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ganymede-princess · 19 days

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A Hazy Shade of Winter | Angus Tully

PART 2

ship: Angus Tully x fem!OC

warnings: Angus is literally so mean, but he's like that in the movie anyways.

summary: Carol's parents send her to spend the winter break with her uncle at Barton Academy, and a certain curly-haired boy takes an immediate (dis)liking to her.

word count: 2790

a/n: I watched the Holdovers like 2 nights ago and I’m obsessed with it now so here’s this! Maybe a second chapter coming?

written by @ganymede-princess

Misery. Absolute fucking misery. That’s all Angus could see for the foreseeable future. Just an ocean of black, sticky misery, stretching out to the horizon in every direction. As he settled his bony rear on the hard edge of the ping-pong table and listened to Hunham gleefully dole out their sentences, he thought he would vomit any moment, or drop dead. He kind of hoped he would. He scoured his eyes over the pitiful creatures he’d be bunking with this winter break; two little boys: a religious fanatic and a foreign exchage student, the school’s star quaterback, and fucking Kountze. Five little Christmas orphans. Angus would blame karma, if he believed in that hippy-dippy shit. The most unbelievably unfair part of all this was that he wouldn’t even be able to jack off in peace since all five of them would be bunking in rooms one and two of the infirmary, with Hunham in room four. God knows why they couldn’t use room three, but Hunham seemed determined to avoid any questions pertaining to that.

Just when he thought his holiday couldn’t get any worse, the girl arrived. She skittered in like a mouse, out of breath, red-faced and shaking like a handbag dog. Six little Christmas orphans.

“Ah, you’re here.” Hunham extended his hand welcomingly, and gestured to her to step forward.

She crept over, giving the ping-pong table and couch full of boys a wide berth, then nervously shook Hunham’s hand and scuttled away to sit on the floor and tuck her knees up under the frumpy men’s jumper that swallowed her whole, like a turtle retreating into a shell. She waved at the five of them, cherry lips curling into a tight smile.

“Is that a girl?” Kountze said, loudly.

“Indeed, it is. Students, this is Miss Carol Hunham, my niece. She will be joining us at Barton for the winter break.”

“Teddy Kountze.” The little freak said, practically falling over himself to shake her hand. He looked ridiculous crouching there beside her like he was about to accost a rabbit at a petting zoo. If brown-nosing was a sport, he’d be a world classer. “Wonderful to meet you. If you need a tour guide, come to me. I know this place like the back of my hand.”

She nodded in thanks, regarding him with huge puppydog eyes. Angus thought she must be dumb or tongueless. Five-foot-nothing, wearing unfashionably tapered plaid pants and Chelsea boots that were all the rage a decade ago, huge turtle-shell glasses that made her brown eyes bulge out of her head like a salmon… the only cool thing about her was her dirty blonde shag haircut, but even that came across as trying too hard. With that, and those round cheeks and fat mushroom of a nose, Angus almost expected to hear Hunham introduce her as his niece. Almost.

“You’ll be taking her nowhere without a chaperone, Mr Kountze. Now, gentlemen, and lady, off you go to the infirmary building.” Hunham’s one good eye roved over the room, then settled on Angus. “Mr Tully.” He addressed him in his weasley way, voice dripping with schadenfreude. "Be a gentleman and help Miss Hunham take her bags to room three."

Now it made sense why they'd been forced to leave it empty. The little fuck had a whole room to herself.

"I'm not a gentleman." He responded, insolently as possible.

"Then play the part."

"Fine." The ping-pong table screeched backwards as he stood up, grabbed his case and stormed over to the girl who leaped to her feet, eyeing him warily as he marched her out of the room and collected one of her ridiculously heavy suitcases and set off outside with the puppy in tow.

"Um." She began, her voice a pathetic whimper. "I'm Carol Hunham."

"I heard."

"And you?"

"Angus Tully. Are you deaf or something?"

"He d-didn't say your first name." Angus grunted in response. "So, you're- you're holding over?"

"What?" The question was so insipid it made him stop in his tracks and gawk at her. "Of course I'm holding over! Are you stupid?"

"Sorry." She whispered, averting her eyes. Angus felt a rush of regret as her lip trembled, but he swallowed it and marched on.

The air was biting cold, and Angus wished he had two jackets on- or better yet, a hot-blooded model on each arm- but unfortunately he was stuck between this girl making goo-goo eyes at Kountze and her machiavellian gargoyle of an uncle. As the rest of them caught up, his simmering rage suddenly bubbled over and he broke the silence in a voice thick with hatred.

“This is the most bullshit ever! If we have to stay, why’d we have to draw Wall-eye?”

“Uh, y’know he used to be a student, right?” Quaterback drawled.

“Yeah, that’s why he knows how to inflict maximum pain on us, the sadistic fuck.”

“Yeah.” Quaterback agreed with a giggly laugh. “I mean, no offence Hunham, but your uncle sucks.”

“I don’t know him.” The girl had retreated to the fringe of the group, and when she spoke up her voice didn’t command much attention.

“At least we didn’t draw Decker, he’d be perving all over us.” Kountze sidled up alongside her and let his arm brush against her. “And we wouldn’t have Carol here with us.”

Angus rolled his eyes, but felt vindicated when he noticed her pull away from him, almost fearfully.

“Hey, guys, hold up for a second.” Angus leaned up against the pickup at the side of the road and lit up a cigarette, eager to relieve all this tension.

“No, I got something else.” Kountze pulled out a stinking doobie and gestured for his lighter. “Gimme that.”

“Hey, don’t smoke that out here.” He chided. “I don’t wanna get busted by Wall-eye.”

“Don’t be such a pussy.”

“I’m not a pussy.” Angus felt his blood pressure rise. “I just don’t want to get up at Fork Union paying for your mistake.”

Kountze didn’t bother responding, just blew out a fat drag and smiled in satisfaction.

“Teddy Kountze.” He said, offering the joint to Quaterback and trying to sling an arm around Carol but she sidestepped him to Angus’s amusement.

“Jason Smith.” Quaterback responded with a sickeningly charismatic smile.

“Yeah, I know who you are.” Fucking bootlicker. “You wanna hit this?”

He cast a glance up the road, but Wall-eye was nowhere to be seen. “Uh, yeah.”

He took a puff and offered it to Carol.

“No, thanks.” She held up her mittened hand. “I-I hear pot can give you the heebie-jeebies.”

“The heebie-jeebies.” Jason repeated, grinning. “Cute.”

She was sort of cute- Angus begrudgingly admitted now that he’d seen her up close- in that pitiful way that those fucked up little pug-dogs are cute. He wondered if she had asthma. Besides, it’s not like he cared. At least, if somebody like her could be cute, maybe he was too, with his hawkish nose, narrow eyes, five o’clock shadow, gangly limbs, scraggly hair… No, that’s ridiculous. Unless… He wondered if she thought he was.

“It’s mellow stuff, babe.” Kountze assured her.

She blushed and shook her head, then turned her massive obsidian orbs to Angus.

“C-can I…?”

He sighed heavily, arranging his face into a scowl before he handed over the cigarette. She took a dainty puff, then handed it back. He took a drag himself, savouring the knowledge that his lips were touching the same place that a girl’s had just rested.

“More?” He offered it back.

“No, thanks. I don’t really… y’know.”

“‘Course you don’t.” He scoffed and stuffed it back in his mouth. “Such a pristine girl, I bet you never did anything wrong in your life.”

Flushing, she averted her eyes.

“So, how’d you get stuck holding over?” Kountze queried, his demeanor forced casual.

“I’m supposed to be skiing with my folks up at Haystack,” Jason said cheerfully. “But my dad put his foot down, said I can’t come home unless I cut my hair.”

“So why don’t you just cut your hair?” Angus snorted, feeling a fresh rush of anger. How could you throw away a perfectly good winter break just because you’re sentimentally attached to your godamn freak flag?

“Civil disobedience, man.” He grinned.

“I dig it.” Carol spoke up suddenly. “Conformity is a dangerous thing.”

“See, she gets it.” Jason put his arm around her shoulder.

“You like Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young?” Her blonde lashes fluttered as she gazed up at him. Angus could have puked all over the sidewalk, and Kounze looked like he might actually do it.

“Man, I love ‘em!”

“Almost Cut My Hair?”

“My anthem.” He nodded solemnly. “That album was my whole life last summer.”

“Neat.”

Angus noticed her head tilt to rest on his shoulder as he offered her the joint. This time she took it, allowing herself a long drag. He gritted his teeth and fought off the urge to deck that filthy hippy then and there.

“Anyway,” Jason waved his hand, as if clearing the conversational slate. “My dad’s cool. It’s just a battle of wills. Still, I was kinda hoping he’d cave first, because the powder up at Haystack is so sweet right now.”

Jason’s hand made its way into Carol’s hair, curling a lock of it around his finger. Angus’s fist closed involuntarily while Kountze’s eyes narrowed as he looked around, lip slightly curled in frustration.

“What about you, Mr Moto?” He said, locking onto his target. “Why are you here?”

“Uh, no. My name is Ye-Joon.” The boy explained innocently. “Uh, my family is in Korea, and they think it’s too far for me to travel alone.”

“I figured it was because your rickshaw was broken.” Kountze laughed and looked around for approval, to which he found none.

“Uh, wh-what’s a rickshaw?” Ye-Joon seemed genuinely baffled.

“You’re an asshole, Kountze.” Angus said darkly. “Your mind’s a cesspool, and a shallow one at that.”

“Who’s the asshole, Tully?” He sneered back. “You’re the one who blew up history.”

“Hey.” Jason held out his hand gently, then turned to the other kid. “What’s your story, man?”

“Alex Ollerman.” He responded, his voice stronger than the other boy’s. All that faith in a higher power, I guess. “I’m here because my parents are on a mission in Paraguay. We’re LDS.”

“Mormons, right?” The kid nodded proudly.

“Don’t you guys wear some kind of, like, magic underwear?” Kountze gawped.

“That’s a common misconception.” Alex began. It seemed he had all his bases covered, and he turned to address the Korean kid too, as if he might convince someone to join. “Actually, it’s called a temple garment, and we’re only supposed to wear it when we-”

“Hey, what’s up with the townies?” Kountze interrupted, already distracted by something shiny. Angus was mildly relieved he wouldn’t be hearing any more panty-talk- he’d had quite enough for one day, what with his bathing suit and all- but, his relief quickly turned to annoyance when he noticed the two men coming down the road, hauling a Christmas tree between them.

“Hey!” He hollered. “What are you doing with our Christmas tree?”

“The school sold it back to us.” One of them responded. “Scotch pine, still fresh.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna put it back in the lot.” The other explained. “We do it every year.”

Angus turned back to the group and shook his head darkly.

“This is the most bullshit ever.”

______________________________

Angus didn’t think he’d ever be so happy to be in the infirmary, but when they stepped into the heated building, he might have sighed in relief if he wasn't in such a black mood. His arms absolutely caned from carrying that stupid suitcase, and Kountze had been smack talking the whole way up the hill. He thought the only thing worse than bunking with the two kids would be sleeping in with Kountze while he tries to tickle Jason’s balls. He’d much prefer to cosy up in the girl’s room, irritating as her face may be. He abandoned his luggage outside room two and hauled Carol’s down the hallway while she pattered along at his heels.

"Why do you need two cases, anyway?" He sneered, stealing the comfort of silence. "You can't have that much shit to carry."

"It's-" She paused and cleared her throat. "Well... well, why should I tell you, huh? You're- you're-"

"What? An asshole? A jerk? A philistine, as your mole uncle says? Y’know, I'm pretty sure there's a faculty rule against targeted insults towards pupils."

"You're mean." She admitted in a small voice. "And I don't know why."

"Yeah, well get used to it sweetheart. Just wait till Kountze gets over your gyno-gimmick and starts treating you like he does everyone else, you'll be begging for 'mean.' And by the way, you’re just antagonising him by hanging all over Jason all the time.”

“What’s Jason got to do with it?” She snapped, raising her voice for the first time.

“Aw, I hit a nerve, huh?” He delighted in watching her face turn scarlet.

"Y-y'know, when you stood up for Ye-Joon earlier, I thought you might actually be cool. I'm disappointed."

She said nothing else, just ducked her head and ran ahead to open the door for him. Baffled, he barged past her and dumped the suitcase on the nearest bed.

“Thanks.” She whispered.

"Why are you even here, anyway?" He rounded on her, suddenly tired of the way she let him walk all over her. "I mean, other than to ruin the ambience with that hideous sweater-"

That did it. She let out a choking sob and made for the door.

"Hey, hey wait!" He flailed out his long limbs and caught her around the arm, but she wrenched herself from his grip and made off down the hall, away from Hunham and the other boys to Angus' relief. "Carol, wait I didn't mean it."

She didn’t respond, just sped off and careened around the corner. Angus caught up just in time to see the door of the broom closet swing shut. He clucked his tongue and sat down on the hard floor outside, feeling a wave of disgust as he listened to quiet weeping. Gently, he rapped the door with his knuckles.

“Carol?”

“Go away.”

“Carol, I’m sorry.”

“Go away!”

He paused for a moment, and considered his options.

“Your sweater isn’t actually ugly, by the way. I was just ribbing you, y’know? Horseplay?”

“No.” She said firmly, voice muffled through the wood. “No, I know ribbing and that wasn’t it. Y-you were being cruel, and you wanted to see me cry, I know it.”

“What? No!”

“You enjoy it, don’t you? You’re so miserable, the only fun left for you is making everyone else feel as wretched as you.”

He swallowed thickly, feeling a lump of shame coating his Adam’s apple. He took another long moment to collect himself. He resented how easily she read him, but if he wanted to keep her from finking, he’d have to choose his words carefully, and eat a large portion of his pride.

“It’s true.” His stomach roiled in revulsion as he grovelled to her. “I’m sore about holding over, and I wanted to take it out on someone, and you looked like easy pickings. I’m brash, I’m rude, I hate everyone including myself, and I make it everyone else’s problem.”

She paused her sniffling, as if sizing him up.

“Well.” She said thickly. “Thank you for admitting it. That was very… self reflective.”

“I go to a shrink, I kind of have to be self reflective.”

“Ah.” She sniffled. “You can leave me alone now.”

“I would,” Oddly, it felt good to tell somebody… Good enough that he was able to go back to being sly. “But this closet doesn’t open from the inside. Every time we get a new janitor they get locked in here. Happens like twice a year.” She said nothing, but Angus heard her breathing pick up in pace. “I mean, I can always leave you in here.”

“No!” She said urgently. “Let me out, please.”

“I will, if you promise not to fink.”

“I-I won’t fink. If you leave me be, I won’t fink. Pinky promise.”

“Alright. I’ll stay as far away from you as humanly possible.” He clambered to his feet and opened the door for her. She was already standing, and as soon as she saw the light, she tried to scoot out beside him, but he moved his arm to stop her. “Pinky promise, remember?”

Begrudgingly, she curled her finger around his, then slipped out past him and returned to her room. Angus watched her go, and something broke inside his chest as the door closed behind her.

#dominic sessa #dominic sessa x reader #the holdovers #angus tully #angus tully x reader

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todaysbird · 7 months

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Hey! Thought I'd show you these photos of different birds I took when I went down to Mossy Point to stay with my uncle.

The first one is a pelican with a different type of bird, but I can't tell what it is. They were on a private jetty, so I wasn't allowed to get closer. It has a short orange beak. The other two are of a red wattlebird, the other three are of a sea eagle when we went to this lookout where we also saw seals and humpback whales, and the last one is this pretty large pigeon. I'm not sure if it's a white-headed pigeon or a different kind.

Anyways, I hope you like them!

what beautiful birds! i think the bird in the pelican picture is a pied cormorant / pied shag

#asks

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retrodreamgirl · 2 years

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the games that play us | steve harrington x fem!reader

part 1 | part 2

summary: you're a kindergarten teacher at Hawkins Elementary and coincidentally steve harrington's little girl is a student in your class. you're very eager to meet the father of the sweetest little girl you've ever met with her floral dresses and fancy socks and learn about her weekend at the park as well as share the importance of ethics and ponder the suspicious nature of ice cream scoops in the sink [wc: 10k]

warnings: fem!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, light angst, kids being cruel/bullying, slowburn, strangers to friends to lovers, single parent!steve, mentions of teen parent!steve, steve being the biggest girldad, uncle eddie (he's so stinkin cute!), dustin being a teenager, mentions of shitty parents (steve's), probably not proofed very well. lmk if i missed anything!

⤜♡→

To be stripped of an innocence blind to the eye, bestowed within a certain uncertainty, is barely manageable with a half printed diploma and matching polos for seven days a week. Seven colors of the rainbow, walls painted pale yellow to ward the scar of ink pink staring back with each blink, ten fingers and ten toes set to cling and slowly release.

Whales like to sing. Their tune travels for miles with the ability to last up to thirty minutes. A fun fact from teens who have nothing better to do than flex quick wit in the face of panic.

Wailing hailing from the monitor for hours at a time, fingers gripping loose ends to halt the movement of limbs driven by eyes made of glass and a heart not meant to last the high pitch before the hitch of first period alarm.

Four square, two bed, one bath. Close quarters, filled to the brim of a pickle jar doubled in size, two weeks notice and an extra shift to light the night and slay beasts of bills and sharp teeth.

Overnight bags paired with the sag of skin purple and stretching pliable with each drip from a youthful fountain fixed on tears of puppy dog fears, kissed away from dough puffed cheeks.

Bare feet shuffling shag carpet, one, two, three hops to the mattress spring, tiny fistfulls tugging the grandma stitched quilt from a body starved of sleep yet carved with the fondness of day one and counting.

Top of the forehead down to the bridge, across the cheek and the tip of the lips, vague traces of tiny digits glide the skin. The peek of a pupil just high enough to spot sleep dazed inquiries and curtains of baby blue hue blocking rays of the sun's morning craze.

“Good morning, daddy.” Delicate lips ghost the skin of Steve’s forehead, altogether removed in favor of a tiny head tucked beneath his chin, pulling tossed blankets to pile on top of him. Like the work of a clock, the mechanical thing with its many cogs rather than the two dimensional screen with an alarm silenced since three, Steve hears the slip of his daughter’s fingers through the opening of her lips, past half gapped teeth responsible for his favorite toothy grin. His hand finds hers without pause, gently guiding it free to instead lift to his own lips, ignoring the glistening coat of saliva.

“Fingers, my little miracle.” He hushes, voice rasped from sleep filled tension. She burrows further, snatching her hand with soft giggles, warm breath pushing against the skin of Steve’s neck. His own ghosted smile traces his cheeks, fatigue draining from him with each shake of her tiny frame. “And what’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” Despite her heavy insistence her laughter never ceases, but follows her rolling to the mattress. “I’m hungry.”

“Hi, Hungry, I’m Dad.” It was Steve’s turn to tip over the brink of hilarity. Wren’s groan served as reward enough for his timely humor to pull him from the tangling of his legs in too hot sheets.

Their morning is routine, Steve’s mini double hot on his trail in mimicry of his every move. Before he can grab their toothbrushes Wren’s hands are positioned with the twisted and gnarled mint paste, tongue poked in ready for the perfect dot to damp bristles. He shoves the sleeves of her nightie up to spare the fabric from the stream beneath the faucet.

Wren’s arm moves with precision as her pupils inhale Steve where his form lingers in one corner of the mirror, towering the little girl with patient drool hanging from her lip. Her escape is nearly swift with her last spit to the basin, but Steve’s foot claims the edge of the door pushing it back to the frame when she attempts to run from the monster string Steve coins as floss. He wraps the thin twine around his fingers, gently sliding it through her tiny teeth when she refuses the chore on her own.

While he tosses the used thread his pride and joy steps to the stool she readily abandoned previously, her gums pulled back to examine the damage inflicted. “No wonder the holes between my teeth are so big, you floss too hard!”

“My apologies, Miss Harrington, but think of all the food you can fit with the extra space.” His words are carefully considered, Wren’s tongue tracing the expanse of pearly white before she hums in satisfaction.

“Ok, but I think they’re wide enough now so you don’t have to floss me anymore.” She races from the room before being blessed with a reply, Steve’s eyes bugging when the hinge of the door nearly collides with the edge of Wren’s hastily swinging head.

The natural progression of his hand to his chest nearly always catches him off guard, still in awe of his circumstance even five years later. He no longer bothers with the ‘could have been’ and only thanks whoever lies beyond that his senses are common enough to care for a life other than his own.

Care is a statement so under-stated that anyone would laugh if he spoke the words, the girl whose humming permeates the silent space of the apartment more of his world than he believes himself to be. He wasn’t so sure the roll would befall him with such natural grace when she was placed in his arms, eyes shut and face scrunched with soft skin begging for the caress of his finger nearly the length of her head. But from that moment she was all that came to him with such naturalness that to be reminded that she’s his is enough to build the pressure of a dam within the ducts of his eyes.

Now there are traces of her sprinkled in each aspect of his life making her the largest part of the whole, from the drawings strung over every square inch of wall otherwise bare to the toys sticking from every available nook and cranny. He often finds her stuffed into the pockets of his jeans in the form of an expertly drawn portrait or half crumpled polaroid from the camera Jonathan gifted her last year for her birthday.

In other circumstances he would encounter her in the form of a mess scattered to the floor. This time caught too late when his foot lands against the unsavory stick of a bulky car to the base of his heel. He’s strained in pain and an attempt to keep his voice level, never one to yell at the minor inconveniences hoping to build a character of confident morality, “Wren.”

“...yes, daddy?”

“What did we say about putting things back where they belong?” His toes curl inward when they meet the soothing cool of the hardwood, Wren slowly tipping around the corner with her eyes focused on the object of reprimand.

“I didn’t put that there,” She reasons, albeit still picking it up between her tiny fingers.

“Oh? Are you suggesting that I put it there?”

“Well no, but...I mean it was an accident.” She deflates, fingers dancing along the rolling wheels, lip slightly poked. “I was just playing with it earlier but then I got so excited to spend the day with you and I wanted to wake you! I guess I just left it there…I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, just clean it up next time. Unless you wanna watch me hop around here on one foot.”

“That would be kinda funny.” Her hand lowers teasingly, the car half gliding on the floor.

“And it would be even funnier if I took it away from you,” Steve tuts, only partly joking to elicit the baby eyed pout that could bring even his statuesque stature to its knees.

Wren skips to the toy chest tucked in the far corner and places the car rather gently, peeking over her shoulder to ensure Steve catches wind of her good behavior. He only chuckles when he’s turned away, already almost to the kitchen when she catches him again.

She clutches his hand, fingers flying back to her mouth. Steve leaves her be, reaching to the topmost cabinet where the medicine is stored to retrieve her daily Flintstone vitamins. He can feel the way her hand retracts from his own, can see the cute way her nose scrunches when he makes her do something she doesn’t like. He tries to soften the blow, fishing for a purple Pebbles shaped chew.

“Daddy, I don’t want that.” Wren has already meandered to the fridge, the strength of both her small hands needed to swing the door on its hinges. “It tastes nasty and I think you were wrong, s’not gonna make me smart like Pebbles.”

He drops the shape as soon as he finds it, grabbing the next one that he sees. “Hmm…why don’t we try this one? It’ll make you as rambunctious as Bamm-Bamm!”

“Ram…bunkchus?” She chews the word for a moment, dazedly staring where she hangs from the fridge on her heels. Steve catches himself in his own fondness, smiling at the way her lips mold around the word, the way she silently mouthed it to herself before giving it a try.

A second feeling stabs at his chest, the fear of her head meeting the sharp cabinet should she let go too soon and fall backwards. He’s scooping her into his arms and onto the counter to steady the race of his own heart, holding the green vitamin out to her.

“Rambunctious, it means you’re full of energy. Like you when I take you to play at the park. Which I was thinking of doing today but you look kinda sleepy.” He baits her, thumbs swiping under the lid of her eye like he’s wiping the drowsiness from her skin. She’s smart and he knows that she doesn’t believe him, that she’ll play him like a fiddle.

Her tiny fingers reach up to trace beneath his own eye, face screwing with concentration. “Daddy, I think you should take one too. If you fall asleep at the park someone might take me.”

“You make a good point, but these are for kids.” These are gross and I know it.

“Uncle Eddie says you’re basically a kid.”

“Oh yeah? What else does Uncle Eddie say?” Instead of a response she lifts her hands to her head like horns and pokes her tongue out in a silly face the same way Eddie does when he’s making a point to stake his claim to Hawkins High fame. Steve can’t help his stifled laughter though he decides that maybe he shouldn’t leave her with him so often. “Well, daddy says that his favorite girl should be good and take her vitamins so he can make her breakfast.”

“Waffles?”

“It’s up to you and Bamm-Bamm.” She’s not happy, but Wren parts her lips, eyes scrunched closed as if seeing the small chewable land on her tongue will make it more real. Steve drops it into her mouth, already moving to the cabinet for her sippy cup to fill it with juice and wash the icky taste from her mouth.

The remainder of the morning goes without a hitch, breakfast a little more mess than Steve would have liked when Wren’s arm slips against her plastic butterfly plate and it flips forward covering her with maple syrup. She begins to cry and Steve swoops in to soothe her sorrows before they begin ringing down the hall. He decides a wet wipe will have to do until bath time later this evening and Wren is just fine with that as long as he hurries.

Crisis averted, Steve finds himself standing, hands on his hips, before his daughter’s closet. Wren is having a spritely conversation at the tea table near the window, her various teddy bears participating with rapt attention. Her eyes are puffy from the tears, but she’s otherwise recovered from the earlier mishap, once again excited for her day at the park.

In her lap sits her favorite plushie, a fluffy tan rabbit with a pink nose the same as the inside of its ears and a bow tied around its neck to match. It’s the first thing Steve bought after he found out the news, unsure what he could possibly do as we walked aimlessly through town, spotting the sweet gift through the window of a shop.

Wren’s voice falls to a suspicious mumble as Steve cards through sweaters and cardigans. He glances over his shoulder to find her hunched over, whispering into Floppy’s ear. Floppy is the name she insists she’s been calling the rabbit since she was little though it sounded more like Poppy in Steve’s opinion. Thus Floppy Poppy Harrington came to be scribbled in the cutest handwriting Steve has ever seen on a makeshift birth certificate Wren made him tack on the fridge.

“Fine, I’ll ask but he might say no.” She finally grumbles, like the poor rabbit is forcing her hand, Steve turning his back before she can catch him staring. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, lovebug?”

"Floppy thinks I should wear a dress today, the yellow one with the blue flowers. Can I?” He pulls the dress in question, the blue flower stitching dancing along the front. He considers the option, looking through the half opened curtains at the way the leaves flutter from the trees, swept with wind as crisp as the apples itching to be plucked from the gnarled branches.

Luckily the dress has sleeves that cup at the wrists, enough to keep her warm even if he loses the fight of tucking her into a seasonal windbreaker. He sizes up the hem, noting it’ll cut off at the caps of her knees. He roots through the adjacent dresser, searching for a pair of leggings that would look nice with the ensemble, mostly settling on dark brown because they’re thicker than the rest.

“Yellow dress it is.” He holds the outfit up for her approval, the silent way she replaces Floppy in her seat and sidles over slowly nodding is acceptance enough for Steve. It’s the opposite that has him capturing his lower lip between his teeth these days. The way she’ll just stare at him devoid of any response when she doesn’t agree with what he’s saying to her.

He helps her into her fall fashion, no arguments when she pulls her pretty brown boots from the closet while he procures a pair of wool socks that won’t have her toes freezing on the playset. He almost forgets he has to dress himself until she’s pushing him out of her room and toward his own with an insistence that he hurry.

She closes the door and he can hear her feet scurrying down the short hall, probably to plop herself in front of the tv in hopes of catching the end of the morning cartoon slate.

Steve takes a moment, a deep breath that seems to elude him most times. It’s the guilt of needing these moments away from his favorite person that makes them few and far between, even ten minutes spent getting ready often filled with thoughts of what she’s doing while she waits, if he’s taking too long. The woes of parenthood as Robin calls it. Funny to Steve seeing as she doesn’t have any children, but she’s certainly not wrong.

He’s spritzing cologne over the burgundy crew neck he threw on when he hears the patter of Wren’s feet stopping at the edge of the hall.

“Daddy, there’s someone at the door! Don’t worry, I’ll get it!”

“Wren Elizabeth Harrington, don’t you touch that door!” The fragrance barely lands back on his dresser, his legs striding through his bedroom door and to the living room where he finds Wren stock still just in before the front door with a wide smile talking to whoever’s on the other side.

“Come on, Wrennie, let your favorite uncle in. He brought you some yummy donuts!” Dustin entices her, muffled by the thick wooden barrier.

“What flavor?” She inquires, arms folding over her chest.

“Chocolate!” Wrong answer.

“I’m sorry, daddy says I can't open the door.” She spins on her heel, jumping at the sight of Steve just feet away. “It’s Uncle Dusty, he brought you donuts.”

She skips back to the tv. Tiny Toon Adventures is the newest thing catching her attention these days. Steve opens the door, a half eaten donut in Dustin’s hand only topped by the look of absolute shock coating his features.

“She wouldn’t let me in.”

“You don’t even have donuts. Good girl,” Steve trails him into the living room where Wren has already forgotten anyone was at the door. He gently tugs her fingers from her mouth once more, settling beside Dustin who’s picking at his donut with disinterest. “What are you doing here?”

“I just thought I would drop in on my favorite people, clearly that was a mistake!”

“Daddy and I are going to the park. You can play with me on the monkey bars.” Wren hums like it’s a privilege while her large eyes continue following the pink bunny across the screen, making sure Floppy’s ears are up and paying attention.

“Last time I checked you can’t even climb the monkey bars.” Dustin teases her, her head whipping over to regard him with a tense stare. It’s her newest assault, no argument to be had lately, just large pupils of harsh disparity to set on edge whoever lay on the receiving end. Steve’s been there a few times, more willing to compromise than let her cold eyes shift to puddles with her lip quivering between her teeth. “Come on, Wrennie, I’m just kidding.”

“Dude, why are you being mean to my kid?” Steve snags the remote from the edge of the coffee table, watching the end of the show fade to black and flicking the power button. He strolls to where he keeps the jackets, neatly filed in the hall closet, and pulls a pretty blue one and his own gray windbreaker. “Come put your coat on, Wren.”

She skips over, sliding her arms through the sleeves singing the Muppet Babies theme song beneath her breath. The last time Steve tried to turn the show on for her she made a big stink, claiming to be much too old for such childish things. He thinks it’s a side effect of her new class, her first day of kindergarten sending her home with the biggest frown he’s ever seen. It was that weekend that she absolutely refused to dance around the living room with Steve to the song, his horrible Kermit impression doing little to turn the pout nestled on her chubby cheeks.

He tried to coax an explanation from her. He set her up with an array of new crayola crayons, she’d been tirelessly begging him for the sixty-four pack as she was enamored with the idea of a sharpener right in the box, and printer paper at the dining table to occupy her while he made dinner. She wouldn’t budge. Now her nose turns up when the characters flash on the television, but he has a feeling it has nothing to do with the animated puppets and they only serve as an unnecessary casualty to the real issue.

“Whatcha singin’, bug?” He helps her zip before snugging her beanie over her lengthy mane, the ends curling around her shoulders.

“Nothin’.” She chirps, running to the mirror nestled above the table beside the front door. She jumps up and down a few times, trying to catch sight of herself in the round frame to no avail. She huffs but doesn’t relent, climbing the sturdy top to rest on her knees. “Daddy, don’t you think I look pretty today? Floppy was right, the yellow dress is perfect!”

“Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” He agrees, spinning his keys around his finger. “You coming, Henderson?”

“Yeah yeah.”

~*~

Hawkins is somehow exactly what you expected and the exact opposite.

You think it’s the people. The way half of them seem to fit the mold of the whole small town gimmick with their bright smiles and welcome pies while the other half are unapologetically riding the jagged edge of social acceptance. It’s like there’s something lingering just beneath your nose and you had to be there to see it but you’re a lifetime too late.

It’s nice enough without being too overwhelming. Your optimism outweighs the unsavory sounds rattling in the bushes outside of your aunt's one story because any job is a good one for a first time teacher.

It was daunting, walking through the shops and plucking motivational posters and alphabet magnets, wondering what kinds of kids Hawkins has to offer and hoping they’re better than Mrs. Wick’s third grade English class back in Illinois. You spent countless hours sorting markers and glue sticks and making lesson plans for a bunch of kindergarteners like their opinions are the ones that will make or break your career.

Not entirely untrue, but dramatic even for your taste and no more of a confidence booster.

Further, the flickering emergency lights of Hawkins Elementary were less than welcoming when the janitor shoved his custodial cart against the back entrance so you could get in a few days early to set up.

Luckily, your classroom was much more receptive to your eccentric tastes and the room was covered in bright fluorescence rather than the sickly yellow coating the dimly lit hallways. It was with a cautious air that you decided the space was just cute enough to teach a gaggle of five year old's the basics of civility.

Now you lay dormant against the shag carpet of your aunt’s living room, fishing through a bag of goldfish and wondering what the hell is wrong with Jamie Fisher.

Your first week ended approximately twenty two hours ago and you were immediately taken with the students. All were wide eyed and curious because you were certainly not Mrs. Cotsdale, the nice old woman they were introduced to at the end of last year. But as kids do, they adjusted rather quickly, taking a liking to the way you allowed them to pick their seats and the quirky way you introduced yourself.

All but Jamie Fisher who dared not wait until snack time to make it clear that he was certainly not pleased with the arrangements at hand.

While you’re certain his mean streak is nothing personal, you’re forced to gently admonish him as it stands, too skittish to approach his parents a mere week into the quarter. He’s mostly harmless, no hands thrown or words spoken with such severity that any student’s complaints have driven you to a harsher punishment than timeout.

Still, as you sit and pick at the tiny thread fraying at the hem of your top you can’t think of a single reason for his outright rebellion against you specifically.

A home problem is too forward. You’ve known the kid for a mere seven days and aside from his affinity for his Chuck Taylors and the over eager way his mother passed you a tin of cookies on the first day you know nothing about him.

He all but refuses to participate in circle time and the one time you put him in timeout for his lack of participation he deemed you unfair and, his words not yours, the worst teacher to ever step foot in Hawkins.

So how better to celebrate the end of your first week than with an oversized bag of crackers, midway through a screening of The Breakfast Club playing on the television whilst you ponder your befittance as a teacher based on the reactionary contention of a five year old?

“Honey, you can’t lay on the floor all weekend. My bridge club is coming at three.”

“I like bridge.” You mutter, stuffing a half bitten fish through your teeth. Your toes dance between the strings of the rug, contemplating your next move when your aunt makes clear that you are certainly not invited to watch her weekly skirmish with the other middle aged women within walking distance.

You recall one of the teachers mentioning a park not far and it seems as good a plan as any.

You stumble upon the realization as Bender is clapping into his famed monologue, Clair’s hand swiping at the softness of her lips. It’s one you could recite without the prying eyes of misfit teens and certainly without your aunt silently chiding you for flattening her floor.

You manage to scrounge up the crumbs that always seem to materialize when eating something as rudimentary as goldfish and shove your feet into your sneakers, snagging a jacket for good measure.

“I’ll be back later!”

“Take your time. Oh! But do you mind if I serve these cookies to the girls? They’re not very good but good enough to feed those gossips.”

~*~

The day is young and the park is packed, kids of all ages running back and forth, screaming at the top of their lungs. A little boy pushing himself on the swings with the help of his mother.

At first Steve thinks it's his hand that tightens around his daughters, the pressure not quite holding her there but enough to keep them linked together where he allows Dustin to lead them to a picnic table being vacated by another family. It's when they reach the table, his free hand dropping the small bag he’d packed to the tabletop, that he realizes Wren hasn’t taken a running start to the playset.

“Go on and play, bug, we’ll be right here watching.” He gently nudges her backside, the weight of her tiny frame leaning into his palm rather than taking the momentum and blasting off with it. She’s dancing in place, little circles she twirls with her feet, hands catching at the fluttering hem of her dress like the princess Steve and everyone else believes her to be.

“Wanna stay here for a while, with you!” She sings like it’s the most logical next step. Steve doesn’t miss the way her eyes slide to the swings drifting in the slight breeze before she reaches for her bag to pull her sippy cup from the side pocket and settle in the grass.

“I thought you wanted to play on the monkey bars?” Dustin attempts, used to her outrunning them all with her bubbly laughter trailing in her wake. It’s an oddity to the pair of them, Steve’s brows scrunching with a minute concern before he’s lowering himself from the bench to sit with his daughter.

“Maybe later.” She shrugs, eyes following the masses of children running and screaming without any sense of civility amongst them. The enthusiasm she’d awoken him with has dwindled, her lips pulled into a pout where she sits pawing at her cup.

“Are you okay, bug? You were so excited about the park this morning.” He adjusts a stray hair beneath her hat, looking for any sign that she’d become suddenly unwell on the drive over.

“M’fine, I just wanna wait a little while to play.” She sounds solemn but doesn’t say more, pulling herself from the ground to climb the bench beside Dustin. Steve picks absently at the grass, ripping the blades between his fingers with an unfamiliar agitation.

He hasn’t felt so unawares when it came to his own child since she was no more than an infant and he found out he would be caring for her all on his own. She’s always been forthcoming, as talkative as any little kid discovering the world piece by piece with her heart on her sleeve.

She loved to tell him all about her day: the things she did, the things she'd been waiting to do until she got home. Until suddenly one word answers were all she could seem to muster, trying to hide behind the sweet smile on her face.

Things haven’t been altogether different but he’s not been foolish enough to ignore the way her eyes have dimmed just slightly and she’s less eager when it comes to the things she used to love. It’s been hard not to self reflect, Steve invariably questioning his adequacy as a father.

He’s always thought it would be just as easy for him to fall into the same patterns as his own parents, his own father. Constantly taking care to make you feel as loved as possible, to create the kind of bond he always craved. It’s times like now that he thinks he must’ve done something wrong.

“I’m gonna go play, daddy!” He would’ve missed the sudden change were it not for her cup tipping over the edge of the table to tumble into his lap. He watches her scamper to a little girl that looks to be her age, the two catching on quick and ducking into the primary colored playset. The tension in his shoulders hardly diminishes.

“That was weird, right?” Steve needs the affirmation that he’s not overreacting. He flops his chestnut hair to one side, peeking at Dustin through the crest of his arm. He feels nearly foolish looking up at the teen, still perched in the grass like he’s the child here.

“What?”

“Wren, the way she was acting.” Dustin glances where they can see you swerving through a series of metal rings fashioned in red, Steve’s eyes unable to look away until you’ve made it safely without a scratch. “She’s been…different lately.”

“It’s called getting older. You should know it made you lame as hell.”

“You’re such a little shit. Can you be serious for like two seconds? Dude, she won’t even watch Muppet Babies with me anymore.” If he were less distraught the sentence would’ve sent Dustin rolling on the ground, but the way Steve’s soft hazel eyes seemed to double around the pupil had him thinking better of it.

“Maybe she’s just finding new interests. She’s not a baby anymore, Steve, you’re bound to drift apart eventually.”

“Shut up, Henderson.”

The thought of his little bundle of joy growing past the peak of his kneecap, no need for him to haul her around in his arms anymore is a thought far too detrimental. He ponders as much with eyes trained on the toes of his sneakers, the feeling of the slightly wet grass seeping into his denim jeans.

Wren’s not much bigger than she was last year and still the size is insurmountable in his eyes, his precious lovebug growing too fast. He’s teased countless times that he’d lock her in a pretty little jar so he can keep her this small forever, though the sentiment rings entirely true. He can’t stomach the thought of Wren going to first grade next year, let alone far enough to be walking the same halls where he was deemed ‘King Steve’ by love drunk teenagers at Hawkins High.

His eventual migration to the picnic table guides him into a conversation about the latest D&D campaign. Not that he knows much about the complicated roleplay but it gives him a sense of peace sitting with the one kid who made him feel wanted even after everyone else deemed him a colossal blunder his senior year.

It was Dustin and his own band of misfits that helped Steve realize there were more important things than popularity and the one that got away. Made him comfortable with the prospect of being a father.

“You call that girl from Family Video yet?” Dustin eases in, poking through Wren’s bag to pull a pack of fruit snacks. Steve glances toward the playset, silently urging his daughter to come running over with some story about the fantastical happenings of the last thirty minutes.

“No, just doesn’t feel right.” A true statement, assessment of his life thus far always drawing him away from the pursuit of romance.

“It’s just a date, not like she’s asking you to get married.” Dustin gets it, they all do, but it feels in poor taste to see his best friend settling into a life of two with the knowledge that one day it’s not just gonna be cartoons Wren isn’t sharing with Steve. He’s not forcing him into forever, but attempting to lure him toward the possibility of trying. “Give her the old drive-in special, girls used to love that. I mean, there was that time you almost got your ass kicked because one of them had a boyfriend but—”

“God, you’re such a teenager.” Steve scoffs, snatching the pack of snacks from his hand to steal the last of them. He won’t say it’s the fear of what Wren will think that’s stopping him, not a non factor but not his biggest concern, but he doesn’t want to dip her into a pool of false hope only to be sent drowning by a false floaty.

He’s built a house. One that’s safe and familiar, filled with the people who’ve proven to be all or nothing. Wren’s aunts and uncles collectively play similar roles in the confidence of her upbringing and Steve isn’t willing to jeopardize the strength of his four walls with an audible.

“A teenager with a girlfriend.” Dustin corrects, goofy grin at the mere mention of his precious Suzie.

“Please don’t start singing.”

“Whatever dude, all I’m saying is—” Steve has no idea what he was saying because ear splitting is the only thing to describe the high pitch ripping into his hollowed canals, pressing like lead against the drums of his ears. Even worse, the sound is as familiar as his own voice to him.

Adrenaline courses through him, dodging between the island of eyes kids and parents alike that stopped to find the wail of anguish. The park is suddenly miles long, and Steve can’t find Wren fast enough. His brain is already flooded with every sickening possibility when he rounds the corner of the playset to find her covered in mulch beside the firepole.

Her cheeks are rosy and she’s still crying, albeit too choked up to keep pace with the octave that drew everyone’s attention. Steve’s eyes do an initial scan, quick to catch onto the redness the length of her forehead though concentrated mostly on the right side beneath her hairline.

Her hands are scratched beneath the dirt caked from the damp mulch and he doesn’t draw her attention but notices the beginnings of dark red seeping through the knee of her leggings. He can guess she fell the distance from the top of the playset, not overwhelming but still a hefty drop for someone her size.

He kneels before her, her body naturally flooding forward to cling to his dear life.

“It’s okay, did you fall, sweet girl?” He pulls away just enough to cup her cheeks, turning her head with enough ease not to jostle her but still get a good look at the harsh redness of her skin. It’s already beginning to swell to a healthy bump and he makes a note to call the doctor just to make sure he doesn’t need to bring her in.

“Pu-pushed!” She manages, burying her head into his sweater to flood more tears than she knows what to do with. Steve glances around then, most of the children either gone back to play or huddled with their parents with large fearful eyes. There’s no one within distance for him to point an accusatory finger and Wren’s in no state to give him a clear answer.

“Okay, let’s go home and we’ll get you cleaned up. We can have a bath and watch a movie, any one you want.” He thinks he hears an ‘okay’ beneath the heaviness of her breathing mixing with the wetness of snot dripping from her nose. He pulls her into his arms and finds Dustin already with Wren’s bag and a solemn expression.

The woes of parenting.

~*~

The weather is chillier than you expected of early fall, a light breeze licking at the browning trees and slipping beneath your loose jacket. The park is only a few blocks but somehow word of mouth has spread that you’re new in town and your aunt is suddenly of small town fame amongst the masses of Hawkin’s lower class suburbia. So, everyone who could’ve stopped you on the way made sure to do just that and suddenly you have a bread baking date with a Ms.Henderson next Friday.

By the time you do make it things seem to be in the midst of dying down. Families slowly making their way out of the park save for the select few who seem to be enjoying the newly deserted playground. You don’t question much, the late afternoon hour seeming a perfectly reasonable time to pack up and head home to ready for supper.

“Miss. Y/l/n, fancy meeting you here!” Mrs. Fisher appears before you, purse slung over her shoulder and an unbothered Jamie clinging to her hand. It’s perhaps the most agreeable you’ve seen him in these short few days, a sucker jammed in his fist, dripping with a fresh coating of saliva.

“Mrs.Fisher, it’s lovely to see you! Hey, Jamie!” It hurts, the way your muscles retract into that faux business smile. The one you always swore you’d never need to use but in this instance it appears without your consent. Jamie mutters a greeting, though his eyes are trained on anything but you, as opposed to his mother who can’t seem to find any concentration aside from your pupils.

“It’s so nice to see you! Are you meeting up with some friends?”

“Oh…no just a walk. It seemed like a nice day.”

“Oh, that’s alright, honey, it’ll take some time for everyone to get used to you but I’m sure you’ll be making friends in no time.” She says it with a hint of accusation, like you aren’t trying hard enough, like you asked for her opinion.

“Are you guys heading home?” You alter the course of conversation, uncomfortable with such scrutiny from the pair. Jamie shifts on his feet, shoving his sucker into the flesh of his cheek and tugging his hand free to chase down a stray stick meant for wielding.

“Oh yeah. Some sweet little girl fell off the playset, says someone pushed her. Poor thing.”

“Oh no, is she okay? Do you know who did it?”

“She seemed fine enough, no hospital visits!” Mrs.Fisher laughed, like hospital visits are something she’s become achingly accustomed to but schools her face rather quickly to continue with her little anecdote. “No one admitted to pushing her so it just seems safer to head home for the day. I just don’t know how kids can be so cruel.”

You’re not in control of the way your eyes drift to Jamie poking at the trunk of a tree, but you’re also not sure Mrs.Fisher catches your drift. The way your eyes zero in begging her to understand that her own kid has the ability to brandish such cruelty with the same nonchalance as the makeshift sword dancing in his grip.

“Yeah, kids can definitely be complicated people.”

~*~

Wren is in good spirits by the time her bath is through. The heaviness nestled against her head still worries Steve but a few Bugs Bunny bandages are enough to soothe the damage of the scrapes and bruises beneath her clothing.

Dustin stayed for around an hour afterward, to make sure Wren was okay and Steve’s head was on straight, no longer a panicked parent with no clue which way was up. The thought of earlier events still sets his pulse on high, even as he stares at the soft smile Wren regards the tv with, the Lollipop Guild tickling her pink.

She’s cuddled beneath her favorite blanket, a surprise gift from his mother when he moved out. It’s ironic, the way the stitching creates the illusion of reaching for the stars over its expanse of deep blue. He thinks it’s the most sentimental thing his parents ever gifted him. Not that his father had anything to do with it.

Floppy is perched beneath the crook of her arm and a cup of warm milk hangs between her fingers. She’s holding it with one hand, the other stuffed into her mouth at the tips but he doesn’t have the heart to tear the small comfort from between her teeth.

He’s been attempting to fold laundry, sorting it into piles to ease the task of putting the clothes away later. It works for a while as a way to settle the discourse in his gut, but suddenly whites and colors are all the same and it doesn’t make any sense to keep going. He tries to think of the next thing, the next task to make him feel useful, a trick to convince himself he’s not still floundering every waking moment.

It’s nearly six and Wren hasn’t had dinner yet.

Steve tosses the rest of the laundry back into the basket, cringing at the thought of the wrinkles he’ll have to iron out later, and stalks to the kitchen after making sure Wren’s content enough not to trail after him or get up to something while he’s gone. It’s not much of a distance, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s rounded the corner to find she’s found something he’d rather she didn’t play with while he’s away.

The cabinets are mostly empty as it were. He’s waiting until Monday to go shopping while Wren’s at school so there’s nothing left but waffle mix, oatmeal, and a box of kraft. He’s learned that if he doesn’t ask Wren what she wants for dinner she’ll pretty much eat whatever he cooks as long as it’s something he knows she likes.

Hopefully of all the changes she seems to be going through this one thing remains constant for the moment at least.

He snatches the mac n cheese and sets the water to boil before rooting around the fridge for something that will suffice as a side or a topping. It feels cheap when he pulls the hot dogs from the bottom drawer but he’s learned he doesn’t have room to be picky, a refusal to accept his mother’s charity, save for emergencies, leaving him with a measly check and a tight budget.

“Daddy.” He glances past the refrigerator door, Wren’s edging around the frame with bruised knees and a curious smile. “What are you making?”

He can tell she doesn’t really care by the way her body tips past the threshold, tugging at the tea towel hanging from the oven. He’s just not sure why she would abandon Dorothy in favor of standing aimlessly in the kitchen.

“Stay away from the oven please, bug. I’m cooking dinner and I don’t want you to get hurt.” More hurt. “Why aren’t you watching your movie?”

“I missed you.” She’s being cute, bare feet pushing to tipped toes when her arms open in a sweeping gesture. Steve is putty in her hands. He hoists her up, planting a wet kiss against her cheek and pushing his nose against her soft skin. “Daddy!”

“Wrennie!” He mirrors in tone, spinning her in his arms much to her unbridled amusement. Her laughter is like music and his feet catch onto the rhythm quite quickly in the small space of the kitchen. Her legs wrap around him to stop from swinging wildly against his front, her arms caged between their chests where she clutches at his t-shirt.

“Put me down!”

“I will…for a kiss.” He reasons, touched with warmth when her hands cradle his cheeks and press the sweetest kiss against his lips.

When he settles her back on her feet she’s still swaying with amusement, her shirt having ridden up her tummy just a tad. He reaches to pull it down, noting the steam rising from his water on the stove. Wren watches him with an adolescent awe, tearing the box of noodles and dumping it into the small pot. Steve grabs the abandoned pack of hot dogs and waves it in her direction.

“You want ‘em in the mac?” She ponders, stroking her chin like it’s the hardest decision she’s made in her five years.

“On the side…with ketchup!” She has a bit of a lisp, the middle of the word sounds more like a ‘sh’ when she says it. He’s in no position to argue, ripping the package to begin slicing the meat into tinier pieces so she can fork them.

He learned very early on that she absolutely despises having to eat with her fingers. It was around two, the same time that she made known her discomfort with a mess at the dinner table, always picking at the crumbs that fell from her fork until Steve swiped them away with a napkin.

“Go wash your hands please, bug.” She skips away and Steve takes the opportunity to quickly finish the mac and avoid working his way around a hungry kid with a hot pot. He plates a healthy portion to her plate and squirts the ketchup next to the pile of hot dogs, extremely careful not to let the dishes mix. He’s managed to sneak into the living room and pause the movie as well as fetch her cup and refill it by the time Wren is climbing into her seat.

“Thank you, daddy!” She has the good grace to manage the words, her fork already halfway to her mouth and dripping with ketchup. It’s only then that Steve realizes how hungry he is, eating what’s left of the mac n cheese straight from the pot. “Hey, how come I can’t do that?”

“You’re not tall enough.” Steve shrugs, always easy going when it comes to his dimwitted explanations. He’s sure it’ll come back around sooner or later, either when she is tall enough or when Nancy chides him for telling her something so ridiculous. “Have to be able to reach those cabinets way up there without any help first.”

“I hate that!”

“Don’t say hate.”

“I’m sorry, I just think it’s really dumb and not fair at all.” She amends, shoving a fork full of noodles into her cheeks.

“Well I guess someone should get a lot more excited about her vitamins.”

~*~

“Little bird!” You glance toward the door from where you’re busy stacking leftover construction paper, confused until you see Wren Harrington sprinting with her backpack bouncing loftily behind her. It’s a wonder it doesn’t send her tumbling over the way it rivals her weight.

She throws herself into the arms of the man whose presence looms in the doorway, bent at the knees with open arms. He lifts her to his height and places a kiss on her cheek before wrangling her to his shoulders with an amusing series of theatrics.

You always seem to miss the moments Wren is picked up, too preoccupied with other children leaving you to catch the tail end of her pastel pink backpack exiting the room. This time you hail her captor down, eager to meet the father of one of the sweetest little girls you’ve ever met.

“Mr.Harrington!” It takes another flag to stop him in his tracks, like he didn’t think you were talking to him at all. Up close he’s not what you expected, certainly not paired with Wren and her pretty dresses and fanciful socks poking out of her shoes to swallow her ankles. No, he’s the opposite of what you expected, riding that jagged edge.

His jeans are torn and kissing the tops of his white converse, barely white beneath the dust coating the fabric. He’s wearing a Metallica t-shirt that’s certainly seen better days and his arms are wrapped in worn leather but if you’re not mistaken the crest of a tattoo peeks from his collar in jet black.

His hair is another story entirely, long and frizzy, curled at his scalp and springing just past his shoulders.

Despite his rough exterior you wouldn’t deny that he is pretty. Big brown eyes and a killer smile, he’s definitely pretty. And he definitely carries a hint of weed beneath the thick layer of coriander and pine you assume he spritzed on in the parking lot.

Wren giggles and you realize you’ve just been staring, though abashed as you are, burning from the inside out, you step forward with an extension of your hand.

“I’m Y/n Y/l/n, I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting, Mr.Harrington.” He looks at your hand then at you, brow arching in absurdity as he takes half a step forward and accepts the gesture in kind. Wren is playing in his hair all the while, pulling up various strands and tugging lightly when her human doll seems to have forgotten his speech.

“Call me, Eddie, I insist.” His hands slip past the stitching of his pockets, befitting the role of the perfect parent, very attentive in the awareness of his child’s education. It looks unnatural on his person and Wren doesn’t seem to disagree, her laughter bubbling over.

“Well, Eddie, I just wanted to let you know that your daughter is a delight to have in the classroom. Always very attentive and willing to participate. She’s very smart.” And you mean every word, easily getting to know the little girl who could go on and on about how much she loves her family and especially her dad. Her excitement appears more standoffish lately, but you imagine it’s just a natural way of settling into the school year.

“Is that right, little bird? You’re a smarty pants?” His tone is light with a hint of disbelief. Wren ducks her head over his own, angling toward him sporting a toothy grin.

“The smartest pants in town!” She exclaims, pushing at Eddie’s bangs to clear his line of sight enough to see her without obstruction. It’s then, while they’re in their own little world, that you catch sight of the adhesive clinging to her knee where her dress rides up, the day warm enough to forgo the extra bottoms.

“Hey, what happened there?” You inquire, poking at the carrot protruding from Bug’s mouth as gently as possible. Wren is sheepish to respond, looking around the room conspiratorially before leaning toward you.

“I fell on the playground.”

“Oh no!”

“It’s okay, my daddy helped me feel better.” She mumbles, reaching to pick at the edge of the bandage but thinking better of it. “My head was hurt too, but s’not so bad now. Just a bump.”

“Well thank goodness for your daddy, huh?” You shoot Eddie a smile, one he returns with a hint of something you can’t quite place. “You gotta be more careful, don’t want you getting hurt again. I need my favorite student around to keep me company.”

“I was being careful but then Ja—I wasn’t paying attention I guess.” You ignore her little slip but not without committing it to memory. “I’m your favorite student?”

“Don’t tell anyone, it’s our little secret.” You kiss your pointer, and hold your pinky toward the girl eyeing you like you’ve just told her something astronomical.

“Our secret.”

“Picking favorites, teach? Doesn’t sound very ethical, might have to call a meeting with the PTA, I’m up for president I’ll have you know.” You can tell he’s joking and something about it catches you off guard, only used to most of the parents being altogether uninterested or much too invested in being passive aggressive with you.

“Ethical?” Wren whispers to herself but loud enough for you and Eddie to catch. “What’s ethical?”

“It means you do the right thing and you know the difference between the right thing and the wrong thing.” You make it as clear as possible without adding any sense of confusion. Wren’s head tilts at an angle, her lip tugging between her teeth.

“Ease up, birdie.” Eddie winces where Wren’s small fists tug at his scalp in time with whatever thoughts she’s having.

“So it’s like when my daddy tells me that I can’t have ice cream after dinner but the next morning when I come in the kitchen I know he had ice cream after I went to sleep because I see the scoop in the sink?”

“Well!” Eddie starts, hands fastening at Wren’s calves. “Now that we’ve got that all straightened out, I‘ve gotta get you home.”

“It was really nice to meet you M-Eddie.”

“Oh trust me, the pleasure is all mine.”

“ A pro-tip, it’s always better to clean up the night before. They’re always more observant than you think. See you tomorrow, Wren!”

“Bye!” She sings, wrapping herself around Eddie’s head when he ducks beneath the door. Something draws you to the threshold, watching the two of them make their way animatedly toward the exit. Curiosity strikes you in the excitement that paints them for more chaotic than a father daughter duo.

~*~

“How’s the kindergarten life treating you?” It’s a routine, these Monday shopping trips. It’s the only time Steve can focus enough to get the bulk of his list without Wren getting either bored or highly amused by everything on the shelves. She’s a great shopping companion but when they get home and Steve realizes he’s grabbed two packs of oreos instead of green beans it’s glaringly apparent she’s done well distracting him.

So he’s taken to braving the monotonous task every Monday when she’s gone off to school, lamely pushing the cart down the aisle with his list in one hand, debating which tv dinner is cheaper, but also which one Wren will eat without much fuss.

Currently he’s taking a breather at the general store, picking up band-aids after using the last of them over the weekend. Joyce is on shift and she always makes sure to check in on him, make sure he and Wren are doing okay. It fills him with a warmth he’s unaccustomed to, creating a comfortable atmosphere for him to let loose the weight he’s been carrying in his shoulders down to his chest.

“Uh…I think Wren really likes it.” He shrugs, tossing colorful band-aids onto the counter, plucking candy from the impulse buy section for after dinner. Wren loves Cow Tales so he makes sure to grab two because she has a doctor’s appointment later in the week and it’s never easy on either of them, and a Hershey bar for himself.

“That’s good. But what about you? I know it’s probably a lot different than last year.”

“A lot different. I can’t decide if it’s good or bad yet. I guess I’m still adjusting to the whole thing.” He wonders if Joyce will send him off with the same lens as Dustin if he shares his concerns about Wren’s behavior and quickly decides a mother of three children has a lot more experience than a teenager with none. “Wren’s been acting a little different recently and I can’t tell if I should be worried or not.”

“Different how?” Steve could cry when Joyce leans against the counter, finding his eye with her own. She’s listening.

It’s a small thing, but one that Steve has always clung to with an absolute absurdity. It’s not often that he finds people so invested in what he has to say, not anyone of age at least. He’s accustomed to being tuned out or made to feel like that shallow kid who used an unkindness to his advantage because it was the only way he could seem to claw his way out of the empty nest he’d been dropped into at such a young age.

“Not as talkative, uninterested in her favorite things, she gets really quiet sometimes and then suddenly she’s my happy little girl again. I know kids grow up and they change but this doesn’t feel like that.”

It’s the best way he can verbalize the changes without someone seeing them first hand and he hopes it doesn’t sound as unimportant to Joyce’s ears as it does to his own. Like they’re just scraps from a bad day and he doesn’t know what to do with them.

“That certainly doesn’t sound like Wren…” Joyce considers the evidence for a moment, slowly ringing up the few things on the counter. “Can you think of any reason that she might be acting differently? Has anything happened leading up to this sudden change?”

“Just the start of the school year. She didn’t seem incredibly happy after the first day but she seems okay now. She really likes her teacher.”

“Have you met her teacher? When Will started having trouble around middle school talking with Mr.Clarke, he was Will’s science teacher and he ran the AV Club so he helped to sort of paint a picture of who Will was away from home.”

Steve hasn’t had the chance to meet Wren’s teacher yet. He’s always either working or she’s nowhere to be found when he does have the day off to pick Wren up himself. He’s thought about calling to set up a meeting but he’s not altogether sure what he would say. Nice to meet you, I’m Steve Harrington and I’m wondering what’s wrong with my daughter Wren?

It’s a tad accusatory and he certainly doesn’t want to make things harder for any of you.

“Steve?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry.” He fishes his wallet out and hands over exact change. He grimaces at the dwindling thickness of the binding leather.

“I really think it’ll help if you have a talk with her teacher. Even if she can’t tell you exactly what’s going on I can promise it’ll help to have another perspective.”

“Yeah, I think I will. Thanks, Joyce, for everything.”

“You’re a good dad, Steve. You’ll figure it out, whatever it is.”

Her words carry him home, eager to see his daughter after a long day behind a shopping cart. It still strikes him how many of his friends' parents remember who he is, not like he spent much time making himself available to anyone he wasn’t interested in sleeping with. He certainly wasn’t making plans for game nights at Tommy H’s or team bonding with the jocks.

Yet somehow, he’s always roped into a conversation about Wren and the harrowing task of holding his tongue when he assures them that she’s anything but a mistake and she surely hasn’t ruined the future he didn’t have. He has no doubt his father still finds it in him to knock Steve down whenever the moment calls for it so it’s no surprise that even years later it's something people attempt to hold over his head.

His arms are full when he slips his key into the lock, surprised to find it already open. He panics slightly but it’s immediately diminished when he hears Wren’s laughter and Eddie’s voice singing some silly song on your behalf. Steve can barely see over the bags stuffed in his arms when he enters the kitchen.

“Ever heard of a locked door, Munson?” He grunts, unloading the increasingly unbearable weight and sighing beneath Wren’s giggles when one of the bags tips on its side and the jar of Jiffy nearly falls to the floor until Eddie’s reflexes catch it just as it readies to splat.

“Uncle Eddie saved the peanut butter!” Wren chants and Steve frowns in Eddie’s direction when he catches sight of the cone nearly depleted in her sticky fingers.

Eddie is already pulling a wet wipe from the stash on the far end of the counter, expert in the way he avoids Steve’s heavy hazels. “Relax, Steve. I think the most threatening thing I’ve seen in this building is that freaky looking dog in four-C.

“Eddie, Keno is nice!” Wren insists, licking at her cone and scrunching her face when Eddie wipes at the vanilla cream painting her cheeks. The drippings from the cone have left four adjacent dots in the collar of her dress, darkening the pink fabric and yellowing the daisies patterned throughout.

“You won’t be saying that when Keno eats your leg, little bird.”

“Eddie!” Steve rests his hands against his hip and addresses the man with the same tone he uses on Wren when she’s doing something particularly unsavory. The difference is the smile tugging at Eddie’s lips and the way he places his own hands on his hips as well. “Did you at least feed her actual food before you just shoved an ice cream cone in her face.”

“Four chicken mcnuggets with fries and milk. No soda here, daddy-o!”

“Yeah, daddy-o!”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Munson, but get out of my house.” Steve’s finger juts toward the front door, less than enthused about his daughter's penchant to mimic the metalhead no matter how cute it may seem in hindsight.

“Whoa whoa, is that any way to talk to the ideal babysitter for our little princess?” Eddie feigns offense, both men aware that his band is meeting for practice soon anyways. Like the perfect babysitter, Eddie steals the rest of Wren’s cone and shoves it in his mouth when he realizes she’s no longer interested in eating but sticking her fingers in the melty puddle inside the shallow wafer.

“You’re right. Thank you for filling my daughter up with junk food, now get out.” Steve turns to Wren, taking the wipe Eddie threw on the table and wiping the remainder of the mess from Wren’s skin. He kisses her nose when she begins to whine behind the damp cloth. “How was school, bug?”

“It was good! Eddie met my teacher!”

“Oh yeah?” The words are directed at Eddie who’s begun sifting through grocery bags like it’s the lost and found. “He was on his best behavior I assume.”

“Yeah, she’s great.”

“Yeah, she’s really nice!” Wren fills in, clueless to subtextual diligence shared between two men with brains barely sidled past the stage of boyhood.

“Yeah, that too. She’s really eager to meet ya, big boy.”

“Well that’s good news, because I thought that I’d pick you up from school tomorrow and have a little chat with her. Does that sound okay with you?” He asks Wren her hands twisting in the skirt of her dress with big eyes like Steve’s own looking back at him.

“Yeah! Daddy, you have to!” She jumps off of her chair, nearly headbutting Steve in her overwhelming excitement. It’s the most in character he’s seen her in a while. “I’m gonna go pick out my best outfit with Floppy!”

“See you later, little bird!”

“Bye, Uncle Eddie, thank you for the junk food!” She’s bouncing off the walls and Steve can already hear the tedious argument he’s gonna have with her at bedtime.

Something along the lines of letting her stay up because it doesn’t make sense to go to sleep if she's not tired. She’ll follow up with a vaguely scientific observation about there being enough light filtering through her windows that she couldn’t possibly sleep. He’ll end up crawling into bed with her and letting her talk them both to sleep in which case his back will be killing him in the morning and they’ll be running late because he’s forgotten to set the alarm.

“Yeah, Uncle Eddie. Thank you for the junk food.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #singledad!steve harrington #singeldad!steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine #stranger things au #steve harrington au #steve harrington

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vishnyask · 7 months

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!Everybody lives au!

Regulus: exFUCKINGcuse me??

Sirius snagging Remus: yeah, excuse you, go away??

Regulus: IN OUR BLOODY HOUSE, ARE YOU FOR REAL? WHY DIDN’T YOU LOCK THE DOOR?

Sirius: You&James forgot to put silencing charm yesterday.

Regulus: We did NOT.

Harry: Yeah, you did.

Draco: Absolutely.

Regulus: Hold on wtf are you doing in here?

Draco: Hi Uncle Regulus, hi Uncle Sirius, hi Mr.Potter, hi Professor Lupin. I’m going home already, thank you, bye!

James: Bye Draco!

Regulus: WAIT DID YOU SHAG MY SON?

#marauders #jegulus #drarry #wolfstar

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t1oui · 18 days

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no voldemort au where jegulus raises harry and marpanlily raises luna. sirius, remus, peter, barty, and evan are the cool uncles while dorcas and marlene are the cool aunts. there's nobleflower who got together later in life and who are currently living in one of the black family's ancestral homes in france with neville and draco. (frank is around frequently and lucius isn't around at all.)

neville and draco being brothers. neville telling alice about draco's crush on blaise and draco chasing him around the school, landing them both in detention.

luna and harry being siblings. while neville and draco, their cousins, are fighting, they simply sit back and watch. they adore each other and, if they can help it, are almost never seen apart.

harry being a slytherin. he rooms with draco and blaise, is best friends with pansy, and still frequently visits hermione, ron, and neville up in gryffindor tower.

pansy and harry (and vincent and greg) have been losing their minds for years over draco and blaise's pining. the two of them finally get together when harry tells them to shag and spends the rest of the night in ron and neville's room. the next morning, it takes a glance at draco and blaise and him wiggling his eyebrows to get a detention from snape.

harry and luna firecalling lily from the hearth in ravenclaw tower at least two or three times a week. the two of them talking to her about homework, crushes, and their latest exploits in teasing draco.

their parents showing them how to become animagi, which leads to narcissa and alice wanting to learn how, too. mcgonagall giving her students a fond eyeroll when their words are slurred in class because, really, it is quite obvious when you're hiding a leaf underneath your tongue.

harry being best friends with the patil twins, some of the few people outside of his dad's family that he shares a culture with. him spending hours in the library studying with padma, even longer out on the quidditch pitch flying with parvati.

harry, who's been dating cedric since his fourth year (where he watched the tournament instead of competing), and padma, who isn't interested in romance, being the cause of at least 90% of hogwarts's couples: dean and seamus, draco and blaise, luna and ginny, neville and hannah, hermione and pansy, and - of course - parvati and lavender.

remus being the d.a.d.a. professor from harry's first year through to his seventh, and retiring soon after when harry decides he wants the position himself. neville becoming the herbology professor, pansy and blaise going to potions and charms, but draco deciding to become a healer. ("what the hell are we meant to talk about if we're all bloody teachers?" he asked them once, much to his friends' amusement.)

cedric becomes the transfiguration professor when dumbledore finally agrees to retire and promote mcgonagall, and cho spends three years playing for puddlemere united before becoming the school's newest, coolest flying instructor. hermione surprises no one by rising through the ranks to minister for magic, and pansy quickly finds herself the chief editor of the daily prophet. rita skeeter quickly finds herself without a job. ron becomes an auror, a job he excels at, and during a mission in bulgaria he finds himself running into viktor krum. harry and padma see an opportunity.

every summer without fail, harry finds himself curled up on regulus and james's couch with a book, legs tangled with luna's or draco's or nev's or sometimes cedric's. he spends hours flying above the burrow's fields with the weasleys, spends long summer days taking lessons from krum because even in regulus's increasing age, he's the best seeker harry's ever seen.

harry spends his evenings sitting on the porch of his late grandparents' farmhouse, braiding hermione's hair the way pandora and mary taught him when he was young. the adults are inside. pansy is curled into hermione, flipping through a copy of witch weekly while luna sits on harry's other side and flips through her own copy of the quibbler.

neville is showing hannah and blaise some sort of frog by the creek that lavender is swimming in with seamus, dean, and the patil twins. up high in the sky, ron, draco, and cedric are flying with viktor, ginny, and cho in a two-vs-two match that is most definitely in the latter team's favor.

here, harry thinks, is home.

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mouthfullofmunson · 1 year

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Okay but Eddie and witch reader

They are both the freaks of Hawkins

She is pinned as the baby eating witch and he is a cult leader, both probably “devil worshippers”

She’s 18 and he’s 20 ofc

I think their styles are a lot alike, dark clothes, both with curly/wavy shag haircuts

They both have shitty families who kind of abandoned them

He lives with his uncle and she lives with her aunt

she even lives a couple trailers down from him

And to cope with their shitty lives they became obsessed with their “weird” interests

Eddie, d&d and guitar. Y/n crystals and all things witchcraft

They both know of each other but haven’t talked enough to really know each other

But they’ve been teased for absolutely forever and people making rumors that they were together

So one day they bump into each other and Eddie is teasing “hi baby eating witch”

“Hi cult leader”

And when they need to find a sub for hellfire since lucas has a game, Eddie goes to y/n to see if she knows how to play

And sadly, she doesn’t, but she is very willing to learn

So Eddie let’s her observe the hellfire game, making sure she takes notes during it and watches every move

And before they know it they are hanging out after school while Eddie teachers her how to play d&d

And since she was so willing to learn what he thinks is kind of boring to her he makes a deal with her and let’s her teach him about the crystals she’s always carrying and the witchcraft books she always reads

So she lends him a few books about witchcraft and he actually reads them- or attempts to

And his friends notice it before him

“Eddie are you… are you reading a book?”

They all watch him flip through the book at lunch

“Yeah, why does it matter to you?”

“You never read?”

“I read stuff!”

“Is it because of that girl? You have to be in love with her to be reading an actual book!”

And that’s when he realizes that he actually has a crush on the baby eating witch

So he becomes hyper aware of it when they hang out for their little lessons

And y/n notices that he’s being weird so she tries to say something but he shuts her down

“No I’m not being weird?! You’re being weird. You’re the weirdo.”

“Yeah, you’re just being extra weird today, freak.”

And he’s so terrified but he keeps looking at her lips while she talks and y/n notices it and gets frustrated after he ignores her words and watches her lips so she finally leans in and kisses him

And she’s surprised at how much she likes it

But she’s also had a thing for him since she was in the third grade and he was a big fifth grader

But he taste like cigarettes and the orange juice he stole from the cafeteria at school, drinking it straight out of the carton

Eddie is completely frozen but his brain forces him to move his lips with hers

And once she pulls away he is completely breathless

And a little terrified

Because he’s not had many kisses like that in his life

Most girls just want a quick hook up with him because they guessed he was desperate and wouldn’t tell anyone as long as they gave him a fuck- which was partly right…

And he freaks out a little until

“Why are you so shocked? You’ve been watching my mouth like a hawk for an hour now.”

And his head is racing and he cant help but think about what else her mouth can do 😕

So of course he pops a boner after the kiss

And there is no hiding it

When y/n notices she’s instantly flattered, and excited that Eddie munson has a hard on because of her

So she sinks onto his laundry covered floor and sits between his legs, asking him if she can pull his pants down

And beside answering her questions all he can do is lean back on his hands and watch with wide eyes and his mouth slightly ajar

He could believe the girl he read a book for actually likes him back, and actually kissed him, and is giving him a blow job?!

I think he would cum kind of quick

He didn’t know she had him so worked up until he finally got her

And then when she sits there, wiping her eyes and trying to catch her breath, he instantly feels guilty and knows he should return the favor

So he’s offering to eat her out- insisting actually, even though she said it’s no big deal and he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want

But he does want

He’s fantasies about her taste far too long to pass up the opportunity

Especially when he was peeking up her skirts any chance he got to see if she was bare under or if her thin panties showed the print of her

So they trade spots and he gets on his knees, helping her pull her dark blue lace panties down her thighs before he’s diving him

Hoping everything he’s doing feels good because he’s only had quick fucks with people who only bothered to get dick and leave

So he was worried especially since he never got the chance to give head before

Just doing whatever make her moan the loudest

And when she cums he’s so proud of himself

Having to refrain from jumping up, run around the trailer, then come back and get a double high five from her

It becomes a normal thing

Calling y/n over every other night so they can give each other head, maybe teach each other about d&d or witch craft, nap, and then she’s back to her trailer

And y/n invites him over to her trailer, apologizing for the overwhelming smell of incense, her aunt was a huge hippie and taught her everything she knew

So the trailer was decked out in witchy decor, loud colors, beaded curtains everywhere

And Eddie is so shocked her room is so nice, moon printed midnight blue bedding with neat little rugs by her bed and by her desk, no trash on the floor, no porno mags, her clothes all clean and neatly hung up or folded

And that night they finally have sex, candles going and the smell of y/n’s ‘full moon’ incense burning into their clothes

And they both decide that that’s when they are officially boyfriend and girlfriend

But they don’t acknowledge it until Eddie passes on plans with Dustin because he’s “going over to his girlfriends house” that night for a “family dinner”

Which means Wayne is coming over on his day off and meeting his sons girlfriend aunt for the first time and they are having a proper meeting

Wayne and y/n’s aunt would hit it off

And y/n’s aunt would absolutely adore Eddie

And Wayne would love y/n

Wayne would get so happy when y/n came over and he was there to sit and have a cup of coffee with her because she’s just so nice to talk to, there’s no work in the conversation it’s always light and breezy

And y/n’s aunt would be so excited when Eddie came over for a proper dinner instead of y/n shoving them in her room all night, only coming out when they want snacks

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lilac-vapor · 10 months

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Evisceration

Rating: E 18+

Word Count: 1.3k

Pairing: Sebastian/Female Reader (3rd person, but unnamed and undescribed)

A/N: Find me on Ao3 under Bounteous

She wanted him in the way fires raze entire forests.

Protego!

The force propels her backward, her feet digging into the dirt.

Stupefy!

She’s already forgotten their face before they’ve fallen unconscious.

Glacius! Diffindo!

Arguably her favorite combination. A melting mixture of water and blood trails pink rivulets into the cobblestone; torso and legs parallel like crude renditions of scarecrows. The tip of her wand sizzles and cracks, itching for more fight. It’s nearly sentient, like an extension of the worst parts of herself.

Shaking, she struggles to lower her arm and relax her grip. There’s no more. Only herself alone in the night and she rarely raises her wand to herself anymore.

No?

Whimpering shatters her silence. Boots crunch bone and debris, stopping before a mangled hand outstretched toward a wand just barely out of reach. Pitifully sad. His face is terrified, pained. She kneels, presses the tip of her wand against his temple.

A brilliant burst of green light blinds her very eyes, reignites the fire in them. A perfectly wordless incantation of pure intent. A witch without regret clawing from the inside out. No, she cares not at all.

Naught except him.

She flies through the night, storm clouds rolling and thundering in the distance. White-knuckling her broom handle, it’s all she can do not to slip sideways and plummet to her death. The Forbiden Forrest stretches out and over before her, the fiery embers of her bristles skimming and smouldering the very tips of the trees. She smiles, free of inhibition and brimming with magic that numbs the mind and dulls the senses.

His home is nothing but a hovel on the outside; a decrepit, old thing that appears on the verge of imploding. No Floo Flame for invited guests, anti-apparition charms spread out fifty feet in every possible direction. He’s cautious, wary of intruders, protective of his rights against the Ministry.

Her heels drag, her legs shake, her abdomen stutters with leaden breaths. But the desire coursing through her veins keeps her alive and driven. She stumbles, grunts with pain and anger tangled together, steadies herself against the low, stone fence. The door swings open, groaning.

Sebastian, brows narrowed and eyes deadly and wand held within a tight, weathered grip, simply sighs. She looks up at him, her silhouette dangerously beautiful as a flash of lightning arcs between the treetops. Thunder rumbles thereafter, and she curls her lip in agitation, the hand gripping her side tightening.

“I don’t need healing, I need distraction. Fuck me or fuck off.”

His head tilts, lips smirking. “You’re at my doorstep, darling. I should leave you out here for ignoring me for weeks only to come back looking like shite, hoping for a shag to wash away your sins.”

She smirks in kind, blooding dripping down her chin and Sebastian, mesmerized, watches its path of ruin. “Don’t act like you aren’t imagining me split open on your kitchen table right now.”

He takes a step close and his calloused hand, one that’s cursed far more than her and his uncle, tilts her chin up between thumb and forefinger. “You’re fucked up, you know that?”

She always gets what she wants. “You’re fucked up too.” It’s whispered in between lips, in between the ghosting of mingled breath and a history of piled bodies.

She pushes him inside and merely waves two fingers to the slam the door shut.

Their kisses are slick with spit and blood, deadly with desire and other unbidden things they fear to speak of. Though they could simply magic their clothes away, it’s thrilling and primal to rip away shirt buttons and hike up skirts and rip jagged holes down seams.

Sebastian can’t stop his hands from crushing her breasts, pinching and twirling her nipples painfully. And she certainly can’t help the way her mouth trails maroon down chin, down jaw, biting purple marks and drawing more bright red blood from the column of his pretty throat.

They aim to harm and be harmed, to hurt the way they hurt.

She throws him onto the couch, his shirt spilling open from where she’d pried the buttons loose. Angry marks from her nails swell across his freckled, heaving chest. Sebastian stares with half-lidded eyes, fingers bunching up at his thighs, a tent in his pants. She kicks off her boots, wrenches herself out of her skirts, and pulls the rest over her head. As she stands before Sebastian, all that’s left of modesty is her tights ripped all to hell by his hands.

“You should drink—” he starts, breathless and concerned.

“Shut up,” she interrupts, fed up with men’s chivalry and faux solicitude, “all I need is you inside me.” Her legs ache as she sits atop him. “Right now.”

She pulls out his member and sinks onto him without preamble. She sighs and he groans and though it rightfully burns in her legs, her thighs, her core, she keeps her rhythm fast and hard because absolutely nothing will stop her from getting her release.

Sebastian laps at her neck, dragging his teeth along the tendons straining with her screams. One hand grips a bouncing breast and the other paints a pretty bruise onto her arse.

He moans vibrations unto her blushing skin, flexing and twitching at the feeling of her fluttering around him. She falters, bruised and battered legs giving out, and he can sense the violent, billowing fury boiling over.

Sebastian lifts her with the ease of a man given far too much trust, twists her up and over the arm of the couch. The planes of his stomach, his chest, press against her purple-blotted back. He reaches around to grasp at her throat, whispering hotly in her ear, “Let me.”

And he slams into her so hard that she barely catches herself from toppling over onto the floor.

“Oh, fuck!”

He’s brutal and ruthless and unbearable in every way she wanted him to be. His thrusts are harsh, painful in a way only he knows how to be. She lets her head droop into the pillow of her arms, eyes glazing over and body going pliant. And when his hand tightens, her throat constricting, she says not a damn word of complaint. Merely keens and whimpers beneath him.

Sebastian can’t catch a fucking break, letting her circles around him like this. He falls prey to her demands every single time. A quick shag against a tree. A blowjob in the bar’s loo. Her, delectable and enticing, spread before him as he returns home.

She riles him up like no other.

He growls, lips curling, teeth clenching, and lifts her. One hand keeping her breathless and the other finding her clit to get this shit done and over with. Something hot and sticky trails over the hand he’s wrapped around her throat, and he realizes it’s blood from the way she’s bit her lip so hard. Some deep, unbidden, primal part of him wants to lick up and kiss it back into her.

She screams as she comes undone, voice hoarse and raw, and Sebastian keeps pounding her through it, chasing after his own release. And when he finds it, his seed shooting into her, he, too, screams.

They stay there for a moment, catching their breath, their knees rubbed red before Sebastian pushes her away. They both wince when he removes himself, and he squeezes his eyes shut, calming himself, as he watches his cum immedately drip out of her. Meanwhile, she stays slumped over, riding the high of Sebastian’s ministrations, entirely unbothered at the way he clearly wants her gone.

But he says absolutely nothing. Merely buttons his pants and slams his bedroom door shut.

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow smut #dark!sebastian sallow

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uncleshag · 3 months

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Longtown Sound 1579 Gospel SING! Featuring Eastmen Quartet, The Rivertown Boys, Sisters, Changed, John Tibbs, Matt and Sherry McPherson, Chuck Wagon Gang, Sierra Hull and David and Margaret Gloyd. Safe, #inspirational, #mp3, #nowplaying #listen #download link https://on.soundcloud.com/GWh1W

Exodus 3:14 (KJV) And God said unto Moses, I Am That I Am: and He said, Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel, I Am hath sent me unto you.

Eastmen Quartet - My Lord Will Send a Moses The Rivertown Boys - Mold Me Once Again Sisters - Thou Oh Lord Changed - You Know Me John Tibbs - Hope Matt and Sherry McPherson - Run To Jesus+ Chuck Wagon Gang - Precious Name Sierra Hull - Trust & Obey David and Margaret Gloyd - In This Place

#SoundCloud #music #Uncle Shag #Southern Gospel #inspirational #mp3

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francesminos-tt · 3 months

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First of all happy new year

Second of all

I need more of the Kardashians AU 😭😭

Pls let them be like early season ones (they were so unhiged)

The cameras manages to catch a fight between Alicent,Rhaenyra, Joffrey and Daeron and everyone is like 🫢🫢.

There is a fight between Alicent, Rhaenyra, Joffrey and Daeron, but fortunately there are no cameras in the cellar. Or are there?

Rhaenyra and Alicent did not call an emergency meeting this time. They both agreed to handle the issue gently, minimizing the bad PR as best as they could. Rhaenyra had already threatened to sue the Reality Show team for editing the material in such a way that put Joffrey in the bad light. However, no matter how firmly she stood by her son, the damage had already done, and now the most important thing was to keep the damage in control.

When Joffrey was called to the cellar, he had actually worried about his life for a moment. He knew his mother loved him, but what if this was a trap by someone (namely Lady Alicent, but Joffrey dared not to make any assumptions) to eliminate him once and for all? He had been the shame of the family for the past week. No, not only the family, but the entire realm. He unplugged his phone three days ago, for he couldn't face the accusations online anymore.

How can he cheat on his husband? And with Daeron’s own uncle! That’s a whole new level of incest, even for Targaryen standards.

I wonder how long has this been going on?

Guys, I did some digging, and guest what? I found Gwayne Hightower’s discharge file. He was a major in the royal navy, honorably discharged a year ago. Files attached.

Wow, he looks hot in navy uniform. I wouldn’t mind shagging him, to be honest.

I still feel bad for Daeron. He seems so in love with Joffrey. 😭

Another example of how fake these celebrities are.

No one seemed to believe Joffrey was innocent, even those rare comments that were in his favor contained only weak excuses and unnecessary apologies. Joffrey didn't care too much about the public’s opinion, but he was furious that people called him a cheater, while the truth was the other way around. Why couldn’t he even have a normal friendship while Daeron could have multiple mistresses?

Joffrey hadn’t talked to Daeron since the episode aired. To be fair, Daeron hadn't made any attempt to talk to him, either. They stayed in different rooms and avoided each other like the plague. Fortunately, the shooting had paused to make way for the holiday special, which would happen in Summerhall, a resort mansion of the family, so no further proof of Joffrey and Daeron’s strained relationship was captured by camera.

Joffrey stopped at the cellar door, took a sharp inhale, and knocked three times.

“Come in, dear.” The door was opened by Rhaenyra herself, as the current CEO of Targaryen Group pulled her son into a big hug, “God, Joffrey, you feel so cold. Have you been out in the snow?”

“I am fine, mother.” Joffrey assured her, “I just went for a jog. I needed some fresh air.”

“Did anybody see you? Paparazzi, passerby, or lingering groupies?” Lady Alicent asked with a stiff nod to acknowledge Joffrey, “We can't risk providing the public more material to speculate.”

“No.” Joffrey replied, casting his eyes down out of instinct, as if he was guilty of something, “I just jogged around manor, all private property.”

Alicent hummed, but didn't push the topic further.

“Stop it, Alicent.” Rhaenyra spoke, throwing a disapproving glare to the other woman, “Do not interrogate my son.”

“I am not interrogating anyone. I am just trying to make sure the current situation doesn’t get worse.” Alicent replied, but Joffrey could tell for her clasped hands that the lady was not pleased to be here.

Well, that made two of us. Joffrey thought bitterly.

“Why am I here, mother? I guess it’s not for the wine.” Joffrey asked, making a small joke to try and lighten the mood.

“We need to discuss your public image, dear.” Rhaenyra let Joffrey sit down on a cozy armchair that seemed out of place in the cold and dark cellar.

“With Daeron, of course.” Alicent added, “We decide that it’s best for you to work this out together in a low-profile way. Holding a press conference seems overkill and will only raise more suspicion.”

“I think we are just going to wait it out.” Joffrey murmured lamely, “I don't attract a lot of attention normally, you know that, mother. People will lose interest soon enough.”

“Well, it’s already been ten days, but the online discussion only seems to get worse.” Alicent browsed through her screen, “They are calling your marriage a fake now.”

They were right. His marriage was just that. A fake.

“I think restoring your public image also helps your reputation in the league, Joff.” Rhaenyra said gently as she took Joffrey’s cold hands into hers, “I’ve spoken to your manager about this already. Don't worry. We will deal with it as gently as possible.”

Joffrey bit his lower lip to prevent himself from lashing out. Why did his public image have anything to do with his football career? Wasn’t his skill enough to put him on the field? Was his club really going to put him on the bench because he was a cheater?

Before Rhaenyra could explain more, the cellar door was pushed open by an impatient Daeron. The blonde was in a damp raincoat with cashmere scarf around his neck and a pair of fine leather gloves, clearly just came back from outside. Daeron’s violent widened at the sight of Rhaenyra. It was clear that he hadn’t expected to see his half-sister here. Daeron’s surprise soon turned into annoyance as his eyes landed on Joffrey.

“What is the matter you want to see me today, mother?” Daeron immediately turned his eyes away from Joffrey, as if the sight of his husband irritated him, “I didn't expect a crowd here.”

“Daeron, dear, come and sit down.” Alicent pointed to the empty seat next to her. Even though her son also seemed to have been out, she made no intention to ask about his whereabouts. The double standard she took for Daeron and Joffrey made the brunette seethe with anger.

“Watch out your words, brother.” Rhaenyra was not so kind to her son-in-law, “Why are you so late? Sneaking out to meet your lady friend again? Do you know how much mess we are in? The last thing I want is to deal with your shit right now.”

“Funny, sister.” Daeron scoffed, “The last time I checked, it is not me who is being called a cheater.”

“You know it’s not true.” Joffrey couldn’t help but speak up, “It’s a misunderstanding and shit editing. I did nothing wrong.”

“Say that to these people online. I don't care what you did or did not do.” Daeron shrugged, browsing through the wine racks before looking down at his nails, making it clear that he would look at anywhere but Joffrey.

“That’s what we are here to discuss.” Alicent spoke, stopping the fight that was about to break out, “We need to reverse the public opinion before the holiday special. The first step is for you two to actually show up for the camera, together.”

“It’s no use, mother.” Daeron said immediately, “That’s no different from what we used to do. The public has become smarter now. Holding hands won't make the accusations go away.”

How could Daeron be so comfortable talking about their fake relationship? Did he notice Joffrey’s heart rate quickening whenever they held hands or shared kisses in public? Did he know that Joffrey cherished his affection, even though it was all fake? Did he know Joffrey was actually glad about the reality show because cameras meant Daeron would have to pretend he loved Joffrey 24/7? Did he know that Joffrey had loved him all along?

“That’s why we think the best way to overwrite a scandal is another scandal.” Alicent replied.

“What do you mean?” Daeron frowned at his mother, “Are you suggesting I expose Erin?”

Erin, Joffrey thought, so that was the name of Daeron’s current mistress.

“Of course not.” Rhaenyra chimed in, “I will never humiliate my son like that.”

“Then what’s your suggestion of a scandal, sister?”

Rhaenyra pursed her lips and threw a quick, apologetic glance at Joffrey. She paused for a moment, before opening her mouth to speak again.

“A sex scandal.” Rhaenyra said in a low voice, as if she feared that the thick wall of the cellar had ears, “You two will be captured by cameras while making out or doing something sexy. Like the time when Lucerys and Aemond were caught going at it on the balcony.”

The cellar went dead silent for a long while. The room was so quiet that Joffrey could hear his own breathing and heartbeat.

“Are you mad?” Daeron hissed, breaking the uncomfortable silence, “Are you suggesting handing over a porn to the paparazzi?”

“It doesn’t have to come to that extent, dear.” Alicent out her hand on the lap of Daeron to calm her son, “Just some touching and kissing will suffice, but you have to show passion. I and your sister think that the reason why the current scandal doesn't die down is because you two rarely interact on the show. You know how media work. Sex is their favorite topic.”

“No.” Joffrey shot up from the armchair before Daeron could speak again, “Absolutely not.”

“Joff, listen-” Rhaenyra tried, but Joffrey wouldn't let her finish.

“I SAID NO!” Joffrey all but shouted, “I don’t give a fuck about my public image or whatever. If my coach thinks I am not morally superior enough to play in his team, so be it. I will retire if no one wants to a see a cheater on the field, but I will not perform for the camera like a porn star!”

“You don’t even have to be naked.” Alicent said calmly, a sharp contrast to Joffrey’s panic, “Daeron will take the lead.”

“I do not want him anywhere near me!” Joffrey stomped to the door, “In case you haven’t noticed, your son despises me. Our marriage is a fucking mistake from the beginning.”

“Hey!” Daeron rushed to Joffrey and grabbed the brunette’s arm, “Show some respect to my mother.”

“Not when she shows none for me!” Joffrey shook Daeron’s hand off roughly, “Perhaps you can talk some sense into her. I am sure you are the last person who would agree to this crazy idea.”

“I don’t care, as long as the media leave me alone.” Daeron rolled his eyes, “I don’t want to answer anymore calls that are supposed to make me feel better.”

Daeron air-quoted the word ‘better’. Apparently annoyed by those calls.

“You hate me.” Joffrey said with gritted teeth, “You can’t even stand the sight of me, and now you are telling me you don’t mind shagging me in public?”

“I am not fond of a lot of people.” Daeron shrugged, making no attempt to deny Joffrey’s words, “It doesn’t stop me from shagging most of them.”

“Fuck off.” Joffrey spat, “I am not one of your gold digger mistresses. I’d say we call this whole disaster off and just tell people the truth. Maybe we can finally get rid of each other.”

“No.” This time, it was Alicent who rejected the idea, “You cannot get a divorce. It will destroy our PR.”

“PR, PR, PR! It’s always PR!” Joffrey’s eyes began to burn, but he refused to let the tears fall down, “I’ve spent my whole life living in a lie. Just because you were trapped in a loveless marriage, doesn’t mean you have the right to make me live with one too!”

Joffrey was so angry and hurt that he let his frustration out at the wrong person. He knew it was unfair to lash out at Lady Alicent, but he couldn’t help it. She had always looked down upon him. He was always the unfavorable son-in-law. She seemed to blame Joffrey for her son’s indifference, but God knew how hard he tried. If only she knew how much Joffrey wanted to be intimate with Daeron. But Joffrey wanted heart-felt sex, not another lie.

“Shut your fucking mouth!” Daeron came to his mother’s defense immediately, shoving Joffrey roughly, “Do you think you are the only victim here? I am also trapped in this god forsaken marriage too, but unlike you, I am responsible enough to keep the facade.”

“Hiding your mistress in a rented mansion is your understanding of responsibility, huh?” Joffrey scoffed, “I’ve had enough of your so-called responsibility, husband. You are not as important as you think, and neither am I. I doubt our divorce will cause a scene.”

“Enough.” Rhaenyra finally spoke, rising from her seat and inserting herself between her son and her half-brother, “We are here to discuss damage control, not to blame each other for things we cannot control. Joff, I am sorry, but I cannot let you divorce your uncle, at least not now.”

Joffrey closed his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek to hold back his tears.

“It is your duty to keep a good public image, no matter you like it or not.” Alicent rose from her armchair as well, her warm brown eyes now cold as a dagger, “Get yourself together.”

Joffrey felt like a little boy being scolded for his mischief. For a moment, he cursed himself for being born into a family like the Targaryens. He had no say in his own life. He couldn't choose his own husband, couldn't get a divorce, and couldn't even have a normal friendship. His life was not his own, but a commodity for the public to judge. Everything should be fine, if only he hadn't fallen in love with Daeron. If he didn't love Daeron, he wouldn’t get so emotional. Daeron could have a hundred mistresses, and it wouldn't hurt him, at all.

If only he hadn't fallen for his uncle.

“Perhaps you two should discuss it,” Rhaenyra suggested softly, putting her hand on Joffrey’s arm, “you don't have to act immediately, Joff.”

“Yes, mother.” Joffrey murmured, keeping his eyes down. He was exhausted, his previous lashing out taking a toll on his already batted mental state. He tried to fight, and failed, so now he turned back into the dutiful son, who would do anything to strengthen his mother’s grasp of the family legacy.

Daeron pursed his lips into a thin line and stayed silent. He glared at Joffrey, but this time, it was Joffrey who wouldn't look back.

Joffrey sighed as he threw himself onto the comfortable mattress. He had just come out from a shower, his hair still dripping water and his skin still pink from the heat. He was clad in only a pair of boxer, too lazy to put on a T-shirt. No one would come in his room anyway, so it was no meaning to keep his decency.

It was already midnight. It was strange to shower in the middle of the night, but Joffrey needed the hot water to relieve the soreness of his muscles. Also, the heat was supposed to help him relax, though the effect didn't work too well on Joffrey. He had trouble sleeping for months now. Sleep deprivation was beginning to take a toll on his football performance lately.

Joffrey lit a scented candle and settled in, scrolling down his Kindle mindlessly. He was half-way through a novel about a middle-aged man quitting his job and going on a trip around the world. On hindsight, Joffrey probably shouldn’t choose this novel, for the topic of freedom and self-worth felt like a distant dream to him.

Tonight, Joffrey couldn't focus. Tomorrow, KL magazine would come to the keep for an interview, and Joffrey was supposed to take this opportunity to beat his cheater allegation and reverse his public image, by shagging his husband.

Joffrey sighed again. He had accepted his fate by now. He was prepared to pose for the camera like a whore, if that meant he could get rid of online violence.

It seemed that sleep would not bless him today. Joffrey was about to get up and go out for a jog to exhaust himself (again), when he heard some soft knock on his bedroom door.

“…What do you want?” Joffrey asked with a frown, leaning against the door frame and showing no intention of letting Daeron in, “It’s already midnight.”

“I can ask you the same question.” Daeron crossed his arms in front of his chest, “What aren’t you sleeping?”

“Funny.” Joffrey scoffed, “If you really think I am sleeping, you won’t even come. Out with it, uncle. What do you want?”

“I have things to discuss with you.” Daeron replied, “It is best that we discuss in private.”

“You have made it clear that you do not want to come to my room.” Joffrey said, keeping his voice as flat as possible. He shivered slightly as cold air met his toned torso, leaving a trail of goose bumps along his skin, “Why the sudden change of mind?”

Daeron didn’t reply. Instead, he pushed Joffrey into the room forcibly and kicked the door shut behind him.

“What the fuck are you doing-” Joffrey’s curse was interrupted by Daeron’s lips crushing onto his, the blonde’s hands grabbing Joffrey’s hip tight enough to leave a bruise.

“Practice.” Daeron said after releasing Joffrey’s lips to breathe, his fingers still dug deep into Joffrey’s hip, “We are going to put on a show, aren’t we? I don't want to make a fool of myself.”

“Fuck off,” Joffrey hissed, “Let go of me, you psycho. Do you consider it an entertainment to have sex with someone you hate?”

“I don't consider anything.” Daeron replied, slipping his hand into Joffrey’s boxer, “You are warm. What were you doing? Texting with my uncle?”

“What are you implying?” Joffrey kicked Daeron on the shin, using his football strength to kick the blonde away, “Will you believe me if I tell you I am just reading?”

“Depends.” Daeron reached out to grab Joffrey again, but the brunette took a large step back, “I don't know you well enough to draw a conclusion.”

“And whose fault is that?” Joffrey took a random jersey from his drawer and put it on, “Go find your whore if you are horny.”

“You seem very upset about my girlfriends.” Daeron said, wiping off a drop of saliva from his lips, “If I don't know better, I’d say you are jealous.”

Joffrey’s breath stopped for a second, but he soon controlled himself. He might not be as good an actor as Daeron, but he could fake with no problem. Joffrey had hidden his true feelings so well that there was no way Daeron could notice.

“No matter how we hate each other, we are still married. From what I learned, we will stay married for the foreseeable future. You having a mistress is a spit at my face. Am I not allowed to be upset about it?” Joffrey said sarcastically.

“You know it as well as me that having mistresses is common in our world. It doesn't mean anything.” Daeron shrugged, “My girlfriends love my money and status more than my person. I enjoy sex favors and they enjoy money and status. It’s a fair trade.”

“Get out.” Joffrey couldn't hear anymore. He didn’t want to know that his husband would rather fuck a random gold digger than him.

“I am serious when I say we need practice, Joffrey.” Daeron put on his business face, “We need to decide how far we should go.”

Joffrey bit his lower lip. In fact, Daeron had a point. He knew from experience that strategy needed practicing before putting to use on the field, but he feared that he would lose control if Daeron went too far. He would die of shame if Daeron knew a single touch was enough to arouse Joffrey.

“You kissed me just now. Isn't that enough?” Joffrey said, though he knew his excuse was beyond reasonable.

“Please, Joffrey.” Daeron rolled his eyes, “Don’t act like a virgin. Kissing cannot help us get away this time.”

Joffrey went silent.

“Now, I say a little making out is necessary.” Daeron stepped up, wrapping one of his arms around Joffrey’s waist tentatively, “I am going to touch you now.”

Daeron slipped his free hand into Joffrey’s jersey after the brunette showed no intention of pushing him away. He flattened his palm on Joffrey’s toned stomach, feeling the muscle contract under his touch. Joffrey’s skin was soft, but his muscle was hard from years of football practice, a sharp contrast to Daeron’s girlfriends.

Joffrey shivered under Daeron’s touch, his breaths quickening as beads of water dripping from his curls into his collar. Daeron’s hand roamed over his torso, sending a chill down his spine.

Their bodies were pressed tightly together now. Daeron could see the soft blush on Joffrey’s sun-kissed skin, the brunette’s slightly pouty lips, and the veins on the side of his neck. For some reason, the sight felt erotic.

“Dragonstone FC?” Daeron chuckled as he saw Joffrey’s old jersey, “Perhaps you should wear Old Town United instead. Give the reporters more material to speculate.”

“In your dreams.” Joffrey spat, but he was too weak to sound threatening now.

Daeron chuckled again, his hand now coming to Joffrey’s boxer band. He played with the soft trail of hair under Joffrey’s navel, teasing his nephew/husband with interest.

“God, Joffrey. How long since you last had sex?” Daeron tightened his arm and pressed Joffrey harder onto himself, “You are already hard.”

“It’s just a normal reaction.” Joffrey insisted, but his watery eyes told a different story. How could he admit that he had never slept with anyone since their wedding night years ago? Joffrey would rather die than admitting his feelings in this way.

“How cute.” Daeron poked Joffrey’s erection over the boxer, “How come I never notice how cute you are?”

Daeron rubbed Joffrey’s cock, causing a wet spot to spreading over the fabric. Joffrey’s breath caught in his throat, as a tingling sensation rising from his tailbone to the back of his head. He wanted to curse, to mock, to push Daeron away, but he couldn't. His every pore sang at Daeron’s touch, like the land welcoming the first rain after a long draught.

Daeron kept teasing Joffrey’s cock, while moving his other hand up Joffrey’s back to grab a handful of Joffrey’s damp curls. He forced Joffrey’s head up, and covered the pouty lips with his own. Daeron wasted no time pushing his tongue between Joffrey’s teeth, sucking, licking and invading the brunette’s mouth.

Daeron wasn’t lying. He had never really paid much attention to Joffrey before. To him, Joffrey was just a burden forced upon him, a duty he had to carry out, a reminder of his strained life, so he was reluctant to acknowledge Joffrey’s presence until now. He had no idea how warm Joffrey was, how smooth Joffrey’s skin felt, and how intoxicating Joffrey tasted.

“Enough,” Joffrey managed to blurt out, “let go of me.”

Daeron was so intrigued by Joffrey that it took him a long while to realize what the brunette had just said. He hadn't expected to go this far. He had just planned to tease Joffrey for bit, not charmed by the brunette to this extent.

“Joffrey-”

“Let go of me. You’ve humiliated me enough.” Joffrey grabbed Daeron’s wrist and dragged the blonde to the bedroom door, “It’s time for you to leave.”

The door closed in front of him, leaving Daeron alone in the dark corridor. The blonde looked down at his own mess between the legs, and sighed heavily.

It was a bad time to develop feelings.

#house of the dragon #hotd #joffron #my asks #joffrey velaryon #daeron x joffrey #daeron the daring

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