#i...... gods damn it all what do i have to fix myself

[blooms-in-april]

I'm thinking sad Jaskier thoughts.

It takes a while for Geralt to realize the music is gone. Oh Jaskier still sings- for their supper, for Ciri when she's sad, to entertain Kaer Morhen on late card playing nights. But the music- the music is gone. No more of the mindless humming as he walks, no more parsing over rhymes by the fire, no more harassing Geralt for his thoughts on such and such melody. Jaskier sings like a wind-up music box, only when requested, cranked for it, and snapping shut into silence like the sharp closing of a lid.

Yennefer snorts at his concern. "It took you this long to notice?"

Geralt grunts. She smiles, sharp and bitter. "You always were slow."

"How do I fix it?" Geralt snaps. He is not here to be mocked or play games.

"Can you fix it?" Yennefer asks. "I don't know."

Geralt doesn't know either. All he can do is try.

One of the mages had left a god's damned harpsichord in their tower room. It takes Geralt weeks- lugging the ornate monstrosity down from the mages tower, finding schematics in the library for the damn thing, undoing by sheer will the rot and moulding of a hundred years on the instrument. He spends his evenings waist deep in the guts of the instrument, swearing over chords and tuning and keys.

Jaskier's silence, now that he notices it, gapes like an open wound, bleeding wherever he goes. It stains memories of years past, of a cheerful smile and conversation given to him so freely, so easily, not a hint of subterfuge or awkwardness or fear. Now Jaskier only says good morrow if Geralt says it first, only speaks when spoken to, only smiles when Ciri is looking his way.

Geralt polishes the harpsichord until his fingers blister and his nose stings from the smell. He paints the elaborate carvings with pure gold leaf. He spends hours tightening strings trying to get the thing in tune. He worries over it like a child, because he doesn't know what else to do.

"What do you think?" He asks Eskel as they carry it carefully down to Jaskier's room.

"It's very nice." Eskel says diplomatically. "I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

"Appreciate it?" Geralt doesn't want appreciation. He wants that soft tone back in Jaskier's voice when he speaks to him. He wants Jaskier to speak to him, to turn to him free and easy with something to say.

"He'll like it," Eskel says, "Just-"

He turns, his soft eyes full of warning. "Just don't put all your hopes on an old harpsichord."

Lambert snorts, "Too little too late!" He laughs. And Lambert has always been hateful, more so since Aiden was lost, but the words feel true.

Jaskier smiles when he presents him with the harpsichord. He exclaims and laughs and claps his hands. He extolls its virtues, coos over its decorations, fusses over it with all the enthusiasm of a performing parrot. He pulls Ciri onto his lap and guides her hands on the keys, composes a little ditty on the fly for Yennefer, plays something sweet and sad that makes Lambert turn his face away. In all the merriment and gratitude and excitement, he looks Geralt in the eyes only once. Once, upon the first shock of the present. Once, with eyes wide and open, like a wound.

Geralt lingers as the others go off to bed, watching as Jaskier slowly fades as his audience wanes.

"Thank you, Geralt." he says. "It is truly a magnificent present. And far more than I deserve."

Do not thank me is what Geralt wants to say. Do not thank me, not when I have done this to you.

"I didn't do much," is what comes out of his mouth. "It was already there."

Jaskier does not look at him. "If this is an apology-" he says, "I do not need it. You were tired and upset. You spoke your mind. And nothing you said was- untrue. From a certain point of view. You do not need to absolve your guilt to me."

"Jaskier," Geralt says. "I'm sorry."

"And I forgive you." Jaskier says "I forgave you even the moment you after spoke. I don't think I would be myself if I could do otherwise."

It is done. The gift given, the apology accepted. And yet the silence still sits heavy in the air. It is not fixed. It is still broken. It is still out of tune and all of Geralt's twisting and tunings have not set the melody to rights.

"Why are you still like this?" He says. Jaskier stiffens. The words are wrong again, he's done it again, and he could scream with frustration, like a child who keeps swinging the sword and cutting himself on the dulled edge.

"Do you know the Countess de Stael bought me a Stradivarius once?" Jaskier said. "You don't know what that is. A fiddle, rarer than rubies. There were only twenty ever made. It sings like nothing else. She presented it to me on a bed of velvet, and told me she loved me. She told me to stay. And I would have."

Jaskier plinks a few idle notes. "She kicked me out a month later. Too mouthy. Too tacky. Too gauche. She had found someone better. She took back the Stradivarius and handed it off to her new minstrel."

"What I am saying, Geralt-" He says. "What I am asking- Is that you not do things you do not mean. That you not give me false hope. That you stop trying to make me love you, because I already do. I already do and it hurts. It hurts so much."

[lucyvaleheart]

.

[milimeters-morales]

i will be totally honest with y’all i can’t see Hobie (ATSV) in a romantic relationship ever. like, i can’t see him seeing anybody ever as “the one” or even having multiple partners or anything. I can barely see him having friends outside of the ones he already has. I can somewhat see the “are we dating or are we not dating” thing being something he gets involved in, but not really. i think a lot of people either don’t know or just forget that he’s probably homeless and that his world is shit rn and that stuff he needs isn’t easy to come by 😭😭 and a lot of homeless people just don’t have time/energy for shit like romantic relationships and the stuff he’s doing canonically because they’re so focused on trying to survive. That’s why when I make posts about him casually flirting or whatever it’s never serious, it never goes anywhere, because honestly! Between music shows, trying to find your next meal, fighting the power, trying to find a shelter for the night, helping other homeless people and others in need as both a civilian and Spider-Man, dealing with dimensional threats, trying to find a place to get clean, i just don’t think Hobie has time to even consider it. Sure, maybe there are facilities in the HQ to make it easier, but after that stunt, i think he’d avoid using them as much as possible. do you see what i mean??

[rinofwater]

I just found a clinic nearby that does gender-affirming surgeries so top surgery might actually be a feasible thing for me in the near(ish) future

I found a job that seems to have all the stuff I liked from one of my last jobs without the extra bullshit I didn't (can't apply for it currently but that kind of job exists and that's reassuring)

Things might be starting to look up for me

[pillowenvelopchair]

HOW DO YOU WRITE NOKRON WHILE ROGIER'S ALIVE

[castdowns]

the only half way safe space to be a lesbian is online and literally y’all fucking suck too, i am so depressed

[ghost-proofbaby]

got a slight influx of followers after that astarion piece so just wanted to say —

hi! i’m ghost! welcome to the party. i write mostly for eddie munson, so be warned. inbox is always open, and if ya ever need anything (cookies, tea, condoms, etc.) just let me know. and please, do enjoy your stay in my haunted corner of the internet.

[stereax]

saw you post 'listen before you go', thought you'd enjoy this:

oh...

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[milo-is-rambling]

I am so high I love you dabs I love you big bong rips I love you huge heavy bong I love you only having 20 dollars to my name and no plans but getting high and ignoring it I love you oh no I’m thinking about it

[poppyseed799]

I have this problem that’s like the opposite of nostalgia or something where some things I remember liking a lot as a child I look back and only remember the bad times.

This is specifically about Animal Crossing, loved that game as a kid, but I have literally no idea why, cuz it was just pure hell for me from what I can remember.

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #13

"So?" Red Hood asks, arms crossed. "Was I right?"

"Yes," Phantom says, deepening his voice, "this is one of mine."

"One of your what?" Robin growls. Nightwing's hand on his shoulder is the only thing keeping him from invading Phantom's personal space, which, please, continue to do so Mr. Nightwing, Sir.

Phantom would take a deep calming breath if a) he wasn't trying to appear as otherworldly as possible which means no human breathing and b) if that wouldn't so obviously telegraph how uncomfortable he is in the Batcave surrounded by the entire Batfamily.

Next to him Red Hood shifts in slight discomfort. His ties to the spectral realm mean he's picking up on Danny's unease even if he can't fully translate the feeling. Which is good. Danny needs to maintain what little control he has over this situation.

"There's a gh-spirit in my...realm," Phantom says, letting himself drift gently to the other side of Batman's medical table which just coincidentally puts more distance between him and the the rest of the clan staring him down. Black Bat leans forward and he violently suppresses a flinch. "They're known as Nocturne. They wield power over dreams. Their signature is all over this."

And Danny means that literally. Their ecto-signature couldn't be more apparent if they'd written it in sharpie across Batman's suit. This is what Jason—Red Hood, because Danny couldn't have been dealing with a simple civilian case of ecto-contamination, nooo, he's got to have connections to the superheroes Danny has spent the better part of his afterlife avoiding—managed to pick up on, even being the low level entity that he is.

At which point he'd called Phantom in, even though Danny had spent the better part of two weeks trying to intimidate the guy into never contacting him, Ruler of the Spirit Realm (lightning crash!), again, but here is his calling card just in case (thunder and creaking noises!!), but again, you should never use it unless things are very serious, OoOoOoOo~~~

Damn it. It's been like 10 days.

"So how do we fix it, Your, uh, Ghostliness?" Nightwing says, ducking his head in a sort of half-assed supplication when Phantom turns to him. Nightwing glances at Jason for affirmation who shrugs out of the corner of Danny's eye.

"Phantom is fine," Danny says, waving his hand and letting his upper lip curl in an expression of distaste. "Remember, it's like you're Vlad when Dad offers him a glass of eight dollar wine!" Jazz's voice reminds him. Robin growls lowly, likely meaning he's nailing it. He looks away dismissively ("Honestly, it's like you're Vlad, anytime, ever." Sam notes dryly) and thanks god he doesn't have a heart in this form because it would be beating so loud right now.

Beside him, Jason scratches compulsively at the back of his neck. Huh, his anxiety is manifesting physically as an itch. Good to know.

"You can't fix it," Phantom says. "I can."

"At what cost?" Red Robin asks. "Red Hood mentioned you'd want something in return?"

Frick. His other contingency to keep Jason from ever contacting him again. Phantom had lightly hinted his taste du jour was, uh, souls.

Something Red Hood has apparently let slip, because now Robin shakes off Nightwing's hand, puffs out his chest and declares "I will trade myself for my father's safe awakening, Spirit!"

The other members burst into denials which almost covers up Danny floating sharply back and saying "What? No!!!"

Key word: almost.

Danny coughs as they stare at him.

"That is to say, I have no desire for a child," he puts a bit of snarl into it, showing fang. The mood in the room plummets drastically as Nightwing gently grabs Robin by the arm and pulls him back to his side.

"We see," he says. He steps forward more assertively, placing himself in front of the others, all of which are now eying him warily. "Then, is there a gender you prefer?"

It takes a second to click in Danny's head and then he swings his head wildly away from his audience to hide his reaction, nausea and embarrassment turning his face bright green. "Fika Kristo," he mutters in Esperanto as quietly as he possibly can, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He gives himself a moment to settle and game plan before turning back around. "I have no desire for any of you, and it matters not. In this instance, a deal need not be struck. Nocturne is my subject, and they have done this without my permission." Danny blinks, eyes widening. "Not—not! that I would give them permission to do such a thing. In the first place. Ahem."

"Okay...so you'll do this for free?" Jason asks. "Seems like a bad business practice since you also fixed me up for nothing—"

"What he means to say, Your Majesty, Phantom, is thank you!" Signal says in a rush as Nightwing starts, "Wait, Hood, what do you mean—"

"Enough!" Phantom says loudly (nearby bats take off and Jason's itch migrates to his forearms) "I have little time," read: he has a test tomorrow and he's only one-third of the way through the study guide "And I grow tired of this...dilly-dally." Frick! Is that an old-timey word?

"Of course. Thank you again, Phantom." Nightwing says stiffly, eyes still narrowed in Hood's direction.

"Wait, sorry, Phantom, Majesty, I'm Spoiler by the way," the purple-caped vigilante Danny already knew was Spoiler says. "How do we keep this from happening again? To any of us? Is there a way to defeat this Nocturne?"

"Moreover, why Batman?" Red Robin asks. "Why would a spirit from another dimension want him asleep?"

Phantom sighs. "Nocturne was trying to send a message. To me. Through you," he says, nodding at Red Hood. "They...how do I put this. They like attention. Being the spirit of uh, dreaming, they don't receive that attention. And you were in my realms for quite some time. And they wanted...attention."

The lackluster explanation sits for a moment before "They were jealous? Of me?" Red Hood asks skeptically.

"It's more complicated than that. Your...physiology," Danny puts it as delicately as possible, watching regretfully when Red Hood still stiffens at the mention, "Is particular. You gather attention in our realm. And having my attention is...special. But not!" He says to the group at large, a touch panicked, "Romantic!"

Jesus, he's never gonna hear the end of this from the others.

"Anyway, I will ensure it does not happen again."

"By paying them attention," Spoiler says under her breath, wiggling her eyebrows at Black Bat, Red Robin shooting them both a glare. Nightwing ignores them in favor of staring at Red Hood and Phantom. Danny is unsure what Red Hood has disclosed about how he knows Danny, but now he feels confident the answer is close to nothing.

Before Nightwing can ask whatever uncomfortable thing he's about to ask, Phantom disappears. Invisibly, he hovers over Batman's sleeping body and silently apologizes for the intrusion before intangibly slipping into Batman's REM realm and finding the man...oh...

Probably thirty minutes later he reappears to the group, who all perk up at the sight of him. Their eyes bounce from him to Batman; who does not move, to the monitor; which shows no change in his brain activity.

"I'm going to need your help," Danny says to Jason, getting to the point.

"Why? What can I do?"

"It's easier if you come with me," Danny says, grabbing his arm.

"Come with—"

Danny wastes no time in turning them both invisible and flying them into Batman's mind.

"What the—" Red Hood twists and turns, taking in the hallways of the manor. From afar, they can hear the tinkling of a piano. "You, I had your word—"

"This isn't where you think it is," Danny says hurriedly. "We're in your—Batman's dream." He walks quickly down the hallway, towards the music. Jason follows.

"What?"

"The way to break a dream spell is to wake the dreamer. You can't do that externally so you do it internally. Usually you wake the dreamer by turning the dream into the nightmare, scaring them awake."

The hallway stretches on longer than realistic, the dream attempting to divert them. But it can't outrun Danny. His power seeps into the halls, ice creeping along the paneling and freezing the way behind them.

"Batman, however, is hard to scare."

"So you want me to do it."

"What? No." Phantom shoots him a confused look. "Why would I—Ahem, The other way is to convince the dreamer they are dreaming. They break the dream themselves."

"Alright..." Jason says slowly, now keeping pace with him. His breath forms a cloud as he speaks. "And you think I'm the person to do it? I'm not the one he listens to you know, that's more Nightwing's schtick, or hell, anyone other than me."

"This isn't just Batman's dream, Jason," he says. Hood's eyes narrow at his real name, but now the truth is necessary. "This is The Dream. The perfect life. Everything he could ever want."

They're approaching an opening on the right side of the corridor. A bright light emanates from it, alongside the noise of stumbling piano keys and laughter, deep and male and unrecognizable. The Dream.

"Thomas Wayne," Jason breathes. "You want me to convince Bruce it's worth walking away from the center of his universe? It'd be easier if I put a bullet in their chests."

Danny stops abruptly before the doorway, turning to face Jason.

"You know, I fixed you," he says, head cocked. "Those feelings you felt, you shouldn't be feeling them anymore."

"I...I don't."

"Then why do you act like it?" He lets himself drift up, reaching beyond their planes of existence and extending a metaphysical hand to Jason's spirit. It shivers away. "You don't have to hide behind what was."

"I'm not hiding! And I don't have to explain myself to you!" He tries to move forward but Danny puts a hand out and he cannot move past it. He growls in frustration.

"I'm grateful to you, but with or without the Pits I'm fucked up. This is just who I am. This is just what he made me."

"You've never asked why I look like this. But did you know my form is malleable?" Phantom says, letting his legs shift into a tail, letting two eyes become three. "What I believe is what I am."

And then he takes several steps back, putting the doorway between them. "From here on out, the Pits can't tell you how to think or feel. Your decisions are wholly your own. Starting with this one."

Jason stares at the doorway, then Danny.

"I won't make you," Danny says simply. "And if you desire, I will retrieve Nightwing instead."

Jason scratches at his arms, grits his teeth, and stomps through. The light resolves into the sitting room, massive windows letting in sunlight so bright it streaks yellow-white across the room. Bruce sits on the maroon versailles couch next to Cassandra, who sits cross legged, excitedly watching Alfred pour her a cup of tea. To their right, in the open space, Damian barks instructions at Tim on handling a katana. Stephanie and Duke sit on the ground besides the coffee table, homework sheets sprawled across the surface, suffering their way through a calculus problem.

Bruce, smiling softly, looks across the room to where the atrocious playing is coming from. Red Hood follows his gaze.

Sitting at the piano, trying to play while Dick distracts him with a pair of chopsticks, is Jason. He puts a hand on Dick's face and shoves, both of them hitting the wrong keys.

"Get—away—dumbass!"

"No, see, it's a duet! Jay!"

"That's not why it's named—" and Jason Todd-Wayne tips his white-tipped head back and laughs.

[hihomeghere]

Salt and Pepper | Arthur Morgan / Reader

Word count : 1.4k Summary : Arthur notices his hair is starting to gray. I saw a post on here about Arthur with salt and pepper hair and I couldn’t stop myself hehe. Warnings/Tags : talk about death, getting old, Arthur loves his wife, no tb, Arthur and reader own a house, mention of past gang members, cursing, lots of fluff, self deprecation on Arthur’s side, bullets, mention of weight gain (in a positive way)

“Godamn ugly bastard.” Arthur huffed, his gaze piercing as he looked into the mirror. He hadn’t meant to have himself a pity party this morning. In fact he was feeling quite fine this morning before looking in the small bathroom mirror. Waking up next to you always puts a spring in his step. Especially when he’s waking up in a real bed, underneath a soft quilt that you happened to sew in some free time. Mismatched patches and all, it was his favorite thing in the small home you two shared. Hell, you were becoming quite domestic ever since the house was completed.

But he wasn’t exactly expecting to find gray hair sprouting from his hairline. He wasn’t that old, was he?

“Jesus.” He sighed, inspecting further he realized it wasn’t one or two gray hairs, it was almost twenty. Hidden under his longer than normal locks after forgoing a haircut for the last couple weeks. He was surprised you hadn’t noticed them, especially with how much you loved to run your fingers through his hair. Although, he loved it just as much, maybe even more.

God, he needed to get rid of these before you saw them. He was sure you had some tweezers around here somewhere. He opened up your drawer, rifling around for your tweezers. Bingo. His hands gripped the small piece of metal, a triumphant smile on his face.

It was only once he looked back up into the mirror, determined to fix this issue before you woke up, that he noticed you padding into the bathroom. Rubbing sleep from your eyes, you wrapped your arms around his middle.

“Mornin’.” You hummed, laying your cheek against his bicep, smiling sweetly at him through the mirror.

“Mornin’.” He said, clearing his throat.

“What do you need those for?” You asked, eyeing the tweezers in his hand. Caught red handed, he tried coming up with some excuse.

“Nothin’ sweetheart.” He said, giving you his signature smile, kissing your forehead. He slipped the tweezers into his pocket for safe keeping, at least until he had a free moment without you around. After all those years on the run and he could come up with nothing, Hosea would have been so disappointed in his lack of an answer. He swore he could hear the old man chastising him now.

“For a former outlaw you sure are an awful liar.” You tutted, shaking your head, slipping your fingers into his pocket and pulling out the tweezers.

“Well it ain’t my fault,” He huffed playfully, “Could never get nothin’ past you anyway.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. You removed your hands from around his waist, leaning back on the sink as you looked up at him.

“Spill.” You said raising an eyebrow, your arms crossed over your chest.

Knowing he’d been caught, Arthur hung his head, a low sigh leaving his lips.

“It’s just-“ He cursed, turning to look away from you, “Well I’m goin’ gray.” He admitted, not meeting your eyes.

“And?” You asked in such a nonchalant manner.

“And?” He asked looking up at you, his brows furrowed.

“So you have some gray hairs.” You said with a shrug, “You’re acting like the damn world is ending.” You chuckled softly, a smile tugging on your lips.

“Well-“ Arthur sighed, pursing his lips, he didn’t want to be vain but damn it, it did feel like the world was ending.

“Honey.” You said softly, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Ain’t nothing wrong with some gray hairs.” You said, shaking your head, looking so goddamn patient as always. What he did in a past life to deserve you he would never know, he definitely didn’t deserve you in this one. You smiled, running your thumb over his couple day old stubble. He couldn’t help but sigh softly, leaning into your touch.

“Just makes me feel old ‘s all.” He shrugged, closing his eyes.

“Arthur.” You said softly, he opened his eyes. His bright azure pools looking into yours. “Getting old means we’re still alive.” You said pointedly, not missing the way your fingers trailed lightly down his chest.

He sighed softly, anyone who said he was the most like Hosea had obviously never had a one on one conversation with you. You had shared the same dry wit along with being just as wise as the old man. Sometimes he wondered if the two of you were more closely related than just being adopted by him as a kid.

As your hand settled over his heart, he couldn’t help but remember a time when you didn’t have this place. When his next breath had been an undeserved blessing. When you and Charles had pulled his broken body off that godforsaken mountain. You were right, he should be grateful for these gray hairs and new lines on his face. Should be grateful that he made it this far out west with you, where the air was dryer and slowly his lungs didn’t hurt as bad with each breath.

If anything he should be grateful that you’re here, here in this house. The house that he built specifically for you. That you’re not buried six feet under like most of the fellow gang members. That you didn’t catch a bullet like Lenny or Sean, how he wished they could have had the chance to grown old. Even as mouthy as Sean was, the poor bastard didn’t deserve that. Lenny was just a boy, foolish enough to be sucked in by Dutch’s silver tongue. He shook his head trying to clear any thoughts of the past.

God, along with the fact that somehow both of you still happen to be standing, the fact that you chose to stand by him after everything you went through makes his head swim. You could have left him at any point, hell he had begged you to leave after his death sentence. And yet, here you were.

“Guess you’re right.” He said, a small smile tugging on his lips.

“Course I am.” You teased, a smile spreading across your face. You leaned forward, brushing your nose against his. He accepted your silent invitation, pressing his lips against yours. So soft and warm and inviting. He could feel you smile against his lips. That small smile warmed him from the inside out, nearly making his toes curl.

Jesus, he was lucky. More than lucky, he still couldn’t figure out how he had tricked you into marrying him. He wanted to be the best version of himself for you, he had made a promise to try every day to be a better man for you. You shouldn’t be tied down to a miserable old fool like himself.

As if you could read his mind, which he often suspected you could, your soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Besides,” You began as you pulled away, “I like the salt and pepper look.” Arthur scoffed, shaking his head.

“Really?” He asked, raising a brow.

“Really.” You nodded, running your hand through his hair. “Think you get more handsome every day.” If anyone was getting prettier every day it was you. Your hair was longer, cascading down your shoulders in waves. No longer tied up in a tight braid or bun. You looked relaxed, at peace. You became softer once you both settled into your new lifestyle. Not just emotionally, although you still had that fire which had first drawn him towards you, like a moth to a flame. You were physically softer, your harsh edges smoothing out as you started to eat and sleep better. Your curves became more prominent, and he certainly didn’t mind having more to hold onto late at night.

Maybe you truly did feel the same about him. He had never known you to lie. A blush settled on his cheeks at the thought. He shook his head, a small chuckle rumbling through his chest.

“Yeah, alright darlin’.” He says taking your face in his hands, kissing you again before you had the chance to embarrass him further.

Maybe getting old wasn’t so bad if you had someone to grow old with.

[i-cant-sing]

Time Traveller AU part 11

Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 4 is here. Part 5 is here. Part 6 is here. Part 7 is here. Part 8 is here. Part 9 is here. Part 10 is here. Time Traveller au masterlist is here. Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Part 12 is here!

Your eyes are closed as you travel through time and space, wondering where you'll end up this time. Surely, if the universe saved you one more time, it means you'll probably end up in a better place-

Your eyes snapped open at the loud sound of thunder. You're staring up at the sky, dark clouds lightening flashing across it and-

I'm still falling!

You're not able to breathe until you take a gasp just as you hit the ground below you-

Wet. No, not ground. You look around in the dark water, not able to visualise anything before adrenaline kicks in and you start to swim to the surface.

You gasp as you come up and look around you.

You're in the sea. You're in the middle of the sea!

Your heart is drumming against your chest as you look up at the sky. Its dark, filled with heavy cloud and thunder. As the waves around you begin to move, your blood runs cold.

Storm. Sea storm.

Before you're able to react, though you doubt you could've prepared yourself, the waves crash down on you, pulling you back under the waters. No matter how hard you try to come back up, the waves thrash you here and there, insistent on drowning you. Even if you're able to break the surface for a few seconds, you're only able to take in so much air before getting waterboarded by the sea.

You're thrashing about under the waters, your body starting run out of adrenaline and reaching exhaustion, when you spot something in the corner of your eye.

Its a dark, huge figure. Horizontal, streamlined-

Shark. Its a fucking shark!

You'd scream if your body would listen to you. But you froze, and for some reason, your mind went on autopilot and made you raise your fists.

What? Fight the shark? What the fuck Y/n-

The shark was less than 5 feet from you when an orca came out of nowhere and attacked the shark.

You could only watch as the two sea animals fought each other, the killer whale clearly winning as the shark's thrashing began to subdue. That was the last thing you saw before losing consciousness, praying to God someone finds your body at least.

-

You wake upto the sound of a woman screaming.

Screaming. So, I must be in hell. Huh.

Your eyes flutter open and you look around the large white room you're in.

Its a hospital ward.

Your gaze falls on the shrieking female patient, currently being strapped to her bed as nurses try to inject her with something.

"Oh, you're awake." A nurse states as she comes by your side, noticing the English accent. "Didnt think you would after they found you washed up on the shore. You were shivering all over!"

Ah, nearly drowned. Nearly had hypothermia. Maybe I should have a "near-death" board.

You cleared your throat. "Where am I? How long was I out?"

"You're in London, honey. It was the nearest hospital from where'd they found you. You've been here for a day." She watched you sit up. "Where you from, dearie?"

Pressing your temples, you answered. "Just... around."

Her face turned somber. "You're one of those, arent you?"

"One of who?" You narrowed your eyes at her. "One of who?"

"One of the damned who spread their filth-!" She snarled, stopping when she saw a doctor come up. "Hello, Dr Lowe!" The doctor merely gave her a nod, his eyes fixed on you. "And how are you, miss-?"

"Y/n." Whats the point of lying with another name? Its not like they'd find a record of you.

"Miss Y/n." He nodded. "Do you remember what happened? Why you were on the beach?"

"Um..." You tried to come up with an excuse. "I think... I was trying to swim."

Dr Lowe raised a brow. "Swim? In the winter?"

"Mmhm. Better to prepare myself for the summer." You feigned a smile, not receiving one back.

"Why?" The nurse asked, shrinking when the doctor shot her a glare.

"For... for fun?" You answered, unsure. What, is swimming a crime here?

"And you were swimming in... these clothes." You look down, noticing you were still in the Ottoman attire, wearing a flimsy gown.

"I was rehearsing for a play." The lie rolled out easier this time.

"Are you married?"

"No." I just escaped several attempts though. "Are we done here? I need to get home."

"And where would that be?" The doctor asked, crossing his arms as he looked at you.

"Outside of London. I dont feel comfortable telling you the address." You answered, not appreciating his interrogation.

"Miss, do you know what day it is today?" Shit.

"No. I have never been good at remembering dates." You pull the sheets off you to get off the bed but the doctor's words stop you.

"Its 8th of October."

And this is where you made a stupid mistake.

"What year?" The question came out before you could think of the repercussions.

"You... dont remember the year?" The doctor and the nurse shared a look before looking back at you.

"1860."

1860. 1860. London-

Victorian era.

Shit.

"Of course, I remember the year. I was just making sure. Anyways, I have to go-"

"You're not going anywhere, miss. You're not well. You need treatment." The doctor grabs your shoulders, pushing you back down.

"No, no. I am all good now! You saved my life, but I need to go-" You tried to push his hands off your shoulders, watching the nurse leave in a hurry.

The doctor shook his head. "No, miss. You may be fine physically, but not mentally." "What?" "You dressing up like this, playing some character, going to the sea to drown yourself because you're not happy with life, not remembering dates, and not having a husband- you have hysteria!"

You shook your head frantically. "No, I dont have hysteria-!"

"Not to worry miss! Its very common among women these days, sadly. But I have treated many of them successfully! And I'm sure that will be the case for you as well- Nurse! I need restraints and injections-"

Injection? Hysteria? Oh no, no. No. No! You've read about how they treated hysteria in the 1800s. Sent away to the seaside, lobotomy or forced orga-

"I AM NOT HYSTERICAL!" You thrashed around as more doctors and nurses came to hold you down. You spot the nurse holding up an injection and you only fought harder to escape as you realised Victorian medicine was basically poison itself.

"STOP- STOP! DONT INJECT ME WITH THAT!" You struggled with all your might to free yourself from their grasp, but their grip was tight and unyielding. "ITS FUCKING POISON! YOU IDIOTS! YOU'RE GONNA FUCKING KILL ME!"

You watched in horror as the nurse brought the needle closer to your arm, not even bothering to use an alcohol swab to sterilise the area so great- you'll die of an infection-

"Let her go!" They all looked towards the doorway, where a man stood looking furious. Wearing a brown coat with long sleeves and a wide collar exposing his waistcoat, he marched over to your bed and angrily took off his top hat.

"What is the meaning of this cruelty?! Unhand my wife now!" He yelled at the hospital staff.

Dr Lowe glared at him. "Wife? She said she wasnt married!"

The man scoffed. "We had a fight!" He glared at you this time. "Well, I'm sorry I spent a night away at the pub, darling! Forgive me and come back home?"

They all were staring at you now, and it only took a moment of eye contact with him for you to catch on.

"Fine. I forgive you. Lets go home-"

"Wait a second." The doctor narrowed his eyes at you. "You were found at the beach hours away from here. If he's your husband, then what were you doing there?"

He caught you off guard for a second, but you lied through your teeth.

"I obviously ran away!" You huffed. The man at the other end pulled the doctor by his collar. "And I'm from the newspaper, so if you dont let my wife go now, I will write an article besmirching you- not this run down hospital, no. I will be critisising you personally- whats your name?"

"Dr Lowe!" You pitched in. "Thank you, darling." The man nodded at you before continuing to threaten the doctor.

"I will crucify you, Dr Lowe."

The doctor huffed and nodded at the staff to let you go.

5 minutes later, you were walking with the man to the front desk to collect your belongings. You dont have your time machine on you or your jewellery from the Ottomans.

"Thank you..." You looked at him.

"Colin. Colin Felton."

As you waited for the nurse to return with your things, Colin introduced himself. True to his word, he did work in a newspaper, though you could only describe his work as "investigative journalism", but the term wasnt coined yet.

He was here at the hospital because he'd been trying to collect evidence on the inhumane attitude of healthcare workers towards patients and the alleged barbaric treatments towards the residents.

"So, why'd you help me? I mean, how'd you figured I wasnt hysterical?"

"I didnt." He grinned. "Hysterical or not, no one deserves to get lobotomised or whatever sadistic process they were going to subject you to." Colin looked at you. "How'd you know the injection was going to kill you? And what poison?"

"Look at the state of the hospital- there's arsenic on the walls. And most of the patients there were either strapped to their bed, or lying limp, drooling and groaning. The staff themselves looked like death, and there's no real concept of hygiene here, is there?" You shook your head. "The place is understaffed, overpacked, and completely unprepared for any epidemic or even anything mild!"

Colin chuckled. "Well, well, well. Who taught you so much about hospital management?"

Well, I am from the future where modern medicine has been able to provide vaccines for diseases you could die of.

You shrugged your shoulder. "My brother and I spent a summer at the mortuary." Which is true. You and Qasim had decided one summer to learn more about human anatomy (so that you could one day make your own humanoid-robots) and as kids who were unsupervised by working parents, you decided the best way to learn anatomy would be to go to the mortuary and just... take one home.

Look, in your 7 year old mind- it sounded like a good idea. There were a lot of unclaimed dead bodies at the local morgue and they wouldnt mind if you took one, right?

Qasim was hesitant but went along when you stated it was "for the advancement of science!"

Yeah, anyways, the moment you and Qasim had sneaked in and pulled the storage compartment holding someone, the doctor there caught you two. The only reason he didnt call your parents then was when you two begged you'd do anything and you were just trying to learn about human body and you swore that it wasnt for any "black magic", he instead made you and Qasim intern at the morgue.

Dr Johnson was more concerned that you two werent freaking out over dead bodies, and he probably kept you two around to see if you had any homicidal tendencies, but he found out you two were just curious kids. He was a great teacher, in all honesty, not only did he teach you about anatomy, but also a lot about the embalming, forensics, murder weapons and-

"What do you mean they're not there?" You asked the nurse. "Where's the rest of my stuff?!"

"I'm sorry ma'am, you didnt have anything on you besides the clothes on your back. And you're wearing them-"

"I'm going to give you one more chance- where's. My. Stuff?!" You snapped at her. The nurse stared at you unflinching. You pulled up your sleeve, ready to lunge. "You listen here-"

"What my wife means to say-" Colin placed a hand on your shoulder, reeling you back. "-would you please be kind and check again?"

"Like I told the missus- she didnt bring anything. Also- your missus was carried in here in the arms of another man-"

"What man?" You cut her attempt at tattling.

"He didnt give a name." She scoffed. "He just dropped you on one of the beds and left."

"What did he look like? What was he wearing?"

"I dont remember his face, but he wearing a black coat and hat, and I remember a golden band on his ring finger." She gave you a nasty look at the mention of the ring.

-

"What was so important that you lost?" Colin asked as you two walked. After questioning the nurse until she got fed up, Colin pulled you out of the hospital.

"Just some... jewels. A bracelet. Some cash- well the last bit of it that would get me home." You mumbled, every part of your being doing its best not to break down over losing the only way home. Because if you dont remain calm and lose your shit, you'll end up right back at the hospital to undergo nightmarish treatments.

"We could report it to the police. Although I doubt your case would take priority over the recent rise in murder cases-" You tuned him out as you tried to think where your time machine is.

I was dropped into the sea.... and the waves were harsh. Did I lose it in the sea?

Your stomach twisted at the thought of losing the time machine forever. At least with the thief theory, you had a small chance of getting it back. But you cant go scuba diving to find it in the sea!

"So, what are you going to do now?" He asks as you both sit down. You're holding your head in your hands. Colin's brows furrow in concern.

"Y/n?"

"I dont know, Colin!" You looked up at him. "I dont know! I lost all my belongings, everything that I needed to get home! I have no family, no place to stay and I'm a woman in a time where everyone is trying to either send me off to the looney bin or live horribly in a workhouse!"

"How do you know workhouses are horrible?" Colin raised a brow at you, an accusatory look in his eyes. "This isnt the first time you ran away from home, is it?"

You looked at his face, judging you. If you say yes, he'll think you're just a mad woman who is actually homeless and is trying to use him to get money. And you're already low as it is, you dont need more kicking down.

Scoffing, you glared at him. "What? You think I'm just a mad woman who is actually homeless and is trying to use you for money?" You shake your head, your mind making up excuses. "I... snuck into one of the workhouses."

"Why?"

"So... that I could expose the horrible working and living conditions." You continued before he could ask why. "A friend of mine lived in a workhouse. She complained about the hard labour, the isolation, the inhumane punishments. She died there." You looked down, both for dramatic effect and to avoid being caught in a lie. "I wanted to get justice for her. But the higher ups found out and tried to keep me quiet, which lead to me being on the run and hiding from them, wearing disguises-" You gestured to your Ottoman attire. "-but they caught me and put me on a boat to kill me. It was just pure luck that I washed up on the shore."

Allah, I know lying is a sin but lord- that was amazing how quick I came up with that. Please do not use this to make an example out of me.

Colin gave you a sympathetic look.

"I think I have a way to help you."

-

You were sitting in Colin's apartment.

"Here you go." He returned from the kitchen with a cup of tea.

"Thank you." You took a sip, letting the warm beverage heat your hands. "So, whats your plan?"

"I share this place with 4 people, and one of them has moved out. So, we have a vacant room for you." Colin pointed to a room on the left.

You sighed. "Thats very kind of you to offer Colin, but I cant live here for free-"

"Who said "free"?"

"I dont have a job. I cant pay rent-"

"You do have a job." Colin grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Work with me."

"At the newspaper?" You set your cup down. "I mean- I dont have any experience writing-"

He waved you off. "You dont have to write. I'll write. You- will just collect information for me."

You pondered about his statement. So basically, he wants you to be the "investigator" in "investigative journalism".

"Look, you're gutsy, you're smart, and you're strong willed. I need someone like that to collect data and infiltrate places to expose injustice." Colin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'd do it myself, but I've been around these places so many times that they know now that I'm from the paper. Plus, there are many places only a woman could sneak into instead." He clasped his hands. "Its an interesting job. You'll get to meet all kinds of people. And who knows, maybe even the man who saved your life and stole your belongings."

You nodded. "So, how much will you pay?"

-

Later that night, you met with Colin's flat mates- Liam, who was a police officer, Shepherd, who was a barkeeper and Benjamin who was a barber. Fortunately for you, they were all glad to have you as a flatmate, or well maybe they were just happy to have someone to share the expenses with.

Next morning, Colin told you about the assignment he was working on.

"My main project is about exposing the harrowing conditions of patients forced to undergo unnecessary and painful treatments and the atrocious attitude of the staff towards the patients. Especially in mental asylums." He huffed out, shaking his head as if recalling the nightmarish scenes he'd seen. "But thats a big project and is still underworks. You, will have to first interview and collect some dirt on some influential people and upperclass."

"Why?"

"To get access to Queen Victoria." "And why do I need her?" Colin smiled. "Well, the royal family has many sick people, so if she were to become aware of the grim conditions her subjects have to go through at hospitals, then maybe she will do something about it."

"And you think she would help us?"

He nods. "I believe she will. I think birthing 9 children and being surrounded by men who keep things from her, she doesnt have time for her subjects. But if we were to point her in the right direction until she's unable to ignore the problem."

Well, it is true that the English royal family had many illnesses passed down, famously haemophilia and due to inbreeding, some mental illnesses as well. You suppose Colin's plan just might work.

"Okay. So who's my first interviewee?"

"Charles Dickens."

-

What an asshole.

When Colin told you that you were going to interview or well "dig up dirt" on Charles Dickens, you already knew the literary legend was a jerk. Like most kids, you had read his books- "A Christmas Carol", "Oliver Twist", "David Copperfield", etc. Unlike most kids, you looked him up on the internet and went down the rabbit hole to find out everything about his life.

Including his unhappy marital life, where he was married to Catherine Dickens and basically cheated on his wife with an actress 27 years his junior- "Ellen Ternan", or as he liked to call- "Nelly". He had a secret affair with Nelly, who he had apparently spoken "highly" of- having “a pretty face and well-developed figure”—or “passably pretty and not much of an actress.”

But wait- it gets worse.

So after Catherine found out about his affair, she quietly lived apart from him. A painful scandal arose, and Dickens did not act at this time with tact, patience, or consideration. The affair disrupted some of his friendships and narrowed his social circle, but surprisingly it seems not to have damaged his popularity with the public.

While Catherine maintained a dignified silence, Charles took it upon himself to justify his affair by writing letters about Catherine as being an "unfit wife" because of some "peculiarities of temperament" she had, even saying that she didnt care for the kids nor they for her, which in 1800s- was all that you were good for as a woman. And if you're not good at your job and have "peculiarities of temperament" then that means you're just insane.

Yes, Charles Dickens tried to justify his cheating ass with a girl almost 3 decades younger than him, by saying "my wife's crazy!" Which is... a pretty serious allegation because you could be sent to the mental asylum for torturous treatments.

Which is how you got into his house in the first place. Your cover story is that you're a doctor at the mental asylum and have come over to check on Catherine after Charles wrote letters to the hospital expressing his "grave concern over her mental health". That was a tip Colin was able to get.

And now here you are, sitting in his parlour as he told you on and on about his works, how terrible his life was in general- not growing up, and how women in his life have been just such a bad influence.

"What do you think, doctor?" He asked, finally stopping after 20 minutes of yapping.

You cleared your throat, setting the tea cup down. "Oh I think you're absolutely right, Mr Dickens! My God, what good is a woman if she cant even satisfy her husband or take care of her kids?!" You watched his eyes lit up at your words. "I mean, all women are naturally homemakers. They're supposed to be the providers, the nurturers! If a woman fails to make her family feel warm, fails to make her house a home, then she surely has something terribly wrong with her head! Ah, she definitely needs our help!"

"So, you agree? Catherine needs to be institutionalised-"

"Well, I didnt say that." You gave him a coy smile. "I do understand your concern for your wife- you are a loving husband after all. Loving, caring, honest husband. Such a rare breed of men these days, hm?" You watched his smile falter a bit. "I think I will need to observe her a few more times before I make any decision, Mr Dickens. Now, good day!"

-

"I dont understand why I'm not being paid." You huff as you flop onto the sofa.

Colin sighs, rubbing his eyes. "Because I'm not being paid. And if I dont get paid, you dont get paid, remember?" Ah yes. Since you're not officially hired by his newspaper because you're a woman, you're basically Colin's employee.

"And why are you not being paid?"

"Because the paper didnt publish my exposé!" He handed you the paper.

You looked at the front page and threw the paper to the side. "What the hell is this? How long are they going to run the same news- FRONT PAGE, TOO! Its already been a week!"

"Its a big deal-"

"What? Some guy is returning to London is a news now?" You scoffed.

"Its not just some guy." Colin sighed tiredly, slumping in his chair. "Its a FitzGeorge."

"What the hell is a FitzGeorge?"

"You dont know FitzGeorge?" You shook your head. "Prince George, Duke of Cambridge? Queen Victoria's first cousin?"

You tried to remember anything about him. But you dont remember reading much about any cousins of Queen Victoria, when her kids were already so entertaining to read about.

"So, Prince George is returning?"

"No, he's been dead for years! How do you not know this?"

"I live under a rock. So who is returning?" You redirected him back.

Colin gave you a look. "His grandson. Silas Edmund FitzGeorge."

"Right. And why is he so important that he's been on the front page for a week now?"

"He's the most eligible bachelor now." Seeing your unamused look, Colin explained. "Prince George and Queen Victoria fell apart when the former married a ballerina, Sarah Fairbrother. They married without the Queen's consent, though with Sarah being a ballerina, I doubt her majesty wouldve approved of the union either way. Anyways, since they married without her consent, the marriage was essentially null and any heirs produced were illegitimate and not recognised by the crown, thus would not be granted any Dukedoms. Prince George had 3 sons- George, Adolphus and Augustus FitzGeorge. The youngest- Augustus, had two children: Daisy and Silas. Unfortunately, the kids were quite young when they lost their mother. Augustus was away on service on the sea, when his wife was brutally murdered in the family home and rumour has it- Silas had witnessed it first hand. It was just pure luck that he was not spotted by the murderer that the young child was hiding in his closet. While the kids were in mourning, Augustus had apparently went mad with sorrow when he received the news and drowned himself. Pitying the orphans, Queen Victoria had promised to make Silas a Duke and Daisy a Duchess when they came of age. But Daisy was sent to the mad house out of the blue and a few months later, she died there. Poor Silas was now taken in by his grandmother, Sarah, the very woman Queen Victoria hates. Long story short, Sarah worked very hard to raise Silas and eventually he ended up being the first in the royal family to attend Oxford university-" he leaned forward, smiling. "-without any help from the crown."

Oh, so Silas is self made. And not a nepo baby.

"Silas not only is highly educated, but he's also a very successful businessman. He has invested in many businesses and he's been a huge part in reforming industries."

"So... he's rich and self made? Got it." You looked at Colin. "Still doesnt explain why he's making news? Hell, he even took importance over those horrible murders!"

Colin grinned. "Well, he's not the most eligible bachelor just for the commoners. Apparently, the queen is considering him as a match for one of her daughters." He watched realisation finally dawn on you.

"I still should be paid." You grumbled before glaring at him. "Maybe you need to write a better article, good enough for it to take over the front page."

"If you're done criticising my writing skills, I was going to tell you a remedy for this problem." Colin had an evil glint in his eyes. "And we'll have to use our friend Mr Dickens for it."

-

Colin is a genius.

You're currently sitting in Sarah Fairbrother's house- or well a small mansion. Its a huge estate, lush green grounds surrounding it as far as the eye can see. You were sweating by the time you reached inside, the gardens were huge.

How did you end up here? Colin suggested to use dirt on Charles Dickens and blackmail him into getting you an interview with Sarah, since he is popular and part of the high society. And you only had to say "Nelly" for Dickens to fold. He asked Sarah that a young woman would like to interview her for her years as a ballerina.

You knew Sarah was Silas's grandma, but you still were not expecting to see a slim, 86 year old woman who looked absolutely beautiful. Honestly, she did not look a day beyond 60.

"So, how did you know you wanted to become a ballerina?" You asked her, starting off the interview.

The plan was for you to get close with Sarah and find some secrets, so that when Colin writes about them, the editor will take him seriously and then start posting his Dickens article.

The conversation went from her life as a ballerina, to her life as Mrs FitzGeorge. Sarah practically told you everything, you could see she was lonely and she hadnt had anyone to talk to properly. She was kind, sweet lady, and a prima donna ballerina, and you didnt understand why the queen wouldnt like her. But the thing is, her being a ballerina was a stigma in itself, because back in the 1800s, ballet theatres were used as parlours for men to drink and sleep around with women. Thus, by association, ballerinas were bad too.

But despite the queen's shunning, Sarah did not speak ill of her. No, she was a lovely, demure lady who was still very much passionate about ballet.

"And for all the young girls who aspire to be a ballerina one day, much like myself, what advice do you have for them?" You asked,

"Dance with your heart, and your feet will follow!" She smiled so gracefully, that you couldnt help but return it.

"Thank you for such an amazing interview. I am sure girls from all around London will look upto you one day." You said, closing your journal.

"You flatter me, darling." She giggled before looking down at your legs. "You know, I saw your skirt ride up a bit earlier and I think you have the perfect calves for ballet! Have you ever considered?"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "I wish! But I think I'm a little too old to learn ballet now."

"My dear, you're never too old to enjoy life!" Sarah smiled.

"Perhaps, one day." You stand up. "I would love to know more about it. Maybe we can do this again, if you have time?"

It wasn't right to use her loneliness, but... you had to make a living. Besides, there are far worse things you can do than talking to an old lady to solict information.

-

You were not expecting Sarah to invite you back two days later, that too for dinner.

"Its not just a dinner, Y/n." Colin said, pacing back and forth. "I think Silas is going to be there. Of course, it'll be a party in his honour! Ah, the return of the beloved grandson and the most eligible bachelor in town!" He continued to mutter incoherently, his mind working overdrive as he began planning ahead.

"How often does he go mad like this?" You whisper to Benjamin, who was currently styling your hair for the dinner.

He smiled, his moustache curling up. "Quite often." He had your hair in a nice updo, and on your insistence, he also allowed some hair to frame your face.

"You cant go empty handed." Colin said, stopping his pacing. "Its high society, you cant go empty handed! You need to get a gift, something appropriate and if possible, memorable enough for them to call you back again and again."

You glared at him through the mirror you were standing in front of as Benjamin helped tighten your corset.

"I dont think anyone will be forgetting me after the objectionable alterations you made to this gown." You pointed to the outfit you were wearing- a baby blue silk gown with delicate lacework around the scandalous neckline and puffy sleeves, courtesy of Colin.

Colin rolled his eyes. "So what if you showed some skin? I'm only trying to ensure that you leave a lasting impression on them." He put on his hat. "Now come along, we have to get a present too."

You and Colin walked down the streets of London, the area bustling as people returned from their jobs and either rushed home or to the pubs.

"Where are we going to get a present now, Colin? One that is both good enough and you can afford to buy too." You commented as you pulled your coat tighter around your body, the cold biting at your bones.

He offered you his arm and pulled you close to his side to warm you up. "I was going to get a wine bottle but the shop closed early today and Shepherd said he hadn't been able to secure any good bottles at the pub, so we'll- we'll just have to go for the next best thing." You two stopped in front of a shop on Regent street.

Regent's Antiques!

"Really? And you can afford antiques?" You raised a brow at him. He shrugged before pushing you inside the shop. "I dont know, but I am good at bargaining."

The shop is huge and immediately stepping inside, you could tell that there was nothing here Colin could afford to buy. The shelves that held the items alone looked like they were made of rich wood, the smell of mahogany, musk and polish filling up your nostrils.

"Lets get out of here before we embarrass ourselves-" you whisper to Colin but he brushes you off and walks further into the store. Sighing, you start browsing the store, an amalgam of things were present there- relics, ceramics, gold and silver and other metalware.

"And how much is this for, sir?" You turned to see Colin ask the salesman for the price of the vase he was holding. You didnt have to hear how expensive it was when you saw Colin's eyes widen as he nervously chuckled before putting the vase back. You heard him do this again over the next 30 minutes, picking up stuff and placing them back.

In the corner of your eye, you spotted a small box. You picked it up and opened it, smiling as it played a melody while the ballerina figurine twirled in the center.

The perfect gift.

You went upto the counter and asked how much it was for.

"100 pounds."

100 pounds... 100 pounds in 1860, with inflation would be todays-

Your eyes widened as you looked down at the box. The salesman mistook your shock for interest and began explaining how its made of pure gold and that this box belonged to a king who gifted it to his queen for their everlasting love.

"Mmhm. Interesting-" You cleared your throat, placing the box back on the shelf. "- but its not what I'm looking for."

"Y/n? What are you doing? I already bought the gift!" Colin came by your side.

"What did you buy?" You asked him before pulling him to the side to whisper. "What could you have possibly afforded in this place?"

"I almost didnt find anything but then the owner of this place saw me and showed me something a little more in my range and I'm getting it wrapped up now!" He told you gleefully.

"The owner? Who?"

"Mr Blackwood! He came here to get a present for someone too and then showed me some old items that were either too ugly or too damaged or just been here for so long, they had to store it in the back! And I found a gem, not too shabby and in a good condition too!" Colin grinned proudly. "Come on, I'll show you the back!"

He ushered you to the storage and true to his word, the room was indeed filled with boring and damaged items. "Take a look around, I need to haul a carriage to load the present and you cant be late!" He left you there.

You browse through the stuff there before going towards the wooden cabinet in the corner. Its locked. You look through the glass panels at the precious antiques inside- mostly bejewelled items like daggers, boxes, broaches and-

Your breath hitched.

Time machine.

My time machine. Its here!

You press your hands against the glass before pulling on the handles to open it, only for the lock to not budge.

Its just glass. You raise your fist. I can just-

"I wouldnt do that if I were you." A voice called out from behind you. You turned to see a man in the doorway, broad shouldered and even from a distance, you could see he had two shades in his eyes.

Green and brown.

Well suited in a coat and shiny dress shoes, he looked like he was going somewhere. He stepped towards you, an mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Those are my belongings." He said.

Oh. So, he's the owner.

"Not all of it. Thats mine." You point to your machine inside. "It was stolen from me a few days ago."

He shrugged. "How can I believe you? I dont know you." He takes another step towards you. "Besides, everything here once belonged to someone. Now? Its mine."

You frowned. "That belongs to me. I even have an official police report." You dont but you decided to bluff.

He chuckled. "Sure you did. But it still doesnt change the fact that its in my possession now." Before you could reply, Colin returned.

"Ah Y/n! I see you've met Mr Blackwood. He's the-" "Owner. I know. And he stole my stuff." You grumbled to Colin.

Mr Blackwood narrowed his eyes at you. "I did not steal it, young lady. Someone came to us and sold it."

You glare at him. "No-" "Yes, of course, Mr Blackwood." Colin cut you off. "And we appreciate that you've kept it safe, but we would like to buy it back from you."

Mr Blackwood looked at him and then at you, before smiling.

"I wasnt planning on selling but since you already bought one of my antiques..." he nodded. "1000 pounds and its yours."

Your jaw went slack and you almost started to swing when Colin grabbed your elbow.

"Mr Blackwood, if you could just give us a better deal-"

"1000 pounds, Mr Felton. And not a penny less." He said before leaving.

-

"Why are you mad at me?" Colin asked as he sat next to you in the carriage.

"I'm mad at him, Colin! There was no way that was worth 1000 pounds! No one would pay such a ridiculous amount! For anything!" You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Of course it wasnt worth a 1000 pounds. He raised the price because you pissed him off." You glared at him. "Look, just focus on tonight and when we get our paycheques, I'll go talk to Mr Blackwood again and bargain a good deal. Because even if he did gave us a good deal right now, I couldnt afford it, not after spending money on your outift and that gift,"

You scowl but nod stiffly. "Fine."

The carriage reached the FitzGeorge estate, stopping at the entrance where a small army of servants waited to greet you and other guests.

"Good luck. See you in a few hours." Colin wished you before calling two servants to carry the gift.

"What the hell did you buy?" You ask as you watch the servants carry a rectangular box wrapped in brown paper and a big red bow inside. "Come on, tell me. What if they ask me what it is?"

Colin grinned as he tipped his hat at you. "I guess you'll have to figure out something on the spot. Bye!" The carriage left before you could pester him.

Huffing, you lifted your gown a bit as you walked up the steps and entered inside the beautiful mansion.

The lobby is filled with guests and servants who are taking their coats and leading them inside. There's a stairway on the right leading to private quarters upstairs, a drawing room beside the stairs where you had interviewed Sarah the last time you were here. On the other side, you see a table stacked with presents, your own gigantic box settled behind them.

This was not just a small dinner, was it?

You're lead inside what seems to be a ballroom, the lights seeming to bounce of the polished wooden floors. Waiters are serving guests alcohol and appetisers, and you hold the champagne filled glass too.

Hey, just because I'm not drinking doesnt mean I cant hold it. I need to blend in.

You hold the glass in your hands as you look at the attendees, trying to spot any famous personalities. You notice Charles Dickens again, of course he's here too. Your eyes drink in the pretty dresses of the women and almost roll at the sight of obnoxious men who dont make an effort to conceal their ogling.

Soon, the butlers gets everyones attention as he annoucnes the arrival of the hostess.

"Lady Sarah Louisa FitzGeorge, accompanied by her grandson, Lord Silas Edmund FitzGeorge!"

Sarah was wearing a black regency gown, puffy panelled sleeves and a golden brooch with an onyx stone in the center of her neckline, her neck adorned with pearls and matching tear drop earrings. She walked arm-in-arm with a dashing young man, and you could definitely see why he was the "most eligible bachelor".

Dark chocolate brown hair, the thick locks styled properly and you were sure that under the sunlight, they'd have different shades of brown and golden in them. Fair skinned, yet not deathly pale as most of London is, he had thick brows framing dark grey eyes adorned with enviable thick lashes, that dont seem to be focusing on anyone, just looking ahead, unamused. A sharp Roman nose, followed by perfectly sized pink lips, with a deep and defined cupid's bow and a strong jawline.

They both walked down the stairs and entered the ballroom together, Sarah practically beaming with pride as she walked in with her grandson who towered over her. Everyone talked in hushed whispers, admiring Silas's beauty and how he looked like royalty. Sarah continued to smile at the guests as they made their way towards the center.

As the guest finally quieted down, Sarah began speaking.

"Thank you all for joining me tonight to celebrate my dear Silas's return from Oxford!" People clapped at the huge academic achievement but Silas still looked like he'd much rather be anywhere else than here. Sarah continued. "I had dearly missed him so much. He's been my rock, my star, my everything after his grandfather left me. But tonight is not about sorrows, no. Tonight we celebrate Silas! I hope you enjoy this, darling." She looked up at him and Silas smiled gently at her, a dimple appearing on his left side, leaning down to let her kiss his cheek.

Sarah clapped her hands, nodding at the butler.

Moments later, ballerinas entered the ballroom and began putting on a show. Ah, so this is why you were invited back. Sarah probably thought that you'd enjoy this due to your keen interest in the performing arts.

I mean... its not bad. Actually, its quite entertaining. But you're not here to enjoy ballet. You're here to get dirt on the upper class of London.

You move through the audience, picking up on interesting bits of convo here and there, mostly about extra marital affairs and tax frauds. When you see Silas again, he's not by Sarah's side anymore. No, instead he's now surrounded by some men, much older than him. They seem to be close to him, though Silas doesnt seem to share any familiarity with them as they speak in hushed tones, a hand on his shoulder to emphasise their point. Finally, Silas gives them a nod before moving away from them, and he's once again crowded by 3 boys, much closer to his age this time and Silas actually gives them a smile as they head out of the ballroom.

Friends, maybe relatives? You dont recall Colin telling you he had any brothers, only a sister who passed away in an asylum.

Your eyes trail back to the men who were talking to Silas earlier, only to see a familiar face there.

Mr Blackwood.

Despite being much younger than the men, he seemed to hold authority over them. You could see from the way they shook his hand, eagerly, desperately and talking over each other, but Mr Blackwood just stood there with a charming smile, listening to their concerns before holding a hand up to silence them. He said a few words that seemed to quell their worries before he moved past them and for a brief second, his eyes met yours and he smirked, tipping his head at you before leaving the ballroom.

You thought he'd come to you, maybe interrogate why someone like you was here in the first place, but perhaps you blended in better than you thought.

"Y/n! Darling, you came!" Sarah greeted you happily as she embraced you in a hug. "How do you like the show?"

"Oh, its just so... exquisite. Bewitching, really!" You smile before complimenting her outfit. "And your gown, your jewellery, everything looks so beautiful! If I didnt know any better, I'd say you were Silas's elder sister!"

She laughed softly, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, its you kids who keep me so young! Come on, I want to introduce you to Silas! I'm sure he'd be delighted to meet you." She lead you towards the lobby after a servant told her about his whereabouts, and there you saw him and his friends from earlier.

Silas leaned against the wall, watching humourlessly as the boys went through his gifts, opening them up crassly and mocking the gifts, all while he sipped his champagne.

"Silas- boys! What are you doing?!" At Sarah's admonishing tone, all of them straightened up.

One of the 3 boys, a blonde pouted as he stood up from the floor, dropping the gift box in his hands and you heard glass break.

"Nana! We were just helping Silas open his presents!"

Another boy, also blonde but he was taller than the first one, sheepishly hid his hands behind his back, though the crinkling of wrapping paper gave him away.

"Yes Nana, we were just helping him! He gave us permission to do so."

"Permission to act like animals?" Sarah fumed, making them lower their heads. It was kinds of adorable seeing them standing there looking defeated while a woman much smaller in stature than them scolded them.

Finally, the third boy who was the brunet and the oldest of the three stepped closer to Sarah. "Sorry Nana, we'll be more careful next time. Right boys?" The blondes nodded. The brunet then settled his eyes on you. "And who's the lovely lady next to you, Nana?" He changed the topic and Sarah's anger seemed to evaporate as she looked at you.

"Ah, yes! This is Lady Y/n Paddington!" Yes, Paddington as in Paddington the bear. What? This was the only name that came to mind at the moment that couldnt be traced. "She's the one who interviewed me about my career as a ballerina a few days ago. And look! Today we had a show for her to see!"

The three boys greeted you nicely, making some comments about how pretty you are before getting glared at by Sarah. Silas remained leaning against the wall, looking out the window at the dark night.

"Silas! Darling, come say hi!" Sarah called him before turning her attention to the boys, scolding them for being so undignified for opening Silas's presents.

Silas walked over to you, and you took a deep breath to introduce yourself-

"Are you done?"

You blinked at him in confusion. What?

"What?"

Silas looked past you at his grandma before looking down at you.

"I said, are you done? Have you gotten what you came here for?" He asked monotonously.

Wow. So does everyone have a stick up their ass in high society?

You narrowed your eyes at him. "And what exactly would that be?"

His expression didnt change. "Jewels, cutlery, secrets, contacts, a rich man?"

"What makes you think I already dont have all of those things?"

He scoffed, giving you a look. "You stick out like a sore thumb. You're not part of the wealthy." Silas looked at the champagne glass in your hand before smirking.

"What now?" You seethed.

"Anyone with a taste for finer things in life knows not to hold the glass from the top. You hold it from the stem, so that you dont warm the drink from the heat of your palm." He leans down to whisper in your ear. "Stop pretending to be someone you're not."

You know you shouldnt have, you know that you're better than him academically by literally centuries, you know this is how all rich douchebags act, but you just couldnt let a self entitled brat insult you to your face and you've had enough of those in the past few eras.

You smiled. "I guess you would know who's pretending." Silas smirk faltered.

"Remind me if the FitzGeorges are still considered royalty or not?"

You watched his eyes set ablaze, his jaw tick but before he could respond, the sound of paper being ripped cut him off.

"Charles!" Sarah yelled at the young blonde who had just ripped the wrapping paper off your present.

"Nana! This one's from Lady Y/n! Look-!" He removed the lid from the box before Sarah could stop him and your heart dropped at the sight of the contents.

Its a painting.

Its a portrait. The portrait.

The one Baldwin had made. The one that Mehmed had gotten on his conquest. The one you forgot to destroy in the Ottoman empire.

And now its here. In 1860 London. How the hell did it survive over 700 years?

Sure its not as brand new as the last time you saw it, the paint is faded and varnish is gone, but the face- your smudged face is still there!

"This is ugly, right?" Charles remarked, only to be smacked on the head by Sarah.

"It is not! Its exquisite! Its one of a kind! Just like how Silas likes his things- unique!" Sarah looked at you smiling. "I'm sure there's a story behind this, right darling?"

Your throat went dry as you nodded slowly. "Y-yes." You cleared your throat, eyes fixated on the portrait. "The owner told me that this belonged to the Turkish empire once, and um... one of the princes of the time had gotten it as a part of his loot from the conquest."

"But who's the broad-" Charles cut off his words as Sarah glared at him. "I mean- who's pretty lady in the painting?"

"She's... unknown. I only know that this was commissioned by her lover. Also, he was insane apparently." Sorry Baldwin, but you were insane.

Sarah clasped her hands over her heart, touched. "Ah! Painting by a man madly in love of his beloved! How romantic! I will have this hung up in our hallway with the rest of the paintings!"

You shake your head. "Oh, I dont think it'll go with your style-"

"Of course it will! Its a symbol of love, of devotion. Just like me and my Georgie. Just like how I wish for Silas to experience it one day." Sarah smiled at Silas.

"Yes, the day when Silas will be bitten by a rabid dog." Charles snickered only to have his ear twisted by Sarah as she began dragging him away, saying that she will tell his father of his behaviour tonight.

Without much to say, you left shortly after, bidding Silas's cousins goodbye and not bothering with Silas who was glaring daggers at you.

-

"You said what to Silas?" Liam asked as he returned from his patrolling. "I cant believe it. He is a part of royalty, maybe not directly but still!"

"He started it first." You pouted as Benjamin chuckled behind you, undoing your updo.

"Yes, but he was right to call you out. I mean, who holds the flute from the top?" Shepherd asked, sitting down as he handed Liam a drink.

You narrowed your eyes. "Well, I'm sorry that I'm not an obnoxious, rich, raging alcoholic!"

All of them chuckled as Colin sat down with a lazy smile, nursing his drink.

"You did good work tonight, Y/n." He raised the glass to you before downing his drink. You perked up. "So this means I'm getting paid with a bonus?"

He chuckled and gave you a nod. "Of course, but first- we'll need to write articles."

"We?" He nodded. "Yes. We. You will work on the FitzGeorge article for me, and write mostly good things about them so it gets published. I, will be working on the Dickens exposé along with the other secrets you've been able to get tonight. This way, when your FitzGeorge article gets published, you will get even closer to the family and the publisher will finally let me post the dirty secrets of high society! Its a win-win, really."

You leaned forward. "You make it sound so simple but while I may have been allowed to personally interview these people- that too, under the guise of not being associated with the paper, I dont think I will be allowed to work at your newspaper without being called out as your source and then none of these rich snobs will ever let me be close." You leaned back, letting Benjamin massage the knots out of your head. "The reason why Sarah even let me interview her was because I told her I wanted to promote the arts, starting with ballet. She thinks I write for the girls fraternity houses, like some sort of school project. Not a major publishing house!"

Colin rubbed his chin before snapping his finger. "I got it!" He grinned as he leaned forward. "You can write two stories! One- about your interview with Sarah! And it'll be under your name and we'll spread it around actual girl hostels, to make it seem legitamate when someone from the FitzGeorge house gets it. Doesnt matter if it'll do well or not, because you'll only sing her praises and this will make you well liked by Sarah and make her invite you to more events. And the other story, will be about the FitzGeorge estranged family relations with the Queen! Now that will get us more readers and the editor will be happy to publish it too! As for how you will actually write it- well, how would you like to be a boy?"

Everyone stared at Colin, as if he'd grown two heads.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I said, how would you like to be a boy?"

-

"If I wasnt sent to an asylum before, I'd definitely be sent to one now." You stated as Colin adjusted your bowtie.

"Only if you get caught!" He gave you a cheeky grin before shaking his head. "Which wont happen! I wont let you get caught."

"Now, turn." Benjamin said making you face him. He smiled as he placed a fake moustache on you. "Colin, you really are testing my skills these days. I mean, making Y/n a man? With a moustache? And styling her hair, even though it would've made everything so much easier if someone would just let me cut their hair-" you glared at him. "Okay, okay. No chopping off your hair. Jesus, what's with the death glare?"

"You're worried about the death glare? I'm worried why Liam was so pissed about being the only one whose clothes fit Y/n. I guess he always thought that being a copper meant he way more buff than he actually is." Colin commented. "Despite his lean built, he's surprisingly strong. Did you see the way he flipped over that thief?"

Benjamin nodded, combing your moustache.

"You're a very gorgeous male! Very demure." Colin grins before giving you some brief instructions on how to keep your cover and act manly.

"Right- so what name did you pick for your story?"

The corner of your mouth quirked up slightly.

"Holmes. Sherlock Holmes." What? Arthur Conan Doyle is probably just an year old right now. Its not gonna affect anyone if you chose one of your favourite characters names.

Plus, you're going to be an investigative journalist. So, it fits well, okay?

"Lets go, Mr Holmes."

-

With Colin's reference, you're able to get a job at the paper. And with your people watching hobby, you're able to successfully pass of as a man, a pretty man- but a man, nonetheless.

You've been hit on by a few women on the streets.

After working here for a few weeks, you finally get paid when the editor publishes your work on the FitzGeorge. You wrote mostly about Sarah and the FitzGeorge family relations with Queen Victoria, and just a few tantalising words about Silas that would have the readers waiting impatiently for the next update on the bachelor, thereby garnering more attention and you- more money, which you need to buy your time machine back.

You're sitting at your desk, typing down your next article when there's a commotion in the office.

"The boss is here! The boss is here!" Everyone rushed to do their respective tasks, or at least- look busy, do nothing. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the owner of the paper walking down the hallway, talking to-

Silas.

Silas was walking beside him, looking uninterested as he listened to his friend explaining how he operated his news agency. He gave a lookover to the cubicles before moving on. For a second, you thought he's seen you. But you were hiding behind other men, there was no way he'd spotted you.

Oh no. Is he here because he'd figured out you were the one who wrote the article in the paper? No, no- he couldnt have-

Fortunately for you, he hadnt. Silas was there because his friend, the owner, had invited him to show his newspaper agency.

With the weight off your shoulders and your pay in your pocket, you were back at the antique shop.

"You got the 1000 pounds?" You cursed mentally when you heard his agitating voice.

"Mr Blackwood, I have 3 pounds-" He cut you off with booming laughter. "Ah, poor people crack me up."

Resisting the urge to strangle him, you cleared your throat. "If you could just give me a real figure, an acceptable deal, I would like to buy my own property back."

He rested his head on his palm, leaning on the cash counter. "Now what's so special about it, hm? Because I cant seem to figure out what it even is?"

"Its nothing...." You remark before sighing. "Its a toy. It holds sentimental value."

He tilted his head. "Does it now?"

You nod.

He smiled, though something else swirled in those mischevous eyes. "Alright, I'll give you a deal." You prepare yourself. "I'll give your toy back if.... you go out on a date with me."

You narrowed your eyes. "I am not sleeping with you, Mr Blackwood-"

"And why would I do that to myself?" He raised a brow. "All I'm asking for is one date, a lovely dinner that I'll be paying for and then we can return to the shop and you can have your toy back."

You pondered over his offer, trying to figure out any traps.

"Why do you want to date me? I'm poor, like you said."

He shrugged. "Maybe I find you intriguing." He leaned forward on the counter again, wiggling his brows. "Come on, its just one date. No funny business, I promise."

You stared at him for a few more minutes before nodding. "Fine. But I get to pick the place and I will have you know that I have friends all over that will be looking for me if something were to happen."

He smirks at your attempt to threaten him. "I think we both know that I could get away with it all, love. All while making your friends disappear if I wanted to."

The way he stated it like it was true- it sent a chill down your spine.

Mr Blackwood waved to you. "See you tomorrow at 6, darling! Dont be late."

-

The next night, Colin had dropped you off at the antique store, telling Mr Blackwood- or Henry, as he insisted you called him, to bring you back before 10 pm.

You sat across from him in a fancy restraunt.

"I'll have a beef wellington and for the lady-" Henry looked at you.

"Just chips." You closed the menu, handing it back to the waiter. Henry chuckled, shaking his head.

"So... whats your deal?" You ask him, resting your elbows on the table.

He leaned in as well, dual coloured eyes sparkling with mischief and amusement. "I'm resourceful. You?"

"Cut the crap. Why am I here?" You glare at him, and he chuckled, resting his head on his palm. "I like you."

"As anyone with eyes should, but also why would you do that to yourself?" You huffed as you move away, resting against the chair as you crossed your arms over your chest.

He copied your actions, resting his arms against his chest. "Maybe I want to fall in love with you."

"I'd rather poke my eyes out." You snarked. Henry looked at the cutlery on the table. "There's the fork."

Your nostrils flared. "You think you're so clever?"

"Oh I know I'm clever, love. But it is truly remarkable it took you so long to figure it out." He grinned cheekily. "Alright alright. Ask your question."

"How do you know the FitzGeorges?"

He looked rather bored at your question. "I know everyone." Seeing your dissatisfaction, he offered you another answer. "I'm rich. They're rich. We socialised."

Thats how rest of the dinner was spent- you interrogating him, him dodging you with vague answers. Though you had a feeling he knew more than he was letting on, almost like he could read you like an open book.

Finally, the night came to an end as you saw his store come up in view.

At the end of the street, just a few shops down from his, you stopped and looked at him. "Well, this was a... date." He chuckled as you continued unphased. "I held up my end of the deal, now its your turn."

Henry nodded, grabbing your hand in his warm one, thumbing your knuckles. "Of course. I'm a man of my word." He brought your hand upto his lips, pressing a soft kiss.

"I hope you get home safely, darling."

You made a disgusted face, yanking your hand from his grasps as you wiped his kiss off with your coat. "I hope I never see you again."

He chuckled, throwing his head back. "Oh I think I'll be seeing you again rather soon, love. I enjoyed our date too much." Seeing you pissed made him laugh again, and he nodded his head at the store.

"Come along. Lets get you your toy-" He was cut off by the sound of a loud blast, the shockwaves so powerful that it made the glass of all windows in a mile shatter, the ground shook. In a second, Henry lunged at you, covering your body with his as another blast went off. Moments later, he got off you and you finally saw his shop set ablaze and completely destroyed.

Your ears rung as you stared at the fire in the shop, not noticing the people rushing out of their homes, not hearing the screams of shock, not hearing Henry calling your name.

"Y/n?! Y/N?!" He shook you by the shoulders hard, finally making you look at him. He was saying something, but you couldnt understand what. You looked at him confused, before your eyes shifted back to the fire.

You dont know when Colin came, you dont remember when Henry pushed you into his arms, yelling at Colin to get you out of there. You dont know when you got home, you dont know what the boys were asking as they picked out bits of glass from your skin.

All you know is when you woke up the next morning and stared at your bandaged skin, events of last night flashed through your head again and the realisation became the painful truth-

The time machine is destroyed.

-

You're staring at the tea cup, the beverage swirling as the maid added sugar in it.

Round. Round. Whirlpool. And then... everything settles.

The motion of the tea perfectly depicted how your life has been for some time. Thrown around in a hurricane of calamities, from one era to another, your life coming close to an end just like the tea threatened to spill over the edge, before everything settles down. Like your plans of ever returning home- stopped.

You'd returned to the sight of the incident, a part of you holding on to the hope that maybe- just maybe, your time machine survived.

It hadnt. Nothing in that store had. Henry Blackwood ran around the store, his face hardened and his collected faccacde was long gone, replaced with frowns and wrinkles. His store was surrounded by coppers and what you could only assume were either detectives or insurance guys.

After the devastating realisation, you had sort of went into a depressive spiral. Lying in your bed for days, your pillow stained with tears, Colin promising to replace whatever it is that you lost as Benjamin petted your hair, inconsolable.

A few weeks later, you returned to work. Though nothing interested you anymore, you felt like you were living on borrowed time, that any moment now, you'll face the consequences of screwing around with history and either die or possibly destroy the universe.

"Y/n?" You blinked, coming back to reality.

Sarah was sitting across from you, her face concerned as she set her tea cup down. "Darling, are you okay?"

You tried to smile, but your facial muscles didnt cooperate.

"Yes. Just... a bit tired." You diverted your eyes as you brought the cup up to your lips.

Sarah's brows furrowed even more, but she could see you were hesitant to talk about the subject.

"I called you here today to congratulate you on your article!" You looked up at her, staring at her a bit dazed. "The interview was very well received with not only just people in my circle, but female students all over in London as well!"

Sarah continued to sing your praises, while you kept your head down, offering little hums here and there.

"Even my family, who I hadnt talked to in a while, told me that they adored the way you wrote-" Your heart cracked.

Family. Mom. Dad. Qasim. I'll never see them again. They wont find out what happened to me, probably hoping that I'm missing but... alive at least. Forever holding onto that painful hope, that I may return home one day.

But I wont. I cant.

You stood outside the FitzGeorge house, under the pillars as you watched the rain fall.

"I think you should stay until-" Sarah offered, eyes looking at the sky that was pouring like cats and dogs.

"I need to go home. Thank you." You tried to smile again, but your eyes betrayed you, shinning with tears. But you left before she could say another word.

Your bones could feel the cold rain biting, your dress drenched, your socks uncomfortably wet, the tip of your nose chilled, your hair sticking to your skin, but none of it mattered. Not when you needed the same rain to hide your tears.

Your neck muscles strained as they tried to contain your sobs, your grief.

I messed up. I screwed up everything. This is all my fault.

You walked faster out of the estate, the water splashing as you stormed away, trying to find some corner where you can hide away and cry your heart out.

I'm alone. I'm all alone. I have no one. No home, no family.

You struggled to breathe, feeling like your chest was caving in.

What have I done?

In your haste, you didnt see the carriage coming straight towards you, until someone yanked you out of the way by your arm.

"Are you blind?! Or deaf-" Silas stopped his scolding as he stared at your red eyes, your wobbling lips. He loosened the painful grip on your arm, his eyes still staring into your crying ones.

Silently, he pulled you back towards the estate, though he didnt take you inside. He had a feeling you didnt want his grandmother pestering you with questions right now.

An arm around your shoulders, Silas lead towards the botanical garden house.

He helped you sit on one of the benches as the dark clouds seemed to veil the garden house, giving you two privacy. He sat down next to you.

"What happened?"

Silas watched your face screwed up in pain as you bring a hand to your temples, your lips quivering as you sniffled.

"I lost... everything."

After a few moments of silence, before sighing.

"You've only lost when you give up. Have you given up?"

You turned your head to the side, looking at his serious face.

"Yes."

He took another deep breath.

"Can you do anything about it?"

"No."

He glanced at you before looking back at the clouds.

"Do you want to die?"

You stopped for a moment. Do I? Do I want to die?

"Maybe."

"Thats not an answer." He raised a brow at you. "How about this- until you find a definitive answer to that question, you keep on living?"

Seeing your dead stare, he continued. "Look, if the worse has already happened to you, you have nothing left to fear anymore. In fact-" Silas went on to say similar motivating stuff for the next 20 miuntes, and you were simultaneously listening and not listening. Well, you heard what he was saying, you just didnt bother processing it because your mind was preoccupied by your own monologue.

He's right. The worse has already happened. I have lost the machine. I have lost my only way home. I have screwed up history. And yet, I'm alive.

Yes. This is what the universe wants- to see me down on my butt, laughing at my misery.

Well, guess what? Fuck this, fuck the universe! I'm been so careful only to barely survive. Now? I'm gonna live and I dont care what chaos it'll cause!

"Y/n?" You looked at Silas, who looked at you expectantly. "I asked you a question."

"What?"

His shoulders slumped.

"I said- will you marry me? And before you say no-"

"Okay."

Watch this, universe. Its my turn now.

So???? Thoughts???? Comments and asks???

Part 12 is here!

[froggiewrites]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Pairing: Sanji x Reader

SFW

Summary: You spend the night crying into your drinks about how much you want Sanji, and how much it hurts he's in love with someone else. Sanji spends the night crying about much the same. Your friends get sick of it, and decide to help the idiots realize what everyone else already knows. Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Misunderstandings, Sanji and Reader both being idiots Word Count: 4.1k

You are going to get drunk tonight. Plastered, even.

Another day, another victory, another adventure spent staring longingly at Sanji when you were sure he wasn’t looking. You could usually handle the embarrassment of acting like a lovesick puppy for a man you knew didn’t feel the same, but something about today really set you off. Maybe it was the way he so sweetly called Nami’s name when you all reunited, or the way he so carefully prepared Robin her favorite drinks, or some other transgression you can’t quite remember. You don’t know exactly what it was, but you know you’re irritated and hurt and a little heartbroken, and there’s about a half a dozen drinks with your name on them behind the bar.

The tavern is lively and loud, and the rest of the crew is clearly having a good time. Your eyes briefly linger on Sanji at the bar, but you try to force your eyes away. No point in lingering here, yearning for something you can’t have. You instead make your way to the back of the room, wedging yourself between Zoro and Robin, who seem to be drinking in silence together.

You had intended on sharing in the peaceful silence, broken only by some quiet comments and gentle chuckles, but three drinks in you can see them side-eyeing you, brows furrowed.

“What?” Your voice comes out harsher than you meant it to, but you’re a bit too drunk to care.

“Just surprised you’re drinking so much, is all. You normally pace yourself more than this.” Robin’s voice is quiet and controlled, as though she’s just making a passive observation, but you know your friends and you know she is deeply worried about you.

“I had a bad day.”

“Really? You seemed fine earlier.” Zoro sounds genuinely surprised. Robin shoots him a look you can’t read, and he quickly shuts his mouth.

“Does this have anything to do with a certain someone?” Her voice is kind, so kind, but it makes you clench your jaw anyway.

“No.”

Silence.

“Maybe.”

Zoro mutters, “Oh, god damnit,” before taking another stiff pull of his drink.

“What happened, exactly? You both seemed perfectly friendly this morning.”

“I don’t…know. Everything was fine until it wasn’t, and now I’m all twisted into knots and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Well maybe you can start by telling us how you feel, and we can try to help you unravel all of this.”

“We?”

You both ignore Zoro’s confusion and indignation. “Maybe…if you think it will help.” You close your eyes, grounding yourself, and focusing wholly inward. “I just think I’m…tired of wanting things I can’t have. It’s really hard to be on a ship full of people living their dreams, fighting for everything they desire, and I’m here, feeling like I have to constantly hold so tight I feel like my fingers will break or else it’ll all slip through my fingers.”

“And do you feel like you’re holding onto Sanji?”

“Not just him, I guess. To everything. To all of you. But I’m trying to let myself believe that all of this is what I want, and that it’s going to be forever, and then I see him smile at someone else and the illusion just…shatters. I’m not happy. And I know damn well it won’t last forever. I feel like I’m stuck waiting for an inevitable ending that I’ll never be satisfied with. Right now, I’m in limbo, and I can keep pretending that it doesn’t hurt, but every time I think about how hopeless I feel with him it kind of reminds me of how hopeless it all is.”

You put your head in your hands for a moment, taking a deep breath. “And it’s not only about him, right? It’s just kind of a general dissatisfaction with where I am compared to you guys. But I would be lying if I said it wasn’t more about Sanji than it isn’t. He’s both, like, a symbol of it and the source of it. He’s the thing I want most, and he’s the thing I know I’m never going to have.”

“Why do you think you’ll never have him?”

“Because he’s in love with Nami.” You say it like it’s obvious.

Zoro is glaring at his drink, still wondering how he got roped into this conversation and praying you stop, while Robin gives you a gentle look resembling sympathy. There's something behind her eyes though, something you can't read, that makes you feel a bit uneasy.

"It's one thing, to have your love unrequited. For the man you're in love with to be hopelessly smitten with someone else. But god, it's another for him to be right."

"Right?" Robin's voice doesn't betray anything as she keeps her tone to a careful academic neutrality.

"It's just...she is that wonderful. I can't be upset about it because I can't blame either of them. She's beautiful and kind and capable and he's...well. He's everything. It just makes sense. It's somehow harder not to be bitter because I really don't have anything to be bitter about, if that makes sense."

"It would make sense if anything you said was true." Zoro's voice is gruff,  and you look to him in surprise, only to find his expression mirroring your own, as though he can't believe he opened his mouth. "He sucks, and she's great and all but she's no angel. And they aren't in love anyway so I don't understand what the problem even is." You think he's trying to help. Sweet, if ineffective.

"He's in love with her. He has been since the day they met. You know that, you were there."

"That isn't love. He's just a horny idiot."

"He's not an idiot." You hate how defensive your tone gets, how pathetic it makes you feel. You hate even more that Zoro and Robin both look at you with undisguised pity.

"I think what Zoro is trying to say is that you seem to think his feelings for Nami go a lot deeper than they do. They're just friends. He just speaks to all women like that."

"Not me."

You all hate the silence that follows.

"He hits on you too." Zoro's voice is a little weaker than before, knowing his argument isn't exactly rock solid. He's kind to you, complimentary, but he's never rushed into battle alone to save you. He's never ridden in on a blazing white steed for you, not like he has Robin or Nami. And sure, you've never been kidnapped like them, but it's hard not to feel the difference when Mr Prince himself has never played his part with you. He's kind to you, so very kind, but he's kind to everyone. That's just who he is.

“You know it isn’t the same, Zoro. It’s always Nami first. It always has been. He talks to me the same way he would any woman. Less than that, even.” You start tearing up despite yourself, and you hope your friends will blame your fragility on your drink and not your tender heart. “He just…he doesn’t look at me like that. He doesn’t fall at my feet, and it’s not like I want him to but…” You break into a quiet sob, and Robin’s hand comes to your shoulder, rubbing calming circles there.

Zoro leans in a bit, clearly a little uncomfortable but worried and kind nonetheless. “That stupid cook cares about you a lot more than any stranger on the street, and I think you know that. He’s just an idiot.” You look up at him, confused, and Zoro tries not to let out an annoyed sigh at your obliviousness. It isn’t entirely your fault. Who could blame you for thinking what you did? It’s not like Sanji helped with that. He didn’t give you the dramatic love confessions he did Nami or Robin. Nami had asked him once why he sang your praises differently than he did theirs, and he had insisted that he would give you only the grandest speeches, once he had prepared words worthy of you. The rest of the crew quickly figured out what he really meant: he was too nervous to say such a thing when he really meant it.  He would instead tuck his love into the food and drinks he served you, into the jacket he placed over your shoulders when you were cold, into the gentle smiles he gave you when you weren’t looking. Everyone had agreed not to push him before he was ready, to let you both find your way to each other naturally, but it was becoming apparent this was the wrong move.

You keep crying into your glass, and Zoro sighs. You’re both ridiculous. What a pair.

Across the bar, Usopp lets out his fiftieth sigh of the night. He has no idea how he got roped into this. Sanji is somewhere between sorrow and rage, buried in a pile of empty glasses that reek of beer. He's been going on for at least fifteen minutes now, and if Usopp had even slightly less of a conscience he'd leave him here to wallow, considering his problem is entirely self-inflicted. But unfortunately, Usopp is a great friend, so instead he bravely sits on this barstool, a listening ear to make sure Sanji's drowning his troubles doesn't end in Sanji himself drowning after he stumbles his way home alone.

"It's not right." Sanji's voice is shaky with emotion, even with his words slurred.

Usopp sighs, pretending he hasn't heard this exact line of conversation three times tonight. "What's not right, buddy?"

"He doesn't...he doesn't deserve her. He isn't good enough for her. That stupid swordsman...what does she see in him?" He takes another swig of his drink, letting out a deep sigh and dropping his shoulders. "He's just...he's not even nice to her. Not like he should be."

"He's being nice to her right now." Usopp motions over to where you're having your own pity party, one Zoro seems to have become an unwilling guest of. Robin is patting your shoulder in sympathy, while Zoro leans closer to say something to you, care and concern obvious on his face to those who knew him.

"But he should worship her. Everyone should. She's...she's..." Sanji drunkenly trails off.

"An angel?"

"A goddess." Despite the glaze over his eyes, his conviction shines though, granting him a focus he hasn't had all night as he gazes at her. "Someone to be cherished, protected, adored. He doesn't adore her. He should be on his knees right now begging for her attention, and he's just...talking to her. Like he would anybody."

"Probably because they're friends."

"But look at her. She clearly wants more than that. She should get whatever she wants. On a silver platter." Sanji really emphasizes that last part, lips pouting and brow tightening. Usopp looks over again to see you about to cry into your drink, leaning further into Robin. You aren't even looking at Zoro right now, but Sanji is still burning with envy. Usopp would love to set him straight, tell him that anyone with eyes could see who's attention you really wanted, but he knows you'd kill him, and he quite likes being alive. Sanji's so filled with malice and self loathing right now that he probably wouldn't even believe him, anyway. For a man so delusional about love, he somehow can’t see it when it’s right in front of him.

“I think you’re a little lost here, Sanji. She’s not in love with Zoro. She’s just drunk and sad. Reminds me of someone else I know.” He keeps that last part under his breath, and Sanji is drunk enough not to have heard it. Instead he frowns, taking another swig of his drink before trying to stand and falling directly into the counter. Your head pops up across the room, eyes wide and concerned, ready to leap to Sanji’s rescue. It’s amazing how blind that man must be to not see how obsessed with him you are. Usopp waves you off before hooking his hands under Sanji’s armpits and hauling him up. “Time to go, loverboy. You’ve had enough.”

“But she needs me!” Sanji struggles, but he’s so drunk he can’t properly utilize his strength. Lucky, or he’d already be halfway across the room to make an ass of himself. Usopp notices a small trickle of blood on his forehead from where he made contact with the bar.

“She’s fine, I promise. But you need to take a trip to see Chopper.”

“I need to help her! I can’t leave a lady in distress!”

“The lady will be in a lot more distress if she sees you’re hurt, Sanji! So get moving!” Usopp starts dragging him unceremoniously from the tavern, praying Franky will still be awake when he gets back to the ship to help him maneuver Sanji into his cot. Sanji passes out about halfway back to the Sunny, mercifully. Usopp hopes Robin and Zoro are having a better time with their other drunken crewmate.

You wake up with a pounding headache and the worst case of dry-mouth you’ve ever experienced. Your eyes just barely crack open, letting in a blinding ray of light, and you let out a small groan of pain. There’s a large glass of water by your bedside and some pills, as well as a small note from Chopper telling you to meet him in the infirmary once you feel up to walking. You chug the water and take your medicine gladly, touched by the sweet gesture. Your crew takes such good care of you.

It takes a while for the medicine to kick in enough for the light to stop hurting, but eventually you’re able to stand. You can’t remember the latter half of last night, your last memory being Sanji slamming his head into the counter while Robin and Zoro held you back from running to him. Zoro had supplied you with another drink then, and Robin had asked you more probing questions, but you could not for the life of you remember any other specifics. You make your way to Chopper’s infirmary so lost in thought you didn’t notice the mischievous looks in the eyes of your crewmates, the way their gazes subtly followed you as you walked.

“Chopper?” Your voice is still a little hoarse from having cried your heart out last night. You slip through the door, expecting to find your dear doctor ready to fuss over you and scold you for overdoing it last night. Instead you find Sanji face first in a bed, a small bandage wrapped around his head. Before you can ask if he’s alright, or if he knows where Chopper is, you hear it.

Click.

Your eyes widen. Your hand reaches for the doorknob, ready to turn it, and you find it doesn’t budge.

“What the fuck?”

Sanji groans again, slowly and carefully sitting up, before looking over at you. “What are you doing here, darling?” He looks at your hand, up at your expression, then back down to the doorknob. “Why…why is the doorknob backwards?”

Instead of the lock being where it should be, you find the keyhole on the inside of the door. There’s slight scratches around the nails holding it and place, and you realize someone has turned it around. There’s a quiet murmur of voices on the other side of the door, which turns to a yelp when you punch the wood. “What the hell is this?”

“We’re helping!” Nami’s voice rings out confidently from the other side, and you hear a few noises of agreement.

“With what, exactly?” You have a horrible sinking feeling you know exactly what they’re going to say, but you try to push it out of your mind, channeling the relentless optimism of your captain.

“We’re tired of you two being idiots!” Zoro’s voice is annoyed and unfriendly, but after a moment it slightly softens. “Just…talk to each other. Like people. For once in your lives.”

You don’t know why, but something about that makes Sanji’s brow twitch in annoyance. “Let us out, mosshead! I knew you were awful but I can’t believe you’d trap a lady!”

“It wasn’t my goddamn idea! Blame Nami!”

Sanji pauses in his yelling at that, but shockingly enough, he still seems upset instead of instantly kowtowing. He frowns, forehead wrinkling, but doesn’t say anything else.

“We aren’t letting you out until you’ve talked. We’re gonna go so you have privacy, but if you break out we’re putting you right back in, so don’t even think about just kicking down the door!” Nami’s voice is firm and commanding, and you find your shoulders slumping, knowing there’s no real point in fighting her. You’re both hungover, exhausted, and not in any state to continue the conflict. You sigh, making your way to a cot next to Sanji’s. You throw yourself down, the slight bounce you make on landing making you far more nauseous than it had any right to.

“Do you know what they want us to talk about?” Sanji sounds almost nervous, which surprises you. Does he know?

“I…have an idea. Do you?”

“I might.”

You both shift awkwardly in the silence that follows. You fidget with your hands, curling in tighter, anxiety eating at you. This is it. This is the rejection you’ve been waiting for. The final blow to shatter your fragile hopes, to crush your remaining optimism and the wonderful future you’ve allowed yourself to keep dreaming of.

“What do you see in him?” Sanji’s voice is quiet and seeping with vulnerability. His eyes are closed, as though he’s scared to even look at you and get your answer.

“What do I see in who?”

“In that stupid swordsman. Why do you care about him?”

“What?” You blink owlishly.

He finally looks up at you. He blinks back. “What do you mean, what?”

“Why are you talking to me like I’m dating Zoro?”

“Are you…not? Trying to do that?”

“No! God no! I’m–” You barely hold yourself back from saying trying to date you. “I’m not into Zoro like that. Did you think I was?”

“I–um. No?” His dour look turns sheepish, a small bit of red painting his cheeks. Adorable.

“God, Sanji. Zoro is not my type.” You both sit for a moment, before you realize something. “Were you upset because you thought I was into him?”

“He isn’t good enough for you.” He says it so matter-of-fact, like it’s an obvious truth. “No one is, but especially not him. You deserve the best, and nothing less.”

Your heart flutters a little, that little thing with feathers worming its way back into you, but you suddenly see Nami’s face in your mind and you crush it. To dream and watch it die is far worse than never dreaming at all. “That’s sweet, Sanji. But you shouldn’t say things like that. You might give someone the wrong idea.”

His head cocks to the side. “What do you mean, wrong idea? You do deserve the best. No one in the world deserves it more than you.”

“What about Nami?”

“What about Nami?”

“Does she not deserve the best? More than I do? More than anyone? Your sweet Nami-swan?” You fail to keep the bitterness out of your tone in that. Not bitterness towards her, of course, or even towards Sanji, really, just a sour taste in your mouth you can’t quite shake.

His brow furrows, lips downturned. “Well she deserves the best too, of course, but why would she deserve it more? Why wouldn’t you deserve everything you want?”

You let out a frustrated growl. “That’s what I want to know! Why not me?” You slam your hand over your mouth. God, he knows, and now he’s going to reject you, so sweetly and kindly, like he does everything, and it’s going to shatter you into a million pieces. You squeeze your eyes shut like blocking out the sight of him will undo what you’ve just done.

You don’t hear him reject you. You don’t even hear him move. You only feel warm hands on your cheeks, and you open your eyes to see Sanji right in front of you, nose to nose, and you can see reflected in his eyes something you might dare to call hope.

“Do you want it to be you?” You hear a longing in his words, see it in his eyes. You have never known Sanji as a man to want, to desire more than what he’s freely given, but in this moment it truly almost seems like he wants you.

You slowly take your hand off of your mouth. Your voice is meek, mouselike, but you force it out anyway. “Would that be okay? If I did?”

“Oh angel, it would be more than okay.” He slides impossibly closer, thighs on either side of yours, torsos pressed together, surrounding you wholly. “It is you. It has always been you. It will always be you. Is that okay?”

You want to answer him in words, something articulate that would move his heart, but instead you let out a soft squeak of surprise before grabbing his cheeks and pulling his lips to yours. They’re chapped, the dehydration from the hangover still plaguing him. He has morning breath. His movements are uncoordinated, unsteady. His goatee scratches your chin. When he opens his mouth, welcoming you further, he tastes like cigarettes and a hint of shitty beer. 

It’s the best kiss you’ve ever had.

You end up on your back, Sanji’s weight holding you down, comforting and all-consuming. His hands rest on your hips as yours tangle in his hair. You only pull back when the demand for air is too much, and even then you consider ignoring the scream of your lungs. You both pull back, chests heaving, and Sanji buries his face in your neck.

“I never thought I’d actually get to do this.” He buries his nose further into your neck, his arms sliding underneath you to pull you into a tight embrace.

“Neither did I. I kept telling myself to stop dreaming about things I couldn’t have.”

“You’ve had me from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“You’ve had me for just as long.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

You take a strained breath. “I was…I don’t deserve you. And I thought you knew that. And that you were in love with Nami. That didn’t help.”

He pulls back to look you in the eyes, his gaze boring into you. “You thought you didn’t deserve me?” He sounds absolutely baffled at the idea.

“You’re kind, talented, strong, handsome…you’re everything, Sanji. You deserve everything you want. And I didn’t think you wanted me.”

He blinks at you for a moment, before a small chuckle forces its way out of him. “That’s…that’s so ridiculous I genuinely don’t even know where to start.”

He kisses your forehead. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and everything I’m ever going to want.”

He kisses your cheeks. “I have wanted you from the moment we met, and I will want you until the day I die.”

He kisses the tip of your nose. “I have never met anyone more deserving of the world than you. And I’m not going to let anyone say otherwise. Even you. So there.”

You lean up to kiss his forehead in turn. “Well there’s nothing in this world I want more than you. Can I really have you?”

He takes one of your hands and places it over his rapidly beating heart. “You feel that? It’s all yours.” He lifts your other hand and kisses it in a deeply princely gesture that fits him perfectly.

Before you can reciprocate, the door slams open, and you hear Zoro’s disgruntled voice call out. “They’re making out! Can we be done with this now?”

Sanji whips around with even more vitriol than he usually reserves for the swordsman. “Piss off, mosshead. Can’t you see we’re busy?” The quick movement makes him sway slightly, and you’re forced to remember how horribly you’re both doing physically. If he picks a fight with Zoro right now he might end up puking all over his shoes.

“Ignore him, Sanji. We need to get some rest anyway.” You pull his face into your chest, which he gladly collapses fully into. When you run your fingers through his hair, he’s practically purring.

“Anything you say, my love.” His content smile grows wider when he hears your heart quicken at the words. Neither of you say anything else as your friends crowd the room, with their finallys and about times. Nothing in the world matters more than this right now: the feeling of each other’s warmth, the softness of each other’s skin, and the feeling of relief in both of your chests that your hopes were finally allowed to thrive.

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Having a secret relationship wasn't as easy as you'd hoped it would be, especially when Eddie wasn't keen on keeping it a secret at all. (7.1k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, anxiety, parental conflict, poverty, Reader wears a sun dress, making out, heavy petting, public displays of affection, sexual fantasies, idiots in love, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

A/N: had to include Eddie's favorite fruit in here. Shoutout to @eddiemunsonsmum for writing the best solo Eddie fics out there.

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter twelve: breath of fresh air

May teetered on the edge of June, the steadily climbing temperatures and the pungent odor of garbage signaling the beginning of another New York City summer. 

You awoke just after noon, sunlight pouring through the windows. Whispers of a headache nagged in your skull; not quite a hangover, but scarily close to one. Another drink definitely would have put you over. 

With a tired grimace, you shoved the covers aside and started your day. A day just like any other, except that you were still reeling from the fact that Eddie kissed you last night. That precious moment of connection was bested only by the sound of your name murmured from his lips onto yours.

The memory put a smile on your face as you dressed in your standard shorts and t-shirt. You wanted to kiss him over and over, to run your fingers through his mess of curls and hold him close, not parting until you both needed a breath. 

You could still taste the stain of nicotine when you swiped your tongue over your lips. Could still hear his breathy moan in your ear like a harmony. Could still feel his belt buckle pressed to your skin, the metal cold yet somehow filling you with a blazing heat.

Stripping the linens off of the bed, you lost yourself in thoughts of how it would feel to have Eddie laying beside you, his body pressing yours into the mattress, hands framing your body as he sank deeper into you—

You needed fresh air. Immediately. 

You tucked the pale pink sheets under your arm, time-faded from their original rosy hue to a salmon color, and zigzagged to the recently vacated rooms. The change of scenery did nothing to quell the desire stirring within you. Your mind was wrought with images of Eddie trailing his lips down your throat, or his teeth nipping at your collarbone, or his fingers slipping into your underwear—

“Stop it,” you hissed under your breath. The next stop was Eddie’s room, and you’d be damned if he had any inkling of the feelings you were harboring. 

His door swung open before you could even knock, halting you in your tracks. “Heard your footsteps down the hall,” he admitted, sheepishness coloring his cheeks pink. 

You only nodded as you caught your breath and your heart floated down from your throat into your chest. Thank God he couldn’t read your thoughts. “Got your pants?”

“Right here.” He held them up, balled in his fist. “Lead the way.”

“I can, um,” you searched for your words, still scrambled from your earlier musings. “I can wash them myself.” You were already throwing in the rest of the laundry; a pair of jeans wouldn’t make much of a difference.

Eddie shook his head, curls bouncing from his temples. “Nah, ‘s cool.” He plucked the bundle of linens from you. “Hasn’t been a lot to fix around here lately, so I might as well do some housekeeping.”

You threw him a playful grin as you led him to the laundry room. “No moochers allowed in my motel, y’know.”

The overhead lighting bathed him in a yellowish haze, matching the once-white walls. Maybe that could be his next project. 

“Exactly.” Eddie opened up a few cabinets, frowning when he couldn’t find what he’d been searching for. “Detergent?”

You pointed towards the cabinet below the sink. “Over there.”

Eddie saluted and stooped down to tug the economy-sized detergent tub from its spot. You couldn’t stop yourself from staring when his boxers peeked out from beneath the waistband of his jeans. Those damn Calvin Kleins; they would be your kryptonite.

“Heiress?”

Shit. He’d been talking to you, and all you could focus on was his underwear. “Yeah?”

“Do you have that stuff that makes the clothes smell really good?” He scooped out the detergent powder and sprinkled it in the washing machine. 

You laughed. “Sorry, no daisy-fresh pants for you.” 

The ensuing beat of silence seemed to stretch on for hours. Words bubbled on your tongue, desperate to continue talking to him. To discreetly sneak glances of the veins that intercepted his arm tattoos or of the sparse hair that adorned where his V-neck undershirt left his chest exposed. 

“Do anything fun today?” Christ, were you talking to a toddler? Should you offer him a sticker or a lollipop?

But Eddie perked up at the question. “Yeah, actually. I called my uncle for the first time in…” he scrunched up his mouth in contemplation. “Too damn long.” 

“How did that go?”

He set the dial to “start,” the washing machine humming to life. “Pretty good.” He hoisted himself on top of the adjacent dryer. “Same old Wayne. The world might change, but he never will.” Eddie’s eyes met yours. “When I started making money, I offered to buy him a house. Get him out of the trailer park and into a safer neighborhood. And he refused.”

Your brows raised. “He did?”

Eddie nodded, chuckling at the memory. “Said that if he left, there wouldn’t be anyone to feed the stray dogs.” He cocked his head, concentrating on your face. “You two would get along well. Similar personalities.”

“Thoughtful?”

“Yes, but to the point of stubbornness.” 

You opened your mouth to protest, but Eddie cut you off. “Don’t even argue with me, Miss Social Worker by Day, Heiress by Night.” His feet swayed back and forth, tapping against the metal every so often. “And don’t think I didn’t notice the box of crayons that you keep in the desk for kids like Izzy.”

He might have had a point, but if you were going down, you’d go down swinging. “If I recall, one of us chose to sleep at a bus stop instead of accepting my gracious offer.”

“But I took you up on it eventually.”

“Only because I practically forced you,” you argued. 

“Exactly.” Eddie grinned. “Thoughtful to the point of stubbornness.” 

A stillness filled the small room, and you wondered if he had the same agenda as you: keep the conversation flowing without bringing up the date. Without bringing up the kiss; the one that seared through you and set your bones aflame. That kiss sent you to bed aching for more, mentally mapping out any way you could sneak into his room without your parents noticing. 

Eddie broke the silence. “I meant to ask…did you have a good time last night?” He scratched at the nape of his neck, the gesture betraying any air of casualness. 

“Yeah.” You smiled, trying to ignore the fluttering in your abdomen. Your skin warmed at the memory of his touch. “I mean, I got to hear you sing, and I reunited our drunk friend with her boyfriend. I don’t see how it could get better than that.” 

He laughed at that and ducked his head. “Those were the highlights?” His eyes met yours; that knowing gaze seared through you and sent your nerves humming. “Nothing else?”

“There was…another highlight.” Longing anchored the words deep in your throat, but you forced them up. You let them seep in, placing the ball squarely in his court. 

“Yeah?”

Eddie inched back onto the dryer, the shift opening a gap between his legs. A space for you to fill. Your feet carried you as though they had a mind of their own, your body slotting against his. 

“Tell me about this other highlight.” One hand reached out to yours and tugged you closer; he laid the other on your cheek. His thumb slowly swiped over your jaw as though he was memorizing its contour. 

“Well,” you started, letting your fingers rest on his denim-clad thighs, “I really liked when we kissed.”

Eddie’s eyes lit up when you supplied the answer he’d been hoping for. “That makes two of us.” He let his forefinger trail down to your collarbone, the slight movement saturated with equal parts awe and desire. “I think we should do it again sometime.”

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper as you asked, “when?”

“Right…” He grinned, and before you could double-check that you’d closed the door, his lips crashed into yours. You felt his tongue cautiously prod at the seam, seeking entry, and you allowed it. The scents of cigarettes and spearmint gum accompanied his tongue in a way that was so uniquely him. 

Eddie only broke the kiss to bring his lips to your neck. He was gentle at first, peppering delicate kisses down the column of your throat, but he lost all control the moment you tilted your head and gave him clear access to your pulse point. 

The hand on your cheek fell to your waist and pulled you close enough to feel Eddie’s heartbeat against your own chest. “This your favorite spot to be kissed?” He murmured into your skin. You felt him smile when you nodded in response. “Where else do you want me to kiss you?”

Was ‘everywhere’ a valid response? A soft sigh loosened itself and escaped you at the feeling of his teeth grazing your flesh. “Just my neck. For now,” you added, “but I like when…when you bite it, too.”

“I can do that.” Eddie’s voice rasped. He bit down again, swiping his tongue over the mark to soothe your bruising skin.

You gripped his t-shirt, resisting every urge to pull it up over his head. It wouldn’t be the first time you saw him bare-chested; that honor had been bestowed upon you the night he arrived. But now you could kiss it, trace the lines of his tattoos with your finger, with your tongue…

You needed it. You needed to memorize him, to learn every square inch of his body.

His shirt hit the ground and your lips immediately found his shoulders. Eddie’s arms snaked around you, keeping you in place as your tongue explored the contoured muscle. 

“More,” he pleaded. “Fuck, keep kissing me there.”

Heat blossomed in your core. Your lips traveled, placing some marks of your own just below his collarbone, where they could be easily hidden. His skin was already tinged bluish-purple where you’d sucked and nibbled, proof that you had been there.

Eddie had pushed your own shirt right below your bra when the washing machine rattled, a stark reminder of where you were. Your chest and his rose and fell in syncopated beats. He loosened his grasp, letting your shirt fall back down your torso.

“Christ.” He chuckled, a low growl in his laughter. “I’m gonna need a second. You…Christ, Heiress.” 

Your eyes traveled to where he instinctively palmed the bulge straining against his jeans. You wanted to be the one to touch it, to relieve him of his pent-up frustrations. Maybe you’d even get some relief of your own. But your gradually slowing heart rate informed you that the moment had passed. 

“I, um…I didn’t just follow you in here to maul you like some horndog.” Eddie hopped off of the washer. He swiped his shirt from the floor and slid it over his head, once again cloaking his tattoos. 

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Hey.” Eddie bumped his elbow against your arm. His smile was uncharacteristically shy, which only made him more endearing. “My other reason for following you in here was because I wanted to see if you were free sometime this week.”

His hand brushed against yours. You let your fingers intertwine with his, soft and gentle in their touch. Your thumb grazed over one of the paler spots where he must’ve worn a ring. The coloring was beginning to match the rest of his finger as though the memory of the rings was fading away with time. 

“Yeah. I mean, I’m around during the day.”

Eddie hooked his free pointer finger through your belt loop. “Cool.” He cocked his head. “Do people really have romantic picnics in Central Park? Or is that just in the movies?”

You laughed, leaning in and lightly kissing his jaw. Everything about him was so tempting. If there was a way to sneak him into your room without either of your parents noticing, you’d do it in a heartbeat. 

“They do, but…” You shrugged. “Central Park is super overrated. In my opinion, anyway.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” Another kiss, right below his ear this time. You could feel his body tense with each lingering touch. “Flushing Meadows is the superior park. Less crowded, shorter travel time, and you don’t have to worry about running into any Upper East Side snobs.”

Eddie tilted your chin so that you felt his lips on yours when he spoke. “Fuck those rich assholes.” The words were muffled and ended with him nipping at your lower lip; the slight pinch of pain from his teeth were sparks that set you alight. 

Your hands framed his face as you kissed him, his grasp tight on your lower back. A wanting groan vibrated in his throat when he felt your body against his. 

“Heiress.” Your nickname was molasses on his tongue, sweet and slow and syrupy. “Y’gotta let me take you on at least one more date before we do this. I’m tryna be a goddamn gentleman.”

He was right, even if his body seemed to protest. You needed to stop before you caused him physical pain. Needed to stop before you lost all semblance of control. Your first time with Eddie didn’t have to be caviar and champagne—and it likely would not be, given how broke you both were—but the occasion deserved to happen somewhere more private and more comfortable than the motel’s laundry room. 

Eddie breathed out consciously, trying to collect himself. “Does Thursday work for you?”

You blinked, batting away the fogginess left behind by his touch. “Thursday would be perfect.”

“Perfect,” Eddie echoed. A cautious, nervous smile curved his lips. He paused for a half-second before leaning in once more and pressing a kiss to your cheek. Its gentleness scorched your skin, flames licking in its wake.

The kiss rooted you to the ground for a second too long, and Eddie was already turning the doorknob before you could listen for any incoming foot traffic.

“Wait, we–”

His eyes widened when the opened door revealed Phyllis heading back to her room. “Didn’t realize laundry was a two person job,” she quipped, revealing a smile of cigarette-stained teeth. “Although…it takes two people to get the sheets dirty…”

“That’s not–we weren’t–” you sputtered helplessly, knowing that there was nothing you could say that would make the situation any better.

“Well, it’s either you two were messing around in there, or he stuck his finger in an electrical socket.” Phyllis gestured to Eddie’s hair, mussed and sticking up from where you’d thread your fingers through it. 

Eddie choked out a laugh, red creeping up his neck and coloring his cheeks. Even the tips of his ears turned a delicious shade of pink. “The washer was making a, um, a noise. But it’s fixed now.”

Phyllis’s forehead creased as her brows raised, not believing a word he said. “The noises I heard didn’t sound like machinery. They sounded more like—”

“Phyllis,” you hissed, hoping your embarrassment wasn’t overly palpable. 

The older woman took your hint and pivoted towards her room, seemingly satisfied with the buttons she’d already pushed. Though she likely hadn’t done it purposely, her comment about the noises served as a warning: If she heard them, your parents could have, too. 

You needed to be more careful. In order for this burgeoning relationship to have a chance at survival, you needed to keep it a secret. Phyllis knew, but her worst offense would be quiet ribbings. Not everyone would remain so tight-lipped. 

“Thursday…let’s meet at the bus stop.” There was the chance of someone seeing you together there, but at least it was less suspicious than Eddie knocking on your door. 

Confusion rippled across Eddie’s face for a beat before he composed himself. “Yeah. Sounds good.” 

Good. A definite few steps down from his earlier declaration of perfect. Your heart sank, joining the lead ball of anxiety currently sitting in your stomach. 

He’ll understand, you told yourself. He knew how it felt to have all sorts of external pressure pushing down on him; a weight too great to fight. It would all be fine. 

Yet you couldn’t convince yourself that that was the truth, nor could you bring yourself to look back at him as you rushed to the front desk. You were suddenly eager for a chore or two to keep your thoughts at bay. 

Amy’s Café was quieter than its usual bustling pace during the semester, and you easily snagged a table for three. It seemed like a blessing at the time, but now…

“Hold on,” Nora said through a bite of croissant. She held up her forefinger, signaling you and Ben to stay quiet until she finished chewing. “So you and Eddie were making out in the laundry room—”

“Don’t forget the part where she took off his shirt,” Ben added. 

Nora nodded, brushing crumbs off of her hands. “Basically feeling each other up. And then Phyllis caught you, and he pretended that he was fixing the washing machine?” She laughed incredulously.

Ben put down his mug and shook his head. “It’s a good thing you didn’t get carried away. Imagine conceiving your child in the motel laundry room, ten feet away from your parents at the resident prostitute.”

“Oh, my god.” You buried your face in your hands. “We’ve gone on one date and you’re already talking about me having his baby?”

“People have made babies without going on any dates,” Ben pointed out. Nora just snickered. 

“I hate you both.” You glanced between the two of them. It was hard to believe they’d met for the first time today. The way they effortlessly teased you in tandem was impressive for people who were basically strangers. “Can we please change the subject?”

Nora leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Not a chance. In fact,” she looked at Ben and then back to you, “we need to know more. Like, what are you wearing for this second date?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off as nonchalant, though you’d been wondering the same thing. “I dunno. It’s a picnic, so nothing fancy, I guess.” 

Your friends found that answer insufficient, both of them rolling their eyes in tandem. Ben took a bite of blueberry muffin and said nothing, but Nora plunged right ahead.

“Why do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

Nora sighed. “You never let yourself enjoy things. You should be happy about this. A hot guy is staying at your motel and can’t keep his hands off of you, and you’re all Mopey Magee about it.”

“I’m not Mopey Magee,” you mumbled, but she was right. Every time excitement began bubbling up, you shoved it back down. Every time your mind wandered, dipping into thoughts about a cozy future spent with Eddie, you yanked yourself back. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be happy; you just needed to stay realistic. Eddie wanted to be a rockstar, always on the go and living on the edge. You wanted to be a social worker, to come home and curl up with a good book. You’d be tucking yourself into bed as Eddie’s night was just beginning, and you’d wake up in the morning just as he was going to sleep. 

Not to mention the women, especially Death Echo’s badass drummer. And it didn’t help that she was Eddie’s ex. No matter how far you let your imagination stretch, you would never be her.

“Hey.” Ben rested his hand on yours, his eyes kind and free of judgment. “We just want you to be excited. Eddie seems like a…decent guy.” Clearly, he wasn’t fully convinced after the fiasco of their first meeting, though he’d thawed out a bit since Eddie helped clean the vandalism.

Nora nudged him from her seat. “He’s more than decent. He took a cab all the way to school to bring her paper. He sang a lovey-dovey karaoke song for her. And he had enough respect to not completely maul her in the laundry room.” She looked at you and asked pointedly, “Tell us the truth: would you have fucked him if he didn’t stop you?”

“Nora!” Your entire body flooded with heat. It was all the confirmation Nora needed. 

“See? He’s a good guy,” she declared. Case closed. “I bet he wants to, like, decorate the bed with rose petals and all of that corny shit.”

“He’ll probably play his guitar and serenade you.” Ben relented with a smirk. “Naked.”

You stood up, the back of your legs pushing your chair behind you. “Okay, thank you both very much for your insight, but I’m gonna go.” 

You refused to admit that you were currently picturing Eddie as Ben had portrayed him. His guitar would rest on his bare thighs, his chest on full display. That beautiful body that drew your lips to each inch of skin, no matter if tattooed or unmarked. 

“You know you love us,” Nora trilled. 

And you did. They only wanted what was best for you. Yes, you would love to lose yourself in daydreams of Eddie Munson, his strong arms wrapped around you, his tongue hungrily exploring your body. Yes, your stomach fluttered each time he smiled at you, called you beautiful, or took your hand in his. But was that worth lying to your parents about yet another part of your life?

The question branded you with a headache, one that sat right behind your eyes and thudded against your skull with each step back home. You did everything you could to focus on the pain instead of its cause.

By now, you were well-acquainted with Eddie’s schedule, which meant you were able to meet him outside the subway station before he returned to the motel. You’d had a moment of panic that morning just as you drifted off to sleep: your parents would immediately be suspicious if they saw the two of you leaving together, especially in your current outfit. Nora had dropped off a floral sundress, the tag still on it, and quietly proclaimed that Eddie wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of you in it. It wasn’t until later that you noticed the back of the tag where she’d scrawled ‘happy boning!’ in tiny letters.

There certainly wouldn’t be any boning; not in the middle of the park. That was too far out of your comfortable zone, even if you weren’t trying to hide your relationship.

“I’m hanging out with Nora,” you told Dad before he even looked up from reading the newspaper. “Be back later.”

Your sandals thwacked against the pavement as you hurried out the door, not even pausing to hear if Dad had responded.

You nearly collided with Eddie halfway down the block. He held his guitar case in one hand and a plastic grocery bag in the other. His focused expression shifted to one of excitement when he saw you. 

“Didn’t expect to bump into you here.” He lifted the guitar slightly. “Let me just put this back in my room so I’m not lugging it all over Queens.”

Eddie started back towards the motel, pausing when he realized you weren’t following him. 

“You comin’?”

You shook your head. Dad might not have noticed you leaving in your new dress, but he would definitely notice you going back and forth with Eddie Munson in tow. 

“I’ll wait right here.” You tried peeking into the bag as he walked away, but he tugged it back and out of your sight. “What’s in there?”

His eyes lit up. “Patience is a virtue, dear Heiress,” he drawled. He leaned in to plant a dramatic kiss on your forehead before rushing towards the motel’s front door. 

The spot where he’d laid his lips still tingled for a moment after he left. If you could work up the nerve, if your head and your heart could cooperate, you would pull him in for the longest kiss of his life. But doubt creeped in before even he returned. If someone saw you…if Mom or Dad took a look around the door to see where Eddie was going…if a guest got an eyeful and made a comment about it to them…

“Okay, I’m back.” Eddie grinned, grabbing your hand with his empty one. “Your dad tried to pull me into a conversation about the Mets. I had to break the devastating news that I’m not a sports guy.” He laughed and adjusted his hand to better grasp yours. 

You barely registered the movement. “Did you tell him where you—we—were going?” If Eddie told Dad about the date…

Eddie shook his head. “Nah, just said I had to run.” His nose wrinkled in confusion. “Why? Are we not supposed to be going to the park or something?”

How could you explain it to him without hurting his feelings? ‘We can’t be seen together’ might be true, but far too harsh. Nor did you want to embroil yourself in another lie. You mulled over your words for a few seconds before speaking. 

“I just don’t want them asking a bunch of questions that even we don’t know the answers to.”

That was honest enough, you supposed. This was only your second date; far too early for any serious ‘what are your intentions with my daughter?’ speeches even under normal circumstances. The fact that Mom had explicitly warned you against dating guests would remain omitted for now.

He nodded in agreement, and your chest sagged with relief that he didn’t push the topic further. Instead, you enveloped yourself in the temporary safety that came with holding Eddie’s hand. The way his calloused palm pressed to yours, his grip tight yet without unwarranted possessiveness. Each brush of his thumb stoked the fire steadily building within you.

You once again tried to steal a glimpse of the surprise inside the bag once you found seats on the bus, but Eddie remained steadfast in his decision to keep it out of your view.

“It’s a surprise,” he practically whined, pouting to make you laugh. “C’mon, I’m trying to be romantic on a budget. Cut me a break here.”

“Fine.” But the moment he let his guard down, you swiped at the bag. Eddie was stealthier than you gave him credit for, and he held it shut between his legs. “Eddie!”

Eddie placed his hands on your cheeks, trapping you in place. “Don’t…ruin…the…surprise.” He kissed you between each word, little pecks on the lips that became increasingly more difficult to land as you both smiled. “You really are impossible.”

You begrudgingly relented, resting your head on his shoulder for the remainder of the bus ride. He shifted his stance every so often to purse his lips and kiss your forehead. You let out a contented sigh, the tension in your body fleeing with each gentle touch.

Flushing Meadows Park was relatively quiet when you and Eddie arrive. Kids were still in school until the end of the month, and nine-to-fivers were still at work. Besides you two, there were only an assortment of joggers, a few bird-watching retirees, and some particularly rowdy squirrels 

Eddie led you to a shaded spot beneath the branches of an old oak tree. He dug into his bag and pulled out a cloth, spreading it out on the overgrown grass. The fabric and color looked awfully familiar. It was almost as if…

“Is that your bedsheet?”

Eddie grinned sheepishly. “I couldn’t let you sit right on the grass. Besides,” he added, tone heavy with mischief, “it gives us another excuse to do laundry together.”

“We’re lucky we didn’t get caught the first time,” you muttered. But you couldn’t deny how good it felt to be pressed up against him, to feel him stiffen beneath his jeans as his tongue explored your mouth. 

He laughed as you both sat down, a melody if you’d ever heard one. He continued unpacking, placing foil-wrapped sandwiches, a small plastic container of pre-cut melon, and a bag of store-brand chocolate chip cookies onto the sheet. The last thing he dug out was two glass bottles of Yoo-Hoo chocolate milk, handing it directly to you. It was still relatively cold, a miracle in the early summer humidity. 

“Only the finest cuisine for my date.” He unscrewed the bottle cap and waited for you to do the same. He raised the bottle, clinking it against yours. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” you echoed, taking a swig. You hadn’t had chocolate milk since you were a kid, and it was all at once nostalgic and too sugary, but you couldn’t get enough.

Eddie’s eyes rake over you, pupils fixated on the neckline of your sundress. His tongue darted out to lick up a droplet of milk that was caught in the corner of his mouth. “You look beautiful. You are beautiful,” he amended. One hand found your knee, and he rested it where the dress’s cotton fabric met your skin.

It had been a while since a man had called you beautiful, save for the cat-callers who pressed their luck from where they leaned against buildings and worked at construction sites. The compliment sent warmth surging through you, your head so airy that you hardly register the smile blooming on your face.

How would he react if you just leaned in and kissed him, mouths crashing together in a hunger that would remain forever unsatisfied? What would he do if you straddled his waist and let the hem of your dress cover the fly of his jeans?

You swallowed the thought, tempering the heat that fluttered in your core as you unwrapped one of the sandwiches. The cheese had cooled but was still melted, and a few strips of bacon peeked out from the sides of the roll. Your mouth watered just looking at it.

Eddie tucked into his own identical sandwich, a groan tumbling from his lips as he savored the taste. “I will never understand how those tiny corner stores make the best food. Like, better than all of those fancy-ass restaurants I went to for dinners with execs.”

“Those ‘corner stores’ are called ‘bodegas,’” you corrected through a cheesy mouthful. “If you’re gonna stick around, you’ve gotta start talking like a New Yorker.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie raised his brows, one corner of his mouth turning up in a knowing grin. “I gotta start tawk-ing like a New Yawk-er?”

“I don’t sound like that!”

He ignored you, continuing to massacre the stereotypical New York City accent. “Maybe on our next date, we can grab some caw-fee and go for a waw-k around the pah-k.”

“First of all, you pronounced ‘park’ like a Bostonian, which is a cardinal sin around here. Second, there won’t be another date if you keep making fun of me.”

“My apologies, Heiress.” Eddie placed his hand on his chest, and you immediately felt its absence from your leg. “I’ll be sure to more accurately mock you in the future.”

He was insufferable in the most endearing way. You took his hand, smoothing your thumb over his knuckles, and brought it back to where it was. He gave your thigh a small squeeze; not inherently sexual, but made your pulse quicken all the same.

You retrieved your breath from where it had hitched in your throat and opened the plastic container of melon. With delicate fingers as to not touch every piece, you plucked a cantaloupe cube from the pile and took a bite. The juice trickled down your chin; you cupped your hand beneath it to catch the droplets before they stained the bed sheet.

Eddie, meanwhile, kept his gaze plastered to how your lips wrapped around the fruit. His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly and he coughed as though snapping himself out of a daze. 

“You okay?” 

“Y-Yeah.” He managed a smile and popped a piece of melon in his mouth, chewing if only to keep himself busy until he could concentrate on something besides your parted lips. “Peachy keen.” With another slight twitch of his mouth, let out a cough. 

It dawned on you, then, that he was losing control, and that you were the cause. If you indulged him in his desire–desire that you admittedly shared–you’d soon find yourselves pawing at each other on an old bed sheet in the middle of a public park.

You couldn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t let desperation get the best of you. You knew better.

Instead, you surveyed your surroundings for any other conversation topic. Grass, blooming flowers, the ants parading towards a puddle of spilled soda.

You took another swig of chocolate milk, hoping it would cool you from the inside out. “Yoo-Hoo was an interesting drink choice.” The words were strangled, forced, too abrupt. 

Eddie knew it, too, but he played along. Perhaps more for his sake than yours, but he still loosened a chuckle. “Yeah, I saw them at the cor—bodega, and it reminded me of when I was a kid.” Fiddling with the discarded sandwich wrapper, he continued. “My uncle would buy one on every payday. A Yoo-Hoo for me and a lotto scratcher for himself.”

“Did you get more Yoo-Hoo if he won anything?”

“Nah.” He crumpled the sandwich foil into a ball. “That went towards bills.”

Right. Eddie had told you that he grew up in poverty, sharing a tiny trailer with his uncle. Any extra money wasn’t really extra at all. 

You knew the feeling. How many times had you found loose change on the ground or a dropped dollar at the subway token booth and slipped it into the motel’s register?

“How did he feel about you pursuing music?” You were back on the right track, retreating into topics as far away from sex as possible.

Eddie shrugged, his shoulders holding a story that he wasn’t ready to tell. “He wasn’t thrilled. Wanted me to have something steady, something I could count on.” So I didn’t end up bartering to stay in a shitty Queens motel remained unspoken. “But he was the one who bought me my first guitar, so it’s partially his fault.”

There was that smirk, the one that turned your knees into jelly. God, to be on your knees for him, to taste what lay behind that godforsaken zipper–

You scrambled to patch up the cracks that might allow desperation to seep through. “Did you always want to be a musician?” 

“Pretty much. I mean, when I was really young, I wanted to be a dinosaur.”

You burst out into laughter, slapping your hand across your mouth to contain it all. Out of all of the things he could have said, ‘I wanted to be a dinosaur’ was nowhere near your list of possibilities. “A…dinosaur?”

“Yup. A triceratops, to be exact.” 

“Mhm.” What was going on? How did we get here? You chalked it up to being a blessing in disguise, a definite pivot from your racy thoughts. “Any particular reason?”

Did you want to know?

“The horns seemed cool. And good for impaling.”

You tucked your lips into your mouth and stifled a laugh, trying to keep a serious face. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you.”

“Yeah, I was real bummed when I found out they were already extinct.” He pursed his lips and tilted his head towards you, breaking out into a smile. “So, any updates on social work school?”

You almost shook your head before you remembered. “There’s this event they’re doing where admitted students get to tour the campus, meet each other, talk to advisors...”

“You gonna go?”

“I probably should.” It would be a great opportunity for you to get your bearings and register for classes. “Are you busy next Friday?”

“Next Friday? Let me check my schedule.” Eddie feigned contemplation for a beat, then looked at you with a smile that flipped your stomach. “Free as a bird. Why, does the Heiress need to be accompanied to her Smart People Gathering?”

You stuck out your tongue in mock annoyance. Eddie grabbed it by the tip, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re a brat.”

His eyes bore into yours, holding your gaze even as he let go. He’d set the challenge: You make him beg to tag along, or you back down and admit that you wanted him to join you.

You chose the former.

“I mean, I can take Nora if you’re busy. Or Ben.” 

Jealousy flashed across Eddie’s face at your flippant reply. Did you have to add Ben? Probably not. Was it fun to watch Eddie squirm? Absolutely.

“I’ll take you.” He didn’t need to say it; not when his brief scowl already proclaimed that you won. 

Grinning, you kissed his cheek triumphantly. “Great.” You wiped at where your lipstick had left a smudge. “But the next time you grab my tongue, I’ll bite you.”

Without missing a beat, he growled, “Maybe I want you to.” 

You couldn’t temper your reaction, not with his voice reaching a bass note that signaled that his desire was just as strong as yours. Without warning, you anchored yourself in his lap, legs on either side of his, and let your teeth graze the skin above his collarbone. You bit down just enough to make him utter a tiny yelp. 

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass as he pulled you forward, your core now directly atop his. Instinct kicked in and your hips moved of their own accord, your cotton panties dragging over his fly, already wet just from your proximity to him.

Teeth clicked and tongues found one another, the kiss somehow sloppier and more ravenous than the tipsy one you’d shared a few nights earlier. You grabbed hold of his t-shirt, the fabric bunching in your shaking palms as you brought him closer, closer, still never close enough…

Eddie nipped at your lower lip, one palm sliding up to cup your cheek. His touch teetered between a timid ‘you’re mine?’ and a possessive ‘you’re mine,’ opposing sides in a battle to claim and be claimed. His own hips hedged upwards, the friction equal parts tantalizing and torturous.

God, you wanted him. You wanted him to flip you over and pin you down, hands grasping your wrists hard enough to leave a bruise. You wanted to remember that he was there, that he was on you, with you. You wanted to stare at those marks from the privacy of your own room and recount how he’d taken you in public. 

And then you heard it–your name. Not ‘Heiress,’ nor did it come from Eddie’s kiss-swollen lips. The voice was feminine and familiar.

You broke the kiss, your blood running ice cold as you swiveled around to see Aunt Tam and Uncle Mo standing before you. Aunt Tam’s brows were raised in a combination of disappointment and disbelief; Uncle Mo’s cheeks were splotched pink in pure embarrassment–a feeling you knew all too well.

You froze, your fingers now tangled in Eddie’s frizzy curls as reality sunk in, squashing down most of the lust connecting you to him. You’d been spotted dry humping Eddie in the middle of the park by your parents’ best friends. People who’d known you since you were born.

Too quickly, you removed yourself from Eddie’s lap and smoothed out the hem of your sundress, as though your aunt and uncle would forget what they’d just witnessed if it wasn’t happening anymore. 

This was bad. Worse than bad; this was humiliating. You wanted to beg them not to tell your parents, a child with her hand caught in the cookie jar, but the words clung to your throat. Instead, and much more shamefully, tears ran down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, we just–we got carried away, we shouldn’t have–I’m so sorry, please don’t say anything to my parents–”

Damn it. Damn it all to hell. Why couldn’t you just keep yourself in control? 

Aunt Tam cleared her throat, shaking herself from surprise. “No, I’m sorry for interrupting. I just wasn’t expecting to see, um, that.” The coloring of her cheeks now matched her husband’s as they hurried away, unable to leave fast enough. “Enjoy your picnic. Good to, uh, see you both.”

Everything was suddenly too much. The sun was too bright, the birds were chirping too loudly, the grass beneath the sheet was too sharp. 

You scrambled to clean up the remaining food, all of which now looked as appetizing as a pile of mud. You couldn’t even look at Eddie when you spoke. “We should go home.”

“Heiress, it’s fine. Calm down–”

“I can’t calm down!” Too snappy, too harsh, but you no longer had the capacity to care. “My parents will kill me if they find out we were together.”

Confusion knitted Eddie’s brows together. “You’re a grown adult. And it’s not like we were naked and getting arrested for public indecency.”

His lack of understanding only strengthened your frustration. “No, I–it’s just not a good look for me to be fooling around with a guest.”

There was no mistaking the hurt in Eddie’s scoff. “I mean, we’re on a date…and we’re kinda a…a thing, right?” He chewed on his lower lip, and you felt a wall come up, that same barrier he’d erected when you’d all but accused him of vandalizing Eisen’s. “I didn’t realize I was just a guest.”

“Yeah, no–I mean, we are a thing,” you rushed to explain, “and you’re not just a guest to me, but you technically are still a guest.” 

“Right.” Eddie stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I get it. Yeah. I just thought…never mind.” He blew out a breath and stooped down to help you clean up.

You forced yourself to speak again, terrified that you’d shatter this already fragile moment. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice so low that you weren’t sure he’d even hear it.

“S’okay.”

But it wasn’t. You knew it wasn’t okay even when he reached back and laced his fingers with yours. It was no longer an act of affection, but one of needed reassurance. And it didn’t fix the gaping chasm; you weren’t sure how to fix it, or if it could be fixed at all.

It was a Band-Aid on a bullet wound, and time was ticking until it bled out.

--

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