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bambiesfics · 6 months

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⊹ Tag! you’re it. ⊹

(5k wc!)

| SNEAK PEEK: “Fuck me. Almost forgot about her.” The brunette unslung the rifle over her shoulder and head. She threw it a small distance away from you two. The black Nula rifle skidded amongst the twigs, then stopped. You breathed a small sigh of relief amidst your mounting panic. Releasing the terror that it could go off while she fucked herself into you.

⊹ SUMMARY: The concept was simple really. It’s quite literally in the title of this fic. I’m sure you’re smart, reader. So I’m also sure you can deduce what she’s going to make you do. But in the rare chance you’re not that bright, I’ll help and spell it out for you.

You…need…to…run.

⊹ WARNINGS: Predator/prey kink. Strap-on use (reader receiving). Outdoor sex, very rough sex, mean as fuck!Dom Ellie, dacryphilia, ass-smacking, black-out, use of “cock” and “dick” and is referred to as Ellie’s, and other things you’ll have to read to see.

⊹ AUTHOR’S NOTE: Minors & puritans this is not the fic for you. Everyone else: make sure you read this at home. This is genuinely, not safe for work (or school!)

The truck skidded to a stop.

The acridness of burnt rubber twisted its way up your nose, reflexively making you scrunch. The russet haired brunette pulled the keys out of the ignition and slammed the truck's door shut. Her black converses made imprints onto the soft earth.

They were just a few of the many tracks to come.

The slam of the GMC door was like a boom in your head, yelling ‘WAKE UP!’

Laid beyond the car window was a terrifying picture of nature. The forest seemed like rows of shark’s teeth; jagged and everlong. Up along the bank, a crowded family of dark green spruce trees were huddled. Mottled like flecks against the horizon. Nothing could be seen but the green overlaid on top of the clear sky. The trees circumferenced along the bank like a protective dome, surrounding the truck.

This was her idea.

The brunette circled the clearing, her bangs blew softly in the wind. She fixed the M-11 sniper across her back, pulling the dual tabs of her corset webbing to tighten it to her torso. The NULA sniper was heavy. A matte black gun with a wide eyed scope. It was Ellie’s favorite. For hunting; both people and game.

Your girlfriend had known for several years that she’d never be a fan of small firearms. She reveled in the kickback of a sniper.

Firearms.

Running.

Rifle.

Chasing.

Polaroids of memory flooded your thoughts. Snapshots of Ellie pleading relentlessly to convince you to let her use you. Use your adrenaline and terror to scratch a deep deep itch within her. Like a flea ridden dog, your girlfriend had a parasite. And the parasite was the chase. It was a primal itch. One that’d been there since she was a younger girl. It teased along the blurred edges of sociopathy and sexuality.

If you’d really paid attention, you would’ve noticed that Ellie was a little…off. There was an aggression that ran congruent with her boyish teasing and fighting. An intuitive itch at the back of your brain often concluded that Ellie had always wanted to bend your arm back a little bit deeper during play fights. Because she too often enjoyed how quickly your laugh crumpled into yelps.

She’d let out a sudden chuckle during really tense moments, but you were subtly aware that Ellie could, and slyly tried, to get a bit more intense with the floor pinning, with the wall traps, with her power plays. And you suspected she liked it.

Ellie was an awe-inspiring girlfriend, so caring and so sweet; so tender. But you still couldn’t gauge where that hidden characteristic in her temperament came from.

Just how far would she really want to take it?

The surface tension of those memories rippled into obscurity like disturbed water. Leaving you to face the bitter nip of the cool air, and the earthy pine notes that carried itself on the wind.

Ellie had been spending her time studying you from across the distance. Trying to pick apart your thoughts from your micro-expressions. She debated on if the little crease between your brow was tense fear, or if it was exhaustion. Common sense advised her that it was exhaustion; you two had only come out here just an hour after dawn, naturally you’d feel drowsy or irate.

And that pleased her.

Tired would work in her favor. Tired would make you sloppy.

Ellie stepped deeper into the clearing. From your position in the passenger seat, you could see her attempt to feel for the direction of the wind, noting which direction it was blowing her hair. She used the sweep of the wind’s blow on her hair to navigate the direction of which path, in the dense forest, would give her the least resistance.

She planned to avoid that path.

She didn’t want this to be easy.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t have too. Ellie turned around slowly and rooted her feet into the soil. In spite of the distance, her gaze was piercing. She didn’t need to shout, but it was finally time to remove yourself from the safety of the truck.

You steadied yourself on the inside of the door, and used the pane to brace your knees before you dropped from out of the truck.

The sun was a high, white gold. Planting an opalescent sheen on the forest underbrush. It grew brighter and warmer the further behind you left the truck.

Towering above the underbrush, were thick alpine trees; the young and the old. Some of them were beyond being old, and were solidly antiquated. Likely as old as the entire forest itself.

Those alpines were the type of old that’d existed in that forest longer than Jackson town. The type of trees that had seen things not a soul nor an eye would have witnessed. Things, no history book had dared to make a record of.

And today, they saw you.

The sun was shining in her eyes. And she returned back to it her own venomous gaze.

Ellie’s ink moth tattoo moved each time her fingers steadied themselves on the bony juts of her hips. Her evergreen eyes blinked back down to study you once more.

In your timid mannerisms she microdosed on the pleasure of the run to come.

Your back straightened at her voice.

“To set this off, I ran the path six times since last sunday. Shouldn’t take you no longer than ten minutes, fifteen at your slowest. You take twenty minutes, and I come looking for you. Got that?”

Her eyes thinned, then relaxed.

“We’ve done similar patrols around the west wing of Jackson.”

“Like the group patrols and stuff right?”

Your answer was less than stellar.

She itched to grin at your reply, but killed it. Schooling her features back into a placid poker face. “Yeah sure. Those’ll definitely prepare you for today.”

Ellie started stalking behind you now. Eyeing the shoes you chose, how you shifted your weight from leg to leg, how your sleeves were longer than your fingers, and how your fingers fidgeted with its hem.

She pulled back from you. She pressed herself deeper into the gray and dull overcast from the trees. Shadowed by their height and mass, she shouted.

“You get a 120 second head start!”

The air was electric, like power lines running above you. Your fingers twitched, and your stomach tightened. And like a firing gun shooting into the air, she growled.

“RUN!”

Your feet pounded at the earth as your skin braced the whipping wind. Jackson’s forest was miles upon piles of jade. It was a claustrophobic cornucopia of trees. The underbrush scraped your legs with each step you took on the illuminated path of the forest floor. Light speckled from the patterned leaves above you, it looked like a kaleidoscopic.

The earth beneath your shoes was beaten flat from the steps of hikers and runners long before you ever came sprinting down. You’d hiked this path, but hiking and sprinting were light years apart. And the staggering imbalance of the terrain was sending shock waves up your legs. You braced it, a mantra looping in your head like your very life depended on.

Just run.

Your breaths were starting to sound heavier and heavier. Worsened by the regret that was creeping up all the same. Jackson had a system of 5am running patrols that were outlined by Maria on the town’s bulletin. Patrols that you could’ve put your name down for. Ellie did them often, just a short lap around Jacksons gates. She always told you it was only “15 minutes tops”, yet you always regarded that time as an extra 15 minutes to sleep in. Realization dawned on you just as quick as your feet turned around a large spruce tree.

That 15 minutes of running truly did add up.

Just run.

A climbing crescendo of snapped twigs and rustling leaves was all that could be heard whipping about. Louder and louder. Heavier and heavier. An orchestra of sounds; of your heartbeat. Of a burning pain from a persons forceful sprint. Someone was panting, fighting, clawing their way out of Jackson’s forest. You were the someone, but your legs were growing tired.

Your calves were burning as your pace increased, the ache was clawing into the muscles in your lower legs like hot iron. The pain bloomed into your thighs and coiled itself into the pit of your lower belly. It left your breath wheezing and dry.

Sweat broke out on your hairline. Perspiration that would drip down to sting your eyes if you didn’t get home in time. You needed to get home fast. Just as long as you got there before her. Just as long as you beat Ellie to Jackson’s gates, you’d be fine.

All you could do was just run.

You slowed to a stop and cleared a log, you straddled it, holding the large body to steady yourself, before swinging your leg off and hopping back onto the ground. You weren’t nimble. Your girlfriend would’ve cleared the trunk with just the push of her left arm. But you were desperate, anything to not be her prey.

Just run.

Your ears picked up on it, before your brain could process it. The sound was unmistakable. Those were Ellie’s footsteps.

Clearing the log had closed the space between you. This chase was a burning thread. Growing shorter as the distance between you two also grew shorter. Ellies footsteps sounded heavier, more hurried. She could finally hear you too.

You pushed past the haze of pain and ran out of the forest, onto the rocky asphalt in front of the abandoned highway. You slid down the ditch, scraping your palms along before tumbling into a shaky sprint. The abandoned cars in the ditch were as much obstacles as they were protection. But up ahead, growing bigger with every step, were the gates; pillars of protection and strength.

The same voice whispered sharply into your concious, reminding you to

just run.

The only caveat was that Ellie’s conscience was telling her the

exact same thing.

She was behind you. But you couldn’t care where or how far Ellie was. You’d deduced that the strewn jagged pebbles had slowed her down. Converses didn’t work nearly as well on rocky terrain. The rhombus sole could tightly pack gravel and pebbles inside of it, which made for an uneven run.

Jackson’s steep wood gates appeared even larger. A good — no — a great thing. To be dwarfed by Jackson’s gates meant that you were near them. Nearer to the town than you had been a mere minute ago; yet again, still with no Ellie in tow.

You relaxed your sprint into a cursory jog. The relief that coursed through you was electrifying. A tired grin threatened to leap off your face. You were burning, but the chase wasn’t nearly as hard as you had suspected it to be, and for that your nervous system was flooded with relief.

You were so close. Just a few more steps and the lap would be cleared.

Ellie shouldn’t have given you that head start. Jesus, that girl could be so arrogant.

The dual gates were close enough to feel their shade. You took another deep breath, and stretched your arms out. The breeze cooled your skin. The relief from the concluded chase blew a spirit of new life into you. You were done! you had won Ellie’s sick little game of tag.

Now, what you would give to head down to the tavern and ask for a mug of sweet tea and some soft brea—

—Ellie slammed into you, crumpling you to the ground. A tiny yelp ripped out of you like a pathetic puppy. She dug her elbow into the small of your back to put you down, before switching tactics. She instead chose to slide her hand up and grip the back of your neck. She shoved your face into the ground. Holding you down in submission.

“Tag. you’re it.” She giggled.

Your shocked scream was muffled by the ground. Like some hunted doe, only your eyes could communicate. And they strained painfully to the right, hoping to see what the hunter was doing. The pain in the base of your spine ebbed as Ellie removed the puncture of her left knee from your back. She dropped into a crouch. But her hands slid down your back, then down your thighs, then to your knees where she gripped the sides of the joints and forcefully shoved them apart.

In the quiet of the dawn, you were more than a sight to see. You were a picture of desire to drink in, and a terrifying desperation possessed Ellie.

You should’ve ran faster.

Ellie inched all ten knuckles under the band of your jeans, she struggled to shove down your pants and underwear, grunting curses under her breath.

“No way in hell you were convinced you actually had a chance to win against me. I don’t think you realize how much I had to hold myself back. Couldn't let it be that easy for myself.”

Your breath came out ragged.

Ellie loved that.

She barely managed to shove the waist of your pants underneath the crease of your ass cheeks. But seeing as what she managed left her with just the necessary amount of space she needed to work with, it was certainly good enough.

“Honest question.” She paused for a moment and surveyed you. Her hand curled in the air “just to get this straight, were you jogging the entire lap or were you actually sprinting it? I just couldn’t tell.” She mocked.

The sneer her lips curled into was wicked.

But her violence even moreso.

Ellie slapped your ass harshly, intently drinking in the recoil. You yelped and jerked across the dirt. She lunged across to clamp the back of your neck, eyes piercing.

“Stay.”

The sound of a zipper being pulled down made you struggle in her grasp. Your head was scrambling from side to side to better see her. Picking up strewn leaves to tickle the bottom of your lips.

Ellie was having none of it. The fist on your neck squeezed tighter.

She tsk’d next to your ear, your first and now your final warning. She refused to repeat herself a second time.

If only you could’ve seen what she saw. Ass up, face down, bent like some bitch in heat. You were presenting yourself. Your left cheek was squished against the grass and leaves. And your ass was tempting and teasing itself in her face, globes split apart.

God, you didn’t know, but you’d looked so pathetic. Like you were just waiting to be topped. And if that was what you really wanted, then who was Ellie to deny you that?

A wicked grin bloomed onto her face, replacing the sneer.

One phrase boomed in her head.

…my bitch.

Ellie’s.

You were made to be Ellie’s bitch.

Ellie pulled out the harnessed cock, it had a real fat, girthy shaft. With a long vein running along the underside. She drooled at the fantasy of how it’d tug against your tight rim. She slid the dick atop the split of your ass cheeks. Rutting it up and down. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but she swore she saw you roll your hips onto it.

“Fuck me. Almost forgot about her.” The brunette unslung the rifle over her shoulder and head. She threw it a small distance away from you two. The black rifle skidded amongst the twigs, then stopped. You breathed a small sigh of relief amidst your mounting panic. Releasing the terror that it could go off while she fucked herself into you.

Holding her dick against your ass really let her hips take a break from the weight of it. You were such a good doe, letting her warm it between the globes of your ass cheeks. Taking her thumb and forefinger, Ellie angled her tip down, She gave shallow thrusts, reveling in the wet slide of her cock against your labia. She just needed a few more ruts against the slick, to get it as wet as she wanted.

Nimble as ever, the hunter slightly leaned back onto her calves. The bulbous tip of her cock inched back and dragged itself down the expanse of your labia, from clit to hole. Until it caught against the rim of your hole. It barely nudged inside. But the feeling of the tip pressing against it, reflexively made your hole clench a kiss on its head. Ellie whistled at the scene.

Heaven on earth is what this was to her.

“Would you look at that? You want it huh? Can tell by how you’re sucking it in.”

It turned Ellie on so much, seeing her dick just barely touch your hole, just prolonging what you both knew was to come. She was feeling a little violent again, so Ellie cracked another sharp slap on the meat of your ass. The heat and twinge from it, made your eyes widen. A blistering handprint was left where she slapped you. Tears started burning at the back of your eyes and you gasped in a panic. Your reactive jerk from her smack, involuntarily slipped the first inch of her cock into your hole. Your slick coated just the head. Wetness was slowly starting to slip down your walls. And it dripped past the seal of your vagina and coated the top of Ellie’s tip.

Not even pornography could compare; because to the eyes of anyone who could see, the scene between you and her was in every sense of the word: obscene.

You struggled against the grass again. Giving her a beautiful performance of a hunt gone well. Doe-eyed prey shaking fitfully against the grass. Ellie’s intimidating presence dwarfed everything in its path like a dark shadow.

She draped her chest over your back and laid her cheek to rest atop your planted head. Ellie slowly lined up her freckled lips with your ears. It could’ve almost looked like a caress; a sleepy embrace between two lovers. Where one whispered ‘good morning, you up honey?’, and the other grumbled lowly ‘mhm. Just 5 more minutes my love.’

But nothing that came out of her mouth was sweet.

Ellie whispered very lowly.

“I’m begging you—to try to fight me off.”

And with that, and a ghost of a kiss to the shell of your ear; Ellie thrusted the shaft inside, groaning her own pleasure over the shout you yelped into the ground. A sudden intrusion, as alarming as that was, could only be described as malice.

She slowly pumped in more inches of her cock until she felt a strong resistance. She kept testing it, pounding sharp pumps to see if there would be any further give. Each attempt pulled a muffled “n’moh it won’ fit phleese” out of you.

You dug into the grass.

Ellie’s beautiful features transformed into a quizzical frown. Her bushy eyebrows, her full pink lips, and her usually cherubic cheeks, wrinkled in to display a strong feeling of ... .disappointment. There were at least a few inches left of her hungry cock that weren’t warmed inside that slick tight pussy hole.

Why couldn’t you take all of it?

She furrowed her brows, dug her nails tightly into the fat of your hips, and hurriedly bullied her girthy cock into you. She couldn’t help but revel in the way each thrust pulled a yelp out of you like a kicked bitch.

Maybe those weren’t yelps from your lips, but instead muffled moans….

Ellie couldn’t really tell, and regardless, she definitely didn’t care.

Her thrusts were heavy, punchy. There was no space to spare inside of you. Her shaft was molding your hole to fit around its thickness. The cockhead squished against your cervix, pulling a new type of soreness with each pull of it.

“Uhn! Uhn! Uhn! Uhn!”

You drooled on the grass. You took the rhythmic pounding up your abused cunt. Your puffy cervix was leaving wet kisses on the tip of Ellie’s dick, which pulled even more slick from the tiny donut.

“That’s right. Uhn! Uhn! Uhnn! for me baby. Cry just like that. You like being tackled and fucked rough don’t you? Sloppy cunt.”

She mocked.

She was right, it was so sloppy. Your walls were practically drooling along her shaft; and trust her, she could feel it.

Ellie slowly pulled her cock out, only to marvel upon the gorgeous coating of slick that sparkled in the early sunlight. Your milk had pooled along the veins and ridges of her shaft.

There was a creamy mousse ring that wrapped around the base of her balls, frothing from the thrusts.

Ellie had a perverted temptation to taste a bit of that milky coating. The thing was, it wasn’t new to her, she’d gotten a taste of it many times before.

Chuckling to herself, she slid it back in. But with complete knowledge of how intensely full you’d feel, Ellie leaned down to drape her chest across your back once more.

She positioned her torso atop yours, digging her fingers into the dirt on either side of your head to get a solid grip. Dried leaves and grit collected under her fingernails and painted them specks of amber and brown. Her sweaty bangs were sticking to her face now. And they curved around her hairline as she barked a laugh at each rough pounding you took, like her sweet girl.

“So fucking—”

Thrust.

“Fun”

Thrust.

“Watc-hing you—”

Thrust.

Her voice cracked, pounding you was bumping her swollen clit just right.

“Run like.”

Thrust.

“Some weak little prey.”

She replaced her grip in the dirt with finding purchase on top of your hands. She slid her fingers in between yours and interlocked them. She squeezed your fingers between her own, you weakly squeezed hers back. The hunter above you, found just the right footing to put her full body weight into fucking you, and now you felt the stretch and fullness everywhere, everywhere.

No space inside of you was spared.

Who knew hunters could be so mean?

“You feel that? Is it stretching? I wanna know if it burns.” She gruffed.

Yes, yes, and yes. A weepy eyed ‘yes’ to all three.

All you could feel was her. Her cock was nudging past the sensitive swell of your g-spot, bruising the area with her pounding.

How could you not feel it?

Every ridge of her dick pulled muted squeals out of you. And despite how much your neglected clit cried for attention and touch from between its sloppy lips, there was a fiercely intense pleasure that radiated around your body. And the evidence was the strings of glossy slick drooled onto the grass patch below you two. The same slick ran down the underhaft of her cock as she pumped inside you, and collected at the base of her heavy balls. Balls that were building a bruise on your ass, with each stinging connect of her hips to your butt.

Ellie’s sighs and moans were pitching a variation of high and low tones. Huffing like a dog in heat because of how good it felt to be inside of you.

God, the strap was fucking her back. Her brain was growing fuzzy, heavy, needy.

Catching her prey to fuck it, had her mind unraveling.

Who was the bitch now?

“H-hey.” She breathed out

“Your sloppy hole feels s’good. Tiny, tiny pussy clamping on my cock. You making me work for it baby? Work hard to fu— fuck inside of you.”

She screwed her eyes shut. The intensity grew stronger.

“I’ll work as hard as I need to stu-stuff your sloppy holes” she slurred. Her green irises rolled to the back of her head.

Ellie’s grip on top of your hand considerably tightened, which had seemed almost impossible, given their already iron lock.

Ellie rolled her pale hips in shallow circles, grinding inside of you. The friction against your g-spot was dizzying, and from where your nose was shoved in the grass, you grew lightheaded.

As Ellie’s cock made your walls plump and swell, Your vision was slowly growing spotty. Little black dots were dancing across the expanse of your vision. It was unfortunate how little you could breathe, because the barks of pain and whimpers of pleasure that you wanted to release would’ve made Ellie cum on the spot right then.

“Love your pretty pussy. It’s pretty, it’s all mine. All for me. Tiny hole that I get to stuff full of dick—wanna chase and stuff you every day. I wanna be the only one in-inside you. Does my dick hurt your tummy? Want it to hurt you so good. Sorry, m’sorry, but I-I want it to hurt so good.”

Ellie was frantic and erratic. Fever brained and pussy drunk beyond the horizon. She sloppily slurred all her little fantasies in your ear.

The edges of your vision were graying out, your eyes glazed. If Ellie had noticed, she didn’t care.

Instead she obsessed herself with the way she was molding a home for her thick cock in your puffy walls. The same walls were puffy and deep pink inside.

Each thrust from her slender hips was like a zing that dragged pleasure down the ribbed walls. Pressure was building up severely in your tummy, and you were overcome with a strong urge to clamp.

You choked your last whimpering moan into the dirt, and finally let the tension go. Slick milky cum seeped from the seal of your sensitive hole and burst onto the base of her dick. It was frothing and glossy.

Your eyelids grew suddenly heavy. Your vision was tunneling, there was a gray and fuzzy halo around it that obstructed its clarity. You could only make out blurry shapes and colors, only the soft light of the day, just before you relaxed and sleepily went limp.

You had been fucked into a heavy slumber, yet your lower half was still being held up by the girl with the cock inside of you.

She didn’t let up.

Ellie kept fucking you. Frantic and greedy for her own orgasm in your pussy. She needed to be inside of it just a little longer.

She picked up her pace, relishing in the sweet feel of the cockbase smacking her clit. Ellie felt the same pressure in her own vagina rising. Her clit was just as swollen, just as puffy, just as wet and glossy as your hole was on the inside. And Ellie sought a few more angry thrusts to get her over the edge. She snapped her hips forward, and each time you jerked forward in the grass, with your lips forming an “o” and your eyes gently closed.

Thrust.

“Fuck!”

Thrust.

“Please please please.”

Thrust.

“—Prett-pretty my pretty pussy all mine.”

Thrust.

“Sososo tight.”

Thrust.

“Ughhhh!…”

A groan grizzled from her throat.

Ellie squirted spurts of her release down her thighs. Her eyeballs rolled backwards until they were white and veiny, and her hips stuttered with each squirt.

She came all over her skinny jeans.

Her chest rose and fell dramatically as she sucked in deep gulps of air. Ellie’s toned abs contracted with her breathing, clenching and relaxing. Over and over did the muscles dance until her breathing slowly steadied itself.

The hunter pulled out of you and tucked herself back inside her jeans. She barely zipped her pants up, leaving the slick base of her veiny dick still visible to the world’s eyes. She couldn't find it within herself to care, not even a tiny bit.

The NULA rifle was strewn amongst the grass, and its owner walked the short distance to pick it up from the grass. She picked it clean. Wiping the dirt off of it, and blowing off the stuck grass. She stationed the NULA by her hip again, and walked back towards your limp body.

Crescent moon sharpie doodles were scribbled onto the dirty toe box of her converses. The doodles you’d drawn for her one frigid October evening, an entire calendar year ago.

Ellie had found that so endearing, but even then she had been too shy to admit it at the time.

She surely wasn’t shy now.

Despite the fact that her preferred celestial body was still stars, she still held your insistence on decorating her shoes, near and dear to her heart. It had been one of those slow and scary, ‘I think I’m falling in love with you’ moments, that had pivoted the direction of your relationship, unbeknownst to either of you.

Ellie took those same converses and nudged your shoulder. Several times in fact.

In your deep slumber, your body had only moved with the motion of her foot.

A whistle twinkled from her pout.

“….And you’re out cold.”

She reached for your arm “okay come on—get up.” And slung you over her shoulder. It was awkward, it wasn’t easy. The sniper wanted about as much space on Ellie’s slender frame as you did. But she had to make it work. Better than patrollers finding you in the grass with your ass split wide open and your pussy dripping slick like a snail. So she dragged her feet as she carried you, and held the gun parallel to her body.

But she managed to make it work.

She managed all the way to the gates. where she slipped through the back. Your privacy was something she could never risk, no matter how much she reveled in this game.

She managed into Jackson town.

And then into her house, and then into her room, and then into her bed where she tucked you under the covers, so you could sleep the adrenaline and full body orgasm off.

The lull in her messy room was quiet.

It felt like no more than a warm hub, for you and your bold lover. Ellie was tired to her bones, but she worked on the keys of her guitar as you slept.

You’d mewled in your sleep from time to time. And she felt slightly guilty, slightly. She knew you’d wake up just fine. With a bad limp and maybe an attitude to last the day, but still mostly fine.

Ellie dropped her chin onto the guitar, and rolled herself back and forth in her chair.

She mulled over it in her mind, how it’d be kinder of her to just…pull back from time to time. Just so you weren’t wincing in your sleep from the ache. But then she pouted; unsure of herself.

Didn’t you like it when she was mean?

She plucked a key, F major, then B minor. A momentary pause, before her nails hesitantly strummed the strings. They still didn’t sound right. So she tuned them again.

She broke her gaze away from the strings to briefly check on you. You were a sniffling lump underneath her sky blue sheets.

Her chest squeezed at the image.

She knew it was sappy, it was lame. It was the feeling of impassioned affection; of love.

“I know you’ll love this one, whenever you decide to wake up…dork.” She teased.

Ellie strummed the string once again, meditating on the key. She cleared her throat, and whisper-sung her favorite part.

“Shall I stay? Would it be a sin, if I can’t help…” she sucked in a breath, and her cheeks dusted pink. Embarrassed even with no one to bare witness. But this song had best encompassed the ocean of her feelings.

“…Falling in love with you.”

She dropped her head against the body of her guitar.

And smiled into it.

-fin-

1K notes · View notes

ranilla-bean · 6 months

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culture tips for writing asian settings: tea varieTEAs

atla's got major Tea Guy representation in iroh but let's be real, even non-tea guys are going to be drinking tea in an asian-inspired setting—you'd be served it instead of water most places. so, what kind of tea are you picking for them?

as an east asian reader, it can take me out of the setting to see the characters drink something like chamomile (from europe/west asia) or... most herbal teas, to be honest. ngl it was weird to see iroh in the show, characterised as a huuuuuuge tea snob, drink stuff like jasmine (it's fine it's just basic, is all! imo!) or like.... a random flower he encounters in the wild.

when we're talking tea, real asian tea, we're talking about the leaf of the camellia sinensis plant. the huge variety we have of tea is actually from the different ways of processing that exact same leaf. popular varieties include:

green: the leaf goes through minimal processing, can have a bright and even leafy/grassy flavour (examples: gunpowder, longjing aka dragon well, matcha, genmaicha)

white: also undergoes minimal processing, with a lighter flavour than even green (examples: silver needle, shou mei)

oolong: the leaf is semi-oxidised, curled, and twisted—can be characterised by a tanniny flavour with a bright aftertaste. my personal favourite! (examples: da hong pao, tieguanyin, dong ding, alishan)

dark (black): note this isn't the same as black tea as we think of it in english. the leaf is fermented to produce an earthy tea with a flavour like petrichor (examples: pu'er)

all the teas listed in the "examples" are fairly credible teas that i think a real tea snob like iroh would drink.

ok, but what about...

"black tea" as we know it in the west—assam and ceylon etc? this variety is actually called "red tea" in chinese. we don't drink it with milk but to be honest, i've just... never really heard of anyone drinking chinese red tea? which is why i've kept it off the list. (there's lapsang souchong, but i associate that with bri'ish people...) anyone who does drink it, let me know! on the other hand something like assam/ceylon, while extremely delicious and also asian, is a product of british colonialism and is consumed with milk. i think if you wanted to massage some of the traditions & have chai-drinking indian-influenced characters, though, that's cool!

do you actually not drink herbal tea? we do... but a lot of it is considered medicinal. we've got stuff like herbal "cooling tea" with ingredients like sour plum, mesona, or crysanthemum; tea that warms you up like ginseng or ginger. the whole concept of hot/cold in chinese medicine though... that deserves another culture post

camellia leaf murdered my family & i have a grudge against it; what else can my blorbos drink? there'a some good, tasty stuff made of wheat, barley, buckwheat, even soybean. wouldn't be egregious for the characters to drink that!

is milk sacriligeous? a real tea snob would think so, but a lot of asians nowadays are chill about milk in tea—usually in western-influenced red tea. hong kong, thailand, india, taiwan, and malaysia (among others) have their own cultures of milk tea, which has even become a democratic rallying point.

what do you think of iroh inventing bubble tea? my main issue with it is it's anachronistic! it was invented in taiwan in the late 20th century, but atla's set in the equivalent of the mid-19th century... you could also make arguments about whether iroh's too snobby about tea to invent it LOL

there's soooo much more i can say about all this so: keep your eyes peeled! i'll talk about medicine & tea ceremony in the near future <3

disclaimer | more tips

#atla #atla culture #atla meta #avatar the last airbender #iroh #asian culture tips #tea #so i'm making this post as not QUITE a certified Tea SnobTM the way iroh is #but i do really love and enjoy many east asian teas #and i start every day off with a cup of strong milk tea (probably reflecting my own cultural heritage tho ;) )#and i do look down on white ppl tisanes. that shit aint good!!

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trashogram · 3 months

Text

He Chose You (Pt. 2)

Lucifer/Reader

Rated E for the smex coming next chapter I SWEAR. ((Also there will not be any non-con in this fic, so please don’t worry. You’ll see when you read.))

Tag Requests: @loslox, @for-hearthand-home, @navierkalani

‘The worst thing they could be are swingers.’

Your heart was racing, and you felt ridiculous for how uppity you felt at the prospect of having dinner with your two elderly neighbors.

Normally, meeting new people would cause a healthy amount of anxiety in you. You’d grown up into a recluse and upholding social niceties took most of your energy. It was even worse to be in their home, and among people that you likely did not have much in common with.

These were personal reassurances that you told yourself after denying the first invitation for dinner with the Farrows. The guilt you felt, paired with the subsequent relief of not having to spend more than five minutes with your chatty neighbor, stirred an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Of course you’d been unable to stop thinking about what a wretch you were, how karma was going to bite you on the ass for denying an old couple some company.

And oh Karma did come back to bite you. Hard.

You felt like you were hanging by a thread at work. Three weeks into the job and you’d already been reprimanded. Even the memory of your supervisor looking down her nose at you from the other side of her desk made your eyes water.

“We have a ‘three strikes’ policy here. I’m afraid this will count as your first.”

Never having been fired from a job notwithstanding, you felt like the idiot your parents always purported you to be.

If you’d have just stayed in your hometown, living off your parents’ good graces and kept your head down, instead of prancing out the door as if you had self-respect and no need for a safety net…

Maybe things wouldn’t be so dire.

Maybe you wouldn’t be on the verge of having a panic attack at this very moment, feeling the anxiety and restlessness from declining the previous invitation tenfold.

With a deep breath in and out, you crossed the hall with the hesitance of a mouse approaching a snap-trap. You knocked on the door to Unit 606 with a shaking hand.

There was a moment left to blanch at the realization that you hadn’t brought anything with you. Like the shittiest, most thoughtless guest ever.

——

“You made it!” Mrs. Farrow held her arms out dramatically. “Come in! Come in! You’re right on time! Oh and you look lovely dear!”

“Thanks.” You felt heat rise to your cheeks as the door closed behind you.

The layout of the apartment was a mirror image to yours, but you were overwhelmed by just how much stuff had taken up the space. From the kitchen to the living room, the apartment was brimming with kaleidoscopic color. Antique statuettes of unknown deities, handcrafted vases and sculptures in-set with gems and gold filigree, expertly framed posters of old Hollywood, and Persian rugs beneath well-worn furniture were visible from just a cursory glance.

It distracted you from the unusually bitter, earthy smell that assaulted you upon entering.

“Wow,” You said in genuine awe. “Your home is lovely.”

“Aw, you’re too kind sweetheart. Too kind. Here, let me take your shawl - we’ll hang it up on the rack here, see.” She took your cardigan and placed it on an old hat stand before steering you out to the living room by the back of your shoulders.

There was a man sitting in a leather armchair adjacent to the couch. He was wearing a tweed jacket and his silver-blond hair had been combed back finely to show a pale, wrinkled face and eyes so dark they shone almost black in the lowlight.

He looked at you with interest once you’d finally caught onto his presence, and opened his mouth to speak.

‘Quack!’

“Lou!” You laughed as the duck came racing over on its little legs.

Without delay, the bird climbed onto your flats with an impatient flap of its wings, trying to balance while looking up at you adoringly.

You couldn’t help but reach down and pat his little head, murmuring ‘hellos’ and ‘how you doing buddy?’ softly and sweetly.

The man opposite you both smirked. “My wife was right. He’s quite taken with you.”

“I’m always right!” Mrs. Farrow called out from the kitchen.

You looked to the kitchen and back to, presumably, Mr. Farrow, an uncertain smile on your lips.

“Welcome to our home.” The elder man’s voice was almost hypnotically deep. His hand was outstretched and waiting. “Please excuse me for not greeting you properly. When you get to be as old as I am, your body does everything it can to make you stay put in one place.”

You shook your head. “Oh no, please don’t worry about it! I understand.”

Mr. Farrow’s smirk seemed to soften as you spoke.

“Please make yourself comfortable, my dear.” When he gestured to the couch, you awkwardly shuffled to sit down. Lou was right on your heels, loathe to spend even a second without your warmth.

The duck ended up snuggled on your lap after begging to be lifted as you sank into the plush sofa. And you were grateful, hugging Lou to you gently as if he were a plush toy.

It helped take your mind away from that spine-tingling feeling when it made a comeback — the way Mr. Farrow’s eyes glittered when he looked at you and his duck.

‘Oh god, they probably are swingers. And they lure in their targets with this crazy well-trained duck.’ You thought, punching yourself in the face mentally. ‘And you fell for it. Walked right into their den of debauchery. You stupid bitch.’

“Here’s some water, honey. We’ll save the stronger stuff for dinner.” You jumped in your seat when Mrs. Farrow appeared at your side, setting a glass of ice water down on the end table beside you.

You reached for the glass as its contents sloshed over the edge. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Farrow.”

Mrs. Farrow beamed.

“What did I tell ya, Warren? Isn’t she lovely? Just a peach. Lou is smitten.” She patted your shoulder. “And it’s Cassie, honey. Call me Cass.”

“You were right, Cass.” Warren Farrow intoned.

He took on a conspiratorial tone as he addressed you once more. “You must know, my wife hasn’t stopped talking about you since you met the other day. I wondered if she was preparing us for a new roommate.”

Heat flooded your face for the second time. “Aw.”

“Oh poo, as if you wouldn’a done the same.” Mrs. Farrow sniffed derisively. “Dinner in 5 minutes!”

Her exit left room for you to start a conversation, but you couldn’t find it in you to say anything. Mr. Farrow kept staring, smiling, which made you stroke Lou’s feathers for comfort that much more.

The silence lasted a little while, save for the clinking, crackling, thudding from the kitchen dining room. Aside from catering to Lou, you surveyed your surroundings in an effort to avoid bouncing your legs.

The Farrows didn’t have a TV, only a large fireplace that they’d positioned their furniture around. There were displays on either side of the grate. On one stood an oversized chalice with intricate, swirling patterns. The other had a statuette of a goat-headed figure sitting crisscrossed on a throne, one arm poised to reach out to the sky.

“Baphomet.”

You turned from the sight, head swiveling to face your human companion. He was eying you keenly again.

“O-oh, the statue is…?”

Warren nodded. “Baphomet. Conceived as a false god around the time of the crusades. Most people see him as a depiction of Satan these days.”

The association wasn’t too far-fetched, you figured with another look at the figure. Its goat-head and large horns were the most eye-catching thing about it.

“I apologize if the sight upsets you, dear. I hadn’t thought to remove it before your arrival.”

“Oh no, please. It’s alright.” You said. “It doesn’t bother me. It’s very interesting.”

The rumbling hum at your side seemed to signal approval, or maybe general geniality with your neutral response. “Are you religious by chance?”

You turned to Warren again.

“Ah, no.” You replied apologetically. “I grew up in a Christian area, but I was never very involved with the church.”

Warren nodded. “That’s just as well. The institution and its practices can be stifling. I was never very involved with it myself.”

“Religious artifacts have always been fascinating to me, however. There’s no shortage of temples and synagogues in this world.”

“Have you been to many? For the history?” You were genuinely curious.

The old man nodded again, stately and dignified even as he puffed up in his armchair like a peacock. “Cass and I are seasoned travelers. We’ve been to all 7 continents at least twice, seen the wonders of the world from the Hindu shrines in Malaysia to St. Basil’s Cathedral. I have a particular fondness for those countries surrounding the Mediterranean Sea. I was able to convince Cassie another trip to Rome wouldn’t put us in the poor house last year.”

Your little huff of laughter was sincere, though the idea of traveling to Rome - or anyplace outside of the familiar - sounded amazing. “I’d love to be able to do that.”

Warren’s head tilted to one side. “You’re quite young, I’m sure you’ll get the chance if you haven’t already.”

“Sure.” You scoffed before immediately falling into contrition. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me —”

“Dinner time!”

Mrs. Farrow hollered from the kitchen, stopping you from trying to come up with a suitable excuse for yourself.

Luckily, Mr. Farrow chuckled good-naturedly. He rose from his chair stiffly, legs visibly straining. “No need to apologize, my dear. But we best get going before the Missus comes out and drags us by our ears.”

——

All things considered, the dinner was perfectly fine.

The jitters never left your frame, but you had chalked that up to a simple byproduct of your skittish nature. The red wine that Cass had insisted upon you made you feel warm and solid, at least.

As did the fact that Cassie Farrow could hold entire conversations all on her own with very little effort or input from yourself.

“You got a boyfriend, honey? Or girlfriend? No shame in that at all. We may be old but by no means bigoted. We’ve been all over the place, seen so many things - what’s natural to you and me could be the furthest from, in certain places. Isn’t that right, Warren?”

“Men in Ancient Greece often had relationships with other men.” Warren replied. “Royals in Europe had extramarital affairs with different sexes. It was all about keeping the bloodline pure, but romance was a different thing altogether.”

“I haven’t dated in a while, actually.” You said. “It’s not been a priority.”

Cassie nodded, exuberant as she drank from her wine glass. “That’s good too! Plenty of independent women these days! It’s about time, I say.”

‘Quack quack’

Lou was beside you, red eyes locked in as he gazed upon you at the dining table. It made you giggle.

“Mm!” Cassie had a spastic moment. “I almost forgot!”

The chair lurched out from under the old woman as she rose and scuttled out of the room. It left you blinking, and out of the corner of your eye you saw that same smirk on Warren’s face before his wife had returned.

She had a small wicker basket in her arms.

“This is for you, honey. Housewarming present from your kooky neighbors across the hall.”

As she drew nearer, you caught a glimpse of the contents, some of which shone beneath the light of the overhead chandelier.

“Thank you! You really didn’t have to.” The basket was pressed into your arms and Cassie was back in her seat before you’d finished your sentence.

“Nonsense. It’s the least we could do. I still can’t believe no one welcomed you for a whole week!”

The basket was lined with shredded filler, and nestled in between were little gemstones and crystals.

“There’s jade and ruby in there, and I believe there’s moonstone as well.” Mr. Farrow recalled. “Is that it, Cass?”

“Yes, yes, and carnelian too. It’s all scattered about there, with the Scrabble and the socks and the hand cream and oh!” Mrs. Farrow laughed. “Forgive us honey, we saw that little rubber duck and just had to get it for you.”

There was a little rubber duck. It was a novelty type, with a tiny red jacket and a tiny black top hat.

“It’s a carnival barker. No, it’s something like that. It’s on the tip of my tongue.” Your nose scrunched in thought. “Oh, a circus ringmaster!”

“Exactly! See, what’d I tell you, Warren? She loves it!”

“I believe I was the one who suggested it.” His voice carried through the otherwise silent dining room.

“Oh well maybe it was, so what. She likes it. Don’t you, honey?”

“Yes, but…” You felt funny again. Tingly. “This is too much. Really. You’re both so kind but I can’t accept this.”

A hand laid gently on your shoulder and you looked up at a frowning Warren Farrow. “It’s no trouble at all, my dear.”

“The cost must’ve —”

“No cost, really. Gemstones and crystals are quite popular these days. You can find them all over. And the little trinkets are just the same. Given to you in good faith of course.” He patted your shoulder gently.

You swallowed, eyes once again roving over the little mundane treasures. Silken feathers brushed against your ankle under the table and you met those red eyes, sparkling like the crystals in your basket.

Lou was such a funny little thing. So expressive, he looked as if he were waiting as he stared at you.

So funny.

… You felt funny.

Perhaps the anxiety from before was doubling back, just like that prickling sensation. It was less of a tingle and more a shiver or chill as you sat there.

“I think it’s about time for dessert, don’t you?” Mrs. Farrow was saying somewhere far away. “You like chocolate, sweetheart? I made mousse, all fancy-like. It’s not as fancy as the kind you get at that restaurant downtown, the Ivy, but they’ve got fancy ingredients and such…”

Reaching up to wipe the sheen of sweat from your forehead, you felt heat coming off from between your temples. With a shaky breath, you slumped down in your seat.

The basket was gone.

Your chair was scraping against the wooden floor as it was pulled out from the table.

“Are you feeling alright, my dear?”

Wrinkled hands swept the hair from your face as your eyes rolled in their sockets. Words couldn’t get past the cotton-dry feeling in your throat.

“It’s the wine, the wine. Said she’s not much of a drinker, it has to be the wine.”

Cass’s voice was dampened and thick, like it was trapped underwater.

Or perhaps you were trapped. Your head was spinning, limbs heavy as if you were a puppet sans strings. You had to be picked up from under your arms like a toddler and pulled upright.

The next second you were walking through your neighbors’ kitchen, the door held open for you.

“Maybe we oughta call a doctor? Honey, can you hear me?”

“I… yes. I can hear you.” It felt like an Olympic feat, but you spoke clearly. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s happening.”

You stumbled against the wall and strong arms caught you when your knees buckled. It was Mr. Farrow allowing you to lean on him, solid as a rock.

“Cass is right, you had quite a bit of wine.” He said. Another pat to your shoulder.

Did you? You could’ve sworn it was just a glass.

Your apartment was barren and blank, the smell of laundry comforting against the memory of that earthy incense smell.

“Get some rest, honey. We’re right across the hall.”

“Thank you.” You breathed, lying on your sofa bed. “Again, I’m very sorry. Thank you for the welcome.”

“Oh no, thank you.”

——

When you opened your eyes next, you were shrouded in darkness. The outline of your entertainment system was in front of you, and the kitchen at your right.

It was raining outside; little raindrops smattering against the glass. The sound was normal, no longer muffled until you were straining to hear it.

‘Well that’s good.’

The heavy feeling in your arms was still present.

‘That’s not so good.’

You felt perfectly sane and hysterical at the same time. It was like being caught in the eye of a storm. The danger had abated momentarily, but would begin again shortly.

Your door opened, and in your peripheral you saw a shadow cut across the wall as a new figure emerged from the hall.

You squinted in the dark. ‘Lou?’

The duck’s silhouette stilled as if you’d spoken aloud. You could feel something shift in the air, tension breaking through to your mind when it could not seize your body.

That shift grew stronger, sucking in the air around it until a dazzling flash and crack of light blinded you.

Lou’s shadow was gone. Or… it had changed. The shadow on the wall wasn’t a duck anymore it was…

Your blood ran cold as the man stepped into your apartment and let the door close behind him.

“Hello there!”

#hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel

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cauliflowercounty · 2 months

Text

Knives Dance (Part I)

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

After years of writing *literally nothing,* I never expected bald Austin Butler to inspire me again :)

Life does wonderful things sometimes. Feyd Rautha is a fucking snack. And whoops it looks like I invented a planet and a culture :/

Summary: You're the daughter of the Duke of the House of Ronen, and your father and Vladimir Harkonnen have arranged a marriage between you and Feyd-Rautha to join your two houses. When the House of Harkonnen pays a visit to your planet, Feyd discovers something unforeseen within himself during an assassination attempt…

Reader: she/her pronouns

Warnings: innuendo/suggestive content, attempted assassination, blood, violence, multiple murders

Word Count: 4.2k

Part I | Part II | Part III

The hydraulics whirr as the black metal ramp of the Harkonnen vessel opens downward onto the stone landing pad on planet Youra and hits the ground with a low thunk. Feyd follows his uncle as he floats out of the vessel toward the doors of the Youran citadel, which is nestled in the center of a towering mountain covered in dense forest. Through the canopy, he sees the flickering lights from within the treehouses that adorn the forest cover.

The fortress itself is bathed in a warm, yellow glow from the round floating lanterns that surround it. As they hover, they seem to spiral upwards in a concentric spiral and extend their reach up into the night sky. A line of Youran soldiers flank the walkway, dressed in ceremonial garb of earthy, brown leathers with teal accents and intricate geometric patterns. As the Harkonnens pass, the soldiers bow their heads to them, allowing the carved silver helmets to shine in the evening light.

The environment here could not be further from that of Giedi Prime with its cold, industrial landscape devoid of color and the stench of sulfur and gas. The jungle air here is saccharine and floral on Feyd’s tongue. He feels the brush of the evening breeze flowing past him out toward the sea from the surrounding jungle. As he breathes in, he notices the richness of the air, imbued with the essence of all the flora that have made Youra a treasure trove for natural resources and experimental medicines, reminding him why he and his uncle have arrived on this planet.

The endeavor to secure spice on Arrakis had not gone as smoothly as the Harkonnens had hoped, especially with constant Fremen attacks sabotaging their forces and Rabban’s pitiful attempt at countermeasures. The current state of their operation and the number of soldiers they were losing daily called for acquiring a new tactical advantage. As much as they hated to admit it, they would have been foolish not to seek one out.

The advantage lay on Youra, the planet of island rainforests and the home of the minor House of Ronen, where an uncountable number of plant and animal species flourished, supplying the population with life-saving natural compounds the renowned scientists had been extracting from nature and developing for centuries. Through this arranged marriage, the wealth of chemical knowledge and access to the raw materials would become House Harkonnen’s. Feyd could begin to taste his ascension to power. This was simply the next step necessary to turn the tides of this conflict on Arrakis, which would inevitably end in him assuming the title of Baron if not Emperor.

With a low rumble, the double doors in front of Feyd open to reveal your father and yourself. Laying eyes on you for the first time, Feyd stops in place, his heavy black boots almost stuck on the ground. When the conversation of an arranged marriage came up with his uncle, he was beyond apathetic, knowing that this would be a political move in which he had no obligation to have any investment. The woman would become his wife only by title. To his astonishment, he is entranced by your beauty, to the point of speechlessness. He almost completely ignores your father’s greeting and speech about the union of your two houses. You are radiant with your skin that glows in the light, unlike that of the Harkonnen women he is used to seeing. You look into his eyes, and he feels almost locked in, the rest of the world fading until all he sees is you.

“Welcome to our home, na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” you say to him, not breaking eye contact from underneath your headdress. Your striking eyes bore deep into his soul. It’s almost as if they’re calling to him. What’s most interesting to Feyd is that they don’t seem to contain a hint of fear or apprehension. He is used to making those around him crumple under the weight of their own terror with his mere presence so he can exploit those emotions and manipulate them as his own personal playthings. In defiance of his reputation, you seem undeterred by him staring straight at you. As your eyes glimmer in the lamplight, he feels his breath almost catch as they taunt him, draw him. Snapping himself out of the trance, a smirk forms on his lips, remembering how his uncle taught him to behave. He forces himself to relish the thought of toying with your apparent resolve.

As he looks down, he eyes your lavish, floor-length regalia. The same deep brown and teal that your father and the soldiers wear decorates the patterns on your cloak. He notices lines of gold thread woven into your hair, an appropriate show of the natural resources of your planet.

Strange, he thinks. The cloak is rather large and heavy. Despite matching the designs of the other Youran garb, it seems out of place to be a traditional outfit for the aristocracy of a rainforest civilization where the warm and humid conditions should prove inhospitable for cloaks of this nature.

The delicate, meek flower he was expecting to relish picking apart with ease you are not. He’s figured out you're a woman with something you’re intent on hiding from him. You’ve put on this front either bravely or stupidly, and Feyd-Rautha will peel back every layer one calculated move at a time until you are finally entirely his.

He steps forward and reaches down to take your hand in his. “My betrothed…” he whispers to you, his voice low and gravelly. “We finally meet, Little One. I must say you look exquisite. I expected nothing less.” He brings your fingers up to his lips and brushes his lips across them before pressing firm a kiss on the back of your hand His uncle seems most disgusted by Feyd’s tenderness, but Feyd keeps his gaze on you through hooded eyes, knowing that the first move in any game is imperative to the success of his endeavor. He sees yours flicker for a moment as your body tenses listening to his praise. He’s got you right where he wants you.

–

Dinner is filled with monotonous diplomacy, tiresome pleasantries, and planning of the wedding to take place on Giedi Prime, but Feyd hasn’t let his attention break from you. It’s as if the kiss he planted on your hand was the catalyst for the first crack in the wall you’ve put up, and now he’s waiting for the perfect moment to make his next move.

All of dinner he’s watched as you attentively listened to his uncle and your father exchange words and eat your dinner. He hasn’t failed to notice how your eyes dart over to look at him through your lashes. With every gesture you make and every word you say, he feels unequivocally enraptured. As much as he’s tried to suppress his emotions and stay faithful to his uncle’s teachings, grounded in violence and viciousness, his mind starts to wander.

He wonders what must it be like to have your touch flutter across his chest when he watches you delicately grasp your water goblet. When you fold your lips around your cup to drink, he imagines what they must feel like on his skin if you were to drag them down his neck tantalizingly slow. What if you were close enough to him to have your breath fan out across his skin as your lips caressed his? What must it be like to hold your softness in his hands? The very idea makes his breath hitch.

Of the many thoughts he has as he watches you, many of them becoming increasingly lewd as dinner continues, one remains in his head: if he is this captured by just your face and gaze, basking in the light of what you’re concealing under your cloak, must be heaven adjacent.

His desire to use you and leverage your own will against you is being chipped away little by little. Feyd’s hardened persona that his uncle helped construct is withering with every second he spends in your presence. The notion is nearly frightening to Feyd, but with every single glance and gesture, his heart, which may have turned to stone long ago, is beginning to accept it.

Feyd rips his attention away from you as your father stands to thank the Harkonnens once again for coming. “I shall have my servants show you where you shall be staying,” your father announces as he rises from his seat. “I have arranged for our head researchers to show you what progress we have had in our synthetic undertakings as of late. I guarantee you will be very interested in what they have to offer.”

As you stand, he notices how your hands pull together the front seam of your cloak, preventing it from opening. Curious.

You bid him goodnight and turn away to head to your quarters as a Youran servant beckons him to the guest wing. That night, Feyd cannot rest as he lays awake in bed in the opulent guest suite, images of you running through his head, and he almost smiles thinking about when you say his name so sweetly.

“Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.”

–

The next day, Feyd sees little of you. In the morning, he makes his way to your quarters only to be informed by a servant at your door that you have already departed for the day. When he asks where you have gone, the servant provides a murky response about your duties as Lady of the House and wedding preparations, which he as her betrothed would “surely understand.” Just as he decides he will find you himself, he is seized by his uncle as to meet the Youran ministers of culture, science, and development to learn about their acquisition.

Feyd cannot deny that your homeworld is impressive. It’s steeped in centuries of exploration and inquiry with unmatched record-keeping of not only science but tradition, too. The ceilings are vaulted and adorned with gold. The walls of the citadel are covered in elaborate murals painted on with vibrant colors or carved into the surfaces. Some depict traditional folktales, gods, and ceremonies while those opposite them describe the evolutionary lines of species, a true testament to Youra’s modernity and dedication to preserving your peoples’ history in living memory. If only he knew which mural decorates the wall concealing you.

As the picture of your world’s history becomes clearer, the air of mystery surrounding you only grows. Not once has he heard talk of you after his interaction with that servant, but throughout the day he has sensed hushed whispers that are almost certainly about him instead. As he passes soldiers, some of them almost seem to leer at his presence.

A few times, he thinks he can almost see the hem of your cape disappear around corners, but when he goes to investigate, there is nobody there. The anger he expected to have inside him due to your avoidance is nowhere to be seen, and only a burning intrigue remains.

“What a little enigma my wife is,” he thinks to himself when he enters the banquet hall for dinner as the last ray of sunlight fades from the windows as the sun dips below the horizon.

Almost on cue, the doors to the hall open again and to his gratification, it is you. He stands up from his seat and walks over to you. He cannot deny his own inclination when you smile at him softly, putting him at ease.

“Good evening, Na-Baron,” you greet as he stops in front of you. Your dulcet tones go straight to his heart, causing it to skip a beat. “I hope I’ve not kept you waiting long.”

“Not at all.” He takes your hands in his once again, running his thumb along the back of them and savoring the feeling of your soft skin. This time when his heart swells, he lets it happen, surrendering himself to your charm. “I would wait an eternity for you,” he says, realizing you enjoy it when he romances you.

“You don’t strike me as a man who likes to be kept waiting,” you reply, looking up into his eyes. “I am surprised you are not frustrated with me.”

“I make exceptions,” he replies, noticing how your lips curl into a small smile. “… for when it truly matters. Since you’ve been absent all day, tell me, Little One, what have you been doing while you were hiding from me all day?”

You let out a gentle exhale. “I assumed you might be curious about that,” you say to him, as you clasp his hands in yours, beginning to tug him backwards to the doors. “Would you join me outside before we eat, Na-Baron? I have something I want to show you that I’ve been working on in preparation for our marriage.”

Allowing you to lead him, he follows you as you pull him through the halls of the fortress. He senses the answers to the questions he’s been asking himself are within his grasp. You both head outdoors and descend a grand staircase toward a courtyard nestled in the center of the fortress that overlooks the ocean that is now a murky midnight blue.

The nighttime lanterns light the way once again, and you both continue into the courtyard which is unlike anything he’s ever seen before. The ground seems to be a single sheet of rust colored stone that is marbled with shards shimmery metals. The slab has massive circles cut into it spaced in a perfect grid. Inside the circle is a golden pool of luminescent water. Tall, half moon shaped walls cradle each pool with glyphs and carvings etched into them.

“What is this place?” he asks you, basking in the light emanating from all of the pools that surround the both of you as you continue down the center aisle.

“This is my favorite place in the castle,” you explain. “It’s where we keep one of every species our researchers are currently studying. The rock wall above the pools describes each evolutionary line and the discoveries about it we’ve made. There’s one I want to show you if you would allow me.”

He nods as you bring him to a pool whose accompanying slab remains blank. Looking down into the water, he spots a single indigo fish with long, delicate fins that trail behind it in the water. He watches as it circles the pool. It slows and shudders momentarily. A single incandescent scale breaks off and floats to the bottom of the pool. You kneel to gather the scale from the bottom, holding it so that he can see how the light flickers off its surface.

“Does it intrigue you?” he hears you ask, and he nods in return as something he thought he lost long ago begins to emerge inside of him: his sense of wonder.

“I have never seen such a creature. Would you tell me about it?”

“It would be my pleasure,” you grin. “This fish was discovered on an archipelago on the other side of the planet. I’ve been studying this fish with our most expert researchers. The pools it lives in almost disappear during the dry season, but we’ve found that they survive to the wet season because of their scales somehow. My father doesn’t know any of this. He still thinks we know nothing of this creature.”

“It’s marvelous,” he whispers to you, eyeing the small bubbles floating to the top of the water from the fish’s gills.

“I wanted to show you this fish because this is at the heart of our culture on Youra. Our people are on a constant mission to learn and discover, so we can help and care for those we hold dearest. With our marriage, the House of Harkonnen will be a part of that endeavor. I’m showing you this fish because when the fish shed their scales at the beginning of the wet season, they contain a high concentration of a novel compound that allows living things to retain water.”

He sees you fidget with your own hands as you explain. You’re nervous, he realizes.

“We have been able to extract it from the scales they drop,” you say with a slight waiver in your voice. Here you are bearing your hard work and dedication, your soul to him. Your vulnerability is evident. Before you were so confident with your gaze and now your eyes never stay on him for more than a fraction of a moment. If you were anyone else, he would have taken full advantage the opportunity to leverage your weakness, but he cannot bring himself to do so. “This knowledge is my gift to you na-Baron. I have been aware of your endeavors on Arrakis. I realize you may not be as invested in this arrangement as we are, but I wanted to give you this to mark the beginning of what is to come… I don’t expect you to do anything in return. Only wanted to communicate my intentions.”

His heart quivers as his mind darts back to the countless times his uncle has “gifted” things to him as rewards for doing his bidding. The concubines, armor, and weapons all fall to the wayside; now they’re all tainted in Feyd's mind by his uncle's conniving ways. They were never gifts in earnest, always being transactional or part of another of his uncle’s Machiavellian schemes. Never in his life had he been given something so thoughtful, something intended to truly protect him. The previous notions he had before of possessing you are bitter on his tongue. Now, he could never and the shame he feels for maybe the first time in years begins to burn into his psyche.

“Na-Baron,” you plead, bringing him out of his own thoughts. “Say something, please.”

“Thank you,” he finally says, taking your hands in his and giving them a squeeze. “I am grateful for your generosity, my little flower.”

Your eyes well up with tears and you let out a relieved sigh before your emotions bubble out of you. “You cannot fathom how happy I am to hear you say those words,” you say, bringing your hands to his again. “I was so worried about showing you this!”

Right when he opens his mouth to respond, his instincts as a warrior kick in as he hears the soft whistle of something flying through the air towards the both of you. In a flash, he’s grabbed you by your shoulder to force you to your knees as you let out a bewildered yelp. The sound lights his veins on fire and fills him with rage.

Against the blank stone slab of the fish’s pool he sees it: a green splatter of a sinister substance that drips down the stone in long tendrils. Below, the shattered remains of a poisoned dart sinking into the water. You’ve seen it, too. He swivels himself around in the direction the arrow came from. A hooded figure is emerging from behind another one of the stone walls, a serrated dagger in hand, poised to strike you down. Feyd reprimands himself for leaving his weapons behind in his room in the name of diplomacy, but he’s prepared to fight empty handed to protect you and punish your assailant.

Before he realizes, you’ve shed your cloak, allowing it to drop to the floor behind you and Feyd can finally see what you’ve been hiding. You’re wearing a sage green dress with a bodice plated in iron that’s been secured to in place with intricate leather straps and golden loops that wrap deliciously around your figure. The symmetric slits in your dress that extend almost to your hips reveal your garters where two silver daggers that curve into formidable hooks are secured to your outer thighs.

As soon as he realizes you’re armed, you’ve already grasped the leather wrapped handles of your weapons and drawn them from your thighs with a flourish, launching yourself at your attacker. The ground reverberates with your power, and your blades ring out as they clash with your opponent’s. The man grunts upon impact and with a vigorous push, you knock his weapon upwards and away from you as you swipe at his face with the other hand. When he stumbles backwards, his face covering is swept to the side.

“Ozran!” you growl as the man regains his composure. “What is the meaning of this? Traitor!”

“I could say the same for you, Lady Ronen, revealing our secrets to that Harkonnen!” Ozran snarls at you, his eyes wild as he begins swiping sloppily at your head, which you dodge with ease. Feyd knows the man is getting desperate. Ozran is quickly realizing running away would have been the best option after his poisoned arrow missed.

Ozran attempts to shake off his regret by hurling himself at you, trying to recover the situation now that he’s committed to one-on-one combat with you. “I will not stand by and have the rewards of our peoples’ work reaped by them. Without a daughter to marry off, our intelligence will remain ours, and I will protect it to the end, even if that means killing you.”

Feyd hears you tisk at his pitiful attempt at your life as your heel makes contact with his nose. Blood gushes from his nostrils and drips down his chin in thick droplets. He staggers back and loses his footing as you drive your blades into him, your footsteps smearing his blood on the floor as you move. Ozran’s hope drains from his eyes, and he coughs as you pull your knives back, his blood spilling onto the stone floor from the gaping hole in his body. He drops his weapon and it clatters on the ground beside him.

“Too bad you couldn’t get close enough to actually do any damage,” you say sweetly to him as he wheezes. “You were never a man worthy of battle. I’m surprised you even worked up the courage to merely attempt to kill me.”

“D-don’t worry, dear Lady,” he sneers as his knees hit the floor. “There are more of us who don’t appreciate our leaders betraying our ideals. They will avenge me, and you will join me in death.” With that, his body crumples in the pool of his own blood. Drawing his last breath, Feyd sees Ozran’s consciousness fade. From the shadows and behind the other stone walls, he senses more figures lurking.

“Na-Baron!” you call, as you throw Feyd your second knife, which he catches with a flick of his wrist as you pick up Ozran’s weapon. Your dagger is robust and extraordinarily crafted, truly a weapon worthy of your status Feyd thinks. With that, he joins you in battle when Ozran’s allies pounce, eager to avenge their fallen comrade. One by one, he cuts the treasonous soldiers down with you by his side, slashing their throats, stabbing them in their backs, hearing their bones break, and tendons tear. It’s exhilarating, fighting not just for you, but with you in perfect synchronization.

When the last one falls, their mangled bodies are piled around you. He looks at you with complete admiration in his eyes. Without a second thought, he pulls you close with desperation. Cradling your face in his free hand, he kisses you roughly and swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, tasting the familiar tang of iron. As you kiss him back with a fervor that makes his senses sing, he uses his other arm to pull you close, if he’s worried that you will join the souls of the dead around you and leave this world, something he can’t bear to think of now.

Reluctantly, you both break away from the kiss, resting your foreheads against one another. Your breaths are thick and heaving. You look down at his dominant hand, which still holds your second dagger.

“Are you going to kill me now, Na-Baron?” you ask as you look up at him, and he instinctively throws the knife away, letting it clatter on the floor. He shakes his head.

“I never anticipated my betrothed to have such prowess in battle,” he whispers lowly, returning his hand to your body. He drags his fingers across the places where the straps of your dress make indentations in your skin, making you shiver at his touch. His grip on your waist tightens when he palms your supple skin. You hum a sigh of satisfaction that is almost music to Feyd’s ears, and he could listen to it all day. “Watching you cut down each of them… What a lovely surprise it was… You are truly an unexpected paragon, my dear.”

“Unexpected…” you chuckle, blushing at his flattery. “May I ask another question of you?”

“Of course,” he replies, peering down at you with an ardent stare.

“Before coming here, were you aware there are many dangerous things in the rainforest, Na-Baron?” He nods. “Then why would you assume I am not one of them?”

“Clever girl,” he grins, pressing another kiss on your forehead.

“From now on, my blades will fight for you, Feyd-Rautha.”

“And mine for you, my love,” he replies as he dips his lips back down to yours. What a fool he was before, anticipating so little from his future wife. Now he knows better. He realizes who you really are, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough.

Thank you for reading!

Knives Dance Part II OUT NOW!

Let me know if you want to be added to my Feyd tag list

Taglist:

@austinbutlerslovers

#dune 2 #dune part two #dune part 2 #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #x reader #austin butler

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thisismeracing · 10 months

Text

Sunshine | MS47

SOCIAL MEDIA AU

― Pairing: Mick Schumacher x earthy!reader (she/her) ― Warnings: curse words, Twitter environment, it’s not proofread, etc, etc. Minors DNI! ― Summary: In which Mick starts dating an earthy/spiritual girl who just loves nature and good energy. ― A/n: none of the pictures used are mine, they are all from Pinterest and other apps. everything else is made up by me and I do not give permission for it to be published on a different platform. I would appreciate it if those things could be taken into consideration 💛 ― A/n2: Since everyone seemed to like the Charles version and I had way too many pics from his piece I did not use, I’m making Lewis’ and Mick’s versions as well.

⁕ my masterlist | my taglist here

⁕ Support my writing by reblogging, and leaving me a message 🤍

sunshineyn

liked by gina_schumacher, pierregasly, and others

sunshineyn Salty water heals everything 🌊💙

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mickschumacher being by your side heals everything 🤍

⤷ leclercpitch They’re so in love its disgusting ❤️ (affectionate)

roscoemilton I don’t know how to explain but seeing their posts heals my soul

greenvroomvroom I love how she always includes Angie

mickshoemaker THE LAST PIC??? HMM- I-

mickschumacher

liked hy sebastianvettel, sunshineyn, and others

mickschumacher 💛🪴 my sunshine

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schumini 😭 my 😭 sunshine 😭

sainzsaint I wanna go in an adventure with them!!

mercedays They fit so well together

tifosigetawaycar I know it probably was not intentional, but the fact that her beach clothes are matching his surf board makes me giggle and kick my feet

sunshineyn

liked by mickschumacher, lewishamilton, and others

sunshineyn so much is happening 💚🍏

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mickschumacher we love you! 😘

⤷ sainzandnoris CRYING SCREAMING THROWING UP

gonegirlsza Her style and music taste are impeccable!

⤷ mickcedes so is her taste in men 😜

fastmick I love how soft he is for her and he does not bother to hide it 🥹

ynandmick OMG YN WATCH OUT ON THAT TREE PLEASE! 😰

hamiltoncedes As always Yn keeps feeding us great content

taglist: @sachaa-ff @ferrariloverr @kenanlotus0 @mellowpizzapuppy @mickslover @dalsuwaha @formulakay3 @mishaandthebrits @iloveyou3000morgan @crimeshowjunkie @fdl305 @carojasmin2204 @chaoticevilbakugo @wondergirl101ks @smiithys @non-stop-imagines

Don’t forget to leave a comment/ask and reblog ❤️ feedback is golden 🥰

#mick schumacher #earthy!reader #mick schumacher imagines #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher social media au #f1 imagine #social media au f1 #f1 x black!reader #mick schumacher x black!reader #ms47 #op: smau

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moonstruckme · 9 months

Text

Sincerely Sappy

summary: Sirius is a big fan of pet names. You're not so keen on them, so he needs to convince you.

Sirius Black x fem! reader ♡ 736 words

You let the steam from the two mugs waft warmly over your face, inhaling the sweet, earthy aroma of the tea. Earl grey for Sirius, jasmine for you. You’re careful not to spill as you carry them to the couch, so careful that when you look up and catch Sirius’s gaze, it sends a tiny frision of surprise through you.

This thing between you is still new, and the effect he has on you hasn’t ebbed; every time he walks into a room, or looks at you a certain way, or gifts you one of his sweet, slow smiles, it feels like your heart stops and starts again.

Sirius deploys one of those smiles now, reaching up to take his mug, but you move past him to set them both on the coffee table.

“Careful,” you say, turning his handle to face him. “Don’t burn yourself.”

“Thanks, baby.” Sirius lets his hand brush yours appreciatively as he picks it up.

Baby. You laugh, and it comes out nervous and pitchy. “Ew, don’t call me that.”

He blinks. “Why not? You don’t like it?”

“It—” It’s not that you don’t like it, necessarily. The endearment sends a buzzing from your core all the way to your fingertips that’s not strictly unpleasant, but… “I’m not a baby.”

Sirius quirks a brow, blowing pensively on his tea. “You’re my baby, though.”

You moan, letting your knees come up to your chest and hiding your face in your hands. Sirius’s laughter only worsens the warmth spreading across your face like a blight.

“Okay, okay,” he relents. “You don’t like it. That’s alright, do you prefer angel?”

You lower one of your hands enough to let him view your disbelieving look.

“No? How about sweetheart? Princess?” Sirius creeps closer, setting down his mug so he can devote his full attention to your torment. “Honey? Dearest?” He drops his voice when his mouth is nearly touching your ear, so it’s low and soft when he says, “Darling?”

“Sirius!” If you don’t stop him, you worry your pants will turn to ash right there on the couch.

“C’mon,” he takes your wrists, removing them from your face. “Everyone else gets to call you Y/N. I’ve got an ego to feed, so I need something extra-special, just for me. You gotta give me at least one.”

You must look fairly distraught, because Sirius brings your wrists to his chest, tracing patterns on the backs of your hands soothingly. Even when he’s hellbent on teasing you, he’s unbearably sweet. You sigh. “They all just sound so sappy.”

Sirius squints at you, the bridge of his nose wrinkling, like you’re silly. “Yeah?” he asks. “What do you call this?” He brings your hands, willing captives, to his face, kissing your knuckles. You can only watch, half wariness and half awe at his affection. You’re unsure if it’s theatrics, or if Sirius is being genuine. He certainly seems genuine, but...but. You can’t handle it. It feels like a farce, a trap, to think that someone could treat you so tenderly. “What do you call that?” He points his chin at the two steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table, and you think of how ridiculously pleased he’d been when you started stocking his favorite earl grey for when he came over.

Preparing for me to become a regular visitor, are we? He’d teased, but there was sincerity in his smile. That’s really thoughtful of you, love.

He smiles at you now, pulling you gently from your reverie. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m feeling rather sappy about you these days. And those feelings require an outlet, so you’re just going to have to get used to it.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s succeeded in melting you; you’ve got no fight left. “Fine, call me whatever. But love is my favorite.”

Sirius grins. “I can do that, love.” Your heart lurches almost painfully, but before you can take it back, he adds, “And you can call me whatever you like too, of course.”

You perk up, biting back a smile at the idea of the mocking he’ll endure from James and Sirius if you call him “babygirl” the next time you’re all together. Sirius must see the mischief in your face, his brows furrowing in concern, but before he can take it back, you beam at him sweetly.

“Deal.”

#sirius black #sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius x fem!reader #sirius black x fem!reader #marauders era #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #sirius x y/n #sirius x you #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black imagine #sirius black fluff #sirius black oneshot #sirius black scenario

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lazyjellyfish300 · 2 months

Text

In Between the Bookshelves📚

AU Librarian!Miguel O'Hara x Fem grad student reader

(image isn't mine, found it on Instagram under the account @/ brokenohara and asked for their permission to post it)

Synopsis: a normal trip to the library results in a little bit more than you were expecting when you meet the new librarian on duty. Word count 4.6k

A/N: reposting this new and hopefully improved version of one of my very first Miguel fics I deleted a while back. I tried to make him more awkward and cute🖤🤓. Still not totally confident in the smut but oh well. Writing smut is so hard sometimes? Or maybe my skills have gone down, idk 😫 Hope you enjoy...

TW: MINORS DNI, SMUT TOWARDS THE END: FINGERING, ORAL SEX F receiving, Gag(he uses his shirt to muffle your moans) Public sexual activity, talk of anxiety, mention of family troubles and anti-deity/religion language

It's 7:00 pm on a rainy Tuesday night in the middle of October. You just got out of your evening Database Systems class. You can't help but feel poetic as you stroll down the grey, soaked, Manhattan streets twirling your umbrella, hot coffee in a cardboard cup in hand. Your shoulders begin to ache from the thin faux leather straps of your backpack. You're wearing your favorite brown sweater over a short sleeved black dress that hits you mid-thigh, with some holey black tights and your favorite knock-off Doc Martens. Damn, I still need to write that 2 page paper that's due tomorrow..

You decide at the last minute to spend your night at the library. You know you won't get anything done if you go back to your apartment. You spin on your heel and pick up the pace as you head hastily towards the NYIT library in Manhattan.

The library is pretty dead except for a group of three people sitting together in the middle table talking in hushed voices, one woman sitting on the floor scrolling with a laptop, and one jock looking fellow sitting at the computers, cracking his knuckles and bouncing his knee anxiously as he scans his assignment he's typing.

You sit down at the empty table right next to the librarian's desk. Since you're a regular here you recognize Polly, the librarian on duty who is a plump woman who looks to be in her 30s with short curly brown hair, wearing a mustard yellow cardigan and brown corduroy pants tonight. She's stapling papers together and gives you a small nod in acknowledgement as you sit down at the table in front of her desk.

She whispers to you, "I'm actually heading out for the evening, but the new person on duty should be here any minute now if you need any assistance."

You nod, and, speak of the devil, here he comes. You suddenly feel your chest get hot when you lay your eyes on the new librarian.

Tall, dark, and handsome would be the simplest way to define this man's appearance, but that would be a very feeble attempt at doing him justice. Sculpted bicep muscles push against the sleeves of his flannel with the cuffs rolled up halfway on his thick forearms. The flannel is unbuttoned and flaps gently away from his body as he walks, a white t-shirt underneath. He has broad, wide, shoulders and a narrow waist. He's also wearing dark wash athletic jeans and a pair of canvas slip ons. His hair has one stubborn strand in front from his small widow's peak that falls endearingly in the middle of his forehead. His most disarming quality is his eyes. A shade of brown that's earthy and natural like the sediment that decorates stream beds. He wears a stoic expression under large framed glasses.

He nods and mutters a "thank you" to the woman librarian as she shimmies into her coat and leaves. His eyes notice you and latch onto you momentarily. You feel your cheeks grow warm and you turn back to your laptop, unable to resume where you left off, wanting to start a conversation with him but not sure how. After a few painful moments of silence, and a quiet rumble outside from the ongoing rainstorm, you decide to break the ice by telling him your name. He blinks as you tell it to him, and you continue trying to make small talk to try and prod more out of him.

"Have I seen you here before? I come here a lot and I don't think I've met you yet."

"Miguel O'Hara," he answers shortly, but politely. "I'm a grad student. I started working for the university in exchange for assistance with my tuition."

You nod, feeling the heat leave your cheeks a little bit as you realize you could have a normal conversation with this man, and not just be an awkward mess around him the entire time. When he mentions he's a student, you realize you have something in common with him and try to go from there.

"These mid-terms are going to be the death of me. I have just one more paper to turn in then I can finally breathe, thank God..."

Miguel blows a short puff of air out of his nose seemingly in agreement, but doesn't say anything else.

He's quiet. Truth is you are too, and you're stepping way more out of your comfort zone than you normally would. Amazing what a pair of charming brown eyes could do to you.

"Honestly, if I had to work anywhere on campus I'd pick the library too. Seems peaceful with minimal people around, and everyone's required to be quiet by default. The ultimate dream workplace."

Miguel can't figure out why this stranger keeps talking to him, but you brought up a point he feels he needs to clarify.

"Oh, you'd be surprised. Most people that come in here are loud and inconsiderate as hell. And there's always that one person who hasn't heard of shocking headphones. Always."

The corner of your mouth raises. "God, that would drive me insane. Being a librarian isn't all it's cracked up to be, huh?"

Miguel shakes his head. "No. More like a glorified adult babysitter who knows where the historical fiction section and restrooms are located, and that's about it. That's literally the only two questions I get asked all day." He turns to look at you more fully, this conversation a slight breath of fresh air, the first chance he's gotten in a while to air out his grievances as the night librarian.

He continues, complaining about the horny couples he's had the misfortune of overhearing get busy on the beanbags in the far corner, and the people who leave random drinks and empty chips bags on the shelves and seem to have forgotten what alphabetical order means when they put books back.

You listen to all of it, nodding your head, and let out a cackle at his expressions he's making with those defined, bushy brows of his. He talks with his hands and it's a little endearing to watch him be so animated. This expressive side you've managed to crack through beneath his solemn exterior.

Miguel feels warmth rise in his body at the sound of your laugh for the first time. It's genuine and hearty, and honestly it's funnier than whatever bad quip he just made and he can't help but feel a little more attracted to you after hearing it. You were a good listener, and he appreciated that a lot about you.

You glance at the windows across the room, nodding in its direction with a remark about the weather, how rainstorms are your favorite. He tells you he loves them as well.

Soon, the others have shifted out of the library and he's now sitting in the chair across from you leaning his chin in his hand, listening to you speak as the rain gently pelts the windows outside.

He finds out you're originally from a smaller town, and you came to New York City for college and to escape your overbearing parents. You're 26 years old and trying to finish this Master's degree after taking one too many semesters off. You tell him about your mom who's a bit of a pushover, and your dad who's kind of an asshole.

He tells you he's 29 and has a younger brother who lives on the other side of the city, and his mom is similar to yours. She's kind but tends to set herself on fire to keep her kids warm. Like you, his dad is also a bit of an ass.

You're both introverted, but you can fake it when you need to, which he appreciates, otherwise he never would have been brave enough to say something to you this evening.

You two share a love of education and coffee. You discuss religion.

"I just don't get it, I'm supposed to love this guy and accept Him into my heart because He died for my sins even though I didn't ask Him to do that? But yet if I break any of His rules I get sent to the Inferno for all of eternity?"

"Sounds like a toxic relationship." Miguel quips as he spins your nearly empty coffee cup across the table absentmindedly.

"Exactly!"

You two talk about love as he shuffled some stray books back to their rightful place.

"C'mon, I know you've had to have dated at least once."

Miguel shakes his head. "Well, I did date a girl in high school. Knew her since the 7th grade. But she pretty much ripped my heart out when I saw her making out with one of my buddies on graduation night. I've had a couple dates here and there since then but that's it."

You click your pen. "Damn, so we both have exes from hell that we dated in high school?"

Miguel nods his head. "It would appear we do. I'm sorry you know the pain and annoyance of adolescent heartbreak too."

You shrug your shoulders. "It happens, y'know? It's like one of those things in life you're just meant to experience. It's like, unavoidable you know? And there's nothing you can do about it. What would you call that? Like not a trope per se, but almost like.... destiny?"

Miguel shrugs in return, "Like a canon event?"

You raise your eyebrows. "Yeah... exactly. How'd you come up with that?"

The ghost of a smirk appears on his face, "Just made sense to me, I guess."

You two sit at the table again and he asks about your childhood and you explain that you suffered from anxiety as long as you can remember and he looks at you with sympathetic eyes.

You do your best to try and ignore what feels like his knee pressing against your calf under the table. The thought of touching him sends heat waves through your body, but you remain frozen in place to send the message you're not opposed to more contact. Miguel feels it too, and deep down his leg is falling asleep with the way it's positioned but he's too nervous to move, either.

You both love the nighttime over mornings, and you show him one of your favorite playlists. He smiles at you tenderly as he holds one of the earphones to his ear.

Soon, it's 10:30 pm and he needs to do his closing duties. Luckily, there weren't any patrons who needed his assistance during his whole shift, proving his point earlier. Before he excuses himself, you two sit in silence for the longest time, both trying to gauge if now's the time to say goodbye to one another, but neither of you wanting to actually be the one who does.

Not sure if it was the absence of any light outside, the late hour, the good conversation you two shared, or a combination of all three, but the ripple of attraction you harbored for him has now washed over you completely and morphed into a formidable wave, threatening to take over your whole body, the darkness of this library and persistence of the ongoing storm outside pushing you closer to him.

He's staring at the corner of your laptop, similar feelings ebbing through him, not sure what's got into him. The art of flirting turned itself into uncharted territory for him a longggg time ago.

He finally decided to look at you but you're already looking at him and he snaps his gaze back down onto the bare table below him, silently cursing in his head as a shade of red fluster rises in his cheeks.

You realize you're going to have to be the one to be brave this time again. "Well, this has been fun...."

Miguel scoffs, starting to bounce his leg under the table. "You say that in the most sarcastic tone known to man."

You return with a scoff of your own, adding a smile, "Well I mean, technically you were working this whole time, isn't that boring?"

Miguel shrugs, the heat in his face returning. "You made it more fun..." The volume in his voice decreasing to a murmur.

You look down as well, your heart fluttering in your chest. You really wanted to kiss him. Or just be closer to him, you don't know why. Of course he was cute as hell but after talking to him for hours, there was no denying a spark had formed. You just didn't know whether one or both of you would make the first move to actually do something about it.

Miguel can't believe that he's actually going to try and attempt to ask you to stay longer with him, but he's going to. Just to hang out some more, maybe keep up that amazing conversation you two were sharing just before this. Completely innocent.

Well, if the way the glow from the desk lamp keeps on making your face look so warm and alluring, he's not sure he'll have the strength to shut down any escapades that ensue later, as long as you're completely up for it, of course.

He inhales "Um...so not sure if you have things to do later or..."

You look at him, pupils widening with anticipation at his pending question.

He goes to say, "I was wondering if you wanted to keep hanging out," but it gets combined with the phrase, "Do you want to stay here a little longer," and the word jumbo that exits his mouth is a little incoherent.

"Was wondering if you were wondering to stay and keep hanging longer out?"

You blink rapidly at his blunder, and he groans, placing his face in his hands.

You immediately feel bad for him, shaking your head and sliding a hesitant hand towards his arm. You stumble over your words too sometimes and it's always fucking humiliating when it happens, so you feel no judgement towards him whatsoever. If anything now he's even more attractive. Every little cute thing about him is just pushing you towards him closer than ever before.

Your fingertips skim across the top of the table and press gently into his forearm. He slowly rolls his head to look at you, his cheek resting in his arms as his eyes look at you from behind his glasses which are slightly askew from the way his face is positioned.

His face is still red, but his heart flutters at your sweet smile. "Sorry, my brain just...takes a dump on me when I try to be smooth sometimes..." Miguel mumbles with a weak chuckle, running his hands through his hair.

You shake your head. "I do the same thing...but to answer your question....yes please..." Your voice becomes quieter at the word "please", an trickle of lust you added on purpose, hoping he's picking up on the vibe you're putting down with the way you're gazing into his eyes, your fingers pressed against his arm, the subtle scoot closer you just made with your chair.

Miguel releases a shaky breath, oh, he's paying attention alright. Damn it all if he doesn't take the leap right now. He decides to ask one more time to be sure, slowing down so he gets it right this time.

"Will....you stay longer, with me?" his voice is low, almost a whisper even though it's only the two of you in his dark library, but it's dripping with seduction. A low rumble from the rain clouds interrupts the pause between his question and your answer.

"Yeah..." you say softly back with double affirmation, a sneaky smile forming on your lips. He flashes a dazzling smile back at you, a woozy feeling in his stomach for what's about to happen in the next few minutes.

He excuses himself and goes back to his desk, typing on his computer, the excitement of having you alone making him just type nonsense for the first few moments, wheeling away some carts to the back and stowing a stray book back where it belongs.

It's now 11 pm. Closing time. Miguel turns off all the lights except for his small desk lamp. The clouds are still rolling and rumbling outside with the wind whistling against the windows. Raindrops are still decorating the street. It's a beautifully dark, sensual scene just for the two of you.

He laces his fingers in between yours and leads you to a dark space in between two large bookshelves. His hand is clammy, and he's a little embarrassed about it on the inside but you squeeze it reassuringly. There was literally nothing he could do at this point to make your crush on him go away. The shelves tower over both of you, even Miguel, who's 6 foot 9.

He leans a hand against the shelf just above and to the right of your head. He accidentally pins a piece of your hair under his hand, making you wince a tiny bit.

"Augh.."

Miguel's eyes dart in alarm to search for what he did that caused you pain and he realizes your hair is trapped under his hand. He pulls it away, shaking his hand and flicking his fingers in an effort to free any of your strands from it. "Goddamit...."

He rolls his head backwards in exasperation at his epic failure of having zero game tonight. You hold onto the flaps of his flannel, making him look at you. "Hey, hey come on...it's okay...."

He finally looks down at you and his lips fall open at your beauty, his heart rate speeding up much more quickly now, and he brings a shaky hand to your face. In his mind, he can't help but realize he's being a huge hypocrite, committing the same sins as his horny patrons of getting busy in the library. But seriously though, at least he had the decency to make sure it was after closing when he was off the clock.

You feel your knees go weak as he brings his other hand to your face, pulling down your bottom lip with his thumb. He wets his lips and he leans in pressing his tongue gently in the space he opened in your bottom lip, begging to be let in. You oblige immediately, diving forward into his soft lips, goosebumps appearing on your arms.

Oh fuck....this kiss felt good. He forgot how nice it felt to share intimacy with someone, those feelings that laid dormant for so long rising and nearly bubbling past the surface. It's all coming back to him as he just wills himself to get lost in the warmth of your mouth, the sheer layer of your Chapstick leaving a tasty feeling on his tongue.

You considered yourself decently experienced, but the way his lips move on their own show you he's a force to be reckoned with and you'd be more than happy to sit back and let him handle things...this handsome, geeky, sweet librarian...

The noises you two make as you desperately kiss each other are little shuffles as you bump into the shelf behind you, with an occasional "oh fuck...," from Miguel. Hearing how turned on he's getting causes you to let your first moan escape your lips.

Once he hears it, he needs more. His hands make their way to your ass and hoist you up onto an empty bookshelf ladder and he sets you down on one of the rungs. You grab his shirt in your fists, not tearing your lips away from his.

"Do you care about these?" Miguel says softly, out of breath, his mind running a million miles a minute before his actions can catch up to him, gently pinching the thin material of your tights between his thumb and pointer finger as his palms grip the soft flesh of your outer thighs. You shake your head no, wanting to fuck already.

Then, his hand is in your crotch, ripping a whole right in the middle, tearing away at the fabric concealing your ripe pussy away from him as though it's the cover of a brand new novel. His cold pointer finger hooks behind your panties and pulls it to the side. You gasp loudly as you feel his finger and the cold air hit your soaked heat.

He chuckles, his breaths still coming out in rapid, succession, the baritone hum of his voice only adding to the wetness between your legs.

"Sorry, my hands are cold..." Then you can't believe what's happening when he drops to his knees, spreading you open like a book. His elbows pin your knees against the sides of the ladder, the wood pressing painfully into your kneecaps, but the sensation he gives you next makes you forget about the whole thing.

His tongue glosses over your wet pussy like a finger stroking the edge of a page. His nose tickles the tiny hairs sprouting from it as he takes a deep breath in, the smell of you going straight to his cock. He teases the lips of your pussy for a moment, an agonizing back and forth along the slit...

....back....and..... forth

"God....you're so wet..."

Back.....

"Miguel..." you whimper..

and forth...

"Fuck...." your fingers shake as you ball them into a fist...

before his tongue dips into your wet hole. Your back arches on instinct, making your body lurch forward, accidentally pushing his tongue further into you which he welcomes eagerly by gripping low on your ass to hold you in place.

You shudder and twitch violently, throwing your head back at the insanely divine attention he's injecting between your thighs. Miguel pauses for a moment, tenderly licking the inside of your thigh before sealing it with a kiss as his eyes flicker up to you.

"You okay?...." he whispers.

You release a shaky breath you didn't know you were holding, a slightly empty feeling as the mind numbing pleasure was abruptly switched off.

"Yeah, yeah...I'm okay."

Miguel reassumes his position, tongue fucking you. The soft pad of his tongue fondling the plush walls inside you. He lets out a low groan and he feels you turn to putty in his grasp, his head gently bobbing as his tongue completes lap after lap eating you, enjoying you, savoring you....every drop from that pretty pussy soon seeping out of his mouth and dribbling down his chin.

Your moans grow louder than they ever have, plucking him from his pussy-drunk state. He stands up in a panic and rips off his flannel, bunching it up as his eyes do a quick scan to make sure you're both still all alone.

"Shhhh.....baby, we need to be quiet.....bite this for me."

His angelic face comes up to look at you, his forehead pressing tenderly against yours and your eyes go half lidded at the sight of your arousal glistening down his chin, shiny on his thick neck from the thin flickers of moonlight that have managed to leak through the darkened windows of the library.

You do as you're told, biting his flannel and he stuffed it hastily in your mouth, making a makeshift gag as your eyes water. His elbows assume their position pinning your thighs back and he's back between them again.

You understand why he made you a gag as he goes directly for your clit this time. You yelp, your sound muffled by the fabric. Your nails dig into his shoulders, two perfect handles while you ride his face. The material of his shirt is thin and you feel every muscle ripple under your palms as he moves to keep fucking you with his mouth.

Your clit throbs to near overstimulation but Miguel doesn't relent. He swirls his tongue with low sighs of appreciation, unable to tear himself away from the wet heaven in front of his face.

His saliva and your slick mix together until it's all the same. The love you're dripping onto him and the love he's licking into you becoming a lewd stream of passion. He groans into your pussy as his bulging cock begs to relieve itself of all the cum built up with tormenting ache.

He decides he wants to watch you cum. He gets up, replacing his tongue with his thumb and his first two fingers, pumping into you with a circular rhythm and easing your clit at a torturous pace.

"On me, baby...." he whispers.

Your eyes struggle to stay open as you look at him, a little unsure of what he said. "Mmmm?...." You ask with a high pitched sigh.

"Keep those pretty eyes on me..." he repeats, his own eyes going half-lidded from the lure of your mouth hanging open. "Fuck...."

He abandons his plan momentarily as he rips his flannel from your mouth to kiss you again. You invade his mouth with your tongue and he mumbles your name again in response. You start to taste yourself and then whimper when you realize the pleasure is beginning to become too much.

"Miguel," you pant. "Baby, it's so much...." your breaths begin to hyperventilate.

Miguel gives a low sigh when you say his name, his cock straining once more when he realized he drew you to say it. He tilts his head at you, his jaw open and curls into a smile when he sees how crazy he's driving you.

"Cum f'me, baby. Wanna watch you while you do..."

You try to look at a spot on the ceiling but Miguel interrupts your concentration when he moves his head to keep himself in your vision. The spiciness of this sexy encounter banishing all fears he had before. No, he won't let you look at anything else when you cum.

He gives a loud grunt and clasps a hand over your mouth, fingers turning white, muffling your cry of sweet release as you squirt all over his flannel, your passion causing a few books to collapse from the shelf.

You shake and start to shiver all over as the sweat you produced during all the action starts to cool. Your hands are tingly and numb. Miguel gives a soft chuckle and presses a soft kiss into your temple with his wet lips and another one on your mouth before he returns his tongue to your thighs, collecting any remaining arousal left behind.

You rest your head back on the ladder rung behind your head, reeling in your come down. He smiles and plants a kiss into your thigh before bidding it farewell, then comes up and hugs you, nestling you in his tantalizing embrace, as he rests his cheek in your hair.

"Thank you..." you murmur, only barely sobering up from your high, his musk and cologne delivering you to a whole new state of intoxication.

He smiles down at you in response and holds your face in both hands, running his thumbs along your cheeks.

"See me tomorrow?"

You practically melt at those big brown eyes of his, glasses still slightly askew and the neck of his wrinkled shirt dampened with his sweat, silently hoping you will.

You beam up at him and nod enthusiastically and he chuckles and plants a line of kisses on your neck as you giggle underneath him. After a few soft hugs and another round of delicate kisses, he walks you to the door. Making you promise you'll call him as soon as you get home as a reluctant compromise at his uneasiness of you walking alone in the dark.

He watches you walk away into the night and doesn't stop until he sees you safely board the bus. He turns around and goes back inside the library, shutting off his desk light with a small click.

#miguel o'hara #miguel atsv #spotify #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara imagine #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #Spotify

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kill4luvina · 5 months

Text

"Who's that?"

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Plug!Armin x Plug!Reader x Plug!Eren

Summary : Eren and Armin go out to a party to find out who this mysterious "Stunna"(Y/n) is after she's stepped in the game they've been losing mad business and at first they were going to jump you, until they saw you. Instead they decide they were tag/double team you.

Warning : SMUT, Car sex, just sumin nasty for the girlies because i said so, not proof read, ngl eren and armin get a lil intimate(they on some gay shi ngl), use your imaginationn if sumin don't make sense.

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The room was awash in a spectrum of colors, pulsating neon lights flickering and casting a glow hue of different colors. The walls throbbing in the same rhythm as the heavy bass as the room was filled with bodies pressed up against each other – some grinding, others chatting it up. The vibe was wild, a crazy energy swirling in the air, getting everyone hyped. Smoke twisted up towards those neon lights, adding this trippy scent to the mix.

The air was thick with the mixed scents of sweat, perfume, and the distinct earthiness. Eren and Armin had only popped out to this party because of some info someone dropped, thinking they could catch the mysterious "Stunna" who had been stealing their costumers. "Bro, what if this shit was a set up." Armin whispered, eyes scanning the crowd, getting jumpy at any sudden moves. "Relax, man. You're incognito with that ski mask, nobody knows it's you,dumbass" Eren shot back, pushing through the crowd, Armin following close behind with his hand under his shirt holding onto his glock.

"Oh damn, Luvii!" You greeted your bestie as she practically dove through your car window for a hug. "I was starting to think you weren't coming!" Luvina would say as she pulled away. "And you popped out with the all black hell cat? Okay I see you!" You chuckled, stepping out with your tote bag as she acted all surprised, though she had the same whip in pink. "Come on, girl, quit playin'."

"Luvi, you look so fine stop fuckin playin wit me..." A guy would come up to the two of you at the party, he'd start talking to luvina as he started touching up on her. "Ew, girl get a fucking room.." You'd say walking away, wandering throughout the party giving them some privacy. "Yo, Stunna!" You'd hear one of your favorite costumers yell out, making your quickly turn your head. "You got anything on you I can buy?" He'd ask, you'd nod your head opening your tote bag pulling out a few carts & vapes. "Lemme get that one, how much?" "75." "Aight, take 100 and I'ma put the 25 into the next thing I buy."

Then, out of nowhere, some dude grabbed you and pulled you outside. Caught off guard, you clocked they were both rockin' ski masks, so you didn't waste time, pullin' out a gun from the waistband of your jeans. "Who the fuck are yall?!" You demanded, sizing them up, outnumbered but ready. Armin lowered his mask, checkin' you out before speaking up. "Ease up, mamas, we ain't here to cause trouble, we on your turf remember?" Armin would remind you making your ease up a tiny bit. Eren would pull his off too, you had seen them before on Instagram but damn they looked finer in person.

"Fuck yall doing on my turf anyway?" you questioned, gun still raised, keepin' your distance, looking for answers. "Damn, chill mamas, we came to see if ya shit as good as we heard." Eren would lie, both of them knew they wanted to jump your ass but as soon as they saw how fine you were they couldn't. Now they both just wanted to see if they could could hit it before they left. You'd put your gun down staring at the two silently for a moment before walking past them to your hellcat. The two would silently watch you before dabbing eachother up and follow you in excitement.

Honestly, you don't even know how it happened but it started off with you 3 in the back seat smoking up a storm. Not even 20 minutes into your smoking sesh, your body started heating up at the sly comments the two would throw at you. You'd pussy throbbing at the sound of Eren telling you how fine you were and Armin touching you in all the right places at all the right times, what a duo. In about 10-15 more minutes you found yourself making out with Armin's lap, Eren giving you kisses from the side making your overwhelmed not knowing who to kiss.

"Mmph!" You'd cry into Erens mouth as kissed you, not even being able to think straight. You were completely drowned in bliss as you felt Armin lap up your juices with his tongue. You've never been eaten out the good before, and it was a complete game changer when you felt him sink his fingers into your brown and pink fat pussy.(im such a troll for that one) Your eyes would roll to the back of you head as you pulled away from eren moaning into the crook of his neck as your nails scratched him looking for something to grip on. "Doing so well for us." You'd hear eren say softly as he held you, continuing to praise you.

On the other hand, Armin was fucking your pussy up real good. He was nose deep, not able to even contain himself and just you moaning made it even worst. You'd feel your eyes fill up with tear as you cried out even louder cumming all of his face as you held onto Eren even tigher, trembling as you came down from your high. Armin would pull away licking his fingers as he wiped his face. "My turn." you'd hear Eren say, you were to tired to even complain feeling yourself getting moved around. "Mamas, be a good girl and arch for daddy." You'd hear Armin's voice now from infront of you, you'd look up from your fluffy lashes to see his pretty blue eyes looking right back down at you.

He'd smile, his sliver braces showing as he'd whip out his dick as it hit you head in the center of your face making your slightly flinch. Not knowing who to pay attention to you'd feel something poke at your entrance. "wait-Fuc--" you'd be shut up by two dicks filling you up from both sides, your moans muffled by Armins dick. You'd start tearing up again but this time you'd actually start crying, the amount of pleasure you were getting at once was insane. Your make-up getting completely messed up as Armin kept face fucking you. Eren on the opposite side ramming your shit.

"look at you go mamas." Armin would say pulling his phone out as he started to record you, with his hands now away you'd quickly pull away coughing as you looked back up to the video. You'd could help but start moaning loudly again from eren as you started to pump his dick from the base spitting on it. You'd start sucking him off harder making a sloppy mess with bubbles every wear not taking your eyes off the video. "Fuckkk, so good for us.." Armin would whimper, voice slightly cracking as he moaned. Eren letting out groans as he picked up his place leaving you a moaning mess not even able to focus on the task at hand.

Armin would stop recording as he went back to face fucking you, but he was looking behind you this time. You'd feel both ends slow down as you looked up once more to see the two kissing. Your pussy couldn't help but twitch and suck Eren in even more from how hot that was. Slightly shocked, you assumed it was just the weed kicking all 3 of ya'll differently. But this didn't last long because after a few seconds they were both back to abusing your holes. The game ender for you was when Eren brought his fingers down and start rubbing on you clit, you came so fucking hard you started squirting tear rolling down your eyes.

Armin was next pulled away as you brought your tonuge out and he came on your face leaving you a mess. Eren would do the same after a few more thrusts cumming your ass and back. You'd fall, your body fully limp as you caught your breath. "Damn, if your drugs ass addicting as you are i might have to switch over." Armin would joke as pulled you up giving you a kiss as eren laughed at his stupid joke. "ngl, being opps stupid asl, why don't we conjoin and just become sumin bigger?" Eren would ask, but you were sound asleep leaving the two.

"Eren, did we kiss?" Armin would ask "Shut the actual fuck up idk what your on."

(LOL IDK WHAT THIS IS I STARTED WRITING AND COULDN'T STOP, BUT IMA START WORKING ON REQUESTS NOW.)

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pinkrelish · 1 year

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶Casual was much harder rule to abide by when Eddie spent more time with you, as facilitated by his daughter. Dialed back was a flirting style you weren't accustomed to, and proved near-impossible to follow when Eddie's lips were pressed to your ear.✶

NSFW — slow burn, fluff, flirting, mutual pining, slight scent kink, allusion to jerking off, reader wears eddie's jacket, drug/alcohol mention/use, depictions of poverty, 18+ overall for eventual smut

chapter: 5/20 [wc: 15.1k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 5: You're Gonna Get Me in Trouble

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The days of the week lost their meaning in the best way. Turning from one to the next like the colors of the leaves. Falling in and out of obscurity. What was a Monday, when Monday felt like Friday? And what was a Friday, when the familiar clicking sound of your bicycle spokes found him on a Saturday?

The days blurred. The edges sharpened. They were long when the sun was short. They were beautiful, and aggressively tender, including the lows, because the lows themselves used to be the highs.

The days swirled into an everlasting seasoned breeze of cherished moments. Too many to fill the memories of those collecting them. Glimpses into a life of pleasantness–of contentedness–if one were to grasp them.

————

Leather. Vanilla cologne. Spicy deodorant and earthy tobacco.

You grabbed the cuffs of your sweater into your fists and worked your arms down the sleeves of Eddie’s jacket before grabbing your bike from the porch, and setting off on your shortcut through the frosty grass.

The farther you journeyed, the more you smelled like him. The more you sounded like him.

In Robin’s driveway, cigarette smoke overwhelmed your nose, but as your skin warmed from exertion, the nuances appeared. The natural musk clinging to the inside lining, and the artificial fragrances on top, now enveloping you. You turned onto the main road leading to the auto shop, and the chains on the sleeve cuff clinked against the broken zipper. Bouncing your tire up onto the sidewalk, the snap tab collar jangled in time with the small rocks you rode over on the way to the front employee door. You dismounted your bike in a fluid motion, and the supple leather made to fit Eddie creaked and groaned as you got out your keys.

The door opposite you in the garage was ajar, meaning he was smoking in the alleyway.

Quietly, you went to the break room, and said your peace. “Boy’s clothes are always better.”

Standing in front of the coat hooks, you slipped your hands into the pockets and pulled out the items for no other reason than to observe them in remembrance, as if you hadn’t inspected them for hours over the weekend. A half-empty pack of Camels crowded with rolling papers. Translucent green BIC lighter. A grocery receipt from two weeks ago with an obscene amount of pasta and marinara listed on it. A peppermint candy wrapper you could now confirm came from the candy dish on your desk intended for customers. And, of course, a tiny blue high heel shoe belonging to a Barbie doll. Because what father wouldn’t have that in their pocket.

Returning the items from whence they came, you fished a strip of paper out of your jeans, and added it to his treasure.

You removed the warmth you’d become accustomed to, and stared at the coat hook. You glanced down the hallway. Listened for Eddie.

Silence pressed in on you.

Intentionally, after spending more time doing this in bed than you cared to admit, you found his scent to be the strongest on the inside of the collar, and brought it to your nose.

Hugging the jacket to your chest, you inhaled deep, and sighed.

Years of the leather being draped around his neck did wonders for your loneliness since moving here. Last night you caved despite the voice in your head telling you it was weird to find comfort in your coworker’s belongings. As you stared into pitch-black attic, laying alone in a borrowed twin size bed with someone else’s parent’s hand-me-down blankets, cold, and without the glow or noise of the city to keep you company, you surrendered, and wrapped yourself in him. It was a split second decision, quickly overwhelmed by a sensation you hadn’t felt in quite some time. And it was an emotion you were more than happy to shove behind the other clutter in your brain, vowing you’d unpack it some other day, totally. Definitely. You’d absolutely process the heady buzz, and delightful sweat breaking out across your skin at the thought of your coworker’s arms giving you this embrace, and being able to press your nose to the crook of his neck to experience his salty taste on your tongue first-hand.

A squeaky truck passed by on the street, breaking you out of your spell.

“Good God, get a hold on yourself,” you begged aloud, and hung up the jacket.

~~~

The coffee machine sputtered liquid energy into the pot, signifying the end of your morning chores. And yet, Eddie had not made his appearance, whether it was wanted or not, depending on if he was hiding around a corner, or doing the thing he did where he stood next to you and looked like he wanted to say something, but never did.

The back door was still ajar. You poked your head out, and he was there, leaning against the wall. The stubby end of his cigarette was pinched between his forefinger and thumb with a trail of smoke coming off of it.

Early sunrays pierced the tree-lined horizon, gilding the silhouette of his nose in brilliant beauty. He heard you step onto the rocks, and rolled his head to the side to watch you stand between him and his car. The sun caught his hair. Glanced off the gentle slope of his cheek. Caused him to squint one of his eyes, and wrench his mouth into a lopsided grimace.

“Good morning,” he was first to say.

“Good morning,” you replied brightly. “You cut your hair.” By the way his face fell, you gathered he assumed no one would notice, but the feathery edge of his bangs curled higher onto his forehead, flaunting the harsher shadows of his confusion. You reassured him, “It looks good.”

He continued to stare at you without an emotion you could decipher.

“Really good?” you added, thinking he was seeking a better compliment.

With a soft smile and averted gaze, he flicked the ash from his cigarette, and admitted, “Sometimes I have problems vocalizing my thoughts before they’re gone, and I forget you can’t hear them if I don’t blurt them out. Luckily, my daughter demonstrated much better manners than I did, and thanked you for her costume, while I–”

“Waved for an obscenely long time, and then made fun of me,” you finished.

On cue, you both made eyes at each other, and looked away.

The sun couldn’t compete with his smile. The birdsong couldn’t compete with your giggle.

“Yeah,” he exhaled in a croaky groan. “I did do that, didn't I?” You shrugged and told him it didn’t bother you. It was just how you teased each other. “Still, thank you for putting in so much effort to make it special for her. She was crazy excited when she saw it. My uncle, too. I–uh, I appreciate you doing that for us more than I let on.”

“I know you do.” While Eddie may not have shared many of the details of his life prior to your arrival in Hawkins, it was evident in his every decision that people were not frequently kind to him, and the simple act of noticing he trimmed his bangs was something he’d think about for days.

“You think my hair looks good?” he asked, circling back to the original topic.

“The bangs, or everything?”

After a beat of consideration, he ventured, “Everything?”

You tilted your head. “Oh, it’s outdated. Messy. Unprofessional and like you just woke up from a 7-year coma. The worst case of bed head I’ve ever seen. More like a bird’s nest after a storm than anything, but yeah, it suits you. Can’t picture you with any other hairstyle, to be honest.” His expression was a mixture of bafflement, yet also flattery. You put emphasis on the latter. “I love it. It’s wild. I think you look good,” followed by, “for a weirdo,” to dodge the implication of calling him attractive.

In the long seconds that ensued, you rocked from foot to foot, waiting for him to say anything. Do anything besides stare at you with a slight smirk. Anything at all to make you feel like your nervous habits weren’t being examined under a microscope.

Cheeks suitably burning from the shyness of saying too much, you tugged your sleeves into your sweaty palms, and pivoted while saying, “Welp, time for me to be anywhere else on Earth but here.”

You swung open the door to the garage and he spoke up.

“You look pretty today.”

Halting your momentum on a dime, you slid your gaze from the floor to him–to his way of pressing his shoulder blades to the brick wall, leaning his full weight into the pose, arms crossed over his chest, cigarette between his lips, eyes set on you with an irresistible amount of tenderness to them.

You said, “Thank you, handsome,” and left the door open behind you.

But before you walked inside, before you blinked away, you watched that tenderness widen to excitement. You saw the soft curve of his mouth stretch to a smile. Heard him expel his breath in a single stunned laugh. And you listened to his voice fade as he turned his face up to the sky, and took the final drag on his cigarette with a smug mumble of, “Knew it.”

————

The next morning you stared at the full coffee pot suspiciously. The countertop was wiped clean and the powder creamer container was replaced, alongside the sugar packets being restocked.

Still wearing your backpack, you slipped off one strap, swung it around to unzip the top, and put away your lunch in the fridge. While bent over, you surveyed the room again, and narrowed your eyes at the shiny glass pot filled with dark brown coffee.

A certain someone was feeling generous today, helping you out with your morning chores, and that certain someone was currently sneaking behind your desk.

Pretending to mull over who could do such a courteous thing for you, you ran your finger over the packets. Neatened the coffee stirrers. Hummed a pleasing tune as you left the room with heavy steps. Stomp, stomp, stomp, all the way to the end of the hallway, meandering just before you would turn to sit at your desk.

“Raaah!” Eddie jumped from behind the wall–hunched over, hands clawed at you, face etched with utter deviousness, grinning broadly to bare his teeth.

You took the coffee stirrer and thwacked him on the forehead before sidestepping to your chair.

His wickedness withered away. “Hey,” he complained, rubbing the sore spot. “How did you–?”

“Your reflection, dork.”

He clicked his tongue and peered down the hall at the full coffee pot and microwave door, both giving away his movements. “Damnit.”

————

Lunches together became the norm.

Even after Carl and Kevin left the room to ruminate over the real clunker of a car that came in yesterday, you and Eddie remained crowded together on one side of the round table, eating.

You swiped the crumbs from your sandwich into your container. “How’s Adrie’s sleep been? I thought the whole ‘regression’ thing was just for babies.”

Eddie spoke with his mouth full of half-chewed spaghetti, gesturing with his fork, “Usually, yeah. It’s more like she has nightmares ‘nd stuff. Scared of the dark. Monsters under the bed. That sorta thing.” He hadn’t even swallowed before dipping his garlic toast in the marinara sauce and taking a bite. “It’s gotten better, though. I think only one nightmare these past two weeks.”

It happened last Wednesday. You remembered. After your boss and the other guys went home, Eddie fell asleep at the table, and you turned off the lights for him, letting him rest after taking his work jacket off the hook and placing it over his shoulders. He always pretends to not be awake when you do that, but you could tell from his breathing when he was awake and when he wasn’t.

“That’s good,” you said. “I had a talk with her on Halloween about how the dark wasn’t so scary; how she was a bat and bats love the dark, and I’m a mouse, we’re nocturnal, nighttime is just like daytime and there’s nothing to be afraid of, yada yada..” You trailed off upon seeing the faint shadow of his dimple flourish. “What?”

“That’s a genius move,” he said, impressed. “You sure you’re not a parent?”

You wanted to continue the conversation, you really did, but..

Sighing, you closed your eyes. “Eddie, you have sauce–just–all over your mouth.”

“–Shit, sorry.” Intent on rushing to the stack of napkins near the sink, he didn’t notice how close you were, and stumbled into your chair when standing up.

He caught himself on you. His hands were heavy on your shoulders as he regained his balance. Landing there on accident, yet it felt on purpose when they remained a moment longer, benefitting from your innate response to clasp your hands over his wrists and ask if he were all right, looking up at him with wide eyes of concern and your cheek pressed to his forearm.

He cursed another apology from above your head, and withdrew his grip–but only after you let go, too.

————

“Oh, Adrie, I found that shoe you were.. looking.. for?”

It was the weekend before Eddie managed to wear his leather jacket. He reached into the pocket after coming inside from smoking on the makeshift porch attached to the front of his uncle’s trailer, and uncurled his fingers.

The blue high heel rolled across his palm along with a folded piece of paper.

Jutting his bottom lip in confusion, he gave his daughter the shoe, and as she galloped to her room to play with her dolls, he opened the note.

sorry i stole your jacket

come to me for a prize when you find this :)

if you find this

So that’s why you gave him that weird expectant look every morning..

————

Facing you on the other side of your desk after a customer left the lobby with their receipt, Eddie held up the note pinched between his index and middle fingers. “What’s my prize?”

Elated, your eyes lit up at the sight, and you motioned for him to give it to you while you held the phone to your ear with your shoulder, and continued your conversation with the auto parts dealer. “So–Yeah, three of those,” you went on, making a note with your pencil on where you left off in the catalog. “Yes, the smaller size, please.” You wrote something on the back of the paper and gave it to him.

Eddie snatched it–darting his eyes over your handwriting–and his excitement melted.

you finally cleaned out your pockets

your prize is a job well done ♡

“That’s not a prize,” he said, face falling into a pouty glare.

Unamused by his inability to keep his mouth shut when you were clearly busy, you turned your hand over as if to ask ‘what did you expect?’ and directed a question at the man over the phone.

Not one to be ignored, Eddie began searching through the candy dish for a treasure to appease his appetite for a reward, and spilled peppermints over the side as he dug to the bottom.

You made a shushing gesture at him, widening your eyes at the crinkling wrappers interrupting you. “You’re out of those? Okay, then, I’ll move on to the door handle replacement. Let me just find the model number,” you spoke evenly into the receiver.

Eddie grunted, not finding what he was looking for.

You snapped your fingers at him, and pressed the phone to your chest to muffle yourself, “Do you not have a job or something?”

He held up a pink Now and Later, and asked in a stage-whisper, “Where’s all the butterscotch candy?”

“Bu–What?” you balked. “You ate them all? Those are for customers, Eddie! Yes, I’m still here,” you rattled off a make and model for the car. Eddie’s eyebrows rose at the quick switch from your speaking voice, to your cloyingly sweet customer service nasally octave, and back down to your annoyed tone at him. “Stop eating candy not meant for you and get back to work. You’re distracting me, you absolute nuisance.”

“Can you buy more butterscotch ones? Those are my favorite.”

“Sure, gramps, I’ll get right on it.”

Undeterred, or perhaps spurred on by earning your attention, he flattened his stomach to the ledge, and leaned over, invading your space to grab a stack of Post-it notes from the far end of your desk. Your Post-It notes. Your Post-It notes in his scuffed up, greasy hands, and his wavy hair sweeping from over his shoulders to block you from reading the lines of numbers and letters you were about to recite.

“What’re you..” You gave up when he grabbed your favorite pen.

You slid the catalog into your lap and turned away from him, facing the wall as you ordered the rest of the parts you needed, ending the call with an unintentional chat about the mild autumn weather–two minutes tops–and spun around to no one. Eddie had gone out to the garage. But not before sticking a note right smack dab in the middle of your desk where you couldn’t ignore it.

BUY MORE BUTTERSCOTCH

-EM

His initials. It was silly, but two months into knowing him, and you’d never heard his last name. It wasn’t said aloud by him, his friends, or the other mechanics. Maybe you’d remember to ask him what it is one day.

————

Eddie had one rule–no reading over his shoulder when he was writing in his black notebook.

“Oh, chill,” you scolded him. “I’m here to microwave my lunch, not read your diary.”

Mr. Moore was out of office and the photocopier was broken, meaning you had to bike to the drug store and use theirs, missing your lunch break. With Eddie being the only mechanic in today, and having no customers, he made himself at home over the hour you were gone to catch up on.. whatever it was he was catching up on.

He slammed the thin red book shut and flipped it over. And when he thought that wasn’t good enough, he smashed the looseleaf papers back into his binder, closed it, and scrambled for his notebook, tearing through it like a wild animal until he found a blank page. Quick–He spun in his chair and laced his fingers in his lap, donning a weak smile. About as composed as a floundering fish.

A pink flush crept up his neck, and his heavy breathing caused his unbuttoned coveralls to open wider over his chest, showing more than a glimpse at his black shirt underneath, stretched taut across his pecs.

His pencil dropped to the floor.

“Uh, hey. Didn’t hear you walk in.”

“Yeah, that much was obvious,” you snorted.

“What took you so long? I thought it’d be, like, 15 minutes tops. You could’ve read the manual and fixed our own copier by now.”

You popped open the lid to your container, and placed it in the microwave. “I’d rather jump off a bridge than sit there and read instructions. Anyway, I took a detour to see an apart–”

“Actually, that’s a good question. Would you jump off a bridge if someone asked, with your policy and all?”

“I’m not dignifying that with a response.” You punched two minutes on the timer. “As I was saying–Do you know that motel that closed down on Cypress? Bobbie told me it was a little mom-and-pop place that struggled to compete with the Motel 6.”

Perplexed as to where this was going, he squinted, and answered with a tepid, “Yeah?”

“Well,” you explained, “apparently someone bought the building and has been renovating them into apartments. I guess it wasn’t in too bad of a shape, with them just knocking down a few walls to make them into two bedrooms, and stuff. Bigger kitchens, whatever.” His features softened. The fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes lessened, and the tenseness in his jaw weakened. “Bobbie met the guy who’s renovating them and, uh, they’re gonna be available sometime at the beginning of next year, and the projected rent isn’t that bad. Really manageable for the both of us. As long as her dad is getting better, we could be moving out soon. It’d be nice to not live in their attic anymore, y’know.” You ended it almost on a lilt, as if it were a question, but maybe you were just goading him into saying what was on his mind, because with the way he was looking at you, you had no idea what had him so captivated.

“I–Yeah, I know the place you’re talking about. It’s just a few minutes from here.” And he added helpfully, “It’d be a shorter commute to work.”

“Yeah!” you exhaled, nodding in agreement. “Shorter commute.”

“Yeah,” he said again, allowing the information to wash over you both in different ways. “Closer to the grocery store, too.”

“Yeah. Yeah, and the laundromat.”

Eddie raised his brows. “Oh, nice. I use that place when our washing machine is broken.”

By some miracle you kept your mouth shut, saving yourselves the trouble of listing more establishments you’d be near when you moved. He must’ve realized the awkwardness as well, because he fidgeted with his fingers sheepishly.

“So, does that mean you’re staying in Hawkins?”

Hearing him take interest in your future kicked up your heart rate. It could be coming from a place of blunt curiosity, or conversational politeness, but like hell if your adrenaline didn’t surge from the unmistakable way he leaned in, hanging onto your every word, as the warm hum of the microwave served as background music to the glimmer of eagerness in his eyes.

Downplaying your excitement, you told him one eensy-weensy tiny caveat about your situation, “I am, but Robin’s moving in with Vickie at some point–don’t know when, but probably by the end of summer when she goes back to Indianapolis.. so.”

“And after that?”

“Dunno. I can float rent and bills by myself for a few months, but I’m not sure after that. Could tag along with them to the city, or stay here and, y’know, keep answering phones and annoying my favorite mechanic like I do now. Maybe even find someone willing to go on another date with me, since my first one was a bust.” He didn’t laugh. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll end up back in New York and audition for Cats.” You threw it out there as an outlandish possibility without serious consideration, and you thought you conveyed that through your jokey tone.

The microwave beeped.

You turned around, missing the way Eddie averted his gaze down and away before speaking.

“Just waiting for the next big thing to catch your eye and sweep you away, huh?”

“Not the first time you said that,” you commented teasingly, thinking you were still playing with each other. You grabbed your steaming rice and stirred it with a fork from the cutlery drawer. “What’s wrong? Afraid of not having a pretty girl sit across from you at lunch every day? Scared some other mechanic’s gonna need a receptionist, and then I’ll be gone? Or are you worried you’ll actually miss me if I leave?”

You giggled at your melodramatic phrasing and waited for him to respond. And when he didn’t, you looked over at him.

His shoulders rose and fell with his steady breaths as he thumbed through his notebook, mouth in a flat line.

Confusion stung embarrassment to your cheeks. Holding the hot tupperware, you asked, “Are we not eating together?”

He opened the binder and shifted closer to the table, scraping the chair legs across the tile, signifying the end of the conversation. Worse, still, he spoke in what would be a casual tone, if it weren’t for his rejective back facing you. “Actually, I’m trying to finish this,” he said, putting his pencil to the page and continuing the sentence where he left off.

“Oh.. Okay.”

You walked out the room and sat at your desk. Alone. Glaring at the stupid grains of rice and moving them around with your stupid fork and slouching over to rest your stupid cheek on your stupid fist.

Were you really less interesting than whatever he was writing in that notebook of his?

“Maybe I will find a bridge to jump off of,” you concluded, deciding you’d clock out on time in order to preserve your dignity. At least Robin would be home, and she would be honored to hang out with you.

————

An apology of sorts waited for you on your desk the next morning.

Three fresh-picked flowers in a chipped vase with a torn square of lined paper beside it.

YOURE RIGHT

I WOULD MISS

EATING WITH YOU

IM SORRY

-EM

The bud vase was from his home, the paper from his spiral bound notebook, and the dew-coated flowers from Hawkin’s soil–the last of their kind before the season put them to sleep.

Eddie wouldn’t be coming in today; he had the day off to take Adrie to the dentist. So, he woke up early to leave this peace offering when he could be sleeping in.

You set your elbows on you desk, and laced your fingers to rest your chin atop them, taking in the finer details of the periwinkle blue asters. After a moment, you traced your knuckle along your grin, and nibbled at the skin.

“So silly.”

————

And the morning after that, Eddie strayed from his bee line for coffee to approach you with a familiar meek posture; head lowered in deference, and a pouty expression of remorse on his lips.

The glass candy dish shined like a chest of golden coins awaiting him.

He folded his forearms on the ledge, and picked one of the butterscotch candies on top, pulling either end of the wrapper to unfurl it until the lustrous surface of the sweet flashed under the lobby’s lights.

You sank into your chair and watched him sweep his gaze across your desk in search of the flowers, and after not seeing them, he popped the candy in his mouth, and mumbled, “Does this mean you forgive me?”

Flitting your focus back and forth between his big eyes, you peered into each one, drawing out the moment by clicking your pen in thought, forcing him to sweat and fiddle with his wrapper in the echoey room. “Hmm..” You crossed your legs and shined your fingernails on your shirt, inspecting them.

His mouth twitched into a slight smile, favoring the side with his dimple.

Tipping his head so he was looking at you from under his lashes, he begged, “Come on, haven’t I groveled enough for you to have lunch with me later?” Bravery swelled his chest, jerked his chin in a smug nod once he had your attention. “Got you flowers and everything.”

You locked eyes with him for one, entire, sweet second, in which he winked at you.

Interestingly enough, you remembered you had paperwork to grab from Mr. Moore’s office, and rushed out sloppy sentences as you went, laying the sarcasm on thick to disguise the hitch in your throat, “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll have lunch with you if it’s that important to your livelihood, since you can’t live without me, or whatever.” You closed the office door behind you.

God, your face had never burned so hot.

~~~

And it was that night, when Eddie was alone with himself, he thought of the morning smiles through the glass window, and the afternoon laughs shared at the lunch table. The way you sat next to him and he moved his feet outward, spreading his legs to occupy as much space as possible. And he thought about how you accommodated him. Nudging his knee at first to test the waters, and when he responded by closing the distance between your shoe and his, you leaned towards him at the height of the story you were telling, and the length of your thigh pressed against him in a satisfying squish. He wasn’t entirely sure it was on purpose, but with the state he was in, it mattered not.

Eddie fluttered his eyes closed from blinking lazily at the shower head, stroking away the fleeting guilt of wondering if he should be testing his boundaries by thinking about you while doing this, even as his lips parted with silence, and his stomach tensed from pleasure.

Even as he held his shaky breath to keep himself mute, and his hand moved with renewed swiftness from his release mixing with his spit, and he watched the mess gather in his palm before washing it down the drain, he convinced himself.

This was so casual.

————

Saturday you went to the grocery store–AKA, hell day in hell land. You only needed a few ingredients, and figured getting out of the house for a while was better than calling Robin and asking her to pick them up for you.

However, life mocked you. After a heart-racing encounter with a truck narrowly missing you on the highway, you slowed to an agonizing stop every few feet from people blockading the aisles, taking their sweet time to decide what type of oil they wanted, when you could’ve snatched the one you needed, and moved on if they–would–just–move–a–freakin’–inch.

Least to say, by the time you made it to the baking aisle, you were mentally over it, and yet..

The cocoa powder was on the top shelf, taunting you by sight, just out of reach.

You huffed.

Rising onto your tiptoes, you employed your entire wingspan into clawing for it–tasting victory with your fingertips–but not enough to grasp the slippery plastic.

And of course no one else on the aisle was taller than you. They were hunched over walking canes, and clutching their layers of cardigans over their chests.

And of course, as you were stepping onto the bottom shelf for leverage, and becoming intimate with the bags of flour you inadvertently shoved your face into, your worst nightmare loomed behind you.

You knew it was Eddie before he spoke. You knew his gait, his smell, the sound of his laugh when he kept it in his chest. You knew his radiating warmth, his soft grunt, the way he took a sharper breath and held it for a beat before releasing it as a teasing remark. You knew the magnitude of his presence even when he was being demure. How respectful he was to invite himself into your personal space without crossing a line, squeezing his firm hand on the meat of your shoulder to let you know he was there, and heeding a modest gap between your bodies as his unbuttoned shirt brushed your sides.

He backed away half a step, and waited until you were turned around in the crowded space of him and the metal shelves to wave the tub above your head. The rings decorating his fingers glinted as he boasted, “Shucks, looks like it’s the last one too.”

You held your palm up and dropped your head to the side. “Are you gonna make me jump for it like Adrie, or are you gonna be a grown up and give it to me?”

“Give it to you? Maybe I need” –He read the label– “Cocoa powder.”

“You so do not.”

“You don’t know that,” he replied, lifting his chin at your bored expression. “If you want it..” He shifted his stance and sank into his hip, curling his bottom lip over his smirk as he peered down at you, prolonging your misery instead of just finishing his sentence. “..You can use the magic words.”

What an infuriating immovable object. Blocking everything in your view that wasn’t his red flannel thrown over a wrinkled white tee, and his rebellious hair eclipsing the fluorescent lights.

Just the worst person to rescue you from your predicament. Standing so close you could scrutinize the permanent five-o-clock shadow on his upper lip, and the wispy curls composing his sideburns.

So annoying how his hair reached the shadow of his clavicle, where a chain link necklace showed beneath his shirt, and the tendons in his neck stretched an alluring contour from the hollow of his throat to the underside of his square jaw.

His shoulders shook with a quelled snicker. “Come on,” he sang with an infuriating timbre, swaying the cocoa above you.

You met his steeped tea eyes, and insisted in a warm honey tone, “Please stop being a dickhead, and thank you for not being an asshole and handing over the cocoa.. Fucker.”

Eddie’s face cracked into the biggest grin. Beside you, a blushing grandmother shot you a scathing glare, and grabbed a bag of sugar from the shelf before tsking and walking off.

Bestowing you the tub in your hand, he wrapped his palm over top of it and didn’t let go as he bent to you. “Hey now,” he said in a lower register, voice cracking on the consonants from the remnants of his laugh, “no bad words in front of my kid. Or the elderly. Show some respect.”

You perked up. All transgressions in regards to baking ingredients were forgotten when you spotted his daughter sitting cross legged inside the shopping cart behind him. “Adrie!” You pushed Eddie out of the way, and wrapped her in a tender, heartwarming hug.

“Miss Mouse!” she cheered in equal enthusiasm, dropping the box of cereal she was reading aloud to lock her arms around your neck.

You giggled at the giddy feeling soaring in your chest, and encouraged her, “Yeah, I’m Miss Mouse.” The clunky braids Eddie put in her hair smashed against your cheek as you held each other tighter.

Taking inventory of the sparse groceries she was amongst, you spotted a pattern. “You like pasta, huh?” It was an easy guess considering there were three bags of noodles with two large jars of sauce standing out from the rice dinners and a few cans of soup. Practically a replica of the receipt you found in his pocket. But she corrected you.

“No. Daddy’s just bad at cooking.”

Your eyes bulged, and you pursed your lips to refrain from bursting out in impolite laughter. Standing up straight, you combed a few stray curls behind her ear, and whispered, “Geez, kids are ruthless.”

Eddie shifted his weight to his other foot, and gestured at the groceries with a pencil before striking out something on the short list he had written one on a pad of paper. “Eh, Wayne’s the chef of the family. She knows what she’s getting when it’s my turn to cook.”

You hummed at the new information, and went to pick your hand basket off the floor when something caught your eye–and it definitely wasn’t the leather loafers on the old man shuffling past you.

Eddie, obviously, wasn’t dressed in coveralls.

His black tennis shoes were nearly identical to the white ones he wore on Halloween, with the floppy tongues out against his light-wash blue jeans. (Very, very nice fitted jeans with holes in the knees, and a rip stretching wider across the curve of his thigh.) Dragging your gaze up, you clocked the interesting belt buckle he wore on your way to admire the soft outline of his stomach pressed against his shirt. He moved his flannel aside to stuff his shopping list in his pocket–struggling due to how tight his pants were–and incidentally showed off a smidgen of skin above the waistband of his plaid boxers.

Just a hint of skin marked with the bottom lines of a larger tattoo and you were salivating–

A loud intercom announcement sang a jingle about tortillas, and you were reminded of where you were, and where Eddie was, a few feet away from you, well aware of the places your gaze stalled before landing on his smirk.

He caught you checking him out.

Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “Find everything you were looking for?”

“I, uh–” you stuttered two words out before your brain threatened you to shut the fuck up. As an alternative, you snapped into finger guns aimed in the opposite direction, and made up an excuse. “I forgot to get.. something.”

“Forgot what?”

You blinked. “Milk.”

“Milk, huh?”

“Yep.. Milk.” Sweating under the heat of his narrowed eyes, you made yourself scarce. “Welp. Hope to never see you outside of work again, because this was we-ird,” you enunciated in lilt as you strutted away. But just as you were about to disappear around the corner, you stopped, and said, “Adrie, however, I’d love to see you any day of the week.”

She turned in the shopping cart and waved. “Bye, Miss Mouse.” Eddie was too busy watching you make a fool of yourself to correct her, letting the nickname stick.

Rounding the end cap display of premature Christmas themed candies and bakeware, you held your gaze steadfast ahead as you passed by someone not-so-inconspicuously trying to blend in with the background, wearing a red managerial vest, and holding a clipboard over their mouth.

Robin lowered the employee break schedule, and whispered rather loudly, “He’s so in love with you.”

You groaned. “Can you not spy on us?”

She sweetened you up, “Seriously, he was totally checking you out when you bent over.”

You turned down an aisle and felt her hot on your heels. Yielding in front of the boxes of chamomile tea, you examined one, and asked with an air of disinterest as if you were inquiring about the weather, “Was he now?”

Screwing her face up, she nodded empathically, “Majorly.”

“Good, because I want to crawl in a hole and die.”

~~~

Six feet under seemed like a better fate than what you were dealt.

Though you gave it your best effort, meandering about until enough time had elapsed that you figured he’d left by now, you made your way to the front of the store, and stopped. Eddie had the end of his cart angled towards the registers. Adrie held a package of cookies out for him to approve of, and in a depressing moment of realization, you watched him revert to the person you met him as.

The playfulness was gone. His face was cast with the exhaustion of being around strangers for too long. His lips were bitten raw. His chest sank with a long exhale, and his stomach caved as he looked at his daughter asking for something the other parents around him could throw in their cart without a second thought, and he had to disappoint her.

He didn’t say ‘no’ exactly, but the nervousness of doing so was there. “They’re not on the list,” he begged her in a defeated whisper to understand and not make a scene. He couldn’t handle a scene.

Not yet five-years-old and she sensed his stress and put them back.

“Hey, cutie.” You didn’t know you spoke until Eddie jerked his head up, and you witnessed the change in his mood wash over him. Turned on a dime. He grinned at you in genuine relief, and in a bout of awkwardness, you smiled at Adrie in particular to imply your initial greeting was for her. Not that he wasn’t cute, too. “Fancy meeting you two here.”

He pushed his cart forward, taking the next spot in line, and peered into your hand basket, assessing the Reese’s Pieces, baking goods, tea, and distinct lack of one item. “Hmm, got lost on your way to the milk, huh? Or did you need someone to reach it for you?” He placed his gallon of milk on the conveyor belt first for emphasis. You rolled your eyes.

The two of you must’ve appeared cozier than you gave off, because the cashier motioned at you–specifically, he pointed from Eddie’s groceries to yours. “You two together?”

Eddie froze. Just a useless doe-eyed deer in headlights. You, on the other hand, swallowed your spit before you choked on it, and realized what he meant.

“No, no, separate,” you answered, taking a plastic divider from him and putting it after Eddie’s bag of red delicious apples and before Robin’s dad’s tea.

You stifled your giggle as your beloved coworker fumbled into action after the exchange dawned on him. Bouncing between bagging his groceries, finding the cereal box for Adrie so she could finish tracing the maze on the back, and wiggling his wallet out of his back pocket. The chain attached to it clinked as he rifled through the papers in the biggest slot. They didn’t fit quite right like proper money would. They didn’t look quite right, either. Printed in muted red, purple, green, and blue like Monopoly money. Big text on the front with a picture of the Liberty Bell. Large numbers in the corner with fine print beside it.

Food stamps.

They were food stamps, and it was the middle of the month, and he didn’t have many left.

He counted two of them out, and hesitated, choosing to add a few dollars to meet the total, and handed them over.

Eddie had no reason to feel embarrassed. This was his life. This was how he fed his daughter. But still, he snuck a glance at you, and you looked away so he didn’t think you were staring, even though you were. You were. Not from a place of judgment, but of natural curiosity. Unfortunately, as you directed your gaze elsewhere, you noticed other people around you weren’t as gracious. Eyeing Eddie with cruelty behind their study of the town freak coming inside their territory and depending on their honest wealth to pay for his food.

He’d only begun to stop chewing on his lips when he left the store. Exiting swiftly to begin the process of calming his anxiety as he loaded his car with groceries, knowing he had meals to eat, even if the price he paid stung his ego.

You went through the motions of bagging your groceries in your backpack, and listened to your gut.

Outside, you unchained your bike and put your bag in the wire basket attached to the handles, squinting in the noonday sun as you walked it to the back of the parking lot where Eddie was placing the plastic bags into the trunk of his car. No one parked on either side of him. Not a notable thing, but with how the store was packed, it stood out.

Eddie heard your wheel spokes click as you neared, and schooled the indications of worse emotions from his face to keep you from prying, but he frowned anyway when you passed him to talk to his daughter instead.

The rear door on the passenger’s side was propped open. You flapped your hand at her to get her attention, and she stretched her arm out as far as her car seat allowed in effort to link your fingers. “See you later, girlie,” you said, squeezing her hand in lieu of a proper hug. “Be good for your dad, alright?”

“I’m always good,” she responded, giving you an assured nod of angelic innocence. Eddie barked a laugh, and closed the trunk.

“You can’t swindle her,” he told Adrie. “She knows all about the fit you threw the other morning when I wouldn’t let you bring your stuffed animals to school.” She cut him a sassy glare at being called out.

“Don’t listen to him,” you consoled her. “You’re perfect.” She beamed at you, and you paralleled her delight as you let go of her to smack Eddie’s hand away from your ribs. “Anyway, I’ve gotta get going. Gotta get this milk in the fridge, y’know.”

You stole a coy look at him reveling in what you hoped wouldn’t become a running joke, and steered your bike away, saying another final goodbye to Adrie.

“Not gonna say goodbye to me?” he asked with an aching amount of pitifulness.

“Ch’yeah.” You swung your leg over the frame, put your feet to the pedals. Ensuring you were a decent distance apart, you called out, “You’re right! I should respect my elders.” You waved and shouted at him pointedly, “Farewell, Eddie!”

He fixed his lazy grin on his daughter, who was laughing like it was the funniest thing she’d ever witnessed, and told her with utmost fondness, “Saw that one coming from a mile away.”

————

Sunday morning, Adrie threw him for a loop.

“I want Miss Mouse to come to my play,” she said, spearing the scrambled eggs on her plate with the tines of her plastic Little Mermaid themed fork. “Can you invite her for me?”

Eddie went rigid. The triangle shaped extras from her pancakes being cut into stars flopped off his fork, paused mid-air on the way to his already stuffed mouth. He chewed slowly. Methodically. Swallowing the syrupy sweetness coating his tongue, biding his time as he hunched deeper over his plate, and stared her down while his uncle took special interest in her request.

Wayne wasn’t able to make it this year, and Adrie was quick to think of a suitable replacement.

With a voice scratchy from cigarettes, he directed his question at his nephew, “Miss Mouse?”

Eddie shut him down with a diplomatic answer without breaking eye contact with his daughter. “Adrie’s nickname for the receptionist at work.”

“Oh! The one who did the costume, and went trick-or-treating with you.”

He sounded much too happy, much too chipper for Eddie’s liking, and when he withdrew his gaze from Adrie to pin it on Wayne, the sharp rush of annoyance at the twinkle in his uncle’s eye manifested in a low, tempered correction for him to drop it. “My coworker from the auto shop, where I’m lucky to have the job that I do.”

Wayne wasn’t having it. He leaned in, and matched his intensity, loading his words with a much deeper meaning than the type of conversation they could have in front of Adrie. He spoke to him man-to-man. “The receptionist who is nice to you and Adrie, and, understandably, is being asked to go to a small event at her school.”

“I know what she’s asking,” Eddie replied from behind his hand. “Stop acting like you don’t.”

“Daddy, please,” Adrie begged, kicking his shin under the table. Eddie inhaled sharply and scooted away.

Wayne looked at him.

Adrie looked at him.

His rules, convictions, and morals of the workplace looked at him, rising as a tense pressure in his chest. Eddie sighed them out.

He was weak.

————

Sunday night, you and Robin were up to your usual bullshit.

Stress baking, and stress baking.

Her house was dimmed to only the small lights above the stove and sink, painting the room in an intimate mood of warmth bouncing off the smoky haze clouding the cramped space from the counter where you transferred a tray of hot cookies to a cooling rack, and she swayed behind you to the sultry Cher record spinning in the distance, seeming far away with her deep vocals melding into loops in your sleepy highs.

“Eddie’s beyond in love with you,” Robin said for the hundredth time, probably.

“He is not,” you argued for the hundredth time, probably. “Can you get me a bag for these?” The double chocolate cookies with Reese’s Pieces on top were ready to be put away to make room for the oatmeal ones.

“I just don’t get why you think he doesn’t like you–Oops.” While reaching for the ziploc bags from the top of the refrigerator, she accidentally knocked down a piece of artwork hanging on the door. She tossed you the box and picked the magnet up, along with the drawing of a mouse, owl, and bat off the floor, and put them back into place. “I mean, the way he looks at you every time you speak..” she trailed off in a wistful, airy breath. “So romantic.”

You answered her dreamy grin with a melancholic shrug of your own. “Yeah, but you don’t see all the other times he looks at me.”

Robin persevered. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.. He’s really–” You struggled for a word, interrupted by the sound of roiling bubbles behind you. “He’s really confusing.”

Exhaling at the ceiling, she asked, “Confusing how? Seems pretty clear to me.”

You groaned. Robin jabbed her elbow into your arm and offered you the bong, and when you showed her your greasy fingers, she turned it around and held it to your lips, lighting it for you until your lungs ached from a full inhale and you gave her a thumbs up to pull the stem.

Different place, same old bullshit. Smoking the last of your combined stash of weed you moved here with while bitching about life. It was hardly the first bowl of the night–or even the third–and the sentences you were trying to string together lulled into the drowsy dregs at the back of your mind.

You dropped your head back and sighed the smoke out. “He gets weird sometimes.”

“He’s always been weird.”

Shaking your head at her, you shifted the tone of the night to a somber one. Serious. Reflective.

Rolling the sugar cookie dough into balls, you recounted Eddie’s most recent rejection. “Last week I was telling him how we were hoping to move out soon, and he was giving off signals and asking questions like it was leading somewhere, but then I ran my stupid mouth, and it’s like he flipped a switch. He just stopped talking to me for the rest of the day.”

She put the bong down on the counter next to the tiny vase holding three flowers, and crossed her arms. “Ran your mouth how?”

You groaned louder into the hot wave of heat fanning your face from opening the oven door. “The dude will seriously flirt with me from clock in to clock out, but I–I dunno. I think I lay it on too thick, and it freaks him out. Like suddenly he realizes I’m serious, and he’s not into it. I’m pretty sure that’s what happened last week, anyway. We were going back and forth listing the pros of me living closer to work, and the cons of you eventually moving in with Vickie, and I kinda made a pass at him..”

“A pass how?”

You drew your brows in, and blinked your droopy eyes in a concentrated effort to recall the conversation. “..To be honest, I can’t remember. It was along the lines of me hinting that I’d want a second date with him. Which I only said because he seemed interested after I told him we were staying in Hawkins, but whatever. Guess I read it wrong.”

Perhaps too astute, your best friend in the entire world navigated your love life with undue keenness in spite of how blitzed you two were, breaking into dumb giggle fits at, quite literally, you dropping a spoon. “How obvious was this hint of yours?”

“Doesn’t matter.” You waved off the notion before you could grow attached to it. “We’re still coworkers, so I need to dial it back, regardless.”

“I think you should dial it up.”

“If I dialed it any more up, I’d get an HR complaint.”

“You don’t have HR,” she reminded you.

Squinting, you paused mixing the chocolate chips into the next batch of cookies. “I think I am HR?”

You handed her the pyrex bowl since it was her turn to roll them into cookies, and as she snacked on the raw dough, you filled the ziploc bag with more treats, stuffing it full.

Cher sang about starting over and finding love again.

The drawing on the fridge was in your periphery, as was the vase. Reminders of how kind, and gentle, and sweet Eddie and his daughter were. You were bound to misread his flirtations, but there was no harm in matching them, right? As long as you didn’t cross any lines, yeah? Just followed his lead and stopped when he made it clear it wasn’t welcomed.

Yeah.

Dialed back. You could do dialed back.

————

This was new.

It was early afternoon when you closed the manila folder of invoices, and directed your attention to Eddie, who, for the first time, imposed himself on your side of the desk.

He acted brave when he was timid. A blatant facade, still hesitant to commit to crossing the threshold past the invisible line where your desk ended and the hallway began. Made himself smaller by leaning on the wall behind you, giving you room to leave if you wanted. Not yet courageous enough to take his hand away from playing with the ends of his hair over his rosy cheeks. “So–um–Adrie’s class is putting together a Thanksgiving play, and she requested your attendance by name,” he finished with an adorable pout of your moniker, “Miss Mouse.”

You sat up straighter with lifted brows.

Thinking he was doing you a favor, he dropped the formalities, and gave you an out–a carefully worded out to avoid any cheeky response about your policy, “It’s gonna be a bunch of rambunctious toddlers singing off key, and not remembering their lines. It’s cool if you don’t want to go, I’ll tell her you were busy or somethin’. She’ll understand.”

You gripped the armrests in a burst of enthusiasm. “What? Of course I wanna go! When is it?”

Eddie was unconvinced. He crossed his arms, and bent at the waist to better assess if you knew what you were getting into. “Uh, Wednesday around lunch time–we can be out and back during our break if we hurry–but I’m serious about the little kids being obnoxious part. You don’t have to go.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” It was a rhetorical question he was going to answer, but you knocked the air from his lungs with one simple sentence. “I want to be there for her.”

Warmth bloomed. Spread throughout his body. The things he suppressed. Taking over all at once.

“You said Wednesday around lunch time?” you clarified. He nodded dumbly, a bit distracted. Your grin grew. “Both Mr. Moore and Carl are taking a half-day to start their Holiday early..” you began, and waited for the realization to cross his features.

“So we could just..”

“Lock up, and..”

“Take the rest of the day off too,” Eddie finished with an undertone of pride. He’d have to work extra hard to complete the cars he was working on before then, but the idea was genius. Playing hooky under his boss’ nose like he was a teenager again.

There was perhaps more he wanted to say, but the phone rang.

You answered and kept the exchange short, using your normal speaking voice. “Robin’s dad is being discharged from the hospital today,” you told him after hanging up. “I’m gonna clock out early to help prepare the house for when he gets here.”

Eddie watched you tidy up your desk in preparation to leave, and figured he should get back to work.

Picking up where he left off, he sank into the passenger’s seat of the Ford Taurus outside, and ran a mental checklist of things he still needed to do. Or he tried, rather. He was mostly sitting there daydreaming about potential scenarios, until he saw you come from the breakroom with your jacket in hand, and left out the front door, waving goodbye as you went.

Two dramatic minutes passed.

The quiet warehouse amplified the aural representation of his loneliness.

Eddie frowned. He wasn’t about to attribute the weather to your proximity, but he was certain the temperature in the garage dropped when you weren’t in the office. Or, maybe, he lost the pretty thing distracting him every few minutes, and he had the time to reflect on how badly he wanted a smoke break in the sun to warm him up.

He went inside to get his jacket from the breakroom, and instead of encountering a pack of Camels in his pocket, he grasped an oddly shaped object, and wrangled it out.

bobbie & i made too many

share with adrie & your uncle!

♡

An array of cookies surprised him. Several flavors, in fact. Some with fun toppings, some plain.

He smiled.

Well. Smiling would be putting it mildly.

Acting on impulse, he (accidentally) crushed the bag to his chest, and made a high-pitched noise of glee in his throat, absolutely smitten. Eddie hadn’t received a sweet gesture like this in years. If ever. Ironically blessed with the allure of being older in high school, he couldn’t distinguish the genuine crushes girls may have had on him from the fake love letters people stuffed in his locker to mess with him. But this? This was sincere. Even if the intention behind the cookies were to pawn them off because you made too many, you still thought of him and Adrie.

Too excited, he opened the bag and went to eat one, but a distinct odor itched his nose–one he was too intimate with to miss.

He held the baggie up and sniffed, then smelled the cookies. Inhaled the acrid scent clinging to the plastic, and nibbled on one of the innocuous looking treats.

He consulted the note again.

share with adrie

You didn’t just give him and his daughter edibles, did you?

————

Wednesday came unannounced. You crossed several days off the calendar in the garage, forgetting to do so with the influx of orders, phone calls, and customers getting in their last minute fixes before the Holiday break. You did what you could. Eddie did what he could. And now, you taped a handwritten sign to the front door and locked it until Monday morning.

Grabbing your backpack, you went to the women’s restroom, and Eddie went to the men’s to change out of your work clothes. After some arguing back and forth through the doors, you made him agree to open them on a countdown, and through your giggles, you shouted, “Three!”

You swung open your door and were instantly disappointed. “Why are you wearing that?”

Eddie made a similar sneer across from you in the hallway, and questioned your sanity, “What in the world are you wearing?”

“It’s adorable, and festive!” You defended yourself by pointing out the scarecrow patch on the chest pocket of your baggy overalls, and how your orange flannel matched the one he was wearing. “Do you not think so, you big gray cloud?”

“Yeah, super cute. You’ll blend right in with the toddlers,” he snarked with much less malice than his words implied, on account of his lopsided grin.

“Big talk coming from the guy dressed like a moody teen.” Sinfully tight black jeans, black boots, black belt sporting a handcuff buckle, black leather jacket, black tee with a graphic of a rattlesnake wrapped around a skull.

It was his first date outfit again. How sweet.

And you didn’t need to be checking out his ass to see the bandana hanging out of his back pocket as he escorted you to his car, but you weren’t complaining about the opportunity. “You should worry about scaring the children with how angry you look.”

He held the employee door open for you, and locked it–then almost tripped on his way to unlock the car door, and hold it open for you too. “Angry?” He glanced from your outfit to his. “Good thing I’m with you, then. We’ll balance each other out, Sunshine.”

“An unlikely pair,” you agreed in good faith. Once he shut your door, and was in the process of walking around to his side, you gawked at the nickname. “Sunshine?”

You snapped your mouth shut as he fell into the driver’s seat, and started the car.

“So,” you drew out to break the silence after he didn’t have the courtesy of turning on the radio to ease the tension of being stuck in a small enclosure together, “red, huh?” The entire interior–every last detail–was custom made in the same bright crimson, from the air vents to the tiniest knobs.

The engine revved with his heavy stamp on the gas. Your stomach flipped. His grin went wicked.

“There weren’t many made in this color,” he said, thrilled to see your fingernails dig into your palms as he peeled out onto the street, and the garage became a miniature in his rearview mirror at a frightening speed, considering you were coming up on an intersection. “I’m lucky I found her used, and she didn’t need much work.”

Petrified as you might be by his reckless driving, you still had it within you to make a sound of disgust. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys that refers to their car as a woman.”

“What?” he scoffed. He relaxed one of his hands on his thigh as he lounged back with his head cocked, brazen with his newfound vanity. An arrogant curve to his lips as he interpreted your lingering gaze on his fingers splayed across his leg as being impressed by him, his car, his attitude. The whole package. “You don’t gender your bike?”

Without giving it much consideration, you supposed, “I think my bike is a he.”

“Ha! You ride a man to work every day,” he mumbled after the abrupt laugh.

His smile vanished.

The fact he didn’t mean to say that out loud became very apparent.

The blood drained from his face as quickly as it returned. Splotches of blushy red worked its way up his throat, turning his ears the same color as his beloved car’s interior. Same shade as the traffic light up ahead. Same bawdy hue typically associated with the lustful act his brain suggested before his mouth caught up.

Eddie sat at attention. Swallowed against his pulse as he stepped on the clutch and downshifted gears. The leather strapped steering wheel creaked under his dual vice grip. His chest deflated with a heavy breath, and blinking rapidly at the road, his pounding heart trembled his voice, “Please forget I said that.”

Curled into a ball facing the window–stomach clenched painfully tight from uncontrollable laughter–you muffled yourself with your flannel’s collar, “Never!”

~~~

The rest of the car ride was boring in comparison to the start, but you made it to Adrie’s preschool with only a few more unintentional eruptions of giggles when you remembered Eddie’s horrified face, while he drove in abject misery.

He parked the car, and got out quickly.

“How precious,” you said. The squat brick building had aged pine needles clinging to its shingled roof, and Thanksgiving themed art hanging in its windows.

Opening the entrance door brought the waft of buttery biscuits and grape jelly. Eddie guided you with purpose through the makeshift cafeteria, made snug with four child-sized picnic tables in the middle, and fingerpainted art adorning the navy blue walls. His keyring dangled from his belt, drumming against his jeans as he pivoted into a hallway illuminated by the overcast day outside. Gentle music came from the empty nursery to the left, and to the right was a heavy wooden door that did little to quiet the ruckus beyond it.

He paused. The rectangle window above the door knob streaked the side of his face with warm light from within, countering the nervous energy in his eyes as he took a long moment to look at you. You waited for him to speak, but he decided against it.

“I’m excited,” you offered, just above a whisper, wanting to say anything to help ease the eerie vagueness in his expression.

A muscle in his cheek twitched like he was going to smile, but it came across rather apprehensive.

He turned the knob. You walked inside first. Both of you stood still.

The room was as inviting as it was overwhelming. Bright, decorated, and packed with people. People who were dressed in business casual, and broken off into pairs of two. People who knelt to speak on level with someone who displayed a combination of their distinct features. People who mingled with other adults after the little ones were ushered to the front of the room by the teachers. People who gushed over a topic with their heads together, beaming at a miniature version of themselves dressed in a costume. People who contributed in a joint effort to create life, and the reason they were here today.

Parents.

They were parents.

This was an event for parents.

This was a play for parents to attend to see their child perform, and partake in themed crafts with the implication of going home afterwards to spend the Holidays together.

Eddie watched you realize this.

An older woman gravitated towards you two.

This was very, intensely, happening right now, and you had to navigate the whiplash to the best of your improv abilities.

“Good to see you,” she greeted Eddie first, and he gave a pleasant reply, but she didn’t hear it. Her attention was on you, eyes magnified by her thick glasses, and smiling wider than before. “You brought someone,” she all but gasped, speaking to him, though she was clasping your hand. “I’m Mrs. Teresa. And you are?”

Eddie had a response prepared.

“I’m Adrie’s friend!” you blurted.

He pressed his mouth shut and gave you a sideways glance.

“And, uh,” you continued to dig your grave, “and I work with Eddie. I met Adrie one day, and we really hit it off, haha. Next thing I know I’m trick-or-treating with her, and uh.. now I’m here!” When her expression of anticipation did not wane, you followed up your ramble with your name, and she nodded appreciatively, patting the back of your hand.

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” she said. “We’re starting soon if you’d like to sit.”

She moved on to a non-platonic couple, and collected their kid to the front where a backdrop of an autumnal forest jostled due to the jittery group of children hiding behind it–most notably, the little girl at the edge who peeped her head out, and jumped up and down.

You both waved at Adrie.

Eddie’s hand landed on your mid-back, and he directed you with an appropriate amount of pressure towards the last row of chairs, choosing two in the middle.

“Smooth,” he commented.

“Shut it.” Sneaking an eyeful of the broad man next to you wearing a blazer under his boiled wool overcoat, you scooted your chair closer to Eddie’s. He must’ve had a similar train of thought, because he did the same to get away from the woman next to him, unwittingly making you two cozier than you were at the movies.

Shoulder to shoulder, he kept his hands in his pockets, and your elbow slotted into the crook his arm created when he slouched towards you.

“Are we not friends?” he asked in reference to your introduction.

You assured him, “The best of reluctant friends.”

The impish smile he shared with you dwindled with each set of hypercritical eyes getting their gawk in before one of the teachers turned off the lights.

The room was overcome with darkness. Blackout curtains suppressed daylight from coming through–for naptime, you assumed–and as children do, they squealed. The teachers soothed them with an amused shush, and turned on two lamps, pointing them like spotlights at the backdrop. Your eyes refused to adjust past the faint outline of your leg pressed flush against Eddie’s, (from hip to calf as a result from seeking support in each other,) but that was beside the point. The show began.

Mrs. Teresa sat off to the side and opened a comically large book. She read the first passage aloud with the pages facing the parents, and out came the kids dressed as pilgrims, brandishing their buckle shoes and hats. In another breath, the ones wearing brown shirts and feathers arrived, and you grimaced at the watered down kid-friendly rewrite of history being acted out, interspersed with songs about sharing.

At least Adrie was dancing around as a carrot with other vegetable-clad children, spelling out what part of the cornucopia they were.

Truly, it could’ve been worse.

But it was during a chorus about friendship sung at the top of their lungs, you unbit your tongue, and leaned into Eddie. “So when are they gonna enslave the Natives and steal their land?”

“Pft!”

Several pairs of shoulders in front of you turned to glare at what they assumed was Eddie snickering at their children’s bad singing before sitting forward, surely perturbed.

He knocked the side of his fist on the top of your thigh, and went to scold you.

But the room was dark.

So dark.

And he misjudged how close you sat.

The cold tip of his nose made contact with the cusp of your cheekbone. His stuttered breath caught your jaw. Your arm slipped further into the curve of his body.

He could’ve realized his mistake. He could’ve stopped there. He could’ve apologized for overstepping the coworker code of conduct. He could’ve reminded himself you’d be gone by the end of the summer. He could’ve dialed it back. He could’ve kept it casual. He could’ve backed off, and dropped the silly reprimand altogether. He could’ve done so many things. But he didn’t. He accepted the risk, and committed to it.

He dipped his head until his plump lips discovered the shell of your ear. Every word vibrated on your skin, rippling goosebumps in the wake of his groaned warning, “You’re gonna get me in trouble.” Trembly, raspy from keeping his voice low. Hardly hitting the hard consonants with his tongue before he was withdrawing.

The humidity from his exhale remained. It cooled on your skin. In the weak lamplight, you shifted your wide eyes to his, and the knowledge of what transpired reflected in his keen gaze gauging the consequences of his actions.

Stuck in a daze of buzzing endorphins, you had no idea how to interpret what the hell just happened.

Careful, he didn’t dare express an emotion that would give his true self away.

Together, you both redirected the focus to his daughter.

It took another few seconds for either of you to discern the back of his hand resting on your thigh. He took it away, and crossed his legs, establishing some much needed space between you.

~~~

The play ended, and the lights were flipped on. Everyone winced. There was an announcement from one of the teachers about a snack and crafts for the parents who were staying; and without an auto shop to attend to, you and Eddie were able to dote over Adrie instead of being forced back into the intimacy of his car.

He stood up and said he’d be right back. Lucky for Adrie, she bolted for you first, and you wasted no time in scooping her up into a crushing hug, grateful for the distraction.

Overflowing with pride, you channel all your love into lauding Adrie in mushy compliments, rubbing your cheek against hers. “Oh my gosh, you did so good! You were the best carrot I’ve ever seen. I’m downright impressed by your performance, remembering all those lines.” Pulling away, you waggled your eyebrows. “You wanna grow up to be an actor? Have people flock to see you on stage?” Her face brightened in renewed excitement.

“On a stage like Da–?”

Eddie intervened out of nowhere, “You two ladies gonna join me?” You startled an imperceivable amount from his sudden appearance–truly, you didn’t even jump–but it was enough to earn his toothy grin. “I reserved two seats at the Queen’s table for the princess and her esteemed guest for the evening.” He bowed with a swept out arm, showing you the way through the sea of adults.

Queen’s table was certainly a way to sell it.

It was a tiny, tiny thing. There were several of them at the back of the room, seating four children at most–or two adults and a four-year-old–and Adrie chose a blue one with a cartoon turkey decoration in the middle.

Half an ass cheek fit in the chair, the tabletop was at your shins, and your knees were tucked to your chest. You met Eddie’s gaze above Adrie’s head, and rubbed her back while he stroked her hair, running his fingers through the tangles.

You assumed, for the most part, he wanted to ignore what happened earlier as if it never happened, and you followed his lead.

Adrie broke you from your musing. There was commotion surrounding the teachers, and she gasped, flapping her hands when she saw what they were carrying.

A palm-sized pumpkin pie was set before her, along with three spoons.

“I made this fresh this morning,” she informed you as if she were running a bakery. And as head baker, she was in charge of portion sizes. She took one spoon and scooped out a modest amount of pumpkin filling, and not a crumb of graham crust more. That one was for Eddie.

For you? She split the rest of the pie, and gave you your half balanced on your spoon, and dug into her half without giving her dad a second glance.

“Hey,” he whined. “Not fair. I’m the one who raised you. Why does she get more?”

Speaking down to him like it was the most obvious thing ever, she rolled her eyes, and said, “Because girls are better, Daddy.”

You didn’t hide your snort.

“Yeah, Eddie.” You taunted him by waving the spoon before sticking the pie chunk in your mouth. “G–irls sh’are better.”

Chewing on his measly portion, he regarded his princess and her esteemed guest with a similar amount of weakness, and the tension at the corners of his eyes softened. He submitted. “Yeah. Girls are better.”

~~~

After the snack was a craft. In this case, hand turkeys. Paper, crayons, markers, and colored pencils were passed out amongst the tables, and a teacher gave instructions to the kiddos.

You grabbed the cartoon turkey decoration in the middle of the table for reference, and began your masterpiece. Adrie kept it classic, tracing her hand. Eddie did.. whatever he was doing, hunched over to hide his paper from you two for the past ten minutes.

“I made a princess turkey,” Adrie announced. Indeed, her turkey was decked out with a flowy dress and pink pointy hennin. In the background was a cobblestone castle.

You showed her your realistic turkey, hoping to impress her, but she pulled a face.

“Ew, he’s ugly.”

Frowning at your drawing, you compared him to the one on the table centerpiece, and felt bad for all the less-than-beautiful turkeys around the world. “That’s just the way he looks..”

Eddie, happy as a clam, slammed his pencil down and flaunted his drawing. “I turned mine into a dragon.”

Converging with Adrie, she whispered in your ear, and as a unit, you judged his hand turkey, weighing the artistic ability versus the outlandish deviation from the original assignment.

After a heated debate, you cleared your throat for his attention.

You both applauded his efforts with a humbling clap.

~~~

It wasn’t long before Adrie grew bored with coloring, and left to play with her friends. They gathered around a chest by the teacher’s desk, and brought out non-Thankgivingsy costumes. She played dress up in a fairy-unicorn combo, and another girl hopped around in a mermaid outfit, complete with a shimmery tail.

Eddie switched seats, flopping into the middle chair with a grunt. He moved Adrie’s drawing aside and set up shop. Made himself right at home. Really just invaded your area like he owned the place.

“Uhh–” You gaped. “Can you kindly remove your knee from my vicinity? You’re blocking both my drawing and the colored pencils.”

He imposed himself more. Nudging his feet wider for the sole reason of bothering you until you were forced to curl in on yourself in an uncomfortable hunch. Actively ignoring your plea by sketching the finishing touches on his dragon.

Resigning your sneer at the back of his head, you agreed, “All right.” If he wanted to play that game, you would too. You snatched the orange pencil you needed for your turkey’s feathers, and shoved the markers to the far side of the table, outside his reach.

Giving him no time to prepare a counterattack, you looped your arm around his leg to his shin, and hugged his thigh to your chest with your flexed bicep, locking his knee in a sleeper hold any wrestler would be proud of, preventing him from getting up.

Yes, things scattered as you did this. Yes, people rubbernecked. No, you didn’t care, and Eddie didn’t, either.

Well, he cared a little, even if the grumpy persona he donned cracked with each failed frown.

His mouth curled into a grin despite his resistance. “I can’t have the red marker?” The syllables were caught amongst his hissy laugh at your ridiculousness–tip of his tongue to his teeth, voice rich with affection, and eyes squinted from pure adoration–a short question articulated through his mirth, with his chest braced against your arm after accepting the position of your entwined bodies, and another beg for you to understand on his lips. “How am I supposed to outline the fire he’s breathing, huh?”

He furrowed his brows to appear angry, but it was futile. His smile was here to stay. And what a treat it was to get lost in the moment.

At any point he could’ve easily broken from your hold. Hell, you hardly had his leg secured in your embrace after he shook his hair out of his face, and your muscles were rendered to warm jelly. But still, he played along.

You hunkered down and returned to your drawing with his jeans rubbing on the underside of your chin. “I once heard of these magic words you could use to get what you want.. if you ask nicely.” He hummed a disgruntled noise to show his displeasure. Poor him, being beaten at this own game, and served with a dose of his own medicine.

Incredulous, he huffed, “Magic words?” But there was something suspicious about his tone..

Something just not quite right, indeed..

Without looking, you snatched his hand seconds before his mischievous fingers wiggled their way to your ribs. You interlaced an assortment of index, middle, and thumbs in a twist of power, and dragged your gaze away from your artwork to mock him. “So predictable, Eddie.”

“Am I?”

An aware glimmer from how unpredictable he was half an hour ago presented itself as a gorgeous flash of slyness across his eyes, crinkling his crow’s feet at the corners–

The metal feet of Eddie’s abandoned chair scraped along the floor.

You disengaged from each other, cheeks burning with fresh shame.

Mrs. Teresa had a yellow paper folder tucked under her arm. This was not favorable for Adrie on account of her sharp heel-turn when she saw her teacher sit at the table with her preschool assessment opened for her dad to pour over.

You couldn’t read anything from your angle, but it appeared to be a collection of Adrie’s assignments and a progress report with many notes written in the margins.

Pushing her glasses up her nose, Mrs. Teresa licked her fingertips, and flipped through the pages, updating him since the last time they did this.

The conversation was about the places Adrie excelled, and where she could improve. In regards to education, she was surpassing where she should be, and she was a quick learner. Kindergarten would be no trouble for her. It was sharing, and social interactions she was struggling with, despite her ability to make friends.

Mrs. Teresa guided Eddie towards a more serious discussion about these concerns by asking him if he told her ‘no’ frequently, and how she reacted when he did. You’d never seen him so nervous. Fidgeting, bouncing, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. Stuttering through a weak admission that he has trouble disappointing her.

He was uncomfortable, and you did your due diligence to tune them out. But it was no use.

Surveying the room, your mind was consumed by Eddie once more. For a different reason, and inciting a different emotion.

Parents at the other tables whispered observations about his mannerisms into their partner’s ear. About his disheveledness. His weirdness. His clothes. His nonconformity. His last name. The whole package.

He was the father to the sweet little girl they invited to birthday parties, but never stayed after dropping her off with a gift? This was the man who never spoke. Never lingered long enough to put the rumors at rest. Never denied them either, so, logically, the gossip about him must be true.

“As you know, Adrie will throw tantrums from time to time when you drop her off,” Mrs. Teresa eased him into the topic. “When she cries, she asks for you, and it’s difficult to calm her down. This is abnormal for how long she’s been enrolled here. Have you been working on those techniques I taught you to help steer her towards more independence?” Her inquiry was kind, and sympathetic. It was valid, but his first instinct was to defend himself.

“I-I, well.” He took a shaky breath, and leaned towards her with his elbow on his thigh to cup his hand around his mouth, and sliding it to wring the back of his neck. “She’s–It’s just, she’s all I have, a-a-and–”

Mrs. Teresa rubbed his shoulder.

Though you were missing context for what Adrie’s teacher was trying to correct him from doing, you wanted to show your support. Lessen his stress. Afterall, the integrity of dialed back crumbled when his lips grazed your ear, and following his lead culminated in you being invited into his daughter’s world, so what’s the worst that could happen if you took a risk and comforted him? ..Besides discovering if David’s Auto Repair had an HR department.

Eddie’s pitch fluctuated as he bounced his leg harder, “When I’m home, I just want to make her happy–and, she’s, she’s–” You placed your hand on his knee, and stroked your thumb over the skin peeking out from the rips in his jeans. His inhale hitched at the sensation.

Without otherwise addressing what you did, he covered your hand with his own, crooked his cold fingertips into the spaces between yours, and parsed his thoughts. Slowed his mind. Ceased his nervous habit of bouncing his leg. Appreciated the gesture, even as the tacky silver spider ring on his pinky taunted you.

“I’ve been better about telling her ‘no’ lately,” he said more clearly. “The tantrums are happening less, and they don’t last as long when she sees I’m not budging. But the other stuff.. I don’t know.”

“Do you still carry her?” she asked, and he avoided eye contact.

“Yeah.”

“She’s almost five. She’s not a baby anymore, dear. It’s best to wean her now before it becomes a bigger problem.”

“I know.”

Mrs. Teresa gave him a motherly pat on his back, and smiled at you–his coworker–and rearranged Adrie’s folder to the bottom of the stack she had, and moved on to another table.

For a while, Eddie twisted the hair at his nape around his finger. Eyes fixated on the crayon box. You waited for him to come around, and when he did, he smiled and squeezed your hand before sliding his clammy palms to his thigh, allowing you to let go of his knee.

His chest rumbled with a soft laugh. “Sorry, was I shaking the table?”

Yes? No? Maybe? You weren’t paying attention to notice. “Yeah, like an earthquake,” you joked.

“My bad,” he said with not a hint of remorse displayed in his delighted expression.

On cue, serving as the perfect interruption to the prolonged stare you gave each other, another autumnal craft was being distributed amongst the parents remaining, and Adrie set her chin on top of where your and her dad’s shoulders touched.

Mrs. Teresa’s advice regarding his codependency went ignored for another day.

Eddie shut his eyes and pressed his temple to Adrie’s, humming contently to himself, cherishing the affection he ached for.

Adrie, on the other hand, gasped when she spied what was on the table, and rang his ears, “Glitter!”

~~~

Thank God Eddie was a safer driver with Adrie in the car; your stomach couldn’t handle another queasy acceleration through a yellow light while you made a concentrated effort to get flakes of gold glitter out of your eyebrows, having no recollection of how they got there.

In her car seat behind you, Adrie regaled you with the plot points of the latest episode of My Little Pony Tales, chirping away happily about the interpersonal relationships between the cartoon horses until Eddie pulled into the alleyway behind the auto shop, and you turned around to say your goodbyes, thanking her for inviting you.

You opened the car door and heard Eddie do the same. You were about to ask him why he was getting out too, when he went up to the employee door and unlocked it for you.

Right, you left your keys in your backpack.

Rationally you knew he wasn’t a mind reader, but you were still sheepish when getting your bike, wheeling it out to stand across from him in what was a dreadful amount of silence.

“So, uh,” he faltered in the same rush of feelings crashing like a wave over the both of you. “Thank you for coming today. I know Adrie appreciated having you there.” He went shy, scratching the back of his head before putting his hands in his pockets. “Sorry about the mess.”

You shrugged at the mention of glue on your sleeve. “It’s whatever. I’m just glad I got to watch her perform.” Dumbass move, bringing up the play when what happened during it influenced every bit of this awkward interaction. You hurried to move past it, “Plus, the pumpkin pie was nice.” And what happened afterwards when we held hands–twice–was nicer.

Jesus Christ.

Reeling in the desire to bolt, you gambled on one last question before going home to scream into your pillow. “Uhm–Can I ask you something?”

“I guess,” he answered with a wary tone.

“Why do people look at you weird?” You motioned at his clothes. “Besides the obvious.”

The deep creases between his brows from years of scrunching his face in a sour expression became more prominent. “There’s a lot of rumors out there about me.. Some are true, some aren’t.”

“Do you want to tell me which ones are true?”

Inside the car, Adrie swayed in her seat, belting a tune neither of you could hear.

“I will some other time, okay?” He flicked his gaze to you, saw the understated kindness of your soft smile, and diverted his attention to the rock he was grinding under his shoe; bashful despite the burden of his reputation affecting the instant sag in his posture. “I will,” he promised again, giving you a curt nod.

You walked your bike up beside him, and bumped his elbow. “Hey, don’t look so glum,” you insisted. “Whatever it is, I’ll still go with you to parent-teacher conferences as Adrie’s best friend so you don’t look so painfully single.”

You threw your head back in a witchy cackle as you hopped on your bike and rode away.

And it was when you were in the familiar territory of woods flocking either side of the dirt road leading to Robin’s house that you gave into the urge, and released an embarrassed, guttural, annoyed groan of one word, scaring the blackbirds in the nearby trees, “Why?”

Single, single, single. Good God, could you be more obvious?

Dialed back was a lost cause from the start.

“Well, whatever happens, happens, I guess.” And you finished it with, “Idiot.”

————

Eddie had been sitting in his car for all of two seconds when he patted the side of his seat for the back recliner, and cranked it until he was almost laid flat.

Driving his hands from his nape and upward, he gathered his hair between his fingers and covered his face, mashing the curly ends over his eyes screwed shut from red-hot shame.

He inhaled deeply, and reprimanded his dumbassery in the loudest groan. “That was so–incredibly–not casual.”

“What’s the matter, Daddy?” Adrie asked, sounding like a therapist as she pinched her sticky fingers together to shift the gold glitter from one to the other.

Composing himself, he finished dragging his palms down his cheeks, and combed away the strands stuck on his eyelashes. He blinked. “It’s nothing.” Nothing at all. He definitely wasn’t thinking of how fucked he was, believing he could handle today without taking things too far.

But it wasn’t how he almost kissed your cheek that bothered him the most, nor the multiple scenarios he supplied in effort to hold your hand, or touch you in general.

No. It was worse.

Staring unfocused at the ceiling, his lips parted with a realization.

His whisper was for himself, and his heart only. “I didn’t even care that people were staring at me today..” The mercy of your presence brought a line of water to his eyes. Not enough to flow over, but enough for him to notice his loneliness.

“Can you invite Miss Mouse to Thanksgiving?”

“No, she has her own Thanksgiving to attend,” he told her, and held his hand out, making a grabby motion at her. She understood and put her shoe in his palm so he could squeeze her ankle. Any affection. Any at all. Giving or receiving.

Knowing the answer, he asked, “You really like her, huh?”

“She’s my favorite.”

“Yeah, she’s my favorite too,” he said, in whatever capacity she meant, he meant it as well. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t, but he did.

Massaging his thumb and forefinger into circles on his forehead, he meditated on the right thing to do. Meaning, he thought about the hundreds of reasons he should put an end to this, to discourage Adrie’s relationship with you, and to resist the temptation of forming his own; and instead he latched onto the idea of him not appearing single for a little longer than his logical brain was comfortable with.

Coworker, risk, flighty personality, yada, yada..

He snorted. “Yeah, I should probably stop this.”

Adrie rolled her leg in his grasp to get him to let go. “Can we stop at McDonald’s first?”

“Wha–?” After a moment of confusion, he sighed. “Give me a break, kid.”

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