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trashmouth-richie · 1 year

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Eddie x Fem!reader

master list

summary: feelings burst. Fluffy. Fluffy fluffy. Eddie helps reader when she finds herself in a bind.

warnings: no minors gtfo- eventual smut in the series.

W.C: 11.8k 🫣

A/N: per usual thank you the my beta readers @sweetsweetjellybean

Clunk

Clunk clunk humm

You were already late for work this morning and now this? Must be a fucking Monday. This must be that bitch karma’s payback for you talking shit about Eddie’s van the other night when he backed it up to the garage to unload some shit he salvaged from the junkyard.

“You would think that since you’re a mechanic, you could tune up that piece of shit so it isn’t so fucking loud.”

Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, unloading another arm load of car parts from the back of the van to the middle of the garage, “don’t dog on the shaggin’ wagon, you know how much ass I get in this thing?”

The unspoken agreement you had with Eddie the other night after spilling your guts about your past, gave you more patience towards him than ever before. Instead of finding him repulsive, you two were almost friends.

“No I don’t and also I don’t care.” you say taking a bite of a ham sandwich.

“More than a public toilet seat,” Eddie boasts, “Ladies love it, feel like I’m Shaggy or something.”

More like his other four-legged snack-loving friend.

“I really hope you use a rubber, don’t wanna extend the Munson blood line anymore than you have to,” you bite back.

“Oh sweetheart, I always wrap it with the groupies, especially watching Jas bounce from Gareth, to Big D to Walt all in one night.”

“Well look at you, Mr. Perfect bill of health.”

Eddie smiles widely a stupid grin plastered on his face, “I’m so good at the doctors they even give me a sticker. ”

Now here you are, stranded at the gas station east of town, past Merrill’s pumpkin patch. Losing all faith in your sanity, you slam your hand into the steering wheel one more time. Your chunky boots clunk across the pavement as you pull the door towards you, a dingy brass bell dings overhead, alerting the gas station attendant that someone has entered the store.

“Back again?” the balding creep with the greasy combover presses. His coke bottle thick glasses full of breakfast pizza slime from his fingers from pushing them up on in place after sliding down the oils on his nose. A brown paper bag with orange spray paint sitting next to it sat on the counter, and a tinge of orange around his mouth.

With no time for small talk or shooting the shit with the local bachelors of Hawkins, you simply need to borrow the phone and call… fuck. You didn’t want to have to call Boom’s, but the other shops didn’t open yet, and you didn’t know any of them. The decision was made.

“I need to use the phone,” you say laying your hands on the counter.

“No can do, this is a business line,” he spits, bits of his barely chewed breakfast falling from his over stuffed mouth.

Irritated beyond belief you say through gritted teeth, “What? My car broke down, I need to have it towed.”

Showing no sympathy, the combover greaseball says, “That sucks, don’t it,” a throaty chuckle erupts from him. Clearly the man got off from making next to little effort in helping someone.

“Listen,” you say peering over the counter to read the slobs name tag, “Ralph— you’re going to give me the goddamn phone so I can get my car towed, or I’m going to tell your boss about your little huffing habit. Got it?”

His cheeks crimson at your threat, “…what’s the number?”

After dialing it wrong three times, Ralph’s oversized fingers and his altered mind getting hung up on where the 4 was on the dusty rotary phone, you hastily reach across the counter and grab it and the Hawkins phone book. Flipping through the worn yellow pages, finding the number yourself and slotting your fingers in the appropriate places to get the number correct, it finally starts ringing.

Angrily tapping your foot, the serenade of dial tone ringing loud in your ear.

“Boom’s” a bored voice says, after ehat seems like hours of waiting.

“Hey, — is Eddie there?”

A scoff is heard from the other end of the phone, followed by an annoyed voice, “Why who wants to know?”

You don’t have time for childish games with whoever this fucking prick is. “Jesus Christ what is it with assholes today? Is he there or no?”

“I don’t know, you stupid bitch— why don’t you tell me if Eddie is here or—”

A scuffle is heard as the phone falls to the ground.

“What the fuck did I tell you? Huh? I’ll drop your ass just name the time and place mother fuck— hello?”

“Eddie?” You ask exhaustedly.

“Tooty? Oh shit, you miss me so much you’re making calls to my work?”

“E—” you begin, frustration rising.

“Or did you call to gossip? Ooooh, tell me all about the salon drama, is it that blonde again, damn just slap her already I know you want to.”

“Ed—!”

“Shit if you’re worried about going to jail I’ll come bail y—”

“Edward Joseph Munson!”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, “Did you just use my full name? I only hear that when I’m in trouble with Wayne.”

“Will you listen to me?! I need help. I’m at the gas station east of town and my car won’t start.”

“What? What happened?” Eddie asks, his joking tone immediately fading to concern.

“I have no idea, but I’m already late for work—can you come pick me up?”

“Usually this is where a please would be.”

“Eddie!”

“Ooh even begging?”

“Goddamnit,” you say under your breath, “Eddie will you please, come get me?”

“That a girl, see that wasn’t so hard. So where are you?”

Eddie rolls up in an old orange and white tow truck, head banging with a cigarette hanging limply from his bottom lip. “So what happened?”

“Well I drove here, got gas, and then it just wouldn’t start.”

“Damn, I wonder if your starter is out.”

“Great, so what the hell does that mean?”

“Well, I’m not sure if it is that or not, but if it’s not that— it means that your car is probably going to need more work than it’s worth, but I won’t know until I get it in the shop.”

“Son of a bitch.” you curse, covering your face with your hands and tipping your head back up to the sky. Could this fucking day get any worse?

After buying the house last year, your savings were completely wiped out, the last few months you had been pinching pennies trying to build it back up

“I’ll tow it, but I don’t think Boom has any loaners right now,” Eddie explains, “but since I’m such a kind, handsome, good roommate….”

You roll your eyes.

“I’ll bring you to work.”

Shock evident on your face, “You sure?”

“I mean its either that or the city bus, and last I checked—Hawkins doesn’t have one.”

Eddie agrees to give you a ride until your car is fixed on one condition, the band gets to use the garage for practices again. Too tired to fight with him, you give in.

He backs the truck up, moving the steering wheel with one hand the other hanging out of the window, his tongue poked out through his lips. He jumps down from the truck and maneuvers the wheel lift into place by your front tires.

The muscles in his forearms jut out, tattoos dancing with each movement and covered in a thin sheet of sweat as he grabs the chains from the flatbed and hooks them along your front tires, securing them into place. Your car is lifted slightly giving enough clearance to be able to tow.

“Ready?”

Bouncing along side Eddie in the tow truck you sigh heavily, “fuck, I hate Mondays.”

“Okay, Garfield,” Eddie chuckles, turning down the radio and glancing towards you, a cigarette balanced between his teeth, “could always be worse,” he digs into his front pocket for his pack of cigarettes and hands them to you.

You smile weakly and take the pack from him, plucking a tanned filter from the pack and shoving it between your lips. Before you can even say that your lighter is in the car, he’s leaning over. A scratched zippo with a fading design on it, in his hand already flicked open, the flame threatening to go out with the help of the lazy breeze through the open driver’s side window. It’s the same lighter he’s had since you first bummed a cigarette from him when you were thirteen.

Leaning towards him you put the cigarette into the flame, inhaling deep— the cowboy killers burning the pinky tissue of your lungs. He flicks the lighter closed with a metallic snap and smiles out of the corner of his mouth at you. Suddenly your lungs aren’t the only thing burning.

“Thanks,” you say, trying to avoid the skips in your stomach, “I usually prefer menthols, but I guess, these’ll do,”

“Always gotta bust my balls dontchya?” Eddie laughs, a stream of smoke billowing out from his nose. “Hey, uh— I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but that gas station is rated 5 stars on the creepiest place in town.”

You glare your eyes at him, absolutely not having it, “they have cheap gas.”

“There’s a reason for that, and every drug dealer in town sells out of there,” Eddie scolds.

“You would know,” you say in a hateful tone.

“You’re right,” Eddie protests, looking at you earnestly, “I would know— it’s not a good place to be— no matter what time of day, so stay away from it.”

You knew he was trying to look out for you, and from what Steve said, — he blamed himself for the things Chad did to you. But it was never his fault, he didn’t know just like most of Hawkins didn’t. You lived with the Wheeler’s and not even they noticed until you walked home that night. You decide to let it be. For once in your life agreeing to what he had to say.

“Alright,”

Boom’s was on the opposite side of town, the rest of the drive you listened to Eddie hum along to the radio and snuck a peek at him playing air guitar. Despite him being so foul, and a royal pain in the ass, he was actually a decent human being.

No other men in their twenties could help you through your panic attack, aside from Steve. But Eddie? He was different from Steve in ways that you couldn’t grasp. You didn’t find yourself staring at Steve. Even if you had been swimming with him on more occasions than you can count. Sure he was good looking, but you never once understood why the girls at the pool practically flocked to him. Eddie hardly ever wore a shirt around you and your stomach ached each time you saw his broad shoulders and tattoos. Steve was like a brother to you, he scolded you and gave you advice, all with his hands permanently attached to his hips. A mother hen among his friends. Eddie teased and taunted you, his irritating behavior and the way he chewed his food, the way his hair was everywhere in the bathroom, the way his hair looked when he was fresh out of the shower, a towel slung on his hips. The way his hips made a ‘V’, small trail of hair from his belly button to his waistband. Fuck.

Is it hot in here?

What the hell were you doing?

There’s no way.

No fucking way.

Nope, not today.

Not ever.

…

But what if?

Eddie couldn’t understand what was going on with you in the passenger seat. Instead of bitching at him like normal, you were staring out the window. Looking as if you were fighting a storm in your cute little head. Maybe you were reliving the past. Silently suffering through something that he should have been there to stop. But judging from your reflection against the dirty window, you didn’t seem to be crying.

After that night, Eddie was putting in more effort to make sure you felt safe. He gave you distance. Avoided the bathroom in the morning, and stopped making dick jokes altogether. He still joked around, still acted like an idiot— but his perverted meter was dipped into the green zone, the safety net.

He meant what he said, you didn’t have to be afraid with him around. And he would do whatever he could to prove that to you. So when you called Boom’s earlier and asked for help— he dropped everything to make the trek across town to pick you up. Especially when you told him the gas station you were at. Known for being the skeeziest one in town, he worried about you being there alone.

Seeing the tow truck pull into the parking lot, Sean and Aaron had their noses pressed against the glass, the cheap flimsy blinds hung crooked over their heads.

“Damn,” Aaron exclaims, “you were right, that is her.”

“Told you, Munson hasn’t shut up about her since he moved in. Wonder if Chad knows where she’s been hiding.”

Eddie parks the tow truck and you both climb out. He gives you the keys to his van and tells you he’d be right back. Walking into the shop with a whistle on his tongue, he goes into Boom’s office. He’s sitting at a worn down wooden desk. Papers, and receipts clutter space where a framed family picture might be. A steaming styrofoam cup of coffee in Boom’s left hand suggested he stopped at the donut mart, and a dozen of glazed holes from heaven would be sitting in the break room, their sweetness tantalizing the crew all day.

Eddie raps his knuckles against the yellowed paint by the door frame.

‘Yep,” Boom chirps without looking up, reading the daily arrest records in the Hawkins Post.

“Hey, I brought Tooty’s Escort back, I’m going to bring her to work quick and when I get back I’ll move it.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Boom gripes, not looking up from the paper, sipping the coffee slowly.

“Dunno, I’ll take a look at it— “ Eddie shifts his weight from one foot to another, “I was wondering if I could maybe work on it after hours, or on the weekends.”

Boom considers what Eddie is saying, “off the clock?”

“Yeah, or maybe I could take some of my tools home? Work on it there?”

Boom thinks for a while, taking a sip of his coffee. His pudgy finger hovering near the name “William Hargrove” mulling over if he knew him. He finally looks up, “Whatever you wanna do, Eddie, you’ve got keys—I trust you.” Boom offers, “just don’t let those other two jackasses know what you’re doing and who for— that’s all they’ve been yappin’ about since you left this morning.

Eddie rolls his eyes, “I’m just helping out a friend, don’t know why they give a fuck.”

“Personally, I don’t give a shit— but you’re my best mechanic, and those other two are on their last strike with me. One more time I read their name in this paper and they’re both out of here, and when that time comes— I’m sure they’ll be lookin’ for someone to blame.”

The familiar scent of stale weed and a spilled rotting beer in the back of the van flood your nose. Even though his van was a dirty pile of shit and it stunk like hell, you’re thankful for Eddie taking time out of his day to help you.

He could have easily told you to fuck off, hung up on you the minute you called. But he didn’t. He kept good on his word even when he didn’t have to. He doesn’t owe you anything and yet here he was, proving to you again, that he could be someone to rely on. You peer at him through your lashes, falling deep into a spell of fondness. He was always clean shaven, showing off his babyish features. If you didn’t know his age you wouldn’t guess he was over twenty two, his youthful pale skin a glow like the moon across a lake at midnight. The deep browns of his eyes squint in the bright sun, his dark eyelashes almost kissing his cheeks. His thick ringed fingers tapping on the steering wheel as ‘Holy Diver’ plays gently in the background. The bob of his Adam's apple jutting out as he swallows and takes a drag from a cigarette.

You barely recognize your own voice when you say barely above a whisper, “thank you, by the way— not just for today but for the other night,” your fingers go back to the same nervous habit, twiddling the end of your cream lettuce hem shirt.

“Of course,” he says, a look of shock on his face, “I know I like to give you shit, but I wouldn’t leave you stranded somewhere.” He looks over at you lazily and smiles. The kind of smile associated with cool guys on tv, the kind of smile that’s crooked and truly only on one side of the face. And for the first time, you smile too, letting the warmth radiate through your body, venturing into places that you have to readjust your crossed legs to avoid entirely.

Pulling into the backlot of the salon, where you and Nancy smoke cigarettes and read trash magazines, you jump out thanking him again, the creak of the door slamming back into the frame as you wave goodbye.

“What time?” Eddie yelled after you, silently admiring the way the sun catches your face, highlighting your features, the slight breeze catching your hair, he can’t help the smile that dances on his lips. “What time are you off work?”

Walking back to him, he’s leaning his head back on the head rest, an arm hanging out of the window, a stupid grin on his face.

“My last client is at five and it’s just a cut, so probably six o’clock, why?” A creep of jittery shock threatens your nerves, fluttering your stomach and sending waves of fluster through your body.

“Thought I’d pick you up, unless you wanna walk home?” He smirks, tracing the small paint chip near where his fingers set on the door.

Biting your lip and moving back on your heels you make your way back to the door, “Okay.”

“Alright, I’ll be back at six.”

“Six” you repeat, turning on your heel and walking into the salon.

Eddie has thought about you all day, the cards of life and the hand you were dealt were shitty. But he was happy he was around to help in any little way he could. He thought maybe he was crazy, seeing shit when you smiled at him, a sort of shyness in the way you flirted by dipping your head into your shoulder almost giddy at him picking you up.

But that couldn’t be.

The rest of your day was monotonous. Shampoo sets, perms, cuts, rinse and repeat. The long haired metalhead hardly left your mind. When it’s just you and Josie left in the salon after your last appointment, it’s 5:30. She sits down, exhaling loudly. Her long dark braids trailing to her waist, cascade down the length of the chair as she leans back.

“Broke down again? Girl, you need a car that actually works.” Her hot pink fingernails dip into a bag of skittles, popping them into her mouth.

“I know,” you sigh, throwing yourself into your salon chair, “hopefully in the next few months I’ll have enough saved to get myself a new one.”

“So how did you get here? If we had someone else in the salon today I would have came and picked you up,” her mouth puckered into a sucking expression as she pops another skittle into her mouth.

“My roommate… he works at Boom’s so he towed it there and then brought me to work,” you express nonchalantly.

“Ooh the rich one who you used to work with?”

“Steve?” You say with a laugh, “No, Eddie Munson.”

“Eddie Munson? Why does that name sound so familiar? Ohh the infamous Hawkins bad boy, my cousins used to run around with him, some club or somethin’ ”

“Yeah, that's him, he’s turned himself around quite a bit since high school though.” The annoying need to defend him is obvious in your tone.

Josie’s eyes go wide, “Wait—“ she says, pointing a pink nail at you, “he had a girlfriend. He’s living with you? Shit, you’re a brave one.”

Heat creeps to your cheeks, the thought of Eddie having a secret girlfriend that you didn’t know about was almost torture on your soul, “no, no girlfriend… that I’m aware of at least.”

Speak of the devil and he will be present.

Opening the door with the sun waning behind him, peeking an orangy-yellow glow through his unruly curls, stood Eddie. His coveralls are full of motor oil and brake fluid. Black grease is smeared across his face, and his hands. Bandana still snug around his head.

“Oh shit,” Eddie blurts, eyes scanning around the room, bouncing from your face to Josie’s. Clearly uncomfortable in such a clean establishment. “Sorry, I’m uhh, a little early.”

Josie’s eyebrows are turned up in shock, her mouth slightly agape. “Damn, you’re the roommate!?”

Before she can embarrass you any further you blurt, “Josie, this is Eddie,” holding out a hand and pointing, introducing him to her, “Eddie this is my boss and the owner of the salon, Josie.”

Eddie waves with his fingers, “so you’re the one lookin’ after our girl here, the mechanic?” Josie asks.

“Uhh, yeah that’s me.” he puts a hand on the back of his neck and rubs it slow

Josie stands and walks towards you, a clicking of her heels and munching on her candy as she grabs your hand and drags you upwards, dragging you to the back of the salon.

Eddie looks around the room. The salon is decorated in light washes of pink and green and flowers decorate almost every surface, White painted baskets hang from the ceiling holding fake flowers. The salon chairs are black as are the mats under them. Green sinks in the back and cabinets overhead. Two mirrors on each wall and station with a name and family pictures decorate them. Eddie can’t help but notice that where you were sitting, there are only three pictures. A photo of you and Nancy looking like it was taken last summer, you’re holding up the keys to the blue ranch style house he now calls home. Another picture is of you Robin and Steve, in green Family Video Vests in front of the counter. You and Robin are both pulling one of Steve’s ears and he’s making a monkey face. The last picture is of you and Eyeball as kids, a portrait more than likely taken at a JC Penney’s.

“Don’t forget to lock up, okay? Enjoy your day off tomorrow. Eddie, be good to her!” Josie calls from the back, the heavy metal door slamming as she leaves for the night, a smile painted on her lips, shaking her head.

You walk back towards Eddie, he’s sitting in your chair, poking around at all of the different brushes and curling irons that were on your station. Your tired eyes scan him and find him in the mirror. “What is all this shit?”

“My tools to style, cut and color people’s hair.”

You’re standing behind him. You hesitantly grab one of his curls in between your fingers, noting how silky and smooth his hair is despite the split ends. “You could probably use a trim, Eddie. When was the last time you had your hair cut?”

“You think these curls have been in a salon? Please! I cut it myself thank you,”

“I can tell,” you mutter under your breath, going full hog and untying his sweaty bandana and tossing it onto the counter. “Come on, let’s go wash your hair, and then I’m gonna give you a trim.”

“You’re not cutting my hair.” Eddie protests, arms crossed and resisting.

“Your ends are dead, if you don’t take care of it now, it’ll keep going further up and then you’ll have to shave your head.”

Eddie practically trips standing up quickly. “Those are fighting words.”

“Do you really think I’d do that?” You ask in a bored tone.

“Actually no, but— okay fine! Only because you went to some fancy school.”

Eddie stomps over to the sink and sits down with a plop in the smooth cushioned black chair. You follow behind him and place your apron back around your neck, tightening it around your back. You lean his chair back telling him to lift his head from the headrest as you gather his curls into the basin.

Turning on the water and testing the temperature on your wrist, like a mother testing a bottle making sure it isn’t too hot for a baby, you gently put the spray into the ends of Eddie’s hair, gently working the spray up the length of his head to his scalp.

“Is the water okay?”

“Ow, holy shit!” Eddie yelps, his body flopping around like a fish out of water. You immediately turn the faucet the other way, apologizing profusely until you realize Eddie is shaking with laughter.

“Oh fuck, … you…” more laughing as he chokes out his words, “should have seen your face.” He mimics your face and bursts into a fit of giggles, you aren’t sure how long he would have kept it up if you didn’t put the hose directly into his face and throw a towel at him.

“Wipe that grin off your face or I’ll wax your eyebrows.” You spit at him, letting out a small laugh.

Mumbling from under the towel is faint but you swear you hear the word bikini.

Eddie finished cleaning his face and lays his head back into the sink again, you don’t ask this time but immediately start wetting his hair. “So,” he says, closing his eyes, so water won’t get in them, “I think I figured out what is wrong with your car.”

“Oh really? Is it going to be an easy fix?”

Not wanting to admit to you that he was working on your car for free or that he would borrow as many tools as he had to to get your car fixed, he settles for a half truth.

“Shouldn’t be too bad, gotta get some parts ordered for it.”

You let out a groan, “oh God— how much are they?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I just said, don’t worry about it, now treat me like one of your clients and tell me all the hot gossip in your life.”

Taking three giant pumps from the white shampoo bottle in the cabinet, you gently massage it into his scalp. Letting the cool smooth pearlescent liquid suds up. His hair feels like brown ropes of silk in your hands. All the years of having your hands in someone else’s hair were nothing compared to the odd feeling of lightly working the suds into Eddie’s mane. Baby soft. Luxurious in ways that contradicted the metalhead image he wore so well like a coat of armor.

You weren’t the only one admiring the way his hair felt in your hands.

Eddie is fighting hard not to melt into a puddle right there in Josie’s salon. Your hands were like magic against his scalp, your nails lightly scratching small circles against his skull. He was sure he’d fall asleep if he kept his eyes closed for any longer. It was the closest thing he could compare to what heaven would be like. Hints of tropical coconut mixed with crushed pineapple filled the air. He didn’t even realize you were talking until he opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of your mouth moving over him. Your face was concentrating on the story that you were telling, but it fell on deaf ears. He was in a trance. The scrape of your nails against his head was almost pornographic to him. The way your eyes were trained on the job at hand. The way your lips parted and moved as you told the story. The animated look in your eyes, sparkling with each slow blink, your eyelashes teasing him.

He had never noticed the features of your face before. Usually if he was this close you were staring up at him and pointing one of those glorious fingernails into his chest, yelling at him— eyebrows pulled in, your face set in a scowl. But now here you were, scratching an itch he didn’t know he had. Filling a void he wasn’t aware was missing. He could die right now and he wouldn’t even know it. It was almost orgasmic the way you were making him feel, all with just simply washing his hair.

He caught himself before you could notice it. He crossed his legs and willed himself to think of anything else. Shutting his eyes and imagining the least sexy thing he could think of. Not wanting to ruin the moment between you both and make you never want to trust him again because he had got an accidental semi while staring at you while you were wrist deep in shampoo, scrubbing his scalp like a woman in the 1800s washing clothes on a board in the creek bed.

Nobody had ever washed his hair before, that he could remember at least. He never wanted it to end.

“…but that’s crazy right? Like she’s a psycho!” The hazy fog of lust finally left Eddie’s mind, his other four senses returning. Looking at your face and seeing that you were hurt by the story you had explained, and ashamed that he wasn’t even listening, he agreed, not even knowing if he should.

“What a bitch.”

You giggled, smiling down at him. Finally realizing you had been scrubbing his hair for almost five minutes, lost in the story. A stupid distraction to force yourself away from the feeling of the silk length of his hair, the way it felt in your fingers. Not wanting to let it slip away. You gather it all in one hand and grab the hose with the other, starting at the crown of his forehead, you rinse the suds from his hair.

Bubbles circle the basin. Disappearing down the drain along with the same shared feelings of lust and yearning. Shoved down deep away from the surface, hidden beneath hardened surfaces, shielded away from the inner depths of the softening heart.

You ended up cutting half an inch from Eddie’s curls, careful to not lose yourself in his hair again, almost cutting yourself in the process. Hee watched with wide sad brown eyes with each snip. “It’s like I’m watching you cut parts of my soul away.”

You roll your eyes, “It’ll grow back, and when it does it’ll be healthier and longer.”

His bangs were the next to be trimmed, not even half an inch taken off. You place a leave-in conditioner spray to keep his curls soft and to help with the tangles. Knowing full well that Eddie didn’t even own a hair brush.

When you finish and are sweeping up his curls, Eddie stands shaking his head like a dog and running his fingers through it. “Alright, I’ll admit, it does feel better.”

Since the agreement was made for the band to practice every other day of the week in the garage, Eddie had been bringing you to work, and picking you up. On days the band wouldn’t be practicing, when he dropped you at home, he would leave immediately after, sometimes not showing up again until midnight. Coming home tired as all hell, and just like you had done weeks before, a Tupperware of food with instructions on how to warm it up taped to the lid, would be waiting for him in the fridge, each and every time.

There was no more yelling from you when the three members of Corroded Coffin showed up. There were also no more beer cans or greasy food wrappers on the ground either. Instead a trash can sat in the corner, and Eddie paid for pizza after you ordered it.

Actually the band was pretty good. You would never tell him that, that would simply go to his head. And with the ego he already had, he didn’t need another boost of confidence, leave that for the groupies. So every Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday night the band got together, playing covers from their beloved 80’s metal Gods and sometimes original songs they would write. All of them thankful that you let them practice in the garage, Big D picking you up into a bear hug and swinging you around like a rag doll.

“Jesus Christ, D, this is why the ladies run from you, you’re too aggressive, put her down!” Eddie barks. A pang of burning in his chest at the sight of you in someone else’s arms.

Big D sets you down and apologizes, “sorry Toots, and hey speaking of ladies, whatever happened with you and those hotter than hell twins?”

“Oh shit, Gareth hollered, “Fuck dude they were all over him, surprised he’s even able to walk with the way they were strung around him like cats in heat. You usually can’t wait to tell us about it, bragging until the next gig about it at least.”

“That’s cause he probably didn’t do shit, too chicken shit to handle them.”

Your stomach flips, so it wasn’t something you remembered wrong, there were two girls that Eddie had brought home that night. A strange feeling of angst washes over you, coating your mind with uncertainty mixed with inadequacy. Your cheeks warm, embarrassed by the way you are feeling. Excusing yourself to go order the pizza, you don’t see the way Eddie dismisses the guys, blowing them off with a “why don’t we keep our sexcapades to ourselves.” Or the way he throws a full beer at Big D.

After ordering the Corroded Coffin special, two large pepperonis, two large sweet and swine, and an extra large order of cheesy breadsticks— you go into the cupboard and bring out several bags of chips and five paper plates. Your favorite, sour cream and onion, and Eddie’s favorite, cool ranch Doritos. You let your mind wander. Thinking about him with those two girls. Realizing this is probably where he went at night after he dropped you off.

No need to feel like that when he was just your roommate, you shake the jealousy from your head. Just Eddie. Barely a friend. Yet he was still going out of his way to take you to work every day, till doing the chores you both shared. You let the silly feelings drop, carrying the chips and plates to the garage, shutting the door behind you. Pulling up your usual lawn chair, listen to the band play and finish painting your toenails.

When the boys end the song, they start again on the conversation they had started before playing, “dude I’m not dressing up as KISS again this year,” Jeff whines to Gareth “took me forever to get that white paint off my face. And don’t even get me started on the eyeliner.”

A spray of beer soaks the ground as Eddie spits it out, laughing hysterically about the memory of watching Jeff struggle lining his eyes like Paul Stanley. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “yeah I agree, I’m not painting your ugly mugs again this year, what else are you thinkin’?”

“We could all be different villains from scary movies. Freddy, Jason, Michael Myers’s, and Pinhead.” Big D suggests, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“Nah, no chicks wanna fuck something scary. I don’t know about you— but I tried all of last Halloween to get some tail and no girl would even look my way with all that clown paint on.” Gareth huffs twirling his drum sticks in his fingers.

“What about you Tooty?” Eddie asks earnestly, “Do you and Robin go bar hoppin’ on Halloween or do you usually stay home like an old lady knitting sweaters and handing out black licorice and molding fruit?”

Making a face at him, you paint the last coat of polish on your toe nail. “Actually, Nancy and I usually throw a party. Costume contests, kegs, beer pong… we kinda go all out.”

Eddie picks his jaw up from the floor, scoffing, “no way— Nancy Wheeler and you, throwing a rager on Halloween? I don’t buy it.”

“Call Steve and ask him, he’s the reigning Cherry Lane Halloween costume contest winner for two years running.” You say with a smirk on your lips, stretching your legs and crossing them at your ankles, the pretty maroon polish catching the dim light in the garage. “You guys are more than welcome to come, obviously it’s on Halloween night, and the only stipulation is to bring a good costume, and $5 for the keg.”

Eddie moves his tongue over his teeth, twisting his body to look at his band mates, all three of them shrugging and nodding. “Yeah, we’ll be here,

“Yeah, if you think you’re up for it. Sure.” You say nonchalantly.

The smell of mildew and damp carpet currently being air dried with a fan stung your nose. The soggy basement and the crumbling foundation of Sally’s Secondhand in downtown Hawkins was a hidden gem and only open in the afternoons on Mondays and Wednesdays, but they had decent prices and good quality items when you were in a pinch if you could learn to breathe through your mouth for the time you were there.

“So how’s the roomie situation going?” Nancy asks, holding up a hand mixer with two mixing parts and a wooden handle labeled for .10¢. You had scored gold when you found a gently used, practically brand new waffle iron. It was wedged between two cook books for only $2. The same one Karen Wheeler had used on Sunday mornings. You were hunting for discounted Halloween decorations still not sure on what you were going to dress as and Halloween was this Saturday, Nancy was searching for spare camera parts for Jonathan and a toy cowboy hat for her costume that she wouldn’t tell you about.

Putting a masking taped bundle of forks into the blue plastic grocery basket, your forks magically kept disappearing everytime Eddie brought leftovers to work, you let out a sigh, “It’s going okay, better than it was in the beginning. He’s fixing my car up and I cut his hair a few weeks ago. I um.. also told him about Chad.”

Nancy stops dead in her tracks, blue eyes wide, her small mouth agape, “wh-what?!” Nancy was shocked at the news, you nonchalantly delivered like saying ‘fine’ when some asked how you were. She knew how frightening that situation was for you, it was scary for her too. Seeing someone she loved and cared about hurt in ways she couldn’t even fathom.

“We ran into him while getting groceries—like a month ago. I had a full blown panic attack, and Eddie, he helped me through it.” You go into detail explaining everything that had happened. Leaving out the part of you being comforted by Eddie and the gentle way his thick hands caressed you while you sobbed into him like a child who lost their cat.

Nancy's face goes from shock and softens into content, “wow, honestly didn’t think he had a caring bone in his body, he always seemed like such an asshole.”

“I mean he still is, don’t get me wrong— I don’t think he’s giving donations to the local churches or anything, but he seems a little more reserved, if you will,” you say, adding a floral embroidered set of towels for every day of the week to your basket.

“Hmm,” Nancy says with raised eyebrows, and nodding her head, a silent confirmation of approval. Always looking up to Nancy, almost as if she was your real life sister, you admired her. She was always put together, whether you were shopping during the week or at home, she was stylish in a way that said, I will run the world, and have dinner on the table at 6. Her white huarache sandals matched her high waisted pink pastel shorts and white button sleeveless blouse. Effortlessly stunning.

Moving along the aisles you and Nancy both finger through the clothing racks. Pulling out neon prints and a pair Madonna—esque white lace gloves, they probably belonged to that muppet singing idiot, Tammy Thompson. Chuckling at how fashion trends in high school were borderline ridiculous. a denim vest in your size with safety pins on each hem gave you an idea for your costume. Finding everything you needed you were ecstatic to put it all together.

The carpet squashed beneath your feet the further you got into the store. The back room held vhs’s, records, tapes, and books. The records were in a milk carton next to a shelf of adult themed books. The fading sharpie written sign reading “Adult fiction for Women 25 cents” posted bold along the top of the shelf. Nancy discreetly placed, “Thursday and the Lady” by Patricia Matthews into her basket, covering it with matching salt and pepper shakers, a crimson tinge to her rouged cheeks.

Diving into the records you flip them towards you as you lazily scan through them. Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours, Thriller by Michael Jackson, Abbey Road by the Beatles, Kind of Blue by Miles Davis, stuck to the back of it was a small single, Ode to Billie Joe by Bobbie Gentry. It had been years since you heard it, tucking it into your basket, Nancy clears her throat nervously, the blush evident in her cheeks, “I’m ready if you are.”

The Saturday of Halloween the salon was closed, giving you Robin and Steve plenty of time to decorate for the party tonight. Eddie was working but was scheduled to get off around 5, just in time to come home and get his secret costume on.

Orange pumpkin printed garbage bags filled with autumn foliage lined the streets of Cherry Lane. Toilet paper streamers were in Mr. Derry’s tree, a prank the seniors of Hawkins High did to him every year, including egging his front door. Vinyl witches hung from doorknobs. Plastic ghosts holding jack-o-lanterns littered lawns. Fake strings of cotton resembling cobwebs with bendy plastic spider thrown around like glitter, lay atop shrubs. Orange lights were wrapped around the trees in your front yard, flimsy ghosts made of white sheets were hung from the branches. It was a child’s Halloween paradise.

“Higher, no lower, well now you’re just doing it wrong.” Steve was in charge of Robin who was in charge of decorations. The beer pong tournament would be in the basement, every strand of Christmas lights you could find were lighting the ceiling, table set up and cups in place. The tournament bracket started with Mike and El playing against Jeff and his girlfriend Ash. The kegs would be delivered later. Buckets ready for ice sitting on the deck. Robin and Steve were still arguing over who had the better costume last year. Twisting black and orange streamers together and hanging them in the doorway to the bathroom.

In the kitchen, you’re finishing up the Jell-O shots, small clear dishes full of cherry red jello made with everclear. A bitter threat to anyone brave enough to eat them. The spinach and artichoke dip is prepped in the fridge, along with 10 packages of crescent rolls, 5 packages of hotdogs, the fruit cut and ready to be put into Steve’s horrendous Jungle Juice that you would actively be avoiding. Nancy and Jonathan were bringing pinwheels and rotel dip. Dustin and Susie are in charge of bringing candy. It’s going to be a blast.

“Be right back,” Robin and Steve call out as they leave to go get their costumes. Putting the finishing touches on your costume your hand shakes with nervousness while swiping mascara on your lashes, the pre party jitters wracking your nerves. The ring of the doorbell startles you. The obnoxious ringing should be a dead giveaway but you don’t recognize it until the door is wide open and you’re face to face with Jesus Christ himself and three nuns. Or as you knew them, Eddie, Gareth, Jeff, and Big D.

You aren’t sure whose mouth is hanging open more. Yours or Eddie’s. Eddie is wearing a long sleeved cream colored gown, complete with a crimson sash. His usual black leather boots on his feet and a crucifix in his hand.

Eddie is the first to laugh, hands held out like he’s blessing the house before he enters it. “Aww sweetheart, you really are my #1 fan aren’t you?”

You are dressed as the most annoying on the planet, pain in the ass, voted most perverted of all of Hawkins: Eddie. When shopping with Nancy you found the vest, adding a few hand sewn patches and the best replica of Eddie’s DIO patch on the back, even shoving a pack of reds into the pocket, it looked pretty good. A twin of the aforementioned jackass. Borrowing Nancy’s cheap leather jacket when she went as Sandy from Grease last year, and putting holes into a pair of jeans and washing them as many times as you could to fray the edges, it was perfect. Complete with a horrible curly wig that you thought was a life dog upon seeing it.

“I was going for scary and scary annoying,” you shrug, “think I nailed it.”

“As hilarious and surprisingly accurate your costume is, the real winner for the party is going to be us” He gestured to him and the nuns. “figured I’d go as something that everyone says I need more of and you recognize the boys right? They’re dressed as your friends from work.”

The kegs finally show up and Eddie blesses the delivery man before he leaves. Fully throwing himself into character. Dustin and Susie are the first to arrive, dressed as Mrs. Doubtfire and Sally Ride, the first woman astronaut to go into space.

Dustin laughs so hard he cries at your costume. “Oh my God please you have to say, ‘forced conformity, it’s what’s killing the kids!’ Please Tooty Holy shit!”

Mimicking Eddie perfectly you saunter away and scream about society and how good Metallica is.

“Oh haha, so funny Tooty,” Eddie pouts, holding a beer funnel in his hands, “come on Henderson let’s see you put your money where your mouth is.”

The backyard is sprayed with foamy beer as Dustin very much can not put his money where his mouth is. Gareth’s up next, chugging like a champion and doing a lap around the backyard like he won a trophy. Eddie and Jeff shotgun beer, Eddie winning by a mile. Laughing and putting his hands in a praying gesture to bless Jeff for his shortcomings.

The rest of the party goers show up, Nancy is dressed like Annie Oakley wielding a fake shotgun and a straw cowboy hat and a long brown dress with fringe hanging from the shoulders. Jonathan and his long haired friend Argyle arrive behind Nancy dressed as Sonny & Cher. Argyle had given up the fast moving life in California once a Surfer Boys pizza arrived in Hawkins. He delivered to the house so much during the nights that Corroded Coffin was practicing that he had your order prepped and ready to go by the time you had called it in. He’d show up so blitzed out of his mind that he’d forget he was at work, sharing his different strains of weed with all the Corroded Coffin boys.

Robin and Steve are in the kitchen, ladling jungle juice into empty cups. The duo dressed as Thelma and Louise, Robin wearing a black muscle shirt and sunglasses, and Steve wore a white tank top with a neckerchief. Both talking in horrible southern accents.

Eddie is standing next to Argyle in the living room both holding almost empty cups of the forbidden jungle juice, deep in conversation about something called Purple Palm Tree Delight, but knowing them, it had nothing to do with a lavender paradise. You reach around Eddie to grab a pinwheel, taking a bite when Argyle, clearly stoned, goes wide eyed leaning into Eddie his eyes still transfixed on you he whisper yells.

“Yo, I swear to God, I just saw two of you.”

“Argyle it’s me, Tooty.” You explain standing next in front of them trying not to laugh. “This is the real Eddie, I’m just dressed like him for Halloween.”

Argyle leans forward and whispers into your ear, “Yeah okay man that’s what the aliens would say before they clone us and take over.”

He leans back and takes two big steps backwards, eyes wide in a horrified daze, before disappearing down into the basement.

“Don’t think I’ve ever said this before, but that guy smokes way too much.” Eddie chuckles, downing the rest of his jungle juice and eating the fruit at the bottom of the cup.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you warn him watching with your own gut twisting as the sweet juices of strawberry slither down his chin and down the slope of his neck.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says, smacking his lips, “I’m twenty six years old, I can handle my liquor.”

“Okay,” you reply, “just so you know, the fruit soaks up all the alcohol and Steve presoaks it all in everclear the night before. Last time he ate all the fruit he spent an hour in the bathroom crying about his love life or lack thereof. And besides, we have to play in the pong tournament in a half hour.”

“We?” Eddie asks, lips turned up and a slight blush to his cheeks, “I didn’t sign up for beer pong.” His dark eyes pour into yours.

Heat creeps up your neck as you reach for a Jell-O shot cracking the lid off and circling the dish with your finger before sucking it into your mouth.

“I signed you up,” you say, reaching for another Jell-O shot, “everyone had a partner but Argyle and Will, so I paired you with Argyle, and I’m with Will,” you slide your finger around the Jell-O dish and suck the cherry gelatin into your mouth, savoring the bitter bite to your tongue before you crush it between your teeth.

“You better bring your A game Munson,” you say, taking a step into him and poking him in the chest, “because I don’t lose.”

Eddie isn’t sure if it’s the alcohol that’s making him feel this way or you but suddenly he can’t stop blushing, laying the charm on thicker than peanut butter, “oh really?” he asks intrigued, “Well babe, I don’t think you know this but I’m the Forest Hills Trailer Park Pong Champion for eight summers in a row, so technically,” he’s leaning forward now, whispering low to get his point across. Your breath hitches in your throat, you can feel the tickle of his lips against your ear, his hair is brushing against your face, the faint smell of motor oil stuck in his curls, “I never lose either.”

He pulls back and your eyes lock. The heat flooding your cheeks burn, the ache in your stomach travels south and pulses with want. You can’t deny it to yourself, even dressed as Jesus Christ, Eddie is the best looking guy you’ve laid eyes on, and you were melting at the way his dark eyes gazed into yours, a smirk placed on his lips as he brushes his tongue over his bottom lip to catch the remnants of the horrific fruit juice. His eyes never leave yours as he takes the Jell-O shot dish you’re holding and sets it behind him on the table. The tension could be cut with a knife, thick and heavily hanging in the space between you both. Eddie opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by El screaming for Mike to get to the backyard instead of puking in the kitchen sink. Her Alice in Wonderland wig askew on her head and holding Mike’s mad hatter hat between her hands.

Running to open the sliding door you get it open just in time for Mike to projectile vomit off the deck.

“Christ, what did he eat?” Eddie asks from behind you, “damn Mike you’re such a pussy!”

“His dumbass didn’t eat all day and when he got here he decided that Jell-O and fruit would be a good option.” El says, rubbing his back as he pukes again and again, “I don’t feel bad for you Mike!”

Wiping his mouth on his forest green jacket sleeve, he murmurs, “Babe, I’m fine, seriously, a few pieces of bread and I’ll be in tip top sh—“ puke splatters wetly against the grass again.

You grab El’s hand and squeeze, “let me know if you need anything, okay?” She nods and smiles sweetly.

“C’mon,” Eddie says behind you, “let’s go so I can kick your ass in beer pong.”

You turn your head, half facing him, “game on, Munson.”

The sharpie bracket on poster board continued moving forward thanks to Steve’s basketball knowledge. Jeff and Ash beat Mike and El, Nancy and Jonathan beat out Gareth and Big D in a very close came both opponents having one cup left. Steve and Robin were beat out in the first round by Dustin and Susie, something King Steve would never be living down. Nex on the bracket to play would be you and Will playing Argyle and Eddie. Honestly it should be a piece of cake, a walk in the park. Will wasn’t the most athletic but last year him and Jonathan got second place against you and Nancy so the odds were pretty high. One thing you were absolutely certain of was that you would not be losing to Jesus and Cher tonight.

The basement is packed with everyone besides the ill Mike and faithful El. Argyle and a pink lensed Will are in the corner smoking a fat blunt the sequin jacket he’s wearing sparkles through the haze of smoke and the catches the lights. You haven’t seen him since Nancy and Jonathan’s wedding. But he’s letting his hair grow out, finally letting the bowl cut Joyce insisted on him having all throughout middle school and high school go. Steve has Dustin in a headlock for teasing him about winning against Mr. Hawkins High basketball star of 1985.

“Ya know for once, I was actually good, like really good, Steve overthrew the last cup and it was game over once Susie got the ball. She’s strangely amazing at beer pong. Probably found the mathematical equation from the distance of the table and her elbow to the solo cups.” Robin rambles on, only stopping to get her breath. “How are you? I haven’t seen you all night. Killer costume by the way, if you can’t beat ‘em be ‘em right?”

Robin and her absolute no filter mouth, always make you laugh, linking your arm with hers, “I really like your and Steve’s take on best friends driving off a cliff together to evade police.”

“JESUS CHRIST!” someone yells from upstairs.

Not missing a beat, Eddie can be heard returning the exclamation. “You rang?”

Rolling your eyes and looking his way, you laugh when you see him, holding up his arms in praise.

Robin’s voice bringing you back to the conversation, “Epic right? Steve thought we could be conjoined twins but then decided against it when he figured there was a small chance he could possibly get lucky tonight when that black haired girl at his job kept hinting that she wanted a date with him.”

“What!” you shout, “He never told me this!”

Robin rolls her eyes and takes another drink from her too foamy beer, “he’s nervous, I think he really likes her but doesn’t wanna fuck it up like he does everything else.”

Steve deserved to be happy and to have someone love him. He was always making sure everyone else was okay, you smile at the thought of him with a girlfriend.

“So,” Robin presses, wiggling her eyebrows, “Eddie looks good tonight,” a wicked smile dances wildly on her lips.

“I’m not at all buzzed enough to have this conversation,” you say, taking a peak at Eddie through your eyelashes, he was laughing loudly at something Steve had said, head thrown back, exposing his neck.

Will joins your side, reeking of weed and heavy musk cologne. “Tooty!” He squeals, wrapping you into a tight hug, “the house looks so fucking good I can’t believe it, also I heard that you’re living with Eddie? I’m going to need all the details!”

“It’s so good to see you, look at your hair!” You say holding his arms. Will threads a hand through his hair and laughs a little.

“Thanks, it’s new but it’s kinda growing on me, now, spill it. Tell me everything.”

“Next game!” Nancy announces, advancing her and Jonathan to the next bracket. “Argyle/ Eddie vs Tooty/ Will.”

Will grabs your hand and drags you to the beer pong table, “after?” He asks and you nod your head.

Eddie and Argyle are standing on one end, you and Will on the other. The cups are arranged into a triangle and filled with the warming pitcher of keg beer.

“You ready to go down groveling, sweetheart?” Eddie sings from across the table, eyes squinting when he leans on the edge of the table smiling at you.

Your stomach flutters, taking a long swig of Will’s jungle juice, staring Eddie down as you gulp the vile liquor and fruit punch combo down, “You ready to get your ass kicked, Munson?”

“Woo! That’s balls back ba-by,” you sneer, hooting and hollering as Eddie begrudgingly tosses the balls back your way. It was almost as if Argyle and Will weren’t even there, this game was between you and Eddie. You were definitely buzzed, between the warm beer and the Jell-O shots you had eaten you were feeling good.

When you miss the first cup, Eddie makes devil horns at you and howls at the moon like an idiot. You sink the next cup, earning a high-five from Will, and a sly grin from Eddie as he removes the cup and chugs the warm beer. He’s secretly excited that you’re so happy, letting loose, in your element, surrounded by your loving friends. You glowing with a sense of freedom. In that moment when your eyes caught his, he knew he was in trouble, you were wrapped around his finger and he didn’t think of hardly anything else, but you, your beautiful smile, the way your hair caught each light you were under. He was in deep, and for right now, he was perfectly and utterly okay with that.

It’s Argyle’s turn and he surprisingly sinks both cups, being awarded with balls back, as you and Will each take a cup and drink the suds down. Trying to distract him, you whip off your Eddie- esque wig and toss it towards Eddie, shaking your hair out like a wild woman.

Unphased by your antics he does it again and you groan. Four in a row? This guy was half asleep the entire game and all of a sudden he’s an athlete? They only have 1 cup left. Tension rises and the room goes to silence at Steve’s request. Argyle sinks it. Eddie erupts into cheers grabbing Argyle by the shoulders and jumping up and down.

“Redemption attempt!” Steve shouts, giving Will the ball. Will takes it with nervous fingers, blowing the ball to dry it slightly as you chug the last cup. He only has two cups to make. Will tosses the ball and the room goes silent, it feels like it’s in slow motion, or maybe that’s the alcohol. The ball soars through the air, bouncing against the rim of the cup lapping up the foamy beer, before it falls off and teeters off onto the table.

Argyle raises both hands in the air, “VICTORY!” the room erupts with cheers. Will apologizes profusely but you hug him tight, telling him you were happy he was your partner.

“Next game is Jonathan/Nancy vs Jeff/ Ash starting in 20 mins!” Steve hollers. The basement clears out as people go upstairs to use the bathroom and refill their drinks.

You expect Eddie to be gloating, cocky beyond belief. But he’s the opposite, coming up to you slowly, head bowed, upper teeth practically biting his lower lip in half.

“Good game sweetheart,” he says barely above a whisper, “not gonna lie, I really thought you guys were gonna win.”

Holding your chin high, face only inches from his, the brown pools of colored whiskey stare into your eyes. Placing a hand on his chest, the alcohol gives you enough of a push to cross the line. The thin gauzy material of the gown he’s wearing is sticky with sweat and warm from the heat radiating from his body. “Told myself I wouldn’t lose to Cher and Jesus tonight.”

Eddie let’s out a throaty laugh, “can’t believe he pulled that off, he didn’t make a cup all game.”

“Guess you get to continue wearing that tarnished crown, speaking of wardrobe… where the hell did you get this outfit?”

“You know that church across from the police station?”

“The one with the Jesus statue inside?”

Eddie raises his eyebrows and gives you a knowing glance, waiting for you to catch on.

“No way! Eddie! You broke into a church and stole an outfit off of a statue?”

“Amen,” Eddie says roaring with laughter, “ahh c’mon you can’t tell me it wasn’t a genius idea.”

Rolling your eyes, “I wouldn’t exactly call it genius, but funny? Yes.”

He laughs again, “not everyday I get a compliment from myself,” he says eyeing your costume, “you do make a pretty cute Eddie Munson if I say so myself.” he wasn’t even thinking anything of it, just blurted it right out.

Flirting came easy to him almost as a second nature, he was never nervous around women, usually finding the game of sex not just something he was good at but conquered with ease. But this, here, with you? Was a slippery slope. A different game for him entirely. He was a pawn amongst you and you were the queen, striking down whoever came near, holding all the power.

Your cheeks heat from his compliment, blood rushing through your body and warming your skin, he holds your hand to your chest, stroking your fingers with his thumbs.

A thousand bolts of lightening ignite you, he smells like smoke, ashy and burning, the cheap keg beer on his breath as he smiles softly at you.

“Tooty!” Steve calls from the top step, clinging onto it for dear life, “are you down there?!”

You’re the first one to break away, pulling your hand from his grasp, threading them together at the last minute, finger tips clinging to each other like velcro. The flames between you both extinguished fast, no oxygen left in the room to keep it going.

Getting to the bottom step and turning, you give him one last glance and a small smile, before trotting up the stairs to Steve.

Eddie opens the patio door to find Gareth and Big D blowing smoke into the sky and talking about the best DIO song.

“Shit man, where have you been? Didn’t your game end like 15 minutes ago?”

Eddie thinks of a lie quick, “Taking a piss why you wanna watch?”

“That’s weird,” Big D questions, “cause Gareth just came out of the bathroom unless there’s a magic bathroom you haven’t told us about.”

“What are you guardian of the toilet?” Eddie says slotting a cigarette between his teeth and flicking his zippo open.

“I mean he’s got a point,” Gareth interjects, “where have you been tonight, turning water into wine? Or are you healing the blind?”

“Cool it, Whoopi,” Eddie bites, “the fuck does it matter where I was or wasn’t?”

“You’ve changed dude. Used to be a ladies man, different chick every night. Smoking and drinking all night watching the sunrise. Fuck man you were hell on wheels. Then all of a sudden you move in here and you’re acting like the Pope, fixing up her car off the clock, bringing her to and from work, you’re like her fucking babysitter.” Gareth exclaims.

“Fuck off man, she’s Eyeball’s sister, and I’m just looking out for her.” Eddie grits through his teeth.

“Or,” Big D suggests, “you like her, I mean you still haven’t even told us about the twins— and you stare at her like she’s about to combust at any moment.”

“Yeah and what do you two know about anything?” Eddie spits.

“Clearly not shit, but you’re all fucking riled up about a girl you don’t like.” Gareth flicks his cigarette and goes inside, Big D following.

The door opens again, “listen man, I’m not in the mood for your stupid fucking advice.” Eddie groans, turning to see Steve standing at the door, an empty pitcher in his hand. “Shit, sorry, thought you were Gareth.”

“Nope kept my habit at home,” Steve says with a chuckle, setting the pitcher on the edge of the deck, “nice party, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, “ya know when Tooty first told me that her and Nancy threw a party every year I didn’t believe it, turns out I was wrong about her, seems to be a theme of mine lately.”

“She doesn’t let a lot of people in, but once you’re here, it means she trusts you, respects you.” Steve explains.

Eddie smiles softly, ashing his cigarette.

“She cares about you, ya know? She might not want to admit it— may even be scared to admit it to herself, but she likes you.”

Eddie gives him a look. Sure you were nicer to him, not threatening to kick him out anymore. You had let the band practice in the garage, even staying out there to hear them play. But that didn’t mean anything did it?

“How many times do you think she’s cut my hair?” Steve inquires, leaning next to the railing on the deck beside Eddie.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says honestly, “a dozen?”

Steve chuckles, “Never, not once, never even offered. You think she made elaborate meals for Nancy when they lived together? Wrong— she barely touched the stove. You move in and she’s changed, for the better. It’s like she’s coming back to life, and the only common thing in that equation, is you.”

Eddie mulls this over, could Steve be right? “I don’t know man.”

“I may not be Mr. Relationship but I do know Tooty, and you’ve softened her edges. Tamed that frightful girl we all love and adore. She’s got walls up, keeping people out, but not around you, not anymore.”

Eddie hangs his head, his heart bursting with sad euphoric bliss. He couldn’t go about this like any other conquest. And with you it would never be how it was with the other women. Faceless broads in mini skirts, praising him, doing whatever he wanted them to. He never saw you in that way. Holding you on a pedestal about the rest. He hadn’t been in a relationship in years. One too many times of being cheated on was enough for him. But you were hurt too, more so than he was. He was still licking his wounds with anything willing and able. You? You were a shell of yourself. He couldn’t act on this like he would with anyone else. He cared about you too damn much to make you feel like you couldn’t trust him again.

“And I know you care about her. Everytime I look at you you’re staring at her like a sad little puppy.”

Eddie looks up then, looking at Steve like he held all the answers to life’s questions. He turns and leans against the deck, elbows on the railing just how Steve was facing the house.

“Yeah, you’re right, I do care about her, more than anything. So what do I do?” He asks Steve.

Steve shrugs, letting out a loud sigh, “keep doing what you’re doing, she knows you care about her, just don’t disappear on her.”

Eddie turns his head from Steve and catches sight of you through the patio doors. He can see you taking a Jell-O shot with El, Robin and Nancy. A sleeping lump of clothes on the kitchen table with black hair must be Mike. You light up the room as you laugh when Robin makes a repulsive expression after taking her Jell-O shot. He can’t hear your full laugh, it’s faint through the glass. But, he doesn’t need to hear it to know the sound—having heard it more and more the last few weeks, the way you throw your head back when something is really funny, sometimes covering your mouth. He’s certain he’s never seen anyone more angelic in his life. Like you have sucked all the air from the room, even dressed in a sheer mockery of him, you’re radiating a glow that makes his heart swell. He has never cared about anyone the way that he does for you.

Seeing him through the doors standing next to Steve, he has a smirk on his face. A sudden rush of shyness creeps up your neck and you turn away from him, but you reciprocate his actions, smiling at him. A small gesture that melts him on the spot.

Eyes trained on you but still talking to Steve, Eddie beams, “I’m not going anywhere.”

A/n: see you in volume vii

Hope you all enjoyed this. There were some little hidden Easter eggs in this chapter, go to my askbox if you found them 💕

readmore eat my ass or this line you decide, whore.

—

#eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie x y/n #stranger things season 4 #stranger things #eddie munson smut

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littlemissthunderstorms · 2 months

Text

warp speed chic pt.1

“the shining city on the fritz”

a tranquility base hotel and casino alternate universe.

———

you were in awe.

warm, glimmering lights hung down from the ceiling, the soft glittering reflections painting the walls like a mirrorball. smooth jazz filled the reception area, muddled by various chitter chatter and conversations. the whole atmosphere was warm and welcoming, but you couldn’t help the shiver than ran down your spine when you caught a glance out of one of the big windows, vast space scattered with stars and nebulas stretching on and on above the spectacular intergalactic city lights.

you caught yourself staring, jaw agape.

“can i help you miss?” a man with a sleek suit holding a clipboard looked up at you through his thick rimmed glasses, waiting for an answer. “oh- um, yes! i’m actually supposed to meet um..” you glanced at your card, “alex turner?” the man raised his eyebrows. “mr. turner you say?”

you nodded, not really aware of his importance, or if he had any at all. you just knew you were supposed to meet with him first thing. the man glanced down at his clipboard, shaking his head and scurrying over to the phone at the desk, where he fumbled with the buttons, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose while he waited for someone to pick up.

you clacked your nails on the desk, looking around as you waited, still breath taken by the gorgeous architecture, the way design flowed so beautifully throughout the space. “good evening mr. turner! sorry to trouble you sir, i’ve got someone who’s apparently supposed to be meeting- oh! great, i’ll send her right up. thank you- you too sir.”

you smiled at the man, nervously biting your lip. another dude in a sleek suit came up to the desk, annoyed. “jeremy, i’m the phone guy. what are you doing?” the man with the thick glasses, presumably named jeremy, rolled his eyes. “mark, i don’t want to hear it. go take this young ladies luggage up to her room,” he snapped back, quickly clacking away on his keyboard. “room 505.” mark scoffed, mustering a fake smile for you as he took your luggage and scurried away.

“sorry about him. he’s got a knack for directing calls... anyway, mr. turner’s been expecting you, follow me.” you smile and nod awkwardly, following him as he treks down a long, red carpeted hallway.

———

turns out, it’s a little frightening riding the elevator up to the top floor. you’ve never been too afraid of heights, but this elevator is a round tube of pure glass, giving you a chill inducing view of all the buildings as the lift rises, just getting higher and higher, the tops of the neon buildings getting lower and lower.

it was frightening for sure, but interesting nonetheless. the booming metro city outside was a design of neon lights and intricate architecture. surely there were many lives and different storylines sprawling and networking throughout the city, as there was everywhere but it seemed so much more captivating on the moon. you wondered what it was like to live here.

once the elevator reached the peak of the building, dinging as the doors slid open, you happily slid out into the hallway. “go straight down the hall, through that big door. that’s his office.” you nodded, a little intimidated now. “thank you sir.” he smiled. “have a wonderful evening miss.”

and with that he was gone, the elevator dinging once more as it closed, followed by the low hum of the lift descending back down, leaving you on your own. the top floor was eerily quiet, the lights dim. you took a deep breath before walking towards the huge door at the end of the hall, noticing the shiny gold plaque in the middle that read alexander turner, founder of tranquility base hotel & casino.

great. you were set to be talking to the goddamn owner of this place. you seemed very mentally unprepared, all you knew is that you would be working on designing the new wing that was just built, along with a team of designers. of course you were qualified for the job, and it was an honor to design for a place this spectacular, you were just a bit intimidated.

you quickly fluffed up your hair and smoothed down your shirt before knocking, your stomach knotting up. a muffled shuffling sound followed by a few heavy footsteps were heard from behind the door before it swung open.

the man that greeted you on the other side was quite striking. you didn’t quite know who you were expecting, but he was much younger than you imagined, probably no more of an age gap of 3 years between you and him, you assumed. the man wore a crisp, perfectly tailored navy blue suit, the cream button up below equally sleek. his dark hair was slicked back, his vampire-esque hairline on display.

“hello, it’s lovely to have you, i’m alex,” he shook your hand and you smiled, trying not to show your nerves as you introduced yourself. “come, have a seat,” he moved your chair out from under the desk, sitting in his own across from you after you’d sat down.

his office was a bit of a contrast from the rest of the establishment. instead of sleek, polished furniture and vast space, the room inhabited more of a homey, lived in essence. you could tell he’d actually done work here. mahogany bookcases lined the whole wall behind his desk, sprawling with books and journals. various paintings scattered the walls, an occasional sticky note or reminder stuck to a golden frame. instead of overhead lighting, vintage lamps scattered the room, basking the space in a comforting warmth that soothed your nerves.

he ran a hand through his gelled hair, fidgeting with the fold of his sleeves. “we’re really excited to have you here. i’ve got to say, i’m a big fan of your work.” this comment surprised you. “thank you, it’s an honor, really.” you smiled, your cheeks starting to hurt. “i just wanted to see you so i could get you all set up. just before you arrived, i emailed you everything you need to know, so um- just be sure to go over that.”

you nodded attentively. “tomorrow you’ll have a meeting with the other designers in the conference hall, which shouldn’t be tricky to find, there’s a map of the place attached to the email as well,” the man rambled on a bit, telling you a bit about the place, sometimes starting sentences just to never finish them, getting lost in his own thoughts.

you liked the way he spoke, his accent, the dreamlike quality his tone held. “any questions?” he chimed after telling you about the library. you shook your head. you had a lot of questions for him, so many you couldn’t even pick, and plus, you didn’t want to worry him anymore, so you saved those questions for another time, storing them in your mind as if they were books on his shelves. alex sat up, smoothing a hand over his blazer.

“well then, i’ll walk you to your room,” he smiled. “oh, that’s alright it’s no worry,” you stood up. surely he was busy, you didn’t want to bother him. he tilted his head. “do you know where it is?” you were silent for a moment, thinking of the plethora of hallways this place had, your chance of finding the suite on your own was small. “no…” you shook your head, smiling awkwardly.

———

“here you are, room 505,” he smiled, holding out a keycard for you. the walk to the suite area had been silent for the most part. the hotel was starting to quiet down since it was getting late. every so often he’d look back and give you a gentle smile before turning back, his heeled boots clacking against the sleek wood flooring. he was so intriguing to you, unlike anyone you’d ever met. you wouldn’t be surprised if he melted into the shadows, seeping away into darkness, like some sort of creature. you couldn’t explain it.

“thank you, mr. turner,” you smiled, grabbing the keycard. “it’s no problem, and call me alex,” he added, stepping away slightly as he realized he might’ve been a bit too close for comfort. “it was nice to meet you, alex.” he grinned. “it’s been a pleasure, have a wonderful night.”

as his footsteps faded off into the darkness, you held your keycard up to the scanner, eyes widening when the door clicked and swung open.

the place was stunning. a large, circular bed sat in the middle of the room, adorned in plush maroon and silky red pillows, with a matching maroon comforter. a white sheer lace bed curtain was tied to each of the four wooden posts, making a gorgeous canopy. the room was tasteful, soft, consisting of intricately designed carpets, sleek 70’s style furniture, and a plasma tv that slid down from the ceiling with a click of a button.

you almost squealed at the sight of the bathroom. the rooms porcelain tiles were pink and cream, matching with the patchwork carpet that sat in front of the clawfoot tub, which was filled with expensive soaps. you opened another sliding door to find a nearly empty walk-in closet, a cherry red silk robe hung on one of the racks, a matching pair of slippers below.

once you were snug in bed, practically melting into the mattress, being engulfed by the soft pillows, your eyes began to feel heavy. you slowly turned your head over to the exterior wall, sleepily gazing out of the large window. most of the city lights were off now, leaving only the inky black void of stars to lull you to sleep.

———

stepping into the conference room, you felt a little underdressed in your button down and slacks. there were about six other designers, all clad in an array of vibrancy. shiny space-age metallic tops, dynamic head scarfs, eccentric glasses. they all looked like they were set to walk a runway show, clearly you missed the memo.

you were a teensy bit late, thanks to the warm, soft bed that didn’t fail to keep you asleep through your alarm. you gave an awkward smile when they all turned to look at you, the door slamming a little too loud. you flushed, quickly setting your laptop and purse down as you pushed yourself into the seat across from alex, who gave you a gentle smile.

settling in, you looked up at the designer who was giving a presentation on his ideas for the new stargazing room. you fought to not scrunch your nose. white curtains? white furniture? white walls with gold detailing? it was cute, maybe for a suburban mom but it didn’t match the energy of the hotel whatsoever.

once it was your turn to present ideas, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. some of the other designers had okay ideas, but some were also good, and although you loved your plan, these people seemed intimidating.

for the stargazing area, you’d envisioned a more cozy, dreamlike room. the furniture and carpeting would be warm toned, various soft lamps and fairy lights scattered across the room. while you were walking everyone through your presentation, your nerves seemed to ease. when you turned back around to sit down, everyone was quiet, unreadable. great.

after each presentation was done, it was time to discuss. everyones attention redirected to alex. being the owner, he got a big say in the final decision. your heart raced once you heard him murmur your name. “i liked yours. we’ll go with that,” he concluded. “meeting over, see you guys tomorrow.”

your jaw was agape. no discussion, no nothing, he chose yours immediately. the other designers didn’t take it well either, mumbling and grumbling a bit as they gathered their things and stumbled out of the conference room.

the following week, you were in the conference room once again. everyone was discussing plans for the day spa, and you found yourself falling quiet. someone had suggested sleek wood paneled walls, which alex had liked. others had suggested fluorescent lighting installments, to which alex said no. you sat there, observing until alex turned to you. “what about you? any ideas?”

your cheeks flushed a bit. “i was thinking dim, hanging lights, a bunch of different kinds, all warm toned, it makes it more calming.” he fiddled with his pen, nodding and scribbling something down. “i like that.”

a designer across the table from you rolled his eyes subtly. you shrunk in your seat, feeling gross. you didn’t want to be known as some sort of suck up. you couldn’t help the way alex singled you out, agreeing with all your ideas.

nevertheless, it didn’t stop. you’d suggest paintings for the wall, he would agree, you’d bring up an interesting wallpaper, he’d find somewhere to put it, you’d point out curtains that complemented the room well, he’d nod approvingly and scribble it down on his notepad.

eventually, you learned to be quieter, trying to let the other designers have the spot light but sure enough, alex would ask you to share again, his eyes narrowing at you as he dismissed the annoyance that stifled the room.

every single time, you’d receive a subtle scoff or an eye roll from one of the other petty designers. you understood, it was annoying that they’d worked hard to get here and the majority of their ideas were being turned down, but still, were their egos just so fucking big that they couldn’t be at least a little happy for you?

———

the next morning, you found a loup mask outside your door. it was adorned in black satin and lace, small gold detailing outlining the eyes. underneath was a small, metallic gold envelope with an invitation inside.

you have been invited to the tranquility base masquerade party,

tonight, 7pm, @ the information action ratio, live music and free drinks.

so now here you were, clad in a black, lace dress, which mysteriously had showed up at your door later that morning, along with a stunning pair of gold earrings and a dainty necklace that matched the detailing on your mask. the black satin hugged you perfectly, making you wonder how they managed to nail your size and proportions.

chandeliers with bulbs of stars hung down in clusters, emitting a gentle glow. people danced and chatted, jazz flowing through the room from the band on the stage, the martini police. tons of different people wandered around, all masked and dressed in a variety of colors and textures.

letting your eyes linger, you spotted the group of designers all chatting at a booth. instead, you headed towards the bar, figuring they already hated you enough, why annoy them now. the bar was beautiful, lights lit up the whole structure, and as you ordered your martini, you couldn’t help but notice how good looking some of the bartenders were.

as you sipped your drink, you felt someone’s presence directly behind you, a little too close for comfort. you turned, trying to distinguish who was under the sparkly white cat mask. “so, are you fucking him or something?”

your eyebrows raised “huh?” the girl scoffed, and immediately you recognized her as one of the other designers. she had a model figure, super tall with platinum blonde hair, and a menacing scoff. she’d be a really good bully. “are you fucking alex? is that how you get him to pick all your ideas?”

you shook your head, cheeks flushed. “no. i have no idea why he favors me,” you stated, turning back to your drink when you felt a cold liquid down your back, making you gasp. you turned again, the blonde pretending to be shocked as she held her empty glass. “i’m so sorry! i’m so clumsy.”

you rolled your eyes, getting up and deciding you’d had enough. you just wanted to go back to your suite, shower and lay in bed. since you’d arrived, the crowd almost doubled in size. you fought your way through, bumping into a few shoulders as you tried not to step on dresses. a lady in a swan mask turned and bumped you, her feathery dress catching on your shoes. you lost balance, stumbling over your heels, about to fall onto another group of people when you felt strong hands on your waist, and in a whirlwind you were upright.

it was alex. he pulled you close to him and swept you away onto the dancefloor, his hand on your waist, a hand interlocked with yours. you almost didn’t recognize him at first. he wore a black masquerade mask, with dark shimmery sequins adorning the sides. his hair was fluffier, much unlike his usual slicked back look.

you looked up at him, noticing how your hand gripped his shoulder. he’d swept you away so swiftly, leaving you speechless. his dark eyes shimmered under the mask as he peered down at you, waiting for you to speak first. “i- i was just leaving,” you stuttered, hyperfixating on the way the spill made the wet satin stick to your skin. he made no remark, keeping his languid gaze, his mouth twisted into a subtle grin.

“there’s vodka all over my dress,” you added. alex shuffled, taking off his blazer and wrapping it around your shoulders. it didn’t help much, but you didn’t say anything. it was a nice gesture.

the mystery lingered in the back of your mind, you wanted to question him about his decisions to constantly favor you but his position of authority made you bite your tongue.

his position of authority. you noticed how many people were staring all of a sudden. you could sense it in his sharp suit, the expensive, musky cologne he wore. it was entrancing, he was quite entrancing himself, you couldn’t ignore it but you couldn’t do this. you didn’t want the taboo boss employee type of perception cast upon you and him. you wanted to be taken seriously. the other designers were already perceiving you as some sort of teachers pet. the thought instilled momentary nausea.

“alex, i’ve got to go,” you whispered. he looked down at you again. “i’ll walk you back.” you shook your head. “no, no thank you, i’ll manage.” you slipped out of his arms before handing him his blazer, maneuvering your way through the tight packed crowd, slipping around torsos and arms until you finally made it out into the secluded hallway.

you took a deep breath, the chatter, music, and clinking of glasses now muddled. the hall was dark, not counting the floor to ceiling window that casted a murky blue into the space. you pressed your hand up against the window. staring out, you still didn’t comprehend it all was real, convincing yourself that it was a dream, and dreams were merely fragments of space cut out and glued together, playing like a glitched out film reel in your sleep.

you snapped back to reality, the smell of vodka on your dress pungent. quickly, you headed back to your suite, heels clacking on the marble, loud in the silence.

———

hii! let me know what you think so far. sorry if this part is a little uneventful, i mostly wanted to set up the environment but trust, better things are coming.

taglist (let me know if you want to be added/removed)- @ultragirrl @inmyownfantasywrld @almluv @raven-ql @ohladymoon @yourstartreatment @missbabyjay @andulina567 @blair-s-world @rentsturner @indierockgirrl @kittyrob0t @averyzversi0n @michelleisheres-blog @kennedy-brooke @madeinuk @mathdebate00 @sstar-ggirl @tangointhequango @nela-cutie

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #arctic monkeys #humbug #alex turner fluff #alex turner one shot #suck it and see #tlsp #alex turner smut #tranquility base hotel and casino #tbhc era #tbhc

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xxkitty13 · 6 months

Text

Circus Freaks

LA Buggy x Fem Reader

Storyline will contain: young reader (20’s), nsfw, violence, dark themes

One Piece characters belong to Oda and the One Piece franchise, do not sell.

Next chapter- Part 2

Part 1: The Carnival

The East Blue is a calm ocean. Some consider it boring, but it's a safe haven for most. Unlike the other three Blues, it is not known for its notorious pirates—despite one. Many settle here hoping for a life of tranquility; however, life is always full of surprises.

It was to everyone's surprise when the small island of Febe was visited by pirates. No pirate has set coarse here. Why would they? There is nothing valuable for them unless they intend to take the farmland.

The small coastal town became clueless on the matter. Should they fight or flee? Neither of those things do any good. The mayor decided to stand watch, as many did the same. Who knows . . . maybe they're not hostile?

The ship pulled up to the dock— fairly large and full of colors. The Jolly Roger was unusual, it had a big red nose on the skull. Not what they had a mind when they approached the ship. The people became curious to whom these pirates might be. The crowd became larger, awaiting to see the people on board.

A large plank fell on the the side of ship, allowing the crew off. Strange they all looked. They did not appear to dress pirate like, instead they dressed in circus outfits.

The crew stood menacingly, observing the townspeople who dare make a move. It was then a loud laugh boomed from the ship; the pirates made way for laughing man.

Like royalty, the crew lined up to make way, it was the captain of the ship. A large orange hat, with dangling blue hair caught the eyes of the people. He had crossbones taking up the space of his forehead with blue stripes on each eye. He gave a flashy smile, showing off his exaggerated red paint that covered his mouth. Tying it all together was a large circular red nose that could be seen from a mile away, grasping their attention. Could this be the captain of the ship?

"Ladies and gentlemen, yours truly has arrived." He boasted. The red nose man looked at the crowd awaiting for their reaction.

No one said a word, but the look in their eyes gave plenty to say. Buggy grinned.

"Captain . . ." a man whispered.

"Shh Cabaji, there's no need for that."

Cabaji, the pirate with the side part with three yellow stripes, rolled his eyes stepping away from his captain. He has no clue to what he's up to. The captain is always full of surprises.

"There's no need to fear. We are not the pirates you think of," he said as he approached the crowd.

He raised his arms in the air. "I'm Buggy. Buggy the clown and I'm here to give you a show you've never seen before."

The surrounding people whispered to themselves. Not sure if they should believe this pirate clown; after all, pirates should not be trusted.

The mayor took the courage to take a step forward. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

"I'd say you're the leader of this town, am I right?"

"Yes, I'm the mayor."

Buggy walked up to the man. The mayor was a bit larger than him. Rugged actually. He wore cowboy boots and a hat, covering his bald head. His puffy orange beard swayed against his grey suit. Buggy was not intimated to say the least.

"I go island to island to bring the circus to the people. I'd say this little town is in the need of some entertainment . Don't you think?"

The mayor looked at him puzzled, but it got him thinking. This island was well known for its ranching and agriculture. All the townspeople do is work. This proposal was intriguing of course.

"Mr. Dun, don't you think it'll be exciting?" Someone spoke.

"I've never been to a circus," another voice announced.

The people gleamed in excitement. Harvesting season was almost to an end. Many are burnout; the town was in much need of a break.

"Well I speak for the people that some livery is much needed. Better yet! I'd say we should host carnival! What do ya think, Mr. Dun?" Buggy roared.

The crowd went wild with the thought of a carnival.

"What?! A carnival? That would be so cool!" Someone blurted.

"Mr.Dun you must give them permission to set up in our town."

"Oh yes! Please Mr. Dun, nothing ever takes place here. So what if they're pirates? I don't think it will do any harm."

Mr. Dun became overwhelmed with the people shouting at him. He sighed as he stroked his orange beard. "Well . . . I can't go against so many."

His eyes met Buggy's as he took one last sigh. "Let me know what you need for your little carnival."

The clown gave toothy grin, chuckling to himself.

"Thank you mayor. I promise you won't regret it," he said shaking his hand. "Just let my crew know where to set up and they'll take it from there."

With a nod, the mayor stepped away and went to speak with one of Buggy's crewmates. The townspeople gathered amongst themselves laughing in joy.

"Captain Buggy what are you up to?" Cabaji said, eyeing the clown. Who walked away, heading back up the ship.

"I thought we were supposed to capture the townspeople. This was not apart of the plan."

Glaring at him, Buggy muttered, "Watch it. I changed my mind."

"But why captain? I find that odd of you."

"Don't know. I'm feeling a bit merciful today," he chuckled to himself. "Aw don't give me that look Cabaji. You'll have your fun when the time comes. We're taking a different approach this time. Besides the people seem to like us compared to the other towns."

"Now, go help set up"—threatening with a dark glare— "my carnival needs to be ready by morning or else . . ."

Before Cabaji could leave, Buggy grabbed him by the collar, pulling him close. "Oh, I almost forgot. If you see any bounty posters, destroy them. These people are unaware about us and I prefer for it to stay that way. Got it?"

"U-um y-yes captain!" With a sweat he scampered away.

He cackled watching his subordinate run off. Taking one last look at the people below he made way to his quarters. Opening the door to his room, he yawned. He sat at his desk and opened the cabinet to his right. Reaching in, he took out a map.

Buggy opened it. "If everything goes according to plan, getting this treasure will be easy. All I have to do now is wait." He smirked to himself.

"Maybe . . . just maybe . . . I'll spare the blood for once." With his maniacal laughter he took one last look at the map and placed it back.

#one piece #buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy one piece #buggy x fem reader #buggy x female reader #buggy x y/n #buggy x you #opla buggy #op buggy #captain buggy #buggy smut #buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy smut

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starrybl1ss · 4 months

Text

Enchanting secrets ✧˖°.

★senior/quidditch captain/slytherin!ellie williams x senior/gryffindor!reader ★warnings: making out lol, swearing, (smut in part 2 that is complete link below) ★inspo: so basically yk the drarry ships?? this is kinda basically it but with ellie & reader and the hogwarts!ellie headcannons ★please read! harry potter fans please don't come at me because the timeline of this fic is probably not accurate from the books and movies. and yes, i did watch the movie but im not really in the fandom that much so i did as much as researching as i could.

Hogwarts has been a big journey for you and all the wacky magical things happening. as now you are in senior year, the last year in hogwarts, after that you'll have do the N.E.W.T.s test that is known to be increadibly difficult.

Your really nervous, luckly your friend, Dina is a fellow gryffindor as well. And she's a smart student.

You really want to do well in the test. magic isn't as easy as flickering a wand in the air and boom! your a frog. Its much more complex than that. theory or practice, its hard.

Your now in the library with Dina, studying your ass off. its quite stressful with all the subjects.

Tomorrow is the quidditch match. your house versus slytherin. you can't wait to watch it. its always so much fun watching quidditch. you never really liked playing quidditch since it all looks so exhausting and dangerous, not like hogwarts is not itself. but you rather focus on your studies.

"Dina, im going back. real tired. you coming?" you ask the black haired girl. "Yeah all go back after its actually time for students to get back and sleep" she replied. "Cya" you left the library grabbing your books.

You walk all along the school corridors and went on the anoyying stairs that always move to a different place. its still quite busy. but only with all the seniors. running up and down.

You suddenly bump into someone. an auburn haired girl making you drop your book. "shit, sorry let me get them for you" she bent down to your knees grabbing the books you dropped.

The girl hands out the books back to you. "thanks... ellie?" you thank her while a bit skeptical if thats her name. "no problem" she replied and continues walking down the stairs.

You were right, Ellie williams. captain of the slytherin quidditch team. You see her a lot. she's a big deal. the some what 'anoyying' quidditch captain that always makes their team win in quidditch the past years shes been in hogwarts.

You continue walking up the stairs towards the 'fat lady' painting. You stood infront of the painting. "fibbertigibbet" you said as the painting opened and you step in.

Your basically the first senior to enter since everybody was busy studying while you cant take it anymore. you were too sleepy. so you changed in to your pyjamas and went to bed

꒰୨🔮୧꒱

Your sleep was interrupted by Dina. "wake upppp, it's already time for brekfast!" she shook your unconcious body. you quicky open your eyes and saw that it is perfectly 7.30 in the morning.

Your sleep felt so quick. "wait up, im gonna get dress" you got up and dressed up as Dina waited in the common room.

"Let's go Deen" you went outside the gryffindor house and quickly went down the stairs to the great hall where brekfast is served until around 8.

You went ahead and sat down and grabbed the food you wanted. chicken, again. your kind of obsessed with eating chicken by now.

You glaired at the slytherin table where you saw, ellie williams again. for some reason, since you two bumped to eachother on the stairs, you couldnt seem to get her of your mind.

Dina waved her hand infront of your face trying to stop you from zoning out and daydreaming too much. "who's the lucky guy your gonna take to dance after the exam?" Dina looks at you hoping you already have a guy to take out to the last senior prom.

"Oh uh, dunno" you slightly shook your head. "who we're you looking at anyways?" she asks curiously. "no one, just uhh.. someone that helped me grab my books when we bumped into eachother last night"

"see? i dont think thats a 'no one' after all! who is it?" she shook your shoulder excitedly. "a girl... you know? slytherin's quidditch captain?" you said nervously.

"are you kidding? ellie? you mean ellie williams? she's bad news!-" Dina said out loudly as you stopped her to make her a little more quite since there was a lot of people looking at you two.

"My god, she's so anoyying! she's our rival y/n!" she looks at you. "i knowww, but-" you stopped talking trying to think what to say next.

"but what? okay, i could quickly find you a good looking, smart, green flag gryffindor guy in a minute! it'll be easy, almost every gryffindor wants you. not to meantion, a lot of other boys from other houses would want you"

"i'll just worry about it later, whats the point of having a 'guy' that wants you but you don't want them anyways?"

꒰୨🔮୧꒱

You couln't focus the whole time in potions. you kept having your eyes on ellie making it difficult. you exited the class and went towards the bathroom to wash your face.

You went inside hearing someone crying and ofcourse it is moaning myrtle. the ghost who haunts the girls bathroom.

You saw another girl infront of the sink. you got closer and it was ellie. god, you meet her everywhere. you went to the sink next to her as you turned on the faucet.

Ellie looks at you "hey, never really catched your name last night" slightly tilting her head. "I- im- uh, y/n" you introduced yourself.

"nice meeting you"

"y-you too!" you said nervously.

"whats your next class y/n?" god, she said your name making you blush a little. suprised that she brought up a conversation. "defence againts the dark arts" you replied.

She looks at you while not sayying a thing. just admiring your face making your heart skip a beat. you couldn't handle the tension anymore.

"i should get to clas-" you stepped a bit further from her but she grabbed your left arm. "the teacher wouldn't mind you being late right?" she said teasingly.

"y-yeah he wouldn't min-" suddenly ellie pulls you in a kiss. fuck, you didn't know this would happen so quickly. you kissed her back. her hands on your waist.

"c-can we a go somewhere a little more private? Just incase...-" ellie grabs you and puts you two in one of the stalls locking the door from behind.

She pins you to the door and started giving you hickeys on your neck with you letting out choked up moans as she lifts up your sweater.

You hear someone sniffing, moaning myrtle. "Looks like things are getting a little too spicy in here. you stupid kids forgot i haunt this place? Jeez, get out!"

Shit, you totally forgot about her being her- fuck! Your missing out on professor lupin's class!

"El- ellie im missing class i should go-" you push her back a little. "See you after the match?" You nod as you went outside the stall

You ran around the corridor. 14 minutes late into proffesor lupin's class. luckly it was him teaching so he didn't make a fuss about you being late and you just said you were in the bathroom constapated as hell and he led that slide without you telling him you hooked up with the slytherin quidditch captain.

"were you that constipated? your lucky proffesor lupin isn't absent or you'd be in hell!" Dina did made a fuss about it.

You rolled your eyes and continued writing in your notebook.

꒰୨🔮୧꒱

This evening the weather is perfect. Not too hot, a bit cloudy but no sign of rain. The quidditch match had begun 15 minutes ago.

Slytherin are currently in the lead. Brooms going back and forth in lightning speed.

You could care less about the match, you were drunk in love admiring ellie on her broomstick. She was your house biggest rival!

Your mouth accidently slipped "Go ell-!" Dina looks at you confused. "Shes our rival! Snap out of it!" You stayed silent gazing at ellie like your some dumb 12 year old thats so drunkly inlove.

꒰୨🔮୧꒱

The match has ended with slytherin, again. everybody went back inside the school corridor as the slytherin kids all cheered for ellie and her team.

you were completely starstruck by her. shes so... mesmorizing its driving you insane.

suddenly you felt someones arm touching yours in the crowd. you looked at your left to see... ew! its that icky popular gryffindor guy that cant seem to get your hands off you.

"hey, i was wondering if you'd want to come to the dance with m-" you cut off his words. "sorry, fully booked" you tilt your head with a smug face.

You were lying, theres been a lot of guys asking you but you just rejected all of them.

You walked away from him without looking back. as the corridor got a little less hectic, ellie approaches you. "hey, about that..." she stopped. "would you go to the yule ball with me after the exam? any chance? you already got someone... dont you?"

You giggled "i don't, ellie" you smile. she smiled back at you and pulled you in for a kiss infront of people including dina.

꒰୨🔮୧꒱

★read please!

HIIII soooo its donee, sorry if i misspelt stuff. ik the pole i did alotta people voted for smut but i wanted this one to be clean???? so if you want to read the next part (that has smut) you can read it here!

lmk if you wanna see the yule ball part after the n.e.w.t.s!

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #lesbian #ellie x reader #hogwarts!ellie #hogwarts #harry potter #slytherin #slytherin!ellie

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neuvillove · 4 months

Text

childe takes you on a laser tag date !

tags- sfw, fluff, gender neutral reader (no prns)

~ 863 words

a/n- i apologize if this isn't that well written, i'm trying to recover from writing block and it's my first time writing char x reader. that being said, any and all advice is (very) welcome (´⊙ω⊙`) (sobs this is my first time on tumblr too, i migrated from ao3)

“Y’know I’m not gonna go easy on you just ‘cause you’re all dolled up, right?”

Tartaglia grinned, looking at you with his dead-fish blue eyes as you strapped on the laser tag gear. You stared at him and his charming smile before rolling your eyes.

“Shut up and help me put this on.”

“Your wish is my command.” He replied as he began to walk over, placing one hand on your hip while the other adjusted the velcro strap on the back of your vest.

As per to your beloved’s request, you and Tartaglia had been put on seperate teams. You grumbled as you walked towards your team’s designated site with a bunch of snotty kids who’d been droning on and on about how who’s going to get more eliminations and you honestly couldn’t care less about what they were on about. The overworked arcade worker’s voice broadcasted on the loudspeaker above and after the procedural speech, the lights dimmed and you finally felt that adrenaline kick in. It was suddenly pitch black with only luminescent neon lights lining the crevices of the arena and speckles of glowing green and blue paint splattered on the walls. You subconsciously gripped the cheap plastic gun tighter at the thought of bumping into one, or god forbid two, kids in the dark.

An obnoxiously loud and comical countdown boomed throughout the room before you could hear the giggling and the running of the kids getting fainter and fainter. Feeling bad for the kids on your team, who’d already got such an unwilling participant, you decided to get a move on yourself as you trudged down one of the paths.

The footsteps were oddly muffled by the carpeted floor and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of tension as two of your senses were dulled. At this point you’d already been shot multiple times, while only shooting a handful of the other team. That was enough running around for you. You walked around what felt like the quietest area of the whole place, humming to yourself as you wondered how much time was left until you could leave this dark and silent death trap.

It was quiet, so quiet.

“Boo.”

Suddenly, you felt a familiar pair of cold hands resting on your shoulders. A yelp escaped your lips before you turned around at record speed, seeing Tartaglia’s pale skin painted with the neon blue lights above. You could see a cheeky smile creep on his face in the dim light before you could feel him gently push you, pressing you up against the wall behind you two.

“You scared the shit out of me, Tartag. What the hell is wrong with you?” You huffed, placing your hands on his chest.

He chuckled as he leant closer to your face, his warm breath lightly hitting your face as he laughed.

“Sorry darling. Was looking for you for so long, got a little excited when I saw you.” He replied, “Y’know, I’ve overheard some very interesting things from the kids in my team.”

“What did you hear?” You replied cautiously, expecting him to say something stupid with that shit-eating grin on his face.

“They’re saying that the old lady on the other team was, ah what did they say? Easy kills?”

“They did not.” You replied, feigning a distraught tone.

“Mhm, they did. Little do they know that I know said old lady very well.”

Before you could come up with a witty remark, you felt his lips on yours. His lips moulded with yours perfectly as he gently kissed you. The moment was soft and fleeting, yet it lingered on your lips even after he pulled away. It was sweet, well, it was almost sweet. As you stood there, eyes closed and still in bliss from the kiss, you heard a loud beeping noise as your chest piece buzzed. You looked down, startled before seeing Tartaglia’s gun pressed up against your glowing red vest.

“Guess the little guys were right after all.” He laughed.

“You’re unbelievable.” You scoffed, yet a smile fought its way on your face as you watched him blow a kiss to you as he ran off.

It wasn't long before the game came to an end and you found yourself standing in the little room that you were at the beginning before entering the dark room. The arcade worker glanced tiredly at everybody before redirecting their attention towards the little monitor that displayed the leaderboard.

“Player ‘Childe’ got the most number of eliminations. Following ‘Childe’ was…”

The voice of the worker faded away as you looked at the leaderboard yourself. Childe was first by just one elimination. You looked at him, finding that he was already watching you with amusement in his eyes- as if he was waiting to see how you’d react.

After you both left the laser tag booth, you turned to him with an unimpressed look on your face.

“You couldn't have won without me, y’know?” You said, your tone unamused yet your expression saying otherwise

“I know.”

That was all he said, a loving smile resting on his lips as he grabbed your hand, pulling you to another booth.

#childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #childe x you #tartaglia x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n

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nikethestatue · 3 months

Text

A Match Baked In Heaven

Chapter XII

The Moan

“I want buns of steel. But also, buns of cinnamon,” Elain Archeron muttered, as she pulled out a pan of cinnamon buns from the oven. It was a strange choice, but this was Feyre’s favourite treat, and Elain felt that she owed it to her sister on her birthday.

Elain was running late. But there was a lot to do.

Feyre had changed her mind at the last minute, and they weren’t going to a Moroccan restaurant anymore. Instead, the restaurant was catering, the party was at Feyre’s loft, and Elain was tasked with making desserts. And there were thirty people invited, though with Feyre’s friends, it was quite possible that many more would drop by.

Now, Elain was running behind. She had to make a cake too, because Feyre requested her cake, and not one from a bakery. Elain was pretty proud of the cake, though she had no idea how she was going to transport it and carry it, but she wasn’t concerned about the logistics right now.

“Piglet, you are being very rude,” she told her pug. Predictably, she received no response.

As she mixed icing sugar, lemon juice and double cream for the icing, she continued, “That’s fine. It’s entirely up to you if you want to play introvert today. However, don’t expect treats then. You can’t be a glum introvert and still want treats.”

To that, Piglet expanded a mournful moan.

“No,” Elain said. “I don’t even know if you’ll get your Advent Calendar treat today. Unless daddy wants to give it to you, don’t count on me.”

Piglet looked sadly at his calendar, sniffling and barking weakly.

In about ten minutes, he raised his head, but didn’t get up. But Elain knew why–because in the next moment, the doorbell rang.

God she was running really, really late!

Wiping her hands with a towel, Elain fluffed up her hair–she wasn’t even sure why she was doing that–and went to the door.

When she opened it she was faced with not one, not two, but three men.

Three giant men. They looked wild, and dangerous, and beautiful. Not the men of this age or this time. They seemed ancient and powerful, like the warriors of old.

Not to say that they were dressed in armour or anything.

In fact, all three were wearing identical black suits, which probably cost as much as a downpayment for a house, and white shirts, open to various lengths on their brown, muscular chests.

Elain whooshed out a breath.

Her lady parts did a funny squeezie-squeeze, especially at the sight of Azriel Night, whose dark golden skin contrasted gorgeously with the white shirt and the black tattoos that snaked from under the collar of his shirt.

“Gentlemen,” she said at last. “Please, come in.”

“Ready for us, beautiful?” Azriel smiled and winked at her.

“Yeah, all three of you…”

Initially, Azriel self-invited himself to be Elain’s date to the birthday party. That was followed by him telling her that he’d be bringing Rhysand as well, since Rhysand needed to be introduced to Feyre. But, apparently, Cassian was also ready to party, since he was standing right here, smirking and looming over everything and everyone.

“Brothers, let me introduce you properly,” Azriel announced, once they were inside. “Lady Elain Archeron, my future wife and the future mother of my children.”

“Ohmygod,” was all Elain managed to breathe, her eyes wide and her cheeks red.

Cassian chuckled under his breath.

“Az is mental. Don’t mind him,” Cassian waved his hand, as he shouldered his way in.

He was strikingly handsome in a rough, lumberjack-chic kind of a way. Big. At least 6”6. He was probably a Viking or something like that in the past life. A Fae General. A chieftain, who’d smear himself in paint and fight the enemies with all sorts of terrifying weapons. He looked mighty fine in his bespoke suit, but it seems like all these modern trappings were little more than a nuisance to him, and he’d be just as comfortable in some fighting leathers.

“Hi Elain!” he boomed, looking around and whistling softly. “Nice digs, Lady. I’ve seen castles that aren’t as fancy as this. Is it too late for me to become a matchmaker?”

Elain smiled and he pulled her in for a quick hug.

“You are my future sis-in-law apparently!”

“Oh god, Cassian, not you too!” she moaned.

“Step aside, Lothario,” Azriel hissed at him and Cassian laughed.

“I’d be worried too. He knows I am irresistible to the ladies,” he announced proudly.

“I am positive that Lady Elain can resist you.”

With that, the third man, a lithe, tall, slender, muscular specimen, with an aristocratic bearing, a bit of a posh sneer, and an impressively beautiful face, pushed past Cassian and then gently took Elain’s hand and brought it to his lips.

“Lady Elain Archeron. Allow me to introduce myself. Rhysand Darling.”

“Just Elain,” she told him, but curtsied nevertheless, adding, “Lord Darling.”

He smiled. He reeked of elegance and good breeding.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting the woman who’s bewitched my surly brother.”

“I am not surly,” Azriel threw with a frown.

Elain reached for him and then took Azriel’s hand in hers.

“He is alright,” she approved, smiling at him. “He’s grown on me.”

“I believe you know my mother and my sister,” Rhysand commented, as he clasped his hands behind his back and circled the formal living room and the parlour, admiring the art on the walls.

“Kandinsky,” he muttered to himself.

“I do,” Elain confirmed. “Lady Selene and the Duchess are members of the Women’s Institute, as are my sisters and I.”

“Wait, what?” Cassian gaped at the two of them. “You know each other? You know Selene?”

“We circulate in the same places,” Elain said vaguely.

Scowling, Azriel growled, “Yeah, with the Queen, right?”

“Her Majesty was a member of the Institute as well. The Sandringham Chapter to be precise,”

“You met the Queen?” Cassian gawked at her like she suddenly started juggling fire balls.

“Elain is a Lady,” Azriel said with a sigh, looking somehow depressed about it.

Elain held his hand in hers and gently rubbed her thumb over his pulse. When Azriel looked at her, she was smiling at him and that smile managed to calm him down somehow. Like Elain didn’t care about the difference in their upbringing, and she liked him for…him.

So Azriel smiled back at her and then whispered, “you aren’t even ready yet.”

“I’ve been baking.”

Azriel smiled excitedly and said, “I can’t wait to eat it! You know, matchy….Ours, is a match baked in heaven.”

“You are so ridiculous, I love it!” Elain stared at him, but then couldn’t help but laugh.

“I am not ridiculous! I am right,” he argued.

“Where is the little beastie with the bows?” Cassian looked around, seeking out Piglet.

Azriel frowned and also twisted his head this way and that way.

“Where is little matey?”

Elain pursed her lips and then pointed to the sofa in the family room.

“There he is. Being dramatic.”

And after a pause, added, “and RUDE! We have guests, and you are being absolutely rude!”

Azriel rushed to the pug.

Piglet was still dressed in his onesie, laying on the sofa arm, unmoving.

Depressed Piglet

“Pinky, my lovie, what’s wrong?” Azriel cooed, stroking the pug’s back.

Piglet didn’t move and just lay there listlessly, his little short legs draped over the sofa arm. Azriel nosed into his back and whispered, “what’s wrong? Daddy is home. I’ll take care of my boy.” He then picked Piglet up and cradled him to his chest.

“He is depressed,” Elain threw, while Rhysand watched Azriel fuss over the dog with amusement.

“Depressed?!?!” Azriel gasped. “Why? What made him depressed?”

Elain crossed her arms on her chest, and said, her voice laced with disappointment.

“We went to the vet today: to get Piglet’s longevity shots. It was a substitute vet–not his usual one–so he gave him a check up too.”

“Is he okay?” Azriel exclaimed in fright. “Is he sick?!”

Rhysand snorted a laugh at Azriel’s reaction. Azriel didn’t even look at him, while flipping him the bird.

“Whoa, is the doggo okay?” Cassian also asked, worried.

“He is fine. But the vet said that he is,” she took a piece of paper off the counter, and read out loud, “mildly anxious, highly spirited, overweight, overall well-adjusted, but with an extreme case of separation anxiety.”

As she repeated the diagnosis, Piglet released a tragic howl, before burrowing into Azriel’s neck.

“And he’s been like this ever since we came back.”

Azriel rocked Piglet back and forth in his embrace, kissing the top of his head.

“Don’t listen to the stupid vet. You aren’t overweight. You are just plump. And that’s okay. You are built for feed, not speed.”

Rhys laughed again, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the scene.

“And it’s okay to have separation anxiety. I am anxious every time I am separated from Ellie. And from you.”

“What exactly are longevity shots?” Rhys asked, cocking his head.

“They are illegal!” Elain announced proudly.

“Illegal?”

“Yes. They are stem cell shots. Not legal here. But I am not having my dog die–ever. So he gets his longevity shots every six months.”

“Must be a pricey enterprise?”

“It is. Three thousand a pop. And I don’t care. It’s worth it.”

“Worth it,” Azriel agreed, and then gently pulled Piglet away from his neck and looked into his big, sad eyes.

“Baby boy, do you want to go to a party?” he asked. “Do you want to be the star? You'll wear the nicest outfit and you’ll have so much fun there. Everyone will be loving on you. What do you say?”

Piglet sniffled, clearly needing more encouragement.

“There will be snacks,” Cassian added.

“Yes. And cake. And maybe chicken nuggies! They are your faves!”

“He likes chicken nuggets?” Rhys asked, chuckling.

“They are chicken meatballs, but we call them ‘chicken nuggies’,” Azriel explained.

And then, he started signing. And dancing. With Piglet dangling in his hands, Azriel sang to the tune of Jose Feliciano’s ‘Feliz Navidad’:

Please feed the dog

I am so hungry

I don’t wanna starve!

I want a bucket of chicken nuggies!

And a slice of meatloaf

Everyone stared at him, slack-jawed.

“Jesus Mary and Joseph,” Rhys whispered in horrified awe. “Do we need an intervention?”

“Don’t get in between a man and his dog,” Cassian warned.

The dog meanwhile, bobbed his head to the song, finally coming to, and returning to his normal self.

“Did he get snacks today?” Azriel asked Elain. “He looks a little thin.”

“Yeah, he lost 5 kilos because he didn’t have snacks today,” she threw tartly, still displeased with Piglet’s attitude and behaviour.

“Okay, can we at least do the Advent Calendar?” Azriel pleaded, while Piglet slipped from his hands and then trotted happily to the huntboard and got on his hind leg, waiting for his daily treat.

“Oh, really? Now he is ready?” Elain asked dryly, staring Piglet down, who turned away from her and towards a much safer Azriel. And he even sweetened the deal with a smile, grinning at his dad, and showing a full row of his tiny little crooked teeth.

“He is ready!” Azriel announced excitedly, and then there was a whole argument between him and Cassian over who is going to break the slat and take out the treat. Cassian won, because he declared that he ‘never gets to do it, but Azriel gets to do it all the time!’ With that, he broke the seal, took out a small chewable treat shaped like a bone and broke it in half, before Azriel could stop him.

“Oh no!”

“What?” Cassian asked, alarmed, while Piglet crunched on half the snack.

“You don’t understand…it’s dog maths,”

“What?”

With a deep sigh, Azriel explained, “If you break a treat into two, that actually means zero treats. Or, for example, when dinner is at 7 pm, but you serve dinner at 7:02 pm, that means that you are two hours late. Though if you serve dinner at 6 pm, you are also two hours late.

“Anything that is human food is also dog food, but dog food is only dog food. In addition, human food is not counted towards food or snacks, therefore, it could be consumed in unlimited amounts.”

Rhys was shaking with laughter, while Cassian was clearly doing some complex calculations in his head, as he listened to Azriel. He fed Piglet the second part of the treat, and then confirmed, “So this means he did not receive a treat at all?”

“Exactly. A broken treat does not count as a treat.”

“I am adopting dog maths for all my maths,” Rhys decided right then and there.

Elain was watching the brouhaha with a shake of her head, before she asked, “May I count on you three, gentlemen, to undress him, put this tie on him, and then put his coat on.”

She handed Azriel a brown chequered tie and a Burberry jacket for the dog, but he in turn handed it to Cassian and said, “I am going to go help my girl out.”

It’s not that Elain needed help exactly, but she didn’t mind it either. Cassian looked at the dog attire uncertainly, gnawing on his lip, and then told Rhys ‘you are helping’.

“He likes to escape,” Azriel offered helpfully, as he ran after Elain up the stairs.

The moment the other two men were out of sight, he lifted her in his arms and pressed his face into her neck, inhaling deeply.

“I’ve missed my girl,” he murmured, dragging his nose over her jawline, up her cheek, kissing her softly and slowly.

“Azriel,” she moaned into his hair, grabbing the back of his neck.

“Let’s fuck off and not go to the party, send Cass, Rhys and pug, and stay in and fuck?” he proposed, hope shining in his eyes.

She laughed softly and said, “I think my sister might be a bit affronted if I didn’t attend her 25th birthday so I could stay home and fuck, as you put it.”

“Who, Fey? Fey wouldn’t care!” he blew his cheeks, “she is our shipper!”

“What?”

“She ships us hard. Wants us to be together!”

“Is this your dark romance lingo?”

“You should join the dark romance revolution,” he suggested. “You can join our Book Club,”

“Wait, you have a book club?”

“Yes, we do. But shit, you can’t! No girls allowed,” he shrugged apologetically.

“You have an all-men Book Club where you read dark romances?” she asked incredulously.

“Yeah. We are not sexist or anything. We read romances and smut.”

“You just said that no girls are allowed in your Book Club. That’s the definition of ‘sexist’.”

He frowned, thinking, while he deposited her on the floor in their bedroom, and plopped down on the bed himself.

“Oh yeah. Oh, well, a little sexist. But not super sexist.”

“Oh, well, phew. As long as you aren’t super sexist!”

Rolling on his side, and propping his head, he gave her a heated, lascivious look and said,

“Come on, strip, baby. Show me what you are wearing!”

“Since when did our relationship include stripping?” she pondered, as she disappeared in the walk-in closet.

“Not yet, but it should include plenty of stripping,” he decided. “I am all stripping-ready and if you’d like me to, I can strip right now.”

“Oh, no doubt,” Elain didn’t seem surprised.

Downstairs, it seemed that the two humans lost control of the situation pretty quickly. There was banging, suspicious crashing, curses and little claws clacking frantically on the floor. Cries of ‘hold him!’ and ‘shit’ and ‘why is he so fast’ peppered the commotion.

Azriel was smiling, listening to the chaos. He did warn them.

“This? Or this?”

When he glanced at Elain, his jaw dropped. Everything was forgotten.

If the house was on fire, he wouldn't have cared.

Because his naughty Elain came out, holding two hangers in her hands, and wearing nothing but a tiny, lacy, baby blue lingerie set. It hugged her generous form very deliciously and was basically see-through, which made Azriel swallow audibly. He asked for stripping and well, here they were. He could clearly see her full breasts and the pink nipples beneath the gossamer-thin material. And the way her knickers wrapped around the round hips just so…the firm, but ample thighs…

“Nu!” she pressed.

“What?” he asked, looking dazed.

At that point though, Piglet tore through the bedroom. He looked a proper state. Half of his onesie was hanging off his body, and he zoomed wildly around the bedroom, diving under the bed, before emerging and repeating his frantic circle.

From downstairs, they heard Rhys’s disgruntled holler, “What is this dog on?! What’s in the longevity shots? Cocaine?! I bet it’s coke!”

Elain stood there, almost naked, laughing, while Azriel devoured her with his eyes.

Piglet stopped his zooming and gave the situation an assessing gaze, looking whether any serial killers needed sorting out. Having not found any, he gave everyone a victorious bark and then bounded out the bedroom and down the stairs.

“Hold him on the right!” Cassian shouted.

“He is too fast!” Rhys screamed back, “how’s he so fast when he only has three legs!”

“Bribe him with a strawberry or a piece of cheese!” Azriel yelled in turn, not taking his eyes off Elain.

She grumbled, “how many men over 6”5 does it take to dress a three-legged pug?”

Azriel sat up on the bed and whispered, “Come here, baby.”

“Why do I feel like if I do, then we might not be leaving here at all?”

“You might be correct, but maybe, just maybe, if I touch some of these fleshy soft bits,”

“WHAT? Fleshy soft bits??” she gasped incredulously, while Azriel’s very long arm wrapped around her hips and he pushed her closer.

“Such,” he kissed her, in fact, soft belly, “fine,” another kiss right below her breast, “fleshy,” and his lips landed on the side of her waist, where it curved sensually and where he licked a path down to her hip, “soft,” and he lightly bit the spot just above the lacy band of her underwear, “bits,” and he inhaled so hard with his face against the mound of her sex that a satisfied, raw groan of pleasure reverberated deep within his chest.

Elain almost fainted, when suddenly, he wrapped his mouth over the lips of her pussy, biting them gently through the material of the underwear.

“My god,” she gasped, not knowing whether to push him away, or to pull his face closer and into her slit.

He dragged his tongue against the seam of her folds, and muttered hoarsely, his voice rough and harsher than usual, “do you know how much I’ve dreamt about eating your pussy? How much I want to watch you coming on my tongue?”

“My god, Azriel,” Elain managed to growl out, while he filled his huge palms with the flesh of her round ass cheeks. His thumbs stroked her skin, while he kissed her thighs, around her belly button, before gladly sinking his teeth into her breast and biting her nipple.

“I will be your god, my beautiful Elain,” he promised. “Once I make you come, you’ll understand the definition of ‘my god’.”

“So confident.”

“Oh I am.”

He pulled back a bit, and told her, “Gotta confess. A nice bare pink pussy is my kryptonite.”

“I suppose I fit the bill then?”

“You do. You always do.”

She picked up the two dresses that she had dropped on the floor and showed them to him again.

One was a wintry, knit dress, which no doubt, would look mighty fine wrapped over her form. The other, was a much more formal dress, in some ways sculptural, made of some type of heavy satin. It was cream, tailored and spectacular.

“This is more practical,” Elain said, lifting the knit dress. “I can wear it with tall boots and I think it would look nice,”

“No,” he said flatly.

“No?”

“You aren’t going to look ‘nice’. You’ll look stunning. ‘Nice’ is not for Elain Archeron. It’s not for my girl.”

She bit her lip adorably, considering his words, while he was watching her like a hungry hound.

“I do have these shoes that I’ve been dying to wear, but they are open and it’s December.”

“Bring the shoes,” he ordered simply. “You’ll put them on there.”

“Okay,” she agreed, though it didn’t seem like she needed a lot of encouragement.

…Downstairs, Cassian had Piglet in some kind of MMA headlock, while Rhysand was attempting to put the jacket on the pug.

Small wins: they succeeded in taking the onesie off. And Piglet had a tie around his neck, even if it was all skewed.

The jacket was proving to be a challenge.

“You two seriously cannot be trusted with a dog,” Azriel lamented, watching the pathetic display.

“Fuck, Elain,” Cassian gasped. “You look…wow. You look really beautiful.”

Azriel immediately wrapped a possessive, proprietary arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him.

“Thank you, Cassian,” Elain smiled and then snapped her fingers.

With frightening ease, Piglet broke out of Cassian’s hold, showing that he was just indulging them and that they never stood a chance. He also grabbed the jacket out of Rhys’s hands and trotted to Elain, handing it to her.

“Are you going to be a good boy tonight?” she asked, as she dressed him in about 47 seconds. “It’s Aunt Fey’s birthday and you have to be nice to her. She’ll want to give you hugs,” at that Piglet sighed, “and you have to give her hugs.”

Piglet led the charge, and when he saw Dev and Dev asked to ‘shake’, he shook with him. Azriel was carrying the birthday cake, internally freaking out. That was a heavy responsibility. Rhysand was charged with carrying the cinnamon buns and the pastries. Somehow, Cassian ended up without a task, however, once they piled into the car, he was responsible for holding Piglet in his lap. Elain carried and touched nothing other than her purse.

“Camden then?” Dev confirmed with Elain.

“Yes,” Elain nodded, sandwiched between Azriel and Rhysand, and feeling a bit overwhelmed by the amount of testosterone in the car. The most amorous sensations came from Azriel’s side, whose scent she wanted to drown in. The heat of body, the muscular arm that pressed into hers, the very sight of his gorgeous throat which she wanted to kiss and lick and bite had her squirming in her seat, pressing her thighs together. Azriel gave her a side glance and smirked.

“You feeling okay, baby?” he asked lightly.

“Oh, just splendid!” she assured him tartly.

“You sure? You seem a bit squirmy there,”

“Oh, quite positive. Just setting in,” she offered him a fake smile.

“Anything I can do to help you? Settle in, that is?”

“Doing okay on my own,”

“It would seem so. Perhaps you’ve been doing it on your own for a bit too long…and might require a helping hand after all?”

Cassian squinted at them, stroking Piglet’s head, looking absolutely and hysterically ridiculous holding a dressed up pug. Elain kept averting her eyes from the two of them, because she knew that she was about to burst into laughter.

“Is this some kind of sex talk?” Cassian asked suspiciously.

Rhys smiled a brief smile, and it occurred to Elain that nothing much escaped this man.

“Ellie doesn’t do sex talks,” Azriel told him.

“Hmmm…sounds like sex talk,” Cassian insisted. “Will there be girls at this party?”

“Quite a few,” Elain nodded.

“Okay, maybe I’ll hook up with someone.”

“You are not going there to hook up!” Rhys warned him.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not an American frat party where you are going to be shagging someone in an empty bedroom. We are going to a birthday party. And we weren’t even invited!”

“I was invited,” Azriel argued.

“Technically, you weren’t,” Rhys argued. “You are going as Elain’s date.”

“Oh.”

“Then what am I?” Cassian wondered.

“Piglet’s date,” Elain joked. “Listen, it’s fine. You were all technically invited. Feyre wanted to meet everyone. She is quite taken with Azriel already. I am sure you’ll impress her as well. Now, impressing my older sister Nesta might be a little more difficult.”

“Oh yeah?” Cassian instantly leaned forward, as if the challenge of impressing Nesta intrigued him.

“Nesta is…complicated,” was all Elain said.

“Is she as beautiful as you?” Cassian queried.

Elain got all adorably pink and flustered and Azriel gave his brother an unimpressed look.

“Nesta is very attractive,” Azriel growled, stroking the side of Elain’s neck with his thumb. “But no one is as beautiful as Elain.”

Elain lit up like a Christmas tree at his words, blushing and smiling and trying to hide, but he only kissed her temple and held her closer.

When Rhysand heard ‘Camden’ he did not expect this. He wasn’t exactly a Camden type of a person, so he wondered if he’d stick out like a sore thumb in the Camden crowd. He was an Old Etonian. But when they arrived, he breathed a sigh of relief and reminded himself that the Archerons weren’t exactly poor. They stopped next to a sprawling refurbished industrial building. It was old London brick–dark and dirtied with age, which gave it character. There were a couple of huge windows, now brightly lit up, and behind the house was a canal and a little dock. This was nice.

Cassian got out first, and Piglet confidently trotted to the door and barked, announcing his arrival. Azriel was last, holding on that cake like his life depended on it. Rhysand smiled. Azriel was such a good boyfriend. Who would’ve thought? But he turned out to be the exemplary boyfriend, who was utterly obsessed with Elain. To an unhealthy degree, in Rhys’s opinion. Azriel already marked his body permanently with all things Elain. If this didn’t go well and ended in a way that Azriel wasn’t expecting, well…it would get messy. Hearts would be broken. Dreams would be shattered. Tattoos would have to be removed or covered up…

The door opened and a tall, very slim woman stood in front of them. That she was Elain’s sister was obvious. But her face was sharper, the eyes a steely grey-blue, long golden brown hair tied into a no-nonsense chignon at the nape of her neck. She wore a simple pearl-grey dress, well-tailored, but without frills, and a huge diamond and emerald brooch, a la the late Queen.

For a moment, she just stood there, assessing them all with an unflinching gaze.

“Are you Nesta?” Cassian suddenly stepped forward, his attention wholly on the willowy, busty beauty in front of him.

“You are late,” she said instead, ignoring him.

“We aren’t!” Elain argued. “The party doesn’t start until six and we have plenty of time to prepare.”

Cassian wasn’t deterred and announced, “I am Cassian!”

“Congratulations,” Nesta said. Then, she asked Elain, “What is this? A reverse harem?”

Before the confused Elain could answer, Cassian asked excitedly,

“Oh, a fellow reverse harem lover?! Very nice. What’s your favourite book?”

Nesta gave him a puzzled, but intrigued look, while he continued, undeterred,

“Mine is “The Kings’ Wife’! What’s yours?”

“‘Forget-Me-Not Bombshell’,” she answered flatly, surprising everyone. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Behind Nesta, they heard an excited voice, and an exclamation, “Elain, this cake!!! Oh my goddess! It’s crazy beautiful!! Piggy! Come…Come! Give me hugs! Come to me, my good boy.”

Piglet muscled his way between the sea of legs, and hopped towards the birthday girl, being a good boy, just like he promised.

She sat on the floor and accepted him in her arms, taking off his coat.

“Welcome everyone!” she said loudly.

“Thank you for having us,” Rhys said ahead of everyone. He wasn’t sure why.

And then, her eyes landed on him.

Feyre. What a name.

A gently lovely girl, with blue eyes and brown hair, and a scattering of visible freckles all over her nose and cheeks. Not a beauty like Elain. Not as striking as Nesta. And yet…

“I’ve heard your voice,” she suddenly said, her luminous eyes firmly planted on Rhys’s face.

“Pardon?” he stuttered.

“It was like you called me,” she continued, “and I heard you. Your voice. Across the hills, calling me. I think it was in a dream,” she laughed nervously. “But your voice was very distinctive.”

“Well, then I am glad that I am the man of your dreams. Literally.”

At that, Feyre laughed, but it was nervous, as if there was a grain of truth in his voice.

Rhys continued,

“Happy birthday, Feyre darling.”

She got up from the floor, still holding the pug. Piglet looked between the two of them with a smug look on his squished face. Like he knew something they didn’t.

“Are you Rhysand?” she asked shyly.

“I am Rhysand,” he confirmed. “You’ve heard of me?”

“I have. Apparently, I’ve also heard you. Welcome.”

Like her sisters, Feyre also wore a plain dress, of deep dark blue velvet. It was simple, but form-fitting, exposing her elegant neck. She didn’t wear any jewellery and at that, Rhys smirked and reached into his jacket pocket. He stepped closer to the birthday girl, ignoring all the curious stares from his brothers and her sisters, and then took out a flat black box and handed it to her.

“For you.”

Feyre blushed prettily and looked up at him from under her long lashes.

“A gift? For me?” she repeated, taking the box from him.

“A pretty gift for a pretty girl,” he smiled, smoothly opening the lid and suddenly taking out a…crown. A diadem.

Nesta stared at the gift, and so did Cassian, and even Azriel, with complete astonishment.

It was a delicate band of white gold, shaped like a branch, studded in places with tiny diamonds and lapis lazuli.

“A crown for the lady.”

Rhys smiled at Feyre, whose eyes were as big as saucers and then gently placed the diadem upon her head, effectively crowning her.

“Well, now it’s perfect.”

“I…my…I can’t…” Feyre began to babble frantically, but Rhys only offered an indulgent smile and said, “of course you can. Now, did you know that Piglet loves me and allowed me to dress him?” he lied.

“Oh no way! Really?!” she exclaimed, totally falling for his bullshit. “He could be so standoffish. And if he wants to zoom…well, then you can’t even catch him!”

“No?! You don’t say?” Rhys pretended to be shocked, while offering her his arm.

She took it easily, still clutching Piglet to her, her eyes never leaving Rhys’s face.

“May I tell you something?” she requested.

“Well, of course! What is it?”

“I think that you are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” she gushed. “And I thought that Azriel was handsome,”

“Well, he is another pretty face for sure. But not as pretty as mine,” Rhys winked at her, and they disappeared inside the huge loft, joking and laughing.

“Did he just give her a tiara?” Nesta questioned in disbelief.

“Yeah…who needs soup when you can just get a tiara,” Elain agreed.

Turning abruptly to Cassian, Nesta said, “Help me please.”

“With pleasure,” he grinned.

“I’ll let Elain take her coat off, but please bring the cake into the kitchen,” Nesta commanded, picking up the boxes with buns and pastries, while Cassian lifted the cake.

“Be careful with your bear paws,” she warned him sternly.

“Well, don’t stress me out!” he threw back, and they also disappeared inside the cavernous house, sniping and bickering playfully.

“Well, I don’t know what just happened there,” Azriel twirled his finger in the direction of his brothers, “but something did.”

Feyre’s place was wonderful, though very different from Elain’s. The floors were dark, old wide planks, the walls–exposed brick, shiplap, stucco, there were beams above, and soaring ceilings, impressive windows and all sorts of interesting industrial touches.

“I like our house better,” Azriel decided easily, after he looked around.

Elain smiled at his bluntness, finally taking off her coat. She sat on the arm of the sofa, and unzipped her boots. They were in a small sitting room, where Feyre usually watched TV. Just behind the wall, they heard laughter, clinking of glasses, and the arrival of more guests. Excited compliments of ‘Feyre, look at your tiara!’ ‘Fey are you wearing a crown?!’ ‘Feyre, you are a proper high noble lady’, ‘Should we call you Lady Feyre?’ and so on. They also heard Piglet squealing and galloping around, yelling wawabawa akwakwaka which was his usual call for snacks. Since he was ‘depressed’ earlier today, his snack consumption was quite low compared to his daily snack load.

It was only when Elain turned her head that she gasped and recoiled.

Because Azriel…

He was…

Well…

He was on one knee in front of her.

“Hi,” he smiled at her, seeing her shocked face.

“What…what are you…ohmygod…what are you doing?!”

She was literally hyperventilating.

Clutching the front of her dress, she was gasping like a fish, her face flushed.

“Elain, will you,” he began asking solemnly,

“YES!” she cried out, eyes wild. “Yes,”

“Give me your pretty foot,” he continued nonchalantly, smirking to himself.

“Wait, what?”

“Your foot, pretty girl,” he extended his hand out.

“You don’t want to…” her voice faded into a whisper.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure?”

“I am sure,” she hissed.

“So, you don’t want me to ask you to marry you?” he confirmed, while he took her foot and then pulled out her fancy high-heeled open toe pumps from the bag, and slid one on.

“No!” she shouted.

“No need to yell, beautiful,” he told her, working on the complex tie and clasp of the shoe.

On his knees

“I am not yelling,” she pouted.

“So you didn’t get excited when you saw me on one knee?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think that maybe, just maybe I’ll pull a ring out?”

“No!”

“Hmmm. You seem a bit upset, sweetheart.”

“I am not upset,” she folded her arms on her chest, as she bit her lip aggressively, trying to stifle the tears that threatened to fall.

“So you don’t want to marry me?” he pressed.

“No!” she repeated yet again.

“Hmmm,” he gave another annoying hum, and then took her left hand and squeezed her ring finger, before bringing it to his lips and kissing it. “And you don’t want a big diamond ring on this pretty little finger of yours?”

“No!”

“Okay, I am a little sad, as I was planning to stop by Cartier, but if you aren’t interested,”

“You are not going to do it!” she argued petulantly.

He shrugged, “who knows…But seeing as you aren’t interested anyway,”

Quickly she amended, “I am not not interested…”

“Oh no? Because I did think that you looked a bit devastated when you didn’t find me proposing.”

“I am not devastated. I was just surprised,” Elain insisted stubbornly.

He tied her second shoe and then bent to kiss her ankle.

“And if I did, propose that is, what would my Cinderella say to her Prince?”

He wrapped his big, warm hands over her bare legs, rubbing the backs of her knees slowly, as he waited for her answer.

“I don’t know! Can I say ‘yes’ after knowing you for 2 months?”

“You can say ‘yes’ after knowing me for two hours,”

“You called me a cow, and a prissy bird or something like that in the first two hours of our meeting,” she glowered at him.

“You implied that I couldn’t get it up,” he reminded her quickly.

“Ergh, I didn’t mean it,”

“Because I can certainly demonstrate–me getting it up pretty well,” he offered.

“So you keep saying.”

“And you keep denying me the opportunity,” he scolded, before kissing her hand again. “Look at me,” he ordered, and then lifted her chin, so their eyes met. “The truth is, at the end of the day, you are the one person I want to come home to. You are the only person who I want to tell about my day. You are the one who I want to share my happiness with, my sandnes, my frustrations. So, I’ll ask you, Elain Archeron. And you better say yes. Because there is no getting rid of me.”

Elain wiped her tears with her first. She didn’t even know why she was crying. Probably because she loved him. And the thought of him not asking her to be with him forever did in fact, devastate her.

“Why are you crying?” he asked gently.

“I dunno,” she admitted, wiping her tears again.

“You don’t have to cry. I am yours. I am.”

“You don’t have anyone else?”

“Nah…” then he stopped and looked at her guiltily, adding, “Well, I do…” he paused mysteriously and Elain gasped in silent horror.

“You do?!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah…”

“Who is she?”

“Oh, it’s a he,” he said immediately, grinning at her. “He is furry, likes snacks a lot, has three legs, snores and zooms,”

Through her tears, Elain smiled and then pushed him.

“Are you just going to traumatise me for the rest of the night?” she demanded, finally getting up.

“Do you like me on my knees in front of you, Miss Archeron?”

“That’s the least you can do for putting me through all this nonsense,” she looked down at her legs, her sexy shoes, and sighed.

“You are gorgeous. A girl of my dreams,”

“Apparently, that’s Rhys–he is in Feyre’s dreams,” Elain said dryly.

“Yeah, he is the girl of her dreams,” Azriel nodded and then rose up, while Elain laughed.

Cassian sat in an armchair, observing the revelry in front of him. He swirled his whiskey lazily around the tumbler, feeling mellow. He wasn’t exactly drunk, but he was under the influence for sure. It was a good feeling. The party-loving pug had arrived about fifteen minutes ago, definitely also under the influence of something, because he yawned widely and then raised his front paws, asking Cassian to pick him up. It looked like Piglet had decided that Cassian could join his secret and exclusive pug-pack and Cassian was only too happy to oblige. Now, Piglet was snoring blissfully, his head resting on Cassian’s thigh. Taking his pug-protector duties very seriously, Cassian scowled at anyone who attempted to disturb the sleeping pup, and considering his size and general appearance, no one dared to contradict him.

“Hey Nes,” he called out. “Come sit with me.”

Nesta, who was walking by, gave him her typical icy look and snapped, “Don’t call me that.”

“What? Nes?” he smiled playfully. “Alright, sweetheart. Whatever you say.”

He patted the seat next to him. It would be a snuggly fit for the two of them, since he took up so much space.

“What do you want?” she demanded, but he noticed that she didn’t exactly walk away.

“Come, sit with me. I’ll tell you a story.”

“I don’t want stories,”

“Sure you do, my prickly rose.”

“You are overly familiar, Mr. Night,” Nesta sipped her white wine, but Cassian reached out and held out his massive hand to her. And Nesta…Nesta…took it. He pulled her to him gently and she stepped closer, before he wrapped his arm around her waist and to her utter dismay, placed her next to him. Piglet moved onto his side, but didn’t wake up.

“The little beastie is tired,” Cassian murmured, his expression soft.

“What do you want, Mr. Night?” she tried again.

“You remind me of Elain,” he noted simply. “She is mad formal as well.”

“I don’t know you at all!”

“You can find out more. Whatever you want.”

“What do you do?” Nesta asked, squirming next to his massive, muscular body. God he was handsome. Azriel was handsome, hands down maybe the most handsome one out of the three–and that was saying something. Rhysand–not her type, but undeniably beautiful. But this one–objectively, he was probably the least classically handsome, yet to Nesta, he was simply stunning. Everything she didn’t know she liked he possessed. This size of his, the muscles, the strong features, the jet black silky hair tied into a haphazard bun.

“I am a sports agent,” he answered. “What about you?”

“A barrister.”

“I should’ve guessed. Here is what I think, Miss Archeron,”

“What?”

“You are a very successful, very beautiful, very lonely and very misunderstood woman,”

Nesta jolted in her place, her pale face colouring angrily, her brows knitting together at the audacity of his words. His expression remained calm, almost placid, though, unlike Azriel, this wasn’t a placid man. Undeterred he continued, “And I am guessing that you are knocking on 30 pretty soon, and you aren’t very happy with where you are in life. It should’ve been different, right?”

She attempted to get up, but he held her down, and tsked,

“Before you storm away, let me tell you something,”

“Leave me the hell alone!” she snarled. “You uncouth, rude bastard,”

He chuckled.

“Uncouth, huh? Cute. The Archeron girls are adorable. Now, look at them,” he jerked his head towards the crowd. Reluctantly, Nesta followed his gaze, and watched Elain and Azriel seated next to each other on top of the radiator cover, eating what looked like ice cream. Well, he was holding the bowl, but he was feeding Elain, who was licking the spoon, before he dunked it back into the ice cream, and took a swipe himself. She rested her head on his shoulder, both of her hands wrapped securely around his upper arm, holding onto him like she couldn’t let go.

It struck Nesta then–how relaxed Elain looked. Elain was always a little bit tense, unless she was with Piglet. She was especially tense around Eris, always worrying about his opinion, always desperate to please him, always seeking his approval, or a rare compliment. Elain worried about her figure, having been told by their mother that she was chubby and that she’d never get married, because men wanted a slender wife. Elain was insecure, old-fashioned, but bold and entrepreneurial, which made for a confusing combination. But never did Nesta observe Elain looking so…content. Happy. At ease. She held on to that big, tattooed, striking man and only had her eyes for him. It didn’t look like the rest of the world existed for her, because he was the centre of it.

“She is in love,” Nesta breathed, the realisation slamming into her like a hammer.

Azriel was in love, for a long time now, and of that she was sure. But Elain? Elain had fallen too.

Turning abruptly to Cassian, she found him with his hands clasped behind his head, looking mighty satisfied, with a proud smirk on his lips.

“What are you so happy about?” she demanded.

He tsked and said, “I set them up.”

“What are you on about?”

“Without me, they wouldn’t have met! I was the one who contacted her. I was the one who dragged him to meet with her. I was the matchmaker. And look how well I matched them. Now, obviously, this extends to Feyre and Rhys now. If it weren’t for me, they wouldn’t have met either,”

“Hold your horses with them! They just met tonight,”

“And yet he crowned her like she was his lady,” Cassian reminded her.

“Which was weird,”

“Rhys likes big gestures,”

“Alright, fine, what do you want? To quit your job as a sports agent and work with Elain as a Junior Matchmaker?”

At that, Cassian laughed, and woke up Piglet. The dog stretched, yawned and then rolled over and quickly located his ma and dad in the crowd. With a happy yip, he jumped off the chair and ran over to them.

Nesta turned away from Cassian, watching Azriel scoop some ice cream into a soup bowl and let Piglet slurp it all with messy gusto. Nesta knew how much Piglet loved a pup cup, and this was a pup cup on steroids. Elain and Azriel cooed and laughed over their dog, holding hands, watching him, commenting something to each other, and Nesta was struck by another revelation–they were a family. Somewhere along the road, somehow, the three of them formed a family of their own. And Elain was no longer just an Archeron. For almost thirty years, Nesta had her two sisters, and the three Archeron sisters were an unshakable, even somewhat notorious unit. They were regal and beautiful and available and wealthy. They were the Three Sisters. And now…She glanced at Elain again, who was back on the radiator cover, seated with her legs crossed and placed on Azriel’s lap, who held them tightly. Whatever he was saying, was making Elain laugh loudly, her head thrown back. The grouping of empty glasses near her probably played a role as well. But it stung Nesta somewhere deep in her chest. Her beloved sister was no longer hers. Her beloved sister was now beloved by someone else. Elain’s light and softness were well and truly melding with the untamed intensity of Azriel Night.

“The only one I want to matchmake for, is you,” Cassian said firmly. His tone was steady, but he said it in such a manner that Nesta turned to him, looking into his lovely luminous hazel eyes.

“And who are you setting me up with exactly?” she asked, cocking her head.

“Me.”

“You?”

“Me. You and I are going on a date.”

“Excuse me?” she almost choked on her wine.

“Why are you surprised, Nes?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’ll call you whatever you want me to call you, sweetheart. What do you say? Walk on the wild side? Me and you?” he winked at her.

“You are mad,” he concluded simply.

“Perhaps. Doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.”

She stood up from the chair, and he didn’t stop her this time. He just looked at her expectantly.

“Fine,” she said tersely.

Cassian smiled.

“I knew you were a smart girl.”

“I am already regretting it,” she warned.

“You won’t have any regrets. Once I am done with you, you’ll be asking for more and more dates.”

“Doubtful.”

“I’ll prove it.”

She threw him a withering glance, and added,

“The only reason I am saying yes to you is because,”

“My blinding handsomeness? All my bulging muscles? My mighty height? Wicked sense of humour? Winning personality?” he offered.

Nesta rolled her eyes and moaned, “Help me Lord. No, ridiculous man.”

“What then? What secret weapon do I possess that totally made you want to go out with me?”

“Piglet trusts you,” she shrugged, like it didn’t mean much.

“Oh…”

“And he doesn’t trust many people. I’ve been watching him. He trusts no one like he trusts Azriel. He even trusts Azriel with Elain! Which is unheard of. He is actually capable of leaving her with Azriel and not hovering like he is surgically attached to her. And when I saw today that he actually sought you out and slept next to,”

“That was the turning point?” Cassian chuckled. “The beastie trusting me?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s good to know. He is my wingman. Now, where the fuck is cake?! Are we cutting or what?”

“It’s a birthday, not a wedding,” Nesta reminded him. Cassian took her by the hand, soliciting a small girlish gasp of surprise from her.

“Yeah…not yet.”

Elain was standing, eating birthday cake, chatting with her old classmate Lucien, who was also one of Feyre’s closest friends. Lucien was also distantly related to Eris, which only confirmed yet again how incestuous their circle actually was. Azriel teased her about it, but he was actually correct in his observation.

Lucien’s been throwing confused glances in Azriel’s direction most of the night, as if trying to figure out who he was to Elain, and what the nature of their relationship was.

But he was too polite to ask, so instead, he joked, “So, when am I going to be set up with someone sexy, smart and successful? What am I, a wet herring?”

Elain laughed.

“All herrings are wet by default,” she told him, “I thought you weren’t interested in matchmaking?”

“I wasn’t. But seeing how well you are doing, I am eager to have you change my mind.”

“Are you ready then?” Elain asked seriously.

A year ago, Lucien was in a very serious car accident, where he lost his eyes in the aftermath. His longtime girlfriend left him shortly afterwards. He’s been devastated ever since, and wouldn’t venture out in any social situations, let alone dates. This was the first time that he decided to attend anything that had more than three guests, and only because he and Feyre went way back.

“I might be. I want to have someone looking at me the way you are looking at him,” and he nodded towards Azriel who was talking in a group of men.

Elain squirmed a bit and blushed at his insinuation.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Eris. Not my business,” he told her quickly.

“Thank you. But Eris hasn’t been in touch for weeks now. It’s nobody’s fault.”

“His loss. Maybe mine as well,” and he looked at her with a longing that made her almost uncomfortable. “But I don’t think it was ever meant to be–you and I.”

“I don’t think so,” she agreed. “We look good on paper. But maybe we don’t work so well as anything but friends.”

“The friendship is good,” Lucien decided, sipping some of his champagne. “Let’s do that. Let’s be friends.”

“And there might be someone of interest who could be a good potential,” Elain murmured thoughtfully, clearly thinking about something.

“Oh yeah?”

“But you’d have to be a client. Formally.”

“At least tell me her name!” he laughed. “What if she has a horrible name!”

“Nuala. How’s that? Can you live with that?”

“Oh. Nuala. I like it!”

“So, if you are serious, then ring me up after New Year’s and we’ll create your profile and will get to work.”

“And you think that this wouldn’t be an impediment?” he asked awkwardly, pointing to his face.

Elain looked at him and said seriously,

“For some, yes. For others, no. If they can’t see beyond the surface and not understand what you bring then it’s probably not a good match. Or a good person.”

Suddenly a familiar, very muscular, very big hand smacked Elain on the ass.

She whipped and hissed at the grinning Azriel. Piglet was at his feet, looking up, also grinning smugly.

Before she could unleash, Azriel quickly explained, “It’s my burden, beautiful. Every man’s burden–the need to smack his lady’s juicy rump whenever we are near it.”

“Oh, is that so!!” she exclaimed, while Lucien hid his smile in his champagne flute.

“Listen,” Azriel said somberly, like he was being serious. “It’s not easy. It’s not easy to have these…urges. You think I want to walk around, see your gorgeous arse, and be overcome by an intolerable need to slap it? And then I have to trudge and actually, you know, do it! Slap your yummy buns.”

“Yummy buns?!?!?”

“Oh goodness…” Lucien laughed. “I think I shall leave you two alone to discuss!”

“Not until you tell her that it’s an uncontrollable urge that all men suffer from?” Azriel insisted, wrapping his arm around Elain’s waist.

“Most of us do,” Lucien confirmed. “Not everyone acts on it though,”

“See, not everyone acts on it!” Elain elbowed Azriel and he bowed dramatically.

“I think it depends on the arse. Yours is too tempting not to smack.”

Once Lucien moved on to another group of guests, Azriel grabbed Elain by the hand and dragged her after him, with Piglet hot on their heels.

“You are not having messy sex with me in the closet!” she warned.

He didn’t answer, but threw her her coat and her boots, while lunging at Piglet and taking him by surprise before he could escape.

“Are we leaving?” Elain asked, looking around and at her coat in confusion.

“No. But put it on. We are gonna go out for a sec.”

She frowned at his abruptness, but took off her heels and pulled on her socks and then her boots, before tying her coat with a belt. Piglet was wearing his jacket too, though he looked unamused and put off by the fact that he wasn’t chased around. Azriel even pulled on Piglet’s knit hat, while he dressed himself, and then taking Elain’s hand, he had the three of them sneak out quietly.

The moment they were outside, Elain gasped softly and threw her head back.

The world had turned white.

Snow.

Thick, fluffy piles of snow had fallen in the past few hours and now covered everything in pristine brilliant whiteness. It swirled in the lemony light of street lights, falling silently all around them.

Piglet looked up, awed.

This was a new and beautiful thing that he didn’t remember from before. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and he caught snowflakes on his nose, licking his lips loudly. Then, with a happy howl, Piglet burst forth and galloped through the snow, rolling in it and screeching joyfully.

Elain bounced on her heels, clapping her hands excitedly, laughing and also trying to catch some snowflakes on her tongue.

“This is better than sex in the closet!” she giggled, spreading her arms wide.

Azriel came behind her and wrapped his arm across her chest.

“Fuck sex,” he whispered into her ear, his lips warm and tender on her cold skin. She shivered at the proximity, because of how good he smelled, and because he enveloped her in his warmth and his bigness. He continued, his cheek scraping against her own.

“I am trying to be your home, you know. Your safe place. Your go-to person for happy and for sad. I am looking to be the reason you smile, and laugh and clap your hands.”

“Az,” she breathed and turned in his arms, looking up at him. Her chocolate-brown eyes were filled with tears. Tears of love. They rolled silently over her cheeks, while Azriel smiled down at her and whispered,

“We're still gonna have rough sex though.”

Before she could answer, he gently took her jaw in his fingers and tilted her face so it lined up with his.

“I want to kiss you, Elain,” he said seriously, his breath fanning over her lips.

“Kiss me then,” she permitted. Thick, white clumps of snow fell on Azriel’s black hair, his eyelashes, her hands that clutched at his shoulders. Her tears dried up and she breathed heavily, disoriented and aroused at once.

And then, Azriel kissed her.

His lips were heavenly.

Soft and light at first, tentative and gentle.

She tensed against him, the bulk of his body shielding her from the world. And in this world, in her world, there was only him.

His kiss was tender, but firm, luxuriant and dominant at once. He gripped her face in his massive hands, squeezing tightly and holding her in place, but his lips were soft and loving on her mouth. He didn’t hurry, but tasted her thoroughly, enjoyed the scent of her sugar- and wine-tinted mouth. She tasted delicious–like he always thought she would. Butter and honey and pastry and everything nice. Everything that was Elain. She was sweet and homey and familiar, and he felt like he’d kissed her a million times before.

His tongue parted her lips at last, and he continued his exploration, but it grew hungrier and more urgent as the kiss progressed. A groan of primal, animalistic pleasure escaped his throat, reverberating against her lips and Elain trembled in his arms, growing hot and needy, despite the falling snow and the sharp wind.

She felt consumed by him, and yet, worshipped at the same time. Just like always. He ignited feelings in her which she’d never experienced before–didn’t even think that she was capable of them. It was raw and hot, and left her feeling lightheaded and overwhelmed. Elain didn’t care about anything at that moment, nothing but Azriel Night, the man she came to love so desperately and completely.

She arched into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding the back of his head, while he cupped her head and delved deeper into her mouth, licking and sucking on her tongue. His other hand fell away from her face and slipped down her back, before pressing into her hip and pushing her closer to him.

Elain was well aware of his general size and how he was big everywhere. But feeling him now, thick and hard against her belly, definitely aroused–finally made her feel like a woman. She felt desired. Needed. Wanted. Big, strong, powerful, towering Azriel, and she was his undoing right now. Little Elain, whom no one took seriously. Azriel Night was kissing her. Panting for her. Growling in his chest like a beast because of how she made him feel.

She didn’t know that she needed this kiss until his mouth took possession of hers. To say that she’d never been kissed like this before was an understatement of the century. Azriel licked and sucked on her mouth, nipping on her lips, biting them until they were swollen beneath his. It was then that she released a ragged, pitiful moan of pleasure, because he ground himself between her legs and her breasts rubbed into his solid chest, intensifying her pleasure, making her feel everything.

“This is the sound I want to hear when I am inside of you,” he murmured into her mouth, kissing her lightly, before clamping his teeth over her jaw.

Elain felt his heart pounding against her own, and she howled into the night when he bit her neck, sucking in on the delicate skin and marking her as his anew. He sucked and bit her and she staggered back, almost falling out of his arms. He didn’t let go of her, but only growled like a beast, panting into her skin, his lips and teeth working themselves deep into her flesh, while his arms banded around her. Elain gasped from the pain and the sublime pleasure, because hearing him grunt and growl like that might have been the sexiest sound she’d ever heard.

“I want them all to know who you belong to,” he whispered, returning to her lips and kissing her hard and sloppily. She loved this untamed, wild side of him, where he lost his control and revealed the true nature of him and his utter obsession with her. “To me. You belong to me,” he chanted. “Mine.”

“Yours,” she nodded, kissing his lips, kissing his eyes, then his tongue, then his lips again. She was the one to lose control of the situation just as well. If he wanted to fuck her against the wall of her sister’s house, she’d let him. She was achy everywhere, tense and wet between her legs, and when he boldly thrust his hand under her dress, and between her damp thighs, he smiled.

His thumb brushed against her slit, and between kisses he asked, “all for me?”

“All for you,” she nodded, biting his neck hard and leaving teeth marks on his skin.

“I guess you want me to be yours as well?” he joked, and then pulled his hand away from her pussy and licked his thumb. Before she could answer, he kissed her again, his tongue sliding against hers and allowing her to taste her own essence. It felt forbidden and scandalous and not something that Elain’s done before, but she liked it. She liked everything. And this kiss…it was unreal. It was unreal in its intensity and its pure eroticism. Who could even kiss like that? Apparently Azriel Night could. She was buzzing. Head to toe she was shivering, her fingers and toes were tingling, her tongue couldn’t get enough of him, of his taste, of how he felt against her own tongue.

Once they pulled apart to get some air into their lungs, Azriel smiled at her and rubbed his cold nose against hers.

“Can I kiss you now any time I want to?” he asked.

“Yes!!” she just about yelled. “And I will be kissing you!”

He clasped his hands on the small of her back and kissed her again, “well, that’s brilliant, because I really, really like kissing you.”

He then reached between their bodies and said, “Now, look what I have!”

“What?”

From his pocket, he took out a…carrot.

“Stole it from Fey,” he said conspiratorially, as if it explained something to the very perplexed Elain.

He grabbed her hand and said, “come on! We are building a snowman!”

“Now?”

“Well, of course now!” he said, looking at her like she was silly. “Next year we might be building one with our baby. This year, we gotta build it with our fur son.”

“What baby?!” she gasped, as he tugged her along, to the clearing where Piglet was burrowing through the snow, rolling in it and howling with excitement.

“You know–son, daughter. Baby.”

“We are having a baby now?”

“Starts with kissing, ends with a baby. That’s how it is.”

“I wasn’t planning on having any babies,” Elain argued feebly, but he only said, “plans change’.

The snow was thick and wet, but there wasn’t heaps of it, since it was London, after all.

“You do the head, I’ll do the base,” Azriel instructed, assessing the situation and figuring that they’d have enough snow for a small, modest snowman.

Turned out that Elain sucked at making a snowman. She wasn’t wearing gloves and her hands kept getting cold, so Azriel needed to continuously interrupt his own work, so he could blow into and kiss her freezing palms, which only descended into more kissing…mouth kissing. Meanwhile, their stupid pug kept destroying the round snow mounds that they managed to construct by jumping into them and rolling around happily. Elain’s boots were soaked through as well, so by the time Azriel finally managed to roll a decent base, he had to give his girl a piggyback ride, because she was freezing and shaking, while laughing uproariously. She was also filming his work on her phone, while Piglet hopped around them, trying to understand what was happening. Hanging precariously off Azriel’s back, Elain finally managed to roll a decent-enough ball, which they hefted together and carefully placed on top of the other ball.

“Pink, we need a stick,” Azriel instructed, and Piglet took off before Azriel even finished talking.

“Whoa,” he breathed, as Elain laughed, her arms wrapped around his neck, and her lips constantly making contact with his face. “I guess he really wanted that stick.”

Piglet returned with a stick, tossed it to Azriel, who fashioned one arm out of it, before sending the pug to fetch another. Soon their snowman had two arms, a couple of coins for eyes, and then, with great fanfare, Elain pushed the carrot into the head.

She barely managed to take a few photos and a short video for Piglet’s Insta account, before he began to circle the snowman curiously, barking and growling at it, and then attacking it viciously.

“Why are you so mean?!” Elain cried. “You are supposed to be gentle with it! Don’t eat it!”

Oh yeah, he was gonna eat it.

Piglet savagely munched on pieces of the snowman, licking and pulling clumps of snow, smacking his lips.

“Fucking animal,” Azriel laughed, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around Elain. “Are you cold?”

“I am,” she nodded. “But I don’t want to go back inside. This is so much fun!”

“Yeah? What else is fun?” he teased.

She drew her knuckles over his cheek, his now-wet hair and then stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his cold mouth. He didn’t have to be asked twice and quickly took over, capturing her sweet mouth with his and eagerly coaxing her plump, buttery-scented lips apart. She whimpered against him, especially when his hands boldly slid to cup the curve of her behind, slipping beneath the coat and making her shiver from the cold. She didn’t care. She sighed warmly and deliciously into his mouth and wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, her cold, wet fingers tangling in his hair. Caressing his tongue with her own she opened up eagerly to the kiss, and Azriel responded in kind, deepening the caress of his tongue, kissing her filthy and hot, his lips both teasing, and dominating at once. It was dirty and open-mouthed, her kisses loud and maddeningly sticky, rendering his brain to almost naught–all he saw and felt was his gorgeous girl, finally, nearly all his.

Elain moaned against him and Azriel…pulled away abruptly and yelled, “Piglet! The fuck, you weirdo?!”

Elain turned around and gasped in shock, not knowing whether to scream, cry or laugh. So she did all three–laughing so hard, that tears sprung in her eyes.

Because Piglet burrowed into the snowman and successfully pulled out the carrot, which he was now crunching on, though it looked like he was making out with the snowman.

“Dr. Hannibal Piglet Lecter,” Azriel muttered. “Fucking savage pug.”

Azriel grabbed her phone and filmed the carnage.

From Piglet's Instagram: The carrot is no more

“This should pay for his upkeep for a month,” he said, knowing that the video will garner a million likes and comments.

Gripping the half-eaten carrot in his mouth Piglet rushed to them and demanded that Azriel pick him up.

“That’s it? You just give up?” Azriel laughed, as he grabbed the dog and pulled Elain closer to him.

When they returned to the house, the first thing they were greeted by was Nesta and Cassian, glaring at them and arms crossed on their chests.

“We saw you making out!” Cassian declared like he was Mother Superior at a convent.

“Guess the two of you failed as chaperones!” Azriel shrugged indifferently, while he helped Elain out of her coat.

“We didn’t fail!” Nesta bristled. “You two are out of control!”

Little did she know.

The next day

Dev arrived around 11:30 am. He hadn’t asked Azriel this yet, but he had wondered where Azriel planned to live once he and Elain got married. Elain’s house made much more sense for a family, not to mention that her office was here as well. But if Azriel was going to move here, Dev needed to consider where he was going to move as well. Russell Square, Holborn, Fitzrovia were really out of his budget. Azriel paid well, but these were some prime locations, and he’d have to rob a bank to afford something nice. Shame that he wasn’t a footballer who grew up with a billionaire duke, or a little heiress who inherited a damn mansion just because. Considering her sister’s place last night, Dev definitely thought that it was better to be born wealthy and healthy, than poor and ill.

The pug came out first, dressed in a full on morning suit, with a pale blue silk tie no less. He barked his greeting and headed for the car.

“Shake?” Dev asked, extending his hand. Piglet gave him his paw. Then Elain and Azriel came out of the house, holding hands like teenagers. No doubt about it, his old mate Azriel Night, the quiet, scarred boy whom Dev met in a group home when they were around eleven was in love. Azriel, who didn’t say much, leaving the talking to his rambunctious brother Cassian, but who possessed incredible speed, the ability to appear and disappear like a ghost, and a mean left hook that could fall even a grown man in a few seconds–that Azriel was now all grown up. And Dev was proud of him. Azriel deserved something good in his life. Something nice. Something pure and genuine. And this sweet little matchmaker of his, this fancy noble Lady and her posh pug somehow, amazingly, fit the bill.

Azriel opened the car door for Elain, and just as she climbed inside, he slapped her arse.

“I am a gentleman, baby,” he announced. “Always a man, not always gentle.”

“You can’t be like this in front of my father!” she warned.

“Oh, meeting the family?” Dev chuckled. “You ready for that, big man?”

“I’d have to meet him one day,” Azriel shrugged. “Guess today is the day.”

“So, where to? Kensington Palace? Buckingham?” Dev joked. Would he be terribly surprised of Elain said ‘yes’? not really.

“Mayfair,” she said. “Mount St.”

Of course. Dev wasn’t even surprised. An ultra posh street with Balenciaga, Rubinacci and exclusive jewellery stores, a caviar and champagne restaurant Scott’s, as well as the luxury Connaught hotel where basic rooms went for 1,000 quid a night.

“We usually go to Annabel’s for all of our birthdays,” Elain explained, and both Azriel and Dev shook their heads.

“Let me guess. Dad is a member?” Azriel chuckled. Annabel’s was an elegant private club with a dance floor for the famous, the dressed-up and the well-heeled.

Elain pursed her lips, indicating that he was.

“So why not today?”

“Feyre texted and said that we should go to dad’s,” Elain said. “Said to bring you,”

“Oh boy. I am getting somewhat nervous,” he joked, but Dev, who knew Azriel for a long, long time, noticed a note of worry in his friend’s voice. Azriel was all jokes and nonchalance and elegant swagger, but he was going to meet the father of the girl he loved. And that meant something. It was important.

It wasn’t a long drive and Dev soon parked next to a massive, three story Edwardian mansion. It was red brick with white trim and actual columns. Piglet barked excitedly, recognising the place.

“You’re going to go see grandpa?” Elain asked, stroking his head. Piglet barked again, raring to go.

“Whenever I have to leave him with my father–especially if I go on a holiday–I come back, and it’s basically ‘I shall require organic vegetables three times a day with freshly churned butter. A pup cup of the finest double cream delivered daily and milked from a prized cow in Oxfordshire. For dinner, I shall dine on a lightly seared steak, a bit of duck confit and a brioche toast. Oh, and a couple of mini cannoli straight from Naples’.”

“Somehow, I am not even a little bit surprised,” Azriel admitted and Dev nodded in agreement.

“The level of spoiling that he receives from my father is criminal.”

Azriel told himself that he was not nervous, when Elain took his arm, and they walked under the portico, the doors opening as if by magic.

There was a butler, who greeted them and called Elain ‘Lady Elain’. They walked through wide marble hallways and sitting rooms, Azriel feeling decidedly out of place even if he wouldn’t show it. Piglet tore through the house, howling happily, unconcerned about anything, and by the time they saw him next, it was in the dining room where a middle-aged gentleman was cooing and hugging the pug, rocking him like he was a baby.

To Azriel’s surprise, Nesta was here too, but also Cassian–which was unexpected, to say the least. Cassian raised his shoulders, indicating that he had no idea why he was here, though it didn’t look like he was greatly burdened by the company.

“Daddy!” Elain went to her father and he smiled at her.

“Good morning, pumpkin,”

Pumpkin? That made Azriel smile. But the nickname fit. She was his little pumpkin.

“Please meet Mr. Azriel Night,” Elain introduced them. “My father, Sir Charles Archeron.”

“Arsenal captain,” the older man nodded knowingly. “My girls are Tottenham fans. I am an Arsenal man myself. Though I do enjoy rugby a lot as well.”

“I am slowly pulling Elain and Piglet to my side,” Azriel teased.

“Oh, I saw all the photos on that Instagram that Elain has for the pup. He looked like a Gunner born and bred.”

Azriel laughed, “You follow him too?”

“How can I not,” he squeezed Piglet lovingly. “Barring my girls giving me actual grandchildren, this is so far, my only grand-pup,” he said dramatically.

Nesta rolled her eyes. Elain rolled her eyes.

And both groaned.

“This is what happens every time I mention grandchildren,” Mr. Archeron complained.

Just as he said the words, Rhys entered the room, holding a champagne flute, with Feyre on his arm.

“Oh, you’ve arrived!” Feyre exclaimed with a wide smile. “I was just showing Rhys around.”

“Why are we all here, by the way?” Nesta asked impatiently. “I was looking forward to Annabel’s.”

“Forgive the change of plans,” Rhysand said breezily. “We’ll be sure to go to Annabel’s soon.”

“Well then, what is it?” Nesta sipped her mimosa, while silent servants circulated around the room with trays of champagne. “We are all here now.”

“I am curious myself,” Mr. Archeron agreed, while he gave Piglet a piece of cheese. “And I am pleasantly surprised to see my three daughters with such fine gentlemen. All here together, today.”

Nesta was about to protest the implication that she was here with Cassian, but Cassian put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently, effectively quieting her down.

Rhysand and Feyre exchanged a glance, and then he said,

“Feyre and I got married earlier today. She is now Marchioness Feyre Archeron-Darling, Lady Darling. My wife.”

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #azriel and elain #pro elriel #elain #elain x azriel #A Match Baked In Heaven #elriel fanfic #Elriel Fanfiction #my writing #acotar fanfiction #Three Brothers and three sisters #THe Bat Boys and the Archeron sisters #my fanfic #new chapter

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rosanna-writer · 4 months

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Love at First Sight's for Suckers (2/5)

Summary: [A Feysand Newsies AU] Rhysand had a reputation. A big reputation. But fortunately for Feyre, a newsie selling papers on the streets of Velaris, tabloid gossip about the handsome, charismatic, hard-partying war-hero of a High Lord's heir means business is booming. That is, until the city's newspaper magnates get greedy, Feyre finds herself an unwitting labor leader at the center of a strike, and Rhys becomes an unexpected ally... Warnings: None

We're back with Feyre continuing to unwittingly make Rhys lose his mind in second part of my gift for @the-lonelybarricade for @acotargiftexchange! Thank you to @itsthedoodle for beta reading <3

Ch. 1 - Got a Feelin' 'bout the Headline | Ch. 2 - Beautiful. Smart. Independent.

You can read the second chapter Here on AO3 or under the readmore.

Feyre really didn't like the way that cop was looking at her. He'd already passed her corner once, and she'd forced herself to ignore him and just keep hawking papers. There were hundreds of lesser fae newsies just like her on the streets of Velaris—even though she was shouting headlines, she might as well have been invisible.

And when you were technically a fugitive, nothing less than invisible would do.

But something had made him turn around and come back. Lucien, at least, was long gone, back to his spot by the docks to finish work for the day. Feyre hoped he wouldn't come looking for her again; if she needed to bolt, Lucien couldn't travel through shadows, and Feyre would never, ever leave her best friend behind.

Recognition flickered in the policeman's eyes. He broke into a run, straight towards her. "Feyre Archeron!" he shouted.

Heads turned. Feyre's heart pounded. The faeries in the square turned their attention to her, putting it together that they had a criminal in their midst.

So Feyre became a shadow again.

To everyone else, it looked like she'd disappeared entirely. But Feyre had merely made herself impossible to grab, nothing more than a wisp of darkness, and she slid into the shadow that the nearby streetlight cast in the late afternoon sun.

She couldn't stay like this forever, so like a ghost, she passed through the solid walls and doors of the Rainbow. Feyre tried to ignore the pang of longing at the workshops and art galleries—there was no time to linger. The Rainbow had always been a safe haven, but there was one place in particular she knew she wouldn't be found.

Once she was backstage at Ressina's theater, Feyre let herself become corporeal again…only to be greeted by an ear-piercing shriek.

"High Lady! " Ressina cried. "Do you really have to do that right in the middle of my dressing room?"

"Sorry. Had a bit of an emergency, Mind if I hide out here for a while?" Feyre said.

Ressina smiled. "My favorite scenic designer can stay here as long as she likes."

Feyre leaned in and kissed the air just above both of Ressina's cheeks, careful not to touch the actress's heavy stage makeup. If Ressina hadn't been wearing an elaborate sequined costume, complete with feathered hat perched precariously on her head, Feyre would have given the female a hug.

"Painting a few trees hardly makes me a scenic designer."

"I made sure you're credited as one in the playbill. And we've been getting such good reviews, I can finally pay instead of owing you a favor. Rhysand and Morrigan are even in the audience tonight."

"Rhysand is…here?" Feyre almost didn't believe she'd heard correctly. As far as she knew, the prince spent his free time at parties and pleasure halls—not in small, lesser fae-run playhouses in out-of-the-way corners of the city.

Cauldron, did he even like musicals?

"Probably some arts patronage thing. Morrigan is on the board of damn near every charity in Velaris."

That made a bit more sense, Feyre supposed. It was common knowledge that Rhys and his cousin were close; perhaps she'd dragged him here. And regardless of why, the buzz from the prince's attendance would do wonders for ticket sales, and Ressina deserved that. In addition to performing, she owned the place, having built the business from the ground up herself. "That's fantastic news."

Ressina shrugged. "We'll see if anything actually comes of it. I don't count my dragons before they hatch. Intermission is almost over, but feel free to stay and watch the rest."

And with that, Ressina left. From previous experience, Feyre knew that backstage in the middle of a show was a busy place, so she crept up to the front of the house and hoped she could find an empty seat.

As she passed one of the private boxes, a familiar voice drifted through the open door. Feyre did her best to ignore the way her heart gave a traitorous little flip at the sound.

"Mor, are you positive that your contacts at the food bank will be prepared for the increased demand?" Rhys was saying.

That was…odd. Whatever this was about, he sounded deadly serious, not at all like a person who was out to enjoy a night at the theater. Feyre froze and strained to listen for Mor's reply, telling herself that obviously the matter was something of political importance if more people in Velaris were suddenly going to need assistance.

Yes, definitely that and not just her own inherent nosiness.

But Mor's reply never came. And neither did the chance to fade back into the shadows. When Rhys's voice drifted out from the open door again, his purr was unmistakably aimed at her. "Hello Feyre darling.

If he wasn't accusing her of anything, Feyre certainly wasn't about to apologize. "Twice in one day. Think it's fate?" she said evenly, letting her voice carry to him.

He materialized in front of her, leaning against the doorframe. At some point since that morning, he'd changed into a formal black tunic embroidered with silver swirls. Feyre found herself wondering idly if the design matched the Illyrian tattoos she'd never seen for herself—the Herald ran plenty of headlines about Rhys in compromising positions, but tragically, a picture of him completely shirtless had never made the front page.

But of course, Feyre was only thinking about that because the plunging neckline he'd worn last Starfall had sold out papers in record time.

"If it is, then I'm the luckiest male in the world." Something in Rhys's smile was just a bit too knowing. Feyre didn't like it.

But still, there was something comfortingly familiar about hearing more of his teasing. "It's nice to see you, too."

His voice floated into her head, which nearly made her jump out of her skin. Rhys had never used his daemati abilities on her before. You shouldn't be out here, not with the police still after you. The box is secluded enough to hide, and there's an extra seat. Join me.

For a long moment, Feyre just stared at him, blinking in surprise. She'd merely stolen a loaf of bread for Lucien in a moment of desperation when he'd spent several days too sick to work and her own earnings hadn't been enough to support them both. Avoiding arrest by fading into darkness hardly made her a notorious criminal, not when any other shadow-wraith could call upon the same abilities.

But Rhys knew. And Feyre couldn't fathom who might have told him or why he'd care. She didn't trust it. "You'll want something in return, won't you?"

"I might." He gave her another one of those annoying feline smiles. She scowled back.

"Fine. What do you want?"

"Draw something for me on the blank newsprint in your bag, and we'll call it even."

Feyre had never heard him sound so earnest, and his violet eyes had gone soft in a way she'd never seen from him before, either. She couldn't shake the feeling she was missing something. "I— What? Why would you want that?"

"My walls are looking a bit bare. What better way to fix that than with something you made?"

More teasing, then. They were back on familiar ground, and Feyre would have thrown a punch—mocking her art was a low blow—if Rhys hadn't praised her work before. When they'd met, she'd been sketching the skyline over the Sidra on a spare bit of newsprint leftover at the end of the day. He'd asked if she was selling newspapers to pay for art school, and she'd laughed in his face.

But after that, he'd returned to buy the paper from her every morning without fail.

"Alright. It's a bargain."

Magic crackled in the air as the bargain tattoo appeared on Feyre's arm, a swirling design that covered everything from the elbow to the fingertips of her left hand. She'd spent her whole life in the Night Court; she knew what bargain tattoos were. But by the Cauldron was this one elaborate. And beautiful.

Rhys was looking at her as if he could hear her thoughts. Feyre frantically double-checked that her shields were up—it was so easy to forget she was in the company of a daemati. "You have an artist's eye. I hope it's up to your standards."

"Bargains go both ways. Where's yours?"

"If you're that curious, undress me and find out."

It must be exhausting, Feyre supposed, to go through life unable to stop flirting for more than a few minutes at a time. But then again, Rhysand never looked tired. "Will you manage to keep quiet during the show? Or am I going to hear you blathering on about how my eyes are like stars the entire time?"

"That's something else you'll have to find out for yourself."

Before Feyre could get another word in, he took her hand and tugged her into the box. The door snicked shut behind her on a night-kissed wind.

A blonde female Feyre only recognized from newspaper photos turned and smiled at them. Morrigan, Feyre realized. She'd heard Rhys use his cousin's name, but after shouting so many headlines about her, Feyre was still caught off-guard by the sight of the Morrigan in the flesh.

"You must be Feyre Archeron. I'm Morrigan, but call me Mor. It's so nice to finally meet you," she was saying, holding out a hand for Feyre to shake.

"Oh. Um. Hello," Feyre said. There was an awkward beat of silence as she tugged her hand—which was still in Rhys's—back so she could shake Morrigan's. "Nice to meet you, too."

There was more uncomfortable silence as Rhys and Mor just stared at each other, and several different expressions cycled across their faces in quick succession. At first, Feyre didn't know what to make of it. But then she realized they must have been speaking about something mind-to-mind. Whatever the topic was, it seemed��contentious.

And that had almost distracted her enough not to notice that Mor had said nice to finally meet her. Feyre couldn't imagine who could possibly have been speaking about her to Mor so frequently.

Rhys indicated for her to sit, and Feyre did. He was right about the box being secluded; the seats were set far enough back that she'd be difficult to spot if someone came looking for her. It put her at ease.

"Do you need something to write with?" he asked, dropping into the seat next to her and stretching his long legs out in front of him.

Feyre always carried a pencil. She reached up under her cap and pulled it out of the messy bun it had been keeping in place all day. Her hair—light brown now that she was fully corporeal—tumbled down her shoulders. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Rhys staring at her, mouth slightly parted.

Before he had an opportunity to say something cutting, Feyre said, "You left a loophole, you know. I could just draw a line on the paper, and I'd keep my half of the bargain."

He shrugged. "Maybe I just wanted to see what you'd do."

Feyre had no idea what to say to that. But at that moment, the lights dimmed, and Mor took a seat on Rhys's other side. Musicians began to play the opening notes of the entr'acte. Feyre tuned it out; she'd heard it enough times when she'd been painting sets during rehearsals.

The bigger question was what she was going to draw for Rhys. As a shadow-wraith, she could see perfectly in the dark theater, so there was nothing stopping her from spending the next hour perfecting a sketch. And uninterrupted time to work on her art was vanishingly rare.

But still, it was Rhys, so the temptation to draw the outline of a cock just to spite him was strong.

Even stronger, though, was the urge to sketch his face. Rhysand was without a doubt the most beautiful male Feyre had ever seen, and since the day they'd met, she'd been eager to try her hand at capturing his strangely sensual-yet-swaggering demeanor on canvas. But a prince could have his portrait done by any artist he liked, and Feyre doubted that he'd agree if he asked him to model for her.

So even though it was against her better instincts to do something that might inflate his ego, Feyre wanted to sketch a portrait of Rhys. To her surprise, he kept quiet and still, actually paying attention to the show.

It was the longest Feyre had ever seen him go without smirking. His features were soft, and she did her best to capture that instead of the smug mask he presented to the world. Something told her moments where he looked this unguarded were rare.

She finished just as the show ended and the lights brightened again. Before Rhys could see what she'd drawn, Feyre rolled up the portrait and held it out for him with a pointed look, daring him to unroll it and examine it in front of her. The bargain tattoo on her hand faded.

Wisely, he merely thanked her and tucked it into a pocket dimension.

"Feyre, the sets you painted look like dreamscapes," Mor said, brown eyes bright. If Feyre wasn't mistaken, that was admiration.

Feyre shrugged. "The actors just needed something pretty to stand in front of while they sing."

Mor locked eyes with Rhysand again, probably having another wordless conversation. Feyre took it as her cue to leave—she could easily slip into the crowd headed for the exit, then find Ressina backstage. But Mor let out a decidedly unladylike snort, squeezed Rhys's shoulder, and winnowed away.

Rhys looked at her, and something in his eyes pinned Feyre to the spot. "Will you allow me to walk you home?" he said.

***

Rhys wasn't entirely sure he was breathing as he waited for Feyre to answer. Not that it was the point, but he wasn't sure his already-bruised ego would survive slinking back to the House of Wind alone after he'd just urged Mor to leave him alone with his mate.

"Why?" Feyre said. At least it wasn't a no.

He slid his hands into his pockets, hoping he looked nonchalant. "Because I'd like to see you get home safely, and no one will bother you if you're with me."

She nodded once. "Alright."

"I can meet you at the stage door once you've gotten your coat."

"I— I don't have one."

He was pulling his own off the back of his chair and wrapping it around her shoulders before he knew what he was doing. This late in the year, Velaris was cold after dark. And perhaps it was reckless, but the risk of a few headlines about Feyre taking him home was worth making sure she didn't freeze.

At least she'd put her arms through the sleeves while she'd scowled at him, though.

Rhys looped his arm through hers and winnowed them outside to the street. Without thinking about it, he started walking towards the tenement she shared with far too many newsies crammed into the small space. Hopefully she wouldn't ask why he knew exactly where it was.

For a while, they said nothing, but to Rhys's immense pleasure, Feyre didn't pull away from him. The silence was comfortable, and for a moment, Rhys just let himself imagine that they were walking home at the end of a proper night out.

But he'd gone to Ressina's in hopes of finding Feyre there for a reason, so Rhys broke the silence. "In a turn of events, I have news for you this evening."

"Do you?" Feyre raised her brows expectantly.

"Starting tomorrow, the owners of Velaris's newspapers will increase the price they charge the newsies. Sixty cents per hundred."

Her hand tightened on his arm as Feyre's entire body went stuff. Their mating bond was still unaccepted—and therefore, faint—but Feyre's anger surged down it anyway. The force of it was nearly enough to knock him off his feet.

When Feyre spoke again, her voice was low and deadly. "Who told you?"

"I was there when they petitioned my father for assistance today. He said no, so they moved on to another strategy."

"And why are you telling me?"

"Because if this develops the way I anticipate it will, then I want to make sure you're the first to know that I won't be buying the paper from a scab. I'd publicly support a strike."

Feyre went quiet, and to keep himself from succumbing to the temptation to read her thoughts, Rhys forced himself to focus on the lights reflected on the river in the distance. Her fingers on his arm never relaxed.

"We don't have a union," she said eventually.

"Then consider this a head start to remedy that." If anyone could form one in a matter of hours, it was Velaris's High Lady. Rhys was sure of it.

"Thank you."

They lapsed back into silence again. Even if Rhys weren't a daemati, he'd be able to see the wheels turning in her head, just from the determined set of her chin and the way a muscle ticked in her jaw. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen a more beautiful sight.

All too soon, they arrived at Feyre's stoop. Before Rhys had a chance to insist she keep the coat, she shrugged it off and handed it to him. "I'm not a charity case," she said, as if she could hear his thoughts.

Rhys took the coat but didn't slip it back on. "I know better than to suggest you are."

"Good." Despite the cold, Feyre made no move to step inside. Rhys was torn between urging her to go warm up and wishing that she'd stay out here with him forever. Something in her face softened, and Rhys could almost fool himself into believing she'd let him kiss her goodnight after a night at the theater as he courted her properly.

But Feyre, he reminded himself, didn't want him like that.

Rhys started to say goodbye, but Feyre added, a bit more softly, "For what it's worth, you're going to be one hell of a High Lord one day, Rhys."

Maybe Rhys didn't have Feyre Archeron's heart, but he did have her respect. And maybe that mattered more.

"My father's not a dreamer, and the Night Court suffers for it. Good luck tomorrow."

Rhys refused to waste any more of her time; unable to resist preening for her just a bit, he stretched his wings out wide, then launched himself into the air to return to the House of Wind.

When Feyre had shown up outside the box, he hadn't been able to avoid telling Mor exactly who she was to him. And now, Rhys could practically feel his cousin's mind vibrating with curiosity as he reached for it. She reassured him—not for the first time that day—that Velaris's charities were prepared to handle an influx of newsies in need, and Rhys pointedly ignored his cousin's request for updates on what she'd termed the moonlit stroll with his mate.

Alone in his bedroom with the door firmly locked behind him, Rhys finally pulled the newsprint out of the pocket dimension. And if Feyre's art hadn't been so precious, he would have dropped it in shock.

She'd sketched him. There was something soft about Feyre's portrait that had been missing from the stiff, official ones he'd sat through with his family. It gave Rhys the strangest feeling that Feyre had seen something soul-deep within him and recreated it with a pencil on a spare bit of newsprint.

If the next day weren't likely to be long and uncertain, he would have spent half the night staring at it.

When he woke early the next morning, Rhys could still feel Feyre's anger simmering in the back of his mind. He resisted the urge to tug on the bond for reassurance she was alright—the last thing he needed was for her to feel the pull just behind her ribs and realize what it meant. So all he did was keep alert as he dressed, ate, and made his way to his father's study.

And as if on cue, when the High Lord's daily briefing was barely through, Pulitzer himself burst into the study. Darkness swirled around Rhys's father, dimming the room, a clear warning that the interruption was unwelcome.

"My apologies, High Lord, but it's urgent," Pulitzer said, bowing politely.

"What, exactly, is urgent?" Rhys's father snapped.

"The newsies of Velaris are forming a union. They intend to strike, and I'm here on behalf of the city's newspaper owners to ask for your support with breaking the strike."

Rhys stilled. For a long moment, the study went silent. The slight deepening of his father's frown—and the fact that a tendril of darkness hadn't already thrown Pulitzer from the room—made it clear enough that the High Lord was weighing his options.

"Who's their leader?" Rhys said, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

"An upstart shadow-wraith named Feyre Archeron. They call her the High Lady," Pulitzer said with a sneer.

Rhys felt a warm glow of pride—despite the darkness that rolled off his father in waves. The High Lord jealously guarded his power, and it seemed that even a poor lesser-fae female couldn't get away with a nickname he took as a threat or a jibe.

"You can't possibly—" Rhys said.

The High Lord cut him off. "What sort of support?"

"Police, if you can spare them," Pulitzer said.

Rhys stood so quickly, he nearly knocked over his chair. "There is no reason at all this needs to escalate to violence."

"As my heir," the High Lord said coldly, "you need to learn that in situations like this, it's necessary. If we make an example of the newsies, the rest of Velaris will hesitate to disturb the peace going forward. Pulitzer, you have all the crown's resources you need."

Pulitzer was bowing again and thanking the High Lord for his support, but Rhys hardly noticed. He was already storming off towards the Rainbow.

#feysand #acotar secret santa #love at first sight's for suckers

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sugar-omi · 6 months

Text

DAY TWENTY-ONE — EGGS

*kinktober masterlist | *ao3

tags : NSFW, gn/intersex + top reader, dragon!reader x human!cove, arranged marriage, stomach bulging, knotting, mpreg i suppose, cove w nip n belly piercings, praise

synopsis : you've put off having children to accommodate your human husband, and for him to get comfortable with you. but cove insists he’s ready, and you wouldn’t dare deny your darling husband something he wants

cove is anxious.

and the servants helping him bathe and dress aren't helping as they go on and on about how beautiful your children will be, that "with their majesty's dragon blood, your children will be beautiful and strong!"

even though you promised to be gentle, it didn't ease his fear now that it was happening.

and now he's all alone, sitting in the middle of this grand bed, even though the door is also grand since this is your bedroom- fit for royalty afterall-, he often wonders how it even got in the room from its size.

he tries to focus on the logistics of how the bed was squeezed into the door, and focuses on the grandeur of your palace.

even after nearly a year here, he can never get used to the high ceilings and gold, bold colors and tall open windows. the land is pretty too, open space for dragons to land and flourishing flowers and trees and clear waters.

then he started thinking about how the people dress…

open backs to accommodate your wings, in truth the clothes are quite skimpy to begin with to make room for your tail as well but also since dragons run hot, you need a breeze.

rings and chains to decorate your horns, eye catching makeup and much gold and silver and gems to go around.

it's much different from how he's used to dressing. even though he's used to and comfortable with a lack of clothing, the glamor always make him feel out of place.

even now, necklaces cool his hot skin and he's aware of the rings on his sweaty hands.

he swallows, sighing shakily. he twists his wedding band, shaky fingers tracing the brilliant gems and every curve and bend of the ring.

the door groans, and cove nearly snaps his neck to meet your gaze.

you blink lazily, your nails scraping against the wood as your hand drags along the door. your jewelry clicks, cove's eyes lingering on the shiny pair of anklets.

"ogle as long as you'd like, little dove." you purr, the rumble of your booming voice sends shivers up cove's spin.

he blink, meeting your sharp eyes. "sorry.."

you shake your head, locking the door behind you without looking. the click sticks to cove's mind, anticipation rising in his chest.

"the ladies worked hard to dress me up, please appreciate their efforts." you take long strides across the room, kneeling in the bed and reaching out to softly caress your husband's cheek.

you eyes droop, pointed pupils softening. "i know i do…" you purr, your fingers trailing between his flushed cheeks to his painted, glossy lips.

"although, i think they should have taken your natural fluster into account, the blush is poor in comparison."

cove wraps his hand around your wrist, peeking at you through his lashes.

"i'm.. glad you think so." he mutters, nuzzling into your hand.

your eyes trail down his body, your fingers following your gaze. starting with his hair, curling his hair around the digit, trailing down to his neck and lingering on the choker, pupils dilating with the way it stretches around his throat.

then your nail drags down the valley of his chest, parting his robe to see his pierced nipples, the gem of the jewelry your favorite color.

cove squirms, feeling like prey in the hands of a predator. in a way he was, but he tried not to think of that anymore.

"um.. i- they made something special for tonight…" cove takes your raised brow and retreating hand as a sign.

he undoes the ribbon, and everything seems to move in slow motion as the sleeves pool at his elbows and he shifts to show you his lovely outfit for tonight.

if the servants dressed him with the aim to be devoured, they've hit the mark.

if it isn't the lace underwear, leaving nothing to the imagination, it has to be the garter belt and thighs, showing the expanse of his long legs.

you growl, your canines pricking your bottom lip.

cove's eyes nearly fall out his head when you rip off your own garments, leaving on your underwear.

cove almost wishes you'd take them off so he can prepare himself mentally for what you're packing.

he still hasn't decided if he's thrilled or petrified by what you could get up to in the bedroom. he figures he shouldn't think with his dick, but that's a difficult challenge when it comes to you.

"y-y/n?" cove stutters, scooting back on the bed.

you crawl up the bed, your wings flaring.

cove was always painfully aware of the size difference. but having you hover over him like this.. it makes him squirm and he isn't ready to admit he likes how intimidating you are.

you take his hand, placing a gentle kiss on the back of it. "don't run from me… i promised i'd be gentle, didn't i?" you peer at him through your lashes, turn his arm to kiss his fingers and down his palm…

cove nods, his mouth dry. "yes.. you did."

he feels like you're sucking the breath from his lungs without even kissing him. your lips trailing down his wrist and you repeat the action on his left arm, kissing up the pale, raised path of his scar and to the back of his hand, kissing his ring.

he shakes, biting his bottom lip.

your hand trails down his side, your palm hot against his skin, you snatch off his underwear with a loud rip, throwing the ruined fabric to the side.

cove yelps, trying to close his legs. "y/n!"

you push his legs apart, tugging him so he's laying on his back. "you look divine, my love. i can't resist..." you kiss his inner thigh, getting close to his growing erection before switching to the other thigh. you make eye contact when you part your lips, biting him gently enough to leave a mark but not bleed.

cove moans, covering his face, mumbling something inaudible.

your clawed hands wraps around his wrists, "don't hide your sounds or face from me. i don't want to tie you up." you grin wolfishly, only partially joking.

cove nods and squeaks out his agreement, feeling his temperature rise when you sink back down but not before taking a vial of oil, spreading it over your fingers. "just relax for me.." you purr, slowly sinking in one finger.

he blinks, feeling a bit hazy... right, you mentioned something about pheromones. this must be it, since he feels himself relax and his racing heart evens out.

cove loses himself in your voice, your praises and pet names barely reaching him.

cove whimpers when you add another finger, pushing back on the digits. “good boy,” you purr. “you look so lovely..” your fingers curl against his walls, oil getting on the sheets from how careless you were with it but the mess just adds excitement.

“you’re going to look so pretty on my dick. i almost can’t wait for it..” you pet cove’s cheek, getting close to steal a kiss from his loose lips, pretty moans like a symphony. “it’d be a shame to break you though when we have a whole lifetime to spend together..”

you close the gap, cove mindlessly following your lips and you kiss him so gently it makes his head spin. your lips swallow up his moan when you add another digit, slowly stretching him open.

he breaks the kiss, panting and whines loudly.

your lips fall to his throat, pushing back his hair to place wet kisses along tan skin, stopping to suck a hickey where you feel his pulse under your lips, leaving a deep mark that will take days to heal.

he squirms, forcing your fingers against his prostate. “ahh!” cove cries loudly, his walls convulsing around your digits. you grin, happy to see him falling apart from your fingers alone. “is that your spot?"

you curl your fingers again, rewarding you with a loud moan, his back arching off the bed.

"that's it doll, keep fucking yourself on my fingers." you sink down so you're on your stomach, kissing cove's tummy until you're face to face with his weeping cock.

you kiss the tip, taking him into his mouth.

"ah- y/n.." cove squirms, grinding on your fingers, twisting the sheets. you take him further into your mouth, swallowing around his length.

cove groans, his thigh shaking under your hand. he forgets about a special trait of dragons, and that's your long forked tongue…

you tongue wraps around his dick, spit running down his length and balls, adding to the mess between his legs. cove squirms, thrusting up into your mouth, his fingers finding their way into your hair.

you scissor your fingers and suck at the same time, cove yelling out loud curses and moans. his fingers tighten around your strands and you groan around his length.

“f-fuck!” cove cries, tears welling up in his eyes and his free leg shaking by your side. he tries not to kick you so instead he lets go of your hair and finds your horn, his fingers wrapped around the base.

the vibration from your muffled noises, your growl making your throat move around his leaky cock pushes him over the edge, his cum filling your mouth. cove whimpers, crying your name and his nails scratch the base of your horn as your tongue moves up and down his length, your lips sucking on his tip.

he pushes against your head, his foot hitting the bed. “that’s- hah- that's enough…”

you release his spent cock, wiping your mouth as you admire your darling husband with his face covered by his arm, chest rising and falling (you mentally remind yourself to pay special attention to his pierced tits), and his cock still twitching leaking on his tummy.

cove peaks at you, his bangs sticking to his forehead. “are.. are you gonna put it in?”

your jaw tightens and you feel your dick twitch against your thigh, eager to make those tears caught on his long lashes fall.

you nod, and you resign to a scolding from your tailor later about all the ripped clothes as you throw your underwear to the pile. cove’s eyes roam down your body, his shaky gaze settling on your cock.

he mentally curses, squirming. would.. would you even fit? and what about the eggs? fuck. he feels in over his head.

almost like you’ve read his mind (as if his worry wasn’t obvious), you reassure him. “don’t worry, beloved. you’ll be able to take my cock and eggs, i’ve prepared you for this day haven’t i?”

cove swallows, his stomach stirring pleasantly as he thinks back to all the nights you called him to your room or snuck into his and stretched him open with your fingers or tongue until sunrise, then you’d disappear until the afternoon as if you hadn’t pulled him apart just hours ago.

“yeah..” cove mumbles, watching you pour oil over your dick. you’re so thick, prominent ridges along the underside leading up to your tapered tip, and a fat knot at the base. then his eyes trail down to your cunt, your slick running down your thighs..

“i’ll let you fuck me once we’re done.”

cove snaps out of his trance, meeting your knowing eyes with his own wide saucers. “w-what?!” you lean over him, your wings casting a shadow over you both. “i’ve never had sex with a human, it’ll be interesting.. especially if you’re full of my eggs.”

cove moans, pinching his lips together to muffle the sudden sound.

“ah, so you like that idea! how sweet..” you cheer, almost teasing but he tries not to take it that way. you lack shame, perhaps something caused by living so long, whereas he has much of it, enough shame to be embarrassed by most things out your mouth.

cove didn’t plan to say anything back, but any thought he did have vanishes when you sink inside him, your tip stretching him out and he throws his head back, arching and squirming against the sheets as your dick stretches him open the more you sink into him, the ridges dragging against his walls deliciously.

your tail swings behind you, messing up the bed sheets. you’re panting, trying to give him time to adjust to your size but he’s flushed down to his chest and panting so adorably, his cock still as lively as ever and you can even see a bulge when he sucks in his tummy… you want to ruin him.

cove blinks through his tears, licking his lips.”you.. you can move.” he pants, removing half his face from the pillow.

you lean over him for a kiss, your sweaty chests pressed against each other as he wraps his arms around your neck, pulling you into a deep, messy kiss. he’s too busy feeling your forked tongue along the inside of his mouth to realize you’re rearing your hips back, drunk off pheromones and consumed by your being.

you slam inside him, your knot pressing against his entrance. cove yells into your mouth, breaking the kiss.

you kiss his temple, “you don’t mind if i’m a little rough.. right?”

you don’t even give him a chance to respond, pushing out all his thoughts with you dick, the ridges of your cock dragging against his walls and he’s melting at how your cock easily reaches those sweet spots inside him.

cove cries, clinging onto the pillows as your cock drags against his walls, cum getting all over his and your stomach when you lean down to suck on his jeweled nipples, scraping the sensitive bud with your teeth and hollowing your cheeks.

he whines, his cock twitching and leaking more cum. fuck it feels so good.. and when you finally pull off his nipple is puffy and flushed, then you switch to the other one to do the same. cove cups the back of your neck, letting you suck on his chest.

‘i wonder if i’ll lactate..’ cove stares at the ceiling with blurry vision, his bouncing feet and your brilliant wings in view. you’re using your body to fold him in half, forcing him to open up and take you.

you pull off his nipple with a pop, nuzzling into his neck and nipping at his skin.

“nngh-” cove throws his head to the side, exposing himself to you and you welcome it. cove’s nails drag down your back, catching on the base of your wings.

you groan, your thrusts faltering and your head drops to his shoulder. he can feel your shaking breath, your fingers tightly holding onto his thighs.

“..again..” you mumble against his shoulder. cove blinks, not hearing what you said. “huh? did that- did it hurt?”

you remove yourself from his shoulder, your eyes sharp and panting. “do it again. touch my wings again..”

cove stares dumbly before he nods, stroking the base of your wings and rewarding him with a lovely moan and you shudder, your wings fluttering and flapping. “fuck..” you curse, fixing your grip so your hands on the back of his knees and cove cries out when you set a faster pace, your tip slamming into his g-spot.

your knot is catching on his hole, the sudden stretch whenever you push into his insides makes his head spin and his cock twitch, but every backwards pull of your hips pulls your knot out and it makes his heart hurt. he wants to be full so bad he could cry.

you’re purring, your rumbling chest reverberating through him. “‘gonna knot.. gonna fill you up…” you babble, licking up cove’s tears he didn’t realize he was shedding.

you stop your bullying on his poor guts to ease your knot into him before it didn’t fit, and cove’s nails drag down your scales to your skin. you kiss cove’s open mouth, scooping up all his moans and cries and babbled words with your tongue.

“so good. good mate..” you soothe when your knot finally pops inside him, his tight ass stretched and filled to the brim with you cock. cove wraps his arms around your neck to kiss you properly, and you’re the one who realizes he’s cumming, his cock shooting out long strips of cum over his tummy.

you growl, the sound shaking against cove’s tongue.

you grind into him, your tip right against his prostate. you babble more soothing words and praises as cove cries and whines, feeling your cum paint his insides.

“so good- just a bit more..” you lick his wet cheeks, holding both his hands as he starts to get louder and squirmer, your dick stretching to accommodate your eggs.

cove’s legs are shaking, and his cock even drools more cum.

to think he started out wishing he never agreed to marry you and move to your foreign kingdom, and here he is falling apart on your dick, cumming from your knot and the stretch of your eggs filling up his insides.

“y/n~” cove drawls, whiny. that was one egg… not bad, it’s not as big as he feared it would be, suppose the whispered gossip from the towns ladies back home about how “a dragon's egg would make a human burst!” isn’t anywhere near the truth.

you shush him, kissing his cheeks. “it’s okay, lovely. just a couple more..”

cove whimpers, your cock stretching against his sensitive walls, this time the second and third egg is easier, filling him up quickly. he pants, his weak arms falling to his side, his fingers twitching and he barely finds the strength to hold onto the pillow when he feels more pressure.

“i-i thought-!” cove cries, looking down at his stomach.

even through his bleary eyes he can see his wide stomach, your eggs and cock making his stomach bulge.

cove cries and curses, his head falling back. that… that’s hotter than it should be.

you pant, massaging cove’s thighs. “last one.. last one i promise…”

the egg stretches past your tip, knocking against the other eggs and cove sighs, happy that it’s finally over. he puts a hand on his stomach… dragon eggs definitely aren’t small, and he’s tired.

although.. he can’t help but be a bit happy.

you pet his hair, kissing his cheek…

“i knew you’d look good full of my eggs.”

#sugar-omi kinktober #sugar omi kinktober #kinktober #olba #our life: beginnings & always #cove holden #cove holden x reader #smut #cove holden smut #cove x mc #cove x reader #cove our life #cove holden x reader smut #cove holden x mc #our life cove #our life smut

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scuttlingcrab · 2 months

Text

Mortals

A Warlock is Born

Summary: Korrilla summons Raphael to aid her in a fight at the Devil’s Fee. Raphael recruits a new warlock to his cause.

Notes: This is part of an ongoing collection of short stories focusing on Raphael and the mortals who have impacted him throughout his existence. Each little story loosely ties into the main plot of Baldur’s Gate 3. The second part will be out soon!

The first story, The Curse of Lady Luck, can be found here. You do not need to read them in order, as each story is stand-alone.

(Image via breadandbloodybutter)

Raphael’s spine tingled when he felt Korrilla’s summons. There was a sharp tug at his chest, attempting to pull him towards her requested destination. Not now, imprudent creature. He anchored himself in his chair, falling back into a trance as he stared at his latest painting. His eyes danced over the thick swirling brush strokes and the vibrant oranges and reds of the setting sun.

He had positioned his easel on a hill near Neverwinter, a superb location overlooking the Trackless Sea. Raphael’s preferred spot for seclusion and indulging in mortal leisure pursuits, one of his many guilty pleasures.

The sky was ablaze around Raphael but there was no blistering heat. Instead it was juxtaposed with a gentle breeze that cooled his skin as he watched the sun disappear behind the horizon. There was no equivalent in Avernus, where the raging skies barely changed save for a sparse cloud or two that brought iron rain and the occasional arcane thunderstorm.

Fiery oranges clashed with dark blues and light purples as they fought for the dying attention of the sun. The ocean waves were calm, mirroring the chaos in the skies so perfectly that it looked like an infinite void. Raphael’s mouth salivated as he took it in. He must capture it all, a perfect addition to his ever growing art collection.

Raphael carefully picked up his paintbrush, as if it might crumble with the slightest change of pressure, and dabbed the tip of it in paint. The final stroke. As Raphael brought the brush to his canvas, Korrilla’s second summons tore through his body. He winced as his chest heaved forward, nearly sending him tumbling down the hill. His body flickered between both locations, a loud ringing pierced the air as he got glimpses of Korrilla’s face and the Devil’s Fee; her eyes frenzied, lips tight, she tried shouting something at him but Raphael snarled in response. Her image dissolved as he fought to stay centred in Neverwinter.

When Raphael blinked again, he found himself on the ground and the canvas in tatters beneath him. Raphael had punched a hole through the painting during his struggle against Korrilla’s beckoning. His hands trembled as he picked up the demolished canvas. He could fix it with a snap but that would simply be cheating. Raphael’s jaw locked and he dug his heels into the grass, the soil beneath him bubbling like lava.

“Will this infernal torment ever cease!”

Raphael roared, his voice booming throughout the deserted beach, louder than any thaumaturgy spell could ever hope to achieve. His canvas caught fire; his work, his precious sunset, dissolving in an instant. Whatever was left of his wasted afternoon blew away with the next breeze.

Raphael rose, his footsteps scorching the grass as he turned away from the ocean. He raised his arm, preparing to furiously snap his fingers but halted, eyes darting to his sleeves, then to his entire doublet, and trousers. He was covered in paint and dirt, his outfit wrinkled and soiled, as if he was a petty commoner. He huffed, disgusted with himself. How very mortal.

With a snap, Raphael undefiled his clothes, rectifying any hint of failure. He narrowed his eyes, unsure yet of the punishment he would bestow on Korrilla as he vanished into a deafening inferno.

––

“Korrilla! Did I not explicitly–”

Raphael emerged from his fiery portal and was immediately met with a blaze not of his making. Chaos and disorder welcomed him as he stood agape in the entranceway of the Devil’s Fee.

The diabolist shop was in ruin. A massive bookshelf on the far left of the room was the main source of fire; the flames grew, slowly licking their way across the ceiling. Raphael stepped forward, his feet crunching against broken glass and stone rubble from the shattered infernal statues that had once proudly stood high.

One of Helsik’s gilded imps lay mangled in the centre of the room, its body tangled in silk rugs and surrounded by deep claw marks on the parquet flooring. The reception desk was nonexistent, the only remains of the rich mahogany panelling were the sharp splinters scattered across on the floor.

Raphael’s imagination spun like dice as he observed Helsik’s unconscious body discarded in the far back of the shop, a fallen shelf sat atop her small frame. No amateur could get the better of Helsik, surely? Raphael’s interest had piqued, however he found himself gritting his teeth in frustration as he looked around for Korrilla. She would not get out of this so easily, even in death.

There was a loud crash from the second floor, glass shattering and muted sounds of struggling; grunting, kicking, the wood creaking above him with every faint movement. In a heartbeat, Raphael was up the stairs. He crept towards Helsik’s quarters, the door to her room falling off its hinges.

Korrilla was pushed into the far corner of the dining area, her face battered and bruised and her dress nearly burnt to a crisp. A scrawny half-elf gripped a curved dagger at Korrilla’s throat, drawing blood that trailed down her neck. The half-elf had a round youthful face and donned a messy bob. Korrilla outsmarted by that half-breed? A runt of the litter, at best.

Korrilla’s eyes lit up when she spotted Raphael lurking at the threshold. He did not acknowledge her in return, but continued to focus on the half-elf. His pupils dilated, exuberance simmering inside him as he observed this potential new investment.

“What an interesting turn of events.” Raphael proclaimed, as he entered the stage with a swagger.

The half-elf jumped like a spooked rabbit at Raphael’s words, quickly shimmying so that Korrilla’s body was now in front of her. The half-elf squeezed the dagger a bit more into Korrilla’s neck, causing her to grimace.

“Please, don’t let me stop you.” Raphael guffawed, “I do love a good show.”

Korrilla’s brows furrowed and she bit her lip, any ounce of relief Raphael had brought quickly drained from her face.

“What I find most curious… is if Korrilla couldn’t kill you, then you must have some talent. Yes? And besting Helsik? She will not be happy when she wakes. Even so, it is amusing to see the Devil’s Fee in such shambles. I’ve often dreamed of this day.” Raphael suppressed another chuckle.

The half-elf met Raphael’s calm visage with fierce eyes and determination. A creature yet to be tamed. This will be most enjoyable.

“Cat got your tongue? No bother. You will drop that weapon, pretty little thing, before we continue our game.”

“And if I don’t?” The half-elf responded, voice low and quivering.

“I’m afraid you’ll find a very unpleasant end to your miserable little existence. And it will be such a waste, as I hope to make some use out of you.”

The half-elf stared at Raphael, her expression unchanging.

“Did I forget to note that my patience is wearing thin?” Raphael spoke through pursed lips.

Korrilla’s face twisted as Raphael folded his arms, sensing his impending outburst.

The wood underneath Raphael’s feet started to smoke as he took a step forward, leaving charred marks in his wake. The half-elf sniffed the air as Raphael approached, her eyes growing in size. Raphael took another step and transfigured into his cambion form, loosening his neck as his wings filled the available space. His tail thrashed and his horns grated against the ceiling like nails on a chalkboard.

“Drop the weapon.”

The half-elf released the dagger, kicking it across the room. She raised her hands and backed away from Raphael.

“I yield.”

Raphael simpered.

“Wise.”

Korrilla stumbled forward at her release. She held a hand to the wound in her neck muttering a healing spell to seal it.

“And YOU!” Raphael rumbled, louring to Korrilla. “You simply couldn’t take care of this creature? You do not know what I have sacrificed to come to your beck and call. Your worth is diminishing, Korrilla.”

“Please accept my sincerest apologies, Raphael. I await whatever punishment you see fit for my errors.” Korrilla immediately bent the knee, staying submissive and daring not to move even a muscle.

“We will discuss your punishment later.”

Raphael stepped away from Korrilla, edging closer to the half-elf.

“Your name. Now.”

“Dolofina.”

“Dolofina…” Raphael repeated, chewing her name in his mouth.

Raphael raised his hand dramatically above Dolofina. She watched his movement, shrinking away in anticipation. Raphael bared his claws and paused, leaving his hand extended. Just one more moment… let her think it’s the end… Then with a sly smirk, he snapped his fingers and the pair vanished.

––

Raphael and Dolofina materialised in a rain of sparks, dropping into the central chamber of the House of Hope. The large circular table in the middle of the room, usually decorated with platters of delectable food and drink, was bare. A boring sight no less, but he had no time to waste on formalities today.

Dolofina fell to her knees on the polished marble floor, her thump reverberating throughout the vacant halls. Raphael saunted past her, moving towards the wall near the open hearth. He pressed his palm against one of the paintings and it popped open, revealing a hidden bar behind it.

“Your poison of choice?” Raphael asked, as he uncorked a bottle of Jasmarim Shadow, letting it breathe while readying a glass for himself.

Dolofina remained on her knees, panting heavily, her hair slick with sweat. Her face grew paler as she shook her head vigorously at Raphael’s hospitality.

“Oh? Are we not up for celebratory drinks?”

Dolofina floundered to her feet, retching over the balcony.

“Poor creature. Some get used to the sweltering heat of Avernus. Others simply learn to tolerate it. I can’t make any guarantees.”

Raphael poured the wine into his glass, savouring the glugging sound that issued from the bottle. Ah, sweet music. He swirled the beverage gently before bringing his nose close to the rim. He inhaled, smiling to himself before taking a sip.

“Exquisite. Rich and delicate, teases your senses, and makes you crave more, even after the bottle is finished. You can’t find an intoxicant like this anymore.”

Dolofina clung to the railing, dry heaving.

Raphael closed the painting and sat down on the studded leather couch underneath it, crossing his legs. His eyes surveyed Dolofina, observing every inch of her taut body, her once tall figure now reduced from the heat. What a gaunt little thing, and yet with so much joie de vivre.

He never tired of a mortal’s first introduction to the Hells. Most creatures reacted the same way, with their slight variations. Weeping, laughing hysterically at their fates, one poor sod even had a heart attack and expired in front of Raphael; luckily he had been expeditious to secure the deal so the soul wasn’t squandered. Yes, it was quite cruel, but his infernal blood thirst for the entertainment, the anguish. And oh, the mortal perspiration was mouth-watering.

“Pray tell, what was so important in the Devil’s Fee that you had to risk it all?”

Dolofina wiped her lips with the back of her hand before steadying herself against the balcony. She hesitantly removed a large diamond from her pocket, holding it between her thumb and index finger. Raphael lazily flicked a wrist and the diamond flew into his hands. Dolofina shrieked, attempting to grab it back.

“Oh, you’re joking?”

Raphael observed the diamond in his palm, rolling his eyes.

“I… needed money. They said the Devil’s Fee was an easy target.”

Raphael squeezed the diamond and his hand was suddenly engulfed in a white inferno. He watched the fire dance around his hands, the sensation tickling his knuckles, before it turned into a striking blue flame that somehow burned even brighter. He released his fist, the blaze dissolved and the diamond vanished, without even a trace of ash. Raphael rubbed his hands together, that was that.

“Twas worthless anyways. Mortals, always attracted to shiny little things of almost no importance.”

Dolofina stared at Raphael, her face contorted with rage, nostrils flaring. There she is. There’s the fight.

“That was mine. I nearly died retrieving it.”

“Nothing belongs to you anymore. I am not in a generous mood today, yet your antics have inspired me. I can make use of someone like you. Under my employment, you won’t be resorted to thievery.”

“I don’t work with devils.”

“Oh, is that so?”

Dolofina’s new contract appeared on the table with a low hiss, a quill floating beside it. Raphael didn’t even bother snapping his fingers, his painting, or the lack thereof, lurked at the back of his mind; taunting him, the wound stinging his ego.

“Today’s your lucky day. Refuse, and I strike you down where you stand and consume your soul as a measly canapé. Accept, and you get patronage. Power. Proficiency. And a longer life expectancy.”

“And you want what exactly? My soul?”

“Your soul and your cooperation. You will answer to me and act as my agent. There is a war of the millenia brewing and I need all the strongest fighters. You could become a champion, you know, there is a lot of potential.”

Dolofina peered over her shoulder, her eyes darting for any possible escape, a window, a door… that glimmer of hope Raphael loved to see sucked away from mortals still lingered on her face. Say goodbye to hope, little pet.

“Signature please, and your life will begin anew.”

Dolofina bit the side of her lip as she inhaled, looking up at the ceiling, as if pleading to the Gods for a last minute intervention. Her green eyes met his as she dragged her feet towards the table.

“Fucking Nine-Fingers…” Dolofina whispered to herself, “I’ll ring her bloody neck the next time I see her.”

Dolofina sank into one of the leather chairs in defeat, then signed herself away to Raphael.

“I will say this only once. In my house there is decorum. There are rules. There is a balance to uphold. If you make the same mistake as you did above, steal from me, even think about breaking the terms of our contract, you will wish for the sweet release of death by the time I am finished with you. Do not make me regret this decision.”

Raphael waved away the contract and Dolofina instantaneously fell to the floor, screaming in agony. Her body convulsed as if she was bewitched and she writhed in pain, tears pouring down her red cheeks. The veins in her legs briefly pulsed, turning dark purple as it continued to grow, slowly travelling up her body. Her hand reached out, as if seeking Raphael’s aid and instead, shot out a crackling bolt of purple lightning at the ceiling, shattering one of the metal chandeliers. It came crashing down next to Raphael, missing him by mere inches. He titled his head to the floor, eagerly watching his new pet, as he took a sip of wine.

“What the–!” Dolofina screamed again as her body accepted the new torrent of power.

“You will need training. I know the perfect teacher, and I think you’d get along splendidly.”

Will be continued.

#writing #bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #baldurs gate 3 raphael #bg3 #fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael bg3 #raphael x reader #korrilla #mortals #RIP Raphaels painting #raphael #raphael bg3 x reader

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seresinhangmanjake · 1 year

Text

Signed Away: Part 3

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader Series

Summary: You find out about the contractual marriage your parents arranged with Jake’s when you were a baby. You’re plently angered by it, but Jake doesn’t seem too bothered. He might even be happy.

Notes/Warnings: typos, i’m sure, cursing, fluff, eventual smut, angst, contract marriage, loss of rights, feelings of being trapped, poor parent/child relationships. Italics are a flashback. This is planned out to be ten chapters of similar length and an epilogue.

As always, comments can make my bad days worth getting through, so i’ll never not appreciate them. Reblogs and likes make me smile uncontrollably, but no pressure :)

Masterlist

Words: 1639

Your fork pushed the salad around the pale china plate, weakening the freshness of the lettuce until it wilted and drowned in the peppery dressing. You couldn’t focus. The food in front of you just was a blurred mass of color, nothing you cared to put in your mouth. You were too exhausted from the tension, the awkwardness, and it crushed any appetite.

The plate was eased out from in front of you, leaving your fork hovering in mid-air until the smoky aroma of your family chef’s expertly grilled steak filled the room. A wave of guilt crashed over you, knowing you wouldn’t be sinking your teeth into the meat either.

“Thank you, Allan,” you mumbled. He squeezed your shoulder and you glanced up to be met with pity.

He knew. You didn’t know why you felt a flash of surprise. Allan had been working for your parents long before you were born. Unlikely that your mother ever pulled him aside to explain the fate of your future, but by now the news was hard to ignore. Your engagement had been announced in the damn paper just days before.

He gave you a quick nod before placing a plate in front of your father.

“A shame your parents couldn’t join us tonight, Jake.” Your father’s voice broke the air of uncomfortable silence. It was appreciated to hear anything other than the bubbly chorus of your carbonated water, even though you had little intention of contributing much to any conversation. “Across the pond, are they not?”

“Bill, I already told you—”

“Deanna, let me talk to the boy. Go ahead, son.”

“Uh, yes.” Jake’s knee bumped yours as he shifted in his seat. The brief friction of his jeans burst a buzzing hum along that spot of your skin. Your heartbeat pounded behind your ribcage, fingers tightening around the handle of the fork “Visiting my aunt.”

Your mother took a generous sip of her wine. “Do they still intend to return next week?”

Jake nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, that’s good. Amelia and I have a lot of planning to do. Flowers, venue, guest list, the dress.”

The sharp stab of a pointed-toed heel to your shin forced you to look up. Your mother’s eyebrows were tipped down in the center, painted lips pinched. Clearly, you’d missed something. “What?”

“The dress.”

“What about it?”

“Surely you’re excited to find the perfect one, right Darling?”

Her words came out gritty through clenched teeth. A hefty pause weighed down the already thick air of the room and you suddenly wished the bubbles of your drink never ceased their popping.

“I doubt you’ll have to worry,” Jake said then looked at you. “You’ll look amazing in anything.”

You couldn’t tell if he truly believed it or if the deafening silence was getting to him the way it did for any guest stuck between you and your mother. Your father was the only one unaffected, continuing to work away at his steak.

It was sickly sweet, the smile your mother shot Jake. “Jake dear, you don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not ly—”

“She needs to understand how important it is to look appropriate for such an event.”

You silently snorted before plastering a mocking grin across your face. “Believe me mother, I already understand everything I need to know.”

“Are you giving me attitude, young lady?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare.”

“Y/N, you are such a—”

“A what!”

“An ungrateful little—”

“Jake,” your father’s voice boomed, dousing all others. “You like bourbon, son?”

You froze at the thought of being left with your mother. Jake must have noticed the rigidity of your body because his fingers lightly gripped your lower thigh under the satin tablecloth, giving a brief squeeze. It was far more comforting than you cared to admit, and gave you a sense of protection, as if from his fingertips a barrier spread and formed around you in attempt to keep your mother out. He was on your side in this, and maybe you would have to start acknowledging that.

Then his head turned away from you and toward your father. “Yes sir, but—”

“Come,” he said, already standing and rebuttoning his suit jacket. “Let us leave the women to their business.”

-----

He didn’t want to leave you. An invisible force tugged at his sleeve, begging him to exit the confined space of your father’s office in favor of returning to you and taking you somewhere safe were you might be able to take a decent breath. But he didn’t need your father hating him. Both his and yours placed an extremely strong value in respect, and escaping the den wouldn’t be doing him any favors in the long run.

The extended hand invaded Jake’s peripherals. He blinked then accepted the glass offered to him, but before he could thank you father, the elder said, “You like my daughter.”

Jake took a drink of the amber liquid, letting the familiar burn wash down his throat.

“And I see how you try to hide it in front of Y/N,” he continued. “You don’t wish to scare her off and you’re wise to recognize that it would.” Bill gestured to the nearest seat as he sat in his own armchair behind the cherry wood desk. Jake sat and your father stared at him, hard, for long agonizing seconds. Then he set his glass on a coaster, leaned back, and rested clasped hands on a rounded stomach. “Make this work, Jake Seresin,” he said.

“I was under the impression I didn’t have a choice, sir.”

Bill smirked, perhaps expecting such a response, or perhaps not but appreciating the quick agreement. Again, beats passed. Bill took another sip of his drink, Jake watching intently with each movement of hand on glass, glass at lips, hard swallow, glass back on desk. “I am not like her mother. I do care about her feelings, despite how it may appear. So let me rephrase.” He paused. “Make her forget the circumstances of this situation. Make her happy.”

It would be rude to laugh, so Jake kept his mouth shut, taking a lengthy drink until the impulse passed. Making you happy was all he’d thought about for the past month. It was you who didn’t want him to. “She’s stubborn, sir.”

Your father released the laugh Jake had held back. “She is. I’ve been watching her run her mother ragged for nineteen years.” The laugh settled and his tone fell into seriousness. “But you are a determined man by nature. Am I wrong in understanding you once wished to be a pilot?”

Jake’s gaze dropped to his drink. It was nearly empty. He’d need more. Much more. “No, sir.”

“See, a man who would choose such a career path is a man who knows how to get what he wants,” Bill said. “Getting my daughter down the aisle, while no easy task, will be doable for you. You have my full trust in that.”

-----

“Well, you missed dessert,” Deanna snapped, following a scoff and a roll of her chocolate brown eyes. Her polished nails looked like vulture talons perched on slim hips and the sneer on her lips made Jake wonder how you could possibly be born from someone so unappealing. “Now she’s out back. Being a brat.”

Bill replied, but Jake didn’t hear it. He was too focused on the gentle swaying of your body as you occupied one of the swings of your childhood swing set. He couldn’t begin to count how many times he’d been in the swing beside you as a kid, taunting each other to see who could fly higher. He was too young then to recognize that a five-year-old you was much smaller than he was at nine, and had you fallen you’d surely have broken a bone. You, on the other hand, were so competitive and determined to prove yourself that you’d have risked a damaged limb without question, and often did.

Jake slipped out the sliding glass door without notice, wet grass smushing under the press of his steps. “Are you alright?” he asked, but when you didn’t answer, didn’t look up, he crouched down and rested his crossed arms atop your knees. “Hmm? Tell me.”

A tear fell, splashing on the surface of your thigh.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Jake reached forward and brushed the salty liquid from your skin.

“I hate that she gets to me,” you whispered, then meeting his eyes, you said, “You know what she told me while the two of you were off drinking that overly expensive crap? She said I’m so fucking fortunate to have you because not another man will want to marry me if this is the type of person I want to be. And then she promptly reminded me that even you have to do it. You’re not choosing me on your own.”

“Y/N, I consider myself lucky.”

You shook your head.

“Yes, I do.”

He knew you wouldn’t believe it, not by his word alone. Regardless, if you’d allow him, he wanted to protect you, take care of you, put a smile on your face and keep it there. It wouldn’t happen overnight, neither would gaining your trust, but he could try to start somewhere.

“I can get us a place,” he said.

“What?”

“An apartment or something. I have money, and I know a guy who owns a nice building. We could probably be in in the next couple days if you wanted.”

“Why would you do that?”

The corners of Jake’s lips tugged upwards when the little wrinkle between your brows softened and smoothed to match the rest of your silky skin. He tucked some hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing along your cheekbone, and said, “I don’t want to leave you here.”

Wedding Countdown: 589 days

tags: @marvel-ousnesss @thespeeder @nobody7102 @marrianena @fangirlingoverfangirls @blue-aconite @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @dempy @chaoticassidy @alana4610 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @dracosluvbot @smoothdogsgirl @smit41 @princessphilly @kkrenae @castle-bookworms-world @xoxabs88xox @blackwidownat2814 @acupnoodle @callmemana @zippitydoda @asteria33 @the-mouse27 @111angelnumbers111 @shanimallina87 @creativitybeware @roosterscock

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mdr-writings · 5 months

Text

"THE TITAN TAPES”

c/w: harsh language, ending spoilers

Act 1 : Intro

On the heavily grass hill, a small wooden house claimed it's spot. Two beings claimed the small cabin as their home. Now, the two are at parallel distance, one's life is lost, the other, slowly losing their own.

The man laid slumped against the cabin walls, eyes fallen shut, laying restlessly. Lines grew on the man's face as his life drained from his body.

“See you later Eren,” Mikasa whispers as she gently grasps his severed head in her hands. Drawing him in, the gap closes between the two lovers, lips pressing softly against each other.

Slowly the world fades into darkness.

“AND CUT! THAT’S A WRAP EVERYBODY”

Eren pushes Mikasa's hands off of his face to engulf her and close crew members and casts into a group hug. Claps and hoots boomed around the soundstage. The other cast and crew members bombard each other in hugs followed by howling cries.

This was the end ?

*Camera shifts into focus*

A grey-haired man appears with a obviously plastic moustache, holding a microphone. He shifts side to side in silence while staring at the camera.

"Go"

“Is it recording,” the man questions as his moustache begins to tilt crookedly from his upper lip.

“Yes, go”

The man shifts the faux facial hair to it's proper position, "I just wanna make sure I look prese-"

"GO!!"

The moustache quickly falls on the ground. His body movements sputter as he corrects his posture.

” HELLO LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I AM CONNIE SPRINGER AND WELCOME TO ATTACK ON TITAN FINAL SEASON-"

The camera quickly zooms in on the his face .

"Behind. the. scenesssss", he whispers, hissing into the camera then places a wet long kiss on the lens.

"Ew man look what you did to the damn camera," another man voiced in disgust behind the camera. A hand harshly swipes against the saliva-stained lens.

"Well if you wanted to come up with something for the intro, you should have volunteered"

"Well, I wouldn’t been able to live up to your title”

Connie smirks “As the handsome, dashing, glamourous, narrator of the film?”

A deep chuckle spouted behind the camera, “I was gonna say, the idiotic boots looking motherfucker of the film but whatever floats your boat”.

The grey-haired boy charges at the videographer with fists swinging in anger. The camera quickly turns around to face a light ash-brown haired man, now running away from the enraged narrator. Fear paints his face as Connie follows behind closely on his trail.

"JEAN, YOU SON OF BITCH"

The camera picked up the raspy winds crashing into the audio. His breath hitched as he quickens his pace, shouting the words directly at the camera

“WELCOME TO THE

Masterlist

#thetitantapes⋆.ೃ࿔*:･#aot fanfiction #aot x reader #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren x you

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filmtv2022 · 1 year

Text

“Together” Part One

Part 2

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Summary: Y/N and Jake have been friends since their time at the Naval Academy. The two of them acting as each others’ refuge during every up and down. But when a death in the family rocks Y/N’s foundation the two are forced to acknowledge the reality that their feelings for one another go far beyond just a friendship.

Warnings: Smut + language + drinking + mentions of death in the family

Masterlist

-------------------------------

Music blasted from the jukebox, the lyrics jumbling into the chaotic sea of voices as the Hard Deck sat full to the brim. The backdoors to the beach were thrown open in a feeble attempt to provide some airflow, but the breeze was lost in the crowd. Leaning back against the wooden counter, your eyes scanned the room, never stopping for too long on any one group of people. By the dart board stood a group of new Top Gun recruits, the euphoric pride that came with the first few hours spent in Fighter Town painted clear on their faces. Across the bar, an eruption of high-pitched laughter caught your attention. Snapping your focus in that direction, your eyes locked on a gaggle of civilian women who were downing shots like their lives depended on it. Their eyes swept across the floor taking in the plentiful khaki uniforms like a pack of lionesses on the hunt.

Flowing their path of attention you couldn’t contain your huff of amusement. Landing on the pool table you watched as your friends, and fellow aviators stood gathered around one another engrossed in a rather intense game of pool. Your gut roiled as you watched one of the ladies gawk openly at Hangman in a pitiful attempt to gain his attention and affection. While you knew it shouldn't, their actions brought up what you could only describe as feelings of jealousy. Wanting to ignore that revelation, you were more thankful for the timing of your drink's arrival.

Movement behind the bar accompanied by Penny’s calm and collected voice was what finally tore your attention away.

“Here ya go Y/C/S, one Long Island for you, and a beer for Seresin.”

“Thanks, Pen., much appreciated.”

Throwing her a quick smile you snatched up the glass, and pulled the straw in between your lips. Releasing a deep sigh of contentment as the liquor slid down your throat, you began the walk back to the rest of your group. The short trip proved to be difficult as the throngs of overly intoxicated people hindered your movement causing you to bob and weave through the crowd. Clearing the bulk of the throng, a boisterous voice boomed out of the distance to you.

“Well, if it ain’t Y/C/S, and look fellas… she brought me a drink.” humor and sarcasm mixed lightly in Jake’s voice. His wide, bright smile flashed in your direction as he stood by with a pool cue in his hand. With the back of his thighs pressed into the edge of the table, he waited to stand fully until you were in front of him.

Extending your hand, you offered the beer to him as you spoke, “We’re even now, Seresin. Enjoy the free drink.”

“Oh come on now, Y/N, don’t be bitter. Fair’s fair, it’s not my fault you lost.” dishing out a sly smirk, he continued on, “Told ya’ choosing Baby On Board over there as your partner for pool was a bad idea.”

“Screw you, Bagman.” the banter between you two flowed easily, the crude nature of it all masking the true nature of your friendship.

“That offer is always on the table darlin’, you know that. All you have to do is ask.” Taking a long swig of his drink, his eyes never left you as he awaited your response.

“You’re disgusting,” you said with a smile, "but I’ll let it pass. ‘Cause I know it's been a while… and ya get kinda desperate during your dry spells.”

“She’s got ya there man.” Coyote’s smooth voice could be heard over the roar of laughter that rolled through the rest of the group as you walked away.

Climbing into one of the empty high-top seats, you sat back and took in the scene unfolding around you. Phoenix stood next to Rooster, their focus on the pool table in front of them as they strategized a way to overcome the absolute hole Bradley had dug himself in his game against Hangman. Bob sat in his usual spot, a plastic cup of peanuts in hand as he chatted away with Fanboy. Coyote was just off to the side talking with Payback as Hangman bent low over the table, his hips flush with the edge as he lined up his next shot. Methodically, and with great precision, Jake followed through, the sharp crack of the balls hitting one another rang in your ears for a moment before softening as they dropped into the pockets.

“And that, ladies and gentlemen… is how you cook a chicken.” Standing back up, Jake threw you an award-winning smile and wink. Shaking your head side to side, you raised your glass to him, accepting the gesture for what it was, an expression of your friendship.

Handing the pool cue over to Coyote, Jake picked up his beer from the ledge he’d sat it on before and began to make his way over to you. Closing half the distance in a few strong strides, he watched as your eyes snapped to the phone that was sitting on the table next to you. Halting in his tracks, worry flooded his stomach as he took note of the way your whole body tensed. The lines between your brows deepened as you looked down at the screen.

Stumbling out of the chair, you blindly moved toward the patio door. Pushing out onto the sand, anxiety rushed over you in drowning waves. Trembling, you drew in a shaky breath before sliding your finger across to answer.

“Mom? What the hell’s going on? It’s gotta be after one in the morning your time.”

“There’s been an accident, honey. Your brother’s plane… it went down over the water, and-”

“What are you sayin’ mom?”

“He’s gone, Y/N. They tried…”

The rest of her words failed to reach your ears as the rush of the ocean gave way to a deafening ring. Panic began to close the world in around you, your breaths turning into jagged gasps as your mother's words sunk in. Unable to speak, your knees went weak as the tears began to fall in heavy streams down your cheeks. Feeling your legs buckle, you turned back toward the Hard Deck, and that’s when you saw him. Fresh sobs ripped from your lungs as you stumbled toward Jake.

Making his way across the beach to you, he wasted no time in scooping you up, his strong arms surrounding you in a protective embrace. Wrapping your arms around his back, you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, holding onto him for dear life.

“He’s gone, Jake. Matt’s gone… his plane…” Sobs wracked your body as the torrent of emotion stripped away your ability to form coherent thoughts.

Pulling you tighter, Jake fought back his own emotions. His throat squeezed tight as if being closed in a vice. The gravity of what had happened churred like acid in his stomach. The greatest fear of every aviator and their family had hit the person he cared about most in this world, and while he always knew this could happen to any of you, that did nothing to prepare him for seeing you like this. But it was not yet his turn to fall apart.

……………………..

Feeling your body begin to sag from exhaustion, Jake kept a firm, but gentle grip on you as he walked toward the parking lot. Knowing the barrage of concerned questions that would come your way if he took you back through the bar, he led you around the side of the building to his truck. The passenger door opened smoothly under his touch as he helped you into the seat. His normally steady hands shook as she fastened the seatbelt around your waist. Not giving himself time to wallow in thought, Jake carefully shut the door and made his way to the other side. With a quick text sent to Coyote asking him to let Penny know he’d settle your tabs as soon as he could, he began the short ride back to your off base home.

…………………

Throwing the truck into park, Jake sat silently with you in the cab. Your heels dug into the back of your thighs as you pressed your cheek into the cool glass of the windows. Tears still flowed freely, but the fatigue that had taken hold of your limbs prevented you from moving. At a loss for words, Jake sat with his hands strangling the wheel, his knuckles white from the pressure of his grip. The night grew more solid around you as time drifted by unnoticed. Gathering what little energy remained, you spoke your plea softly.

“Take me inside Jake.”

Answering you with actions rather than words, Jake removed himself from his seat and came to your side. Watching him through the window, you righted yourself enough for him to open the door. Reaching inside once again, he unlatched your seatbelt before helping you step from the vehicle. Laying a hand on your lower back, Jake took you one step at a time into the house.

He moved on autopilot through the hallway toward your bedroom. Flicking on the lights, he allowed your eyes to adjust before continuing on. Standing in front of him, you looked up into his eyes for the first time since he came to find you on the beach. Sorrow pulled at the corners of his eyes, the normally brilliant green, dark with grief and worry.

“Let's get you ready for bed, okay? We can deal with the next steps in the morning.”

Giving permission with a subtle nod, you felt Jake’s hands run up the outside of your legs before dipping under the hem of your shirt. Unlike himself, and many of the other aviators, you never wore your uniform to the Hard Deck. Opting almost always for a comfortable shirt and shorts, and this night was no different. The time-worn cotton was buttery in his hands as he tugged the shirt over your head, and tossed it in the general direction of the hamper that sat across the room. Trying to focus on the present, he pushed the thoughts of the day you first borrowed that shirt from him out of his head. Making quick work of the button and zipper on your shorts, he knelt on the ground as he slid them down your legs. The shiver that ran through your body as he ghosted over your skin did not go unnoticed.

“Hold on to my shoulders.”

Placing your hands where he asked, you could feel the strong muscles move beneath his shirt as he helped you out of the shorts. Gently caressing your ankle, he picked your foot off the ground, placing it down again gently. Repeating the process, Jake stared up at you from his spot on the floor, his free palm firmly planted on your hips as he gather the strength to continue. Inhaling deeply, Jake returned to his feet, his hands found your waist as his brow came to rest on yours.

“Tell me what you need, Y/N.” Jake’s voice wavered but failed to break as he spoke.

“Need to feel you.” your hands drifted along his waist and over his chest, seeking the comforting warmth of his skin beneath your touch.

Jake’s breath quickened as you threaded your fingers into his hair. Using the little strength that remained in your arms, you tried to pull him in, but your movement was met with resistance. He wanted this, if he was honest the thought of having you, of admitting his feeling for you was something that had constantly been on his mind since returning from the Uranium mission. His body yearned for you, but this was a bridge that neither of you had crossed. And while every fiber of his being was screaming at him to give in, he couldn’t suppress the worry of what stepping over this line would do to your friendship. The bone-deep fear of ruining the one consistently good thing in his life, his relationship with you, kept him locked in place.

“Please, Jake… I need you.” your lips ghosted over his as you spoke. Pure desperation for him took hold of you… body, mind, and soul.

"Fuck, Y/N..’.”

Letting go of pretense and his better judgment, Jake crashed his lips to yours, drawing a small gasp from you. Cupping the back of your head, he deepened the kiss, the taste of the alcohol you’d both consumed still on your tongues as you explored one another. A heady groan echoed from him as his other hand snaked around your back and pulled you flush to his chest. Without breaking apart, Jake guided you back to the bed. Tenderly, he placed you onto the mattress as he followed you down, his knee pressing into your core as your lips moved in sync. The small seed of doubt that still sat in his chest, melted away as he soaked in the feeling of you beneath him.

Supporting his weight with one hand, the other raked over your body as he kissed over every inch of exposed skin he could find. Paying attention to the way your body moved below him, Jake snaked his hand behind your back and unclasped your bra. Removing it with less ease than he would have liked, the garment was tossed away to the depths of your room. Enraptured with the sight of you, Jake leaned into your touch as you freed him of his clothes. Finding your lips again, the two of you stayed like this, exploring each other’s body’s with your mouths and hands until the need for more consumed you.

“Touch me.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

Gingerly, Jake swept his fingers over your stomach before teasing over the top of your underwear. The sensation was not enough and yet all too much for your body to process. Jake slowly peeled your underwear down your legs before laying a wash of open-mouthed kisses along your supple skin. Reaching the apex of your thighs, his warm breath drifted over your core as your hand settled in his hair.

“Fuck, Jake, please.” You whined out, overcome with the desire for his touch.

Brushing his lips over your aching heat, Jake couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped him. Taking his time, he brought you closer and closer to the edge, his tongue working in diligent motions as his fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place. The sounds of your shared pleasure filled the room, pushing out the sadness that was sure to come crashing back in for just a moment of reprieve. Feeling you edging closer to your release and knowing that he wasn’t far behind, Jake moved back on top of you, his lips never leaving your skin as he traced delicate patterns over your body with his hands. Slotting your lips together, he nearly choked at the feeling of your hips coming up to grind against him.

He needed you in a way he’d never experienced before with anyone else. Reaching down between you, Jake aligned himself with you, barely pressing into you as he spoke, “This okay darlin’?”

“Yes.” Wrapping your arms around his solid frame, you pulled him down to kiss you.

Pushing in gently, he took his sweet time, enjoying every feeling that poured through his body. Feeling you so soft and welcoming around him, Jake felt his hips stutter as he worked to find a rhythm. Your every thought was clouded with him as your head dropped back into the mattress. Seeing you coming undone, Jake picked up his pace. It didn’t take long for him to catch onto the changes in your body. Your breathing came in rapid pants, as your legs moved higher around his hips. Your nails dug crescent moons into the wide expanse of his back, as you drew closer and closer to the edge.

Losing control, his hips began to falter as he felt you clench around him, your mouth dropping open with the force of your climax. Nearly there himself, Jake tried to move away, but your hold on him became impossibly stronger as you begged him not to pull away. Giving into your wants and his, he leaned down and buried his face in your neck as he tipped over the edge. His whole body was wracked with spasms. Staying like this for a minute to catch his breath, you let your hands wander over his back and into his hair. The strands were soft and silky between your fingers as you two fought for control of your lungs.

With time, the pair of you began to feel your bodies relax. A shiver ran through your body as the chill of your bedroom finally hit. Rolling onto his back, Jake took you with him, allowing you to tuck yourself into his side. Yanking the cover over you the best he could, he settled back onto the bed. With your head resting in the crook of his shoulder, he ran his fingertips down your spine in a featherlight graze. Savoring the gentle touch, you closed your eyes and enjoyed the feeling. Laying there together, a mess of tangled limbs and bunched-up sheets, you and Jake absorbed what remained of the happiness that emanated from one another, but it couldn’t last forever.

Slowly, but surely, the tangled knot of grief returned to you, settling deep in your chest as it crushed your heart. Unwanted tears began to flow as reality came crashing back in, your brother was gone, and no amount of wishing could bring him back. Jake could feel the dampness of your tears pooling on his chest, as he held you a little closer.

“We’ll get through this together, Y/N. I promise.”

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