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blueywrites · 1 year

Text

Where you and Steve swing with Eddie and Chrissy, and it gets complicated.

TO KNOW YOU'RE MINE (modern!swingers!au) (18+ only)

eddie munson x chrissy cunningham x steve harrington x you

fem!reader, chubby!reader, minimal use of y/n, body insecurity, swingers, mutual pining

chapter six: hey girl (18k) | playlist | AO3 | next

🎵 in this au, deftones=corroded coffin. the playlist is a combination of R's sad girl music vibes and some foreshadowing. the song for this chapter is #17-#23. All songs are mentioned by name with the exception of the last song, which is Gato de Noche. The Spanish lyrics mentioned in the text may hold some significance.

Wrapped up in her again

I was starting to spin

A record I can't pause

Hey Girl — Stephen Sanchez

You click in your lap belt, eyes fixed unblinkingly on the screen of your Switch balanced on your thighs. Your villager is seated on a mushroom log, her little head bobbing as she waits for you. She has many choices for how she can occupy her day. Perhaps you'll have her fish in the pond near her log cabin. Or maybe she'll start by checking out Tom Nook's shop for the daily selection of new furniture. You know for sure she'll be visiting her neighbors to see what new recipe she can learn to craft today.

Yes, your little Animal Crossing girl is waiting for you, and you try to focus on only that as the rumble beneath you intensifies, and the engine's roar turns nearly deafening. You don't look around the cabin, and you don't look out the tiny window to your right. But you do look at the girl to your left when her powdery-soft hand covers yours. You peer nervously into bright blue eyes and a megawatt smile that reveals slightly crooked teeth which only serve to make her look more charming.

"It's okay," Chrissy whispers, working her fingers between yours and squeezing comfortingly. "I'm right here."

You squeeze her back as the plane taxis on the runway. A hazel eye suddenly peeks at you from between the seats, concerned beneath a tousled head of brown hair. "You okay, baby?" Steve asks, and you nod, head bobbing extra hard as if to convince yourself. "It's only three hours. We'll be there before you know it. Want me to switch with Chris and sit with you?"

Chrissy, looks at you encouragingly. "Whatever you want," she says.

"...No," you reply, voice small. "It's okay. I'll be fine."

You feel the nerves intensify as the plane starts to rumble forward, slowly at first, and then faster and faster. Your breath begins to quicken as the acceleration pushes you back against the plasticky cushions—

Suddenly, a head of wild curls pops above the seat in front of you, brown eyes gleaming over a wide grin as Eddie plants his chin against the seatback. Anatomically, that would be impossible if he was following proper safety protocol; he must be breaking at least three rules of etiquette during takeoff.

"Eddie!" You hiss, gaze darting around the cabin to see if anyone has noticed. "Sit down!" You glance at Chrissy, but she's eyeing her boyfriend with a flat, resigned stare, clearly used to being unable to control him.

"I am sitting down," he replies with a cheeky tilt to those full lips. His arms join his chin as he folds them casually against the seatback. "Well, I'm half-sitting, half-kneeling, but still—"

"It's not safe!"

Eddie scoffs lightly, expression rife with mischief. "I'm perfectly safe, sweetheart. Car accidents kill far more people every year than plane crashes. I'm safer here than I would be driving my van."

"Truer words have never been spoken," Chrissy mutters to herself. Eddie merely smiles widely.

"See that? Chris agrees with me."

The force of your outraged glare only makes him chuckle. You sputter, "Eddie… if we get kicked off this flight because you don't know how to sit still for three hours—"

"Oh, I can sit still." Eddie cuts you off, glancing toward the nearby cabin wall before his eyes return to you, expression smug. "And you may want to look out the window."

You realize the scenery outside now looks like a circuit board— darkness cut by hundreds of tiny glittering lights in hues of white, red, and yellow, arranged in lines and grids far beneath you now.

You let out a slow breath, hand unclenching from Chrissy's. Eddie smiles again, pleased this time. "Ya see? The worst is over." His head disappears as he flops back into his seat; you exchange a pointed glance with Chrissy as you hear him say, "Don't worry. I'll be back for the landing."

After Chrissy and Eddie had left the night of the rule break back in early May, you'd fully expected things to be awkward between you despite Steve's assurances that he wasn't angry. You'd figured that, at the very least, Steve would be distant or cold to you or Eddie, or that he might decide he wants to pause your arrangement. But it seems that Steve has made every effort to convince everyone things are entirely normal. In doing so, somehow, they are.

At home, Steve is attentive and cheerful. He began a new habit of making dinner for you both on Thursday nights. He texts you whenever he's going to be home late, as well as throughout the day when you’re apart— sending you pictures that remind him of you, checking in on your work day, responding to your Tiktoks, or sometimes just leaving you cute little messages that make you giggle in the staff room while you eat your lunch. And when Steve’s hazel eyes shine as he holds you close and kisses your forehead, you feel a low flutter in your belly. You nuzzle into his chest, inhaling citrus and sea salt as he tells you he loves you.

He says it all the time.

Group play still occurs at least once a week, and you can't detect any tension between Steve and Eddie. You figure they must have spoken privately soon after what happened, and you're relieved that Steve is full of broad grins, affectionate back claps, and friendly banter whenever they're together. You know that must put Eddie at ease. Though he hadn't breathed a word about it since you'd texted that night, you're sure he'd been upset to have angered his friend.

When your phone had buzzed the morning after the incident, your first instinct was confusion, thinking that Eddie was texting you again; he never texts you during the day. But you'd been even more confused— even nervous— to see it wasn’t Eddie. Your heart hammered at the sight of Chrissy’s name, and you'd swipe open her message before even turning your alarm off. You were expecting the worst— accusations, bitterness, anger, something— but you were left floored at what she'd actually said.

'Hey, hon! Just wanted to check in and see how you're doing today. I hope you're not still upset and that Steve's okay, too. Just know I'm here for you.' She'd followed it up with a few sparkly pink hearts.

Chrissy's thoughtfulness struck you hard, and you found your eyes pricking with the sting of guilty tears at the utter lack of sourness in her message. 'I'm okay,' you'd replied. 'Steve and I talked last night, and he's okay, too. I really appreciate you texting.' You pause, lips twisting with remorse, shame sinking in your chest until you add, 'I feel like I owe you an apology. If I'd moved faster, this all could've been avoided. I'm sorry.'

You bite your thumbnail as you wait for Chrissy's response, but it comes quickly enough to stop your doubt from spiraling. 'Oh, babes, don't apologize!! It totally happens, and I'm not mad at all! Maybe next time, try squatting instead, so you have more leverage to push off when you need to. With more practice, you'll get used to it. You'll be a pro in no time." She'd sent a few kissy faces and heart emojis, enough that the guilt inside settled quickly, quelled with the force of her bubbly kindness.

'Thanks, Chrissy.' You'd sent her a heart too.

And, by some act of fortune, that had been that. You hadn't spoken of the rule break since, nor had you noticed any lasting repercussions on your group dynamic. Chrissy is still insistent on constant attention, but not any more so than she had been before. Eddie is still attentive but happy to go with the flow, as usual. And even Steve has continued to behave exactly the same. He isn't possessive when you go to Eddie, and Eddie goes to you. And, in fact, Steve shocks you even more when he suggests you all take a mini-vacation together: a weekend getaway to Miami in early June.

It's a much-needed respite from the drollness of your weekly routine working at the pediatrician's office; a lovely way to kick off the start of warm weather. You've never been to Miami, and you're eager to share in the new experience with Steve and your friends.

You're half-expecting the other shoe to drop when Steve sits you down at the kitchen table a couple of days later, regarding you seriously. But the conversation isn't a rehashing of the rule-break you'd feared it would be. Instead, Steve calmly and quietly explains that he wants to pay for Eddie and Chrissy's half of the shared hotel room and their plane tickets. You think of the text message Chrissy received from her mother, sympathy churning as the understanding passes between you— that you both have some knowledge of your friends' financial troubles but won't discuss it. You take Steve's hand, squeezing it tight as you tell him you admire his generosity, that it's one of the things you love most about him. Though he protests, you insist on paying for your share of the trip, wanting to do something to contribute. Steve's hazel eyes shine as he kisses your hand, and the way you move together that night, just the two of you, is more tender than it's been in quite some time.

Ahead of your trip, you and Chrissy spend an afternoon at the mall, and it's just as delightful as your first girls' trip had been. The mini-vacation is short— just a weekend— and because Eddie can't take off from work, you’ll be flying on Friday night after his shift. This means you only have two days and one night to plan for, and you decide to purchase a new bathing suit and an outfit for Saturday evening. Chrissy doesn't want anything, though you offer to pay; she insists that she has plenty in her closet she still hasn't worn from last year, and it would be wasteful to get something new. You suspect it's an excuse, but you kindly let her hide behind it anyway. Just like last time, Chrissy encourages you to step out of your comfort zone, and you end up leaving the mall giddy with your daring new purchases.

Soon enough, the first week of June arrives. The days zip to Friday, you zip to the airport, and now here you are, Switch balanced on the armrest between you and Chrissy as she coos and squeals over how cute Animal Crossing is. She's adorably attentive, and you find yourself both grateful and endeared as she lets you show her every inch of your island: all the fish and bugs you've caught, now displayed in the museum; all the rooms of your heavily-decorated log cabin; all the flowers and landscaping around your villagers' houses. Between playing and explaining to Chrissy what you're doing as you do it, the three hours pass by almost absurdly quickly.

True to his word, Eddie pops back around for the landing once the flight attendants have strapped in out of sight, grinning down at you from above the seatback like the Cheshire cat as you eye him flatly.

"Does he never listen?" You ask Chrissy, and you share a long-suffering glance, crossing your arms in a nearly synchronized show of exasperation.

"No," Chrissy replies flatly at the same time that Eddie protests,

"Yes!" He pouts, gaze darting between you both. "I listen—"

"When it suits you," Chrissy interjects, and you roll your eyes at the wolfish grin that splits Eddie's face.

"Precisely," he says, sounding utterly pleased with himself as you feel the skid-thunk of the plane landing on the tarmac.

Between your long night of packing on Thursday, your half day at the pediatrician's office, the long lines at the TSA, and the long-ish flight, you're now left thoroughly exhausted, swaying on your feet in front of the hotel check-in desk. Eddie is the only person who looks more tired than you— there are deep, dark circles under his squinty eyes as he leans his hands against the counter, elbows locked to keep himself upright. When you get your room, it's with silent agreement that you all prepare for bed. The guys strip down to underwear, you change into your pajamas, and Chrissy sheds all her layers to sleep nude. You don't even take a moment to examine your surroundings before you collapse into the bed furthest from the door, legs stretching against the luxurious sheets as Steve cuddles up behind you. He wraps you in warmth and the familiar scent of citrus and sea salt cologne that still clings to his skin.

You're asleep within seconds, and the pleased smile that kisses your lips lingers the entire night you spend in Steve's arms.

–

You wake to a balmy breeze and luminous sunshine flowing through the gauzy curtains. It's much earlier than you'd normally rise on a Saturday— early for everyone, you figure, especially Eddie, who looks like the walking dead with that nest of tangled curls around his head as he shuffles off to the bathroom.

As tired as you were last night, you have yet to examine your hotel room. You know the sheets are crisp and smell pleasantly like fresh laundry, and the tile floor is pleasantly cool under your bare toes, but that’s about it. Now, you can see that the room isn't too big, but it has two full beds, a closet and a dresser, and a fairly sizeable bathroom. You’re glad Steve decided to spend up for the location as opposed to the size of the room— it’s clean and seems to have high-quality linens, which, in your opinion, is all that really matters, especially since you’re only staying here for two nights. There is also a balcony facing the ocean, only a block away. You catch peeks of the water from the sliding glass door when the long curtains billow, and you smile when you consider how nice it'll be to sit out there with a glass of wine or, perhaps, with a coffee on Sunday morning.

It's morning now, but you don't have time to indulge in a lazy morning coffee. You'd all decided to make the most of your two days by jamming as much as possible into this one and then leaving tomorrow open to relax a little after an expected late night tonight. First order of business: get to the beach soon to snag a good spot.

You glance towards the other bed to see Chrissy still nude as she riffles in her suitcase. You do the same, digging for your bathing suit: a bikini the deep yellow-orange of a ripe sunflower, bottoms cut high on your waist to show off your wide hips, and top constructed of simple, delicate triangles that reveal more than they conceal. It's much skimpier than you're used to, and you feel a flash of doubt now that you're actually here, thinking about wearing it in public. That self-consciousness had been quelled by Chrissy's eager enthusiasm when you'd picked it out together, but it resurges now. You quickly retrieve your coverup: a long flowy dress, loose but cinched with a dainty tie at the waist. It drapes over you sumptuously, reminding you a little of a Grecian goddess— light, cool, something you can both feel comfortable and half-hide in. Your compromise to yourself when you'd packed, which you're intensely grateful for now.

You'd gotten used to these people seeing your body— Steve, who's donning navy swim shorts with little sailboats on them, messing with his hair in the full-length mirror; Chrissy, who's laid her even skimpier white string bikini out on the bed, ready for her once she finishes applying her suntan oil; and Eddie, who's rubbing sunscreen into his inky tattoos with care that seems out of place coming from him, pink tongue peeking between his lips in concentration. You may be used to them seeing you, but with that discomfort now wriggling in your belly, you don't follow Chrissy's lead; you duck instead into the bathroom to get changed.

Steve pokes his head past the half-closed door to find you with your foot up on the tub's rim, rubbing the white of your sunscreen away. You see him in the mirror, and he returns your smile.

"Want me to do your back?"

"Yes, please," you reply. He moves close behind you, fingers warm as he thoroughly rubs the lotion into your back, careful not to miss any spots. When he's done, you offer to reciprocate.

"Nah, I'm fine," Steve says, grinning at you. "I'm trying to work on my tan."

You eye him with fond exasperation. "You know you can still get tan with sunscreen," you point out, careful to avoid getting sunscreen on your dress as you lift it over your head.

You can hear the smile in Steve's voice behind you while you watch yourself tie the string beneath your breasts, adjusting the fabric til it drapes how you want it to. "It's not as good, though," he says lightly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

"If you say so," you say dryly, emerging to find Chrissy with her hair now in a springy ponytail, sunglasses perched on her head, beach bag slung over her shoulder.

"Ready?" she asks brightly, and you notice she isn't really wearing a coverup— just an entirely sheer skirt slung low on her hips, meant to entice more than anything else. She must be serious about her tan, you think, watching as she drops the bottle of suntan oil into her oversized bag. You grab your own tote and slip on your sandals, glancing at Eddie as he says, still sleep-hoarse,

"As I'll ever be at this godforsaken hour." He's facing away from you, hair pulled into a low messy bun at the nape of his neck, and your face crumples in amusement as you notice that, despite how fastidious he'd been about his tattoos, the sunscreen applied to the rest of his body seemed to be slapped on haphazardly— streaky, still white on his shoulders and the backs of his calves. You suspect that if you were to touch the middle of his back where he can't reach, it would be completely dry.

"Hold on," you sigh. Eddie half-turns, eyeing you curiously as you approach him determinedly.

"What're you doin'?" He mumbles, brown eyes still hazy with sleep. You press your fingers to his shoulders to straighten them again, so he's facing away from you.

Brisky, you squeeze sunscreen into your hands, replying with amusement, "How could you be so careful with your tattoos and so sloppy with the rest of you? Unacceptable."

Eddie huffs but holds still as you rub sunscreen into his shoulders, using the back of your hand to push up his bun so you can get his neck too. "D'you know how much pain I endured to get these bad boys? No way am I lettin' 'em fade."

"Well, you should pay the rest of your skin the same respect. With how pale you are, you would absolutely burn to a crisp out there." You work quickly and clinically, smoothing your hands over Eddie's sides and the small of his back before kneeling so you can get his knees and calves where they're exposed beneath the black trunks slung low on his hips. When your cold fingers sneak up under the hem to cover the bottom inch or so of his thighs, Eddie yelps, leg twitching away from your touch.

You twist your lips against a smile as he grumbles, "Your fingers are cold."

"Oh, don't be a baby," you retort lightly, patting him on the back of his calf when you're done. "There. Now you won't get skin cancer." He huffs again, brown eyes flashing as he twists to regard you flatly when you straighten. You beam at him. "Thank you, y/n," you prompt him, exaggeratedly cheeky.

Despite himself, a corner of Eddie's lips quirks then. "Thanks, I guess," he says, as you don your tote again. Steve slings his arm around your shoulders, and you smile up at him as he tugs you close.

"Now we're ready," you announce— and with that, you all set off for the gleaming sands of Miami's beaches.

–

The nearby lifeguard stand— which is more a full structure with a spiraling staircase than a stand— is bright pink, orange, and green, the gaudiest you've ever seen as you all traipse over the sand onto South Beach. Despite the early hour, it’s already teeming with people setting up their chairs and umbrellas and towels, preparing for a day rife with the promise of summer fun. You all settle on a spot not too far from that flashy landmark, and you gaze out at the water as the breeze ruffles your dress and hair. Your eyes are fixed on the clear turquoise of the water, the line where it meets the periwinkle of the sky dusted with fluffy clouds. A perfect beach day.

Despite the alluring color of the water, you sink into one of the two folding beach chairs Steve sets up, supplied by the hotel. In front of you, Eddie flops stomach-down onto the towel he's laid haphazardly against the sand; beside him, Chrissy sits much more gracefully, leaning back on her palms as she stretches her bare legs, sheer skirt abandoned as soon as you'd chosen your spot. "Oh, this is so nice!" she exclaims, and you can't help but wholeheartedly agree as you reach into your tote bag for your beach essentials: a new book and your AirPods.

The sea breeze is balmy, and the sun plays between the shifting clouds, bathing you in relaxing warmth as you dig your toes contentedly into the sand. Despite the many strangers around you, the beach is not yet too loud. Everything feels subdued, dream-like almost, so you keep your earbuds out and instead listen to the chorus of the rhythmic waves and the distant cries of seagulls, letting them become your soundtrack for now. Steve's broad hand rests comfortably upon your knee, nearly hot through the light fabric of your dress, and his thumb traces a random pattern. Your head tilts as you sigh, a smile playing on your lips, eyes heavy with the peace of this moment as you glance at each of your companions: Chrissy stretched out to soak up the rays, skin glistening with suntan oil; Eddie with his curly head pillowed face-down on his arms, body so slack you suspect he's probably fallen back asleep; and Steve at your side, hazel eyes affectionate as you smile wider at him. His expression softens as he regards you before murmuring, "Are you happy?"

"Yes," you answer quietly. Sincerely. "I'm very happy."

Steve seems pleased at your answer, and when you brush his hair back out of his eye, he catches your hand gently to press a tender kiss to your wrist. "Good," he murmurs against your skin, another kiss lingering until he releases your hand. Fondness bubbling up inside, you lean over towards your boyfriend; when you kiss him, Steve tastes salty from the breeze on his lips.

This is how you spend the first couple of hours or so: absorbed in your book as Steve alternates between scrolling on his phone, resting with heavy, contented sighs, and occasionally pressing kisses to your fingers as you keep reading, ensuring that you feel steadily more full with hazy contentment as he pays you unobtrusive attention. At one point, he decides to dip into the water after asking if any of you want to join him. But Eddie is asleep, Chrissy is sunbathing, and the book has just gotten good, so he goes by himself without complaint. He wanders back soon enough, noting that the water is too cold for him to venture in past his ankles.

Around eleven, you crack open the tiny cooler Steve had packed, pulling out water bottles and cans of High Noon and Corona, then snacking on chips, salsa, and orange slices. You sit with Chrissy on her blanket as she peels the flesh from her orange rinds, and Steve nudges Eddie's leg out of the way so he can join in too. Eddie wakes up then, crossing his legs as he leans forward eagerly to peer into the container. "No strawberries?" he asks, pouting lightly, and you feel affection well up as you pass him the chip you'd just loaded with salsa in recompense. He seems adequately satisfied with the substitute, and you continue to indulge in salty chips, savory salsa, and sweet fruit until you're content.

Not long after you've returned to reading, a flurry of activity some distance away draws your attention. By the green edge at the top of the beach, some men and women around your age are mingling in a clump near a portable volleyball net.

You notice Steve eyeing the activity with interest; you smile as you see his enthusiasm. "I think I'm gonna go over there," he says, neck craning to see better. "Doesn't look like they have enough people yet."

"What's— ooh!" Chrissy's blue eyes brighten as she twists to look. "I love volleyball!"

"Wanna get in on it with me?"

"Oh, hell yes!" Chrissy exclaims, popping up without hesitation. Steve glances at you again, brows perked behind his bangs as if he's checking for your approval.

"Go for it," you say, chuckling as he scrambles up immediately, brushing the sand from his legs as he and Chrissy jog over toward the group. You watch them exchange words with one of them, pleased when Steve's face lights up with a broad grin, and he claps the guy on the shoulder.

You feel your left side suddenly dip as the sand shifts when Eddie tumbles into the chair beside you, drawing your attention from Steve as you flash a smile at him. You go back to watching as Steve and Chrissy choose their spots around the net, book forgotten as you follow Steve's movements with interest— the broad muscles on his back, his tanned arms stretching as he volleys the ball easily before falling into a slight crouch, coiled and poised to move wherever he needs to. When he sets up a teammate and they score the first point, you can hear Chrissy's delighted shriek from across the sand. Steve and Chrissy exchange an enthusiastic double high-five before he glances back, hand dragging through his hair as his eyes dart. And when you wave your hand high in the air, so Steve knows that you saw his set-up, the broadness of his brilliant smile warms you inside.

Beside you, that smoke voice curls against your ear. "You make him really happy, you know." You glance at Eddie to see him looking past you, brown eyes still fixed on the makeshift volleyball court, gleaming with fondness. "He'd dated around a bit since Nancy, but you're the first girl he was ever really serious about. He's been much happier these last few years since you came around."

Though the sentiment settles comfortably behind your sternum, you can't help but also feel confused. "Thanks, I'm really glad he's happy," you say sincerely before adding, "Who's Nancy?"

Eddie's eyes had drifted back toward the game, but they snap to you then, suddenly wide. "Steve never mentioned…?" Eddie's voice is a little weak before he trails off, and when you shake your head, you watch his expression go a little panicked and sheepish. "Ah… shit," he finally says, face contorting in a wince. "I guess I shouldn't have said anything."

You frown. Eddie’s behavior reveals that not only had he expected you to know about this— which means it's something Steve is keeping from you— but that he considers it to be touchy enough that he regrets mentioning it. As your book slides on your lap when you lean toward him, you close it without looking, dropping it impatiently to the sand. "Well, now you have to tell me, Eddie." You stare at him as his eyes narrow hesitantly, but your expression is unwavering. "You can't just leave me hanging after saying something like that."

Eddie sighs heavily, hands rubbing against his thighs as he looks out at the ocean. He tugs absently on a lock of his hair as he talks. "Steve dated this girl, Nancy, for almost all of high school. She's the same age as you and Chris." Your eyes are rapt to Eddie's face as he glances at you. "They got together when she was a freshman. They became really close." He shifts, facing you more directly. "You know, a lot of couples break up when they graduate, especially if one person is still in high school and one is going on to college. But Steve was committed despite things being long-distance. He even got close with her family. Went on vacations with them, shared holidays, that kind of thing."

Eddie's eyes soften with sympathy for his friend as they dart between yours, and he adds quietly, "You know what things are like with his parents, so..." You nod, somber as you remember Steve confiding in you the broken state of his relationship with his mother and father. He tries to pretend it doesn't bother him, but you know it's still a wound, especially around the holidays. It's why you always make sure those times are busy for him and full of cheer. It helps that your parents and older sister love Steve, and he fits in seamlessly with your family.

Eddie's voice snaps you out of your musing. "Nancy's younger brother was in D&D club with me in school, so that's how Steve and I got better acquainted. And, uh… that's kind of the basics." He pauses, and you feel your stomach sink with the expression on his face. Eddie speaks slowly, carefully, as if he's treading lightly for the first time in his recounting of this story. "And then they broke up. 'Cause she… well, she cheated on him." You glance at your lap, weighed down with the seriousness apparent in Eddie's voice, how he lapses into somber silence. Clearly, this event was defining in Steve's life. Quietly, Eddie adds, "He was upset about it for… a long time." He shrugs a little helplessly, contrite. "And that's probably about as much as I should say. You could ask him about it if you wanna know more."

You nod slowly, chest heavy with sympathetic sorrow for your boyfriend. But your mind is swirling with all you've learned, all you'd never known. "Yeah," you say, unsure whether you will. Because even though you'd told Steve everything— about the two boyfriends you'd had before him; about how you'd done stuff with them but hadn’t gone all the way before him; about how he'd been the first guy you'd ever said 'I love you' to— even though you'd told him all of that, not once had Steve ever mentioned anything about Nancy. And you feel foreboding pang deep in the pit of your stomach, mixing with the weight of your sorrow until you're too uncomfortable to dwell anymore.

You ask quickly, "Did you and Chrissy start dating in high school?"

Eddie is clearly relieved that you've dropped the subject and won't press him for more. "Yep," he replies, "she almost got away— we started dating when she was a senior."

Desperate for the distraction of a story told with typical Eddie-level theatrics, you lean your elbow on the arm of the chair and plant your chin there, tilting towards him as you ask eagerly, "How'd you get together? Don't spare the details; I wanna hear it all."

"All right," he grins, flashing eye teeth as his eyes brighten at the promise of weaving his tale. Short curls sway around his pale quartz face as he gestures dramatically. "So, picture this: Chrissy Cunningham, head cheerleader, cute as a button. The sweetest, most popular girl in school; the queen—" Eddie's voice goes all breathy with dramatic awe, "—of Hawkins High." When you giggle at his antics, his expression falls into a broad grin. "And she's dating this bible thumpin' golden boy, head of the basketball team, personal torturer of nerds and outcasts everywhere. He's the king to Chrissy's queen, the supreme douche himself... Jason Carver."

You stifle your amused smile in an effort to say seriously, "I take it you and he didn't get along."

"Oh," Eddie says easily, "hated each other's fuckin' guts. Anyway…" he plants his elbow on his own chair arm to mirror your posture, leaning in and affecting his voice like you're two girlfriends gossiping. "So what had happened was, Chrissy was getting a little sick and tired of all the pressure to be perfect all the time. Perfect looks, perfect grades, perfect boyfriend, perfect future. So she started lookin' for ways to, ah… take the edge off. Let loose a little bit." He eyes you cautiously, letting his voice trail into implication. "You know…"

You assume Eddie is probably talking about drugs, though he seems to be reluctant to acknowledge it outright. "I get it," you say dryly, though not unkindly, and his lips tilt in a little smile before he continues.

"So that's how we started talking. And what began as a little bit of business turned to some steamy meetings at the picnic bench in the woods outside school, and, ya know… this lead to that, and the rest is history." He smiles broadly. "So the queen of Hawkins High left the king and started dating the freak."

Eddie says the word 'freak' with the utmost lightness, but the word strikes you immediately. You frown, nose wrinkling as you repeat him incredulously. "Freak?"

"Yeah," he replies casually, lounging back, stretching his lanky legs comfortably. "That's what they called me."

You blink rapidly as you're left reeling with the absurdity of it— that someone could look at the gorgeous man sitting beside you and call him a freak. You scoff, mouth working soundlessly until you can finally speak, unable to keep from sounding appalled. "What, 'cause you… you were into heavy metal and, like, had your ears pierced?"

Eddie chuckles a little weakly, brown eyes darting from your stare, which is fierce with offense for him. "Well, I mean, it wasn't just that," he replies, shifting in his seat.

You swallow, leaning back and reigning in the vehemence of your reaction when you see how you're making Eddie uncomfortable. You want to question him more, to force him to tell you what else there could be to justify them calling him something like that. But Eddie's brown eyes are clouded, a little frown creasing between his dark brows as he taps his fingers against his thigh. You decide not to pry. "That just seems so… bizarre," you say. "That people would still think like that."

Eddie chuckles again, a little wry but not as weak this time. "Small-town Indiana, you know? It's like they're stuck in the fifties. Everybody's gotta be a certain way, or else."

"Well," you reply, smiling gently as he looks at you again when you say sincerely, "I'm glad Chrissy didn't fall into that stupid trap. You guys seem really good together." Fondness blooms in your chest when Eddie smiles back.

"It's been five years now. Moved in together near the end of last year, actually. It was a bit of an adjustment at first, but it's been good."

Your eyes glint with mischievousness then, and you can't help but tease, "Wait, let me guess: you're a roll-under instead of a roll-over toilet paper guy, aren't you?"

Eddie feigns a gasp, pressing a hand to his inked chest. "How dare you accuse me of such wretchedness."

You giggle, and he breaks the affronted act quickly, the husky sound of his genuine laughter warming you inside, fluttering low in your belly. You eye Eddie for a moment, realizing that this is the longest and most open conversation you've probably ever had with him. And there's something that's been nagging at you, especially since Chrissy had checked in so kindly with you after that night Steve got mad. It's something you were never going to bring up to Chrissy, but considering how forthcoming Eddie's been this morning, maybe he'll be receptive to you asking. "So, when we went to see Avatar back in May, I accidentally saw this text from her mom. Is Chrissy, like… okay?"

Eddie sighs heavily, rubbing the back of his hair as his expression falls slightly. "Yeah, she's… she's okay." He glances away again. "She has a rough relationship with her parents, especially with her mom. 'Member how I said she had all that pressure, and that's why we started talking?" He glances briefly at you to see you nod. "They had all these expectations for what they wanted her to do with her life— go to church every Sunday, train hard for cheer while also getting perfect grades, go to the best college, marry Jason, all so she can become just like them. Look this way, say that thing. Be their perfect little… robot. And she just got sick of it. She didn't wanna do it anymore."

After a brief pause, Eddie slumps a little lower in the chair, rubbing at his knuckles. And his voice, when he says this, is so casual— but the way it affects you is anything but. "You know, sometimes, I think Chris wanted to stick it to her parents, and that's why she started dating me: Mr. Bad Reputation. But it's been five years, and she hasn't left me yet," he jokes, lips stretching with a grin even as you frown, retorting immediately,

"I don't see why she would ever leave you, Eddie. I mean, what's not to like?"

For a long moment, Eddie is quiet. Those brown eyes, normally so bright and lively, stay stuck on his hands as he fidgets with his fingers and ruddy knuckles. You figure he must be missing his typical rings, left back in the room to remain untarnished by salt water. He doesn't look at you, but your eyes are riveted on Eddie's downturned face, pale quartz framed by dark ink curls.

And then Eddie finally meets your gaze, face a mask of bland indifference. "I sold drugs all throughout high school. I failed senior year three times and only passed by the skin of my teeth. Obviously, I never went to college." You blink, almost wanting to look away at the baldness, the flatness of his words. The utter lack of feeling that feels so wrong coming from Eddie. "I grew up in a trailer park. I lived in low-income housing 'til I was twenty-three. And now, I'm a mechanic who can't afford to take one day off for a vacation." He huffs a humorless chuckle, quirking a sardonic brow as he stares at you. "Need I go on?"

Speaking can often be difficult for you. You usually fight to find the right words to say.

But looking into Eddie's eyes, the most beautiful shade of brown you've ever seen, you don't need to fight now. Not with these words. These words surge straight up from the bottom of you, from that hidden place grown lush with deep roots and slowly blooming greenery that now strains from the soil, leaves quivering, bending toward the man at your side. They burst from your mouth, and you don't even have to think about them. "Eddie. First of all, you're ridiculously talented and so passionate. It's like… electric to watch you perform. And you're funny. When we went to get ice cream that first time we met, I was nervous it would be awkward 'cause I usually don't know what to say around people I don't know. But you just have this way of making people laugh and feel at ease. You pretend you're all mean and scary because you listen to metal, but you're actually so incredibly kind. Plus, you're probably the realest person I know. Totally authentic and unapologetically an absolute weirdo." And your eyes, which once had darted from the intensity of this man beside you, from the light that shines within him— they don't flit away, not even once. Fiercely, determinedly, you finish your speech. "So. Like I said. What's not to like?"

There is another long pause as Eddie stares back at you, expression unreadable, blank aside from a little crease between his brows. You regard him calmly, patiently; you refrain from pressing him for a response, letting Eddie take his time to consider what you said. And you think, as the moment lingers, that perhaps you'll see it again: that pink on Eddie's black and white, the gentleness blooming out from his eyes, maybe now beginning to soften his features. Tentative hope builds as he holds your gaze, eyes darting between yours. And when Eddie's eyes dart to your lips, your heart thumps hard, moths fluttering; you scarcely dare to breathe.

But when Eddie's eyes meet yours again, he just shrugs one shoulder, letting it fall sharply as he looks away. When Eddie turns from you, he leans his chin in his palm, hunching forward; your stomach swoops with disappointment at his lackluster response, brow crumpling until you notice his knee bouncing erratically, hand fisted against his leg, knuckles white with the force of his grip. Your disappointment transforms to empathy as you watch him— tense, nostrils flared, brow tugged low over his brown eyes.

You realize that Eddie just doesn't know what to do with what you said about him. He doesn't know how to react to you hearing all the negative things he revealed about himself and excusing them entirely, focusing plainly on his good qualities. The ones you suspect that, maybe, Eddie has trouble seeing in himself. And you think about all the times Eddie has helped you through your own hesitance and anxiety, reassuring you in that calm way that almost seems like it would be unnatural coming from Eddie Munson, but has always felt right, just felt like a part of him.

Here is an opportunity for you to return Eddie's consistent kindness.

You move to stand in front of him, blocking Eddie's view of the ocean with your body. His brow crinkles as he looks up at you, fingers still curled over his mouth. "All right, you," you say brightly. "We're going for a walk on the beach. Maybe if you're lucky, we can get your pasty ass a tan."

Eddie's frown softens fractionally when you grin at him, but he doesn't move, expression a little skeptical. You hold out your hands expectantly, wiggling your fingers until Eddie, rather reluctantly, puts his hands in yours. "Come on, then—" your voice goes tight as you haul him up. "Holy— you're heavier than I thought you'd be," you pant, shaking out your arms dramatically as Eddie finds his footing. Those brown eyes are no longer as flat now, instead twinkling with slight amusement as you grab your phone and your AirPods case, presenting one earbud to him with a flourish. When Eddie doesn't reach out to take your offering, you snatch his hand, pressing it into his palm.

"What's this for?" he asks, staring down at the white bud.

You navigate to the Spotify app on your phone. "Have you never gone on a beach walk listening to music like you're in an indie teen movie?"

"Uh—" Eddie huffs a chuckle. "Can't say I have."

"Oh, you're missing out." When you see him eyeing you with skepticism, you roll your eyes exaggeratedly. "Look, I'll put my Spotify on shuffle. It'll be, like, seventy percent me, thirty percent you."

Eddie's laugh is genuine again, and you bask in the sound. "Somehow, I doubt that percentage," he retorts, though he gamely acquiesces, fitting the bud into his ear.

"Oh, ye of little faith!" You drop the case and your phone into your deep dress pocket and lead the way; they bounce against your thigh as Eddie falls into step with you. The first song begins with an eerie tinkling of bells before the guitar comes in, harsh and aggressive. You tilt your head as you eye him, saying smugly, "See?"

Eddie raises his hands, a grin tugging at his full lips. "I eat my words, sweetheart," he concedes, and your heads bob in time to the beat as you walk along the beach listening to The Summoning by Sleep Token. It strikes you as exceedingly amusing that, while everyone around you is casually lounging around on the beach in sunny Florida, you and Eddie are listening to eerie wailing and a heavy-metal singer husking, 'You've got my body, flesh and bone…' You giggle as Eddie gets really into it while he walks, strumming his invisible guitar and tossing his head until some more curls fall loose from his bun.

You walk in silence, soaking in the instrumentals until the dreamy soundscape interlude subsides into a funk breakdown, and the singer croons, 'Oh, and my love, did I mistake you for a sign from God?' "This is my favorite part!" You tell Eddie, eyes bright with enthusiasm as you turn to him.

You read his expression as both amused and impressed. "Okay, y/n. I see you. This part is sexy."

Eddie grins wolfishly as you flush, cheeks heating as you purse your lips; you walk a little faster, so he has to lope with longer steps to keep up. You hear him chuckling to himself but choose to ignore it.

The next song is Slow Mover by Angie McMahon, and within the first ten seconds of hearing her drawling voice, Eddie remarks, "Now I feel like I'm in an indie teen movie." You aren't sure whether he's being critical, but his expression is only slightly wry as he twists to walk backward in front of you instead of by your side. "Feel like I'm the main girl who's recklessly hitched a ride on a train, runnin' away from home towards the inevitable homelessness waiting for me in the city."

It takes considerable effort to keep your expression neutral while you say this, but by some miracle, you manage it. "Well, you certainly have the hair for it."

Eddie's eyes widen in delight even as his mouth falls open in outrage. "You sayin' I have hobo hair?" He makes to grab your waist, but you dodge him with a shrill shout, giggling. "Might have to rescind your nickname if you keep criticizing me. You'll be sweet girl no longer."

"No!" You whine softly, pouting up at him as you let him snatch you around the middle. "Anything but that." You're joking, but you're also not, though you giggle again as Eddie shimmies you playfully back and forth.

"Then be nice," he says warningly, and you nod your obedience quickly, eyes wide and beseeching. "'Kay then. I'll trust you," he says, releasing you so you can continue your wandering path along the beach.

As Angie sings, 'Friend, oh friend, I am a slow, slow girl,' you catch Eddie's brown eyes twinkling. "You are a slow girl," he says cheekily. "You're walking slow."

You pout, protesting his unfair assessment. "It's hard to walk on dry sand!"

"Then let's walk down there," Eddie offers, and you dip down to the water's edge, sand wet and pliant between your toes as you squish along much more easily. As a wave recedes, you see a sudden small object scuttling away from you.

"Look! A crab!" You exclaim, grabbing Eddie's forearm. Excitement surges as you trace its frantic path with your eyes until it disappears into the surf. You turn to Eddie, eyes shiny with innocent delight. His arm is warm under your fingers, and the breadth of his answering smile— the way it dimples his cheek and crinkles his brown eyes like the sun itself is shining in them— makes those wings flutter low in your stomach again.

You suddenly realize that you've wandered far enough that the pink and green and orange lifeguard structure is no longer visible; you and Eddie are alone, surrounded only by strangers. The only other time you've ever been truly alone was when you'd gone to get ice cream the first time you'd met him. The flutters surge a little harder at the realization, but you don't have any time to process as Eddie says suddenly, "Let's go in the water."

Your hand falls from his arm, eyes darting to take in just how many strangers surround you. The answer is very many; the beach, by this time, is quite crowded. And while you aren't afraid of Eddie seeing you in your new bathing suit, that self-consciousness from the hotel room resurges at the idea of baring yourself to the possibility of stares and flickering expressions.

Your hesitance softens as Eddie moves closer, and suddenly all you see is that face you treasure: strong jaw, soft nose, full lips, wide brown eyes framed by long lashes. Dark curls that tumble around his shoulders when he pulls the band from his hair, slipping it onto his wrist instead. "Come in the water with me," he coaxes you, smoke voice quiet and gentle. And as you breathe it in, it soothes the discomfort, settling full and rich in your belly.

You nod, retrieving your phone and AirPod case from your deep dress pocket and putting away your earbuds. You let Eddie's nimble fingers pull the bow from the tie at your waist, and carefully, he gathers the flowy fabric, lifting it until your sunflower-yellow bikini is revealed. The bathing suit is more daring than anything you've worn in public before, and you feel like every inch of your softness is exposed, each vulnerable part of you on display. You take the dress quickly from Eddie's hands, folding it to give you something to occupy yourself with. You drop it to the sand beside you, gritting your teeth as you bend to tuck your phone and AirPods beneath the fabric, trying not to think about how crunching over probably makes your body look unattractive.

But when you straighten, your eyes widen to see how Eddie's looking at you. His gaze is milder, more controlled than usual, but you still respond to the heat behind his dark eyes as they caress your body silently. He swallows thickly when your breathing quickens, eyes drawn to your breasts as they rise and fall visibly. Though the way Eddie is looking at you has dispelled your discomfort about strangers' judgments, this moment is quickly becoming tense and loaded. You feel a stirring of conflicting emotions: attraction, trepidation, and excitement mixing into a jumbled mess behind your sternum, underpinned with sluggish guilt oozing anew in your gut.

Because you're alone with Eddie. And though a thrill races through you at the thought, you know you should not be thinking about kissing him right now.

Rule number one, you remind yourself, shifting subtly backward and speaking in an attempt to break the tension between you. "I don't wanna go in all the way," you tell him.

Eddie blinks as if he's suddenly just come back to himself. "And why is that?" he asks, sounding elaborately casual.

You eye him cautiously, alarmed by the sudden twinkle in his eye, the growing tilt to his wide mouth. "Because Steve said it's cold—"

He moves so fast you have no time to react, and you yelp as you find yourself suddenly hoisted into Eddie's arms. "Eddie!" You squeak, face flaming and stomach swooping in intense embarrassment as he holds you bridal-style. "You can't carry me!"

There's a reason why you've never asked any of your boyfriends to carry you, why Steve has never even attempted to pick you up beyond a quick lift a couple of inches from the ground. The words I'm too heavy hang unsaid on your lips, and your brow crinkles pleadingly; you're silently begging Eddie not to make you say it.

"Can't I?" He challenges, and your arms wrap desperately around his neck as you scrunch your eyes shut, prepared for Eddie to concede or to halt halfway or for his arms to simply give out due to his sheer stubbornness. But when you hear splashing, you peek to see him already calf-deep in the water. "Shit," he huffs, and you feel his chuckles rumbling in his chest where you're pressed against it. "All right, I'll admit it's kinda cold."

Eddie doesn't even seem to struggle as he carries you into the ocean, and you can't pretend you aren't surprised. I guess he's stronger than he looks, you acknowledge, shoulders relaxing fractionally as he eases into the water. "Told you it was cold," you mumble sourly, and you feel him laugh again, flutters stirring as you realize suddenly how Eddie's arms are wrapped around you, supporting you solidly; how warm his sun-kissed skin is against yours; how your nose is nearly pressed to the base of his throat—

"Fuck—!"

Your yelp is cut off as Eddie stumbles on a sandbar; together, you collapse into the water.

The shock of cold nearly steals your breath until, almost as quickly, Eddie hauls you up out of the water. "Holy shit," he gasps, hands tight against your upper arms as you sputter, trying to find your footing. The sand dips down right past the bar, nearly too far to stand, but Eddie steadies you before his palms find your face, messily pushing your wet hair back where it's covering your eyes. Eddie sounds so upset as he stammers, "Shit, y/n, I am so sorry—"

But you're laughing, head tilting back as Eddie tries desperately to fix your hair, though his attempts are clumsy at best. You take over for him, dipping into the water so you can slick the length of your hair back. "It's fine," you say through leftover chuckles, eyes widening suddenly in alarm as you register the wave heading straight for you behind Eddie's back.

He registers your reaction a second before you're hit, and you both somehow manage to duck in time for the wave to pass without jostling you too much. Still, Eddie's body drifts toward yours with its force, and when you pop from the water, his arms close around your middle, holding you up higher than you could reach yourself. Almost automatically, your arms wrap around his shoulders, and your legs do the same around his hips. You cling to him, buoyant, letting him hold you in the waves.

Eddie seems relieved that you aren't mad and, even more so, delighted that you'd laughed off getting unexpectedly dunked under the cold water. "Don't worry, sweet girl," he says, playfully tightening his arms. "I've got you. I'll fight off every rip current and seagull that tries to snatch you with my bare hands."

You giggle, matching his energy with your reply. "Thank you, oh mighty bard, for keeping me safe from the terrors of the sea."

"Any time." Eddie smiles broadly again, looking utterly pleased that you'd played along.

And as your gaze runs over Eddie's dark hair plastered to his cheeks and neck, his long lashes beaded with saltwater, his lips so full and pink and his brown eyes so utterly alive, longing strikes you, swift and potent. Longing that begs you to bury your fingers in those wet curls. To taste the salt on Eddie's mouth. To hold him close, bury your nose in the crook of his neck, and never let him go.

It's so powerful, the impulse, that it zips straight down to pulse hard in your pussy, fluttering the moth wings wildly on the way. You feel your face sway instinctually toward him, your eyes dipping beyond your control to his lips. And as you register the dawning realization in Eddie’s eyes when your gaze darts back to beautiful brown, you remember, suddenly, Steve's anger and sadness, the distress he'd felt at the first rule you and Eddie had broken.

And that had been an accident. What you want to do is entirely intentional.

Trepidation and guilt win out.

As you loosen your arms and legs, Eddie releases his grip immediately to let you put some distance between you. His brow is a little pinched, eyes almost worried until you splash him lightly, lips quirking with a small playful smile. When he smiles back, splashing you boldly, you internally sag with relief.

You and Eddie spend some time playing around in the waves, but it doesn't take long for the appeal of the sun's warm rays to draw you out of the sea. You squeeze the water from your hair as Eddie shakes his like a dog; you're half-amused and half-exasperated as he sprays you with droplets. You'd neglected to bring any towels, so you slick the water off your skin with your hands as best you can; you dry your ears with the hem of your dress, offering it to Eddie so you can both listen to music on the walk back. After, you drop your phone and your AirPod case into your dress pocket without wearing it. You figure you can just carry it for now, and by the time you return to your belongings, your body will be dry enough to put it back on.

The first song on your walk back starts strong.

'You say I want to be your girlfriend—'

The playful affectation and cheery pop beat of Hemlock Springs' Girlfriend conjure opposing reactions in you and Eddie. While your mouth falls open in a delighted smile, Eddie's nose crinkles, head shaking as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, gesturing sharply. "No. Nope. No way," he says firmly, brow crooked in dismay as you skip ahead of him, entirely unbothered by his vehement rejection of the song.

"It's really catchy!" You protest, head bopping as the synths drop in. "Give it a chance."

Eddie grumbles as he catches up to you, eyeing your swaying shoulders begrudgingly. You walk together briefly before he falls behind, and when you notice he's no longer by your side, you turn, already frowning in anticipation of more complaints about the music. But Eddie's just bending to pick something up in the sand, hand wagging in the water before he straightens and jogs to you. He shows you that he's found a small scallop shell, banded bright red and white. He offers it to you, and you take it from him delicately, happiness blooming along with your brilliant smile. "Thanks, Eddie!" you say, shoulders back to swaying as you start to dance as you walk. You stare down at your scallop shell for another moment before slipping it carefully into the other pocket of your dress.

When the song's bridge hits, you spin to face Eddie, shoulders shaking jauntily, hips wiggling as you sing along: 'Secretly, I'm aiming for a rhythm that exceeds my expectations. Am I ever gonna get it?' You affect an attitude for the second line, rubbing your shoulder against his arm as you pretend to pout before smiling widely, dancing away.

And you aren't thinking about the people around you as your feet play in the water, the breeze tickles against your bare stomach, and your ass wobbles when you sway your hips. You're not thinking about any of that. You're just in the moment— listening to a treasured song, dancing along the beach beside a treasured person.

By the song's end, you even catch a glimpse of Eddie bobbing his head, though he stops as soon as he sees you looking. Your shit-eating grin makes him huff, but it's too late for him to pretend he wasn't getting into it. You're just about to rib on him when the next song begins— the tonal shift strikes you, and your mirth fades as the acoustic guitar introduces Stephen Sanchez's Hey Girl.

This song is very different from Girlfriend. It's introspective and sentimental. You can feel the longing in his voice when he sings, 'Hey girl, with your head in the clouds: I wanna love you, I wanna love you—'

After the poignancy of earlier when Eddie held you in the waves, this song strikes you as too raw and vulnerable. Overwhelmed, you dig your phone out of your pocket to skip to the next one, but calloused fingers on your arm stop you. "Don't change it. I like this one," Eddie says quietly, voice husky like smoke; you glance to see his eyes fixed on your hand, and you're suddenly grateful he isn't looking at your face.

Hesitantly, you obey, throat thick with the sentiment of the song. And where there'd been a comfortable gap between your bodies, slowly, by degrees, you feel yourself drifting closer as Eddie does the same, drawn together like you're being pulled in by some invisible force. The longing inside you transforms, sharpening, turning wistful as Eddie's hand brushes yours lightly, light enough to be incidental. But when Eddie's calloused fingers nudge against yours tentatively, you know the brush is deliberate. And though you keep staring straight ahead, you weave your fingers together, holding Eddie's hand as you walk back down the beach together.

You suppose, to all those strangers watching from their towels and beach chairs, that you and Eddie look like an average couple holding hands. But you're not. You're not that at all— not average, and not a couple. Yet when Stephen sings, 'Oh good God, I'm tongue-tied, I'm a landslide when you move,' and you feel Eddie's fingers squeeze yours gently, deliberately, you can't help the tremble of your chin, the slight sting of your eyes as your green quivers, growing taller. The leaves fan, full and plush and soft with downy fuzz. And as small white flowers, tiny and delicate, open their petals, you squeeze Eddie's fingers back. Gently, deliberately.

A tiny smile blooms on your lips as you feel his thumb rasp slowly across your skin. And all the rest of what you feel— the trepidation, the anxiety, the guilt— it all falls away as you flutter with the tender affection of Eddie's touch.

All too soon, that gaudy lifeguard stand juts ugly into the sky, and as you spot the distant yet familiar forms now sitting in those beach chairs— a hairy man in navy trunks and a petite blonde woman in a bright white string bikini— you feel Eddie's fingers slide from yours.

The loss of Eddie's hand is acute. It pangs within you hollowly, but you school your features as you approach your boyfriend and friend, whose expressions perk as they spot you and Eddie. And just like your feet sink into the sand, you let your feelings sink down until they're concealed beneath a layer of soft, protective dirt.

"You went in the water?" Steve asks as you approach his side, dropping a quick kiss on his cheek.

"Wasn't it cold?" Chrissy adds, though she's quickly distracted as she pops up to wrap Eddie in a tight hug.

"Yup," you reply, pulling your lips into a small smile as Chrissy giggles when Eddie bonks her cheek lightly with his nose. "It was."

–

The afternoon crawls by in snapshots of moments. Chrissy hops on Eddie's back so he can carry her to the beach's exit. You eat lunch at a local Italian restaurant called Crust and split a honey-truffle pizza and some small plates. Chrissy feeds Eddie tiny bites of burrata and prosciutto; Steve leans into you, hand landing comfortably on your knee. You browse the shops at Bayside Marketplace. Steve offers to buy you whatever you want, and he doesn't question when you choose only a dainty gold chain— plain, with nothing hanging from it. Chrissy swings Eddie's hand as they walk ahead of you down the sandstone. Later, you and Steve diverge from them and find yourselves wandering toward the Ferris wheel.

And as you ride it— gazing out at Miami city, at its tall silver skyscrapers and its turquoise blue waters— you sit across from your boyfriend, Steve Harrington. He's lounging back, toes wiggling in his boat shoes, hair mussed artfully from salt and wind. He is handsome. His nose is alkaline, his brows are thick and dark, and his jaw is strong, dusted by stubble. Steve works at a bank and makes a lot of money. He is athletic, and he loves basketball. He has always been attentive and generous; he gives of himself to you and his friends alike. He has an ex-girlfriend named Nancy, whom he loved and who cheated on him. You've been dating for three years. You lost your virginity to him, and you share an apartment. He's been perfect on this trip. He's made you feel so loved. You love him.

And yet, Steve Harrington doesn't make your wings flutter like Eddie Munson does.

He never has.

And yet…

As Steve clambers over to your side, you shift on the seat to make room for him. When his arm wraps around your shoulders, you lean into his side. You drag your nails lightly over his abdomen and the fur on his chest until he sighs, humming contentedly. And when Steve ducks his head toward you, you use that hand to cup his cheek as you kiss him.

Because Steve Harrington is your boyfriend, not Eddie Munson. Eddie Munson is Chrissy Cunningham's boyfriend. And you are not Chrissy.

So it doesn't matter how Eddie makes your wings flutter.

It doesn't matter.

If you think it enough, maybe you'll start to believe it.

–

Throwing yourself into your preparations for clubbing wasn't just a welcome distraction— it was a necessary one. Thankfully, lounging on your bed with Chrissy, hair and bodies wrapped in fluffy hotel towels as you scroll Tiktok together, you'd managed to bury your emotions and revelations under a healthy mound of peat. It’s not enough to stifle them, but enough to keep them from surfacing when Eddie emerges from the bathroom in a puff of steam, curls dripping water down his chest to catch on the low-slung towel around his hips.

Thank goodness for this hotel's overabundance of linens.

About an hour and a half before you plan to leave, you and Chrissy decisively oust the men from the shared bathroom. It transforms into a battleground of razors, toner, and eyeshadow palettes as you arm yourselves for your night out, meticulously readying every inch of your body. After your hair has been texturized, styled, and set, you apply your makeup side-by-side.

It never ceases to fascinate you how Chrissy can so dramatically transform herself. Where normally she looks so young and innocent, with makeup, she becomes so fierce and sensual— almost like a different person, though you know by now that, really, it's just an extension of her inner self. Today she's opted for sharp black liner in the inner corners that extends out in a thin wing, with a swipe of metallic color on her lids and false eyelashes. Her brows are sharp, too, and she's highlighted her cheekbones to accentuate the angles and contours of her face. Bold, foxy. Totally Chrissy.

You apply more makeup than you usually do, but you prefer something a little more subtle on yourself. You've tried bold eye makeup before, and while you are trying to step outside your comfort zone lately, you just… don't feel like yourself with it. You opt instead for a slick, nearly nude hue on your lids and plenty of mascara to accentuate the length of your lashes. You spend more time on your skin— you want to achieve a dewy, healthy flush, so you focus on blush and subtle highlight and shadow to add depth, plus a mauve, lush lipgloss that's slightly darker than your natural color. You're thrilled with the final result: it still feels like you, as if you're glowing from the inside. More ethereal.

You fawn over each other's makeup, and as you drop your towels to dress, you notice that Chrissy's efforts to get tan didn't go unrealized. Her skin looks a little more golden than it did this morning, and it accentuates the color of the mini-dress she's chosen for the night. It's a bright orange, not typical for Chrissy but entirely appropriate for the tropical location. Chrissy's dress is strapless, with large triangular cutouts at the ribs that point inwards and give the illusion she has an even smaller waist. She twists to look at herself in the mirror, and you can't help but admire her. She looks gorgeous, and you tell her so.

"Aw, thank you, babes!" She cups your face lightly in her hands and gives you a butterfly kiss with her eyelashes so as not to mess up your makeup. You carefully step into your dress, and Chrissy helps you zipper it; you feel a little sheepish as you look in the mirror, especially with just a tiny, lacy pair of underwear and no bra underneath, but Chrissy squeezes your shoulders reassuringly. "You look so amazing, y/n. This dress is incredible. I'm honestly a little jealous."

"Chris!" you exclaim, spinning to face her incredulously. "Don't even. You are a stone-cold fox. I'm serious— that dress was, like, made for you."

Chrissy beams, blue eyes shining as you flatter her. She drops a quick kiss on your bare shoulder as you examine yourself in the mirror, a small smile blooming as you accept the truth of your friend's words, truly believing them.

You do look amazing.

Your dress is satin, mid-length, with a long slit high up the side to the top of your thigh, revealing a sensual glimpse of your leg. The straps are tiny and thin, and there's a cutout beneath the bust, so it doesn't look right if you wear a bra. But your breasts sit nicely in it; there's enough support to keep you from sagging, and they look plump and natural. The color is a rich cream, like indulgent milk and honey. And, best of all, the dress fits you right— it drapes across your tummy and hips, hugging without clinging. There's no mistaking the wideness of your hips or the softness of your belly in this, but you don't feel fat.

You feel like Aphrodite. You feel like a goddess.

And you feel even more like one when you and Chrissy emerge from the bathroom, and you come face-to-face with Steve as he turns, futzing with the hem of his short-sleeved blue linen shirt. He's wearing tailored khakis, and his hair is coiffed nicely, but what pleases you the most is how you see the moment his pupils dilate when he lifts his head to see your new dress for the first time.

His eyes drag over the length of your body, lingering in all the right spots, and you feel a little smug as he stutters hoarse nonsense before he can gather himself.

"See?" Chrissy says sweetly, and you glance to see her stepping into her stilettos, leaning on Eddie's shoulder for support. "Told you you look hot."

You don't let your eyes linger on black and white, but a flash is all you need to have your heart thumping. Because, even in Miami, Eddie just can't help himself: he's dressed in another white shirt, though this one is looser and thinner, unbuttoned halfway down his torso to reveal his guitar pick necklace and the dark ink of his chest. His black jeans are tight, his dark boots are chunky, and his rings, bracelet, and chains are the same as they always are. But his hair is, again, pulled into that ponytail. The one you'd told him you found sexy.

Considering whether Eddie had styled his hair this way because of you— or even for you— threatens to disturb the peat you'd so carefully mounded around your growth to protect it, so you pointedly avoid the thought.

Steve's hands find your waist, and you look up into his hazel eyes as he murmurs, "Baby, you look so fucking hot right now. Like…" he chuckles almost incredulously. "Holy fuck. Are you sure we have to go out tonight? Can't I just keep you here and fuck you senseless instead?"

"Steve!" you whisper, slapping his arm and flushing as your eyes dart to the couple beside you. Steve isn't talking very loudly, but for some reason, the idea of them overhearing his lascivious commentary makes you feel squirmy. But Chrissy just chuckles, hooking her thumb through the belt loop on Eddie's black jeans.

"I mean," she says lowly, eyebrow tugging up suggestively. "We don't have to—"

"No," you interrupt firmly, though your expression is more entreating than commanding. "This is our one night in Miami. We're going."

"All right, all right," Steve chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. "We'll go." He grins at you.

"I was promised dancing," you remind him, not quite pouting.

Eddie chimes in then, for the first time this evening. "Then dancing you will have," he says, and when your eyes dart to his and his mouth tilts in a little crooked grin, you smile back.

And if some of the dirt shifts to reveal a bit of green or a peek of white flowers, well, could it really be helped?

The club Steve and Chrissy chose— picked while they were waiting for you and Eddie to return from your beach walk— seems to provide all the best Miami offers. It's saturated with fractal lighting in modern shapes and colors, deep purples, mauves, and bright golds that crisscross the floors. The effect is nearly dizzying but also entirely stunning, like you've been transported into a cocaine-laden dream. You see that the dance floor is teeming with motion as you shuffle past the bouncers, daisy-chained by your hands to carve a path to the bar. Steve hands you a vodka soda before you've even asked, and you and Chrissy start to suck your drinks down while Eddie and Steve retrieve theirs, eyes scanning the writhing crowd. The bass is pumping, and even without any alcohol yet to hit your bloodstream, you're feeling amped up by the atmosphere of the place. You and Chrissy half-shout your conversation into each others' ears as you wait for the guys to get their drinks.

When Steve's hand finds its place on your hip, you and Chrissy enact your plan: you drag the men to the edge of the dance floor, hips wiggling to a mix of standard club beats interspersed with some hip hop and Urbano. The place is packed, but you form a little four-square together, holding your own against the crowds as you dance and drink. Well, that is, you and Chrissy dance, and Steve does some approximation of dancing, and Eddie mostly stands still, head bobbing as he sips his bourbon.

Chrissy seems used to Eddie's lack of movement; she dances around him, wiggling her ass against him or drawing her hand across his shoulder as she struts in the tiny square you've formed between you. You are perfectly content to dance alone or with your other two partners; you throw your hands up, sway together with Steve, or dance closely with Chrissy when she saunters your way. You feel buoyant and gleeful as you and Chrissy squeal, joining hands during Maneater by Nelly Furtado, singing it to each other as your men watch you with affection and amusement. This moment— surrounded by your close friends and your boyfriend, loose from drinks, effusive from dancing, comfortable in the knowledge that you look amazing— is what you'd been looking for when you first thought about taking this vacation.

It feels just as good as you'd hoped it would be.

It doesn't take long for you to feel both a little drunk and a little hot; though the club is indoors, it's humid from the climate and the press of bodies around you, and you feel yourself growing dewy with sweat. When Steve notices you fanning your neck, he offers to take you back to the bar. Chrissy and Eddie follow, too, happy for the respite and a chance for another drink.

As you sip on a small cup of water, Chrissy's sudden exclamation nearly startles you. "Oh, my God! I can't believe I almost forgot— see that spot over there? Kind of close to the staircase, where the rope is?" You all crane your necks to see where she's pointing. When you look back, she's nearly vibrating with excitement. "I saw on Instagram that if you hang over there, the club promoters may invite you to dance on the stage behind the DJ! And then we could end up in their photos or videos! Can you imagine?!"

You glance over to the spot she's indicated again as Steve replies. "That is pretty sick, Chris. Are you saying you wanna go over there?"

She shrugs, blue eyes wide and shiny. "I mean, it couldn't hurt, right?" She looks around the group, and when her eyes catch yours, you nod your agreement. The idea of dancing on stage does intimidate you a little. But if you're surrounded by Steve, Chrissy, and Eddie, then that might be fun. It would certainly be an experience you've never had before, and then you could say you danced on stage at a Miami nightclub. You catch some of Chrissy's excitement as she beams widely, clutching Eddie and Steve's forearms in eagerness as she taps her stilettos on the ground. "Ah! Okay! Let's go!"

Chrissy's dainty fingers close around your wrist, pulling you forward. You reach back blindly for the next person in the chain, fingers stretching until they make contact with a broad palm. But where you expect softness, you instead encounter roughness, and a quick wide-eyed glance back has you realizing that the hand you've grabbed is pale, wrist adorned with a silver chain bracelet.

You suppress the flutters that threaten to burst when you realize that you're again holding Eddie's hand. His fingers tighten around yours, gripping a little harder as Chrissy carves a determined path through the crowd on the dancefloor, heading in a diagonal for the spot near the stairs. You remind yourself that his grip is tight to ensure you don't get separated— and, plus, his girlfriend, your friend, has your other wrist in her grasp. Get ahold of yourself. You suppress a sigh of relief when you finally reach the stairs and you can pull gently from both of their grips.

You can't deny that despite being somewhat excited about the prospect of dancing on the DJ stage, you are skeptical that it will actually happen. Yet Chrissy is gorgeous, eye-catching in her sharp eyeliner and her bright orange dress; Steve is handsome, broad and tan with artfully-tousled hair and a charming smile; and Eddie is captivating, statuesque with his pale quartz skin, alluring with those dark eyes, the roguish ponytail, and his inky body armor.

So, really, you should have known better.

You've only been dancing in Chrissy's chosen spot for about twenty minutes when a man with a shaved head, wearing a black blazer fitted with a leopard-print pocket square, approaches your group. He's quite a bit shorter than Steve and Eddie, but he exudes top-dog energy as he smirks at Chrissy. "Hey," he says smoothly, eyes darting around the group, landing briefly on all of you. Well, almost all of you. Your stomach swoops slightly as that familiar feeling creeps up your neck, prickling hot along your skin. Because you can't help but notice that the promoter's eyes skip you over, almost as if you aren't even standing there.

His gaze lands, somewhat unsurprisingly, on Chrissy. He nods his chin toward the staircase, smirking slightly. "You interested in dancing on stage?"

Despite the squirmy feeling building low in your belly, you can't help but smile at the radiant enthusiasm that fills Chrissy's face, shining in her bright blue eyes. "Oh, my gosh! Really?" Her voice is powdery-soft, and the way she beams when he nods is so sweet that you feel genuinely happy for her. Her eager eyes dart to Eddie next, and the promoter's gaze follows.

"How about you, guy?" He asks, but Eddie shakes his head, falling back onto one hip.

"Nah, man," he replies, lips quirked in a small sardonic grin. "I don't dance." He glances at Chrissy. "You should go, though, Chris."

You see Chrissy pout for the briefest second, but she gets over it quickly, too excited to dwell on Eddie's denial. The promoter unhooks and lifts the velvet rope at the base of the staircase, holding out a hand so Chrissy can climb up onto the bottom step.

That prickling heat, that low squirm of self-consciousness in your belly, is nearly gone as you anticipate the moment being over. But the promoter doesn't replace the rope. Instead, for the first time, you watch his eyes quickly flick you up and down.

You try to suppress the self-consciousness that rises automatically— try to keep yourself from reading the promoter's face to quickly assess his reaction. But you can't help it; you read it anyway. You always do.

And there is no reaction that you can discern— no twitch of a brow or a lip, no change to the glint of his eyes. But what this man does is almost worse than if he'd made a face. After glancing you up and down, the promoter turns immediately to Steve on your left, asking, "You wanna join her?"

His utter dismissal couldn't be any more obvious to you than if he'd spit in your face.

Entirely oblivious to the subtext of the promoter's interaction— or lack thereof— with you, Steve grins broadly, running a hand through the length of his tousled brown hair. "Yeah, sure," he says smoothly, beginning to join Chrissy on the stairs. On the second step, Steve glances back, frowning as he notices you aren't following. "Wait—"

You cut him off quickly, desperate to avoid any risk of Steve asking why you aren't coming with him. Though the promoter utterly ignoring you is bad enough, forcing a conversation about it would be unbearable. "No, it's okay, Steve. I'll stay with Eddie." You're firm but not tense; you smile brightly to show you're not upset.

And Steve, God love him… in this moment, you're grateful that your boyfriend is such an uncomplicated man. "Are you sure?" Steve's hazel eyes are still hesitant, but you can tell he's on the cusp of conceding. You just need to sell it— that you're not in any way sore about him going to dance on the DJ stage without you.

"Yes!" you exclaim, smile widening, voice earnest. "Go have fun!"

"Okay, babe." Steve smiles back— lopsided, relieved. He walks back down to the two steps so he can say goodbye. "See you in, like, an hour?"

"Sounds perfect," you say decisively, leaning in so Steve can kiss you briefly. You hear the click of the fastener and feel the brush of the velvet against your belly as the promoter replaces the rope then, separating you and Steve.

You wave as you watch him and Chrissy ascend the stairs, eyes deliberately avoiding the promoter as he settles into the corner against the wall. But once they disappear, there's nothing to distract you from the reminder of his dismissal. And you feel it threatening again— that prickling self-consciousness, the low squirm of something approaching shame.

Quickly, you turn to Eddie. "Can we get another drink?" you ask him, and as he nods mutely, you lead the way back to the bar.

You skirt along the edge of the dance floor rather than cutting through the middle as Chrissy had, trusting Eddie to keep up with you. When you hover at the corner of the floor closest to the bar, unwilling to elbow your way to the counter, you look for Eddie then. His features are even more intense than usual in the dramatic lighting; his shoulders are set, and so is his jaw as he stops a short distance from you, staring down into your face. As the lighting shifts, you realize Eddie's brow is lightly furrowed, and his dark eyes are unreadable, not warm like they usually are.

Something is off with Eddie. He hadn't been overjoyed when you were all dancing together, but he'd seemed content. Nothing like he is now— coiled tight as if he's reigning something in. It makes you worried.

When your eyes dart away and return to see his stare hasn't wavered, you ask quietly, "Hey, are you… are you mad or something?"

"No, I'm not mad." There is no hesitation in Eddie's quiet answer, and some of your worry eases. But when he glances away and you see a muscle in his jaw twitching, you realize he isn't done speaking. It takes him a moment, but Eddie eventually looks back at you, voice carefully neutral. "He should have stayed with you."

You frown. "I told him to go," you point out, more puzzled as Eddie's expression doesn't change.

"I know," Eddie says quietly. And the way his intense gaze is piercing you… for the first time in a long time, you have to look away from him.

You hear him sigh as you distract yourself by watching people dance, eyes running over writhing bodies. "You want a drink, right?"

You glance back to find the intensity in Eddie's stare has softened now. "Yeah," you reply, grateful for the change of subject.

"What do you want me to get you?"

You consider another vodka soda, but find you're in the mood for something different. "Um… Sex on the Beach?" you ask, blinking innocently as you watch a smirk curl at the edges of Eddie's full lips.

His smoke voice is smooth and exaggeratedly sensual as Eddie sways toward you, eyes locked on yours. "I mean, sure, sweet girl. But what do you want to drink?"

"Eddie!" Your face flushes bright red, heat prickling in your cheeks as he laughs huskily. You slap his chest lightly before crossing your arms under your breasts; you're squirming from his teasing, but you can't help the low flutters that awaken at the thought of having sex with Eddie on the beach. Or even in the ocean, in that position he'd held you in this morning— arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs wrapped around his narrow hips, no swim trunks or bikini bottoms separating his warm skin from yours…

Stop it! You chastise yourself, huffing, glaring until Eddie stops laughing. "Sorry," he says wolfishly, not looking the least bit sorry about it. "Couldn't resist."

"Hmph." You level him with one last unimpressed look before he gently takes your wrist.

"Come on," he says, lips tilting fondly. "Stay close to me."

You follow Eddie closer to the bar, hovering near his back as he orders you the drink you'd requested and another bourbon for himself. You carry your drinks to the edge of the dance floor, standing near one another as you sip the fruity alcohol. After just the first sip, it's already so much better than your typical vodka sodas that you question why you'd never tried it before. In fact, you may never go back to vodka sodas now that you've tasted the allure of orange and cranberry with your vodka.

When your drink is half-gone, and your head is starting to get a little fuzzy, and the sight of bodies dancing is no longer an adequate distraction, you find your thoughts drifting back to what Eddie had said. But… you made Steve go without you. You'd basically forced him to. Right? You find yourself lightly chewing on your lower lip, thumb rubbing absently against the cold glass cradled in your hands. Eddie was there. He'd heard the whole conversation, and when you pointed out that you'd told Steve to go, he'd just said, 'I know.' What was he implying? That you should've asked Steve to stay with you, to give up his fun just because you weren't going with him?

Is that really fair of you to expect Steve to sacrifice his chance on stage for you? The idea that you could have forced the issue— pouted or begged Steve to stay— makes you feel selfish.

But maybe that's not Eddie's point. He hadn't said, 'You should have asked him to stay with you;' he'd said, "He should have stayed with you." You suddenly realize what Eddie was really trying to communicate: that Steve should have chosen to stay with you. A crease forms between your brows as that realization settles heavily upon you. It begins to coil around your ribcage, squeezing you tight as you find yourself considering a dangerous question.

Would Eddie have stayed with me?

And you find, as the thought pops into your head, that you already know the answer.

You haven't quite noticed the tension overtaking your body until Eddie's hand brushes lightly against your upper back; you flinch, wide eyes darting to his face. "Sorry," he says, withdrawing his hand immediately, and you reassure him quickly.

"No, it's fine. I was just…" you don't have an adequate explanation for what you were doing, so you just trail off, eyes darting back to your drink.

"Do you wanna go dance?"

You purse your lips as you look out at the undulating crowd, the crush of unfamiliar bodies. "Um…" you hedge, but finally admit, "Not really. I don't really wanna dance by myself."

Your eyes flash to Eddie's face as he replies, "I'll dance with you."

"Really?" you blurt. "I thought you said you don't dance."

Eddie chuckles lightly. "I don't. Not usually. But the Latin stuff is pretty good."

You assess his pleasantly neutral expression, the warmth that has returned to his brown eyes. And you read something there— in the way his gaze flicks away and back to yours, brows tugging up, mouth tilting a little further. You could be wrong, but you get the impression that despite Eddie's reasoning, he's only offering to dance because he'd noticed you were in your head.

He's only doing it for you.

Your smile is genuine, blooming tiny on your face. "Okay," you say softly, and Eddie grins in earnest, leading the way into the crowd.

Luckily for Eddie, the set seems to be leaning more Urbano now, and the quick mambo beat of Rosalia's Despacha is the perfect remedy for that heaviness shrouding you. You face Eddie, swaying your shoulders and hips, dancing in some approximation of a mambo as you step forward and back to the beat. Eddie gamely starts to sway, too, and you beam as you watch him make an attempt. A little self-conscious flush blooms high on his cheeks as you watch him.

"What?" he questions you defiantly, though it's softened by the self-deprecating grin tugging at his lips. "Didn't you promise to be nice? Remember, your nickname is on the line—"

"I am being nice!" you protest, voice high and giddy with mirth and excitement that Eddie is actually dancing with you. "I'm just happy. Am I not allowed to be happy?" you add plainly.

Eddie's wide grin transforms. "Of course you are," he replies, and the gentle smoke of his voice has you taking a deep, bracing breath to ward off the flutters.

"Good," you huff teasingly, trying to keep the mood between you light. "Then let me watch you dance."

He laughs, husky and full. "All right," he concedes.

And you do— you watch Eddie dance for a while, secretly delighted as he starts to move his shoulders and hips, a little tentatively at first, and then more boldly once his bourbon and your Sex on the Beach are gone. Briefly, you leave your spot to discard them on a nearby table before heading back to the dance floor together.

But when you resume your positions— facing each other with a respectful distance in between— you feel a sudden presence behind you, different from the slight brush of other dancing people. This person is facing you directly; pants rasp against your ass as his broad warmth presses boldly to you, and you're washed by the unfamiliar scent of cheap cologne as hands grasp at your body, one landing high on your waist and the other low on your hip.

You freeze immediately, heart racing, wide eyes darting helplessly to Eddie's face as his gaze flickers between you and whoever this stranger is behind you. In a split second, he's closing the gap between you, face contorted in a frown as you tug from the stranger's grasp to meet him. Eddie's arm wraps around your waist as he pulls you against him, and your instant panic eases. You breathe in smoke and apples, letting Eddie’s scent comfort you, distract you from the unexpected violation of a stranger's unwanted hands on your body. Eddie is clearly uneasy, muscles corded and taut as he stands still, holding you against him for a tense moment until you feel him start to relax.

"Is he gone?" you ask timidly, nose skimming Eddie's throat as you peek at his face.

"Yeah, he's gone." His chest rumbles against yours, and you sigh, relief flooding you as you relax into Eddie's grip. "Um…" You can see him swallow, eyes locked on the pale column of his throat as he pauses before saying haltingly, "Maybe I should, like, stay closer to you. I don't want that to happen to you again."

You shudder a breath, wings fluttering at the thought of dancing— really dancing— with Eddie. "Yeah," you say, voice small. "Yeah, I agree."

His arm loosens so you can turn. The warmth of Eddie's body radiates against your back, brushing just slightly as you start to dance again. As the club beat eases into another Latin hip-hop song, and the relaxed fuzz from the alcohol settles again in your limbs, you sway your hips, feeling Eddie move against you with little teasing brushes of his rough jeans and his loose white shirt. You shift a little closer, pressing lightly back to feel more of him— not too much, just enough to keep constant contact between you. It grounds you, offering comfort in the form of his presence. And he seems to be adapting much better like this— without your eyes on him, he moves more fluidly, and he seems to have more rhythm with these Latin songs than he did with his striptease to Pony . Maybe he was telling the truth about liking the Latin songs more, you think, a tiny smile crossing your lips as you settle into the music again.

And as you dance with Eddie, you grow used to the feeling of his body moving behind you, so that your mind starts to wander. And turned away from him, without his face to look at, your eyes drift to the people around you. To all the women in their tiny mini-dresses, their tanned legs so thin and shapely in their giant heels. To their little waists and their lithe arms, just like Chrissy. You don't want to, but you go there, back to when the club promoter's eyes flicked over you, assessing your body and finding it lacking.

Not trim enough. Not thin enough. Not pretty enough.

It's not what you want to be thinking about right now. You want to be enjoying yourself, dancing in a Miami nightclub with a treasured person. But once the thought wriggles back into your brain, there's no shaking it; you can't stop dwelling on it.

You can never help yourself when it comes to this.

Your rhythm falters; you lose the beat, and Eddie's smoky voice is quick in your ear. "What is it? What's wrong?"

You stop dancing to turn in Eddie's arms and face him. Almost as if it's automatic, his hands settle lightly on your waist, and you drape your arms over his shoulders— not holding tight, just resting there. Your mouth twists as you consider how the memory of that man's appraisal has begun to eat you up inside, devouring all the happiness you'd found here tonight. And Eddie's brown eyes are warm, and his expression is receptive. He never judges you; he's so kind. And he always tries to help you. He always does.

So you tell him what's wrong.

"I just… was thinking about the club promoter," you say quietly, speaking to Eddie's chest; you can't quite meet his eyes. "How he barely even looked at me, almost like I didn't exist to him. Well," you chuckle breathlessly, a little uncomfortable. "I obviously know why he didn't, like, ask me to go on stage. I mean—" You glance down your body before your eyes land back on Eddie's chest. "I'm not exactly… you know…" You swallow against the lump in your throat, pushing the words out, hoping that by voicing them, they'll have less power. "I'm not as small as the other girls—"

Eddie cuts you off, and your eyes snap to his face to see his brown eyes wide and incredulous. "Are you fuckin' kidding me?" He sounds utterly baffled. Utterly disbelieving. "You're… you're so beautiful. Sexy as hell, I swear to Christ." He chuckles his disbelief as you look up at him hesitantly, face still angled down. When he sees you haven’t responded, Eddie frowns; his hand leaves your waist to gently but firmly lift your chin. "Listen, sweetheart. Don't worry about that guy. That guy's probably never been with a beautiful woman in his life. Never even touched one, I bet. Probably has a shriveled little baby carrot dick."

You wrinkle your nose, half-amused, half-disgusted by the crudeness of his final remark. Eddie laughs at himself, shaking his head slightly as he ducks closer to your ear to mutter, "Sorry, but if I'm totally honest, I'm only half-checked in to what I'm saying right now 'cause I'm distracted."

You try not to think about how warm his breath is against your ear. "Distracted by what?"

"By trying not to pop a boner with you dancing on me, sweetheart."

You pull your head back to stare at him incredulously, a little awkward giggle escaping your lips. And it must be clear that you don't believe him because Eddie's eyebrows flick up, and his expression shifts slightly.

"I'm serious," Eddie argues through a chuckle. "What, you think I'm joking?" Carefully, he presses his hips closer so you can feel him. And your eyes widen slightly as you do, proving how Eddie really wasn't kidding. How he's a little stiff behind the thick black denim of his jeans.

"Oh, my God," you mutter, cheeks flushing as you purse your lips against a bashful smile.

"See?" Eddie says, lightly teasing, but quieter now. "Told you."

And now that his point has been made, it's the right time for Eddie to move away. But Eddie doesn't move away. And the press of Eddie's pelvis against you feels good. And he just told you that you're beautiful and sexy, and the smoke of those words is settling inside you, filling you rich and heady. And the song that's just begun is slower, more sensual than the ones before. Alluring, drawing you in, just like the brown of those beautiful eyes, the dark curls framing his pale quartz face.

Gradually, Eddie's black and his white draw you in until, almost by instinct, you start to sway your hips against his.

You feel Eddie's chest expand in a deep breath as you move against him. But, though he tenses for a split second, he still doesn't draw back. Instead, Eddie's leg shifts, slotting between yours as he starts to move with you.

The feeling of Eddie's warm body is even more tantalizing like this, facing him. You relish the feeling of his hands on your hips, fingers resting lightly as you sway together, hips rocking in rhythm with the music. You notice the tickle of his loose shirt against your chest, your breasts brushing against the fabric through sheer satin as you dance. You listen to the song: ‘Pasa el día con él, yo soy tu gato de noche.’ You don't know what it means, but your blood is heating, belly fluttering low as Eddie presses close to you— a novel feeling through your clothes and his, out here in public rather than in the security of your bedroom. And you can feel the other people around you, bodies moving, grazing lightly against yours as the space packs in. You release a breath and wonder if it tickled the sliver of his bare chest when you feel Eddie's fingers twitch on your hips.

His voice is hoarse as he mutters against your forehead. "Can I touch you more?"

"Please," you breathe, and the word is nearly a sigh of relief as Eddie's hands drag across the satin of your dress, smoothing over the small of your back. Your arms tighten around his shoulders as you press yourself closer, breasts now tight to his chest, skin sticking together where his shirt is open. The thought strikes you suddenly that Eddie is a little sweaty— you can see his hairline is damp, and his hands feel warmer than usual, damp as they drag up silk to find the skin of your back. And the impulse strikes you suddenly: the desire to lick up the center of Eddie’s chest, to drag your tongue along the ink of his armor and taste the salt on his skin. Your pussy pulses, moth wings fluttering low as you imagine it.

As you do, inevitably, the other emotions reemerge. Trepidation. Fear. Concern for Steve's anger. Guilt over the intentionality of breaking another rule. But Eddie's hands are so tender as they rasp over your skin, and you feel so safe in his arms. And you're in the middle of this writhing crowd, cloaked in anonymity and alcohol and neon lights and sensual music. And when you press your hands to Eddie's back, dragging them up his neck until your fingers tease at the edge of his hairline— the green reemerges from your protective mound of soil, flowers quivering, moth wings fluttering with a deep and powerful yearning. One that can no longer be suppressed.

One that surges up from the bottom of you.

Your face draws back, angling up at the same moment that Eddie's tips down. And you get only a glimpse of those brown eyes burnished to deep amber, a flash of white teeth behind full pink lips as he begins to rasp, "Can I k—?"

His words are cut off as you pull him by the back of his neck into a desperate kiss.

Eddie deepens the kiss immediately, and the brush of his tongue into your open mouth is sheer blissful relief. You moan against his lips, a little pathetic mewl that makes you rush hot with embarrassment that you'd make that sound in public. But it just spurs Eddie on; his arms haul you flush against his body as his tongue dips insistently past your lips. You taste him back, lips pressing hard as bourbon and spice fill your mouth. And somewhere in the midst of this, you've stopped dancing, and so has he, though his hands are still roving over your back, grasping at you with a desperation that matches your own.

As you lick into his mouth, the little sound Eddie makes has you shuddering, goosebumps rushing over your skin despite the heat of the dance floor. Your heart is pounding, pussy throbbing in time; and it's so utterly wanton, but Eddie's leg is still between yours, so purely by instinct, your hips twitch, dragging yourself in a little jerk against the roughness of his jeans.

Flutters burst low, mixing with arousal as Eddie bends you back, hands dragging firmly down to grab your ass and press your hips against him. And that— your hips twitching, Eddie's hands on your ass— is what brings you back to yourself. You become suddenly cognizant that you're currently in public, basically dry-humping this man who is not your boyfriend on the dance floor.

The realization douses you like ice water, and you pull your mouth from Eddie's with a little gasp, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. Your chest is still heaving into his, and the breath that puffs against your lips still makes you flutter, but your face is creased with hesitance now. Eddie registers the shift immediately, pulling you out of the bend, though his arms still hold you close. He's breathing hard, cheeks lightly flushed as the warm brown of his eyes meets your gaze.

"Eddie," you whisper, voice soft and regretful. "We shouldn't. Not while we're alone."

And you half–expect a bit of Eddie's black to show, for him to guard himself in a wolfish grin and joke to break the tension.

But Eddie shudders a deep breath, almost a sigh, and you see his adam's apple bob in a thick swallow. "You're right," he says quietly. "I'm sorry."

And you hate to see how those beautiful brown eyes cloud, how those full pink lips, now swollen from your kisses, turn down at the corners. Your brow tugs up as you soothe your hand softly against Eddie's cheek. "Don't be sorry," you say softly, tenderly tucking some of the short curls that brush his jaw behind his ear.

Eddie's eyes are molten as he leans in, and your lashes flutter as he kisses your cheek, lips warm as they linger there. And though it's long been there, the growth at the bottom of you, it's the first time that you truly feel it— the unfurling of your petals, the quivering of your leaves as Eddie holds you close and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek.

And you admit now that it's fruitless to try to convince yourself it doesn't matter how you feel about Eddie. Because you know it does. You know it.

–

You're on the beach. The sand is cold now, and the ocean is a black, churning mass, nearly indistinguishable from the night sky. The breeze is no longer balmy; instead, it chills you, cutting straight through your milk and honey satin. Arms cradle you from behind, partially shielding you from the sting as they hold you against a firm body. Your hands rest perfunctorily on the forearms encircling your waist, and your head is tipped back against the chest behind you. Citrus and sea salt lingers in your nose.

You're waiting for the fireworks to begin.

Chrissy's stilettos are loose. One of them tipped over when she dug her toes into the fine sand, and you stare at them to avoid looking at the couple beside you. You feel the rise and fall of Steve's chest as he breathes behind you. You feel the warmth from his body along the length of your spine.

You feel the tilt of your green as it strives, reaching, searching for smoke and ink.

Your eyes are drawn to the sky with the first whistle and pop. Big and small, circular and narrow, red, pink, and orange arches— colors burst against the darkness in a rain of sparks that fizzle toward the water. It's enchanting, a stunning display of corporeal magic.

You're no longer watching it.

Instead, your eyes are fixed on black and white.

Chrissy's arms are around his waist, clinging to him tightly, her back turned to you as she rests her cheek against his chest. Eddie's chin is on top of Chrissy's head, and his eyes are turned up to the sky. You can see the reflection of the fireworks in Eddie's eyes, and this is how you watch the show.

You can't help but notice that Eddie looks pensive. Melancholy, almost, as he watches the magic show. You think of his fingers squeezing yours gently, deliberately, as you listened to that song, walking together along the beach. You think of the tightness in his jaw when he told you Steve should have stayed with you at the club. You think of the dullness in his brown eyes when he apologized for kissing you, for breaking the first rule.

A flick and Eddie's dark eyes no longer reflect the colors in the sky. Instead, they're caught on yours, staring back as you watch him. And when you see it— the intensity of his gaze, the same intensity that your eyes had darted from earlier— you no longer look away.

The light show ends. A smooth voice behind your head asks, "Do you guys wanna head back to the hotel now?"

You are the first to speak. "Yes."

#tkym #blueywrites #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #chrissy cunningham

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runaway-dreamers · 11 months

Text

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

Enjoy Right Now, Today

Word count: 1,948

Summary: Poppy wants to spend some time with you.

Before

Wally Darling x (GN) YN

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

Early morning light filled the kitchen shining over the dishes left out to dry from the previous night. On the stove sat a kettle still warm to the touch but emptied of its contents. Nearby was a glass carafe partially filled with black coffee. Steam wafted up from the black contents filling out before unfurling out into the air. The aroma lingered sweetly hanging around like a silent guest whose company I deeply cherish, and whose silence I felt the deepest comforts in. I sat at my table with my legs crossed, and my head resting on its side.

My cup rested near me with a notebook between us. Ink smeared my fingers, inky coils filled the page before me. Without realizing it, while sorting through my thoughts, my words had turned into looping swirls, and those swirls into a menacing black cloud that ate everything in its reach. I couldn't remember the words that had been there. I flipped through the pages only to be met with black clouds over words and sentences. Everything that it consumed held some distant purpose. I wondered if names could fit certain entries. What did the removal of dates mean?

I sighed leaning back to rest on my arms. I knew I had done this during my time in the darkness and dust. I sat back up and flipped my notebook closed, deciding to put this aside and save myself the headache. As I stood up with my now cold coffee in hand I felt off. I shivered and quickly went to the kitchen wanting to continue on with my day. The stale coffee filled the sink and swirled down the drain. Next was the carafe. As I carefully washed my dishes I looked outside to see the painter's easel sitting empty. Next to it were stained buckets filled with used rags and paint brushes. It must have been forgotten from a previous project, still it was a sight to watch my neighbor give himself to ⁰whatever it was he was working on. His eyes would focus solely on the subject. His mixing of colors were precise, and his strokes were done with reason.

He would probably have something to say about the black clouds filling my notebook. I rolled my eyes and smirked, placing the now cleaned dishes to dry on the rack. I dried my hands and wondered what it was I could be doing today. Feeling adventurous I prepared another pour over giving myself to process. I sighed as the smell filled the air once again, mixing with the smell of flowers right outside my cracked open kitchen window. It was here that I found myself at ease with the fading nightmares of static and eyes, and the burden of being unable to recall what I saw beyond it. My waking hours had been filled with a loss unimaginable that I would find myself crying suddenly.

I cleaned away the stray tears with my stained fingers. I'm sure some of the ink smudged on my cheek, but I didn't care. The coffee had slowed to a thin stream and then droplets. At the bottom of the carafe the dark liquid blossomed. A knock at the door caused me to jump in surprise. Could it have been Eddie? There was no way any mail would be here for me. I walked around the island and quickly pulled open the door. I looked up in surprise, not expecting such a tall colorful bird. As tall as she was, her eyes were very kind.

"Oh, dear, hello! My name is Poppy, Poppy Partridge." She leaned down a bit and I realized I had been staring a little too wide eyed.

"Hello. It's very nice to meet you," I paused, "I am Y/N."

"I don't mean to intrude on you, but I heard you may be feeling a bit down?" She turned her head to the side, her eyes filling with genuine concern. She seemed to be looking me over for signs of something.

"That's very kind of you Poppy," I blushed, embarrassed by the idea of the neighborhood worrying after me, "Would you, uh, like some coffee?"

"Was that wonderful smell coming from here? I smelled it all the way down towards Howdy's bodega! He was a bit confused when I asked if he started selling some.. Ah, listen to me go on and on while your answer goes ignored. I would love a cup, dear." Poppy chuckled, nodding her head just a bit. She did eye the door frame a bit. It might be too tight a fit I realized.

"We-We could sit outside. It's beautiful out today, and I haven't been out in the sun for quite a while.." The last part was quieter and meant more as a comment to myself. I hadn't realized it was spoken out loud until Poppy made a hum in understanding.

"I have trouble getting out, too. I've made so many wonderful friends here. Know that you will never be rushed with us. Everything at your own pace, ok?" She was sweet and kind. Her words felt like a hug and I had released the tension I was unknowingly holding onto. I nodded at a loss for words.

Poppy had brought a blanket inside her basket of treats. As she was laying out the flower patterned blanket I listened to her gentle humming from the other side of my open window. I poured the coffee into two cups set on a tray, with sugar cubes and a little pitcher of milk neatly placed near to it. Satisfied with it I carefully carried it all outside. Poppy was unpacking cookies and sandwiches from her basket when I very slowly placed the tray of liquids down on a free spot. I smiled while looking it over for any spills.

"It really does smell wonderful." Poppy complimented the coffee as she smelled it thoughtfully.

"I really enjoyed making it. I hope it tastes to your liking?" I watched a bit as Poppy took a sip. She hummed before taking another sip. I picked up a cookie and took a bite.

"It's even better than I imagined, Y/N!" Poppy was beaming!

"Did you bake these? They really are so tasty!" We chatted excitedly about her baked goods and my coffee. They went so well together.

"Well, I did have some help from Wally. I get a bit anxious at times and it helps having someone to talk to while browning butter." Poppy looked off to the side and I felt a chill up my spine. I rolled one of my shoulders and adjusted myself.

"Wally? Who is that?"

"Wally Darling! Why, he's the friendliest neighbor in all of Home," Poppy pointed, her wing outstretched, across the way. I turned to look over. And saw a rather tall blue dog wearing a top hat, and a much smaller man near him, "That's Barnaby and the little one there is Wally. Those two are the best of friends."

Barnaby was lying stretched out on the grass with his eyes closed. Wally was next to him staring straight into the expansive blue sky above. They seemed to be talking to one another. Barnaby said something that made Wally laugh. It was monotone and robotic, but charming. They seemed truly happy to just be spending time together.

I looked at Poppy as she spoke, her eyes closed, "Hmm, Barnaby and Wally must have already eaten their share of cookies."

I couldn't help but smile at her comment. I looked back towards them and immediately regretted it. Wally was now looking towards us, at me, with his friendly lazy smile on his face. His eyes never moved and I felt caught in his stare. My face flushed from embarrassment and I quickly turned away. I drank some of my coffee and silently thanked Poppy for pretending not to see. Wally's monotone laugh was distant, and I couldn't help but smile to myself.

The picnic carried on with light conversation as we just enjoyed the tweeting of birds flying by, and the breeze that carried the smell of wet dirt and blooming flowers. Spring was always a treat no matter where you were. It had a way of undoing the knots of daily life troubles. Though, it was getting harder to recall what those troubles were. Home seemed to be a place of paradise, almost.

I let myself stretch out on the blanket with part of my body on the grass. A comfortable silence had fallen over us. Poppy had taken out a book to read with her glasses perched on her beak. My eyes were closed as a smile formed on my face. I hadn't imagined I would find time to feel like this today. Life went on around me and in this moment I felt like I was a part of that slow moving river. I wanted to follow it all through its many twists and bends. There was great comfort in just existing here.

Barnaby and Wally had grown quiet during this time. I could hear the grass whistle as the gentle breeze passed between them. The leaves on the tree brushed together before settling until the next breeze ruffled them up. Poppy was flipping through the pages of her book, and I listened as she took a sip of the water I brought out sometime before. The eyes and static felt like little passing nothings as I stayed here.

The passing clouds casted short moving shadows across us. My face scrunched at the sudden darkness, but it passed just as quickly. The sound of footsteps pulled me out from my meditations. I opened my eyes slowly and rolled over to lay on my stomach. On the other side of my flower shrubs was Barnaby. He was standing tall with a friendly smile on his face and his hands on his hips. For a moment nothing was said.

"Did ya have a nice nap kid?" Barnaby asked with a laugh. I smiled at him.

"Very nice, yes." I sat up with my legs folded under me. Poppy had closed her book, putting it away with her glasses.

"Are you off on your way home Barnaby?" Poppy asked with a smile on her face.

"Indeed I am. Are you going the same way?" He smiled at her, playfulness clear in his eyes.

"Hmm.. Dear I think I'll be going now. I had such a wonderful time with you. You should visit me sometime soon! We can bake together if you'd like?" Poppy was carefully stacking her dishes.

"Sure, that sounds wonderful." I helped her pack her things away and gathered up my own dishes.

"Have a good night, dear. Don't be a stranger." Poppy and Barnaby waved goodbye as I watched them go.

I looked over towards Wally. He was also watching them go. When he noticed me he looked over. We didn't turn away right away. For a moment we held each other's eyes, and then Wally waved. I waved back before he turned away. He went inside of his house. Alone for a moment I looked around and wondered if things were really so bad for me.

Inside my home I turned on my lights. The sun was getting low outside and the light blue was darkening to a star filled blackness. Crickets chirped and I swore I saw the tell-tale glows of fireflies outside my window. Once the dishes were put away and the sink cleaned, I stood in my kitchen a bit longer watching the moon light up the sky.

The sense of loss didn't feel as strong today, and for that I was thankful.

#espresso-musings #wally darling #wally fanart #welcome home fanart #welcome home fandom #welcome home wally #wally darling x y/n #wally darling x you #wally darling x gn reader #wally darling x reader #wally darling x self insert #wally x you #wally x y/n #enjoy right now today #gender neautral reader #wally x gn reader

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sherlollyandspoilers · 1 month

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Day 1 Canon Complaint

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2024, Day 1

I had absolutely not ideas for today's prompt besides something I have already written. This is an excerpt from my fic Yes, yes is.

“You’re a bit like my dad. He’s dead.” She closed her eyes. Embarrassed. “No, sorry.”

“Molly, please don’t feel the need to make conversation.” Sherlock kept his eyes on the microscope, trying hard to focus. Don’t do this to yourself – always comforting others before yourself. “It’s really not your area.”

“When he was…dying,” she stumbled over her words, “he was always cheerful; he was lovely – except when he thought no-one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad.”

You’re sad now. Stop it. “Molly,” he said sternly.

“You look sad…when you think he can’t see you.”

And let him see I’m scared? No. He flicked his eyes toward John before slowly turning his head to look at her, sitting up fully. Have you always seen me?

“Are you okay?” she asked directly. I don’t – “And don’t just say you are,” she pushed forward when she noticed he was going to interrupt again, “because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you.” Like how you look?

“You can see me.” He let the words fall out of his mouth, unsure what ramifications the conversation would have.

“I don’t count,” she replied without hesitation.

And for the first time in a long time, Sherlock found himself truly speechless. He stared at her, trying to read her face, blinking slowly several times. You’ve always counted to me. He debated doing what he had always wanted to do, leaning over and kissing her, showing her just how wrong she was but she continued.

“What I’m trying to say is that, if there’s anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have me.” Molly flinched at her own words and looked away. “No, I just mean…I mean if there’s anything you need…” She shook her head and he realized she had taken his silence to mean something different than what it was. “Its fine.” She turned away and he stopped himself from reaching out to her. Oh Molly, Molly! If you only knew how much I wanted…but no. I ruin things.

“What-what-what could I need from you?” he finally asked, not trusting himself to say more than that without compromising their relationship.

She looked back, a sad look on her face. “Nothing.” She shrugged. “I dunno.” She pursed her lips. “You could probably say thank you, actually.” She nodded, as if reassuring herself that what she was saying to him was okay. It’s what I should do because what I want to do…I shouldn’t.

“Thank you,” he said hesitantly, almost painfully. He frowned at himself; unable to look at her, he turned back to the microscope, wishing and willing himself to say more. I can’t. I won’t hurt her like that.

Outside of Kitty’s apartment he had lied when he told John that what he needed to do next he had to do alone. When he had figured it out, he knew if he told John that he would try to help, to try and work it out but the one person that he needed right then was not John Watson. So he lied and left John standing in the street alone with a fake file on Richard Brook.

He had barely been in the lab for three minutes when she walked through, switching the lights off and cutting off his attempt to convince himself that this was a bad idea.

“You’re wrong, you know.” His voice was deep and he heard her gasp. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her and say the words he wanted to say. “You do count. You’ve always counted, and I’ve always trusted you.” He turned his head to look at her. “But you were right…I’m not okay.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

He walked towards her slowly, still worried that he might do something impulsive with the weight of Moriarty’s plan in the back of his mind. “Molly, I think I’m going to die.”

“What do you need?” she asked earnestly.

“If I wasn’t everything that you think I am – everything that I think I am – would you still want to help me?” he asked, stopping before he reached her. I need her help, her professional help only. I can’t have more than that, he reminded himself as he looked at her.

“What do you need?” she asked again, softer. Her voice urged him forward and he couldn’t help but take another step closer.

“You,” was all he could manage.

She reached out, holding her hand to him. He grasped it tightly and when she frowned up at him trying to read his face he didn’t stop the hug that he knew was coming. She had let go of his hand and slid her arms around his waist, tucking her head underneath his chin. He suppressed a sob that wanted to tear through his body and closed his eyes tightly, wrapping his body around her. They stayed like that for several minutes before Molly let him go. Stepping back, she looked up at him and he nodded, having shut down his emotions , now focused on the task at hand.

For the next couple of hours he, Molly, and Mycroft worked hard assessing and reassessing their plan and their back up plan and the back’s back plans. Despite his and Mycroft’s differences, he was still his older brother, and he knew he could count on him in a time like this.

Molly on the other hand didn’t owe him anything. He had never been oblivious to her physical attraction to himself but for so long he had convinced himself that her continued advances, favors, and the Christmas present were simply due to a silly crush. But now, watching her plan, problem solve, and risk her reputation for him, lead him to a very different conclusion that he wasn’t sure he truly wanted to know the answer to. If I know, I might not go through with this.

“Okay, I think we’ve got everything.” Molly nodded at him reassuringly. “Now we just have to wait.” She stared at him expectantly.

Don’t ask her. You don’t need to know. Just accept that she has helped and move on.

“Molly?” He furrowed his brow as he talked, looking down at her shoes. “Why are you risking everything for me?”

“Why risk it?” she repeated his question, drawing his eyes up to meet hers. “Because it’s worth it…you’re worth it.” Not a silly little crush.

“You don’t think I’m a fraud?”

“Of course not.” She shook her head. Inhaling sharply, she looked like she wanted to say something more, but stopped herself and gave him a sad smile. “Do you need anything else from me?”

Everything.

“No.” He stood up and walked over to her. “Thank you, Molly. For all of this.”

“You needed my help.” She shrugged, looking away.

“I did,” he whispered, still staring at her intently. Let her walk away.

“I uhh…I guess I’ll see you later, then.” And without looking back at him, she hurried out of the lab.

#sherlolly #sherlollyweek2024

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raptorsaurusmelain · 20 days

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Let me show you... Youtube - chapter 30

I am really trying to be better but it is hard to forget my baby kitty...

Warning : no proof reading, English is not my mother tongue.

If you are interested in reading this fic, the tag "#twst lmsyy" will give you all the chapters.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Victoria was curious about the brain map in front of her. It was colorful, going from blue to white. Most of her right brain and about a third of her left brain were bright white. From what she remembered from anatomy class, the left brain is logic and the right is about creativity.

The doctor pointed to the right blob. “This explains your voices. Basically your brain is creating them and your left brain is not able to differentiate from reality. The over activity of your brain is unable to shut down and create your sleepless nights. What is your usual treatment ?”

Victoria thought hard to remember. “Uuuuh. A thymo-regulator, two antipsychotics in small doses and a relaxing pill to help induce sleep.”

The doctor pondered hard. “I see… Can you tell me a bit more about the molecules ? It would help me avoid creating a chemical shock.”

The young woman explained the dosage and the name of the molecules to the man in white robe. He nodded multiple times and took notes on his computer.

After what felt like an eternity, he prescribed her a stronger antipsychotic, some sleeping pills and asked her to increase the thymo-regulator. He also gave her a 2 week rest at home notice for Crowley, advising her to do the bare minimum and sleep through it.

She paid what seemed to be an enormous price and left the office.

Once outside, she bought a sandwich to eat while waiting for the bus. The prospect of climbing the mountain that leads to NRC wasn’t enjoyable for her. She clearly wasn’t a part of the mountain lovers club.

When she was done with her sandwich, the bus came and took her back to the academy. In front of it, she sighted. [How am I going to explain this to Yuu ? I should tell the truth, I know it but would they even be able to understand it ? It is a lot for a teenager to handle. “Hello, I am mentally ill but no worries I don’t go to the psych ward this often !”. She face-palmed herself way to go girl… If it is difficult for a child, what will it be when I will explain it to Grim ? The poor guy is going to ask me if he can eat it…].

She opened the door of the rundown dorm and was welcomed by the sight of the duo watching the TV, both with their mouths opened.

She had a small smile “Hey everyone…”.

They turned their heads and both had big smiles plastered on it. “Victoriaaaa !!!! We missed you !”.

Grim added “Yuu is not good at cooking.” while Yuu asked “Where were you ? We were a bit worried.”.

She had a small laugh and shut down the TV. Mustering her courage, she said “We need to talk about something serious.”

She sat on a sofa and inhaled slowly. “Yuu, Grim, I hide it, but I am a bit sick. Like I am constantly sick but by periods. And right now is one of those periods. Like you said Yuu, I am missing a lot of sleep and can’t really focus. And Grim, no I am not faking it to not go to the academy and work. I have 2 weeks off, so normally I should be better in a few days. Just that I will sleep a lot during the day and won’t be able to accompany you to school. Sorry…”.

Right on the dot, Grim asked “Can’t you eat it ?”.

The woman felt her soul leaving her body. [Super…]

Yuu hushed Grim. “You can’t chew off illnesses, Grim ! You need self-care and medications, even if it is just a cold. It can become worse if you don’t do anything.” They faced Victoria. “I understand, I… We will do our best to not hinder you in your recovery ! We will be calm and not mess around.”.

She pinched her nose “It is not a question of hindering of not, it is a question of understanding.” The woman smiled a bit. “I take your word for it, be calm and study hard, the exams are in 2 weeks.”

Yuu mumbled something. Victoria raised an eyebrow. “Yes Yuu ?”

They bite their lips. “Will you give us a group math class ? Ace, Deuce, Grim and I are behind.”.

The brunette frowned. “What ? But you both study it a lot. What happened ? Show me your notes”.

Yuu reappeared in the living room with their notes and showed it. The woman flipped through the pages. [Mhm… They are still studying the integrals but… This is not the level asked for a first year student.].

She looked at the last page where could see an attempt to resolve an equation with variable substitution. She blurted “Is this guy… Incompetent ?”.

Yuu lowered their head. Victoria hurried “Not you, Yuu. The teacher !! I think he is inapt to teach.”

The Child was surprised and Grim gasped. Grim asked “Why ?”.

[The racoon loves drama ?].

The eldest answered frankly. “What you are studying is far too high-level for you. It is outside program. You should be beginning to study about irreal planes and their reasoning. Not integrals with variable substitutions.”.

Grim had a wide smile and threw his paws in the air. “So it is normal that we understand nothing !! Nya ha ha, I knew it !”.

The woman massaged her temples while giving back to Yuu their notes. “Alright, I will teach you. But it doesn’t mean it will be now, I need to rest first. Maybe in a week.”.

Tagged : @hipsterteller @1-randomized @boba-tea-fish

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst lmsyy #twst fanfic #twst yuu

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topazshadowwolf · 1 year

Text

GoopTales: Part 13

Don't call Nightmare Noot or he will take you on a field trip.

Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13(you are here)

AO3: Ch 1 (1-4), Ch 2 (4-8), Ch 3 (9-12)

---

Nightmare stared up at the ceiling, unable to get himself to sleep. The boys were cuddled into the nest of blankets and pillows he had built for them. Lyra was sleeping on the sofa in her own set of pajamas. As for Nightmare, he was in the recliner and in his own black flannel pajamas that she had felt “compelled” to buy for him.

At this point, it was apparent he wouldn’t get any sleep. So he looked at the time.

0400

Well, there was no sense in just lying on the recliner, staring at the ceiling. His mind was swimming with too many thoughts for sleep, not that Nightmare needed it now. He can go days without sleep without feeling tired or having ill effects. Carefully he climbed off the recliner, knowing full well that putting the leg rest down would cause a loud sound that would wake everyone. In the darkness of the room, he melded into the shadows and made a silent exit.

First, he stopped off at his room to change clothes. Once dressed, he went to his office to get some work done, but he couldn’t even focus on that.

What if there was no cure?

He may have to raise his henchmen….

Nightmare could handle immature adults, but can he raise four tiny baby bones?

Will they be the same as he knew them?

Will their old memories return as they get older, and how will they react to those?

0435

Sci’s AU is an hour faster, but he didn’t plan to pick him up this early. But then, he couldn’t wait that much longer.

After writing a quick note that he placed in the kitchen, Nightmare left to pick up the young scientist. It will be good for him to face matters that science can not explain. Exiting his portal, he looked around the lab. He saw the Sans in question sitting at a desk, slumped over some papers. The soft snoring made the guardian chuckle softly.

“Ah, it seems sleep has finally caught up with you,” He mused in a soft tone as he walked closer. Looking over Sci’s shoulder, he read over the notes. All were about the mice and the orange substance. Speaking of the mice….

He saw several cages with mice and looked in at them. After a moment, he spotted the ones marked with a purple spot so Sci could easily find them. … Nightmare did not know enough about these mice to understand what to look for.

“mmm…,” Sci started to sit up and stretch.

“Good morning, friend,” Nightmare said smugly as he looked down at the young scientist.

“oh! uh, nightmare, i wasn’t expecting you this early… heh… you wouldn’t happen to be reconsidering what you said yesterday?” Sci chuckled nervously.

“Hmmm… Sci, what did you call me again?” Nightmare feigned thoughtfulness as he tapped his chin.

“n-nightmare?” Sci was trying to play innocent.

“No… it was not that. What to try again?” Nightmare grinned.

“look, nightmare, i’m useful for you here, and you know it. so, please… let me just keep doing my research,” Sci said as he turned back to his notes.

“Now, if I did that, you would not learn your lesson, and you may dare to call me that nickname again. Besides, I am positive that this experience would be good for you,” Nightmare chided playfully before curling a tendril around the scientist. “Come along, little lab rat, time for you to learn something new outside of these walls.”

“i rather like my four walls, thank you,” Sci protested, but Nightmare ignored him.

He opened and walked through the portal to the AU in question. On the outside, nothing looked out of place with this AU. The odd spark of magic in the air set it apart from the rest of them to the dark skeleton. Magic was usual in all AUs, but the magic was heavier, darker, and more tangible this time. Nightmare could almost taste it in the air. Amusing. Though magic is not his domain, so he gained no benefit.

“Well, my friend,” Nightmare said as he set the scientist beside him. “Tell me, what are your first impressions.”

“well, it’s the underground. ruins, to be exact,” Sci said as he adjusted his glasses.

“True, go on,” Nightmare mused.

Sci sighed and looked around more. “seems no different than any other ruins.”

“Close your eyes, Sci,” Nightmare instructed, “You are a scientist. Use your other senses.”

“right, right…,” Sci closed his eye sockets and put his hands in his lab coat. After a moment, he hummed, “smells like spices… like nutmeg and cinnamon? the ruins are usually described as musty.”

“Good, what else….” Nightmare inquired.

“sounds… too quiet… but that could just be the nature of the ruins? it’s not as populated,” Sci said as he opened his sockets and looked up at Nightmare.

“Hmmm, yes, but that is indeed a good thing to keep in mind, correct?” Nightmare questioned.

“... is this how you train your boys? you’re not thinking of replacing them with me, are you?” Sci questioned.

“Nonsense, lab rat, you are more useful to me in your maze of machines and facts. I am just teaching you an important lesson,” Nightmare chuckled. “Besides, these are skills the boys picked up on their own. Now, close your eyes again. Take in that smell and sound and how the air feels, and then tell me how you feel.”

“how i feel? …as in emotionally? that’s subjective,” He said with a frown, but Nightmare gestured for him to go on. Rolling his eyelights, Sci did as asked. There was a pause as Sci frowned. “it’s… odd… i feel unwelcomed?”

“Oh?” Nightmare mused.

“it’s like… when you walk up to some coworkers who were talking but become oddly silent and short with you,” Sci frowned. “you just get the feeling they don’t want you there.”

“Good, for this is as you should feel. To magic like what is in this AU, you are indeed unwelcomed. This magic thrives in being unexplainable, in its own enigma. Someone like you reveals it for what it really is, and that weakens it. So, Sci, stay close and observant. You will learn something more as you do. Do you now understand why I wanted you to come?”

“yeah…,” Sci replied.

---

#Gooptales #Nightmare!sans #Lyra!Toriel #Balance!Toriel #Sci!Sans #Noot is worried #Noot also doesn't like being called Noot #Hello Sci #Hope on the magic school bus #time to see a whole new AU

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karume-selfshipper · 3 months

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Dad Might Enjoyers Assemble!

I am here humbly requesting some feedback on the start of a Dad Might fic centered on my OC Inari Yagi.

For context:

She has a seriously OP quirk

The public knows she's All Might’s daughter

All Might is trying to be a good father but has a problem with staying at work too late

Inari used to spend her afterschool hours at All Might Tower, Nighteye's Agency, or Torino's apartment until post fall out when she began staying at home (though it is recent, starting at age 12)

Inari is Deku's age

Whenever All Might is at home he becomes the overbearingly supportive father trying to help and be part of Inari's life

He worries when he's at work but trusts that Inari will be able to defend herself/make the right decisions to get out of situations

Under the cut is the first little chunk of the story. Please give me some kind of feedback, criticism, and/or critique about whether it actually sounds about right for what I've outlined above. I will not give up the odd dynamic of work vs home because it is an integral part of the story (and how I interpret All Might as a father [not a father figure like with 1-A]). And I will be revising this as it is the roughest of first drafts.

Upon entering the new apartment, All Might expected to see his daughter wandering around. Possibly confused by the layout and attempting to get used to her new surroundings. That was his mental state at this point, when he could spare a few moments away from the office anyways. Taking up a teaching position at UA came with yet another major upheaval in his and her life. One that All Might wanted to make as easy as humanly possible, one that would undoubtedly be among their last serious moves for a while.

At least that’s what All Might hoped.

However, the apartment was uncomfortably silent. As tempted as All Might was to comb the area looking for her, the apartment looked perfectly in order. Door properly locked, nothing broken from what he could see. No signs of a struggle or even another soul in the house…

But what if that wasn’t an accident? What if she had been snatched before she even made it home?

Unable to calm his instincts, All Might pulled his phone from his pocket. He had to check for a message or a location…

Before he could spiral too far however, Inari walked out from around a hall corner; the laundry basket in her hands filled with school uniforms. The sense of calm she exuded calmed the older man, of course nothing had been wrong. She was merely looking for the washer, this was quite the large apartment complex after all. Reducing the time either of them would have to spend outside of it. Less chance of Inari specifically being in danger, particularly when he wasn't around.

She didn’t even look up as she passed All Might, unaware of the mental breakdown he nearly had. Focus on her task a bit too strong as she mentally listed out the other chores that had yet to be done. Not once registering his presence beyond a slight step around her father.

“Inari.” All Might reached out for her shoulder, “There you are. I was beginning to worry.”

That slightly blank expression was unsettling as Inari stared at her father, the tilting of her head being the only indication of her confusion, “I’m sorry. I’ve been a little preoccupied.”

“Ah yes, the layout of this neighborhood and apartment must be quite confusing.”

All Might could only raise an eyebrow as Inari shook her head slowly, “The dishes still need to be put away and-”

“You don’t need to worry about that Sweetpea.” He tried to smile, but it felt forced, as usual, “You should focus on your studies. Perhaps at the kitchen table, so I can lend a hand as needed. I wouldn't mind while I-”

“I already finished my studies.” She stated plainly, “Only chores left for today.”

The essence of being defeated didn’t sit well with All Might as he watched his daughter turn and continue her chores. He couldn’t have been out that long, right? It wasn’t that late… surely not. No, he just barely got home at… 6 p.m.

Sadly it really was quite late. Possibly too late to cook something. While he wanted to be the best of influences on his daughter, going out for one night wouldn’t hurt. Especially with how little time he can spend with her as is. Nothing wrong with that, even if he had to keep things undercover. His quirk had been all but used up today and doing anything but takeout would be difficult. There was always ordering in… But going out felt more like something a good parent should do.

At least, that’s what he wanted to do. Having somewhat followed Inari to the kitchen, on her way into the laundry room. Despite his lack of smell, All Might was left flabbergasted as Inari returned to pull something out of the oven.

How!? How was she already five moves ahead of him? He didn’t remember prepping anything this morning, or even setting something aside to be cooked. All Might couldn't even bring himself to question Inari, the number of times he'd attempted to gently tell her not to take over so much housework has never worked. Either she was far too stubborn, or he wasn't around enough.

“It’s almost done.” Inari sighed, sliding the pan back into the oven, “Just a few more minutes.”

All but ignoring her father, Inari went about her chores. Despite All Might’s attempted dismissal of her need to do them. What was left for All Might to do? Besides wander the apartment and try to learn its layout.

It annoyed All Might to no end as he laid in bed, fuming about how quickly his daughter seemed to adjust. Maybe it was easier due to how many times it has happened up until this point. Which only came with a worse feeling for the Hero. If he didn’t feel the need to uproot his child so often… would she be so forgiving of the circumstances?

#mha all might #all might mha #bnha all might #all might #all might x oc (relative)#all might's daughter #dad might #dadmight

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yeonchi · 15 days

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Introducing: Koei Warriors Retrospective - the new Koei Warriors Rant Series (1000th Post Special)

In 2014, I began the Koei Warriors Rant Series in an effort to speculate the reason why Koei Tecmo weren't localising their games with English dubbing and hopefully find or get an official response. Two years later, this was followed by the Dub Logistics series in an attempt to broaden it to the wider scope of the Japanese gaming industry and English Dubbed Game News, a Facebook page intended as a counter to the Undub page informing fans about the localisation status of Japanese games.

For a number of years after that, I was calling out the duplicity of Koei Tecmo's PR and the intolerance of their fanbase and other non-English dub fans. In 2018-19, I ended my English dub rants, left the Koei Tecmo fanbase and deactivated EDGN after the dishonourable disgrace that was Dynasty Warriors 9. Then, when the pandemic happened in 2020, I decided to start indulging my guilty pleasure of playing my favourite hack-and-slash games from the company that made subpar localisations of those games despite knowing what they did and feeling bitter (yet somehow vindicated) over it.

In late 2021, I built a gaming PC and moved my games from my laptop (which was faster than my old PC) to it. At the start of 2022, I learnt that PS3 emulation was a thing and I decided that I had no excuse to not play the Koei Warriors games released for the PS3, with most of those releases not receiving PC ports. I also went on to play the newer PS4 games through their PC ports and went back to the older games on the PS2 and PSP (the latter I was already doing on my old PC during the preceding years).

Around the same time, I realised that in all the years I had been ranting about English dubs and localisation in Koei Warriors games and Japanese games in general, there was one thing I never did; I never really talked about the games themselves. As I played through the games, I had opinions about certain mechanics and issues with certain aspects of the games outside of localisation, some that fans know and some that fans may not know. So let's change that.

After being delayed by two years due to various factors, I am proud to announce the relaunch of the Koei Warriors Rant Series in a new format called Koei Warriors Retrospective. In each instalment of this new series I'll be talking about each generation of Dynasty Warriors, Samurai Warriors and Warriors Orochi games along with their expansions and spin-offs on consoles, handhelds and PC (mobile games will not be covered). I'll also look into where Koei Tecmo went wrong for the Warriors games to be in the current state they're in. In a way, it's like WildcatWeather's "I Played EVERY Warriors Game" series, but more in depth, particularly with games that were exclusive to Japan where WildcatWeather only touched on them in his videos (as his focus was only on games released in the West).

Some things to note here - I will be reviewing Warriors All-Stars at some point, but there are some games that I will be unable to properly review for various reasons that I will mention during the series:

Jan Sangoku Musou/Dynasty Warriors Mahjong (雀・三國無双)

Dynasty Warriors Online (真・三國無双 Online)

Samurai Warriors Katana (戦国無双 KATANA)

Dynasty Warriors Next (真・三國無双 NEXT)

In addition, I have also prepared non-retrospective material that will be posted gradually. Aside from the list of recycled maps from DW6 being used in DW7, there are two other series coming up, namely Warriors Orochi: The Recollective Redux (a redo of the 2015 series) and the Dynasty Warriors Weapon Moveset Power Rankings (a review of the weapon movesets in DW7 and DW8). Other plans are also in the works as well, but for now, enjoy the lineup as I commemorate 20 years of me playing Dynasty Warriors games and 10 years of the Koei Warriors Rant Series.

#dynasty warriors #samurai warriors #warriors orochi #koei tecmo #koei warriors #koei warriors retrospective

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magickkate · 1 month

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Hi, I have a question. I am a beginner witch. I have just moved out of my parents home to the city. I have one other roommate. He is about 10 years older than me. But he is very emotionally manipulative. He is very much stuck in a victim mindset. He also considers the common spaces (kitchen, toilet, bathroom) to be actually 'his' spaces. They are not. He keeps all his dirty dishes in the kitchen. He hasn't cleaned those dishes in three weeks. Because of the space they take up, I'm unable to cook, and I can barely clean my own dishes. He doesn't clean anything. Mold has started to grow in some of the cabinets. The filter of the extractor hood is completely burned, and needs to be replaced. He leaves his dirty clothes on the floor of the bathroom. Despite all of this, he claims to be very hygienic and he has told me I need to clean my stuff otherwise there will be problems. Every time I bring anything of this up he goes into victim mode and gets defensive. He talks down to me because I'm younger than him.

I have also reason to believe he has come into my room without my permission while I was at university. He gets angry every time I get any normal necessities. He got angry when I got a doorbell for myself. Or when I got an air freshener (he smokes a lot. He says he only smokes outside, but the entire home smells like cigarettes). But in general, the way the common space is now, is simply unhealthy. He also lies a lot, and he doesn't keep his promises.

He has had a number of other roommates before me, and all of them have left. But I really need this space. I really don't want to go back home, because my father is verbally abusive. I feel emotionally unsafe around my roommate, and I would like to have some protective spells around so I could feel safer. Also to stop him from trying to emotionally manipulate me. Do you know any good protective spells for a beginner witch? I can't use fire.

First and foremost, thank you for sharing this with me. If you need to share further, my inbox is always open. I'm so sorry that you are dealing with this!

Second, I don't think this should be dealt with in a magical manner to start, especially if your safety is at risk at all. You said that he may be intruding on your space and is unclean (causing mold) which can be toxic!

Is there anyone you are close to (perhaps both in relation and location) that can help work this out with you further (i.e., close friend, family, landlord, law enforcement if necessary)? I don't know how I would be able to assist you with something like this being a figure on the internet. I want you to be safe.

So that's about all I can do regarding the mundane side of things, but let's look at the mystical side.

Wards are super important in cases like this. They are strong protective barriers that you can set up around a specific area like your room or designated space.

Here's a simple protective spell that you can perform as a beginner witch without using fire:

Salt Barrier Spell Materials needed: -> Sea salt or regular table salt -> Small bowl or dish -> Your intention and focus Instructions: 1. Begin by cleansing your space. You can do this by lighting some incense, using a cleansing spray made of water and essential oils, or simply by visualizing white light filling the room and dispelling any negativity. 2. Take the salt and pour it into the small bowl or dish. 3. Hold the bowl of salt in your hands and close your eyes. Take a few deep breaths to center yourself. 4. Visualize a bright, protective light surrounding you and your living space. You can imagine this light as a glowing bubble or a shield of energy. 5. While holding this visualization, infuse the salt with your intention for protection. You can silently repeat affirmations such as, "I am safe and protected in my home," or "Negative energies are repelled by this salt barrier." [please adjust this to whatever intention you feel is necessary for your situation. A spell is not about the ingredients, but about the intention you put into it.] 6. Once you feel that the salt is charged with your intention, sprinkle it around the perimeter of your room or apartment. You can also place small bowls of salt in the corners of the room for added protection. 7. As you sprinkle the salt, visualize a strong barrier forming, preventing any negative energy or unwanted influences from entering your space. 8. After creating the salt barrier, take a moment to express gratitude for the protection it provides. 9. Leave the salt in place for as long as you feel necessary. You can replenish it periodically or refresh the spell whenever you feel the need.

Here is another option that is confined to a jar, without salt around the room.

Jar Protection Spell: Materials needed: -> A small jar with a lid -> Salt (preferably sea salt or regular table salt) -> Bay leaves (dried or fresh) -> Your intention and focus Instructions: 1. Begin by cleansing the jar and its lid. You can do this by washing them with soap and water, or by wiping them down with a cleansing solution such as vinegar or alcohol. 2. Take a moment to center yourself and focus your intention on creating a protective barrier around your living space. 3. Fill the bottom of the jar with a layer of salt. Salt has long been used for its purifying and protective properties in various spiritual traditions. 4. Place a few bay leaves on top of the salt layer. Bay leaves are believed to have protective qualities and can help to ward off negative energies. 5. As you add each bay leaf, visualize a shield of protection forming around your room, preventing any negative influences from entering. 6. Continue layering salt and bay leaves until the jar is full, alternating between the two materials. 7. Once the jar is filled, seal it tightly with the lid. 8. Hold the jar in your hands and infuse it with your intention for protection. You can silently repeat affirmations such as, "This jar creates a barrier of safety and security around me," or "Negative energies are repelled by the contents of this jar." [Again, please adjust this to whatever intention you feel is necessary for your situation. As always, a spell is not about the ingredients, but about the intention you put into it.] 9. Place the jar in a prominent location in your room, such as on a shelf or bedside table. 10. Whenever you feel the need for extra protection, you can hold the jar in your hands and focus your intention on reinforcing the protective barrier it represents. This jar protection spell harnesses the power of salt and bay leaves to create a shield of protection around your living space. It's a simple yet effective way to ward off negative energies and maintain a sense of safety and security in your environment. Trust in the power of your intention and the natural properties of the ingredients to support you in creating a harmonious and protected space.

Remember, the power of any spell ultimately comes from your intention and focus. Trust in your own abilities as a beginner witch, and know that you have the capability to create positive change in your life and surroundings. Additionally, while protective spells can provide a sense of security, it's also important to address the practical aspects of your living situation and consider finding a long-term solution that ensures your safety and well-being. Whether that involves setting boundaries with your roommate, seeking support from friends or authorities, or finding alternative living arrangements, prioritize your own comfort and safety above all else.

Please reach out if you need to send another ask or send me a message in my DMs. Again, thank you for sharing your situation with me. I hope you are able to create a safe and healthy environment for yourself. 🤍✨🕊️

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unhinged-summer-fun · 2 years

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masquerade

Written for Danktober 2022 Day 13: Olfactophilia + Public, Kind, World Sight Day

Puppy!Marcus Pike x GN!Reader (22+ only)

Summary: A night out with some colleagues seems boring. Marcus wants to surprise you.

Word Count: 937

Warnings: Olfactophilia is a paraphilia defined as arousal from the scent of a body (typically sexual areas), obviously public sumn sumn, no explicit sex, teasing and innuendo, implied puppy play, Marcus Pike is a little shit

A/N: Yay happy Puppy Marcus!!!!

[full danktober list here]

[puppy!marcus collection here]

"You're a goddamn menace, you know that right?"

Marcus only shrugged and adjusted the loops of the mask in the visor mirror. "I am exceptionally aware." He didn't look at you as he said it, but you knew all of his focus had to do with you right now. You fought down the rising heat in your face; it wasn't often that Marcus took you by surprise, sexually.

You were sitting in the restaurant parking lot, waiting to go in to meet your work colleagues for dinner.

It would have been fine if he'd chosen something silly for this: a sock, gym clothes, a pillowcase. But no, you'd cleaned up the mess that was left on your bodies after some lazy sexy fun that morning using an innocuous but soft rag that had disappeared from the hamper shortly after. You hadn't thought anything of it, until Marcus had pulled out his new face mask with the cum rag lining the inside of it. He had made sure you'd seen what it was before he'd put it over his face.

The facts of the situation were still chugging along the sluggish waters of your mind when Marcus brought your attention back by taking a deep breath in. His pants tented a bit at the front in the way you couldn't let yourself enjoy until later. He wanted to smell the scent of you both the whole night, you realized with a weak shiver.

You had no response to it besides an even weaker noise of approval. Marcus held himself with pride in almost every situation, but this was a couple steps above even the time he'd managed to catch 15 pieces of popcorn in a row using just his mouth. This was a deeply erotic type of pride, filled with the knowledge that Marcus could get off to the simple memory of what hasn't even happened yet. Even though you could just see from his cheekbones up, you knew the shape of his smirk from the sparkle in his eyes.

"How long have you been planning this?" you asked, unable to help yourself. Time had skipped a little, in the way a messy disc would jump around to songs later in the album with no warning. You were now walking toward the restaurant but the distance still afforded some level of privacy.

"It was kind of something that's been on my mind for a while, but the opportunity never quite showed itself until today." He was smug, and normally you knew just what to do with a brat. The problem was, Marcus wasn't a brat. He was indulgent, hedonistic, clever and good and there were so many new variables in the mix that you fell back on an unfamiliar feeling: total surprise. "Stitched it up this afternoon."

Fuck.

Marcus had never shown a vested interest in public sex or exhibitionism, but this wasn't that. This was hidden away, and you were both fully clothed, and nobody was touching anybody. All he had to do was breathe, and the arousal would take over. This was so outside his regular wishes and desires that you credited part of your shock to worry about this out-of-character behavior from him. But he looked comfortable and pleased with himself, by both his inconspicuous lewdness and the satisfaction of seeing you surprised.

You were oddly touched by that.

You reached the front entrance of the restaurant and found the rest of your party waiting: just a few friends from work who wanted to get together for the evening after a difficult project had wrapped up. But you couldn't even remember the name of your job right now. You could barely remember to greet your coworkers by name at the front, almost walking right by them in your lack of recognition. You drifted, distracted, after the hostess and only remembered to focus when Marcus helped you into the booth with a hand at the small of your back.

It was a shared code, really, a reminder to behave in public when you couldn't say as much in present company. You looked up at him and must have looked some shade of affected, because he returned your gaze looking rather amused. A quick conversation passed between your eyes.

Hm?

Mhm.

Good.

You're in for it.

I know.

"Look how sweet and kind he is, helping them into the booth like that," one of your coworkers sighed, smiling up at the two of you locked in a world of your own. You jumped a little, remembering where you were. You planned to blame your behavior on the project, an easy out.

"He's sooo polite, too! You've trained him well," another said.

You stumbled a little into the booth and laughed.

If only you knew.

"I dunno, Marcus surprises me when he wants to."

"Well, you two make a great couple, anyone who takes one look at you knows that."

"Oh no, we're too obvious, babe," you laugh, nudging Marcus with your shoulder. He loops an arm around you to pull you closer, pressing his face to the top of your head and breathing deeply. To the rest of the group, it just looks like a sweet kiss he's giving you, but you know what he's up to.

"Guess we better try harder."

The topic changed a little.

"Have you guys ever thought of getting a dog?"

It was Marcus who answered, a moment before starting to remove his mask. "Once or twice." He was looking right at you while he spoke. "Might be repetitive, since they've trained me so well already."

The table laughed, and you plotted.

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate your comments and reblogs. <3 See you tomorrow for a huge Din/Reader fic!

#marcus pike x reader #gn!reader #unhingery #danktober 2022 #puppy!marcus pike

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armpirate · 10 months

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UNDER HIS SKIN || JJK || Ch. 21

Pairings: tattoist!jk x fem!reader

Genre: smut, angst, friends to lovers, tattoo au, virgin reader.

Summary: They say there are two versions for every story, and it's important to hear both of them. Everybody is hearing your side of the story, but it's just fair to get to know his.

After breaking up with his girlfriend, the only thing he wanted was to have fun with no attachment. You wanted to get rid of your virginity, and he wanted to tick you off his list. What he didn't expect was getting so emotionally attached to you that he would regret the deal.

Previous || Next

MASTERLIST

The girl keeps making eye contact with me, teasing me every time she moves the straw near her lips with a smirk. I only grin in response, knowing perfectly fine what she's trying to do and where this could actually go. As usual, my eyes travel away from her to fix on a different point inside the pub. It's something that has always worked... There's nothing worse for someone than having the attention taken away from you for no reason. I smirk to myself when I feel a tap on my shoulder, and her friendly smile is filled with second intentions. A little bit of sweet talk later, we're both making out outside. Until we break the kiss to breathe, and the blonde I wanted to go home with is a totally different person.

And that's when I snap back to reality. Because that thought only crossed my head while I'm still sitting on the counter, and it ended up with Y/n. It always ends up with her. Trying to get her out of my head, even with the dumbest thoughts, only ends up being a big total fail from my side. And why? I don't know.

It could be regret knocking at my door. But I've regretted the way I talked to her as soon as those words slipped my lips. I was low enough to attack her with her own situation, that she only trusted me to know. And I used it to hurt her, only because I felt hurt over her opinion about the deal.

The way she said it... It made me feel useless, as if she were only around me for the sex and advice, but wasn't that what I signed for? It was obvious she'd use everything she learns sooner or later, it's literally the point of our deal. But my blood was boiling just at the thought of that dickhead touching her.

For the eightieth time, only that day, I pick up my phone and enter in our chat, just to be unable to type anything at all. What am I supposed to say now? It'd be dumb to think she isn't annoyed still, and this won't make it.

Before I save my phone in my pants again, I see a message from Leslie. She keeps insisting on seeing me again, and it's starting to piss me off. I know Mark meant well when he gave her my new phone number, but this is being a little bit too much. And the fact that I'm already pissed off in general doesn't help when I click the block button and forget about it.

Pissed off, I stand up from my place and head outside. I guess it's time to get back home.

And what's better than video games to free your mind?

I take a seat on the floor, resting my back against the couch, after I've changed my clothes to some baggy comfortable ones. I'm finally immersed in something that isn't my own thoughts, feeling able to escape from the mess I made.

—Jungkook, just stop playing if you're gonna be this bad —Tae calls me out through the earphones.

—Who will you play with, huh? —I ask, raising my eyebrow while my focus is on killing people from the other group.

—Anyone else, literally —he sighs—. If you're so distracted because of that girl, just go and talk with her.

I tried that, and I failed as well. Just a few days ago I drove to her house, and stood in front of the main door for twenty minutes until I gave up. There was no point for me to stay there. How would she even react if she had seen me there out of nowhere?

It's going to be a long night... Well, as they all have been since I fought with Y/n.

✸ ✸ ✸

If last night I thought there was no hope left, I receive a text from Soo. She's inviting me again to go boxing with her. I wish she'd just accept I'm fine with doing it on my own, because we aren't at the same level, and I like being a bit rough when it comes to it?

"Tam, Mel and Y/n are also here"

And that text makes me think that maybe it won't be a bad idea after all. I wanted a chance to see Y/n and that doesn't seem forced. My sister invited me and she just happens to be there, so it's not a bad idea at all.

When I get there, I suddenly want to backtrack and leave the gym. I don't know what her reaction will be when she sees me, but there are high chances that she won't like it and I'm just risking it on making things uncomfortable for everybody. But, at the same time, if I don't see her now, I'm not sure when I'll be able to gain strength to step in front of her and talk to her directly about what happened.

I step in in the gym class, seeing everybody messily working on their boxing skills on the punching bags that are hung around the room, while others just seem to be resting a bit. And that's when I see her. Cheeks slightly tinted in red, some wet locks sticking on her forehead and side of her face, while her lips are parted trying to get some air back. And I can't believe how much I missed that image.

The trainer walks to me, greeting me with a tight hug before he pats my back. I've always trained with him only, so he's surprised to see me here with so many people.

—My sister insisted —I excuse myself.

—Good —he laughs—. Pick a punching bag and make it yours.

—Umm —he looks at me interested when he's aware of my pensive expression—. How about we get in pairs and work on our abilities together? I've seen it's really helpful.

Convinced by what I've just said, he nods and turns to the whole class before he speaks:

—Guys, get in pairs.

I see Soo goes straight to Melanie as soon as those words get to their ears, while Tammy walks straight to the guy she's been trying to hook up with for months. About Y/n, I see her looking around, trying to find someone that's in the same situation as her. And she finds someone actually. The boy walks to her with confidence, just to receive a deathly look from me, while I point to somewhere else in the room so he doesn't get near her. His expression turns from a confident one to a scared one, changing the pace of his tracks to walk somewhere else in the classroom.

I walk to her, noticing her ponytail is a big mess at this point, and there's no way she'll be able to concentrate on the exercise that way. Throwing my boxing gloves on the floor, I walk to her. Her hair falls over her shoulders, before I hold it all up again and style it on a messy bun so it won't bother her later.

—What are you doing? —she turns to me, once I'm done— Your sister is there.

—They all are busy with their things.

It's not like they'll interrupt their gossip and dumb talk to pay attention to us. Yet Y/n still needs to make sure their eyes are on us. She turns to me again with her lips slightly pressed against one another.

—I'm not doing this with you —she assures me, when she's aware I'm already wearing my red boxing gloves.

—Too bad I'm the only one free.

—Then I'll change partners with someone.

She starts looking around, but everyone has their partner already, and I highly doubt anyone would want to trade at this point. I call her name, the softest way I'm able to, getting her to look back at me with acceptance. But it only seems to be about the gym class, because whenever I try to get closer to her, she steps back, until she finally decides to hide behind the punching back, holding onto it so I get ready to punch it.

—We need to talk about what happened —I throw the first punch.

Although I try to be as careful as I'm able to, I still make her whole body move with the punch I give.

—Do we? —she cuts me off— Because I don't think we have anything to talk about when you disappeared for a week.

How do I tell her that I've been trying to do exactly that for a week, and that it took my sister to invite me to her friends' hang outs to finally dare to do it? It's ridiculous and pathetic. How do I tell her that I've been thinking about her non-stop ever since I stepped out from her house later that night?

She keeps looking at me though, silence isn't enough and she wants me to fill it with an answer to her question.

—I wanted to call you —I assure her once she changes places.

She scoffs, getting ready to give the first punch to the punching back.

—What was it? You lost your phone? Broke it? —she changes her position, now kicking the boxing back to make my body move.

—I was embarrassed.

She suddenly stops. Eyebrows knitted together as she processes what I've just admitted.

—I'm sure you're used to being an asshole like that —she keeps going back to punching and kicking the punching bag, hitting it harder each time.

—Not with you though. And I didn't know how to reach out to you after I behaved like that —I sigh—. You had every right to be pissed off that night. I was a douche, that comment was...

—Disgusting? —she gasps, stopping again— It was. And don't try to say you didn't feel every single word. You said it because you were annoyed, I get it, but that doesn't change the fact that somewhere, in the back of your head, you don't think those words aren't true.

—I never said I didn't believe those weren't true —she bites her lip, and I'm seeing she's starting to position herself to hit something that isn't the punching bag anymore—. The wording was fucked up because it came up as an attack to you, but would you be really looking in my direction if you had more choices?

Wait, was that what actually hurted me that day?

I never thought about it that way, but the fact that she could have anyone she'd want to if it weren't for her being pathologically unable to keep a normal conversation with a man... Yeah, it sucks a lot. The fact that she'll be able to act the same way she does with me with anyone else makes my head hurt and my blood boil. But it's something that's likely to happen eventually, whether I like it or not. And it's not fair to try to hold her accountable for it.

—It doesn't change the fact that you were offensive for no reason —she faces me

—I didn't mean it that way. I... —I think about what I want to say exactly, but I give up when I'm unable to— I'm sorry about what I said.

My lungs and throat totally shut when she suddenly hits my stomach after some other punches directed at the punching back I'm holding. I guess I deserve that.

—This conversation isn't over —she assures me—. Don't think everything is set and done only because you apologized.

And while it might not be the reply someone would be happy with, I am indeed happy after hearing that comment and being aware that she doesn't want to end things there.

After what happened during gym class, and after taking a cold shower, I get dressed and pick my phone, finally daring to send her a text. I can't believe it's actually been a whole week since I've done this.

Me: Can I come to your place?

Y/n takes quite long to respond. I keep seeing the "Typing..." thingy under her name several times, until she finally sends in her answer. My stomach turns in its place when she first sends a dry "No", just to send in later how she wants us to meet in my place instead.

✸ ✸ ✸

I've been walking in circles on the exact same spot for way too many times, I'm afraid I might end up digging a hole at this point. And it only gets worse when she finally rings the bell, making my heart jump out of my chest. She looks serious, but slightly nervous, when I open the door for her.

It's kind of uncomfortable at first. As if we hadn't done this a million times already.

—Do you want something to drink? —I ask, pointing towards the kitchen.

Her hair swings in sync with her head when she shakes her head. So straight to the serious talk, I guess.

I walk over my couch, thinking it'd be better to discuss this while we're both sitting than standing in the middle of my house. Although she stays up, until I pat on the free seat next to me on the couch. Now she is indeed nervous, moving her fingers on her lap, lost in her own head.

I think it might be easier if I were the one who started speaking.

—I crossed the line the other day —she nods, still not looking at me—. And hiding for a week didn't make it any better.

—No. Because it seemed like you didn't care —although she raises her head to look at me, she avoids looking into my eyes—. It felt like I was the one who had to go after you to make things up.

—I didn't know how to do it —I scratch the back of my head—. I didn't know how to properly reach out to you after that night. I wasn't sure if texting you out of nowhere or going to your place would be invasive.

—But coming to the training wasn't? —she asks that question with an accusing tone, while she raises one of her eyebrows.

—Was it that obvious I went because of you?

Her lips pressed tight against one another, as she slightly nods her head.

—I rather train by myself —I sigh—. But Soo told me you were going, too. I saw the chance, and I took it.

—So your plan was to come to the training, and?

—Apologize —I finish

—Right —her gaze drops back to her thighs—. You know, I wasn't annoyed because of the jealous act. That pissed me off, but not because you were jealous, but because you feel like you're free to meet up with someone, yet that same rule doesn't apply to me. I don't like the double standards. And then you said that crap, acting like I'm only doing this because you're the only one I can do it with...

From my point of view, I wasn't meeting with Leslie to get in her pants. That was never the main point of it, and it'd never be. But of course she can't know that, especially when I didn't even tell her what was going on.

—How did you feel when I said that?

She seems surprised by my question, as if it were an unexpected bomb that she didn't know how to defend herself against. And that makes me wonder how many times she's felt forced to hide her real feelings, or eat up her own thoughts so she wouldn't hurt others.

—Pathetic —she sighs heavy—. I felt pathetic. It made me feel like you were doing me a favor and just saw me as that.

Clearly, whatever happened in her past has made her as insecure and defensive as she is. But the fact that I dropped those words, and that I used a wording that made her feel that way, only makes me want to bang my head against a wall.

—I promise I didn't mean it that way —I assure her—. It pissed me off how you said you regretted the deal. I said the first thing that crossed my mind. How you talked about it... it made me feel like you're only talking to me because of that. Like all of these moments are only because you need my help —I want to touch her, I crave the feeling of her skin, but my hand drops on my lap before I'm able to reach hers—. You're not pathetic. I'm an asshole for making you think that way.

Her eyes widen slightly as she hears my apology and my thoughts about this whole issue. I wonder what's genuinely going through her head right now.

—You're an asshole —she seconds what I say, just to say something unexpected shortly after—. But get pizza for dinner and I'll consider forgiving you.

She's slick and fast, giving me a tiny smile while she looks at me after dropping the best make-up phrase I've heard. I pat her head, feeling her hair soft under my palm, before I lean over the table to reach my phone.

—Ham and cheese?

We've eaten pizza way too many times not to know she hates rough flavors. I remember the face she made when she first got one slice of my Pepperoni pizza after I dared her to try it.

Forty minutes later, we're both lying on my couch, eating the pizza I've ordered while watching the most gore film that's ever been made. At some point, when the killer tears one of his victim's body apart with a chainsaw, I ask:

—Does this make us psychopaths?

The fact that neither of us are even flinching would be concerning.

—Maybe —she nods, while chewing on her food.

It's all good and nice, until we both realize there's only one slice left inside the box. It's a matter of time before we both start arguing for it.

—You had the last one the last time —she whines

—And you had the last one the last last time —I emphasize my words pointing at the back with my thumb.

Does it make sense? No. But I enjoy bickering with her for no reason, and I've been missing all of this a little bit too much.

We both play rock-paper-scissors to make up who will get the last slice. The first few times we both use the same things, until I change mine to scissors and she chooses paper. Her hand is lifted in the air, while I jump on my seat and celebrate my victory just to piss her off. Clearly, it doesn't last long, because I divide that same slice in two just so she can get a bit more.

—Here —I hand it to her.

—Thank you —she smiles shyly, holding the slice with one of her hands.

When we both start picking all the things up, I see her attempt to leave my house, walking nervously to the door while she looks for her things around the place. Can I seriously let her go after a week without her? Answer is quite predictable.

I make her turn on her feet, pulling her body as close to mine as I'm able to, before I lay my lips on her, covering them softly with a delicate kiss. She's the first one moving her lips on mine, wrapping her arms around my neck as she tries to pull me closer to her body.

I break the kiss first, basically because the need of asking her to stay the night is bigger than the need I have of kissing her right now.

—Stay the night —I whisper—. Nothing has to happen. Just stay.

Actually, I don't want anything to happen. I just want to be with her, feel the warmth of her body next to mine as we try to get some sleep. That's all I need.

Y/n changes to one of my oversized t-shirts before she joins me in my bed, under the sheets. And although everything seems to be fine, I can tell there's something going on through her head by the way her eyebrows keep twitching and frowning momentarily.

—Let it out.

—What? —she looks at me confused.

—Whatever is running up here —I caress her temple—, let it out.

—Do you think Soo knows?

—Doubt it. Why?

—You said she told you I was there today.

The fact that that question was the only thing keeping her from relaxing next to me makes me cackle.

—All night you've been thinking about that? ��I lift my eyebrows surprised— She said Tam, Mel and you were there. She didn't single you out. It was a general statement to encourage me to join her. She knows I've had a hard time socializing with people.

—So she invites you to places to get you to open up? —I nod— That's sweet.

Actually, it's been like that ever since I moved here. Because, according to her, I needed to make more friends apart from Taehyung, and how neither of us could leave in our bubble for too long. Only for Jimin to be added to the group, shortly after I met him as my therapist.

—Fake it 'till you make it —I sigh.

That's been my motto all my life.

—I have a hard time believing you struggle with that.

—I find it easy to meet people on a superficial level. I struggle when I have to open up and actually build friendships.

It was tough after what happened in Seoul, but it got slightly worse when Leslie cheated on me and disappeared shortly after.

We're back to being in silence, but I can sense there's something still bothering her.

—Let it out —he insists again.

—Why did you meet up with Leslie?

This time she doesn't play around, she directly asks the question while she waits for me to give her an answer.

—I shouldn't have —I look away as soon as her eyes fall on me again—. She showed up, and wanted to apologize properly for what happened between us. We had dated for too long, and I didn't want to hold the negativity any longer. You know, be cordial with her, move on from all that.

If only I had known she'd pull the bullshit she did, I wouldn't have given her a second.

I know Y/n asked why I met up with her, but I know she's waiting for a longer answer, that also includes an explanation as to why I didn't tell her I was meeting up with her when I canceled our plans.

—I didn't tell you through text because I didn't think I had to —I shrug—. But I was going to tell you when I drove to the bar. You don't have to worry about her —my hand reaches her under the covers, as if I needed her to understand I'm serious—, seriously.

I genuinely don't care about anything else, but the fact that I'm with her right now. It might seem dumb and stupid, but that tiny smile of her -that she keeps trying to hide- is the only thing that assures me everything will be alright.

#fanfic #ff #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkookxreader #jk #bts #wattpad #kookie #smut #jungkook smut #tattoistjk #tattooau #jungkook pov #Under His Skin #armpirate

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nikethestatue · 1 year

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I saw the anon ask about Illyria and your response with self-insertion. I totally agree. Maybe it’s an unpopular opinion but I honestly don’t think Nesta’s mental health journey was even that great. Idk- I felt it was strange and out of character for Nesta to have resorted to the coping mechanisms she engaged in- sex and alcohol, to begin with. Nesta is an externalizer and I could see her spewing her vitriol…but sleeping around and alcoholism? It seemed out of left field to me. It just felt like such a missed opportunity to explore her powers & flesh things out. She was contained to the house of wind in this contrived scenario and it had this institutionalization feel for mental health, imo. We heal by quarantining ourselves from others and not engaging in the real world? I understand this is a fantasy world, but as we overlook these other grossly problematic plot-lines to praise the mental health journey, it’s difficult for me to pretend it was…good. Maybe that’s an unpopular take- people obviously love the book.

I understand the library is a safe-haven, don’t get me wrong, but the entire messaging from a mental health standpoint was- separate from the world and re-engage when you’re ready? That’s an exceptional mental health journey to people? Again, big institutionalization vibes. Don’t ever have a meaningful conversation with your sisters, but isolate yourself away and train and get dick therapy? There’s a reason they discourage dating in early alcohol/substance abuse recovery…it just fell flat for me.

I also agree with you about these very contrived friendships amongst the Valkyries for the same reason above. Let’s see how they actually engage in the real world. Outside of this institutionalized/residential healing center scenario. Then, I will buy that they are ‘sisters’ and have such an entrenched bond. It seems inauthentic.

I thought the entire ‘training to heal’ plot had big “the gym is my therapy” vibes. Not that exercise can’t be helpful with mental health, but the training focus, in addition to essential social isolation and banishment to a home you are literally stuck in that provides your every desire, is healing? The only part of the “healing journey” I found semi-decent was the hike, and even that was wrapped up in this weird threat to her life and that whole bizarre Feyre’s womb plot. And it was with Cassian, which is fine, but why are we not having a sit-down as sisters? That’s all just brushed over bc Nesta altered anatomy? I hate it. I’m sorry.

Anyways, I’m always shocked by how people relate to that journey and feel it was so amazing. To each their own, but blah lol.

I guess I’m not really asking anything, but I am interested in your thoughts.

I absolutely agree with you.

The idea of the Library is a good one in theory--a place for abused/traumatised women to have as a sanctuary. However, it also does have this vibe of an asylum for sure. Like if someone is unable to speak in 80 years, and hasn't dealt with their trauma to any significant degree, there is definitely an issue with this set up.

But I also feel like it's a strange theme of a lot of SJM's writings--this inability to move on, forget, forgive and be done. Like think about Mor, who is 540 years old, and can't forgive Eris for leaving her in the woods. Cassian destroying a whole village of people. Even Rhys, who told Tamlin that he can't EVER forgive him for how he made Feyre feel.

And the women in the Library seems like one massive exaggeration of all this perpetual trauma and inability to heal or move on.

Which, I think, goes back to the idea that SJM doesn't know how to tackle trauma. It's very superficial, and I really wish she didn't get into these grandiose subjects and pile it all on, and then come up with the most rudimentary of 'solutions'. Love. Working out. Friendship. All these external factors, which basically indicate that in her opinion only relationships can help you out of it. Not any type of self-help, self-actualization, self-guidance.

Ugh, and don't get me started on Nesta self-destructing with sex and alcohol. Absolutely makes no sense at all. But I think it was just an excuse to get Nesta into the House and keep her there.

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thevioletcaptain · 2 years

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it’s tarot time, i guess?

So I was doing a tarot reading for myself today when I was suddenly overcome with the desire to do a lil reading for the first season of The Winchesters. Why? Look, we all do things, man. Sometimes a person just wants to be extra unhinged about the prequel to a TV show they’ve loved for over a decade. Don’t judge me.

Anyway, the cards I pulled gave me brainworms. Like. Giant, snake-sized brainworms that are all eating their own tails like a big, squirmy worm ouroboros. I’m so sorry for that mental image.

Rather than just sit with the reading myself, I’m going to share it here in case anyone else cares to see it. I’m forcing myself not to assume that it’s all about Dean’s journey as narrator, though when I put them all together they do tell a surprisingly coherent narrative that meshes pretty well with where I’m speculating his part in the prequel is leading. Who’s to say, though.

With the giant caveat that this may very well turn out to be a big old pile of nothing, and a second giant caveat that I mostly stopped reading tarot cards for like 15 years and am a bit rusty as I only picked it back up a couple of years ago, here are the cards I pulled for each episode, followed by my interpretations, some of which take known episode titles into account.

Ace of Swords

The Hermit

The World (reversed)

Six of Swords

Two of Cups

Three of Cups

Nine of Pentacles

Seven of Cups

Eight of Pentacles

Temperance

Eight of Cups

The Tower

The Devil (reversed)

I also pulled a card for the overall takeaway to expect by the end of the season, and (hilariously) got The Moon (reversed).

Episode One - Pilot

Card: Ace of Swords Interpretation: The pursuit of truth. The action of taking control.

Perhaps this relates to Dean’s overall arc. His entire purpose as narrator of this story is to find out the “true” story about how his parents met, and he’s on this journey after finally being able to take ownership of the narrative post-Chuck. This seems like a pretty basic card pull tbh! But also... accurate considering what we already know. Moving on...

Episode Two - Teach Your Children Well

Card: The Hermit Interpretation: Striking out alone. Stepping away to find a clearer perspective without outside influence. Independence.

This is interesting, especially paired with the title of the episode, which is a reference to a CSNY song about becoming your own person while still learning from and taking on parts of your parents. I don’t think it’s a stretch to guess that this is going to be a major theme through the whole show, but the hermit showing up here with all the “make your own way” energy it carries is definitely something to think about.

Episode Three - You’re Lost Little Girl

Card: The World (reversed) Interpretation: Being stuck in place. Being unable to move forward until you’re ready to take responsibility and free yourself from what binds you.

Hm. Being stuck, being trapped, needing to free yourself... in an episode called You’re Lost Little Girl... this works. If the girl in question is Mary (I’m guessing it will be because I feel like the next ep is a John centric episode, and it makes sense with an ensemble cast to share the focus from week to week) then this could be about her desire to get out of hunting, and feeling trapped in that world even though she probably could have just left it behind. We know from Supernatural that she wanted out, and that she saw John as her ticket to normalcy. So it would make sense if this one is about her struggling with that in some way.

Putting the rest under a cut because this post is getting long and may very well turn out to be a big mountain of nonsense 😅

Episode Four - Masters of War

Card: Six of Swords Interpretation: Moving on after a loss. Picking up the pieces and accepting support. Trusting the onward journey.

This episode is the one I’m guessing is going to have a bunch of flashbacks to John’s time in Vietnam, purely because the title is from the Bob Dylan anti-war protest song of the same name. Six of Swords is definitely a “deal with your trauma” card, so this makes me raise my eyebrows even more... if it turns out to be an episode where John tries (or is encouraged) to get help with his flashbacks I’ll be yelling.

Episode Five - Daydream Believer

Card: Two of Cups Interpretation: Healing damaged relationships, forming deeper bonds.

Depending on how quickly John and Mary get together, this could either be them getting closer for the first time, or working through a rough patch if they’ve already started dating (maybe this is where we’ll see some angelic interference?) Healing damaged relationships could also apply to Dean through his narration--the whole show still seems likely to be about him trying to heal his own trauma surrounding his family, so that’s possible. This is the only episode title that has me completely stumped--the song is about a couple who don’t have much in the way of material things, but are trying to find happiness in being together. Maybe the connection will become clearer as other episodes air, but combining the title/lyrical content with this card makes me think that this episode will have to do with love in some capacity, whether it’s between John and Mary or someone else.

Episode Six - Art of Dying

Card: Three of Cups Interpretation: Reunions. Friendship and support when it’s most needed. The harvest / things coming to fruition.

We know that the show starts with Mary looking for Samuel, so perhaps this is when she’ll find him? Paired with that title though (which is a reference to the George Harrison song about death and reincarnation) I wonder if this episode will be the first time we actually see Heaven. Depending on how often Dean actually appears on screen (we know he’s going to show up in the pilot, but afaik he’s just going to be narrating most of the time) maybe this will be the next time we see him? If so, it’s possible we could also see a reunion between him and other characters at this point....... yes, I’m thinking about that .2 second clip of Cas’ shadow in the trailer and the clown shoes are VERY comfortable thank you for asking.

Episode Seven - Title Unknown

Card: Nine of Pentacles Interpretation: Abundance, but it is unfulfilling. Dissatisfaction. The certainty that something is missing despite things seeming to be complete.

I know I just did Heaven related clowning for the previous episode but... does this not sound like Dean in the afterlife, being dissatisfied with paradise because he hasn’t yet finished working through all his trauma and doesn’t yet have everything he needs? *cough*Castiel’s presence*cough* I really have no idea what else this might be about tbh. It might turn out to be a Carlos or Latika or Ada centric episode but given that I don’t really know much about them yet it’s hard to say. Maybe if Mary does find Samuel in the previous episode, this could be about her realizing that finding him wasn’t enough? She’s still restless and feels like more needs to be done? Or maybe something happened to Samuel while he was away and he’s damaged in some way--it might be cool if he’s lost part of his soul or something, given his connection to Sam in SPN...

Episode Eight - Title Unknown

Card: Seven of Cups Interpretation: Uncertainty when presented with seemingly clear choices. Looking for flaws before moving forward.

Perhaps this will be about Mary weighing pros and cons of staying in the life she hates or getting out with John somehow? Or someone will be offered a deal that will seem too good to be true, and need the characters to look at things with deeper level of scrutiny. Crossroads demon, maybe? Or!!! Maybe it’s a Dean thing and he’s going to be tempted by the chance to undo all the horrible shit that has happened to his family, but the cost will ultimately be too high, because if none of that happened then he wouldn’t have Cas or Jack or basically any of his friends, and Chuck wouldn’t have been defeated. Idk it’s really hard to say without knowing how much Dean we’ll actually get to see.

Episode Nine - Title Unknown

Card: Eight of Pentacles Interpretation: Acknowledging the desire to move forward. Exponential emotional and spiritual growth. Working through issues. Being proactive.

I’m trying really hard not to apply all of this to Dean lmao. But like... the whole premise of the show, of him looking for the truth/looking into his parents past, feels like him doing this. So I’m gonna just go full clown and say that episode nine will be an important one on that front, especially if my interpretation of the previous episode’s card is remotely close. That or it’s going to be John and Mary working through issues, but who knows how involved they’ll even be at this point. Will they have issues yet? At any rate, someone is going to be setting goals and working toward them.

Episode Ten - Title Unknown

Card: Temperance Interpretation: Testing the waters and moving toward healing. Finding peace and balance.

The further in we get the less idea I have about what the middle ones might apply to. Perhaps I need to come back and look at these cards again after we’ve seen a few episodes so I have some kind of framework. Anyway, stab in the dark... testing the waters and looking for balance makes me think of Mary maybe trying to find some way to reconcile her desire to get out of hunting with her need to carry on her family legacy as a Campbell. Maybe we’ll meet a hunter who has managed to do this? Or maybe one of the new characters will successfully find that balance, and Mary realizes that all or nothing is actually the only solution that will work for her (given that in SPN she got out completely, barring a couple of cases like Asa Fox.)

Episode Eleven - Title Unknown

Card: Eight of Cups Interpretation: Letting go of old constraints. Looking to the future.

It’s time for more Dean-related clowning. Shedding his earthly constraints and looking to his long and happy afterlife future. (I actually just have no idea, this could be relating back to the previous one. I love how there’s a clear line between all of these in terms of thematics though. Makes it seem like this might be a somewhat accurate reading. But who knows lol)

Episode Twelve - Title Unknown

Card: The Tower Interpretation: Breaking free. Total upheaval of the status quo. Letting go of the fear of change.

Y’all. I have my fingers firmly crossed for a back nine and a season two pickup, BUT if we only end up with a 13 episode first season, then that means I pulled THE MOTHERFUCKING TOWER for the penultimate episode of the season. I feel like I don’t need to explain to tarot people why that has me screaming--especially when you glance down and see which card I pulled for the finale 👀 But for the rest of you (if anyone is even reading this mess lmao) the tower basically signifies a major point of upheaval. The storm before the calm, or the the final test before the resolution. It means shedding the fear of change that has been holding you back from becoming your true self. Destruction of what has been before in order to make room for growth and change and freedom. If this show is doing what I’m inclined to believe it’s doing WRT Dean’s involvement, then this might refer to his side of things more than John and Mary and the gang, or perhaps will be the episodes when the story he’s telling and the one they’re living collide and fall apart just in time for the next episode, which is...

Episode Thirteen - Title Unknown (Possible S1 Finale)

Card: The Devil (reversed) Interpretation: Total release and liberation

Well... like I said for the previous card, if the show is doing what I think/hope it’s doing with Dean (basically, giving him some degree of the self-actualization that we didn’t get to see in the original series, letting him finish working through his trauma to become fully at peace/integrated in the afterlife) then this would suggest that he succeeds. Dean is truly free in this episode. Given that this is (at the moment) the planned S1 finale, this card makes me lose my mind. If the show gets a back nine, I have no idea, because this really feels like The Ending tbh. Considering that we already know how things will ultimately turn out for John and Mary, my best guess for this in relation to them is that--if this ends up being a midseason finale with 9 more episodes, or if we get a s2--this will be them settling into civilian life, if not ignorant of the supernatural world and enjoying a false sense of freedom, then at least choosing to live outside of the hunting lifestyle.

The Season As A Whole

Card: The Moon (reversed) Interpretation: Seeing the light, anxieties being put to rest.

So... this pretty much says that by the end of the season, everything will make sense. Things will be clear. Light will shine into all of the dark, murky places and everything will be illuminated. All in all a pretty fitting yet frustratingly obvious card for the end of the season, because... Well. Of course everything will make sense by the end of the season--barring anything being set up for a potential season 2.

But it sure did floor me when I pulled this one out when asking something like “what can we expect from the end of the season?” because it really felt like the universe was mocking me. It might as well have said “you can expect the show to follow a narrative :)”

Anyway. That’s all the cards!

One more thing, though... because there’s actually a fairly solid throughline of themes here, which is more than I expected to see. Like, start to finish, this goes:

Taking control, seeking the truth, gaining independence, freeing yourself in order to move forward, shedding trauma, accepting support, healing damaged relationships and forming deeper bonds, reuniting with those lost, feeling something is still missing, being uncertain about a choice and looking for faults, being proactive, testing the waters, letting go, breaking free, liberation, clarity.

Basically, I somehow managed to pull cards that have a coherent narrative shape? Wild. Now I guess it’s time to wait and see how close any of this is, and if it turns out to be nothing, I can always use this as a loose fic outline 😆

#cass says things #cass does tarot #i guess????#idk if i ever had a tarot tag i think i stopped doing it before i got a tumblr #do i even want to tag this with the show lmao this is probably not interesting to anyone except me #this barely counts as speculation #oh well just in case #fandom: the winchesters #spnwin spec #based wholly on tarot cards and a handful of episode titles #because why not

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couldntbedamned · 1 year

Text

Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue - 13

Summary: In an alternate universe where trains and zeppelins are still common forms of travel and the internet and cell phones exist, nineteen year old Peter Parker has few options left after he’s swindled out of his inheritance. Unable to pay for college, let alone keep the house left to him by his deceased aunt, he’s running out of time before he’s out on the streets. Desperate, Peter signs his life over to the Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections to take his chances as the selected husband of a complete stranger. After all, he only has to make it through a year and then he can choose to annul.

Dr. Stephen Strange has little interest in marriage, preferring to focus on his career. When his career is threatened by what a nosy board of directors considers a “lack of personal fulfillment and settling down,” he opts to select a spouse through the BCSS and chooses Peter Parker. The young man’s profile he’d briefly skimmed suggests intelligence and compatibility. It’s not ideal, but if after a year it’s not working out, he can always annul the marriage and send Peter on his way.

It’s a marriage neither truly wants, with sharp learning curves for both. It’s either going to be forever or it’s going to go down in flames.

Warnings/AO3 Tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s/Modern Fusion, Doctor Stephen Strange, Jewish Peter Parker, Peter Parker is of Legal Age, Marriage of Convenience, Marriage Contracts, Government Sanctioned Marriages, Domestic Discipline, Dubiously Consensual Spanking, Spanking, Aftercare, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dubious Morals, Dubious Ethics, Asshole Stephen Strange, Smartass Peter Parker

Notes: Please remember to read the tags/warnings listed and read/avoid as best for you. YOU are responsible for the content you chose to consume on the internet.

<<<>>>

Chapter 13

<<<>>>

“You’re actually serious about that!” Peter exclaimed incredulously over breakfast the next morning.

“I am,” Stephen said simply, drinking his coffee as though completely unbothered.

“You’re seriously going to discipline me for what? For not spilling every little facet of my identity to you? For deciding to protect myself from someone who obviously doesn’t care about me?”

Stephens eyes narrowed then. “You’re going to want to watch your tone, Peter. And the reason is because you haven’t been following one of the rules I laid out for you that first night.”

“Which was what, exactly?” Peter asked, still unhappy.

“If there is anything I can do or provide to assist you in taking care of you, you are to inform me immediately,” Stephen answered. “You haven’t done that. If you needed accommodations in the kitchen, you should have asked. If you needed time away to go to whatever place it is you��d go to for whatever religious practice you have, you should have asked. I would say yes, Peter. You're entitled to a life outside of the home.” He sighed. “There’s no doubt in my mind you’ve done your best to follow whatever these requirements are that you and our two guests last night follow. But you should have asked me to help you in that, because there hasn’t been any need to make it as difficult as it’s been for you.”

Peter didn’t know what to say to that. He settled on a question. “Since when do you care?”

“Whether I wanted to get married or not, you’re still my spouse, Peter. When I say that you’re mine, that is a commitment I take very seriously. It’s my duty to provide for and take care of you, but I can’t do that if I don’t know what to look for.”

Duty, not affection, Peter thought.

“So what happens now?” Peter asked.

Stephen finished his coffee before answering. “Now, I leave for work and today, I'd like for you to write down what additional accommodations you may need in here or for the rest of the house. You’d mentioned to Dr. Grimm that the meat market I have an account with doesn’t have a good selection of what you need, so I’ll ask him if he knows a better place to patronize. We’ll discuss it all when I get home from work.”

“You told me you didn’t care,” Peter said quietly.

“What?”

“That first day, after we were married and having dinner. You said didn’t care what I wanted,” Peter said. “So, I figured it was easiest to just not bother.”

Stephen was quiet for a long time. “I’m very sorry for that. It was an unkind thing to say.” He stood. “I have to go now. Have a good day and don’t forget that list.”

Peter nodded. “I’ll work on that after I do the yard work today.”

Stephen stiffened and a tiny, petty part of Peter wanted to smirk in satisfaction. Stephen hated when he did yard work. Mostly because the neighborhood ladies loved it. Too bad.

“Have a good day.”

His morning was open, so Stephen warned Billy to keep everyone else away unless there was a medical emergency and locked himself in his office. From his bag he drew the navy-blue folder embossed with a shiny silver BCSS emblem. Opening it up, he finally began to read the profile for Parker, Peter Benjamin.

The man he’d married had been born on August tenth in Queens Fall, New Amsterdam to Richard and Mary (Fitzpatrick) Parker. His parents had worked as a data analyst and researcher, respectively, for the Central Security Bureau. When Peter was only five years old, Richard and Mary had died when the Atlantic Amsterdam bridge collapsed, along with the other hundred or so motorists on the bridge that day.

He’d been put into the custody of Richard’s brother Ben and his wife, May Park née Reilly who lived in Midtown. There he’d attended the Midtown Academy for the Sciences, a school that ran from kindergarten through twelfth grade. He’d been active in several student clubs, including robotics.

Stark would adore this guy, Stephen thought as he read through the listing of the numerous awards Peter had won from science fairs, including a write-up of Peter’s selection as a featured writer for the Van Dyne School of Science journal. He’d have to find Peter’s paper and read it. He wasn’t sure how exactly spider webbing could revolutionize wound care, but as an alumnus of Columbia, Stephen knew that anyone chosen to write for Van Dyne had to be legitimately brilliant.

Moving on through the profile, Stephen learned that Peter had attended Congregation Mount Sinai and appeared to have been fairly regular, if not terribly involved. He wrote and spoke fluent Hebrew. Next to the paragraphs on Peter’s religious background, someone - presumably one of the BCSS agents - wrote Binyamin. Stephen didn’t know what that meant.

The next bit had his stomach dripping out from under him. When Peter was only thirteen, Ben Parker had been shot and killed by an intruder right in front of him. He’d continued to live with May Parker until her death from ovarian cancer a few weeks after his graduation and a mere two months before his nineteenth birthday.

There was nothing about what brought him to the BCSS other than the usual boilerplate waffle about “new beginnings and civic duty” added in by the BCSS that he’d seen verbatim in the other profiles they’d foisted on him before finally handing over Peter’s.

From the profile, Peter was every bit as brilliant and just… good as he’d thought. He was a brat, a smartass, yes. But just so good.

He wanted to yell in frustration. This was exactly why he hadn’t read the damned thing, even after living with Peter all this time.

Peter deserved better than a sham of a marriage with a man like him.

Stephen had been called cold, aloof, and uncomfortable with affection all of his life. He was at his best when he was standing over a patient, scalpel in hand. He was biting in his humor and didn’t suffer fools. Any attempts at relationships inevitably failed once the man or woman realized how miserable life with him would be. (And really, why bother with a man who hadn’t even been able to save his own sister?)

What was the point in getting to know Peter, in making the effort and show him how much he actually cared or how desperately lonely he really was, when all it would lead to was a more painful separation when Peter inevitably annulled the marriage once their year was up? Why even try to persuade someone as wonderful as Peter to stay with someone as flawed as he was?

Stephen knew pain, but his capacity for taking pain wasn’t infinite, no matter what some whispered about him.

He looked up at the knock on his door and went to unlock and open it.

“Stephen? It’s Ben. I was wondering if you’d like to join me for lunch.”

Stephen eyed his Kang watch. It was noon and though he felt as if he had rocks in his stomach, he found himself saying yes. Ben Grimm was probably the best person to talk to right now.

“I would like that,” he said.

They walked to a little deli a couple of blocks away from the hospital. The woman behind the counter called out cheerfully to Ben, who greeted her back. They ordered and once they received their food, found a table.

Ben eyed him over the bowl of soup after he'd said a quiet prayer. Matzah ball soup, he’d called it when ordering. “You look like you’ve had a rough morning.”

Stephen snorted. “There’s that tact that’s so beloved of orthopedic surgeons.”

Ben grinned widely. “As if we all don’t prefer our patients unconscious on a table.” He ate some soup and then asked, “what’s troubling you?”

Stephen sighed, setting down his sandwich. “I didn’t know about Peter,” he said. “I had no idea he was Jewish, or that he’d had to go to all that trouble with organizing the kitchen just so he could eat.”

“Okay. Why wasn’t it mentioned in the profile the Bureau gave you?”

“It was, I just never read it. Not until this morning.” He looked at Ben, feeling more helpless than he’d felt in years. Seeing nothing but patience from the closet thing he had to a friend at Sanctum General, he told him about their rough start, how he’d actually accused Peter of cheating after seeing a single pair of gloves, only to be wrong and the tentative steps they’d made to improve their relationship. He confided how proud he was of Peter for orchestrating such a wonderful evening even as he was hurt that Peter hadn’t asked him for help in accommodating him. (Certain things, like the cock cage and spanking, he obviously left out. Common as they were, they just weren’t discussed, even among friends.)

“I’ve messed up, and I don’t know if I can fix it. Life is just so much better with him and he really thinks I don’t care about him at all.”

“Why did you get married, Stephen?” Ben asked finally.

He blinked. That wasn’t the question he’d been expecting. “Because Mordo, Richards, and the rest of the damned lot of them keep insisting I’m unfulfilled and likely to burn out.” He scowled. “Because I’m the kind of person built for marriage, right? I’m self-aware enough to know exactly how insufferable I am, you know. Anyways, I figured I’d visit the BCSS, select a spouse, and play at house for a year and hope that it would get them off of my back. Then the year would come to an end, whoever I married would naturally annul and continue on their merry way, free from me.”

“Why did you marry Peter if you didn’t know anything about him?”

“He was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Stephen whispered, remembering the day he’d looked into the recreation room at the Bureau and saw Peter sitting in a chair, knees to his chest and brown curls framing his face as he studied the chess board intently. “Good just seemed to radiate off of him, and I’m weak enough that I decided to take on the pain that would come from choosing him, just to be close to that good and beauty, limited though the time will be.”

“Have you told him what you’ve told me?” Ben asked.

“Of course I haven’t,” Stephen said. “How would I even start? You’ve met him, Ben! He deserves better than this marriage. He should be in college, working towards changing the world!” He’d read the educational part of Peter’s profile… Peter was brilliant and somehow, his life had gone so very wrong. Stephen was, he suddenly realized, Peter’s Plan B. Ouch.

“You’re a putz, Stephen,” Ben said, with a chuckle. “But you’re not irredeemable.”

Ben gave his advice and Stephen listened. The man had been happily married for ten years - clearly, he knew what he was about.

“How do I accommodate him with the whole religion thing?” Stephen asked, as they walked back to the hospital. “I have to admit his engineering of the kitchen was inspired but there has to be an easier way.” He hadn't been raised in a particularly religious household and to him, god was science.

“Another refrigeration cabinet if you can swing it. He’s got it well in hand, actually, from what I saw. You might encourage him to visit Fleishman’s in Baxterville. I also have a few items I can bring in tomorrow for you to give him.” He explained something called a mezuzah that went on doorposts and offered to come over and help Peter with the blessing.

“Thank you,” Stephen said, meaning it down to his core.

Stephen and Ben were half-way to Stephen’s office when Dr. Mordo joined them. “Ah! Stephen! Ben! How good to see you!” Not far behind Mordo were Ms. Rambeau and Drs. Xavier and Richards. Ben, the coward, excused himself to make his rounds.

The remaining company grated, but, Stephen figured, he deserved it.

Peter worked as quickly as he could mowing and then checking to see how the flower beds were doing. He didn’t mind yard work, but he also didn’t want to ‘put on a show’ for the neighborhood ladies again, either. He supposed he could just wear old jeans and stick to a t-shirt, despite the heat. Did those women really have nothing better to do with their time than watch him weed?

“Peter! Hi!”

Peter looked up from the flower bed to see Ava and her wife, Clea, who was every bit as beautiful.

“Hi!”

“How was the party last night?” Ava asked.

“It went really well,” Peter said. “I was a nervous wreck the entire time, but it went well.”

“I’m glad,” Clea said. “I know Stephen hates entertaining, so I’m sure he was relieved to have you around.”

“It was a lot fancier than anything I’d ever done or been to, but it was kind of fun,” Peter admitted. “I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal to people like…” he trailed off, not wanting to offend Clea, who moved in the same circles as Stephen and his colleagues.

“Stuffy rich people like us?” Clea asked with a teasing smile. “It’s an annoyance, for sure. But it’s the expectation and unfortunately, we’re judged on it. Job offers, promotions, and facility funding can all be influenced by a dinner party. And for someone like Stephen, who just wants to save people, it’s hell on earth.” She shook her head, still smiling fondly. “His talent makes him a target.”

Peter frowned. “What do you mean?”

“He’s nationally known for his skill in the OR and ability to pioneer new techniques. But the higher you climb, the harder people want you to fall. They had to find some kind of weak spot in his armor and up until he married you, that weak spot was that he wasn’t a conventional host or interested in playing the political game. He’ll appear a safer bet in their eyes now, which means job security, maybe a promotion, and that will allow him to continue the work he loves so much.”

“It’s that serious?” Peter asked. How the hell could being unmarried be a liability?

“For people set in their ways, yes,” Clea said. “I had to fight to get my job here because I wasn’t married. Once I found Ava,” she smiled at her wife. “All of a sudden I had a lot more grace than I’d been afforded.”

“And you enjoy messing with some of the hoity-toity type in the pharmacy,” Ava said.

“I have to make sure they can hear me clearly when I’m describing the instructions for use for their prescriptions,” Clea said innocently, fooling neither Ava nor Peter.

“Whether you realize it or not, Peter,” Ava said. “You've just helped secure Stephen’s future at Sanctum General, and each time you host a gathering, you’ll strengthen that. You have more power than you realize.”

Clea beamed at her, interlaced their fingers and brought them to her lips.

“You know exactly what kind of power you have.”

Ava giggled and Peter found himself wishing he could have something like that. If not with Stephen, then maybe someday, with someone.

Back in his office, Stephen settled in to review patient charts. Once he’d finished, he turned his mind back to Peter before reviewing messages. He sat up straight when he saw the message from a Carter-Stark, S.

Call when you get a chance. I have some information. Sharon.

Stephen locked his door and then called his friend’s wife, the woman he’d operated on following a brutal attack by her selected spouse two years prior. Her then-husband had signed on to the BCSS following the end of his service in the Army. His psychological evaluations should have flagged in the system, prevented him from qualifying, but the doctor overseeing his case had fudged the records and his broken mind had led to him seeing enemy combatants everywhere - including his selecting spouse.

Sharon’s hands had been figuratively tied; abuse between selecting and selected spouses was illegal, carefully watched for, and prosecuted heavily, particularly because it was also a government contract. Her choices to defend herself were extremely limited. She’d pushed for counseling, but the doctor again had disregarded the signs and insisted Sharon just needed to try harder to be a better wife to her selected spouse, who was obviously just having a rough patch and needed her understanding. A former agent for the Central Security Bureau, Sharon had the cards stacked against her and only when her neighbor, a Sergeant Barnes saw her bloodied body on the ground and stopped a bloody-fisted Captain Rogers from delivering another vicious kick was she brought to the hospital’s emergency room. Then the whole story had come out.

The marriage was annulled by the BCSS and Captain Rogers institutionalized in a psychiatric facility. The psychologist, Dr. Margaret “Peggy” Carter, was sanctioned by the state board of physicians. Then, Sharon had been informed that because the year contract had not been fulfilled, she’d either have to pay a fine or select another spouse.

Enter Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Company, and long-time friend of Stephen’s. He’d been in town personally overseeing the remodel of Stephen’s kitchen with his latest line of Stark’s Kitchen Living. He’d visited Stephen at the hospital and met Sharon. He’d pestered Stephen for details about the pretty blonde, only to be shut out because Stephen didn’t discuss patients. So, he’d done some sleuthing - Tony had always been a persistent little shit - and uncovered the situation himself. He’d paid off the fee Sharon would owe and proposed to her himself.

It was an odd pairing and at first Stephen had been unsure of the match, given how protective he felt of Sharon (he’d operated on her brain) and how wild he knew Tony could be. But the two of them had fallen in love and lived happily together in Malibu. Sharon adored her rascal of a husband and Tony was besotted with his “super-hot dangerous ex-spy wife who could totally kill me with a paperclip if she wanted to.”

“Good morning,” he greeted.

“Stephen, thanks for calling. I’m still tracking our conman down, but I have updates.”

Stephen listened and took notes as Sharon detailed her progress. She was a dangerously thorough woman and had managed to track down three accomplices of Beck. Her findings would be enough to land each of the three in prison for decades, but she’d hold off until she found their true quarry. “He’s cheated millions so far out of victims like Peter.”

“How can I help?” he asked.

“At this point, there’s not much right now other than asking Peter for some details. Every little bit counts.”

Well, shit. Peter didn’t trust him and probably wouldn’t want to say anything. Not that Stephen could blame him.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“How’s married life?” she asked.

“It’s definitely an adjustment,” he said diplomatically. My husband is a smart and beautiful bratty smartass who deserves better and I'm me.

“It goes easier if you actually communicate,” she offered. “Hang on, Tony’s motioning frantically for for the phone. Have fun talking to him!”

Stephen snorted as Tony greeted him. “How’s my favorite newlywed?”

“I’m just dandy.” A thought struck him. “And I’m glad I have you on the phone. I need to have another refrigeration cabinet installed.”

“Did the one you have quit working?” Tony asked, all business. “We haven’t had any reports of failures.”

“No, I need an additional cabinet. Apparently, my husband is Jewish, and another cabinet will help him follow the dietary laws he observes. He’s made do with the one we have, but it will be easier with another.”

“I can work with that,” Tony said. “I’m actually planning on visiting New Amsterdam next month. Can you wait until then? I’d like to oversee the install like last time, as well as meet your mister.”

“Sure. You’ll like him, Tony,” Stephen said sincerely. “He’s brilliant.”

“I do love it when people are brilliant,” Tony agreed. “Share-bear and I will swing by, we’ll do dinner, and we’ll create the first trial run of Stark’s Kosher Kitchen Living set. Which I just came up with. It'll be great. Now, I have to jet before Ms. Potts hunts me down. Talk to you later!”

Stephen felt marginally better as he left work. He stopped at the local florist, asking for something that conveyed “Sorry I’m such a putz” and walked out with bouquet of blue hyacinths, white orchids, a few Lilies of the Valley, and a single white tulip.

Peter deserved an apology and an explanation. Stephen, come hell or high water, was going to try and be better.

Even if Stephen was doomed to only a year, he could at least try to make it a good one for Peter.

#spiderstrange #spideystrange #peter parker x stephen strange #stephen strange x peter parker #1950s modern fusion au #1950s au #READ THE FUCKING TAGS #NO SERIOUSLY READ THEM #couldntbedamned fic

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