be trained on you, you might have laughed at how well it suited him.

“Don’t forget to tip your guide,” Henry Danger said, throwing yet another one of his smiles, his teeth as straight as a tombstone in a cemetery, their whiteness seeming just as fake as the kindness in his voice.

“Well, he gave me the heeby jeebies,” Beau said as he stepped away, guiding you towards the tube station, “Did you see how he was looking at you?”

“I was starting to wonder if he even had eyelids,” you shivered, “You realise I will never be able to sleep tonight, right?”

“Yeah? Scared of zombies?” Beau smirked.

“Scared he’ll be hiding in the darkness of my room,” you replied, nodding behind you where you had left your tour guide.

You walked down the steps to the metro line in silence, not wanting to alarm anyone with the conversation you were having, not that you would have been able to anyway, the noise of rush hour traffic paired up with rush hour metro users drawing out pretty much anything. You swiped your tickets against the machines and somehow managed to squeeze yourselves into a packed carriage.

“I’m sure he’s not that bad in real life,” Beau said, picking your conversation back up where you left it as if nothing had ever disturbed it.

“He did look like a batman character, didn’t he?” you said.

Beau hummed in agreement, “I’m hungry,” he said, “We’re not too far away from the restaurant.”

"Can we go back to the hotel? I'd like to look decent for dinner," you said, "I feel yucky, all that -- whatever that was, has made me feel dirty."

"You're so precious," Beau said, looking down at you with an almost sweetness in his eyes.

"You're right, let's go now so I smell like wet dog,” you said sarcastically, “What wine do you think pairs well with miasma and ancient bone dust fumes?"

"I feel like red would go well with it… maybe a nice Barolo or a New World Cabernet," he mused playfully.

"You're right, something rich and full bodied… I'm thirsty now," you said, clicking your tongue against the top of your mouth.

"Let's go back, I think you're right. I could use a shower," he said, turning right into a side street. You could see the back of the hotel from where you stood. Beau slid his hand behind you, resting on your lower back.

"So precious," you teased him, repeating his words back to him, "Where are we going? I need to know how to dress."

"Just wear whatever, you always dress nice anyway," he replied, looking down at you with soft eyes.

"Is that code for 'I haven't decided where we're going yet'?" You asked.

"No," he smiled, "I've made reservations. I'm just trying to pay you a compliment."

"I'm flattered," you replied, "but I do really need to know."

"I told you," he said, sounding a bit exasperated.

"Please," you begged, "I'm not good with surprises."

"You must be fun at Christmas," he shot back, holding the Edison's main door open for you, its doorman nowhere to be seen.

"My parents bought a safe to keep presents in. I'd always start looking for them to open them beforehand so they had to take drastic measures," you explained, a devious smile on your face.

Beau laughed, "I hope your kids'll be just as bad."

"I was charming as a child, I'll have you know," you said, your head held high in mock prissyness.

Beau let out a laugh, "You still are."

"You're handing out compliments like candy, Beau. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to sleep with me," you winked. Beau looked down at his shoes, a deep red blush covering his cheeks.

To escape the embarassement of your teasing, he pressed the elecator button.

"So easy to embarass," you whispered under your breath, climbing in when the elevator dinged.

"Hmmm," he hummed, "You'll regret it."

"You promised me that at lunch, and yet…" you said, tapping your chin with your fingers.

"Anyway, see you in thirty? Is that enough time?" he asked, looking you over. You exited the lift, followed by Beau, making your way down the corridor to your room.

"I'll hurry," you replied, unlocking your door. You waved him goodbye and locked it behind you, immediately removing your shoes, shedding your clothes, letting them fall to the floor without a second thought.

Opening your case, you rifled through your clothes, trying to find something appropriate for dinner. If it had just been dinner with your boss, you might have just gone for a nice pencil skirt and a shirt. Something that said 'this is a work thing'. But this wasn't just dinner with your boss. It was dinner with Beau, the man you developed a crush on 0.1 seconds after meeting him.

In the end, you settled on a burgundy cocktail dress you thanked yourself for bringing and paired it with a pair of red bottomed heels. After a shower, you quickly curled your hair and brushed it through, letting it fall in graceful, slightly vintage looking waves upon your shoulders.

Then, just as your alarm rang to warn you you needed to meet Beau in ten minutes, you started on your makeup, applying a layer of red lipstick and fixing your winged eyeliner which had, miraculously, not bled in the water and steam of your shower.

Finishing it off with a spray of perfume, you walked out of the door and straight into Beau, who was, for the first time in his thirty year career and almost fifty years of life, on time. He looked stunning, freshly showered and smelling of soap and aftershave, he had finally gotten rid of his stubble -- which you kicked yourself for missing -- and gelled his hair again. He had changed out of his shirt, jeans and cardigan and into a nice navy coloures suit, and an, accidentally, matching shirt to your dress.

"You clean up nice, Simpson," you said, as if nice was the appropriate word to describe how he looked.

"You look wonderful," he returned the compliment, "See, you didn't need me to spoil the surprise for you to dress nice."

"Well, you mentioned a reservation… I figured it wasn't Mcdonalds,"

"So is this standard dress for anything other than mcdonalds?" he asked, "Or are you dressed like this because of me?"

"It's standard dress," you lied, making your way down the corridor towards the lift, hoping to hide the blush on your cheeks.

Beau caught up with you just as the doors closed, he pressed the lobby button on the wall and squeezed behind you as the elevator stopped at every floor on its way down, allowing more people into the tiny cabin until it was completely packed.

"Where to, Admiral?" you inquired quietly.

"It's not far, we'll walk," he said, "Where's your coat?"

You groaned, "I'll be right--"

"No time, we'll be late. Take mine," he said, shaking off his coat, again. You really weren't made for snowy NYC.

"Let me just --" he said, grabbing your hand in his, "Just to make sure you don't fall," he grinned.

"Right," you answered, hoping that the butterflies you were feeling couldn't be heard fluttering in your voice.

Beau crossed a corner into the theatre district, sandwiching you between him and the buildings of NYC to protect you from oncoming traffic. Moments later, he guided you into Le Rivage, a traditional french restaurant that you had seen many pictures of.

While you had appreciated the art deco style of the Edison, you had to admit that the restaurant's architecture and decor was more your cup of tea. The walls of naked bricks, paintings on the wall and overall rustic style made you feel like you had stepped straight into the little hole-in-the-wall bistro you liked to frequent during your studies in Paris.

"Do you have a reservation?" The woman at the door asked, her beautiful red dress showing off how fancy this place truly was.

"Simpson, for two people," Beau replied, shaking off his coat before helping you with yours.

"Agnes, please lead Mr and Mrs Simpson to table 13," she barked at a teen.

Agnes brought you to a small round table near the back. Although the lights were dimmed slightly, the feeling of privacy you felt was counterfeit as its position near the live band meant everyone was bound to look over your way.

You sat down and Agnes disappeared for a second, coming back almost immediately with a pitcher of water and a notepad. Beau ordered wine while you looked at menus and while you had had something to drink since breakfast, you had completely forgotten to have your orange. Alcohol was a terrible idea, especially considering your feelings and who you were eating with, and yet you let him pour you a glass, which you clinked together.

"Cheers," he said.

"Cheers," you replied.

"So, did you win the lottery or what? This is a very nice place," you stated, your gaze travelling over the restaurant.

"I just wanted to say thank you for coming with me," he said, "I really appreciate it."

"Oh, it's okay," you said.

"No, I know how unconventional it was of me to ask you to attend with me and you would have been well within your rights to refuse," he replied. Beau licked his lips and you couldn't help but stare, hoping that your slight perving would be interpreted as attentive listening.

"I'm so thankful that you didn't," he added, "So far it's been fun," he smiled.

"It has," you agreed. You opened your mouth to add something, but Agnes appeared with her notepad to take your order.

By the time your mushroom risotto arrived, you were both three large glasses of wine deep. Food dampened the effects of the alcohol a little, keeping you from teetering over the edge from tipsy to drunk and by the time dessert finally arrived, a crème brulée for you and a chocolate mousse for him, you were feeling pleasantly buzzed, having managed to cut yourself off from wine when the first bottle was finished.

Conversation flowed easily, as it always did with Beau but soon enough you ran out of topics and you directed the conversation towards the bet.

"So, first person to spill the beans loses and pays for all lunches and coffees til I leave," you said.

"We get to be as embarrassing as we want," he said, pausing to take a sip of his wine, "Provided we don't do anything that gets us arrested, fired or court marshalled."

"You're no fun," you grinned, "But it sounds sensible. I'm in," you added, "When does it start?"

"Now?" He asked and you shrugged. Beau stood up. You thought for a second that he was getting up for a smoke break as he had done twice already, but he looked at you with a strange expression. Giving you a mischievous smile, he knelt down on one knee, producing a small black box from his pocket.

"I suppose there's only one thing left to ask you then," he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear it, "Y/n L/n, will you marry me?" He asked, so loud that it cut through the noise in the restaurant. Conversation stopped, the live band put down their instruments and everyone waited with bated breath for your answer.

"I despise you," you whispered, "Yes, I will," you replied, the restaurant erupting in cheers. Acting the part, you stood up and beckoned him up, pulling him into a hug.

"I told you I'd make you pay," he spoke into your ear.

He pulled away, opening the ring box and taking your left hand in his to slip it onto your finger. As soon as it touched your skin, the black band turned pink.

"Huh, apparently that means you're nervous about something," he said, barely holding in a laugh.

"You better pray no one asks to see the ring because I swear I will tell them you proposed with a mood ring," you threatened, and, still acting like the excited fiancé, you stood up on your tiptoes and planted a kiss straight onto his lips.

The second your lips made contact, fireworks went off in your head, your heart skipped a beat and you felt so dizzy and electrified you could barely think straight, which, in truth, might have had more to do with the wine than the kiss, and you hoped the blush that covered your face would be blamed on embarrassment rather than the giddy excitement of having kissed your longtime crush.

You broke apart when a smartly dressed server appeared. Unlike Agnes, he wore slacks and a waistcoat, covering his perfectly ironed button up.

"Compliments of the owner, sir," he said, presenting Beau with a bottle of champagne

"Thank you," Cyclone replied, rousing himself from his stunned silence.

Both of you sat back down and you smiled, pleased to see that the kiss hadn't only had an effect on you.

#fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun x reader #fanfiction #original fic #beau cyclone simpson #cyclone simpson #cyclone #beau simpson #beau simpson x reader

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lumine-no-hikari · 11 days

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Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #118

I went to bed at roughly midnight last night!! Which is roughly an hour past 11pm, which is what's supposed to be my bedtime! But my alarm is set for 8am! Which means I should have gotten around 8 hours of sleep! 8 hours is sufficient!

…Unfortunately, I woke at around 7:30am of my own volition, and then I was not able to go back to sleep. But that's okay; I slept more than I have on recent nights, so I feel better than I did yesterday, for sure!

I made myself some tea. This morning, it was apricot-vanilla flavored black tea! I wonder if you would have liked this one; I'm more than a little sad about the fact that I'll likely never find out, ahahaha…

…But… well. There's not a damn thing I can do about that, other than take pictures and send them along, hoping that they'll reach you somehow… Here:

I had intended to go today to the post office to send the completed amethyst tree sphere to the other side of the planet, but as it turns out, shipping things that far is very expensive, goodness me! So I'm going to have to make more spheres and sell them first, so that I can save up! It shouldn't be too hard, except for the fact that I'm FAR more inclined to simply give them away. I'm no salesperson, and it feels nicer to just be able to hand someone some unexpectedly beautiful thing anyhow; you wouldn't BELIEVE how some people's faces light right up when hand them one of my weird little woven tree crafts! It's seriously the best thing, ahahaha~! 🥰

So, instead of going to the post office, J and I went on a pizza date. We went to our favorite spot! I got a tomato slice, a shrimp scampi slice, and a chicken and mushroom marsala slice, and these were ABSOLUTELY DELECTABLE, oh my goodness! J got a tomato slice and a slice of spinach pie. I took pictures:

Also, J specifically asked me to take a picture of his spinach pie slice from his perspective, just in case you might like it. Here:

…I am not the only one here who likes you and hopes to see you be safe and happy in the end. Even J would like to share a little bit of joy with you. There are lots of people who want to share a little bit of joy with you. You're not alone. Sephiroth, I promise you that you're not alone, no matter what your brain tries to tell you when it's being mean to you.

Speaking of sharing joy with you, I also went on a walk today, and I tried to make it a point to take some nice pictures for you. I hope you'll like them:

I also found a tiny salamander friend on my adventures! I found it trapped inside an abandoned cooler in the woods:

I really have no idea what a cooler is doing in the woods. But it looks REALLY REALLY OLD, good grief! It is NOT a good place for a salamander to live!

The little thing seemed to want to get under my sleeve for some reason, ahahaha~! But as adorable as it was, sadly, I had to disappoint the poor thing; I put it on the ground, underneath some fallen leaves. It'll be happier and safer there, for sure!

As I walked around, there was a pretty big hawk flitting from tree to tree. I followed it around for as long as I could, on a whim. But I wasn't able to get any pictures of it for you; its plumage made it blend too well with the surrounding trees. But, I've been seeing an unusually large number of birds-of-prey and crows ever since the eclipse; I wonder if it threw them all off somehow. In any case, hopefully I'll get you a nice picture of a hawk or something soon!

Anyway, as I imagine you can tell by looking, I ended up getting into weird positions on the ground to get some of these pictures, and I ended up with a deer tick on me as a result. I feel really silly about it; it wasn't the best idea for me to get careless like that, because ticks are a real problem in my world. Ticks are very tiny arachnids that burrow their heads into an animal's skin in order to feed on their blood. This wouldn't be a problem if ticks didn't carry all sorts of nasty diseases, but they do in my part of the world, and one of the scariest ones is Lyme Disease.

Lyme Disease is spread by a kind of bacteria that the ticks catch from feeding on small rodents. Left unchecked, these bacteria like to eat things such as nerves, joints, and myocardial tissue. Deer ticks are the only carrier of Lyme Disease where I live, so I guess I'm gonna hafta keep an eye on the bite and make sure it doesn't develop the bullseye rash that's characteristic of infection. I also put the tick in a little disposable plastic sandwich bag just in case I develop weird symptoms; it'll be good to have on hand just in case I need to get it tested for diseases.

It's all right though; the tick was on me for less than 24 hours, and it came out of my skin really easily - didn't even hurt! And I washed the bite as soon as the tick was removed. It didn't get an opportunity to feed on me yet, because it was removed too quickly. Chances of infection are very low, if not practically nonexistent. And even if I did get infected, we've got fancy medicines to clear it right up, no problem; everything will be okay! Don't worry your pretty little head about me, alright? I'll be fine! 😁💖

Oh! I also cooked some ground pork and beef, in preparation for making a recipe that some awesome person on the internet sent to me… gosh… a while ago now. I've been meaning to cook it up for a number of weeks, because it sounds ABSOLUTELY FREAKING DELECTABLE, but lately, I've been either too busy, too exhausted, or some weird combination of both. But I have all the ingredients on hand; it's just a matter of putting them together! I'm looking forward to it!! I can't wait to show it to you, because the person who shared it with me cares about you, too!

Anyhoot, it's getting late, and it's probably about time I went to bed. I've got a lot to do tomorrow, goodness me; therapy, and hangouts with my best friend B, and maybe cooking the thing if I still have energy leftover (I hope!). We'll see what happens!

Hey Sephiroth! Please remember to rest and to take delight in wholesome things and to treat yourself nice, okay? I dunno exactly what you're trying to do over at the Edge of Creation, but if you're gonna make it through all this okay in the end, you're gonna hafta make kind and loving choices, and to be able to do that reliably, you're gonna need all your strength. As far as I know, I can't zoop over there and give you a nutritious, wholesome meal and a nice cup of tea, because I am just a derpy autistic nerd who is totally devoid of reality-bending powers (much to my chagrin). So you gotta do it for yourself instead, okay? Promise me that you will, won't you?

And if you're having trouble, just pretend you're me for long enough to treat yourself in the same way that I would treat you. Or you can just make pretend like your self-destructive tendencies are dragons that need to be slain. That's how I've been dealing with mine, anyway, and it's objectively true that you're FAR better at slaying dragons than I could ever hope to be - I mean, c'mon, have you taken a look at me? I'm basically just a weird squiggly noodle. You can do better than I can at most anything - I promise.

I'll write again tomorrow. I love you. Stay safe out there.

Your friend, Lumine

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bastetwastaken · 7 months

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Happy Birthday @puzzl-d !

You deserve all the nice things my friend and nothing but happiness. I hope you have a day as wonderful and lovely as you are <3

Have a short fic inspired by your love for catboys as a gift <3 <3

His tail flicked impatiently as he waited for his boyfriends to come home. He looked at the pile of blankets and pillows on the floor once more then sank to his knees to rearrange them for the hundredth time.

He huffed out a breath as he sat back on his heels, looking around the room which he’d almost completely rearranged for this evening. The sofa had been pushed back against the wall of shelves, the armchair shoved into the corner, all of their cushions missing and now forming part of the huge pile in the middle of the room.

He’d taken care to include all of his boyfriends favourite things. He had Yami’s favourite furry blanket with its many holes draped over one side of the pile of cushions, Atems favourite plush and oversized hoody on the other. He even had the heating pad on to warm up the cushion pile for Atem too, mindful of his boyfriends eternal hatred of the cold but constant refusal to wear proper clothing.

Now all he had to do was wait, but for him, waiting was the hardest part.

He sighed and pushed himself up off the floor, the small bell jingling on his collar as he moved. It was originally just a joke, an offhand comment by Yami that he should wear a bell so they knew where he was in the house after too many occasions of him accidentally scaring his lovers but it had become part of his wardrobe now.

He loved the way Yami would smile when he saw it, and how Atem would playfully flick it with his fingers whenever boredom struck to make it ring.

As he crossed the room his ears flicked back toward the door, the sound of someone walking down the hall of their apartment complex drew his attention but the sound of the footsteps told him it was just their neighbour coming home.

He placed his hands on the window ledge and peered out of the glass, wondering where his lovers were.

They’d only gone out for snacks, Yami had insisted on joining Atem because Atem couldn’t possibly be trusted to get his favourite brand of chips or the right kind of ice cream. When Atem had suggested that Yami simply go instead of him, Yami had been offended at the very notion that he should set foot outside and have to socialise alone.

He smiled to himself as he looked down the street in the direction of the store he knew they’d gone to. They should be back any moment and Yugi was ready to surprise them with an evening of games, movies, snacking and hopefully cuddling.

They didn’t do this often enough with their busy work schedules and other commitments and he missed it. He missed feeling the heat of his boyfriends either side of him, to have his fur and skin warmed by theirs and be able to enjoy their company without any other distractions.

He turned away from the window, his long tail curled around his humanoid body instinctively. A nervous habit he had developed years ago when he had moved to the city.

He ran his hands over the soft fur aimlessly as he tried to be patient for his boyfriends return. It wasn’t that he minded being home alone, in fact, he actually liked it but after the week he’d had at work he just wanted some time with those who loved him most.

A chance to spoil his boyfriends, to show them how much he cared and reconnect with them in a way which they’d only ever done once before.

The large nest of pillows and blankets had warmed his heart to see that first time, when he’d come home to both of his boyfriends standing in the hallway, they’d taken his hands and pulled him into the living room faster than he could ask what was happening and dragged him onto the soft pile where they’d proceeded to do nothing but love him for the entire evening.

He wanted to return that favour and show them that he would do the same for them.

With a smile on his face, he turned on the TV, loaded up their favourite game and dropped the controllers onto the floor near their nest, making sure everything would be within reach and he wouldn’t have to get back up after they got comfortable unless it was absolutely necessary.

A key in the lock had him jumping to attention, tail fluffing in a defensive reaction to being so suddenly jerked out of his thoughts, ears back and heart beating faster.

“You have such little faith in me.” Atems warm voice soothed him and calmed his body’s reactions. “I would have done just fine on my own.”

Boots were kicked off, falling with soft thuds onto the mat near the door.

“You keep telling yourself that.” Yami’s teasing voice made him smile. “But without my help, you’d have been lost.”

“Hey, I’m capable of doing things.” Atem said, his tone suggesting he was wearing the adorable pout on his face which Yugi knew Yami would do anything to see. His voice became louder as they walked toward the room Yugi was standing in. “Yugi, my love, tell our darling Yami that I’m capable.”

“You’re proving my point by running to our love.” Yami said.

Atem entered the room first, saw Yugi standing in the centre over the next of pillows wearing his comfiest clothes and he paused, head tilted to the side, eyes wide and attentive. Yami had to step around him to see what had their boyfriend stuck.

“Oh.” Yami said, a smile slowly spread over his face, his large black ears standing to attention and tail curling at the end. “A surprise? For us?”

“Yep.” He smiled, tail flicking happily as he stepped toward his boyfriends. “I know we’ve all been so busy recently and I think we deserve a night off.”

Atem and Yami looked at each other, huge smiles on their faces as they turned back to him.

“I agree.” Atem said as he moved closer, dropping the paper bag onto the floor next to the nest then reaching for him. Yugi took his hand and held his other hand out to Yami. “You deserve a night like this.”

He blushed, his tail quivered excitedly as Atem pulled him closer. Yamis hand brushed through his hair slowly and down the back of his neck, the short fur there standing to attention as his boyfriend's hand passed.

“You do.” Yami said softly, leaning into him and nudging his head gently under Yugi's jaw, ears rubbing against his neck before he moved away and Atem repeated the gesture on his other side.

He laughed happily, pulling on his boyfriends hands as he stepped back into the room, the others following him eagerly.

“Go get changed, then we can get settled and not move for the rest of the night.” He said, dropping their hands and smiling at them.

There was no response but both of his boyfriends hurried out of the room toward their bedroom and Yugi waited patiently for their return, wondering who would get back to him soonest.

Atem was obviously the fastest, smiling at him as he stepped back into the room, loose comfy pants covering his legs but no shirt, as usual. His boyfriends body was always a welcome sight though, soft dark orange fur on his sides and lower back blended seamlessly with his brown skin.

He looked comfortable and at ease, but Yugi could tell he was cold.

The weather was turning after all, and despite them keeping their apartment warm, Atem was never warm enough.

He scooped up the hoody he’d laid out earlier and held it open for Atem who seemed ready to object but a shiver muted his words. Atem slid his arms into the hoody, a soft purr reached Yugi's keen ears and he laughed happily as Atem turned back to him.

When Atems arms opened for him he was already meeting him halfway, his hands slid into the open hoody and over Atems soft fur, reaching around to his back as he was pulled closer.

Atems purr rumbled quietly in his chest and Yugi felt it as if it was his own. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the side of Atems, his chin on his shoulder as he listened to his boyfriends content purrs.

“Ugh, I leave you two alone for a moment.” Yami’s voice was full of amusement even though he tried to hide it.

His eyes opened and he saw Yami standing in the doorway, an oversized and long-sleeved shirt hanging perfectly off him and a soft smile on his face.

“You’re always welcome to join us.” He said.

Yami smiled as he walked closer, his long fluffy tail swaying behind him with each step until he reached them. Yami leaned against Atems back and nudged his nose against Yugis lovingly, placing a gentle kiss to his lips before moving away and stepping around them.

“Come on you two.” Yami said. “Stop delaying the inevitable.”

“And what’s that?” Atem asked as he stepped away from him.

Yugi turned to find Yami sitting in the nest of pillows smiling smugly up at them, game controllers in his hands.

“Me beating you both.” Yami said.

“Oh, don’t make me have to take you down.” Atem said with a laugh as he took his place on the other side of the nest.

“You couldn’t even if you tried darling.” Yami said smugly.

“Relax you two.” Yugi said as he sat down between them, taking a controller from Yami and leaning back against the pillows behind him. “If anyone’ll be beating you, it’s me.”

“I love that confidence.” Atem said with a laugh, shuffling closer to him as he leaned back and looked up at the TV in front of them.

Yami laughed and settled on his other side, starting the game.

………..

The games had long since finished, all three of them more content to just lay together and do nothing instead of having to think.

Yugi wasn’t complaining.

He sighed happily as Yami brushed his face against his shoulder, a large black ear flicked him in the chin and he laughed. His hand slid down Atems hoody and under it, brushing through soft orange hued fur.

“This is nice.” He said softly. Yami hummed in agreement and Atem laughed, his lips brushing against the side of his neck.

“It is.” Atem said, a quick kiss was placed above his collar and he laughed. “You always take such good care of us.”

“I love you both.” He said, rubbing his head against Atem then turning to do the same to Yami. “So much.”

“We love you too.” Yami said happily, shuffling closer and rubbing his head under his jaw.

He knew what he was doing, as did Atem, but he also knew that Yami wouldn’t actually ask for what he wanted. He looked at Atem who smiled at him mischievously then they both moved at the same time.

Atem used his hold on Yamis hand to pull him over Yugi whilst he slid to the side fast enough for Yami to fall between him and Atem, his expression forced into one of shock but they both knew that Yami wasn’t really shocked at what they’d done.

He knew that Yami was right where he wanted to be.

With a laugh he curled around his boyfriend, his tail claiming one of Yamis legs just because he could. He rubbed his head against Yami, his ears brushed against his soft skin and through styled hair.

He knew Atem was doing the same and Yami tried to swat at them both but the deep rumbling purr he could hear and feel gave away just how much he enjoyed the attention.

Atem answered with a loud purr and small chirping sound which Yugi adored hearing. Yugi didn’t purr, he wasn’t sure he could, but he did answer his boyfriends sound with one of his own, smiling when Yami answered him too.

He smiled when he felt Atem take his hand which was resting over Yamis stomach, he looked up to find Atem smiling softly at him, his eyes closed in a slow blink which Yugi mirrored.

Yami laughed under them and nudged his head against Atems, demanding his attention and Yugi was only too happy to let Yami have this moment. He had all the love he needed after all just being here with these two people who had changed his life for the better.

He dropped his head to nuzzle against the soft black fur on the side of Yami’s neck, rubbing his face affectionately against his boyfriends and letting the resulting purr warm his heart whilst his boyfriends and the blanket nest around them warmed his body.

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If you guys like catboys, and boys having a good time, you should 100% go check out the wonderful Monarch fic Puzzle is writing at the moment- Strawberry

#mobiumshipping #atem #yugi mutou #yami yugi #fanfic #ygo dm #Happy birthday to a lovely and dear friend

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