#my consultation time is with the one closest to me and not the one I wished

[chlorinecake]

𓂃 watercolor eyes | park wonbin oneshot

⚡︎ pairing: Stoner!Wonbin x Female!Reader | ⚡︎ word count: 7.8k | ⚡︎ genre: mutual pining, college au, smut (⚠︎) | ⚡︎ contains: awkward relationships, an original character + sungchan and shotaro, swearing, drug use/distribution, angst (?), mild dacryphilia, sexual tension mixed with fluff, kissing, unprotected sex while buzzed, heavy petting, oral (m. r)

ON TOP OF countless other obligations in your life, upcoming exams were kicking your anxiety's ass with the biggest fucking boots imaginable.

All you wanted was to take the edge off, and at this point, you didn’t care what it’d take to do that.

Introducing Exhibit A: Your closest friend and roommate, Roxanne, who so conveniently happened to be a junkie.

You brought up your need for a “quick fix” (so to speak) while studying in your dorm together one afternoon. Though, she offered to get you some help from another friend of hers who you’d never met before.

“Wait, you want me to go with you?” You asked in confusion, already prepared to reject Roxanne’s proposal at the idea of personally consulting her drug dealer.

“Yes, you're coming with me… What do you think this is, Kiki’s Delivery Service?”

“No, but… I-"

“Don’t tell me you’re chickening out, ____,” she chuckled, turning the steering wheel as she trailed down a shadowy lane.

“No, I… I want this… I need this even, it’s just that…I don’t really know what to expect…”

“Then don’t expect anything,” she answered, giving you an encouraging smile that came off as more condescending, “Expectations are for pussies anyways.”

“Roxanne, I’ve never even met this guy before,” you pressed, hoping that she’d maybe let you sit outside in the car instead of actually speaking with him.

“Look, I’m close with my dealer, and as I always say, a friend of mine is a friend of yours.”

Cue your internal sigh of submission.

“Okay,” you said, straightening your posture in your seat with a feigned confidence.

“Uhhhh, are you sure with that ‘okay,’ or is it more like an ‘okay, I have more questions’ type of ‘okay’?”

“No,” you clarified, “it means what I said… I’m okay.”

“Okay,” she nodded, before giving you a brief synopsis about this friend of hers: STEM major, weed connoisseur, and art-hoe with a shy guy undercut.

Doesn’t sound anywhere near as daunting as the drug dealers on TV shows appear to be, right?

She pulled up to one of the apartment complexes a few miles from your university. It was one of the lower quality establishments, with the only oddity being how nice the vehicles parked outside the apartment divisions were, a sleek black motorcycle belonging to none other than the mysterious drug smuggler named Wonbin Park.

“Hey, take off your hood, silly, it’s rude,” Roxanne nudged, locking her car from the keys in her pocket more times than necessary.

“But… what if someone sees us?,” you whispered, walking closely beside her.

“Then I’m glad their eyes are working? Hell, I don’t fucking know what they’d want me to tell ‘em,” she shrugged, walking up to the front door.

“So are you acting like a nonchalant loser on purpose, or is this just your way of trying to calm me down?”

Roxanne laughed hysterically at your words, showcasing the sparkly pink gem decorating her upper canine teeth as she patted you on the back.

“We’re just here for weed, babe. That will help calm you down before I can.”

You had almost missed the part where she knocked as you got lost in your head, the front door suddenly opening and basking you both with a sudden warmth, contrasting with the cold evening weather.

“Roxie?,” asked the male from the doorstep that you fought with every bone in your body to avoid making eye contact with.

“Wonie?” Your friend mocked goofily, walking up to hug the boy briefly before grabbing your hand and pulling you inside, “I hope you don’t mind that I brought a friend.”

“Not at all, my place is always open to you and your girlfriends,” he chirped with forced yet gentle enthusiasm.

“Uhhhh, she’s just a friend, considering how we’ve only slept together while clothed before… but thanks anyway!”

“Any time,” he replied confidently, walking up to the sink that was conveniently in his living room before re-lighting the dead bud of the joint he held gracefully between his plump lips, ashes falling from the tip before he inhaled a thick huff.

Some of the ash fell on his lower abdomen, and you were just now realizing that he didn’t have a shirt on.

Good thing you were used to the smell of pot by now, thanks to Roxanne’s inevitable habit of greening out every Friday night.

“So, what brings you ladies in today? I’d hate to break it to you, but I used my last condom just a few hours ago.”

“Yeah, we’re actually here for a different kind of pipe this time,” Roxanne answered, blinking as if trying to communicate with him to ditch the wild language.

“Oh,” he said, doe eyes widening as his mouth hung a little, his bunny teeth shining right back at you.

Stop staring at his mouth.

Stop staring at his mouth-

“I uh… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything,” he smiled softly, and of course you noticed because that’s where your eyes were glued the entire time, so distracted that it startled you when he reached to shake your hand.

“I’m Wonbin, but… you can call me anything you like, really.”

“It’s alright,” you returned, finally coming back to the present, “I’m ____.”

His initially confident demeanor stemmed from his assumption that you were more flamboyant like Roxanne, but he made note to be less vulgar until he could tell you warmed up to him.

Until he properly warmed up to you.

“So uh, yeah, do you want the usual, or were you thinking to try something new?” Wonbin asked casually as he leaned on the back of the sofa.

“Hmm,” Roxie hummed in thought, “yeah, my usual’s good. Just lay off the stronger stuff in the mix, though. It’s her first time.”

Something about what she said made Wonbin smile, wide and excited, peeking at you through his shaggy bangs with zero intent of hiding it.

Was he… flirting with you?

“Well, it’s my pleasure to be your first then,” he winked, getting up from the couch and heading to another room on his flat.

“You two kittens just wait here and I’ll be back with your stuff in a minute,” he claimed, which actually ended up being around an 8 minute wait while you and Roxanne went on and on about something you can’t even remember now.

The smile evaporated from Roxanne’s face as Wonbin returned to the living room while reciting the order. “You’ve got two ounces of-”

“I know the recipe, moron. You might scare my friend away if you say it out loud…,” she joked, feigning a pout as she hugged your shoulder, “so how much do you want for it, candy man?”

“It’s on the house this time,” Wonbin said, “so long as you bring me dinner tonight.”

“Fucking fat ass,” she spat, “what’re you craving?”

“Something warm,” he replied almost immediately, “with seasoned meat and a sauce… Maybe some rice, too.”

“Gotcha,” Roxie chirped as she pushed off of her knees to stand up.

Wonbin walked up to hand her the goody bag with such politeness, almost in the way that a child would give something to his big sister.

“Cool. I like eating around 7 o’clock, so you know when and where to find me.”

“Yes, through your stomach and all the way up to your greedy little heart.”

“Mhm,” he said with a satisfied hum, taking Roxanne’s spot on the couch as she walked towards the door. You and Wonbin were now sitting next to each other, his arms spread out on the back of the couch in a relaxed manner.

“Uhm, ____?”

“Oh, right! Sorry… I didn’t know we were finished,” you stammered, getting up from the couch to meet Roxanne at the door.

“Yeah, took him long enough,” she rolled her eyes, “I was starting to think he wanted us to spend the night…”

“Alright, get out of my apartment already,” he said playfully, waving a hand as if shooing you two, “and make sure to secure the bottom lock for me, I don’t feel like getting back up yet.”

“Whatever.”

Slam.

The door was closed, 50% locked, and you two were heading back down the staircase, cold air greeting you once again before you both got back in the car, driving back to your dorm room to drop off the drugs first, and then to the grocery store…

… to buy a bag of rice and a fresh pack of chicken.

“WHAT’S THAT NOISE?,” Roxanne asked with animatedly furrowed eyebrows, holding the grocery bag you two had packed Wonbin’s “dinner” in.

You ended up making a chicken roast with carrots, potatoes, gravy, and steamed rice like he asked.

“Here, hold this,” Roxanne mumbled, barely loud enough for you to hear before she dropped the bag, your reflects luckily kicking in fast enough for you to catch it before the glass container could hit the concrete stair well.

“It’s as cold as a snowman’s grave out here, Wonie, open up!,” She yelled while banging on the front door, the little dream catcher that hung on the inner side jingling with her forceful hits, “Hellooooo?”

“You’re like Doordash but with the temper of FedEx,” you heard a deep voice say from behind the walls.

“But I only charge herbal fees for my services,” she added while crossing her arms.

Creek.

The door slung open, Wonbin’s muscular arms framing the entrance with a fed up look plastered on his face.

There were two people sitting behind him on the couch playing video games. A violent game, you’d assume, given the sporadic and sharp flashes of light that filled the room.

“Is there some kind of a secret password now or something?,” Roxanne asked impatiently, not as entertained my the view of Wonbin’s still shirtless body like you were.

“Oh, right… come on in ladies,” he said with a feigned smile, extending a hand to welcome you two back in, “hope you brought enough food, because I have guests.”

You followed Roxanne and Wonbin to the kitchen, where you placed the steaming bag of food on the counter before taking out the containers. That’s when Roxanne started grabbing dishes from the cabinet.

The glass plates clinked behind you as you went to search for a serving spoon in the drawer. “Hey… where are the spoons and forks?,” you asked while still looking through one of his kitchen drawers before Wonbin suddenly tapped you on the shoulder.

“I uhm… I keep the utensils in here,” he smiled shyly, just as he reached for the overhead counter to grab the silverware he kept in a box. Your breath got caught in your chest as you felt his hips nearly fuse with yours in the moment. Luckily, he couldn’t see how flustered you appeared underneath his shadow.

“Gimme that,” Roxanne giggled, snatching the box from him and taking out two large ladles, one for the rice and another for the roast.

“Gosh, that smells amazing! Can you put cheese on mine, pretty please?,” you heard one of the boys ask from the couch, peeking over his shoulder with soft eyes.

“Yes, Taro, I can put some cheese on it for you… even though I think it’s weird,” Roxanne smiled.

“Ahh, thanks man. Oh- and who’s the new girl?” He went on, placing the controller down as he was no longer interested in playing.

“Just a friend in need of a good time—” Wonbin answered, which shocked you to say the least, “—so be nice, Sungchan.”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?,” The taller boy pitched in, “but does she even talk?”

The room went quiet for a moment, the only sound being Sungchan’s clicks from the remote controller before he got gunned down by a random player.

“Dammit, Shotaro! Why’d you stop playing? Now we’re tied with the other team!!”

“Too bad, so sad, bro. I’m hungry,” he chirped, getting up from the couch to help you bring the plates to everyone.

“Woah, who’s the big plate for?” Shotaro asked with widened eyes.

“Me and Sungchan,” Roxanne said with a satisfied smile, “we’re sharing.”

“Oh… you didn’t tell me you and Sungchan were on good terms now,” you said, breaking your awkward streak of silence, just now recognizing the taller boys face from Roxanne’s phone.

She always talked about Sungchan and his “big stupid dick,” as she liked calling it.

The pair stopped being cool with each other for reasons you don’t really remember anymore, but you’d take her sudden affection towards him over the violence you witnessed during one of her texting fits the other night.

“Shhh,” she giggled, meeting Sungchan on the couch before sitting on his lap, “I hope you don’t mind me feeding you in front of your little friends… unless that makes you shy,” she pouted.

All he did was open his mouth in response, savoring the taste of the first spoon she fed him.

It was a sickeningly cute sight to be honest.

“Sick and twisted,” Shotaro said as if reading your mind.

“Cry about it,” Sungchan joked between a mouth full of saucy rice, heart swelling from the way Roxanne cooed at him.

You and Wonbin were just now making it to the living room after getting some napkins for everyone. There was room left for the two of you on the couch thanks to Roxie sitting on Sungchan’s lap, but that meant you and Wonbin would be sandwiched together in the middle.

Great.

“Come on guys, take a seat,” Roxie said before taking a bite of the food, her teeth grazing the metal fork with a loud scrap.

“God, I hate when you do that,” Sungchan sighed, tickling her sides as she laughed uncontrollably.

“Stop that, asshole, before I drop this food everywhere!”

“That’d be a shame, this chicken is so good,” Wonbin hummed with a nod, stuffing his cheeks with more of the gravy.

“____ made it,” Roxie pitched, giving you a look.

Despite how hard you tried to fight it, you were started to feel pretty awkward.

You knew it had a lot to do with Wonbin, thanks to his cripplingly annoying quirk to not put a damn shirt on.

You did eventually warm up to everyone, even pitching in on some of Sungchan’s dad jokes.

Though, the stack of empty dishes in the center of the living room table seemed more alive than your spirits right now.

The inevitable tiredness that came with staying up late without a phone in your hand started to kick in.

“Hey, I’m gonna go wash up these dishes real quick,” Wonbin said, glancing your way for reasons you almost couldn’t process between the loud laughter of Shotaro and Roxie over whatever dirty joke Sungchan told about SpongeBob and Patrick.

Did he want you to come with him? Alone?

Yes.

By now, Wonbin was no longer in the living room, having walked to the kitchen sink where he proceeded to run soapy dish water.

The scent of lemon wafted through the dimly lit space as you stepped beside him to get the dish towel.

“Sorry,” you said nervously, noticing the way he jumped as your hand grazed his arm slightly.

“It’s alright, you just surprised me,” Wonbin smiled, drying his hands before walking over to the other side of the counter, opening a plastic bag filled with what appeared to be blunt wraps and another bag filled with fluffy green.

“You just leave that stuff out on your counter?,” You asked, voice kind of quiet over the running water.

“Mhm…,” he started, “it’s not like the cops are just gonna raid my house randomly… unless… you were to say something,” he winked, putting a filler along the inside of the wrap before sprinkling in some herb, then tucking it tightly.

“Your secrets safe with me,” you said, the faucet squeaking as you turned the water off.

“____.”

“Yes?” You asked in confusion almost… he was already starting to use your name so normally.

“Pass me that lighter from over there,” he pointed before sticking his tongue out, licking the inner side on the blunt wrap to seal it.

His pretty tongue glistened underneath the kitchen lights, captivating you once again.

Fuck, stop staring, you internally swore at yourself.

He put the blunt between his lips, waiting for you to light the tip. “Stop moving, silly,” you giggled, holding his face in place with your other hand to keep him still as he playfully moved his head around to give you a hard time.

A tiny giggle erupted from his throat, too, making your smile linger for a little longer before he bid his thanks, inhaling a huff of the smoke and exhaling it through his nose.

“Hmmm,” he hummed as he cleared his throat. By now you were leaning against the sink with no intention of washing the dishes any time soon. No intention of leaving the kitchen, either.

“C’mere,” he offered, reaching for your chin in the same way you did to him earlier before inching closer to your face.

“Wonbin-”

“Just part your lips for me, okay?” He asked in a light voice, “I want you to try it with me.”

You nodded at his words, hesitantly parting your lips as he slowly set the blunt between the opening you allowed for him.

“Okay now seal your lips,” he said, licking his own, “and inhale… slowly.”

You obeyed his words, taking a steady breath in as the warm and cloudy smoke filled your mouth… then your stomach… then your senses.

“Oh, shit,” you cursed, coughing at the way the smoke hit the back of your throat, to which Wonbin only laughed at your reaction.

“Good job, newbie,” he teased, running you a glass of water before passing it to you, your teary eyes staring back at him in a mix of embarrassment, regret, and intrigue.

“How was hitting it,” he asked, pearly eyes staring back at you.

“Just as bad as I thought,” you admitted.

“Yeah… they effects will start kicking in pretty fast, too,” he chuckled, proceeding to take a huff from the same blunt. “But,” he started, voice falling to an alto, “you know that wasn’t free, right?”

“Excuse me?” You asked, watching as he lazily cradled the joint in his two fingers.

“I only do favors for Roxie because we’re chill like that…,” he paused, biting his lip derisively as he tilted his head, “I hardly know you, though.”

You didn’t even bother checking your pockets because you knew you came empty handed.

“Aww, what is it, baby?,” he cooed, turning your chin to face him again as he took another huff from the joint.

“I didn’t bring any cash with me, unfortunately,” you replied with a halfhearted expression, already feeling yourself get dizzy.

He noticed the way you began to tear up even more from the smoke he was now gently blowing in your face.

“You’re eyes look pretty right now,” he smiled, staring way harder than he should’ve, “how do you feel?”

All of a sudden your core starting to heat up, making your legs feel as though you were merely hovering over the floor. You didn’t feel grounded anymore because you were overcome with a feeling of light.

“A little warm,” you started dryly, “but like… numb and euphoric at the same time.”

“In here?” He asked, placing a hand on your upper stomach, resting dangerously close to your tits.

“No…. It’s uh… a bit lower,” you said, reaching for his wrist before pulling his hand away from you.

That’s when you caught a glimpse of a colorful splash decorating his wrist. “That’s pretty,” you smiled, adoring the tattoo from afar.

“You think so?” He asked sarcastically before whispering in your ear, “too bad compliments won’t pay my bills.”

You sighed at his words, watching as he braced his body weight on the counter before your right hand found a mind of it’s own, reaching out to trace a line up his defined abdomen.

“Then allow me to repay you in another way,” you offered, poking his flesh with your nail a bit, “you like my cooking, don’t you?”

“Very much so, yes. But you could try pleasing me somewhere else… ‘A bit lower,’ like you said,” he whispered seductively, eyes in a daze as he guided your hand by your delicate wrist to the center of his belt buckle, a line of hair leading to the bulge buried behind his baggy jeans.

A thick vein trailed from his thumb to his forearm before his grip left your wrist.

“Wanna take a closer look?” He offered, drawing your attention back to the colorful spot on his skin even though your first mind thought he was talking about something naughtier.

“Sure,” you answered quietly, taking his hand again to examine the design, “a butterfly?”

“A moth, actually… it’s a little more masculine if you ask me,” he added, the shadow of a proud smile ghosting over his lips.

“But it has watercolored eyes,” you pointed out.

“True… So it’s like.. more ambiguous I guess?”

“Maybe… or it could just be a beautiful man,” you voiced, stroking over his skin with the pad of your thumb.

You liked this.

The look of his skin, but more so the way it felt.

The way touching him made you feel.

“Uhmmmm, guys?,” Shotaro cried out from the living room, the energy in his voice breaking the stillness of the moment, “I’m pretty sure Sungchan and Roxie are about to start fucking each other in a few seconds, and I could use a little help in here!”

You and Wonbin made eye contact at Shotaro’s words, the same thought filling both your heads:

“What?”

“Just get in here, quickly! They’re taking each others clothes off!!!”

“FUCK, MY STOMACH still hurts like a bitch from laughing so hard yesterday night,” Roxie sighed, cheeks a flushed hue either from the three shots of brandy she just guzzled or the three comforters she was wrapped in on her side of your shared room.

“Yeah… I had a great time hanging out with everyone,” you said, only half-present as other thoughts floated around in your mind.

Thoughts about when you would get to see Wonbin again?

What you two would even do?

How Roxanne would react if she knew Wonbin had been stuck in your mind like gum on a-

“What the hell are you thinking about?”

Oh shit.

“Uhm… Nothing, why?”

“It’s gotta be something,” Roxie pressed, staring at you from across the room through her false eyelashes, “you were moaning in your sleep last night with that same look on your face.”

Wow. She was quite a fast talker for someone so tipsy.

“I was?”

“Mhm,” she smirked cheekily, trailing a finger along the knitted seam of her bed sheet.

“Tell me who you were thinking about… I’ll know if you’re lying, too,” she pressed.

“I was just… gosh, why is that making me so flustered,” you sighed, hiding your face in your pillows.

“C’mon, spit it out, ____!”

“I was thinking about Wonie, okay?,” you finally admitted, hoping it would make her shut up.

“Hmm…,” she started with a satisfied smirk, “you’ve already starting calling him by a nickname, I see… what’s up with that?”

“Nothing at all,” you smiled aggressively, watching as she spread herself out on the mattress like a star fish, “would you like me to call Sungchan over to keep you company while I’m out?”

“He’s already on his way over, silly,” she smiled, flexing her fingers around nothing, “wait, where are you going, anyway?”

“Nowhere special… probably just gonna talk a walk around campus. But don’t worry, I’ll wait for your boyfriend to get here before I leave.”

She pouted at your words, lower lip poking out like a baby, “Aww… stupid… big dick Sungie’s my boyfriend… ehehe…”

SUNGCHAN SHOWED UP shortly after you managed to get Roxanne back to bed. Praying that they wouldn’t end up fucking in your bedroom while you were gone, you put on a jacket with hopes of taking that walk to clear your head, even though now you simply hit a joint to calm your nerves.

That’s when you heard a pair of footsteps approaching from outside your door, just as you were about to zip up your winter boots.

Knock, knock, knock.

A a warm feeling erupted in your stomach, making your fingers freeze at your ankles.

Standing up to peek through the door-hole, you saw Wonbin’s plump lips first, before his bright brown eyes stared back at you.

Shit, why was he here?

“Hey, I can hear you breathing from behind the door… well, whoever you are,” he giggled, which made you giggle a bit too.

There’s no way you were gonna get out of this now, but you still counted down from ten before opening the door.

“Hi,” you smiled, letting him in, “don’t know how you got on campus, let alone to my dorm room, but okay.”

“I’m friends with Roxie, remember?”

“Yes, but I don’t remember you visiting here before… like, ever.”

Even if he had, it’s not like you’d be able to forget a face or presence like his.

“Nice shirt, by the way,” you teased, poking him in the stomach to which he smiled.

That terribly cute smile of his.

“Yeah I uh… wear them sometimes,” he replied, adjusting the beanie he wore before speaking again, “Where is she, anyway?”

“Pretending to be asleep so I can cuddle with her while she sucks on me… well… not there but… nevermind,” Sungchan interupted, walking from the room with now disheveled hair.

“Hell, I left for like three seconds, what happened,” you asked, observing the fresh purple bruise on Sungchan’s neck.

“Roxie gets unbelievably horny whenever she’s drunk for some reason, and I refuse to do anything with her when half of her mind is on fucking mars,” he sighed, going to the fridge and pulling out a can of soda.

“She’s lucky I let her do this much… Wait- I thought you said you weren’t coming?” Sungchan said to Wonbin with a suspicious look.

So Wonbin was invited to your place. How fun.

“Ahh, I changed my mind out of boredom...”

“Right,” Sungchan nodded while walking to the front door, “I’ve gotta go get a lighter from my truck, but I’ll be back if Roxie asks for me.”

“Hey uh, me and ____ can go get it for you if you want,” Wonbin offered, flashing you a look.

“Really, I mean I parked pretty far away, but-”

“It’s fine, really, I saw where your truck on my way here.“

“____?” Sungchan said your name as if searching for your approval, to which you nodded which a humble, “Yeah, I don’t mind.”

“Alright then, go ahead. But take your time though so you don’t slip and break your asses…”

WONBIN LOOKED IN the roof compartment of Sungchan’s truck, just as the lighter fell down, slipping between the small crack in the seat.

“Shit,” he cursed upon trying to reach for it, “my hands too big to get it.”

“Hey, I can try getting it for you,” you offered, watching as he made room for you to take his place in the vehicle.

The drawstring of your underwear clinging to your hips as your shirt fell down your waist with gravity.

“Are you wearing a thong?” Wonbin asked, cold index finger hooking with the thin strap of your panties before pulling back and releasing it with a snap.

“Ahh, what the hell, Won!,” You yelped, retreating from the seat to swat his hands from you, “you’re supposed to be helping me!”

“No, we’re supposed to be helping Sungchan. Now get back to work,” he order you playfully, pointing back down to where the lighter fell.

You shook your head, bending back over in an attempt to retrieve the lighter once again.

He was only teasing you because he wanted to see more of your personality.

He couldn’t say that things were moving fast between you thanks to the inevitably awkward grounds your first impression of each other was cultivated upon, but he still wanted to get past the shy stage.

Skip all of the a baby steps and just start running with you.

Weakened grunts fell from your lips as you desperately fished for the lighter, your hips looking a mere second from bursting through your tight jeans given the position you were in.

“Shit,” Wonbin cursed under his breath, feeling a sense of warmth grow on his cheeks as he darted his eyes away from you.

“Oh,” you said with a muffled sounding voice.

“Um, y-yeah? What’s up?” He stuttered, still looking off into the distance.

“I’ve got the lighter… And some spare change,” you chirped, clasping the findings in your hand before reaching a foot down cautiously.

“Isn’t that stealing?” Wonbin teased, finally looking back to only see your foot slipping on the wet condensation from the truck’s running board.

“____, watch your step!” He called out with a slightly raised voice, his hands finding your waist to protect your fall, which only led to you both tumbling down together.

A strained groan erupted from Wonbin’s throat as his back hit the cold hard ground first, your body weight falling onto his center as your hands hit the gravel, slightly scuffing your skin.

You hadn’t even realized that your eyes were closed the entire time until you finally opened them, the coins you held being scattered about as Wonbin’s wide bunny eyes scanned you with shock.

His arms framed his head, nose a little red from the weather and a sprinkle of snowflakes dusting his black beanie.

“Are you…are you okay?,” he started, voice trailing off as it finally clicked in his mind that you were straddling him on the ground, essentially in public.

He couldn’t pin a finger on what it was about you that made him feel all shy like this, especially whenever he wasn’t buzzed.

“I-I’m… uh… I’m fine,” you stuttered, freeing him of your body weight and extending a hand to help him up.

“Thank you,” he huffed, a puff of cold air escaping his mouth before circling around your warm bodies, “I told you to watch your step….”

“Hey, it’s not my fault that those stupid coins distracted me,” you shivered, just now feeling the effects of the weather as goosebumps sprouted on your skin, “At least I got the lighter, though!”

Wonbin chuckled, both at your enthusiastic words and the uncanniness of this moment, taking off his beanie and adjusting it over your head before closing the door to Sungchan’s truck, pulling you close to him by the shoulder.

“Alright… let’s get back inside before we both freeze to death.”

AFTER GOING BACK inside, Sungchan had somehow managed to get Roxie out of bed, the four of you sitting on the couch while watching a random movie till midnight.

It all brought you a strange sense of déjà vu. You and Wonbin sitting awkwardly together while Roxie and her Sungchan sat like Siamese twins. The only thing missing, aside from some good home cooked food, was Shotaro’s infectious smile and a recreational drug in your system.

A soul booster.

You had gotten lost in your thoughts again, not even realizing when Roxie kissed Sungchan goodnight before he headed home.

Nor when Wonbin pretended to be sleep so no one would wake him as you slept peacefully on his shoulder.

Nor how he left your side once Roxie went to her room to sleep, reaching for the dust-ridden acoustic guitar hiding in a corner of your loft after a long forgotten ex-roommate left it behind as a “farewell” gift.

Nor the warm and woody melody he started to play from the other end of the couch, the gentle hums from his throat luring your busy mind from its slumber.

Your eyes opened with lazy blinks, vision slowly keening in on the lit joint that hung from his mouth, the sound of his fingers sliding against the fretboard and strings sending shivers down your spine.

Or maybe that had more to do with the winter air thrumming through your dorm room's cheap windows.

From the look outside, you’d guess it was sometime around 1am.

The stars were sparkling in the sky and the world beneath almost dead quiet.

“Oh- sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Wonbin said in a half-whisper, noticing the way you were glancing at him before taking the blunt from his mouth.

“Oh, no… it’s okay, I was just… I didn’t mind…” your words trailed off to a mumble as you sat up a little straighter on the couch, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, “What song was that? It sounded really pretty from what I heard.”

“Yesterday… by the Beatles,” he smiled, getting up to set the guitar back in its original place of abandonment, “it would’ve sounded even better though if I had a pick with me.”

He took another huff from the blunt, exhaling through his nose in a familiar manner as he offered it to you, “Want some?”

“Sure,” you shrugged, taking the blunt from his hand before inhaling the herb yourself, though, it was slightly different from the one you had in Wonbin’s kitchen the other night.

“It’s some of Sungchan’s pot,” he said in a husk voice as if reading your mind, “Don’t go too crazy though, ‘cause his shit’s pretty strong.”

He peeked at you through his wavy bangs, waiting for a cough from you that never came.

“Are you buzzed yet?” You asked after taking another huff or two yourself, playing with the smoke in your mouth before blowing it out slowly.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “don’t know how I managed to play a full song, but... yeah... I'm trashed.”

“It must be a talent, I guess,” you hummed at his words, just now noticing the lit candles sitting at random areas in the kitchen and living room.

Good thing, because it helped to drown out the scent of marijuana.

“What else are you good at doing while high?”

His tongue clicked at the roof of his mouth as a subtle yet unmistakable smirk creeped on his face, perfectly matching the rosy hue that began to stain his cheeks.

“You thought of something dirty, didn’t you?”

“Maybe…” he chuckled, widening the distance between his legs a bit as he sat.

Was he… teasing you?

Your eyes fell down to the blunt he placed on the ashtray beside the table, it’s lit bud ceasing with a quiet hiss.

“I’m guessing that wasn’t free either, huh?” You joked, shaking your head at yesterday's memory.

“Nope,” he smiled, “but… you still haven’t returned the favor from your first hit, so I won’t be too mean for now.”

Of course he’d bring that up again.

Right here, right now as you sat mere inches in distance from each other, both buzzed out of your minds.

“And if you were to be mean,” you started hesitantly, biting your lower lip before continuing, “what would that look like?”

He thought on your words carefully before answering, “Well, I doubt it’ll ever come to that anyway, so don't worry about it.”

“Oh, and is it the weed making you confident all of a sudden?”

“No, just the simple fact that you’ll pretty much do anything I tell you to.”

You scoffed, “That’s crazy talk.”

“Is it?“ he pressed, inching closer to you. "Kiss me,” he said, lips just a gentle wind's push from touching yours.

You didn’t budge, but your heart beat escalated all the same.

“Cute,” he smirked, his large hand finding the length of your neck, gliding up to your jawline as his thumb toyed with your lower lip. “I can see it all over your face that you want me, ____.”

“Then why are you asking for it?,” you teased.

“Because I wanted to hear you say it first… even though I already knew you’d let me do this,” he whispered, closing the space between you with a kiss, his warm mouth engulfing yours as the scent of his woody cologne filled your senses.

His other hand found your lower back, pulling you impossibly close to him as the sound of both your hearts beating and his needy grunts consumed you.

Much like the watercolor moth on his wrist, Wonbin’s gentle and vibrant masculinity couldn’t get any more precious in this moment.

This is exactly what he was looking forward to, whether he decided to guise it under the façade of a favor or be completely straight up with you, he finally got you right where you wanted.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you tugged a bit, desperate to hear more of his pretty sounds before the shadow of a smile wavered over Wonbin’s face at your actions, up until he felt your knee bump his hard-on through his pants, causing him to hiss.

“You’re being rough with me,” he said in between kissing your mouth, his hot and thick tongue darting past your lips as the kiss become messier.

Louder.

“And?” You asked, pulling away from his lips before leaving a trail of wetness down his neck, paying extra attention to a spot that made him twitch in his seat.

“And it’s so fucking hot,” he almost moaned when your teeth grazed his skin, his back meeting the couch arm as you subconsciously grinded your hips against his pants, straddling him.

“Is this how you wanted me earlier,” you said, stopping your movements, “when we were outside in the cold?”

By now his shirt was off and your fingers unbuckling his belt with gentle clinking sounds from the metal.

“No,” he said in an impossibly deep voice, looking dead at you as he spoke, “My first mind wanted to fuck you silly in the backseat… but I couldn’t to that to you.”

You giggled at his choice of words given how high you were, shimmying his pants down a bit further before halting at the waistband of his boxers, palming him gently through the fabric.

“Why not?” You asked in a soft voice, contrasting with the fierce grip you had on his clothed shaft.

“Because... even though you’re being an impossible tease right now, I felt like you deserved better than to be fucked in your best friends boyfriend's truck,” he said with a shaky voice, gripping at the couch to contain himself.

You appreciated his consideration in your heart, but didn’t wanna say anything out loud, especially not while your hands were on him like this.

And thank God for these thick curtains, otherwise the whole world would’ve seen how red his throbbing tip looked after finally being freed from the restrictions of his boxers.

You started at the base of his length before gliding upwards, spitting on the head that was already leaking a bit of his early release.

You started to pump him slowly, pearly white precum standing out as it mixed with your clear spit like watercolor.

“Use your mouth for me,” he almost begged, eyes falling victim to a blurry haze as his knuckles turned white with his grip on the cushions.

You teased him a bit by letting your warm breath ghost over his tip, eliciting a groan from him as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

The desperation inside of him only grew from here as your warm and wet lips finally wrapped around him.

You hollowed your cheeks a bit, hands resting at either side of his hips as you began using your tongue to help you take him inch by inch.

“Mmm, feels so fucking good, baby,” he said with a strained voice, his hands finding your head before his thumbs grazed your lips, one of them prying to squeeze itself into your mouth with his already thick cock.

The sight alone was enough to make him buss, so he threw his head back, biting his lip harshly to contain his sounds.

You hummed against his dick, almost feeling it in your chest once his hands pushed your head down further.

He just couldn’t deal with your teasing anymore, wanting to feel you more than he could begin to explain.

He bucked his hips upwards, rutting into your mouth like a bunny in heat. “Aww, fuck,” he cursed, watching the way your eyes glazed with tears.

He always managed to see you crying one way or another, and he loved it every single time.

Your fingernails dug into his sides as the sound of your gagging became hard to miss. He released your head with a sigh, panting as both of your faces burned with heat.

He didn’t expect you to start pumping him again though as soon as your mouth left his cock, but you knew he’d end up missing your warmth in seconds anyways.

“I wasn’t trying to be mean when I did that, by the way,” he sighed, biting his lip as you looked back at him with moist eyelashes, “I just couldn’t hold bac- nghhh~.”

A broken moan escaped his mouth once your hands found his balls, gently cradling them in your hands while alternating with pressures, your other hand still stroking him.

“I’m doing quite the favor for you, Wonbin,” you said with a rasp voice, your throat a bit sore from his actions on top of the smoke you huffed earlier, but he figured it made you sound hotter anyway. “Are you sure I’m not overdoing it?”

“Mmm… no, p-please don’t stop, baby,” he whimpered shamelessly, screwing his eyebrows tightly.

You felt yourself clench around nothing at the nickname, and judging from the way his face changed, you’d bet he noticed.

By now, he could hardly keep still, the muscles in his stomach flexing just as you felt his balls tighten, just as he was finished, chest heaving with need as you rode out his high.

That's when you started to take off your jeans, tossing them in the corner somewhere as he practically drooled at the sight of you in just a baggy top and panties, a dark spot forming at the center of your core where your arousal started to leak through.

“____,” he paused you, bringing you into his lap, your warm core sitting right atop his aching hardness, “you don’t have to go this far if you don’t want to.”

“Well maybe this isn’t just about me owing you anymore,” you whispered, kissing him on the corner of his mouth, “what if I want this?”

His cock stimulated you through your panties as he thought on your words, subconsciously rocking your hips back and forth.

“Then I’ll let you have your way with me…” he said with a rasp whisper, kissing up your neck as one of his hands massaged your tits, his other hand sneaking past your underwear to find your soaking wet clit, rubbing it slowly but with such a pressure that your fingers clung to his broad shoulders.

“I want you to make me feel like I’m falling apart,” he groaned against your skin, spreading your slick all over your aching pussy lips, “I want you to ruin me.”

You didn't waste any time with aligning him at your entrance, sliding down with ease most of the way given how wet you were.

He groaned as your tight walls fully consumed him.

“Fuck~,” you whined, feeling euphorically full as he started thrusting into you, hands gripping at your back as he became overstimulated inside you.

The drugs must've made you feel extra sensitive, especially with the way his tip fucked against your g-spot. You looked into his teary eyes, stoking his face as you helped to bounce with his movements, lewd sounds bouncing off of the walls.

“You’re being so fucking good for me, baby, just like that," he moaned as you clenched around him, too high to give a damn about filling you up raw with thick spurts of his cum.

“Wonie,” you whimpered, feeling as his hands roamed all over your climaxing body.

You felt every part of him in every part of you, and to say the least, it was worth all the awkward moments it took to get here.

THE NEXT MORNING, you woke up with your head resting on Wonbin’s chest, his messy hair spread about his head as you felt his breath faintly on your head. You probably looked like two babies with the way you were cuddling each other under the blanket.

It was a sickeningly cute sight, one might say.

“Sick and twisted,” you heard Shotaro say in the back of your mind, just as Wonbin groaned beneath you with a cat-like yawn.

“I still feel high,” was the first thing he said, making you giggle a little more than necessary before looking him in the face, the effects of your night together ever-present on his face.

“I feel…good,” you smiled.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” you hummed back, peeling yourself from his body as you blinked the tiredness from your eyes.

“You can keep a secret, right?” He asked hesitantly, voice barely audible given how quietly he spoke.

“With my whole life,” you answered, now making eye contact with him which was surprisingly way easier to do than a day ago.

He found your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “We should do each other favors more often… but… maybe not call it that.”

Was he initiating a sexual relationship with you?

Maybe something more?

“Well…” you started curiously, “what would you wanna call it instead, then?”

A grin peeped on his face that quickly softened when he licked his lips, giving your hand a squeeze once again before parting his lips to speak. “Maybe-”

“Fuck,” Roxanne sighed with annoyance, “you horny ducks didn’t blow my candles out last night… now the wax is no good,” she sulked.

“Oh, s-sorry about that, Roxie, we were smoking and it helped the smell,” Wonbin answered first.

“… wait, did you just call us horny ducks?” You asked with a mix of confusion, offense, and realization.

She heard you two.

Hell, of course she did.

“What? You think I didn’t hear Wonbin and his vocal ass practically singing as you did… whatever you did to him…?,” She rambled on, washing her hands in the sink before pulling some from produce from the fridge.

“Oh my God,” Wonbin cringed at himself, covering his face with his hands, though his ears were clearly burning red now.

“The blanket… you brought it in here, didn’t you,” you asked her, just now noticing that it was one she kept at the end of her bed.

“Yep! You’re welcome, freaks,” she chirped through a mouthful of raw celery, drawing your attention to the knife and cutting board she handled, “I’m gonna need your help soon though, ____. We're cooking for a mini get-together later with Taro and Sungchan.”

You hummed at her words, folding up the blanket while thankful that despite how high you two were last night, you managed to put your clothes back on before the sun came up.

“You guys should get cleaned up first, too, by the way,” she said, side-eyeing you as she diced a few green onions. “And preferably not at the same time, please... I’ve heard enough moans for the rest of this week, thanks to you two.”

⚡︎ a/n: I just wanna say thank you to everyone who read this goofy lil piece I wrote !! It's been a while since I wrote something that wasn't requesting, and I had so much fun getting back in my creative mode again !! Hopefully you guys enjoyed it as much as I did huhu !!

📍 check out my NEW RIIZE masterlist

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[shadowtriovibes]

it's a sign of the times

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: PG

Word Count: 3.2K

Summary: request [paraphrased]: "Rivals-to-lovers Sebastian and MC use a Time-Turner to travel to the future with Ominis in search for a cure for Anne. Instead they find a girl who's the spitting image of MC trying to sneak into the Restricted Section in the 1910s, only she has freckles like Sebastian..."

the 'verse continues in "the train ain't even left the station" [AO3]

“Anne-Marie Sallow!” she calls out. “Just where do you think you’re going?” At once, the three of you freeze. “Did she say ‘Sallow?’” hisses Ominis. “Did I hear that right?” “I – no. No,” Sebastian stammers. “There’s no way that’s what she said.”

“Can you please remind me again why I’m even a part of this harebrained scheme?” you ask for at least the third time.

You’re crouched around a small table in one of the far corners of the upper section of the Library. It’s well past curfew, but since you aren’t technically breaking any rules by avoiding the Restricted Section, you’re currently getting away with your loitering, as do most students who are caught studying after hours this close to final exams.

Only, you’re not studying. You’ve been summoned there by Ominis, who despite being your closest friend at Hogwarts is also a conniving, duplicitous liar who neglected to tell you that this whole thing is Sebastian’s idea.

You watch warily as he turns over a contraband Time-Turner in his hands, inspecting its impossibly small dials and knobs. The golden sands inside the hourglass hypnotically shift back and forth while he reads over its inscriptions and consults the guidebook he’d smuggled out of the Restricted Section earlier that same day.

You have no idea where he managed to get the device – perhaps in one of those vaults along the coast in Cragcroftshire that he’d been exploring during the summer term. However, now he’s got it in his head that perhaps the reason you haven’t been able to heal Anne is that the cure to her curse simply hasn’t been invented yet. Therefore, a quick jaunt several years into the future ought to reveal a way to rid Anne of her illness (and maybe even earn his way back into her good graces).

It’s not the first ludicrous and impractical idea he’s had in the past year, nor will it be the last, but it’s certainly one of the more radical ones.

“Merlin’s beard, I’ve already told you,” Sebastian sighs. “Since we’re going forward in time rather than back, this is an unauthorized use, and in case we get stuck in the future, we might need your ancient magic.”

“So I’m an insurance policy?!” you demand.

“Not so much for Sebastian as for me,” Ominis answers plainly. “He thinks he’s got it all sorted out, but I’m not as sure.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Sebastian interjects.

You huff and roll your eyes. “Need I remind you that using a Time-Turner to go forward is expressly forbidden by the Ministry? It’s only to go back.”

“Loads of people have done it, though,” he argues. “I’ve been reading all about it, it’s well-documented.”

“And they’ve all come back to the present?” you demand.

“Yes,” he snaps. “...For the most part.”

You scoff. Unbelievable.

“Do you two honestly think my magic is just an unlimited get-out-of-Azkaban-free pass?” you hiss. “I have no idea how to manipulate time and space. If we get stuck there, we’re stuck there.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out like you always do,” Sebastian mutters distractedly as he fiddles with the Time-Turner.

You glance at Ominis pleadingly and he just shrugs.

“You know we can’t let him go alone, we’ll never get him back,” Ominis reasons.

“Is that such a bad thing?” you grumble.

Sebastian shoots you a warning look before he holds up the Time-Turner for the both of you to inspect.

“I have it set to jump forward twenty years,” he explains. “We’ll have to get cozy before we go, as we’ve all got to be wearing it. Physically, we’ll land precisely where we are now, at the same time of day.”

“What if the layout of the Library changes?” you ask skeptically.

“The castle hasn’t changed in centuries,” Ominis points out. “Compared to its history, two decades is indeed quite short.”

“...Fine,” you finally mumble. “Go on, then. Let’s get this over with.”

The three of you stand in a tight circle in a spot tucked away behind some shelves, hoping to remain hidden there after you make the jump forward in time. Sebastian drapes the thin gold chain connected to the Time-Turner around the three of you; it even seems to stretch and extend in length to fit. Then he murmurs a brief incantation to the enchanted timepiece and spins the innermost piece a whopping twenty times.

Your stomach lurches while it turns over and the world around you seems to spin out of control, almost like one of those Muggle carousel rides you saw once as a child. You can barely make out years and years of students and professors walking around you – through you, even – and countless books sliding on and off the shelves until everything comes to a sudden halt and you fall straight to the floor.

Ominis and Sebastian tumble with you, winded.

“That felt bizarre,” Ominis wheezes. “Where are we? Did we travel anywhere?”

“N-no,” Sebastian breathes. “Everything else just… traveled around us.”

You glance around the Library and see that as Ominis had suggested, it looks largely the same. There are some newer books among those you recognize on the shelves, their spines less creased and dyed with more vibrant colors than those of your time.

One title jumps out at you: Advances in Practical Conjuring, 1900-1910

We’re in the 1910s, you think bewilderedly. We’re in a new century.

Mercifully, the layout of the library seems to be largely unchanged. Rows and rows of dimly lit stacks stretch along the length of the grand room with two winding spiral staircases leading down to the lower level.

Once you catch your breath, the three of you cast Disillusionment on yourselves and huddle together to make your way downstairs to the Restricted Section. Ominis leads the way with his wand extended to search for any lingering students or restless ghosts, having long since proven that his spatial awareness bests both yours and Sebastian’s even without his sight.

Your trio makes it downstairs and past the first row of shelves before Ominis stops in his tracks. Sebastian collides with him and then you knock into Sebastian, causing you both to hiss some choice words at each other.

“What’s going on?” you demand in a whisper.

“Someone just came in,” Ominis explains. “The librarian is at the desk and she hasn’t noticed, but a student is coming down the stairs.”

Sure enough, across the room you see a faint flicker of light and can just barely make out the outline of a small student sneaking down the main stairs – must be a young one, you think, no more than thirteen.

“I think it’s a girl,” you offer. “I can see her just over there.”

“What’s she doing?” Sebastian whispers.

“I’m not sure yet,” Ominis says carefully. “She’s past the desk, the librarian didn’t see – oh, for Merlin’s sake.”

“What is it?” you breathe.

“She’s going straight for the Restricted Section,” Ominis mutters. “Just our luck, I suppose.”

The three of you remain crouched behind the shelf while you watch the girl creep ever closer to your hiding spot. You’re panicking inside your head, wondering what possible seams of the universe might immediately be torn to shreds if she were to spot the three of you, but thankfully she seems single-minded in her mission to gain access to the locked collection of books across the room from you.

“She’s tiny,” Sebastian snorts. “I suppose the young ones are even more bold in the future.”

“Weren’t you about her age when you first started to sneak into the Restricted Section?” Ominis reminds him.

Sebastian insists, “No, I was fourteen. I didn’t go in until Anne was attacked. She’s got to be twelve at most, maybe even a first year.”

“Will you two be quiet?” you hiss. “She’s going to hear you!”

Across the room, the Disillusioned girl pulls a key out of the pocket of her robes and starts to insert it into the lock. A girl her age wouldn’t have mastered Alohomora yet, you think, nor would it be effective on this kind of lock. You have no idea how she managed to get a copy of the key, however.

“Do you suppose we could just go in after her?” Sebastian proposes. “She’s nearly got it open, we should take advantage of that.”

“Are you mad?” you scoff. “We can’t be in there at the same time, we’ll get caught!”

“So what if some little girl from the future sees us?” Sebastian argues. “Why wouldn’t she believe we’re just students from her time doing our own research?”

But before you can further explain to Sebastian how astonishingly stupid that idea is, the girl across the room gasps softly and drops her key to the floor. In front of her, the lock is glowing red as if it’s searing hot.

That’s a new security development from your time, you think. It’s rather lucky the three of you didn’t discover that the hard way.

Immediately, the young librarian leaps from her seat and hustles across the room to the Restricted Section’s gated entrance much faster than Madam Scribner ever would have.

“Hang on…” you say under your breath. “Is that – that’s Sophronia!”

“Who?” Ominis asks.

“Sophronia Franklin, she’s a fourth-year in our time,” you explain distractedly. “She’s always lingering in the library, of course she takes over for Scribner once we finish school.”

“I know her,” Sebastian chimes in. “Tried to get me to play a game of trivia in exchange for returning a book on curse breaking I’d been waiting for. Rather precocious, I thought.”

You glare at Sebastian and he merely rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t mean it in a flirtatious way, I was referring to her choice in books,” he grumbles. “Merlin, you’re protective of her.”

“She’s a sweet girl,” you murmur, appreciative of the fact that Sebastian can’t see you blushing. Truthfully, you don’t think much about Sophronia these days, other than that she absolutely cannot catch the three of you in her Library as she’ll easily understand what you’re up to.

Before you can try to convince the boys to call it quits and return to the present, Sophronia rounds the corner and the girl’s Disillusionment charm melts away in surprise.

“Anne-Marie Sallow!” she calls out. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

At once, the three of you freeze.

“Did she say ‘Sallow?’” hisses Ominis. “Did I hear that right?”

“I – no. No,” Sebastian stammers. “There’s no way that’s what she said.”

“Apologies, Madam,” you hear the girl say with a cheeky lilt to her voice. “I was just looking for a book for my aunt, that’s all.”

Just then, Sophronia leans down to pick up the dropped key and all three of you catch a glimpse of the young girl’s face. She’s probably around twelve, like Sebastian had guessed, but her face… Merlin, she could be your younger sister.

Her slightly-upturned nose is nearly identical to yours, only she’s got a small smattering of freckles across hers. Then there’s her chin, which juts out just a bit like yours does, and you’re too far away to make out the color of her eyes but you’re positive that they’re almond-shaped just like your own.

Now that you think about it, her hair is tied back like you always did with yours when you were younger – braided with a green bow at the end, only her hair is a rich, warm brown color.

“...Is that you?” Sebastian asks softly. “How. How are you doing this?”

“That’s not me, I’m right here,” you remind him.

“Hold on, what am I missing?” Ominis whispers.

“That girl looks exactly like this one,” Sebastian insists. “She’s got her nose, her eyes, her face shape. It’s like there’s a second-year version of her, standing right across from us.”

“We’re twenty years into the future,” Ominis reminds you both. “...What if she’s your daughter?”

You feel like the room is starting to spin around you again, and you find yourself pitching to the side before Sebastian quickly tugs on your arm and pulls you back behind the shelf.

“Do not go daft on us now,” he mutters. “I don’t care if that is your daughter–”

“She’s your daughter too, you know,” Ominis chimes in. “In case you were wondering.”

“Wh… What?” Sebastian stutters, and Ominis gestures for the two of you to listen in.

“Goodness, Miss Sallow,” Sophronia sighs. “You really are so much like your father, always sneaking into the Restricted Section.”

You watch as the girl puffs up her chest proudly, a mischievous smirk on her face that doesn’t strike you as particularly like you at all – but rather Sebastian.

“I’ll gladly take that as a compliment, Madam Franklin,” Anne-Marie says.

“While I respect that you are both voracious consumers of knowledge, he, like you, had little respect for the rules of the Restricted Section,” Sophronia continues. “I’ll have to ask you to leave until you get permission from a professor for relevant research or turn fifteen.”

Anne-Marie is still arguing with the librarian as she’s being escorted out. “Perhaps if you would just let me borrow the book for a while–”

“I’m afraid I’ll also have to give you detention this time,” Sophronia interjects. “I can’t keep looking the other way simply because I owe your mother a favor. This is the third time this term!”

Anne-Marie huffs and folds her arms. “But my godfather–”

“Your godfather is a very busy man who would undoubtedly appreciate it if you spent more time staying out of trouble,” Sophronia finishes, “than trying to emulate your father. In fact, I think Ominis would agree with me that one Sebastian Sallow in this world is quite enough!”

Well, that certainly clears things up.

Sophoronia marches Anne-Marie up the stairs and out of the library. The three of you, having already forgotten your original mission, put your heads together without a word so Sebastian can drape the Time-Turner around your necks and return you to the present.

You collapse in a heap on the library floor, but this time it’s fully empty – even the librarian’s desk light is extinguished. You sit in silence for a few moments, and you and Sebastian don’t dare look at each other. Eventually you force yourself to stand and offer Ominis a hand up, steadfastly ignoring the other boy.

“So,” Ominis finally says, barely concealing his smile. “When exactly is it, do you suppose, that the two of you fall hopelessly in love with each other?”

You both curse at him at the same time, and Ominis throws back his head and laughs.

“Shout at me all you want, but that little girl is proof that the two of you are destined for each other,” he crows. “Oh, how brilliant!”

“Come now, Ominis,” Sebastian says with a nervous laugh. “You don’t seriously think that girl is, what… our child or something?”

“That’s precisely what I think,” Ominous answers, smirking. “You said it yourself, she looks exactly like her mother.”

“Stop!” you interject. “I’m not anyone’s mother, in case you forgot.”

“Perhaps not yet,” Ominis agrees primly. “I imagine it will be several more years before Sebastian makes you one.”

Sebastian goes deeply red while you sputter indignantly.

“Thats – that’s foul, Ominis,” you insist. “It’s untoward to even be talking about this!”

Sebastian folds his arms and raises an eyebrow. “Really? You’re that offended by the very idea of us having a child together? I’m hurt.”

“W-well, I just meant that we shouldn’t talk about things that haven’t yet come to pass,” you explain nervously. “Besides, all that is years away. Decades, even.”

Sebastian glances sidelong at you, and you wonder if you’re imagining the way he looks you up and down.

“Right,” he says slowly. “It’s not like we know anything for sure, obviously.”

“Of course,” you agree. “...I don’t suppose you have any other family members named Sebastian? Distant relatives, perhaps?”

“Why?” he drawls. “Looking to snag a cousin of mine so I won’t be the one to father your children?”

You shove him right into one of the bookshelves, but he laughs like he doesn’t regret it one bit.

“Now now,” Ominis murmurs. “You ought to be kind to your future husband, you don’t want to damage his virility.”

“I have half a mind to put a dent in Sebastian’s virility right here and now to save me some trouble later,” you reply, casually aiming your wand at his groin.

“Have you gone mad?!” he stammers as he takes several steps backward. “Put that thing away!”

“Oh, will you please relax?” you sigh. “We just saw one of your descendants, your ability to procreate is in no danger.”

“You could still put me in the Hospital Wing,” he sulks. “Besides, it’s not just procreation that I use it for.”

Ominis snorts. “Unfortunately, I am intimately aware of that.”

You make a face while Sebastian grins cheekily, offering no apology.

The three of you start to make your way toward the exit into Central Hall, ignoring the weak protests of the prefects stationed outside. As you make your way back toward the Slytherin common room, you all fall silent again, lost in your thoughts.

You aren’t sure how you’re supposed to forget what you saw, you think. In the future, you have a daughter. Her father is Sebastian Sallow, and… and she’s brilliant. Beautiful, courageous, more than a bit headstrong, and as determined as you both are if not more so.

You catch yourself actually grinning, and when you glance over at Sebastian, you see the same expression on his face.

“Anything you care to share?” you ask him.

“I know we probably shouldn’t talk about it,” he starts, “but there is one thing that girl said that I won’t soon forget.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he admits, “I heard her say she’s looking for a book for her aunt, and you haven’t got any sisters.”

You smile softly and reach for Sebastian’s hand. “No, I don’t.”

He lets you take his hand in his to give a reassuring squeeze.

“She’s still alive,” Sebastian says quietly. “She… she’s still sick, probably. But she’s still alive in the future. She meets my daughter, and she knows her.”

“She does,” you say. “And – and maybe we don’t quite know how that happens yet, but you can have a little faith, Sebastian. Things will work out the way they’re supposed to, and Anne will be with us for a long, long time. There’s still plenty of time to make things right again.”

He nods wordlessly but doesn’t drop your hand.

Just before you arrive at your common room, Ominis stops in his tracks.

“Hang on… Her name, Anne-Marie?” he asks you. “That sounds like something Sebastian would have picked. How generous of you.”

“Aww,” Sebastian laughs. “You must be so in love with me by then to let me pick the name.”

You grit your teeth and ignore them as you murmur the password to the giant stone snake guarding the door, hoping to get some well-earned rest and be rid of these boys for the night.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Sebastian says as he ducks around you and slips inside the door. “I’ll let you pick the name for the second one, and we can duel for rights to the third.”

You go running off after Sebastian and holler, “You bastard Sebastian Sallow, how many damn children are you expecting?!”

Ominis quickly pulls the door shut behind him and shakes his head.

“Godfather,” he mutters to himself. “I’ll never know peace, will I?”

---

[Get to know more of the Sallow kiddos in "the train ain't even left the station" ❤️]

[tokoumaru]

★ liyue boys' voicelines about you!

feat.childe, zhongli, xiao tags. headcanons, fluff, gender neutral reader, established relationships (for childe and zhongli) word count. 1.9k tw. mentions of fights on childe's part and light injuries on xiao's part.

synopsis. genshin impact boys and their in-game voicelines about you!

voicelines series. part 1: liyue, part 2: mondstat, part 3: inazuma, part 4: sumeru

childe/tartaglia

About You (Friendship Lv. 4)

(Y/N)? You mean my assistant? Are they finishing up the paperwork I assigned them? Tell me comrade, what might they be doing on this fine day? It's been such a long time since I've last seen them! What do you mean you saw us together by the harbor just last night? Well, aren't you quite keen... To tell you the truth, they're one of my most formidable opponents. They're quite adept at the bow- not as adept as me of course. As for why we spend so much time together... heh, they just so happen to be a close ally of mine.

More About Tartaglia: Closest Companion (Friendship Lv. 5)

There isn't many you can trust while working in an organization like the Fatui, *sigh* especially when most your coworkers are cunning Harbingers. Aside from being my assistant, (Y/N) is one of the only few people I can trust wholeheartedly. They've accompanied me throughout the many battles I've fought, and though they might not be as great of a warrior as me- a given, they're quite the entertaining sparring buddy... when they start getting serious, I can't help but feel a few tingles crawl my back when I see their malicious eyes directed at me.

More About Tartaglia: Childhood Friends (Friendship Lv. 6)

Morepesok was just a small village, everyone knew of each other and their grandparents... (Y/N) had been my only friend back then, before and after I ventured deep into the abyss. Teucer, Tonia, and Anthon just love them! Though, I have to admit I do get a bit jealous of my siblings when they steal their attention for quite awhile. Aside from my family, they may be the only good memories I have of that seaside town. Every spontaneous battle I win, every rash decision I make, they're somehow always there to make things better... the taste of victory could never feel better without them by my side. I'm truly thankful that they've stuck by me for so long... I'll protect them no matter what.

About You: Lovers (Friendship Lv. 10)

(Y/N)... my lover? You could tell from the sound of my voice when I was talking about them? Hah, was I too obvious? Well, It wasn't like I was trying to hide it from you, comrade. It's true, we've been lovers for quite awhile now, and I wouldn't have it any other way! They're quite the sweetheart, I'm sure I've told you about how they accompanied me throughout my entire life. Hmm... You don't get how they could stay with someone like me for so long? What exactly do you mean by that, comrade? Simply put, it's because they love me and I love them of course! And if they do happen to think of leaving… well, as if I'd let that happen. Comrade, one day I will conquer the world, and you'll see my dearest (Y/N) right beside me. If it just so happens that they aren't there to see it... I'll make it so that there won't be any world, person, or god left for anyone to conquer, and not even you can stop me.

zhongli/morax

About You (Friendship Lv. 4)

There is a small flower shop of the highest quality residing in the outskirts of Liyue Harbor, there lies a quiet but passionate vendor that goes by the name (Y/N). Ever since I had surrendered my duties as the Geo Archon, they have helped me acclimatize to 'mortal' life greatly. Though I may have overseen Liyue's growth to prosperity from the very beginning, there are still some mortal nuances that are lost on a being as old as I am. I truly appreciate their presence and ever-lasting kindness for a newcomer such as I.

More About Zhongli: Favorite Places (Friendship Lv. 5)

I often spend my days at Wangsheng Funeral Parlour, working there as a Consultant for those departed. Although, in rare moments in which I am freed from my duties, you may also find me at Third-Round Knockout or Xinyue Kiosk enjoying a few Liyuen delicacies. Hmm? (Y/N)? The flower shop right next to Wanmin Restaurant? Ah, yes... perhaps I do spend a generous amount of my time there… Just how exactly do I spend so much hours in such a quaint flower shop, you ask? Well, there is only one possible thing one can do in a such a shop— that is to purchase flowers of the most beautiful kind. For who? ...It seems you're quite the curious individual, my friend.

More About Zhongli: The Past and the Future (Friendship Lv. 6)

Although I've resigned myself to 'mortal' life, the memories of acting as Liyue's longstanding Archon are ones that I can never bring myself to leave in dust. There is a flower shop on the outskirts of Liyue Harbour, I am sure you have seen me frequent the quiet place beforehand... May it be Violet grass, Qingxins, Silk flowers, or even rarities such as Glaze lilies, you may find it there. For someone who has lived as long as I have, each object- each flower- has become a reminder of times long ago. Whenever I visit the serenic shop, I cannot help but halt and reminisce about friends whose memories, both pleasant and unpleasant, only live in the flowers they used to love... Deciding to live as 'Zhongli', even if the task may pose to be quite difficult, I have promised to put these matters behind me, such as my contract dictates... Though, looking up from the nostalgic flowers to see (Y/N)'s auspicious smile never fails to remind me that, perhaps, there may still be more to discover for someone such as I, who has possibly witnessed everything there could be.

About You: Lovers (Friendship Lv. 10)

As the longstanding 'God of Contracts', there are many contracts that hold great importance to me. Though, in the centuries I've lived up until now, there is one that reigns above all. The contract with my dearest (Y/N) is one that I hold most close to my heart. What sort of contract, you ask? It is one where only the closest of partners can enact, in mortal terms you may call it 'matrimony'. For someone who has lived through a millennium, I was quite hesitant to proceed with this sort of contract, after all, it was a contract that requires one to dedicate a life's worth of time. However, once I saw (Y/N)'s optimistic eyes at the slightest mention, perhaps I already knew of their answer. Since then, there has not been even the slightest feeling of regret at my decision to dedicate my mortal life to them. Each moment I spend with my dearest is one I will treasure greatly. They listen to each of my long tangents about the history of Liyue with ease... It would provide great relief if I were to spend my last moments in this world by their side.

xiao/alatus

About You (Friendship Lv. 4)

(Y/N)... It's hard not to know of a persistent mortal with such great tenacity. Unlike other mortals, they seem to lack a sense of danger and most especially, a sense of boundaries. Hmph... their irritating gesture of offering me a plate of Almond Tofu every night is not necessary for a Yaksha such as I, who does not need sustenance to live. They truly have no respect for the ways of the Adepti...

More About Xiao: The Ways of the Yaksha (Friendship Lv. 5)

As the last remaining Yaksha, it is my duty to conquer the demonic spirits that plague the outskirts of Liyue. This responsibility is one that I have been assigned to from the moment I had been saved by Rex Lapis. Though I've dealt with the subject of death for centuries, the karmic debt it brings me only weighs heavier on my shoulders... Yet, that tenacious mortal... (Y/N)... why is it that the weight of my debt disappears in the uncommon moments I speak to them? Tch... it doesn't matter. The karmic debt I’ve accumulated is my burden to carry. A mere mortal could never alleviate nor withstand it... especially not a fragile one such as (Y/N).

More About Xiao: Human Emotions (Friendship Lv. 6)

I'm far from human. I can't make much of human emotions... why does that mortal- (Y/N), go such great lengths to form a bond with me? I do not understand why they persistently come back to Wangshu Inn after I've deliberately ignored their advances... There was one night where their absence caused me a great amount of trouble. At the balcony of Wangshu Inn, the table in which they had often offered me their Almond Tofu was empty. At the same time, I had sensed a great deal of demonic energy at the mountains of Qingyun Peak. Tch... That fragile mortal was caught up in a losing fight between two Mitachurls. How could they be so stupid. I was about to leave once I had ascertained their safety, yet with such audacity did they grip my wrist just to simply give me a single Qingxin flower. How childish. The gesture was completely unnecessary, it was only burdensome. I cannot save them from danger each time they decide to offer me a measly item. This flower tied to my belt? Hmph. I... forget it.

More About Xiao: Human Emotions II (Friendship Lv.7)

(Y/N)... Why does their presence stir such a storm within me. Yakshas have no need for trifling pests such as emotion. I can't fathom why I… greatly desire their company. Hmph, I have no time for such distractions when the perpetual battle I face continues on... Yet, why does the weight on my shoulders only grow heavier when I continue to ignore their presence? Traveler, as you are the closest to mortals, tell me, what must one do to get rid of this burdensome feeling… I can't? What do you mean, I can't? You mean to tell me... the only way to rid of this emotion is to face (Y/N)? Tch. Impossible. A Yaksha who is burdened by a great weight of karmic debt could never sit next to a fragile mortal such as themselves. It is my duty to protect the citizens of Liyue, not bring death upon them caused by my karmic debt. Me? Worried? Ha. Do not judge adepti by your mortal ideals. I am only doing my duty as a protector of Liyue.

About You: Lovers/Companions (Friendship Lv.10)

The mortal concept of emotions- especially love, is something foreign to a Yaksha such as I, who has only known death. The night in which I asked you what I was feeling for (Y/N), Morax- or as he now goes by- Zhongli, had travelled to Wangshu Inn. He had come by just to inform me of his 'matrimony' with a mortal... it had stirred such confusion within me to see such a soft look on his face. Tell me, was that what I looked like when I spoke of (Y/N)? Before he left, Morax told me that it wouldn't hurt to indulge in mortal desires now that Liyue was capable of standing on its own... Although I am an inhumane Yaksha, the feelings that arose whenever I saw (Y/N) were too intense to dismiss... When they asked me to be their 'lover', there was nothing else I could do but agree. Do I regret it? Hmph. Adepti such as myself don't feel emotions akin to regret... perhaps they may feel emotions such as love, unfortunately.

a/n. tbh this was so hard to write... HELP it was very hard to try and make these voicelines actually sound like them! i had to actually use my brain for once... I TRULY APOLOGIZE IF IT WAS OOC (heavy on xiao)! HELP i think its obvious that xiaos my favourite... but it was also because I didn't know how to make him have a loverasdhjsds. also whenever I typed in the phrase about you I couldnt help but start singing the 1975's about you hehe

[headkiss]

give you the moon

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: had you known getting your first tattoo would end up with you being in love with eddie munson, you might have gotten it a lot sooner.

word count: 17.8k

warnings: smut, probably inaccurate descriptions of tattooing processes (i tried my best!), strangers to friends to lovers, fluff

a/n: this one took forever but it’s finally done!!!! i’m sorry for the wait but hopefully u guys like it enough to forgive me :D

༄

You’ve always wanted a tattoo, and you figured now was as good a time as ever. Having just moved to Indianapolis, all by yourself, one change could lead to another.

New city, new apartment, new tattoo.

It may be irresponsible of you, but you settled for the first shop you found, the one closest to where you lived. A short walk away, harder to back out of. You knew you wouldn’t regret getting it, you just had to force yourself to sit through it, to commit.

The wind whips at your cheeks as you make your way to your consultation. You pull your sleeves over your hands and hope that it’ll be warm enough.

Once you’ve made it, the bell above the door rings to signify your entrance. A girl with brown curly hair sits at the front desk, a warm smile on her face. The place has dark floors, walls covered with different sketches that distract you for a moment.

“Hi! How can I help you?” The girl says, drawing your attention back to her. You walk the few steps up to the front desk.

“Hi, um, I’m here for a consultation,” you give her your name and the time of the appointment. “With Eddie.”

She shuffles about for a few seconds before finding what she was looking for, “yep, perfect. I’ll let him know you’re here. I’m Nancy, by the way.”

“Thanks, Nancy.”

She goes to the saloon type doors next to the desk, you watch them swing back and forth. You’re eventually drawn back to the art on the walls, eyes scanning the different styles and images. Your hands fidget with the ends of your sleeves.

A picture of the staff steals your attention next, Nancy standing next to a girl with shorter hair, their hands interlocked. Then, there’s a boy with brown hair and a kind smile. The one who really keeps you looking is the boy with long dark hair, his tattoos the most prominent.

A second later, that same boy is walking through the doors and calling your name.

“Oh, hi. That’s me,” you reply. Then wince at your awkwardness.

“Hi, I’m Eddie,” he gives you a close-mouthed smile, barely there. He’s even prettier in person than he is in that photo. “Follow me.”

He seems distant, sort of cold and you’re not quite sure what to do with it. Your nerves pick up even more.

He ushers you through the saloon doors, then through a room with three tattoo beds that’s filled with the buzzing of the machines and the other people from the picture and their clients. You end up in an office type room, certificates hang on the wall behind the desk.

Eddie takes a seat behind the desk that’s presumably his, papers scattered about and a cup overflowing with pens and pencils sitting atop of it. You stand by the door, shifting on your feet.

“You can have a seat,” he offers, gesturing to the chair facing him. He waits until you’re settled to continue. “So, is this your first tattoo?”

“Yes,” you feel nervous and you’re not sure if it’s the prospect of committing to the tattoo or if it’s the way Eddie’s gaze doesn’t move away from you.

“Well, I’m honored to be your first,” he winks, your heart stumbling at the innuendo. “So, what are we thinking?”

“The moon, on the back of my shoulder,” you pause, but he nods for you to keep going, to give more detail. “I wanted it to be a gibbous moon, almost full but not quite.”

“Alright. Got an idea for size?”

“Uh, kinda small. I think?” You huff, frustrated with your lack of an answer, “sorry I’m not so prepared.”

You stuff your hands under your thighs so that they’ll stop twisting in your lap. You cross your ankles and look down, slightly embarrassed at the way you’re acting in front of him. You were meant to grow in the city, to be better, but so far, not much has changed.

You don’t have friends, your job is slow, and you’re terrible with new people.

“‘S fine,” you think he’s being reassuring. “How’s this sound: we can try some circle stencils on for size now, then we’ll know for your appointment.”

“Okay. Thank you, Eddie.”

“‘Course. I’ll be right back.”

His exit gives you a couple of minutes to try and sort yourself out, to calm down. You want to be able to do this without the stumbles or hiccups that you’re so used to. You blow out a breath and wait for him to come back.

The way he carries himself confuses you, his almost detached nature making you overthink way too much. Although, he’s not being cruel or unkind, he’s just… you’re not sure if there’s a word to describe it.

He comes back with a couple of stencils, some sort of solution, a disposable razor, and paper towels.

“You’re gonna have to take your sweater off,” he says, setting everything down on the desk. When you don’t move to do so right away, he stares at you, waiting.

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

You slip off your sweater, your tank top underneath riding up ever so slightly with the movement. You pull it back down and set your discarded sweater on the chair behind you.

“Which shoulder?” He asks, putting on a pair of medical gloves and grabbing the razor.

“Here,” you slip the straps of both your shirt and your bra off the shoulder you choose, turning in the seat to face away from him so he’s able to do what he needs to.

He brushes your hair towards the front of your shoulder, clearing the spot he needs. He cleans off the area, then shaves it to make sure the stencil will stick, all in silence. He’s quick to apply it, his hands gentle and his breath hitting your skin in a way that has you shifting.

“Don’t move,” he chides quietly.

“Sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything more until he’s done, “okay. Have a look.”

There’s a mirror on one of the walls, and you walk over to get a good look at the size of the circle. You know it’s only the first one, but you think it’s perfect. It looks right and you’re excited to see it when it’s actually the design you want.

“I want this size,” you say, turning to face him.

“Are you sure? It’s only the first one.”

“I know, but it’s good. I like it.”

“I don’t want you changing your mind, okay?”

“I won’t! I’m sure, promise.”

He sighs, then wipes the stencil away and takes off the gloves with a snap. He takes his seat again as you put your sweater back on, goosebumps prickling your skin.

“When did you wanna book it for?” He asks.

“Whenever you’re free is fine, I’m not picky.” You don’t have anywhere else to be, really.

“You’re not the best at answering questions, huh?”

You think he’s trying to make a joke but all you manage to say is, “no, sorry.”

“You apologize a lot. You don’t have to,” he grabs something that looks like a planner then says, “I have a spot next week, if that works.”

Eddie tells you the specific day and time, and you tell him that it works. He hands you some papers to sign and read and bring back with you for next time. “Nancy will sort out payment and stuff at the desk. That’s it for today.”

“Okay. Thank you so much,” you make your way back to the front quickly, eager to go home and try and forget the entire interaction. He certainly wasn’t what you were expecting, and you didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. He was quiet, reserved, and hard to read, but he was good, you knew from the drawings in his office. He was also intriguing; a puzzle you wanted to solve.

You sort out everything with Nancy, who makes you feel a ton better about your consultation. “You look far too worried,” she says.

“I just don’t think he likes me very much.”

“No, trust me, that’s just Eddie. He’ll warm up to you, I’m sure.”

“I hope so. Anyway, thanks, Nancy.”

“See you,” she says as you walk out the door.

That night, you cuddle up and fall asleep thinking about Eddie and his demeanor, his warm hands on your skin.

-

He couldn’t get you out of his head, and that rarely happened to Eddie. He was used to meaningless things and he can’t remember the last time he felt anything for someone.

Not that he felt anything for you. You’d only met once.

Eddie spent the night after your consultation drawing way too many moons in his sketchbook, staining his hands with ink and pencil.

-

It’s two days later when you hear from Eddie again.

Your phone rings just as you’re about to shower before bed, the sun long gone though the city stays bright with lights. You hug your robe tighter around yourself and walk to where the phone hangs on the wall.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” an utterance of your name, a tone you recognize. “It’s Eddie… from Corroded Coffin Tattoos.”

“Of course! Hi, Eddie. Was there something wrong?”

“Oh, no. No,” he pauses, you hear him shuffling around on the other line. “I had a cancellation tomorrow and thought you might want the spot?”

You hate that the fact that he thought of you makes your stomach whirl. Of course, he could’ve called countless clients before you, but you like the idea that he dialed your number first better. You twist the phone cord in your fingers.

“That would be great. Thank you so much for thinking of me.”

If only you knew, he thinks. If only you knew how much he really did think of you—it was almost infuriating. How one person could have such an effect on him when he really doesn’t know them at all. He knows that you’re pretty, and you say ‘sorry’ far too much, and you smell really good, that’s all.

“Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

“Okay, see you-”

He hangs up before you can finish. You stare at the phone for a second after putting it back, wondering if that whole exchange truly happened, if you just dreamt up the whole thing. You pinch yourself until it hurts. You’re definitely awake.

You replay the conversation over and over, wondering why he hung up so abruptly, worrying about how you’re going to act tomorrow.

Eddie called you from his office, even though it was well past closing for the shop. He really needs to get himself together. He can’t be thinking so much about his client. About anyone, really. He can’t.

His head is resting in his arms when the door to his office opens. There’s only one person that never knocks and that’s Steve. He looks up and sees him leaning against the doorframe.

“Why are you still here, Steve?”

“Why are you still here?” He retorts.

“Got some stuff to do,” is all Eddie says.

“Your mood doesn’t have anything to do with the girl you just talked to on the phone, does it?”

Of all the people he could have been friends with, Steve was the most unlikely for Eddie, and yet here they are. Coworkers, and close friends. It’s almost annoying how quickly he can tell what exactly the issue is.

“I dunno. She won’t get out of my head,” Eddie shrugs, glancing down at the sketchbook he has opened on his desk, the one filled with drawings of your tattoo. “It’s annoying.”

“That’s a lot of moons, man,” Steve says as he walks closer.

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying. Maybe this is a good thing. I haven’t seen you with a girlfriend, like, ever.”

“Who said anything about a girlfriend?”

No, if anything, Eddie’s eager to get your appointment over with, to get you out of his head for good.

“Yeah, okay. Can't wait to say ‘I told you so.’ You know it won’t hurt to open up a little, man.”

Steve means well, Eddie knows he does, but the thing is it does hurt him. Or, it used to. He was used to being judged, someone the town saw as a character rather than a human. The best thing he ever did was move away, but that doesn’t mean he left the hurt behind, too.

-

You show up about fifteen minutes early for the appointment. You gave yourself far too much time, you think, because now you just have to sit and wait and the anticipation is making you more nervous the longer it goes.

The front desk was being manned by a different person today, “hi! I’m Robin, how are you?”

She talks quickly and with enthusiasm, like every word is exciting and important. You like her already.

“Hi, I’m good, thanks. I have an appointment with Eddie,” she nods in confirmation, looking down at the schedule in front of her. “I’m a little early though so… no rush.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, gives us more time to sort out the paperwork and stuff. He’s just finishing up with someone else so it won’t be too long.” She smiles at you.

“Here, I have these from my consultation,” you hand her the pages Eddie had given you to sign. You chew at the inside of your cheek as she reads over them hoping you filled everything out correctly.

“That’s great! I’ll just go tell him you’re here,” she goes through the familiar saloon doors, the buzzing of tattoo guns and light conversations slipping through.

When she comes back she informs you that he’s only going to be a couple more minutes, and instead of telling you to go take a seat, she asks, “first tattoo?”

“Yeah, I’m nervous. Mostly excited,” you give her a small smile, one that makes hers widen.

“Don’t worry! I had to take like five breaks for my first one and now here I am.” It’s then that you finally notice the ink peeking from her long-sleeve shirt, at her wrists, and on one side of her neck. “Eddie’s great, and I’m sure you’ve got great pain tolerance—I can sense it.”

You laugh, she’s somehow managed to make you feel much better in the short time you’ve been talking to her. Eddie walks out, greeted by the sound of your laughter and he almost stops in his tracks. Almost.

“Robin, stop chatting up my clients,” he says.

“I’m just being friendly, Eddie! You should try it out,” she replies.

You can tell it’s in good nature, because he ruffles her hair as he passes and leaves it there. From what you’ve seen so far, the workers here are close; a tight-knit group of people and you admire that friendship, long for it.

“Follow me,” he says. It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to you because of your distraction, but when you look up you find him staring at you, waiting.

“Okay,” you trail behind him as he leads you to the bed furthest from the doors, the one tucked away in the back of the room.

“You eat and drink water before coming? I don’t want you passing out on me.”

“Yeah. Yes, I’m good.”

He looks at you like he’s unsure, but moves along anyway. Eddie’s only worried because you’re his client and he has to, no other reason. He can’t be worrying because he thinks you’re pretty and sweet and far too kind. There’s absolutely no way.

“So, I did a couple sketches,” a couple is an understatement. “Have a look and let me know which one you wanna go with.”

You take a look at the five he’s laid out, all as you asked. Gibbous moons, both waxing and waning, some shaded more than others, some simple outlines. The one that catches your eye is a happy medium, fine lines with dotting for shading. It’s beautiful, exactly what you envisioned.

“This one. It’s really good.”

He tips his head down, “thanks. I’ll go get my stuff and we’ll get started.”

He’s not gone for very long, though it’s enough time for you to watch one of the artists at work, the boy with the brown hair. You watched the way he moved the needle, only looking away when Eddie came back and grabbed your attention.

“Gonna do the stencil like before, so you’ll need to move your shirt,” he says, looking down at his station and getting everything ready.

“Would it be easier if I just, uh, take it off?”

That makes his hands hover, paused in his task. He tries to shake it off; he’s seen a ton of people shirtless at the job and he’s never been affected by that, so why should he be now?

“Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Okay,” you decide it must be easier without your shirt—less things in the way—so you take it off and try not to worry about it.

Eddie applies the stencil just as he did a couple days ago. Gentle, precise hands that you’ll feel the ghost of for hours after your appointment, you’re sure. His head bent close as he pushes the edges down so you can feel him breathing, catch his scent for a moment.

When he’s done, he holds up a wide handheld mirror for you to get a look at it without having to walk all the way to the mirror on the opposite side of the room.

Again, you’re impressed by his drawing, and seeing it on your skin makes you realize that you’ll carry a part of Eddie forever after this. His linework, his trace.

“So,” he prompts you to speak as your thoughts have taken you away, “what do you think?”

“It’s great. Really.”

“You’re sure that’s where you want it?”

He double checks every single detail. That you’ve picked the one you want, that it’s the right size, that you really want to do this. He does so until you’re laying on your stomach on the bed, positioned so he can work comfortably at your side.

“Okay, I’m gonna do a small line, just so you see how it feels,” he warns you, and you tense in anticipation. “Relax.”

“Sorry. ‘M just nervous.”

“You’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

He manages to ease you with very few words.

The sound of the tattoo gun sounds louder when it’s so close, more daunting, but you’re eager to get started only to get rid of the anticipation. He draws a short line after giving you a quiet warning of, “here we go.”

It’s not nearly as bad as you’d expected. A scratch, a small sting, but it’s manageable.

“You okay?” He checks.

“Yeah, it’s not that bad.”

“Told you you’d be fine,” he says so softly you almost miss it.

Your head is turned to the side where he sits, and you can see him in your peripheral vision as he works. His legs clad in dark, ripped denim, the tattoos peeking through. The sleeves of his shirt rolled up to show his forearms. You shut your eyes and try to stop staring.

He works quietly, though you can sometimes hear him humming along to whatever song is playing. You don’t try to make conversation because you don’t want to be a distraction.

It doesn’t take too long before he gets to the shading, telling you, “some people find this part a bit more painful. So you know.”

“Okay, thanks.”

He’s right, it is more painful and you find it harder to keep yourself occupied by looking around. You find it harder to ignore the feeling of the needle.

Eddie notices. He doesn’t know how, but he notices. Maybe it’s the way your eyes are squeezed shut at certain points, the hand of the arm furthest from him bunched in a fist. He decides he wants to ease the process for you in any way he can.

“So, why the moon?” He asks.

“Huh?”

“Why’d you choose the moon?”

“Oh, sorry,” you don’t see him shake his head at your unnecessary apology. “I’ve always loved it, how it has a cycle. The way it looks in the sky. Just, everything. Looking at it was a way of reminding myself I’m alive, kind of. ‘Cause I can still see it. I guess I chose this one to remind myself that even if it’s not whole now, it will be eventually.”

He wants to pick at your brain more, because he thinks it must be a beautiful place to be able to describe things the way you just did. You talk like it means a lot to you and the fact that you shared it with him so openly when you’ve been so quiet isn’t lost on him.

“That’s really…wow.”

“Sorry. I kinda rambled there.”

“No, no. I’ve just never looked at it that way.”

He asks you more questions after that, trying his best to keep your mind off of the needle and on the conversation. He asks how long you’ve been in the city, then, why you moved, and you give him honest answers for all of it.

Not long at all. Because I needed to get out, to be somewhere nobody knows me.

That made him think of Hawkins, of every person there who called him a freak, who looked at him like one. He needed to get out, too.

“Alright, you’re all done, just gotta wrap it up for you,” he says, putting the gun down and wiping over your skin one more time. “Do you wanna have a look first?”

“Please,” you nod.

He likes the way the word sounds coming out of your mouth—he gives himself a mental slap for that.

You sit up and he holds the mirror just as he did before. You can't help but gasp when you see it, exactly what you pictured. He did such a good job that you resist the urge to hug him for it.

“Eddie, it’s beautiful.”

So are you, he thinks.

“I’m glad you like it,” is what he says.

“I love it. Seriously, thank you.”

“It’s my job. Let me wrap it and then you’re good to go.”

He does, carefully and with the same gentle hands that have become far too familiar by now. When he’s done, he takes off his gloves with a snap, and hands you a pamphlet and some cleaning products to use at home.

“Thanks again, Eddie. You’re really good,” you say, putting your shirt back on.

“No problem,” he flashes you a small smile, one you’ll hold onto. “Um, here’s the card for the shop. You know, in case you need anything. Just ask for me, okay?”

“I will, thank you,” you take the card from him, your fingers brush his as you do. The name of the shop is written on it in bold, sharp letters: Corroded Coffin Tattoos. Underneath it, the phone number.

You’re led back through the saloon doors and met with both Robin and Nancy by the desk. They’re talking with wide smiles and rosy cheeks, their hands tangled loosely.

“I don’t pay you two to flirt,” Eddie says, retreating back where the two of you just came from.

Robin slips away, presumably done with her shift at the desk now that Nancy’s back. She gave you a kind goodbye, and makes sure that you promise if you ever want another tattoo to go back there.

“How was it?” Nancy asks you.

“Good! I’m really happy with it.”

“That’s what we like to hear! Eddie’s great. He gave me my first tattoo, too. Robin was mad for ages and then made sure she gave me the next one,” she grins. “Anyway, let’s get you taken care of.”

You pay for the tattoo, and then, you’re off.

It’s times like now that you wish you had someone to talk to, because you’re having way too many thoughts about your tattoo artist that you might never see again and you need to know if you’re reading into things too much. You need to know if his hands linger longer than they need to on other clients, if you imagined the way his eyes stayed on you, too.

You settle for overthinking on your walk home instead.

-

You didn’t think you’d end up using the card Eddie gave you. Not unless you were calling to book another tattoo, but here you were, leaning on the wall by your phone and dialing the number.

It was just a quick question, really, but you were still nervous. You’d only gotten the tattoo yesterday and already you were calling.

You’d realized when reading the aftercare instructions he gave you, that you didn’t have any unscented, gentle lotion like it called for, and you wanted to know if he had any suggestions for what works best. You tried going to the pharmacy, but the options were overwhelming.

You ended up buying something anyway because of how long you spent there. A useless magazine that was the closest thing to you when you noticed how some of the employees were looking at you. Some girl reading way too many lotion labels.

Yeah, definitely embarrassing, and definitely something you won’t let yourself live down.

The phone doesn’t ring for long before someone picks up, “Corroded Coffin Tattoos, Nancy speaking.”

“Hi Nancy,” you tell her your name.

“Hey! How can I help you?”

“Um, Eddie told me to call and ask for him if I had any questions,” you explain. “I was wondering if he’s available for a minute?”

“He did?” She sounds surprised.

“Um. Yeah.”

“Huh. Usually he makes one of us deal with calls instead. I’ll put you on hold and let him know, okay?”

“‘Kay. Thanks, Nancy.”

Desperately, you try not to overthink what she said. That he doesn’t usually get his clients to talk to him for things as minor as this. Why would he want you to, then? You don’t know why every little thing he does sends your mind into a whirlwind of ‘why’s and ‘what does this mean’s.

It’s maybe two minutes—silence filled by your thoughts—before the phone is picked up again.

“Hello?”

You can tell that it’s Eddie.

“Hi. Sorry to bother you but I just had a quick question for you.”

Eddie knows it’s you; he’s not expecting a call from anyone else. Not that he was expecting yours, it’s just that you’re the only client he’s even told to ask for him. He tries to cover that up by saying, “who’s this?”

“Oh, guess I should’ve said. Sorry,” you remind him of your name, as if he could forget it.

“Don’t be sorry. What’s your question?”

He’s quick to get to the point, and you can’t tell if it’s because he’s eager to help, or if it’s that he’s eager to get the conversation over with. Nancy’s words replay in your head. Usually he makes one of us deal with calls instead.

“I noticed that for aftercare, it says to use gentle lotion,” he hums along, urging you to continue. “I wasn’t sure what exactly that meant and I even went to the pharmacy but I didn’t know which one was good-”

“It’s okay,” he cuts you off. “I’ve got some here at the shop. Do you have time today to come pick it up?”

“Yeah! Yes, that’s great. Thanks so much, I promise I’ll get out of your hair after this.”

He doesn’t like the way that sits with him. He doesn’t want you out of his hair. He wants to see you again, he’s realized, and it’s almost too much for him to handle. The way he feels about you is brand new for him—never felt before. He wants to know everything about you.

“‘Course. See you soon, then.”

“Bye, Eddie.”

He hangs up.

You leave a bit after that. Not too soon, because you didn’t want to make it seem like you didn’t have other things to do, even though you didn’t. You’ve memorized the walk to the store at this point, and it doesn’t take you long to get there. You’re greeted by Nancy once again, only in person this time.

“Welcome back,” she says.

“Hi,” you smile at her, you hope it doesn’t look like a nervous grimace. “Um, Eddie told me to come here to pick something up.”

“Right, okay,” she stands, heading in the direction of his office, pausing to say, “he must really like you.”

Great. Some more material for you to analyze about Eddie and how he acts with you. It’s odd to have someone on your mind so constantly, to try and make sense of it. He has something about him that pulls you in, and you’re not sure how, or why, but you let yourself be pulled.

His hair is tied in a low bun when you see him, his bangs and stray strands of hair make it look messy, like he hasn’t had the time to redo it. And yet, he had the time to speak to you on the phone and now.

“Moon girl,” he says, lips turned up just enough to be noticeable.

“Eddie, hi,” your hands twist themselves into the sleeves of your knitted sweater. “Thank you for taking time for me, I know it was a dumb question.”

“It wasn’t. I’m glad you care enough to make sure you’re using the right things,” he says. He holds out the lotion, “speaking of.”

“Perfect. How much do I owe?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He probably shouldn’t make a habit of giving things away for free to girls he thinks are pretty and that confuse him way too much. For you, though, he’ll make an exception. It’s not like anybody else is driving him nuts like you are, anyway.

“No, you’ve done so much already. Please let me pay.”

“It’s fine, I promise that one bottle of lotion won’t hurt me.” But this possibly being the last time I see you might, he thinks.

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” he confirms. “I’ll see you around then.”

“Bye, Eddie. Thank you.”

“Bye, moon girl.”

You look down at your feet as he walks away, letting your hair curtain your face. You really shouldn’t be feeling so giddy because of a fucking bottle of lotion and a new nickname, but you are.

“Holy shit,” Robin’s voice comes from the front desk. You hadn’t noticed, but she must’ve walked out at some point during your quick interaction with Eddie.

You curse yourself and try to hide the smile that threatens to spread across your face. “Hey, Robin.”

“Well hello,” she’s looking at you like she knows something you don’t, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “I don’t know how you did it but he’s never acted like that with any client. Like, ever.”

You don’t say anything, biting the inside of your lip to distract from the butterflies in your stomach.

“And, I’m so glad you’re here,” she changes the subject, thankfully. “Because Eddie mentioned you’re new to the city and god knows I could use friends who don’t work here and I wanted to know if you wanted to come for drinks sometime?”

Eddie spoke about you? Robin wants to be your friend? You can’t wrap your head around either of those things. It’s been so long since you’ve hung out with someone who wasn’t family. And even then, it was tiring, not fun.

You realize she’s still waiting for an answer when she clears her throat.

“Sorry, um. Yeah, that would be nice.”

“Yay!” She cheers. “What’s your number? I’ll call you next time there’s plans.”

You write it down on a scrap piece of paper for her, and she beams at you when she takes it.

“Eddie‘s gonna be thanking me for this one later,” she teases. “I think we’ll be great friends.”

You look at her smile, at her crooked tie that rests atop an oversized button up. You think she might be right about that.

-

As soon as you leave Robin and Nancy go to Eddie’s office. An intervention of sorts. They walk in without knocking (the door was open anyway) and stand in front of him with some look.

He’s pretty sure he knows why they’re both staring at him with knowing smiles, but he tries to ignore them and busy himself with some sketches.

Robin’s not having it, so she sits in the chair across from Eddie, kicking her feet up onto his desk.

“What do you want?” He sighs.

“Um, hello? Are we not gonna pretend that you weren’t flirting with her in your own, weird, Eddie way?” Robin starts.

“Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Come on,” Nancy joins the conversation, on Robin’s side as always. “You’ve never told a client to ask for you, or given them free stuff.”

“Yeah! And, you were all ‘see you around, moon girl, hey let me stare at you and then not do anything about it,’” Robin lowers her voice, imitating him very inaccurately.

“I don’t know. She was nice, that’s all.”

“Nice enough to break your little rule of being mister nonchalant. I think you like her,” she’s right, but Eddie doesn’t even want to admit that to himself, let alone his friends.

He doesn’t say anything, shifting in his seat. He knows they both mean well, but he doesn’t know what to think and an ambush isn’t necessarily helping that. The pit in his stomach he’s had since he realized he might never see you again hasn't lessened, and the memory of your perfume or the feeling of your skin hasn’t faded.

So, maybe you did have an effect on him, but it doesn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter in the first place because he wouldn’t let it.

“Look, Eddie, we’re not trying to make you admit anything,” Nancy says, “we just noticed that you acted differently with her. Steve did, too, I’m sure. And it was a good different. You seemed less guarded, I guess.”

“What she said!” Robin adds.

“Yeah, thanks guys, but it’s nothing, okay?”

They share a look, one that Eddie doesn’t understand but he’s gotten used to their silent communications over time. He scratches at the back of his neck, nervous about what they’re thinking.

“Anyway, I got her number,” Robin says, holding the small paper you wrote on for Eddie to see.

He grabs it, staring at your handwriting and the small heart you added next to your name. He fights a smile at the sight of it, cute and lopsided and though he doesn’t know you well, it’s very you.

He clears his throat, handing the paper back. “I’ve got her number on file already.”

“It’s not for you! It’s for me and Nance. We’re gonna be friends,” she grins, proud.

“We’re probably gonna invite her next time we go out, and wanted you to know. Just in case you care,” Nancy says, explaining.

Just in case you care.

He does care, he thinks. He cares way too much for someone he’s met three times and knows very little about. He knows you’re pretty, you apologize a ton, you fidget with your hands when you’re nervous, and you like the moon.

He knows that he cares what you think about him, and that when you called the tattoo he gave you beautiful, it meant more to him than most compliments do. ‘Cause it was you who said it. It’s too much for him.

Maybe he’ll skip out on the next outing.

“That’s nice,” he settles for.

“She’s new to the city and she’s cool. Don’t you think, Eddie?” Robin asks.

He swipes her boot-clad feet from his desk in response.

“We just don’t want you to hold yourself back, that’s all. You never go on dates or anything, even though you’ve had many chances,” Nancy says, softer now that she sees Eddie’s mind is full.

“Thanks for caring, you guys, seriously. But I’m fine. I like being single.”

“So, just be friends with her, then,” Robin suggests.

Her and Nancy leave him alone after that, his mind a bigger mess than before and it’s completely surrounding you. He doesn’t understand how someone could make him rethink everything like he is.

I like being single, he’d said.

And yet, when he imagines going on a date with you, giving you flowers, complimenting your dress or your hair, he’s not sure how true that statement is.

-

Your days drag by. You work in a small café, and whenever you’re not there, you’re either wasting away hours in your apartment or taking aimless walks. It’s a never-ending cycle, a carousel spinning round and round.

The only eventful thing that happened to you (other than your new tattoo) was accidentally spilling coffee all over yourself at work and having to stick out the rest of your shift in wet clothes. Not necessarily something you want to remember.

You’re beginning to lose hope that Robin will ever use your number.

It shocks you when your phone finally rings. You try to convince yourself it’s telemarketers, a wrong number, anything not to get your hopes up. Lucky for you, it actually is Robin.

“Hello?” Is your automatic word when you pick up.

“Hi! Listen, I’m so sorry it took so long to call,” she doesn’t have to say it to know it’s her. Robin has a very distinct way of speaking; rushed and animated. “So, I actually lost the paper. Silly me! But, then I found it and I had to convince the others to want to go out. Anyway, you wanna come?”

“Hi, Robin. That’s okay,” you find yourself smiling. Your first real one in a while. “When?”

“Oh! I forgot to say. Tonight?”

“I can do that,” you try to sound excited, you hope she can tell.

“Perfect! Do you have a pen and paper? I’ll tell you the place.”

You reach for your notepad and pen and do your best not to drop the phone in the process. Somehow, you manage.

“Yep, ready.”

She rambles off an address, a meeting time, and then, “shit. Boss is coming, better act like I’m working. Bye!”

She hangs up, and you know who she means when she says ‘boss.’

You’ve been trying your best not to think of Eddie, but it’s easier said than done. You constantly think you see him in crowds that pass by. A head of long, curly hair here, a worn leather jacket there. It’s confusing and almost embarrassing.

This boy who you barely know, taking up so much space in your life.

You’re reminded that you’ll most likely be seeing him tonight, as long as you’re right in assuming that by ‘the others,’ Robin meant her coworkers. The thought makes you nervous, makes your stomach do things you aren’t used to.

Despite the time you had between the phone call and when you had to leave, you’re in a hurry to get ready. Picking your outfit was the hardest part, because you’d never been to the place before. You decided on a dress that was simple enough, a denim jacket that you’d probably end up taking off (you get warm when you drink), and your trusty Doc Martens.

Your makeup is a little messy, but you don’t have enough time to fix it so you act like the smudged eyeliner was purposefully done. Your hair was left down.

Walking through the doors of the bar, you’re a couple minutes late and a little out of breath from your rushing. You look around in search of a familiar face when waving catches your eye.

It’s Robin, who’s waving the most obviously, her arm swinging back and forth until Nancy pulls it down and says something to her. Probably telling her you’ve seen them and she can stop. It’s sweet.

You make your way through the crowd towards the booth they’d secured. The boy, who’s introduced to you as Steve, is sitting in the corner on one side, Robin and Nancy on the other. Eddie’s absence is noted, and you guess you must’ve looked confused because Robin spoke up and said, “he’s just in the bathroom.”

She beckons you to sit with her and Nancy, and you fall into conversation easily. Even Steve is easy to talk to and you’ve only just learned his name. Sometimes you worry you’re intruding in their group, an outsider. In a way, you are, because you don’t work with them nor have you been friends with any of them for a long time, but they have yet to make you feel that way.

It’s a far cry from the friends (or lack thereof) you had back home, in the best way possible.

When Eddie comes back, the first thing he sees is you. He’s shocked. Not because you’re there—he was well aware of you being invited—but because you look like you belong with his friends. You fit right in, and you aren’t even trying. Then, he notices your dress and he wishes he could ignore the feeling he gets.

He’s painfully aware of how pretty you are, and when you look over, as if feeling his eyes on you, you give him a small smile and wave. He walks over and slides into the booth next to Steve as casually as possible.

“You look nice,” he says. It’s the best he can come up with.

“Thank you.”

The two of you are too busy looking at each other and trying to figure out what to say when the others share some kind of look. Knowing.

Your nerves pickup when Eddie’s around and you scold yourself for it. You have no business feeling anything towards him, and yet, his very simple compliment will be the root of your daydreams for days to come.

“I’m gonna get a drink,” you think you need one. “What’s everyone else want?”

“I’ll help you bring them,” Robin says.

You both stand, and everyone tells you what they want. You make your way to the bar and wait your turn. The feelings you have towards Eddie are confusing, and you’re not exactly sure what they even are. Intrigue, attraction, tension. Whatever it is, it’s unfamiliar.

Robin leans on the bar beside you, noticing you looking towards Eddie before even you do. When you pry your eyes away, she’s smirking at you.

“He likes you, you know?”

“Who, Eddie?” You ask even though you know that’s who she’s talking about. “No, he doesn’t. I actually think he dislikes me.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding. I’ve never seen him act like he does around you, and I’ve known him a really long time. Seriously.”

“He’s just being nice,” that’s all it is, you’re convincing her as well as yourself.

“Please. I know he’s hard to read and seems kind of closed-off, but he’s warmer towards you than most people. He barely even talks to clients, usually.”

Everything she’s saying, you can tell she thinks is true, but if you let yourself think it, too, you’d be absolutely fucked. Your mind would go wild with scenarios and imagining what could happen. You’re doing enough of that as is.

“I don’t know, Robin.”

“You’ll see, trust me.”

Unbeknownst to you, a very similar conversation is happening back at the table. Steve and Nancy are trying to knock some sense into Eddie, to get him to realize it’s okay to let someone else in. He denies it all just as you did, his head a mess.

He realizes that you’re not his client anymore, you’re here as a possible friend, and it scares him. There’s no guise to hide under with his urge to care for you.

When you and Robin return with the drinks, you’re the one who hands Eddie his, and when his fingers brush against yours, just barely, he feels them tingle even after the contact ends.

You loosen up a little bit as the night goes on, and you do end up taking your jacket off. The spaghetti straps of your dress leave your tattoo exposed, and Eddie can’t help but look at it. He’s always proud of his work, but seeing it on you is different for him. He likes that his mark is on you.

Nancy and Robin leave first, walking out leaned into each other. The rest of you follow shortly after, Steve slipping out after a quick goodbye. When you stand, you stumble slightly. Eddie catches you, a hand wrapped around your upper arm.

“Let me walk you home,” he says, his hand trailing down your arm lightly before he pulls away completely.

“That’s okay, Eddie. Really.”

You put your jacket back on and struggle to find one of the sleeves, your arm reaching back awkwardly. Once again, Eddie’s quick to help you, pulling your jacket over and guiding your arm to the right spot. You thank him quietly.

“C’mon, it’s dark out.”

“You’re not gonna let me say no, are you?”

He shakes his head, that small smile you so rarely see making an appearance.

The walk is quiet for a bit, the chilled air of the night nipping at your skin, your arms pulling your jacket tight to your chest. He falls into step next to you easily, pace matching yours so he stays right next to you.

He can tell you’re cold, and he resists the urge to throw an arm over your shoulders and pull you closer to warm you up. It’d be weird, he thinks. You barely know him and he’s sure you’d much rather be walking with one of the girls right now than with him.

“Sorry for, like, intruding in your friend group.”

Though you haven’t felt like an outsider, you do feel bad about worming your way into their group that seemed to have stayed the same for so long. You feel bad for the change you caused, the shift.

“What? You’re not,” he says.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, moon girl. I am.”

He knows he might not be the most welcoming person, but he doesn’t mind having you around, really. What he minds is the confusion that comes along with it, which isn’t your fault at all. That’s on him.

“Okay. Thanks for letting me come, then.”

“I think Robin would have smacked me if I didn’t. Besides, you’re nice to have around.”

He doesn’t know if it’s the few drinks or if it’s just a fluke, but the bit of honesty slips out of him with ease. Eddie’s not a trusting person, he’s been through too much for that, but he has never once felt like you were judging him.

The rest of the walk to your apartment is filled with light conversation and small, awkward silences. Having him next to you does make you feel safer, though. You never know what could happen.

He walks you all the way up to your door. You pull out your keys and fiddle with them, your hand shakes when you try to insert it into the lock. You miss a couple of times and feel the embarrassment scorch you. You don’t know if it’s the cold, or the drinks, or if it’s him making your hands unstable. Maybe it’s all of the above.

Yet again, Eddie helps you. He comes up behind you, his chest hovering over your back, close enough to feel the heat of his body, not close enough to touch.

“Here, sweetheart” he wraps his hand around yours and guides the key into the slot, the pet name slipping out without him noticing.

You do notice, though. He says it so softly, and you think it’s your favorite word that’s come out of his mouth so far. It has your heartbeat picking up, a steady thump in your chest.

“Thanks,” you breathe out.

You turn around, leaving the key in the door for now. He’s much closer than you were expecting and he doesn’t back away. Your back against your door, your nose almost touching his.

Then, something shifts, and he’s leaning in and kissing you.

It takes you a second to get over your initial shock, but you recover quickly, winding your arms around his neck and kissing him back. He makes a sound against your mouth when you do, pressing you further into the door. He has a thigh between yours, his hands holding your waist tightly.

He kisses you like he means it, and you forget about everything else. You forget that this Eddie is the same one who puzzles you so much, that not long ago you were convinced that you’d never see him again. And yet, he’s here, kissing you sick in your hallway.

He sucks at your bottom lip, pulling away and letting it snap back into place, opening his eyes to look at you for a second, then he dives back in. Soon enough, he’s licking along the seam of your lips to open you up, and his tongue has your knees weak.

When you whimper into his mouth, he tenses.

He’s snapped back into reality, realizing that he just made out with you against your door. He pulls away, pushing his fingers into his hair. There’s a sudden change, though this one feels much worse than the one where he kissed you.

There are too many things in his head. Thinking he shouldn’t be doing this or that you’ll hate him for it. You’re about to open your mouth and ask him what’s wrong when he speaks first.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he steps back until he’s against the wall opposite from you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Eddie-”

“No, shit. I’m sorry. Good night.”

He’s walking away before you can say anything else. You stand frozen for what could be minutes before finally letting yourself into your apartment. Closing and locking the door behind you, you lean your forehead against the wood and wonder what the fuck just happened.

You’re not sure what you did wrong to make him have to leave so suddenly, and you know it’ll torment you constantly. Replaying in the back of your mind. The worst part is, you were ready to invite him inside, to let him do whatever he wanted with you. He was gone before you could even get there.

Eddie feels awful for leaving the way he did, and he thinks about turning around and knocking on your door the whole way home. He never does, though. He’s sure you don’t want to see him.

You both have a fitful sleep that night. Blocks away, both tossing and turning in bed with that kiss plaguing your minds.

-

Robin and Nancy’s calls grow more frequent over the following couple of weeks, and in turn, so do your encounters with Eddie. You’ve become closer, would like to say you’ve become friends, even. Though, nothing like the kiss that the two of you choose to ignore happens again.

You chalked it up to his tipsiness, he tries to forget it altogether.

It’s not because it was bad, or unwanted. It’s quite the opposite, actually. Eddie’s so used to kissing meaning absolutely nothing, leading to more every single time. Your kiss, though, was completely different. It made him feel more than he knew he was capable of.

He’s surprised that you have yet to say something about it, especially considering the way that he left. It’s a two way street; he doesn’t bring it up at all, either.

He wants to. He wants to be able to explain himself to you, to tell you why he had to pull himself away so quickly. Only, he’s not sure how. He doesn’t know how to explain the way he finds himself drawn to you, the reason he kissed you, or the feeling that runs through him every time you lock eyes. If he can’t even make sense of it himself, how is he supposed to make sense of it to you?

He can’t even bring himself to tell anyone about it because he knows, as much as they try, it won’t help.

Tonight, you’re all piled on the couches in Steve’s apartment (it’s the nicest one) eating pizza straight from the box and chatting. It’s nice to be a part of a true friend group. You’ve never had anything like it before.

“Eddie, you left your guitar here, you know?” Steve says.

He plays guitar? Fuck.

“Shit, yeah. I did.”

“You know what that means,” Robin draws out the last word, shimmying her shoulders.

“No. Absolutely not,” Eddie shakes his head.

“Please! Serenade us, Eddie.”

They go back and forth for a bit and your gaze switches between the two of them like you’re watching a game of ping pong.

“I’d like to hear you play,” you pitch in.

Robin—of course—wears a smirk. She’s been trying to get the two of you together since she saw how you interacted, and she knows Eddie won’t say no to you. He couldn’t if he tried.

“Really?” Eddie asks softly.

“Yeah. I didn’t know you played,” you shift in your seat, “I’d love to hear it. If you want.”

He fiddles with his guitar pick necklace, which you catch. Maybe that should’ve been a dead giveaway that he’s a musician, but you’d never noticed it before, usually hidden by the collar of his shirt.

Eddie’s not usually a nervous person, but the prospect of you listening to him play has him feeling that way. He’s never worried so much about how someone looks at him, or what they might think. With you, he worries because he wants to impress you, he’s realized.

“Yeah, okay. Just for you, I’ll go grab it.”

Just for you. You turn your face away to try and hide how it affects you.

He asks Steve where he left it, and goes off to retrieve it. You watch him walk away until he disappears behind a corner. There’s something about him that pulls you in, something you wish you could figure out. You know you like him, it’s quite obvious, but it’s the kind that has thoughts of him crowding your mind and that has you overthinking every word.

“You guys are paining me, I hope you know,” Robin says.

“We’re just friends. Seriously.”

“Are you sure about that?” Steve adds on. Nancy tends to just observe when the topic of you and Eddie is brought up. She’s a rational person, and she’s trying to let it work itself out naturally. Though, she’s sure it will work out eventually. Hopefully sooner than later.

Eddie comes back before you can manage a reply, holding an acoustic guitar decorated with messy, white, painted-on lettering that says ‘this machine slays dragons.’

He sits down and tunes the guitar first, focused on his task. It gives you a chance to look at him closely, lets you get away with it because the others are watching him, too. Waiting for him to start to play. When he does, you’re transfixed.

Your eyes don’t stray from him at all throughout the song he plays. His fingers move with so much ease, his rings catching the light. It’s no surprise that he’s talented with his hands, just look at the art he creates on people’s bodies everyday. But, this is another layer to it, a piece of him that made you want to see more. Made you want to collect every jigsaw piece until you had the whole image.

You think you could listen to him play for hours on end and never get tired of his strumming. Yeah, you really do like him.

When he finishes, everyone gives him a round of applause, and he hopes his hair does enough to cover up the blush that blooms on his cheeks. He looks to you first, and you’re beaming, looking at him like he’s just done something groundbreaking.

“That was amazing, Eddie,” you say.

“It’s nothing special,” he replies.

“It is. You’re really talented,” you sound so sincere it squeezes his heart in a fist. “Double talented, actually.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

He lets it slip again, and you soak it up. Eddie tries to avoid the looks from his friends, especially after the pet name. Surely, they’re all wearing smug smiles and plotting ways to talk him into giving whatever the thing between the two of you is a go.

He sets the guitar aside, clearing his throat amidst the awkward silence. You look at your lap and frown at the run in your tights that you just noticed, avoiding being the first to say anything.

Every new detail you learn about Eddie only makes you like him more. You’re still not sure if he even considers you a friend, but you certainly consider him one. You would ask but decide to save yourself the stress of having to bring it up. The worst part is, the idea of him not liking you hurts more than you’d like to admit.

The silence is eventually broken, and the floodgates of conversation have opened back up. You and Eddie both let out a breath of relief, synchronized in secrecy.

When you get up to leave, Eddie suddenly has the urge to go, too, and he offers to take you home. Much like the time before, he doesn’t let you decline the offer. He’s just being nice, you think to yourself, he would do it for anyone.

This time, he drove, and he opens the passenger door for you when you reach his car. It smells like him inside, sandalwood, something sweet, the underlying smokiness of cigarettes that you don’t mind when it comes to him. He has a pair of dice hanging from his mirror, though they’re twenty-sided instead of your average six.

“You’ll have to give me directions back to yours,” he says, starting the car. “I remember the area, but…”

Yes, he remembers the area all too well. It’s where he lingered after he sprung a kiss on you and then walked away. It’s where he jerked himself around mentally trying to decide whether he should go back to you or just go home.

“Don’t worry, I can be your map.”

The drive is silent save for the music humming through the speakers and your occasional instructions on which turns to take. It isn’t awkward, you don’t think. It’s comfortable in the way that you don’t feel the need to fill it.

One of Eddie’s hands reaches out and lightly tugs on your skirt, “this looks really nice on you.”

He pulls it away after he says it and you wish he didn’t.

“Oh,” you look down at the fabric, something you’ve owned for years, worn when you can’t figure anything else out. It’s never been anything special, but now, you feel like it might be. “Thank you.”

Eddie feels inclined to compliment you all of the time, he’s learned, but he often lets them float in his head rather than say them to you.

He parks on the street by your apartment complex soon after, but you don’t get out right away. You unbuckle your seatbelt and place a hand on the door, but he stops you.

The sight of your building has him thinking about the night you kissed for what feels like the thousandth time. He wants to kiss you again and he clenches his fists to ground himself. If you’re any bit as torn up about it as him, he wants to know. He also wants to try and explain himself to you, even if he still isn’t sure how.

“Hey. About that night,” he doesn’t have to specify. You know exactly what he’s talking about. Your hand lets go of the door handle, settling in your lap. “I’m sorry I kissed you.”

“You are?”

You don’t want him to be sorry, or to feel bad about it. You only want to know what you did to scare him off the way you did. You also want him to kiss you again.

“Um, yeah. I shouldn’t have just sprung onto you like that.”

“Why did you?” Is what you say next.

“I dunno. You just looked so pretty, and I had the urge. The drinks gave me the strength to do it, I guess.”

He hadn’t been drunk, not one bit, but he doesn’t want to use the alternate explanation just yet. He doesn’t want to say ‘I kissed you because you confuse me more than anyone else. Because I’ve never felt so bent out of shape because of one person. Because you were looking at me like you wanted me to, and I can’t say no to you.’

He could, but he doesn’t want to.

“You think I’m pretty?”

He nods, almost ashamed about it.

“I think you’re pretty, too, Eddie,” his eyes lock onto yours, “and I’m not sorry you kissed me at all.”

“What?”

“I liked kissing you. I was going to ask you if you wanted to come inside before you left.”

You don’t know where your candidness is coming from, but you can’t stop yourself anymore. You’ve wondered and wondered what could’ve happened that night had he stayed, and by the way his gaze flicks down to your lips, you think you might find out.

The car suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker, when he asks, “does that offer still stand?”

You nod, he shuts off the car. You both get out, walking up to your place in a sort of haze. Neither of you know what will come from any of this, you’re going in blind and it’s as exciting as it is nerve-wracking.

Things slow down once you’re inside. It’s as if a fog has cleared and now, you’re both painfully aware of everything you’re doing, or saying. His eyes flit around your apartment in silence, looking at your bookshelf, noting the lack of personal photos.

You cut in before he can comment on your place, “can I get you anything? Water, or…”

When he responds, it’s not to your question. Instead, he asks you one: “how’s your tattoo healing?”

He’s been curious about how you’re feeling with it ever since he caught glimpses of it that night at the bar. You pause by your small kitchen island, looking him over before you can manage to reply.

“Oh. Good, I think,” you shrug a shoulder, “I don’t know enough about tattoos but it hasn’t bothered me much.”

“I can look at it, if you want.”

“Are you sure?”

You say it as if he would be going through lots of trouble to do so, when in reality he’s using it as an excuse to get his hands on you. Tattoos are familiar, not foreign the way his feelings for you are. It’s an excuse to ease himself into whatever this is.

“‘Course I am, let me see.”

“Okay. Light’s better in the bathroom.”

He follows you into your bathroom, and you wish you’d taken into account how small it is because you’re forced to be close to him and it’s making you nervous. The anticipation and unknown a flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

“Shirt off,” he says, his voice smooth.

You listen, because it’s hard not to when he sounds the way he does. You turn to face the mirror and peel your shirt away, tossing it to the ground when you do. You’re suddenly very aware that your bra isn’t the nicest you own, and your instinct is to cover it with your arms.

Eddie stops you, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror, his hands wrapping around your wrists gently, pulling them down. “Don’t you dare. You’re beautiful.”

He looks away after he says it, but you can tell he means it. It’s in the way he makes sure you’re looking at him when he speaks, the way he squeezes your wrists reassuringly before letting them go.

For a second, he forgot why you’re even in the position you are. He forgets that he’s meant to be looking at your tattoo until you say, “how is it?”

“Right, yeah,” he looks it over, and he’s satisfied to see that it looks exactly how it should at this stage. “Really good, actually. You’re doing a great job.”

The compliment warms your insides.

“Thank you.”

“Want me to clean it for you?”

“Sure, thanks.”

He does, disinfecting it first, after finding your products on your counter. He’s gentle as usual, his hands a welcome feeling. Then, he applies the layer of lotion slowly, almost like he’s trying to tease you. It’s working.

His hands trail down your arms when he’s done, his head dipping down to press a kiss on the top of your shoulder. The first one is soft, a barely-there push of his lips against your skin. The next is a bit firmer, his confidence growing with each one.

They trail over the curve of your shoulder, his hands still running their paths up and down your arms, raising goosebumps in their wake, his chunky rings cold. He kisses his way up your neck, your head lulling to the side to grant him more access and your eyes fluttering shut.

Everything he does is filing you up more and more and he’s barely even begun.

“Eddie,” you sigh when he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

He has no idea what’s come over him, but there’s no hiding the effect you have over him anymore. As soon as he got his hands on you, even just to clean your tattoo, he knew he’d be addicted.

“What are you doing?”

“Kissing you. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, yes, it’s- feels nice.”

You would be overthinking if you weren’t so distracted by the feeling of his lips on your skin. And when he uses a hand to tilt your face towards his and kisses you, you’re not sure there’s a single thought left in your head.

There’s something about him that makes everything more intense. You feel like all of your senses are captured by him and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. The smell of his cologne, the taste on his tongue, the feeling of his hands on you and his long hair tickling your skin. All of it.

Eddie pulls away to let the both of you breathe only when it’s absolutely necessary. He’s drunk on every kiss he gets from you and he doesn’t mind one bit. He wonders what you’re like in bed, what sounds you’d make for him, and he can’t stop himself from asking, “can I fuck you?”

The words are spoken between heavy breaths, puffed out against your lips.

“Yes. Please.”

Please, you say. As if you would even have to beg him. You have no idea what you’re doing to him and it only makes him want you more. He pushes his hips against your ass, letting you feel how hard he is and you whimper, you fucking whimper and he’s so gone.

He pushes you down to bed over the counter with a hand on the center of your back, and you obey easily. You’re practically squirming with want, the dampness in your panties growing with every move he makes.

Then, he flips your skirt up, his hands running over the tights that cover you before ripping them in the middle.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he says.

He keeps a hand on your back, though its drifted much lower, and the other sneaks its way between your legs, cupping you over your underwear before pressing his fingers against you. You can't help but moan at the feeling.

“Soaking already, sweetheart?” He taunts.

“Eddie, come on.”

“What is it?”

“You’re teasing me,” you huff out, your cheek pressed against your cool countertop.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

He hooks his fingers in the fabric covering you, pulling it aside and going right back to his teasing. His fingers run up and down your slit, dipping into where you’re wet only to pull away and circle your clit; just enough to give you a taste, to have you wanting more.

He’s winding you up and up and up and you think you might pass out if he doesn’t make you come soon.

“Eddie.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve got you.”

It’s then that he pushes one finger in, his rings that still sit around his fingers only add to the intensity. He works a second one in quickly, your cunt sucking him in and he can’t even imagine how good it’ll feel when he gets to fuck you for real.

He’s quick to learn what you like, what makes you pulse around his fingers or moan a little louder. You had no clue that things could ever feel this good and when his thumb finds your clit, you’re absolutely done for.

Your breaths come out hot, bits of condensation gathering on the counter, “fuck. Oh my god.”

“Feel good?” He asks even though he knows damn well it does—your reactions are telling enough. He picks up the pace, his fingers pressing against that spot that has your knees going weak. He wraps his unoccupied arm around your waist to hold you up.

“So, so good, Eddie. Gonna come.”

“Go on, all over my hand, sweetness. Then I’ll fill you right up, how’s that sound?”

Your response is caught in your throat, a whine bubbling out instead.

“Quicker you come, the quicker I’ll give it to you,” he tacks on.

The thought of him fucking you after this drives you nuts because if just his fingers feel this good, you can’t even imagine what his cock will be like. Your orgasm washes over you, eyes rolling back.

He works you through it, steadily slowing down and easing away to give you a break. He pulls his fingers away, chuckling at the noise you make when he does, and sucks them clean. Then, softly, he’s leaning down and kissing his way up your spine.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

“You okay?”

“More than okay. You’re really good.”

“‘M not done yet, babe.”

He stands back up, but he pulls you along with him so you're no longer resting on the counter. Hands on your hips spin you to face him, and as soon as you do he surges forward to kiss you. It’s quick, like he’s making sure it’s still okay to keep going.

His touch trails up to the band of your bra—which is askew, but still on. “Can I take this off?”

You nod, but he waits for a verbal confirmation before unclasping it and pulling it away from your chest. It joins your shirt on the ground.

You’re suddenly very aware that you’re half-naked and he isn’t. You tug on his shirt, eager to even the score, “you too.”

“Well, it’s only fair, isn’t it?”

He peels his shirt over his head, and you realize that you’ve yet to see his tattoos so closely. You reach out, tracing them lightly with your fingertips. First, the bats that adorn his forearm, working your way up to his shoulder, then down his chest. He lets you, happy to have your hands on him.

While you’re occupied with his tattoos, he looks you over, free to stare without worrying if you’ll notice. His eyes travel across your face, the slope of your nose, the shape of your lips. They go down your neck, a canvas he plans to leave his mark on, and down to your chest that’s now bare.

The sight is enough to remind him of how hard he is, straining against his jeans. He kisses you again, heavier this time, and lets his hands cup your tits, squeezing and thumbing over your nipples. You moan into the kiss and he can’t control himself any longer.

He lifts you up to sit on the counter, close enough to the edge that you’re forced to wrap your legs around him.

“You still want this?” He asks.

Your hands go to his jeans, popping the button open and lowering his zipper slowly, “yeah, Eddie. I want this. I want you.”

I want you. Eddie doesn’t know why the words make his heart go all fluttery, why they make him look at you like you’ve put the stars in the sky just for him. He kisses you all over again.

You fit your hand between his jeans and his boxers, and you gasp into the kiss when you feel just how big he is. He’s wide, and you know the stretch of him will be a kind of burn that hurts so good. You stroke him over his boxers first, but quickly grow impatient to see him.

You tuck your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them and his jeans down enough to free him. You pull back only to be able to look at him properly, leaning your forehead against Eddie’s bare shoulder, your bottom lip bitten between your teeth because he’s pretty everywhere.

He kisses the side of your head, tender in the midst of the heat of it all.

You think, despite his initial distance, Eddie’s one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met. He shows it in the small things he does. Offering to take you home, the gentleness of his hands, his constant checking in on you to make sure this is what you wanted.

Yeah, you like him a whole lot.

Your hand wraps around his cock, jerking him slowly at first. A tease, he thinks. And then you pick up your pace just a bit and he thinks he might come before he even gets to be inside you and as much as he would love to see your hand covered in him, it’s not what he wants right now.

He’s never wanted anyone like he does you and he knows that information will have him overthinking later, but right now, it just makes him desperate to have you.

“Fuck,” he grabs a hold of your wrist, “as good as this feels, sweetheart, you gotta stop or I’ll come and this’ll be cut short. You don’t want that do you?”

He tips your chin up with his free hand, pecks your lips quickly before giving you the chance to respond.

“No. Want you to fuck me,” you say.

“Dirty girl.”

He reaches for a condom in one of your drawers when you tell him where to find them. When you bought them, you were almost embarrassed, because what were you expecting? Certainly not this.

He’s back on you before you really feel his absence, running his hands up your thighs, under your skirt, and tearing the hole he’d already made wider.

“You want me to stop, you tell me, okay?”

“Okay.”

Pushing your legs apart further to make room for him, he reaches down to paint himself up and down your slit, pushing himself in only when he’s teased the both of you sufficiently.

It’s a welcome stretch, one that’s better than anything you’ve ever felt in situations like this and you wonder why you didn’t move away sooner, if this is what it led to.

Eddie leans forward, resting his hands on the counter on either side of you, close enough that his arms brush against you. His face is close to yours but he doesn’t kiss you, no, he breathes the air you do, swallowing any sound you make.

His first couple of thrusts are tentative, slow, but when you wrap your arms around his neck and speak a quiet, ‘faster, please,’ he dives right in.

Somehow, he manages to know just what you need, and he wraps his arms around your waist to keep you still as he moves harder, quicker. Both of you are still half dressed, your clothes in disarray and his are pushed to his knees. You’re both so wrapped up in want and it shows.

“Fuck me,” you whine as he hits that spot inside you, like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“Thought that’s what I was doing, sweets.”

“Eddie.”

“I know, baby. You’re doing so good.”

He knows your orgasm is creeping up on you, he can feel it in the way you pulse around him, squeeze him tighter, bury your face in his neck so that your moans are pushed into his skin.

If he could, he thinks he’d get the sound of them permanently etched into his mind.

“Taking it so well. You wanna come, sweet girl?”

You nod against his skin, “yes. Yes, can I?”

He snakes a hand down to rub your clit, to push you over that edge and says, “let go. Give it to me.”

It’s like his words were what you were waiting for, the breaking point to let you finish. It’s enough to make your moans get caught in your throat and your eyes squeeze shut, seeing stars.

“Oh my god,” you choke out.

“That’s it,” he works you through it, and only when he’s sure that you’re on the comedown does he let himself finish, too.

He pulls your head from his neck with a hand cupping the back of yours, kissing you to really seal the deal, coming with a grunt into your mouth.

When he’s spent, he rests his forehead against yours, running his hands up and down your back soothingly, “you okay?”

“Mmm. Amazing,” you reply, dazed with a fucked out smile on your face. “Why’re you good at everything?”

He chuckles, kissing your cheek before pulling out, “maybe I’m just good at them with you.”

Discarding the condom and pulling his boxers back up—removing his jeans completely—he then finds a small towel and wets it in the sink. Meanwhile, you take off the rest of your outfit, figuring he’s seen enough already. He cleans you up first, delicate hands and a soft apology when you wince from the sensitivity.

He picks you up when he’s done, your legs wrapped around his waist and your head dropped against his shoulder. It feels natural, he thinks, to take care of you the way he would a lover. You feel like you belong there, in his hold, and he knows that you’ve changed him in a way.

His reluctance to get into any kind of relationship seems to have flown out the window now.

The door across the hall is the first he tries, and he guessed correctly when he finds your bedroom on the other side of the door.

He lays you down on your bed, and you pull the blankets up over yourself, lazily. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to look at Eddie the same way, but it’s not a bad thing. It’s not because of the sex, though it was notably the best you’ve ever had and you’ll undoubtedly think about it constantly. It’s because you have feelings for him. Real, true, romantic feelings that run far too deep for you to ignore.

He goes to leave, but you catch his wrist, “you can stay.”

“What?”

“I want you to stay with me. If you want to,” you say.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

He doesn't even hesitate, and he tries not to think about what that means for this thing he knows is blooming between you, its petals unfurling slow and steady. He slips into bed beside you, welcoming you when you snuggle into his side.

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

“Night, moon girl.”

You’re both fucked, literally and figuratively.

-

You wake up the most well-rested you’ve felt in a while. Flipping onto your back, you stretch out, and it’s only then that you feel the emptiness on the other side of the bed.

For a moment, you’d almost forgotten Eddie had been there in the first place. Then, you remembered you were, in fact, naked. The slight ache between your legs was enough to have last night coming back to you in a rush.

You wonder if maybe Eddie had to leave for work, but you don’t find a note or any indication of his departure. Instead, you hear the clanking of pans and plates coming from the kitchen.

You throw on a fresh pair of underwear and one of your oversized sleep shirts that sits at the top of your thighs. You’re still groggy, mind slower with sleep, but you’re awake enough to hear Eddie humming when you open your bedroom door and step out into the hall.

There he is, standing by your stove, cooking breakfast. You rub your eyes to make sure you’re not dreaming. Or seeing things.

He moves around like he’s been using your kitchen for ages, and his presence warms the space that you’ve had such a hard time getting used to. You recognize the song he’s humming to be the one he played on the guitar. The corners of your mouth lift up.

“Eddie?” You call quietly, careful not to startle him while his back is turned to you.

“Oh,” he faces you, frying pan in his hand, “morning, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”

“I’m making us breakfast, I hope that’s okay.”

Is he kidding? It’s the most okay thing anyone’s done for you in a long time and you don’t know whether you want to cry or kiss him. He’s unlike anyone you’ve known, and you can’t believe how different he is now compared to when you first met.

His guard was up, short responses and little emotion. It’s a stark contrast to now, to the way he stands clad only in his boxers and his shirt from the night before, flipping a pancake like it’s the easiest thing in the world. You don’t know how he could even keep the saccharine boy hidden, it seems to ooze out of him now.

“It’s- Eddie, this is really sweet.”

The tips of his ears go pink.

He doesn’t know what possessed him to cook for you, or why the sincerity in your appreciation makes him blush. All he knows is that he thought it would be nice to make you smile, and that there’s something in his chest that seems to expand when you do.

“I hope you like pancakes,” he says.

That morning is the moment you realize you’re falling in love with Eddie Munson.

-

It’s been weeks since that night, that morning. Somehow, rather than put distance between the two of you, you and Eddie have grown closer. You think he’s one of the best friends you’ve ever had, even though you haven’t known him very long.

You’re not falling in love with him anymore. No, you’re deep in it now.

Of course, Robin was able to draw it out of you, and after all of her assuring you that there’s absolutely no way Eddie doesn’t feel the same, you still can't let yourself believe her. You’ll bever come back from it if you find out he doesn’t when you’ve built up your expectations.

So, you keep them low. He’s your friend, that’s all it’ll ever be and you know it. Or, at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself every time you catch yourself getting a little too lost in him.

You’re meant to be meeting the gang at the tattoo shop and then head somewhere for drinks all together. Because you’re not only close with Eddie now, you’ve found yourself friends that are real and true. Sometimes you find yourself wondering what your life would’ve been like had you been in high school alongside them. You think it would have been much, much better, but you have them now and that���s what matters.

You knock on the door when you get there, the shop already closed and locked up. You’re quickly greeted with Robin’s grinning face on the other side of the glass. She lets you in and wraps you in a brief hug.

“I think you should start working here just so I don’t have to miss you at all in between plans,” she says, stepping back and locking the door again.

“We both know I don’t have the skills for that, but I missed you, too, Robin.”

“Not as much as you missed me, I hope,” is how Eddie chooses to announce his presence.

“Hi, Eddie.”

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Robin scoffs at him, “can you not steal my thunder for once, please.”

“I’m not allowed to say hi to my friend?”

He looks at you when he says friend, like he’s sharing a secret. Only, you have no idea what it might be.

“Whatever. I have to go get Nance since she went home to change,” she gathers her stuff from the desk. Then, she points to you and says, “I better get a very detailed life update later.”

“You know you will,” you say.

“‘Kay, see you soon!”

She leaves after that, and Eddie’s gaze is already fixed on you when you turn towards him.

“C’mere,” he nods towards the doors that lead to the back room, where the station he tattooed you at is all set up.

“What’s this?”

“I want you to give me a tattoo.”

Your eyes widen, “sorry?”

“I’m serious. Doesn’t have to be big, it can be a dot if you want,” he gently nudges your chin with his finger, closing your mouth where it was dropped in surprise. “I wanna teach you.”

Your friendship isn’t the only thing that’s grown since that night. Eddie’s become more touchy with you, too. An arm slung over your shoulders, a hand on your thigh or the nape of your neck. Though this touch is small, it doesn’t fail to leave a lasting effect where it was placed, a warmth, like a drop of sunlight. It almost distracts you from what he’s asking.

“Eddie, I can’t. I’ll mess it up.”

“Babe, I’ve got loads of tattoos. Trust me, it’ll be fine,” he moves his hand to your shoulder, gives it a squeeze. “Plus, you’ve got a great teacher.”

It takes a bit longer for him to convince you, but he succeeds in the end. It’s hard to say no to someone you’re in love with, especially if that someone has really good puppy dog eyes.

Before you really even process it, he’s on the tattoo bed, a pant leg rolled up, shaving a small patch for you to use as your canvas. He does all of the prepping necessary, and even goes as far as to put the gloves on for you.

He explains it all slowly, repeats whatever you ask him to, and promises to guide you through it all. You’re incredibly nervous—who wouldn’t be?

“Relax. You’re gonna be a natural, I know it.”

“How do you know that?”

“You’ve got good hands, sweetheart,” he drops one of his eyelids in a wink.

The flirting is something else that’s become more frequent. You think he’s flirting, that is. He doesn’t act the same way with the rest of the group and you know that, but you also need to not get your hopes up. Still, the butterflies come alive.

You draw your stencil, settling on a very simple rendition of the sun. A small circle with short lines as its rays. It’s fitting for him, you think. As much as he seems like midnight on the outside, that boy is dripping in sunshine.

It also goes with the one he gave you, but that’s just a bonus.

Once it’s applied and you’re sat on the stool, in position to begin, he explains it all over again. He knows you’re nervous, but he isn’t at all. He’s excited to have you do this, to wear a piece of you on his skin.

His hand wraps around yours on the tattoo gun for the first line, guiding you so that you can get the feel of it. He lets you take over after that, assuring you that there’s nothing you could mess up enough to have him dislike it, as long as you’re the one doing it.

As he watches you work, your tongue poking out between your lips in focus, he feels his chest swell. He’s never liked anyone the way he does you, and he’s never let someone untrained tattoo him, that’s for sure. There’s something in him that seems to brighten when you’re around, and he doesn’t know how to put it into words.

He wishes he could pluck the moon out of the sky and hold it in his hand, only to be able to give it to you. Since he can’t do that, he hopes his heart will do good enough. He loves you, that he knows, he just can’t bring himself to say the words out loud.

He’s warmed up to you quicker than ever, so much so that the people around him have noticed. That means something and he knows it.

“I think I’m done,” you say after a bit.

“Yeah? Let’s see this work of art then.”

He sits up, bends closer to his leg to get a look at your handiwork. He’s silent at first and it makes you nervous.

“What do you think?”

“It’s perfect,” he says.

You know it’s far from perfect. The lines aren’t even, nor are they all straight. But he says it like he means it, believes it, so you let yourself smile at that.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m super sure.”

He wouldn’t have ever picked out the sun for himself, but knowing that you would has his walls crumbling even more—if that’s even possible with you.

He does the cleaning and the wrapping, and you’re happy to observe. Just as he’s finishing up, Robin and Nancy walk in, Steve not far behind.

“I leave you guys for not even an hour, and now you have a tattoo?” Robin says, though she doesn’t even sound surprised.

-

Eddie thinks his feelings swell and grow every single time he sees you, and he thinks they might just boil over and pour out of him before he even gets to figure out what to say. That won’t do. You deserve more than that.

You deserve to be taken on a date, to be appreciated and taken care of properly, and that’s what he needs to do. The only problem is, he has no idea how to go about it all.

There’s only one person he can think of who will know exactly what to do. The expert in dating; Steve. Eddie calls him into his office.

“What’s up, boss?” Steve says, leaning against the doorway the way he always does.

“Close the door, would you?”

“Shit. Am I in trouble? I may have spilled some ink the other day but you can barely even see it, swears.”

Eddie shakes his head, making note to take a look around his station later. He’s used to Steve’s clumsiness, though, it’s part of the reason he wanted dark floors in the shop.

“No. That’s not- I need your help.”

“Oh. Okay, hit me.”

“I want to ask her out. I just don’t really know, um, where to take her or whatever.”

Eddie doesn’t even have to say your name for Steve to know who he’s talking about. He’s painfully aware that he’s been quite obvious with his affections, especially ever since the night you had sex. He’s always itching to have his hands on you in some way, stealing you away from other conversations, all of it.

That night was like a wake up call for him, a bucket of cold water dumped over his head. He knew there was something about you before that, but it became concrete.

He’d never felt so connected to someone, nor had he been so eager to take care of them afterwards. Hell, he’s never even slept in the same bed as his hookups. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s slept over at all. Then, there was you, asking him to stay and he couldn’t say no to you. He didn’t want to, either.

“You know her better than I do, man. But, flowers, you gotta do. They love that. Do you know her favorites?”

Eddie shakes his head.

“That’s fine. Get a good mix. Other than that, you should just be honest, that’s what Robin always tells me,” he shrugs. “Why don’t you just call her now?”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Come on! She’s gonna say yes. She gives you those lovey-dovey eyes all the time.”

“Okay, that’s enough. Out.”

“Not even a thank you?”

“Thanks, Steve. Bye.”

Steve rolls his eyes as he leaves Eddie’s office, shutting the door behind him again. He, along with Nancy and Robin, knows that you and Eddie will end up together, it’s obvious to everyone except you two, they only want to help it along.

Eddie really hopes that their pestering will be worth it in the end. That you’ll feel the same.

He stares at the phone sitting on his desk for what feels like ages before he musters up the courage to actually call you. He had your file open on his desk, your number written out on one of the forms. He finally picks up the phone and dials it.

Luckily, you weren’t at work. You’d been thinking of Eddie more and more each day it seemed. How he looked at you, the secret smiles that he saved just for you, the way he touched you, the way he felt-

The phone ringing cuts off your train of thought. You walk over and pick it up, prepared for it to be Robin or Nancy since they’re the only ones that ever call you besides your boss. The voice on the other line is neither of them.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart. It’s Eddie.”

As close as you’ve gotten, for some reason, no phone numbers have been exchanged. You wish they had been, because hearing his voice crackle through the phone is a much nicer sound than most.

“Eddie, hi. How’d you get my number?”

He twists one of his rings around with his thumb. He’s glad you can’t actually see him, because you’d surely be able to tell that he’s nervous.

“It’s on file in the shop. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I like talking to you,” you say, soft and sincere. “What’s up?”

“I, uh,” he shakes his head, trying to figure out exactly what to say. “Are you busy tonight?”

“No, I’m not. Do you guys want to do something?”

“Not exactly,” he says.

Your heart beats quicker in your chest, because you think he’s about to ask you out, maybe. If not that, then at least ask you to do something with just him, which is close enough for you to consider it a win. You smile like an idiot.

He clears his throat and continues, “I wanted to know if you’d want to go out… with me.”

It’s happening, you think. Something is shifting as you speak, the feelings you’ve tried to suppress for so long are itching to come out.

“Like a date?” You ask. Just to be sure.

“Yeah, moon girl. Like a date.”

“I’d really, really like that, Eddie.”

He thinks you can probably hear the smile in his voice when he says, “yeah? Me too.”

He tells you he’ll pick you up, to wear whatever you like, not to worry about being over or underdressed, ‘you’ll look pretty either way, trust me,’ he’d said.

When you hang up, you’re trying not to jump around and squeal like a thirteen year old. It’s difficult to contain your excitement, your nerves, your hope. It feels as if a door is opening. A door to more nights like that night, more mornings with shared breakfast, more kissing, more than friends. More, more, more.

Meanwhile, Eddie’s wondering how he’ll get through the rest of the work day when his head is filled with the promise of seeing you.

-

After much debating on what to wear, no thanks to Eddie’s sweet yet vague instructions, the buzzer sounds in your apartment. You make your way over, one shoe on, the other in your hand. You press the button and speak.

“Hello?”

“Hey, moon girl.”

“Eddie,” he only said three words and you’re already smiling. “Come on up.”

You rush to get your other shoe on, luckily finishing up just as he knocks on your door. There’s a moment where you’re almost expecting someone else to be on the other side, to have been dreaming the whole date up. Luckily, it’s real.

Eddie stands in the hall, pretty as ever. His hair is in its usual mess of waves and curls, his classic leather jacket and denim vest duo are on, and in his hand, a bouquet of flowers.

He notices you looking at them and holds them out, “these are for you.”

“This is really nice, Eddie. Thank you.”

You take them from him, holding them up to your nose to smell them (and also to hide how wide your grin is). He stands by the door, a ball of nerves, and watches you put them into a big cup, because you never had a reason to buy a vase until now. He decides next time, he’ll deliver the flowers in a vase just so you have one.

He holds your hand on the way down, opens the car door for you and makes sure your legs are tucked inside before closing it, he tells you in at least three different ways how beautiful you look during the car ride alone, and he drives with a hand resting on your thigh, your fingers toying with his rings.

He’s an absolute dream.

He takes you to a small restaurant, fancy enough for a date—though you think being with Eddie, no matter where, would be enough for you—but casual enough that you aren’t too worried about the people around you being judgemental. You sit in a booth and instead of across, Eddie sits beside you. He keeps a hand on your thigh during your meal, too.

In his car once more, you’re sitting in the parking lot with music playing through the speakers. Eddie hasn’t made a move to start driving you yet, and you haven’t even thought about going home. You haven’t ever been on an official date before, but if you had, you’d say with absolute certainty that this is the best one.

You sit sideways in the passenger seat so you can look at him, and Eddie’s head is turned toward you, his cheek against the headrest.

“Have you had a girlfriend before?” You ask.

You don’t know why the thought comes out of your mouth. You’d been thinking it, though. Robin’s always hinting at how different he is with you, at the fact that Eddie’s never brought a girl he’s liked around his friends. You’re curious.

“No, I haven’t. Why do you seem surprised?”

“It’s just, you’re really good at this.”

“At what, sweetheart?”

“Like, going on a date. And… other stuff, too.”

He shifts in his seat, resting an elbow on the center console and leaning closer to you. Much, much closer. Your noses are almost touching and you can see the way his eyelashes frame his eyes.

He nudges his nose against yours, “what stuff?”

You know he’s teasing you, trying to make you give him more detail because it’ll make you go all shy or embarrassed. To him, it’s cute, and he’s been trying not to kiss you all night. He was going to wait until he dropped you off like a proper gentleman, but he figures making it through dinner is good enough.

“Eddie,” you draw his name out, almost whining.

“Tell me. Come on, please? You can’t just bring it up and not share.”

The hand of his that isn’t resting between you comes up to push your hair over your shoulder, then slides around to hold the back of your neck loosely.

“God, okay. Um, you’re a good kisser. Like, really good,” he leans in and pecks you for that, pulling away just enough to let you keep talking, your lips still brushing against his. “And, I love your hands.”

“My hands?”

“They’re very talented. You know, ‘cause you’re an artist, and all.”

He huffs and shakes his head. Enough of the teasing, he leans in and kisses you deeper this time. Your hands move and grip the sides of his jacket, holding him close to you.

You kiss, and kiss, and kiss, and it’s enough to have you panting and warm all over. His hand squeezes your neck gently before he pulls away, his lips slick with spit, swollen and darker from your kiss. You’re sure yours don’t look much different.

Eddie drops his forehead against yours, takes both of your hands in his, “do you want to go home?”

You shake your head.

“Can I show you my place, then?”

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

He’s not saying it to get you in his bed, though there’s no doubt that would be a bonus, but he doesn’t want this date to end. There’s also a part of him that wants to see you in his apartment, let you into more of his life.

He’s only ever been to yours, and he doesn’t have the whole group over at his, so you’ve never seen it. He thinks, if he’s really going to give this a shot, he might as well let another wall crumble down for you.

The drive there is fairly quick, and yet again, his hand finds your thigh. This time, though, he lets his fingers hold on, rather than just rest in your lap. You like it a lot.

-

Eddie’s apartment isn’t what you expect. You thought it’d be decorated like the shop: dark colors, black and white art, hints of red. His place is much warmer, much homier. It suits him perfectly.

He has a huge record collection, a whole wall of his living room dedicated to the shelves and the player itself. He also has a shelf for his books. Some more worn than others, letting you know which are his favorites of the bunch.

You trail your fingers along the spines, admiring his collection. He lets you, standing not too far away, enjoying how you look in his space.

His bathroom is much like yours, small and plain, but it’s tidy save for some products of his strewn about the counter. His bedroom is so obviously his that it makes you smile. From the rings and other jewelry sitting atop his dresser, to his dark gray bedding, to the guitars that are displayed proudly, to the desk pushed into a corner with pages upon pages spread about.

You gravitate towards that desk without a second thought.

There’s something so intimate about seeing his art station in his home, much different to his office at the shop. Here, he can let it be a mess, and can draw whatever he pleases.

“Is it okay if I look at these?” You ask.

“‘Course,” he says. He walks up behind you, lets his hands hold your sides loosely and rests his chin on your shoulder. You revel in the warmth of his chest against your back.

You pick up some of the loose pages, looking at the different pieces. Skulls and flowers and landscapes and so much more. He can do it all, you think. You can see so much detail, the strokes of his pencil, and it’s clear how much talent he has.

“These are all beautiful, Eddie.”

He turns his head to peck your cheek, “thank you, sweetheart.”

You reach for a worn sketchbook next, the cover peeling at the edges and the pages nearly full. It flips open to where it seems to have been used the most, the spine broken. What you see makes you gasp quietly, but Eddie’s close enough to hear it.

Covering the pages are drawings of the moon. Over and over again he drew them. Some are big, taking up an entire page, and some are scrawled into corners and empty spaces, like he couldn’t stop adding them. All of these drawings for your tattoo, and he’d only shown you a few.

“It’s weird, right?” Eddie says, hiding his face in your neck.

If he’s honest, he forgot that sketchbook was even there. He couldn’t forget about the drawings you found—you’d taken up so much of his thoughts after meeting that he couldn’t stop drawing the fucking moon for you. There are so many and he’s embarrassed by it, because he really was screwed after the first day even when he refused to see it.

“No, it’s- these are all for me?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking ‘bout you, so I drew these,” he speaks into your skin. “I was trying to avoid my feelings for you, but clearly, that didn’t work. You wouldn’t get out of my head and I had no idea why.”

You turn in his hold, leaving the sketchbook open on his desk. You look at him, the way his cheeks are pink at your finding of his drawings, the way his eyes flick between yours.

“I love them. Every single one,” I love you. “I thought about you a lot, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. So much. You made me nervous at first,” you admit, your hands fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

“I’m not used to, um, opening up to people and all. I’ve never even been in a relationship,” his hands come up and grab yours, like he needs the comfort. “You make me want to try, though.”

You have to say it. There’s no way you can’t, not when he’s looking at you with those eyes filled with something.

“I love you, Eddie,” his eyes widen, he freezes. “You don’t have to say it back or anything, I just really needed to tell you. You’re the first sense of comfort I’ve found since I moved, and I don’t think I would have felt at home without you and I love you.”

No matter how scared he is to be with you, because he wants to be someone worth being with and he doesn’t know what he’s doing, he can’t ignore the fact that he loves you right back. And he hasn’t said those words to many people in his life.

It’s big for him, so big that he’s stumbling over his words but he tries anyway.

“Oh my god,” he kisses your knuckles, “I love you, sweetheart. My moon girl, fuck, I love you, too. I’ve never done this before, but there’s nobody else I’d want. Nobody.”

You feel so many things at once. Relief and happiness and a thousand fireworks in your gut and in your heart. You grab his face with your hands and drag him down to kiss you.

It’s broken by your smiles, your teeth bumping into each other but neither of you care one bit. He holds your wrists gently, returns your kiss with ease. He’s delicate with his touch, so, so perfect with his lips on yours.

He only pulls away to ask, “will you be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

You nod vehemently, “been yours since you kissed me the first time. Probably even before that.”

You’re not worried about the ‘told you so’s you’re sure to get from your friends, or what happens next because you know whatever it is, Eddie’s gonna be there.

“Think you had me the minute you started talking ‘bout the moon.” He just didn’t know it yet.

༄

if you enjoyed, please leave a reblog or let me know what you thought! it helps loads more than you think <3

[too-much-tma-stuff]

No Body to Bury

This is a full dead spin off of another one shot I read about Danny being given flowers for his grave by a child.

-------

The Justice League had been working with Phantom for a while now, not consistently, but he showed up when they were dealing with something ~spooky~, and he’d given them a way to contact him. They called him in to consult, or to back them up sometimes because he was a bit of a power-house. At first they had thought the name was part of his shtick, after all his powers were ghostly enough and there was something satisfying about having a theme.

They had started to suspect something when the child citizen had given him flowers for his grave, and his delighted reaction. It could have just been a kid happy to get a gift, but it wasn’t, it was clearly more then that and Batman had had a flashback to one of Constantine’s crash course lesson’s on supernatural, the one on ghosts. Graves were very important to them, as were morning gifts like flowers and candles, whatever was culturally appropriate.

None of them knew where Phantom’s grave was, Batman had tried to find it, to find anything about the ghosts life and death, but there wasn’t much. Not before he became a hero in Amity park, so he could maybe guess that the other had died in Amity (if he had died), but there was no deaths that matched up with his appearance. The closest thing was a boy named Danny but he had gone missing years after Phantom showed up, and he’d never been declared dead officially. More was impossible to find, even after the GIW had been disbanded the information they had destroyed about the town couldn’t all be retrieved.

Since Batman didn’t know where Phantom’s grave was he couldn’t leave flowers on it directly which meant he had to actually give them to the ghost boy. It was a bit uncomfortable the first few times, and his kids made fun of him for being emotionally repressed but… it made Phantom so happy, and brought him closer and closer to Batman. He had already started to see Phantom as one of his kids, even if he knew he’d never get the ghost to come back to the manor. The gifts helped, he found that Phantom also liked to receive food, he even picked at it sometimes even though it seemed he didn’t need to eat. Sharing meals with him was a good excuse to actually talk some though, Batman would listen and eat his own food as Phantom picked at his and rambled about space, about recent fights he’d been in, and people he’d met.

Through all that Batman managed to learn more about the young hero, about what he valued, and what he did when he wasn’t being a hero. Apparently he spent a lot of time off world but exploring rather then being a hero to the galaxy. Batman had a feeling superman would be upset by that, that Phantom could be doing more good then he was and was choosing not to. But the ghost was clearly still a kid, or at least had been when he died, and he was plenty heroic, he didn’t need to be dealing with universal threats at maximum sixteen years old, Batman felt bad calling him in for the planetary threats, but sometimes it was unavoidable.

As they got closer Phantom started to let other things slip, that he’d had a sister, and a couple of close friends that he still watched over when he could. When Batman had asked if those people knew he was dead Phantom had fallen silent for a full minute and then changed the subject entirely, Batman hadn’t pushed it that time. If he had Phantom would have retreated, but as it was they kept having lunch together, and the boy let more and more slip. Including more stories about those friend he must have had while he was alive, it was during one of those that he let his name slip.

“So my sister said to me, ‘Danny you should-‘” his mind seemed to catch up with his mouth and he froze, Batman was still too but when Phantom started to fade from view he spoke up.

“Phantom, wait, why don’t we leave the tower and go somewhere private. We can talk secret identities, I’ll tell you mine too,” Batman promised, he thought it was the best way to make Danny feel better, besides he did trust Phantom.

Danny hesitated before fading back into full visibility and nodding, “Alright,” He agreed, looking very young and vulnerable. “Do you mind if I fly us down to earth? I’ll keep you safe from space,” He asked and Batman nodded, letting Danny grab his arms and phase them through the building and out. Danny flue quickly back down to the earth, the side facing away from the sun so it was the middle of the night, putting Batman down in the middle of an abandoned park, landing as well and going to sit on the swing set.

Batman followed, sitting down next to the young hero and trying hard not to think about Ace, another talented and powerful person who went through to much and died to young. Once he was sat down Bruce sighed and took off his cowl, showing his face to the other young hero. “I’m Bruce Wayne,” He said with a wry smile when he saw familiar recognition cross over Danny’s face.

“No way, that makes so much sense,” Danny cackled, which wasn’t the reaction Bruce was expecting. He’d ask about that later, instead he just gestured for Danny to introduce himself next.

“Danny Fenton,” the kid introduced, holding out his hand with an impish little smile. Bruce chuckled and shook it as if this was the first time they’d met instead of having known each other for nearly a year.

“I know that name,” Bruce hummed thoughtfully, back peddling a little when Danny tensed. “Sorry, worlds greatest detective and all, I did a bit of research on Amity Park when you joined us to see if I could track you down. I had ruled that out because your civilian identity didn’t go missing for two years until after you showed up as Phantom. Does that mean you’re not, well, dead?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck at the awkward question.

“Oh, no, I’m very dead,” Danny said with a bitter chuckle, pushing himself to rock on the swing a little. “But I didn’t die for a couple of years after I got my powers, not fully. I don’t think most people understand what it’s like to die twice,” He said, looking down, already pale hands going white around the knuckles with how tight he was holding the chains.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Batman said softly, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees. “But if you want to talk, I’ll listen, and I won’t break your confidence,” Bruce assured, they sat quietly for a few more minutes before Danny sighed and looked away.

“My parents were.. well probably best classed as mad-scientists. I loved them and they loved me but they were obsessed with ghosts and with discovery, it was always a tossup which was more important. I would join them in their lab to get their attention, and it was often my job to clean up after them. I ended up being micro-dosed on this stuff they called ectoplasm a lot which probably helped when the accident happened. My parents were trying to build a portal to the ‘ghost-zone’, what Constantine calls the infinite realms. It didn’t work at first, not till I stepped inside it, then it opened and it electrocuted me at the same time as flooding me with that weird glowing green ooze. It killed me and resurrected me simultaneously but not properly.

“Instead of actually bringing me back to life it bound my ghost back to my own body so I became the ghost possessing myself. That’s when I started working as a hero, while I was still partially alive.” He paused, swinging for a moment while Bruce stayed quiet and still, trying not to think about what Danny’s homelife must have been life, or how much it must have hurt to be killed like that.

“After a while the GIW showed up, they tried to catch me, but my parents had been trying to catch or destroy me as phantom for years. The GIW weren’t nearly as competent as the Red Huntress, so I avoided and ignored them. But I started to take it for granted and dismiss them, I didn’t pay enough attention, and they finally got the drop on me. I don’t want to talk about everything they did to me, but it was bad, and it was to much for my human half,” Danny stopped again and bit his lip, there was a hitch in his breathing that told Bruce exactly why Danny was hiding his eyes.

“Danny died, but it turned out that being half human was sort of holding back what I was capable of as a ghost,” He snickered with a little bit of bitter, vicious glee. “They couldn’t hold me anymore, all their little devices got left on my corpse when they forced me out and I destroyed the lab. After that I just… couldn’t go back to my life, it’s not natural. I died, they need to grieve me. That’s- that’s how it works.”

“And did they? Did you… get a burial?” Bruce asked, because he hadn’t seen anything about it in the news. His fear was confirmed when Danny took a deep breath and shook his head.

“No, I didn’t leave my body in the wreckage. I was worried… scratch that, I knew my parents would cremate me to try and keep me from coming back as a ghost, because they didn’t know I already was one. And that would weaken my connection to this world. I need to protect people, it’s half my purpose, I need a connection to this world.”

“Where did you hide it?” Batman asked, his breath catching when he saw Danny’s eyes flash a dangerous red.

“Why do you want to know?” He growled, bearing teeth that were sharper then they usually were. “You gonna give it back to my family for ~closure~? Destroy it yourself to curtail my power? I know Constantine is scared of me, he’d like that.”

Bruce immediately held his hands up in a placating gesture, of course Danny would be protective of his body. “No nothing like that Danny, I promise,” He said quickly. “But I just remember from what I’ve been told about ghosts, having a grave is important and, if you wanted, I would like to see you get a proper burial. It’s your body, you should get to control what happens to it but if you wanted a grave, a funeral, we have a protected graveyard for fallen heros. You’d fit right in,” He said with a uncertain smile.

Danny relaxed slowly, his eyes going back to green and his expression turning contemplative, looking back down as he thought about the offer. “Maybe… maybe,” He murmured. “It would be nice to have a grave, I’ve been leaving the flowers near my body in the ghost zone but… it would be nice to have a grave. I can feel the longing, the instinct. It feels bad to not have… have that, have something.

“But… I am scared. Would you be willing to- if you do an empty coffin funeral and burial for me, I’ll put my body in it, once the coffin is in the protected ground I can phase my body into it?” He asked, looking up at Batman worriedly and it was so obvious Danny was just a kid, a neglected boy who had been unlucky enough to die violently twice.

“Of course Danny, however you feel most comfortable,” Batman assured. Watching as Danny took a deep breath, more out of habit then anything, then nodded firmly.

“Then, I would like that. I know I am still here in a way so it feels weird having a funeral for me but, I still died, and I’d like to be remembered.” He murmured uncertainly.

“Of course, I understand. We didn’t get rid of my son’s grave when he came back because he still died. Being brought back, in any way, doesn’t really undo that,” Bruce sympathized, finally getting a small smile from Danny.

“Thank you Bruce, you’re a good guy. Now… do you need a lift back to the watchtower?”

“Yes please,” Bruce agreed with a sigh, finally standing up and pulling his hood back on. He had a funeral to plan.

"When we do have the funeral, can you ask your son to come? I'd like to meet him," Danny asked and Batman hummed, not sure how to explain the complicated relationship he had with Jason now.

"I'll try," He agreed, that was the best he could do really.

Part 2: here

[saturnville]

bite, l. hamilton

pairing: he (lewis hamilton) x black best friend oc (anvika dawson) content: in which two friends cross a line people have been waiting for them to cross. warning: 18+ content song: bite by njzoma an: y'all know I don't write smut fr, so ntm. but I hope y'all enjoy it. wc: 2,498 tags: the girlies who were hyping me up to post this @boujiestpoet @mauvecherie-writes @saintslewis @greedyjudge2 @vile-harlot @emjayewrites

“Just because we’re attracted to one another doesn’t mean we need to sleep together. I’m off that. Plus, we’re friends.”

Anvika prided herself on being a woman of self-control and discipline. Though it did not come easy, years of abstinence grew dreary and at times, very lonely, her hard work was not something she was willing to risk. Her decision to step into abstinence wasn’t one she took lightly, nor was it one that she planned, but once Anvika began the journey of healing from a heartbreak, intimacy with another man wasn’t the priority. Though that had been over four years ago and she was well over the situation, she could admit that while it was difficult to maintain her self-control, not having to worry about anyone’s snot-nosed son brought more peace than she could ever imagine. 

“Even more of a reason to let it happen. Everything happens better when you have a solid foundation first. Everybody thinks you two are together anyways. He truly cares for you, in more ways than one.” 

Anvika hummed and rolled her eyes as she brought the slender champagne fluke to her full lips. The liquid went smooth down her throat. She shrugged. “Then let them think that. Lewis is a good man, a good and attractive man, but…”

Her friend, Onyx, sighed and downed her drink with a wave of her hand. “I don’t know how you do it! I would’ve lost my mind by now. I commend you.” Onyx bowed playfully which pulled a light laugh from Anvika. Though she was joking, she couldn’t help but sense the truth behind her words. 

Though swearing off men and intimacy had become a more common practice among women, many people found it taboo and unrealistic. She soon began to ponder--what if she’d never find anyone that could give her what she wanted because of how she chose to navigate her dating life? She shook it off internally. That would be a problem, but none that would be hers. 

Before she got the chance to respond, her phone rang against the glass table that held their expensive lunch on it’s back. LH flashed across the screen. She smiled softly which caught the attention of Onyx, who gave a teasing smirk. For someone who was insistant on keeping a strong boundary between herself and her closest friend, she surely smiled like a fool whenever he called. 

“I told you I have a lunch date with Onyx today,” she reminded the racer lowly, using her index finger to draw doodles in the condensation her water glass sweat off on the table. “Everything alright?” 

“Everything’s fine, angel,” he spoke smoothly. “Just wanted to make sure you were still wanting to join me for the event on Friday.” Anvika hummed and nodded as though he could see her. He was attending a gala in London and of course, offered his plus-one to Anvika, as he had done since their friendship had begun years prior. What was his, was hers, including access to rooms and events that would grant her opportunities to further her career as a branding and marketing consultant. 

“Yes,” she replied excitedly. “I still haven’t found a dress. What color are you wearing?”

There was shuffling in the background before he spoke again. “Blue. Don’t worry about it,  I’ll handle it.” Her heart fluttered. “Enjoy your lunch. Tell Onyx I said hello and call me later, alright?” 

Anvika’s teeth trapped her bottom lip. “Alright. Talk soon.” 

“Bye, love.” 

Anvika turned her phone on its face and looked up, catching Onyx’s playful eyes. Her thick eyebrow touched her forehead. “Friends, right?” Anvika gave her a look. Onyx raised her hands in defense, “My bad, my bad.” 

-

Lewis Hamilton was a gentleman. Sure, this was universal knowledge, but something about him being gentlemanly with her made her heart flutter and her stomach clench with desire. And it almost made her question Onyx’s point, “he truly cares for you; in more ways than one.” It’d typically be something she’d deny, but as she stood in front of the mirror with her hair done by a hairstylist he arranged to come, her nails done by a nail technician he’d flown out, and a dress he arranged to be custom-made to suit her body, how could she deny it any longer? 

“Don’t think too deeply into it,” she scolded herself, slipping out of her robe. She walked toward her dress, pulled it off the hanger, and carefully slipped into it. “You’re friends. Close friends who care for one another. That’s it, that’s all.” 

They met at the paddock six years prior. She was invited to her first Formula One race through her consultant agency, which took her team on an all-expense paid trip for their hard work. She wasn’t aware of Formula One, just of familiar names. Then, at the end of the match, she had the chance to put a face to the infamous name of Lewis Hamilton. 

“You raced well,” Anvika noted, taking in the slightly disheveled appearance of the raceman. “I’ve never been to a Formula One race; good job on giving me a reason to come back one day.” 

The man’s eyebrow raised in interest. He crossed his arms over his chest, his muscular build on display. “Is that so?”

Anvika nodded. 

“We can make that happen whenever you want.” 

It was Anvika’s turn to raise an eyebrow. A smirk played on her lips. “Is that so? Tryna be my friend, Lewis?” 

He shrugged his shoulders. Friends wasn’t too bad. Anything to get to know her. “Any man would be a fool to refuse that opportunity, Anvika.”

That marked the beginning of an inseparable union.

Anvika continued to mumble and grumble, doing whatever she could to keep her mind eased. Her self-conversations were halted by a knock on her door. Lewis. “Coming!” Holding her dress to her chest. She turned the doorknob, and the familiar scent of his cologne filled her nose. “Are you…oh. Oh.”

Closing the door behind him, Lewis’ eyes were trained on her, the most beautiful woman he’d laid eyes on. The dress, complementary to his suit, was perfectly designed and tailored to her. She was a fan of long-sleeved dresses, so that’s what she got. It was constructed with a heavy, luxurious velvet material and it hugged every riff, edge, and curve on her body. The neckline showed the swell of her breasts and her beautiful collarbone. The mermaid-like tail further accentuated her shape. 

Her hair was parted to the side and curled to perfection. The makeup complimented her features--thick eyebrows, full lips, and a round nose. And her scent, goodness, it suffocated him. The jasmine and almond notes filled his nostrils and he wanted to nuzzle his face in her neck and inhale like she was the air he needed to breathe. 

“You look beautiful,” Lewis managed to speak. His voice was so low that she almost didn’t hear his compliment. With a bashful smile, she thanked him and led him to her room where she wandered toward the bathroom, which had a series of jewels across the counter. “Help me pick a necklace?” 

Anvika turned to face the jewelry and fought hard to ignore the heat that radiated from Lewis’ body as he moved to stand behind her. From over her shoulder, his eyes followed the line of jewels the stylists brought. His eyes landed on a silver necklace; a thin chain with a multi-carat teardrop diamond. “This one.” 

Lewis took the necklace in his hands and placed it around her neck. Anvika lifted her hair to grant him easy access and shivered as his cool fingertips brushed against her skin. She inhaled deeply. “Stunning.” His breath was warm against her neck. They locked eyes in the mirror ahead of them. The tension was thick. Suffocating. His brown eyes, usually so full of love and warmth, were filled with something she couldn’t quite identify, but it made her body heat like wildfire. 

“I’m ready,” she announced, careful not to let her voice waver. She turned, purposefully ignoring the groan he released when she brushed against him. Her lips quivered as she tried to give a steady smile. What the hell was happening between them? Anvika placed her hands on his chest and soothed the non-existent wrinkles on his suit jacket. He was so handsome. “You look great, darling.” 

“Thank you…” his words came out as a whisper. He was too distracted by her. Six years of friendship and what he felt from the time he met her at the paddock all those years ago had reached a breaking point. He’d boiled over. 

Anvika tried to smile as she pressed a kiss against his cheek, but with how he reacted, her lips landed at the corner of his lips. She took a step back. “Let’s get ready to go, yeah?” 

Lewis swallowed thickly. He held his arm out for her, which she grabbed instinctively, and together, they were out the door with a million and one thoughts swimming between them. 

-

“And that beauty you’ve brought?” an older man questioned Lewis, who had his eyes on Anvika as she danced through the siloes of people in the room. The gala was nothing short of a popularity function, a random event on a random weekend for the host to flaunt their money and connections, Truthfully, his desire to attend dwindled once he saw her in that dress. She was the only thing on his mind. 

“Anvika Dawson,” Lewis said, nodding in her direction. “One of the best branding and marketing consultants in the industry. She’s amazing at everything she does. You’ve got a business, don’t you?” And that’s why he was a good friend, Anvika noted as she began to walk over, hearing him advocate for her in front of the man. 

“You flatter me,” she said with a smile as she took a position under Lewis’ arm, which slid around her waist. “Anvika Dawson, nice to meet you.” 

The older man, who had went by the nam Eli, shook her hand firmly and nodded in interest. “Well, pardon me, but the two of you would make a wonderful couple.” The young adult chuckled lightly; the comment was nothing new to them, but it seemed to bring them both discomfort given the fact that they had a very intimate moment just an hour before their arrival. Before Lewis could speak up, Anvika thanked the man sweetly then they were whisked in another direction. 

They were joined together at the hip for the remainder of the evening. And, on the rare occasion that they were apart, they stole glances from across the room like teenagers in a romantic sitcom. Soon, the event wrapped up and they were in the backseat of the car, sitting in a thick silence. 

Anvika sat at the right of the car, her knees turned inward and her legs crossed. With every bump in the road and swerve of the car, the tip of her heel brushed against Lewis’ leg. His breath hitched. She said nothing. 

The car came to an abrupt stop and the doors were opened for them. Before her foot could touch the ground, Lewis’ hand was awaiting. “Thank you,” Anvika said softly, and allowed him to guide her into the hotel. 

He still hadn’t said much. The walk to the elevator was quiet, yet, he hadn’t let go of her hand. What was he thinking about? If it was the sudden shift in their interactions, it didn’t go unnoticed by her either. 

The elevator doors peeled open and Lewis guided her in. He pressed the button, 10, that would send them to the floor their rooms were on. The elevator ride seemed slow as each ding indicated they’d entered another floor.��

Anvika cleared her throat and decided to speak up, “I enjoyed tonight. And again, you looked great. I love blue on you.” 

He couldn’t remember what happened between her compliment, her back against the elevator wall, and his lips on hers.  The only thing that forced him to key in was her hands pressing against his abdomen and his name falling from her lips. “Lewis…” What he’d heard time and time again in his dreams had finally become a reality. His stomach churned; could he get her to say it again? “What are you…” She cut herself off when she fell victim to the wonderful feeling of his lips against her jaw. 

“I just…” Lewis settled his face in her neck. “One night, Vi. Let me have one night with you…” Her heart pounded in her ears. What the hell was happening? 

“Lewis…” Her hand slipped and fell just above his belt. She extended her arm just slightly. “We can’t do this. I-I don’t want to mess up our friendship and you know I’m not going all the way with anyone--” 

Lewis hummed. His eyes sat low as he looked at her. She looked completely worn out as if he’d done to her what he truly wanted. Her forehead glistened with sweat, her lipstick was smeared, and her chest heaved. “Nothing will change for the worse, angel. And I don’t want to go there with you, just want to make you feel good…always have.” His left arm circled around her waist and his large hand palmed her backside. She whimpered. “Can I?” 

“Someone might see...” 

He ignored her. “Can I make you feel good?” His tone was stern as he repeated his question. Suddenly, the gala was out of her mind and the only thing that clouded her thoughts was him. Him and him only. Lewis Hamilton had infiltrated her mind and she finally stopped fighting it. 

The elevator dinged. “Yes…” 

-

“Should I…?” her hands reached for the necklace that shone beneath the dim lights of the hotel suite. Lewis shook his head and peeled his jacket off his shoulders, revealing a crisp white wife beater. He shed that too. Anvika’s breath hitched. “Keep it on. Lay back for me, angel.” 

Anvika looked like an angel surrounded by the comforter. Her undergarments were long discarded, save for her underwear which he kept in the pocket of his pants. The pure white of the sheets were a stark contrast to the richness of her complexion. Her hair was sprawled against the pillow with a few strands covering her face lazily. The look on her face was one of comfort, relief in one way or another. 

She welcomed Lewis’ body between her legs as he crawled on the bed and his lips against hers as he hovered above her. For the first time that night, Anvika’s hands didn’t tremble when she touched him. She welcomed the feeling of every ridge of muscle, every raised scar, and every mature tattoo. 

Their hands moved frantically over each other’s body, and it felt amazing. She hadn’t realized how touch deprived she was until she heard his chuckle in her ear. Her face warmed. She felt like a teenager. “It’s okay…” his lips ghosted against the shell of her ear. “Make all the noise you want.” 

Anvika didn’t respond--her mouth wouldn’t allow her to. As Lewis moved down her body, she sat on her elbows, watching and waiting. God, he was so handsome like this. His head was dipped between her thighs and his tattooed glistened under the dim lights. Slowly, he lips created an intentional trail from her belly down to the treasure just centimeters away from his mouth. 

Her fingers clawed at the bedsheets as the anticipation rose. She was becoming impatient. He was giving attention to every other place except where he wanted her. She huffed. “Lewis…” 

He hummed, clearly unbothered by her frustration. He glanced at her, “Yes?” She whimpered. “Talk to me.” He was amused, very amused. She was desperate for him. It was evident by the way her arousal seeped onto the bed. He gathered some on his fingers, using it as a lubricant as he finally began to touch her. 

Anvika gasped. His movements were slow and meticulated but they were enough to set her over the edge. He brought his lips to hers again, which she accepted sloppily. Her jaw fell slack as he continued to work her to her first release of the night. It came quickly, quicker than she would have liked. When his fingers hit that spot within her, her hips jerked and she squeaked his name. 

Lewis chuckled, “That’s it?” He prodded that spot again. “Right there?” Anvika nodded. He removed his fingers. She groaned in frustration, “Lewis, please!”

“Please what?” He brought his fingers to his lips and moaned at the taste of her on his tongue. If this was just the beginning, he couldn’t imagine how mad he’d go in the coming moments. “Tell me what you want.”

She clocked it. He wanted her to beg. Anvika wasn’t the begging type. She may have been far removed from having sex, but she always got her way, especially with Lewis. Her hands trailed down the muscular planes of his stomach. Her fingers hooked in his belt and pulled him forward. Her fingers curled around his neck and her nails toyed with the faded hair there. She brought her smeared lips to his ear, her tongue dancing against the shell of it. He shudder. “I want you to make my legs shake and rock my world. Can you do that, Lewis?” 

Her voice. The way her voice dropped in octave but increased in seduction had his head spinning. There were a few moments of silence as he fought hard to gather himself and the more she spurred him on, the most difficult it became. But then, she heard it, “Yes…”

-

“Right there, right there! Oh my…” He was a lover of music. Being in a studio, creating melodies to go with lyrics, was his favorite pastime. But this took the cake. She created her a song better than he could have ever imagined, and was it addicting. 

Her moans, cries, and screams were melodic and his name was the only lyric she knew. He hated repetition in music, but loved hearing hers. So addicting. So well created. So beautiful. 

Her legs trembled around his head and her hands were buried in his braids. He fought the urge to bend her over when she whispered out the faintest, “Baby, please…” She’d used terms of endearment before, but in this context, it was different. “I’m close!”

Her body, damp with sweat and covered in bruises created by his mouth, jumped and jolted as she grew closer to her peak. Lewis sat up, replacing his tongue with his highly skilled fingers. He used his arm to stabilize his body as he hovered over her. What a sight.

Her hair was completely sweated out, pooped and frizzy at the roots. Her makeup stained the pillows and her lips were swollen from her biting and his intense kisses. Her neck was dark with love bites. Her eyelids were hooded but he could see the fire behind her eyes. If only he could capture her and keep the picture in his pocket forever. 

“Doing so well for me,” he whispered, kissing against her cheek and jaw. His fingers made quick work of the huddle of nerves between her legs. “Taking it like a good girl.” Her moans grew louder, higher in pitch, and full of air. It was becoming too much—her hands pushed against his arm, trying to run. “Don’t run now. Isn’t this what you wanted?” 

“Lewis, I’m—“ she cut herself off with a high pitched scream that seemed to ring on forever. Lewis chuckled lightly and worked her through her orgasm. “That’s it, baby.” Her body shook as she tried to come down calmly.

He spent a few minutes between her legs, caressing her gently as an act of comfort. Her loud noises had diminished to soft whimpers as she came down from cloud nine. When she finally opened her eyes again, he asked, “You okay?” 

She was better than okay. Though they didn’t cross all the lines, Anvika had gotten the best orgasm she’d received in her life from a man’s mouth and hands. She’d deal with the consequences later, but in that moment, she felt amazing. 

She nodded and smiled lazily. “I’m okay. Are you…do you want me to…?” Her eyes fell to the evident bulge that strained against his pants. He shook his head.

“I’m okay. Let’s get you cleaned up…”

-

What was supposed to be a shower to clean her up resulted in her on her knees giving him the most intense release he’d experienced in months. It left him panting, shaking, and whimpering like it was his first time all over again. 

Once again, she looked angelic with her now curly hair flat against her back and big brown eyes staring at him as she worked him like the expert she was. He came in her with with a groan, his fingers in her hair. She stood to her feet, smiling innocently as she showed him there was no remnant of him left in her mouth. 

“You’re nasty,” he announced, grabbing her jaw to place a sloppy kids on her lips. 

“Mhmmm, just the way I like it.” 

They migrated to her bed shortly after, laying together in a comfortable silence. Anvika’s head was against his bare chest and herfingers traced the tattoos on his body. Lewis’ arm was around her waist and his hand massaged her plump bottom. 

They were tired, exhausted even. But, they fought sleep like children, internally afraid of what the morning would bring. All actions had consequences whether good or bad. It was a mutual hope that what they’d done wouldn’t bring on the latter. 

“Lewis?” Anvika called after some time. 

“Yes, angel?” 

“Are we gonna be okay?” Her voice trembled slightly. They’d crossed a line--a big one. She had wobbled on her boundaries. There was a lot to discuss and a lot to consider. It was an amazing experience, she couldn’t lie, but her biggest fear was that she’d lose him as an important person in her life if reality didn’t set in the way they intended. 

Lewis gave her a squeeze and brought his lips to her forehead. Sensing her worry, he reassured, “We’ll always be okay.” And she believed it.

[theroundbartable]

Arthur has been hexed. Again. It's not an evil one and technically, it doesn't hurt him in any way. It's just -

"im bloody red, Merlin!"

Merlin turns page after page. "Apparently that just signals that you're in love. It doesn't say with who, it's just... Apparently you're head over heels."

Arthur: that's stupid. I'm not in love. Show me the page.

So Merlin does and Arthur eventually has to relent. "What's even the purpose of this?"

Merlin shrugs. "Seems like a cruel joke to me. It only goes away in 25 hours."

"25? That's an odd number. Whatever." Arthur sighs. "I have no idea who this is supposed to be about. I mean... Shouldn't I want someone for this to make sense?"

Merlin shrugs again. "Hell if I know. But there must be someone you like. Why not just... i dunno, ask them out and figure it out. Perhaps it's not even meant romantically. I mean, sometimes the cook leaves me extra blueberries. I could swear I fall in love with her every time. And she's 64."

Arthur nods. "Hmm. Maybe. Well, I mean, the closest person to me is you. Maybe that's who they mean? I mean, you're an idiot. But you say wise things sometimes."

Merlin: me? That's hella weird. We already spend 99% of our time together. Why would you want to be with me?

Arthur: i don't. That's the point.

Merlin: hmm. You know what? It wouldn't even change anything. We could like... start dating. If it's annoying we just go back to normal. If it isn't, then we get some experience for dating life. I think that's kind of benefitial, don't you think?

Arthur: you're only say that because you can have more blueberries if you are my consort.

Merlin: yes. And you can't force me to polish your armor anymore. Or put me in the stocks for insulting you

Arthur: I don't see what's in it for me, then.

Merlin: hmm..... I would let you sleep in, in the morning.

Arthur: no, you wouldn't.

Merlin: ... Ok fair

Arthur: but you'd have to consult me before you do your self sacrificial bullshit again. And you'd be easier protected when we're attacked... Maybe it's not such a bad idea

Merlin: see? I'm a genius.

Arthur: do we have to make out?

Merlin: no, but i'm not against it. Are you?

Arthur: hmm.... No. Not really. So, it's a deal then?

Merlin: yeah, sure. Sounds fun

.....

5 years later

Arthur: I think we should get married

Merlin: hmm... Why?

Arthur: tax evasion

Merlin: ....

Merlin: we don't even pay taxes

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Me & You & Everyone We Know | Chapter 20 FINAL | S.R

Previous Chapter

Chapter Summary - It’s eight months later and Spencer’s life has changed dramatically. Did he ever get his happy ending?

A/N - Final chapter folks! 'Bout time, right?

Pairing - Single Dad! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, smut minors DNI.

Warnings - some light angst but overall long overdue fluff. WC - 5.3k

Chapter 20 - First Day of My Life

And I don't know where I am, I don't know where I've been,

But I know where I want to go.

And so I thought I'd let you know,

Yeah, these things take forever, I especially am slow,

But I realised that I need you,

And I wondered if I could come home.

“How did you find me?” 

“I know a guy.”

“What do you want?” 

“It’s time we had a long overdue talk.”

“What could we possibly have to talk about?” 

“Spencer. We need to talk about Spencer.” 

***

Eight Months Later

Spencer Reid had a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he slotted the last handful of books into their new home on the bookshelf in his new office. 

He ran his fingers over the spines and the smile started to take route, blossoming and growing until it reached all the way to his eyes. 

He surveyed the room, tucked away at the back of the second storey of his new home. His old trusty desk sat beneath the old bay windows with the most gorgeous lighting drifting in through the open curtains from the surprisingly glorious winter day outside. 

He slid into his leather chair and brushed his fingertips over the dark wood desk. 

He’d officially moved into the old gothic style house back in the fall and the rest of the home had come together nicely. But his office had been a slow process, a tiring process. 

This room more than any others in the new house had to be perfect. He would be spending a lot of time in this room and it had to be just right. And after weeks of shuffling furniture around, it finally fit his criteria. 

Eight months ago Spencer had made a decision about his future. He’d quit teaching, never returning to Georgetown after the summer break. Instead he struck a deal with BAU Unit Chief Emily Prentiss. 

On the weeks Maeve had the girls he would work from Quantico or go away with the team on cases. When he had the girls he would work from his home office as a consultant. 

His FBI badge sat next to his computer along with his new credentials and every time he looked at them he couldn’t help but smile. 

The BAU was his home. In all the years since he’d left he’d felt like something was missing from his life. But now he had found his way back to his rightful place in the world. 

It allowed him to feel fulfilled in both his home and work life. He didn’t have to give up any of his precious time spent with his daughters and he was able to work a job he loved with every fibre of his being. 

Since the incident the night of the art show, Spencer had not had a single sip of alcohol. He was closing in on nine months sober and honestly he’d never felt better. 

He still took his antidepressants, but a much lower dose now and he’d quit seeing Doctor Sanchez months ago. 

His relationship was Maeve had slowly repaired itself over time to the point he would now call her one of his closest friends. 

Eight months ago he would never have believed he could be this happy again. But it just went to show what a little hard work and determination could do. 

He ran his fingers over the desk again as he got to his feet. He walked past the desk and across the room. 

In the doorway he turned back for one last glance around the room.

Yes, everything was falling into place. 

***

You fought with the zipper on the back of your dress, huffing and puffing through excretion. When you finally got the thing all the way up your arms fell back to your sides and you let out a large breath. 

You gave yourself a once over in the mirror, turning this way and that and scrutinising your appearance. You’d looked better, that was for sure. But given the circumstances you didn’t look half bad. 

The pile of papers on the dresser caught your gaze through the mirror and you rolled your eyes as they seemingly taunted you. 

Tomorrow was paperwork day. Today there were more pressing things at hand. 

You’d received your doctorate in August and since Doctor Spencer Reid’s sudden resignation from the university you had taken over teaching his classes. 

It wasn’t your end goal, but for now you couldn’t deny you loved teaching. Maybe one day you’d look elsewhere but as of right now you quite liked your place in the world. 

The past eight months had been a whirlwind to say the least, and where you’d found yourself was not at all where you imagined ending up. But you couldn’t pretend you weren’t happy where you were. 

You moved over to the bed, your stomach coiling a little as you sat down on the edge of it. You slipped your feet into your shoes as your mind wandered back some eight months. 

“How did you find me?” You scrutinised the woman on your doorstep, recognising her from one fleeting sighting of her some time ago. 

“I know a guy.” She shrugged simply. 

“What do you want?” You folded your arms across your chest. 

She was the last person you expected to see here and the last person you wanted to be face to face with. 

“It’s time we had a long overdue talk.” She mirrored your action and crossed her own arms. 

“What could we possibly have to talk about?” You scoffed. 

“Spencer.” She rolled her eyes. “We need to talk about Spencer.” 

Having the former Mrs Reid show up at your apartment had thrown you through a loop. You’d been so shell shocked you’d actually invited her inside. 

Maeve proceeded to tell you all the reasons you needed to give Spencer a second chance. She explained to you why he’d lied to you about not being in love with you, how he was simply trying to protect himself from getting hurt again. 

She went into great detail about how she knew you and Spencer belonged together and that you were the loves of each other's lives. 

You hadn’t spoken much, simply listened. And when she left she tried to put the whole thing behind you so you could move on. You still had no idea to this day how she knew where you lived and could only assume someone at the BAU had given her the intel. 

Two months later you’d gone back to work to find Spencer had quit the university. And for some reason the thought of never seeing him again undid all the hard work you’d put in over the summer to get over him. 

“Y/N?” He blinked at you as though he wasn’t sure he trusted his own eyes. “Uh, what are you doing here?” 

“Can I come in?” You hugged your arms around yourself. 

“Yeah, sure. The place is still a mess, I literally only moved in a few days ago.” He held open the door to his new home and let you inside. 

Boxes were piled up all over the place. A couch and a coffee table were the only visible furniture. 

“How did you know where I live?” He hovered between piles of boxes. 

“Maeve,” you croaked. “She came to me a few months ago and left me her number. I didn’t ever expect to use it but when I found out you’d quit I just…I wanted to know why. So I called her and she gave me your address, said she has the girls this week.” 

“Maeve came to you? Why?” He frowned, scratching at the back of his head. 

“She wanted to explain some things. About you. About why you lied to me.” 

“Right,” his frown deepened.

“So why did you quit?” 

“That’s why you came here? Really? You want to know why I quit Georgetown? I haven't seen or heard from you in months and that’s what you came here for?” He looked at you somewhat indignantly. 

“They offered me your job. I just want to know if you plan on coming back before I take it.” You shrugged. 

“You got your doctorate?” His lip quivered into something resembling a smile. 

“I did. So are you coming back or can I take your job?” 

“I rejoined the BAU.” He rolled his lip between his teeth. “Not a full caseload like I used to work, I can fit my hours around the girls now Maeve and I have joint custody. It’s where I belong.” 

“Fine.” You finally let your arms fall to your sides. “That’s all I came here for.” 

You turned away from him, back towards the old mahogany front door with the stained glass window in the centre but you didn’t get very far. 

“I shouldn’t have lied to you.” He spoke and when you turned back around he was a few steps closer to you. “I thought I was protecting us both but really I was only hurting us.”

“I didn’t come here for this.” You shook your head. 

“Well you certainly didn’t come all the way out here to ask if I was coming back to work.” He chuckled dryly. “I may always have complicated feelings towards my ex but my feelings for you are anything but. I love you Y/N. I love you more than words can describe and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please don’t walk away. Please give me another chance.” 

Your eyes misted with tears but you were not going to let them fall. You bit the inside of your cheek in hopes of keeping them at bay. 

You straightened your back, clenched your jaw and spat a simple, “no.” 

You pushed yourself up, wobbling slightly as you did so. You pinched the bridge of your nose and closed your eyes to try to ease the dizziness. 

You gave yourself one last look in the mirror, smoothing down the front of your dress which was a little tighter than you would have liked it to be, before shaking your head and pushing out of the door. 

***

“You really don’t have to do this.” Maeve rolled her eyes at him through the mirror. 

“Oh please, I’m great with kids.” Spencer scoffed, nudging the rocker a little and smiling down at the little dark haired bundle of joy. 

“Well yes I know that,” she huffed, toying with the strap of her dress. “But it seems weird to have you look after my son.” 

Little Elijah, Daisy and Lily’s half brother, was twelve weeks old and Spencer had almost forgotten how tiny babies were. 

“It’s really no big deal. He’s my daughter’s half brother, he’s basically family.” He shrugged. 

“And what a weird family we are.” Maeve laughed as she turned back to face Spencer. “So, how do I look?” 

Spencer glanced up from baby Elijah and onto her and tears immediately filled his eyes. He stood up and crossed the room towards her, gaze flicking up and down her frame. 

“Good gosh Maeve,” he breathed. “You look incredible.” 

“Don’t cry.” She shook her head. “Because if you start I’ll start.” 

“Sorry, sorry.” He shook his head, rubbing his eyes with his palms to try and dismiss the tears. “But seriously, you look amazing.”

She smiled at him, glancing down at her white, satin dress. She felt like a princess, and judging by Spencer’s reaction she looked like one too.

“Thank you,” she took hold of his hands and squeezed them. “And you’re sure you don’t mind watching over Elijah for the day?” 

“For the one hundredth time I do not mind at all. For the record, I hate weddings anyway so this kinda works out great for me. If he cries I have an excuse to leave early.” He smirked at her and she removed her hands from his so she could slap his bicep. 

“You’re such a cynic.” She rolled her eyes. 

“What can I say?” He shrugged. “I heard eloping is all the rage.” 

She rolled her eyes yet again. 

“Can you believe we’re here? I never in a million years thought I’d ever get married again.” She sighed wistfully. 

“I always thought when I got married it would be forever.” He nodded. “And after all we’ve been through I never thought we’d end up here.” 

“Friends you mean?”’

“Is that what this is? Huh. Good to know.” He chuckled, yet again making Maeve roll her eyes. 

She turned her back on him again and toyed with her hair in the mirror. Spencer moved back over to where baby Elijah was dribbling down his chin, making little gurgling noises. 

He picked up the rocket and attached it to the frame of the stroller so he was ready to make a quick exit when needed. 

Just then the door to the bridal suite flew open and his two boisterous daughters barrelled in, wearing their matching purple bridesmaids dresses. 

“Mom!” Daisy gasped. “Oh my gosh you look amazing!” 

“Mom you’re so pretty!” Lily agreed excitedly. 

“Thank you sweethearts.” Maeve turned and held her arms open for the girls who quickly embraced their mother.

“I mean, I’m also here.” Spencer shrugged. “I thought I looked pretty good too.” 

“Shut up dad.” Daisy rolled her eyes at him. 

“Yeah dad, you’re not the one getting married.” Lily also rolled her eyes. 

Since turning eight a few months ago, Lily had started becoming more and more like her sister by the day. Spencer couldn’t remember the time she’d called him daddy or the last time she’d asked him to read to her. 

Life was moving way too fast for his liking. His little girls were growing up, soon enough they’d be leaving him. Now wasn’t the time to get down about it though, he still had exciting things in his future. 

“Fair enough,” he sighed. “I’m going to take Elijah and get a seat. Try not to upstage your mom, kiddos.” 

“He’s such a dork.” He heard Daisy say. 

“Yeah who says kiddos?” He heard Lily reply. 

He smiled to himself as he left the room, pushing Elijah’s stroller towards the large ballroom down the hall. 

Soft music played through small, indiscriminate speakers, as people started taking their seats either side of the grand aisle. 

Maeve had always dreamed of a big wedding, their own nuptials at city hall had left a lot for her imagination to desire. And Spencer was glad she was finally getting everything she’d always wanted. 

He came to a stop by the door where Bobby, beaming with pride, was waiting to greet people. He spotted Spencer and his son heading his way and waved at them. 

“Hey, how’s my little man doing?” 

“I’m not bad, thanks.” Spencer joked, now making Bobby roll his eyes. “Oh you mean Elijah? He’s good aren’t you buddy?” 

Bobby crouched down and cooed over his son for a moment or two, placing a kiss on his forehead before standing back to his full height. 

“Thanks for being here, man. It means a lot to Maeve that you approve of this.” Bobby smiled a gentle smile at him. 

“I just want her to be happy.” Spencer shrugged. “And I’ve never seen her happier than when she’s with you.” 

Bobby extended his hand and Spencer took it, shaking his ex-wife’s soon to be new husband's hand. 

It was probably extremely weird if he stopped to think about it, but that was a thought for another day. 

“Are you happy, Spencer?” Bobby surprised him when he asked. 

A smile toyed on Spencer’s lips as he closed his eyes briefly and gave thought to his life. When he opened his eyes again his smile grew. 

“You know what? I really am.” He nodded. 

Bobby patted him on the shoulder before Spencer took the stroller again and headed through the doors. 

He headed towards the bar in the corner, spotting JJ, Will and the boys already in their seats and offered them a wave as he passed. 

Towards the bar he saw Luke and Garcia, holding hands and giggling between themselves. Nearby Rossi sipped his scotch and tilted his glass at Spencer as he passed. 

Cameron was hovering on the other side of the room, looking much like a spare part. He didn’t know anyone here and was instructed to wait patiently for his girlfriend while she fulfilled her bridesmaids duties. 

The rest of the team were due to be here but the ceremony wasn’t due to start for another half hour so he had no doubt they’d be here soon. 

He pushed the stroller up to the bar and applied the brake, ordering himself a club soda and leaning on the bar top while he waited. 

Elijah started to stir, his gurgling noises starting to sound a little strained. Spencer stood back up and peered in his stroller. 

“Hey you,” he reached towards the tiny boy and unclipped him from the seat. “It’s ok.” 

He lifted Elijah from the stroller, his little face contorted as though he may start crying at any moment. Spencer held the back of soft head and brought him to his chest, cradling him in his arms. 

“It’s ok, it’s ok.” He bounced him gently. “Don’t cry, it’s your mommy and daddy’s big day. We don’t want tears.” 

He rocked him back and forth and thanked the bar tender when he placed his club soda on the bar. Elijah continued to gurgling, but the rocking motion seemed to calm him. 

“It’s ok.” He kissed the side of Elijah’s head. 

He’d missed this. He missed when his girls were this small and they didn’t talk back to him and one cuddle from their daddy solved all their problems. 

He missed sneaking into their rooms at night just to watch them sleep when the baby monitor wasn’t enough. He missed the way they would cling to his hand so tightly, the way they’d once thought their dad was a superhero. 

He loved his girls, more than humanly possible. He loved them as babies, as toddlers and he loved them now, one as a teenager and another who thought she was a teenager. 

But as time went on Spencer felt like his girls needed him less and less with every passing day. He sometimes felt redundant as a parent, like his job was done. 

Elijah was brand new. Maeve and Bobby would have all those things he’d taken for granted with Daisy and Lily. 

Sometimes he wished he could go back in time, really savour those moments. In the blink of an eye his girls would be going off to college, having families of their own and then they really wouldn’t need him anymore. 

He held Elijah a little longer than he needed to, momentarily pretending he was Daisy or Lily and he had a chance to do it all over again. 

“You’ve got your whole life ahead of you little man. And you got so lucky. You’re mom and dad love you so much and you have the two best sisters in the whole world. And this extended family of yours…” he trailed off, glancing around the room at his family, his BAU family. “You don’t know how lucky you’ve got it kid.”

He started getting a little misty eyed as he stroked Elijah’s head, still rocking him in his arms. Elijah made a happy little cooing sound and Spencer smiled to himself. He closed his eyes and breathed in that new baby scent, imagining one of his daughter’s in his arms when they were so small and vulnerable. 

“That’s a good look on you, daddy.”  

His eyes snapped back open and he couldn’t hold back the smile on his face. He cautiously laid Elijah back down in his stroller, buckling him back in. 

“Just remembering what it was like, it's been a while.” He chuckled, reaching out his hands. “You look like a goddamn dream.” 

“You say that like you didn’t see me this morning.” You laughed, taking hold of his outstretched hands. 

“You somehow look more beautiful every single time I lay eyes on you.” He pulled you close by your hands and moved them to cup your face. 

“You’re not going to cry are you?” You teased him as he kissed you. 

“I can’t promise anything.” He laughed against your lips. 

“I may always have complicated feelings towards my ex but my feelings for you are anything but. I love you Y/N. I love you more than words can describe and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please don’t walk away. Please give me another chance.” 

Your eyes misted with tears but you were not going to let them fall. You bit the inside of your cheek in hopes of keeping them at bay. 

You straightened your back, clenched your jaw and spat a simple, “no.” 

Turning away from him towards the door, you soon felt a hand on your shoulder. 

“That’s not good enough for me.” He turned you back to face him. “I cannot let you walk away again.”

Before you knew what was happening, Spencer caged you back against the door and kissed you. And despite everything, all the pain and hurt he’d caused you, you kissed him back. 

And the rest, as they say, was history. 

You didn’t walk away, couldn’t even if you tried. You hadn’t walked away in the six months since and you knew you never would. 

Four weeks later you moved into his new home with him and the girls. 

Daisy and Lily adored you and in return you loved them just as much. They enjoyed having another woman around and oftentimes the three of you would gang up on their dad, much to Spencer’s chagrin. 

Daisy talked to you about things she wasn’t always comfortable talking to her parents about. Lily liked it when you braided her hair. They both enjoyed the shopping trips you took them on. 

Spencer kissed you once more before letting go of your face and taking hold of one of your hands again. 

“This place is fancy.” You spoke as your eyes flitted around the grand room. 

“I did try to explain to her the benefits of eloping.” Spencer shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. 

“It’s not for everyone.” You chuckled.

Spencer raised your hand and placed a kiss on your knuckles, right next to your gold wedding band. 

“Do you regret it? Not having some big fancy event like this?” 

“Are you kidding me?” You pulled a face, glancing down at his matching band. “The only person I needed at our wedding was you, Doctor Reid.”

Some might say it was too soon, that the two of you had rushed into things but they would be wrong. 

When you know, you know and you both knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were meant to be together and didn’t want to waste a second not being married. Nothing had ever felt so right as standing up in that little Vegas chapel and promising each other forever. 

“I love you so much. Doctor Reid.” He squeezed your hand. 

The kiss lasted several minutes and by the time Spencer pulled back you were both panting. 

The look he was giving you was like no look anyone had ever given you before. And it told you all you needed to know. 

This man was incomparably in love with you, and would go to the ends of the earth for you. This man would do anything for you. 

He’d made some mistakes, but so had you. Life wasn’t always perfect, there would always be bumps in the road. But with any luck the hardest hurdles were now in your past. 

He loved you and you loved him and it was just as simple as that. 

“I don’t want the best days of my life to have passed me by. I want it all, Y/N. I want to get married, I want to have more kids. And I want it with you.”

“It really is a good job we don’t both work at Georgetown anymore, two Doctor Reid’s is just confusing.” You laughed.

“Well I think it could be done. There would just be the hot Doctor Reid and the other Doctor Reid.” He shrugged, his eyes sparkling playfully.

“Which one am I?” 

“You will never know, my love.” He chuckled, pulling you close again and kissing you slightly more fiercely than was appropriate for the current setting. 

Before things could get too hot and heavy, Elijah whined, tearing the two of you apart. You both moved to his stroller and looked down on him.

“Hey little man, what seems to be the problem?” You stroked his wrinkly forehead. 

He kicked his tiny legs, blowing little spit bubbles in his mouth. Spencer cooed at him while you continued stroking his head. 

Within a few seconds he calmed down again, perhaps he just wanted some attention. Baby’s and dogs weren’t all that dissimilar, Taco had a penchant for whining when he wanted attention. 

“Oh jeez, I’m sorry. I didn’t ask if you wanted a drink.” Spencer stood back up and picked up his club soda. 

“Just water, please. I’ve been feeling a little queasy again this morning.” You rubbed your stomach. 

“Hopefully that’ll pass soon.” He kissed your cheek before getting the bartender's attention again and ordering you a glass of water. 

Soon after handing it to you, Daisy and Lily in their beautiful dresses, carrying bouquets, were heading your way. 

Spencer saw the coy smile Daisy sent in the direction of her boyfriend and it made his stomach tighten. How he wished he could slow down time so his daughter never got older. 

“You need to go sit, it’s starting in a minute.” Daisy demanded. 

“Sit please.” Lily echoed. 

Spencer looked between his girls and you and little Elijah who could now barely keep his eyes open. He was flooded by nostalgia, weddings always did have that effect on him. 

The girls turned to leave, to finish their rounds but Spencer stopped them. 

“Hey, pumpkins?” His voice cracked a little as he spoke. 

“Stop it.” Daisy frowned at him, hearing the way his voice broke.

“Stop what? Spencer frowned back. 

“I can see you getting sappy. Don’t do it. Please, dad?” She begged him.

“Yeah please, dad?” Lily repeated.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.” He looked over at Elijah again. “I just miss when you girls were that little. When you needed me.”

You slipped your hand in his, giving it a squeeze to try and tether him to the present before he went down a rabbit hole into the past. 

Daisy and Lily looked at each other, communicating subconsciously in the weird way sisters seemed to be able to do. 

“We’ll always need you, dad.” Lily spoke as they looked back at him. 

“You will?”

“Of course, you’re our dad.” Daisy shrugged.

“We love you.” Lily insisted. 

“I love you both so much.” His voice cracked again, eyes misting with tears.

“Oh god,” Daisy groaned. “Do not cry. Stop it.” 

“Make him stop, Y/N.” Lily looked at you pleadingly. 

“I wish I could.” You chuckled, giving his hand another firm squeeze. “But you know your dad, he’s an emotional kind of guy.”

“We can’t stay little kids forever, dad.” Daisy offered him a slightly sad smile.

“I know, I know.” He nodded, using his free hand to wipe his eyes before any tears fell.

“But hey, at least you get to do it all over again.” Daisy shrugged, nodding towards your belly. 

“Hey Y/N?” Spencer spoke to you from the bed of the Caesars Palace Honeymoon suite. 

“Yeah?” You called back from the bathroom. 

“Let’s make a baby.” 

You frowned to yourself and put down your toothbrush, padding back into the bedroom.

“Excuse me?” You leant against the doorframe, your new husband lying naked on top of the covers.

“Let’s make a baby.” He repeated.

You’d come off your pill a week or so ago after you’d discussed wanting to try for a baby at some point in the future. You were still using condoms though and Spencer still never finished inside of you. 

“Right now?” You questioned.

“Why not?” He shrugged. 

“We literally just got married like five hours ago.” You laughed, stepping further into the room. 

“I don’t want to wait.” He reached for you as soon as you were close enough, pulling you down to the bed. “Let’s make a baby.” 

Your hand involuntarily went to your growing stomach, the one that you could barely fit inside this dress. You were at fourteen weeks and only just starting to show, it wouldn’t be long now before none of your clothes fit you.

“That is true.” Spencer looked at you with a smile that lit up the entire room. 

He was now for three for three. Three times in his life he had unprotected sex, finishing inside of someone, and all three times he had gotten them pregnant. He often wondered if he had some kind of super sperm. 

He placed his free hand on top of yours on your stomach, on the future addition to his pumpkin patch, to his crazy, slightly unconventional family. 

He wouldn’t change his past, wouldn’t change Daisy and Lily or the way they were brought into the world. But this new baby growing inside of you, you at his side as his wife; this was the life he chose and the life you both chose to make.

“Anyway, you seriously need to go and sit down, mom will be pissed if you miss this.” Daisy snapped him out of his revere. 

“Please don’t use that word.” Spencer rolled his eyes.

“Whatever,” Daisy shrugged. “Come on Lil, let's get the others.” 

Lily happily followed her sister while the two of them rounded up all the guests and motioned them towards their seats. It wasn’t lost on him the way his youngest lit up when Michael LaMontagne smiled at her.

He swore one day he would be at their wedding. 

Spencer glanced around and spotted Matt and Kristy hand in hand, closely followed by Emily and Tara who were chatting between themselves as they found seats near JJ and Will. He looked back at you, tears now back in his eyes.

“Don’t.” You shook your head. “I am a hormonal mess as it is. If you start crying, I will too.” 

“Sorry,” he sighed wistfully. “I’m just so damn happy.” 

“Me too, Spence.” You agreed, leaning in and kissing him. “Me too.” 

The two you hung back with Elijah now asleep in his stroller while everyone else took their seats. Your own eyes took in the room, the girls, the BAU members and everyone in between. 

This family had found you and accepted you as one of their own with open arms. The Reid family, the BAU family, without really meaning to you’d become a part of something you never knew you’d always wanted. 

It may be slightly unorthodox, but it didn’t make what you had any less special. In fact in your eyes, the oddness of this family dynamic made it even more exceptional. And you wouldn’t change a single thing. 

Spencer let go of your hand and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, placing a soft kiss on your head while reaching for the stroller with his free hand.

“Looks like it’s just me and you, angel.” He held you close, he always held you so close. 

You glanced at Elijah before looking back around at all the faces in the room.

Daisy and Lily were waiting by the doors with their baskets of confetti, awaiting their cue to take to the aisle. Bobby stood proudly at the end, his best man at his side as they waited for the music to begin.

You looked over at JJ and Will, at Penelope and Luke; Matt and Kristy. You surveyed Tara, Emily and Rossi before you looked back to your husband. 

“Yeah,” you smiled as you leaned closer to him, closing your eyes and breathing him in as though it was the very first time. “Just me and you and everyone we know.” 

@foxy-eva @kbakery @chrissyflo3 @simxican @aysixdy @givemeth @loonalockley @shamelessfangirl-3 @derekm24 @pinkiceee-prose @werewolfbansheelove @mindbelova @weridothatwrites

[lihhelsing]

I hate you (don't leave me)

Written (belatedly) for the last day of @steddieangstyaugust

Day 31: "I'm not going to beg you to love me." CW: Angst. Unhappy Ending. Post break-up Steddie. Steddie | Angst | T&Up | 700 words

(Listen, I was in a mood of writing something sad for the sake of it and that's what I did. Don't say I didn't warn you)

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Eddie couldn't stay. He knew that. Robin had informed him of that when she told him he could come. 

"You can come. But you absolutely cannot stay," she said on a static filled call at three am. 

Eddie was desperate when he called her. He was at a party and had to find the closest phone. He dialed the only number he knew by heart hoping he would pick up, but he got Robin instead.

It figured, her being there. 

"Thank you," he said to her but she had just hung up on him. 

And now he was here. In Steve's living room, watching him as he tried his hardest not to cry. It made Eddie's insides twist.

"Will you stay?" Steve asked, voice so fucking small it punched a hole in his chest. 

"I..." Eddie started, voice faltering. "I can't stay, Stevie. I'm sorry." 

Steve's face fell and Eddie knew what it came after. The anger. The rage. 

"Fuck you. You can't just show up here whenever and keep breaking my heart," he spitted and Eddie flinched.

"I know. I'm sorry. I just needed to get the rest of my shit so I can leave you alone for good." 

Steve let out a mean laugh. If he had set his things on fire, Eddie wouldn't blame him. 

Leaving Steve had been the hardest thing Eddie had ever done. He didn't want to, but it was his only shot. His chance at finally making it. 

And he needed to make it. He needed to have something that he could call his, otherwise he would just resent him forever. 

And then, they wouldn't make it. 

But he thought... he hoped Steve would understand. Eddie wasn't saying that they would never be together again, just that he needed to do this for him.

Just this one thing.

It was safe to say Steve didn't take it very well. It was a nasty fight. One that ended with Steve throwing Eddie's things on the street, right along with him.

It ended with so much heartbreak Eddie was still recovering. And it ended with them, standing in front of each other with nothing to say. 

"Stevie, I'm really sorry," Eddie said and he could feel the void taking over. He could feel Steve checking out of their conversation because he was done. He was done with Eddie for good.

"You're not. You made a decision and you didn't consult me on that. And that's fine, Eddie. It really is. I don't know how many times I can keep telling you this." 

"It's not fine," Eddie said, trying for something even if he didn't know what. Steve was angry and upset, and it was all Eddie's fault.

"No. It's not. But the time to be sad about it has passed and I'm done being sad about you. But please, stop apologizing just because you want to feel better about yourself." 

Was that what he was trying to do? He was sorry. Maybe he could've handled things a little better. But he couldn't possibly ask Steve to leave his life behind so Eddie could follow a dumb dream. Steve had so many people that counted on him. That loved him. 

"It's ok if you don't believe me," he said, sighing. This was a lost battle, and he knew it. "But I am sorry. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you." 

Steve's eyes sparked with something different and scary and Eddie knew he had crossed a line. 

"Funny you say that. You did hurt me but not because you left. Just because you let me believe you loved me. And I know... Listen, Eddie. I'm not going to beg you to love me. And it's fine that you don't. Just... leave." 

Eddie wanted to argue. He wanted to take Steve's face in his hands and he wanted to tell him just how much he loved him. How that was as far from the problem as it could be. But Steve seemed so fragile right now that Eddie wasn't sure that was the right move. 

In fact, he knew it wasn't. Steve was used to people leaving. And he already accepted Eddie was going to leave because he didn't love him and he knew there was nothing he could do to change that. Not right now. Not without starting a war with Buckley. 

So he nodded, feeling his heart shattering to pieces inside of him as he walked away from Steve. For good. 

[sirfrogsworth]

Froglock Holmes, Internet Sleuth

I don't remember dates very well, but I believe sometime in the mid 2000s I had a friend drive me from St. Louis to Detroit. It was a very difficult journey. I have never done well as a car passenger and driving for an entire day was one of the more miserable experiences in my life.

But I got through it because I was *convinced* I was about to be cured. Back then it was the only thing I wished for and I was willing to try absolutely anything.

So we were off to see the Wizard about my wish.

During that time there were no doctors in St. Louis who knew anything about Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. But I found a website for a medical company that claimed if I saw one of their approved doctors, they could guarantee a 50% improvement. And when I did my pre-interview on the phone, that lady said some patients experienced a full recovery. To which I replied, "Yes, I will take one full recovery please."

But the closest approved specialist I could find was in Detroit and she would only treat me if I did my first consultation in person. She would then continue treating me over the phone.

My friend took three days off and she borrowed her parent's SUV so I would have leg room during the 8 hour trip. We loaded up on snacks and compact discs and began our road trip to wellness. We merged onto the Yellow Brick Road (a.k.a. I-70 East) and headed toward the land of Marshall Mathers.

The more I got car sick, the more I focused on asking the Wizard to grant my wish.

A new... mitochondria?

Plus several trillion.

A new several trillion little powerhouses.

This doctor was part of a national network of facilities that claimed they could effectively treat Fibromyalgia and CFS with a groundbreaking 6 step "holistic" approach. It was super holistic. Extra super duper holistic. The website made sure you knew it was holistic.

And those 6 steps sounded very fancy.

I mean, that all seems pretty legit. They were going to enhance my cells and address coagulation deficits. That's a thing, right?

Now I know that "holistic" is a buzzword that should be met with skepticism, but back then I was really hopeful they could help me. They enthusiastically made bold promises and filled me with such assured hope that I sold my car to help pay for everything.

We arrived in Detroit the evening before the appointment. I slept maybe an hour. Morning eventually arrived and we headed to the office. They gave me a clipboard full of paperwork that took forever to fill out.

"Can I please just see the Wizard and get my wish?"

I got to the exam room and they put me in a gown with the butt showing—which I don't think my friend was prepared for. I have a condition known as Hank Hill Butt and it can take a bit of getting used to upon first glance.

My poor friend refused to make eye contact while I was wearing it.

The doctor finally arrived and this supernatural healing wizard turned out to be a very short Greek lady. She asked dozens of questions—most of which I answered on the forms already. She poked my belly, checked my reflexes, and at no point did her examination require a gown with the butt showing.

She officially diagnosed me with severe Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and told me she was going to type up a custom treatment regimen and while she was doing that, I was going to get a special IV they designed to specifically combat CFS.

They took me to a room full of comfy reclining chairs and hooked me to an IV full of orange nonsense. Once that was done I met back up with the Wizard and she had created the afore-mentioned "customized" treatment regimen full of expensive supplements and vitamins that were not covered by insurance. Many of which I had to buy directly from the facility. As I looked over the treatment worksheet, I realized they gave the same document to all of the patients.

It was at this point, 560 miles away from my home, stuck in some office in the suburbs of Detroit (which will eventually be taken over by a tooth pulp dentist), with my Hank Hill butt hanging out...

I realized this could have been an email.

I decided to put everything on three different credit cards. Combined with the money from my car, I had about $20,000 to invest in fixing my broken body. My plan was to get all better so I could get a job and pay everything back. I even told the doctor this brilliant financial stratagem and she agreed it was a good plan. No notes.

Young Froggie was being hit in the face with red flag after red flag and Old Froggie is a little embarrassed about that.

I don't remember any of the supplements, but they had names like "EnergyMax Plus" and "Ultra MitoBooster 3000." They definitely sounded like legitimate, evidenced-backed medical supplements and not knockoff energy drinks endorsed by D-list Instagram influencers.

It wasn't all overpriced vitamins though. The doctor had some silly ideas that were actually covered by insurance. She said I should thin my blood so it took less energy to circulate. And I should boost my testosterone levels above the typical range to improve energy. So I had to inject myself with blood thinners and rub testosterone cream on my legs every day for months.

The blood thinners gave me tons of painful bruises at the injection sites and made me dizzy from time to time. The shots became so painful I would have to close my eyes and have my dad inject me. Otherwise I would chicken out. We kept running out of places that didn't have bruises so he would just pick the smallest bruise and stick the needle there.

And the testosterone cream had an interesting side effect that I am debating whether to talk about as I write this sentence.

Okay, I'm just going to tell you.

We are all adults here and we can handle adult conversations while remaining dignified and mature.

The testosterone cream gave me constant, spontaneous, hours-long boners.

I hadn't experienced anything like it since I was a teenager. No erotic inspiration required other than a gentle breeze. Only this time I didn't have a math book to hide behind.

None of it helped my fatigue.

In fact, the constant bonerpalooza was exhausting to deal with.

"Oh look, that actress I enjoy has a fully exposed ankle." "I bet that attractive lady has boobs under that heavy winter coat." "Hey, is it Wednesday?"

At some point it becomes a chore, ya know?

Thank god it was well before 2014, because if I had seen Chris Evans bicep curling a helicopter I probably would have needed hospitalization.

/end dignified adult conversation

After six months I had 0% of the promised 30-50% improvement 90% of the time and she kept saying I just needed to give it more time. She said it works quicker with the IVs full of orange nonsense. But they custom made those IVs and can only administer them in Detroit. She claimed the oral supplements were filled with the same nonsense, but took much longer to kick in. She told me I could be patient or drive to Detroit once a week for an IV treatment if I wanted faster results. If that were true, I feel like that should have been disclosed at the beginning. But I was assured I could get the same results without the IV treatments.

It didn't matter at that point. My credit cards were maxed out and I was out of money. I called the doctor and asked if there was any treatment she could recommend that was covered by my insurance. She got very quiet and awkwardly said she would try to figure something out. Roughly 30 minutes later I was emailed a coupon for $20 off our next phone consultation. I responded and told her I literally had no money left.

I never heard from her again.

The Wizard had no ability to grant my wish for several trillion properly functioning mitochondrias. She had no magic treatment. I finally saw her for what she truly was.

With perfect hindsight I could now see all of the red flags.

Though if I hadn't at least tried, I probably would have wondered and regretted it.

Hard to say.

I was kind of amazed how they built a country wide collection of clinics and they were able to operate for years solely on the placebo effect.

Years later I was curious what happened to this network of quackery. I found a news article saying it was all shut down due to fraud. I don't think they had a holistic approach to paying their taxes.

The reason I am telling this tale is because I have been playing detective and gathering evidence for my disability case. I started to wonder if maybe I could find my fraudulent Wizard to see if she had any kind of records or something that might help me. I knew it was a long shot, but I didn't want to leave a stone unturned.

At first all I could remember was her last name and that she was a D.O. and not an M.D. Standard Google searches were not turning up anything. I couldn't find her current practice nor any contact information. Apparently her Greek last name is a popular Arabic first name for men... so all my searches kept resulting in doctor dudes. This was not the time for a sausage fest and I was getting frustrated.

And then I finally remembered the name of the medical company.

Fibromyalgia & Fatigue Centers, Inc.

I even remembered their URL... fibroandfatigue.com

So I went to the Wayback Machine and I was able to find their now-defunct website. I suddenly remembered its cloudy banner image and "concerned_woman.png" like it was yesterday.

Why, yes... I am tired of being tired.

I also remembered their promise that over 90% of patients had at least a 30-50% improvement. Which was the claim that sent me down this rabbit hole to begin with all those years ago.

I started searching different versions of the site to see how their claims of effectiveness changed over time. At first they basically implied they made everyone completely better.

If I saw that I would definitely think I was getting a cure. But I imagine this caused some problems so they had to dial it back a bit.

I couldn't find the 90% version, but I did find the 30-50%.

This actually sounds like you have a 100% chance of a 30 to 50% improvement.

As I skipped around to the archived captures of different years, the promised percentage kept changing. I don't think they did an actual statistical analysis of their patients. I think they just picked a percentage that sounded enticing without promising too much. Just enough to be life-changing with a built-in excuse for when it all goes tits up.

Years after my experience, the site finally settled on a 65% improvement in energy levels. It was on their new page detailing how "affordable" their treatment was.

$20,000, you say? Balderdash, no one would spend that much.

If you were curious, they claim their treatment is now affordable due to a new monthly payment plan system. It did not become any cheaper.

However, under the 65% promise, they added this disclaimer with a large bold heading...

Success depends largely on your dedication and commitment. Our most successful patients are the ones who make the commitment to follow the treatment program rigorously. Patients who are aggressive and comply with the treatment process experience significantly better long-term results than those whose dedication is half-hearted and whose compliance is minimal.

In other words, "If our bullshit supplements don't work, it is YOUR fault."

Or in my case... "If you run out of money, it is YOUR fault."

Oh and there was also this...

Looking at all of the versions of the Fibro & Fatigue, Inc website was certainly fascinating, but I had to quit dicking clicking around and find my focus.

I still had detective-ing to do.

I was on the hunt for a Detroit-area Greek doctor of osteopathy.

There were ~250 captures of the site between 2004 and 2016. She wasn't listed in the newest captures, nor the oldest captures. So I kept trying to drill down to find the exact time period she worked at the company.

And then... EUREKA!

She was hiding in 2005 on their "Meet the Doctors" page.

Her first name was *drumroll* Sultana!

I can't imagine why I didn't remember that common first name.

Finally, after weeks of trying to figure this out, I now had enough information to do a proper Google search and discover what the heck she is currently up to. Probably putting people in open-butt gowns to check their tonsils or something.

*googling noises intensify*

I'm not sure I've ever come across such a literal dead end.

Should I be making puns about this?

I mean, she did help exploit me out of my entire life savings and put me in significant credit card debt with the Sex Panther-approved promise of a guaranteed 30-50% recovery 90% of the time.

And the institution she was a part of was shut down for fraud.

Still... I never wished an early death upon her.

I would have been happy with a trip to small claims court.

[stanfordsweater]

hello i'm new to the supernatural fandom and you have been in my recommendeds for a while, reasons to ship wincest???

i thought for a long time about how to respond to this so imma link catherine tosenberger's excellent analysis of the first few seasons where "the most resistive aspect of Wincest fan fiction is that it gives the main characters a lasting happiness that the series eternally defers."

to begin with, there are a lot of people who will argue for the toxic codependency and i love them and also love it but the reason i've been here for well over a decade is because of the way that wincest offers you two paths: you can follow the path of those who write endless meta about how one or the other brother is abusive and how toxic it is and eventually brainwash yourself into being unable to ship it, or you can follow the path of love and light and perspective and recognize 1. these are fictional characters and b. there are no two characters in genre tv who are as devoted to each other as sam and dean. there is no plotline that follows through fifteen seasons of being obsessed with each other.

by choosing the incest pill, you grant yourself access to fifteen seasons of generally good tv ABOUT YOUR SHIP EXCLUSIVELY. sam and dean are the main characters and you will always know, opening up an episode, that they will be there, doing their weird-ass jealous obsessiveness, and you will never despair about not having them present, together, even if they're fighting or struggling or depressed. that is a very special thing!

now, beyond that, assuming you've watched the show, there's many reasons to cross the incest line. FIRSTLY, everyone involved was well aware of what they were doing. we have a few choice quotes i've collected below about their relationship that ramps up the intensity:

--

"Ultimately, they are pathologically dishonest with each other because John Winchester was pathologically elusive to them," consulting producer Ben Edlund says. "They learned that the truth is this dangerous thing, and that you shouldn't speak it. He even taught them to keep secrets from each other for strategic purposes." With all of the supernatural, apocalyptic, tragic drama woven into the show, Sam and Dean's relationship is rooted in human emotion. "When you look at the dysfunction that they show to each other, it comes directly from how they were brought up, and that's a kind of dysfunction that people in this world continue to face. 'Why didn't my dad tell me that he loved me yesterday?' We're just people sharing the same kind of thing," Edlund says.

--

"Why do you think Dean has had such a hard time forgiving Cas when he did forgive Sam for a similar betrayal?"

I think the easy answer is blood, I think the easy answer is family, even though if there was a family in this show it would include Bobby, it would include Cas, it would include these-- these-- kind of, broken war-torn heroes we've come to know, and you know, Bobby has that famous line, "family don't end with blood," but it is his brother, at the end of the day, that's the closest he has to a companion, and has had for a companion for many years, so I think with Cas there was always, "he's unnatural, he's an angel," and I think that for Dean, relating to someone like that, it's tricky, relating to monsters, relating to anything supernatural, his brother is flesh and blood, it's tangible, he can touch that.

--

Obviously the relationship between Sam and Dean is central to our show but we’ve been building this rift between Sam and Dean all season, so that led to the idea of having this young male character that sort of idolizes Dean and does all the cool stuff that Sam won’t do, and that’s Dean’s perfect mate.

(the thing sam won't do is literally swapping spit with him. tell me i'm lying)

--

in the hunt, page 37

--

Not all fans are content simply to attend conventions. Some of them want to take a hand in the story, and their fan fiction can explore areas mostly untouched on the show, like the latent homoerotic suggestiveness of the Winchesters’ intense relationship.

-THE NEW YORK TIMES

--

"eyefuck" became a well-known script shorthand because of how intense j2 looked at each other as sam and dean

--

it's a terrible life draft script:

Note B) They are supposed to be together

Note C) each been all alone in separate life finally found kindred spirit

--

in the hunt, page 158

--

i haven't included any eric kripke quotes because he has so much wrong with him that i don't want to enable it. this is a compliment. it is one of the highest i can give.

SO-- what these quotes tell us:

sam and dean are relatable because their relationship is intensely human

sam and dean have shared secrets they cannot voice to one another but that nonetheless make them inseparable

people have been writing motherfucking essays about sam and dean's homoeroticism since the show aired

within the mythology of the show, sam and dean are meant to be together above all other relationships

...oh, you need more? i didn't think i'd get this far. um... okay... look at them???

if you choose to walk this path you will find yourself crying and taking screenshots every time they look at each other or touch each other or hold each other and you will thank the lord in heaven that we were granted this intensely wild and beautiful homoerotic relationship back in 2005 and praise jesus that you can always return to their raw sexual chemistry-- "In fact, much like the early X-Files, the show is fueled past its failings almost entirely by the chemistry between the two principals, the boys who, like Mulder and Scully, generate enough sexual tension to power a small city" as quoted by whitney cox in 2006 in an article that otherwise fails to bring anything to the table, sorry if you love it for your meta but also literally just go read the catherine tosenberger essay

you still need more????? jesus, what have you shipped prior to this? well, go watch the pilot and enjoy the fact that the first scene these two have together they are wrestling on the floor (sexually) and getting all romantically silhouetted against this beautiful lighting

and then go watch a few fanvids like this or this and then watch the pilot and watch this and then read this post about how supernatural happily wields incest as a tool of horror and as comedy and then scroll through my entire family horror show tag to understand more and then watch this immaculate video that deals with the whole thing and think about how all these things were happening in 2005 and remember the fact that sam and dean are the main characters of the universe... and then maybe just watch the show and please do not become an annoying shit poster who just talks about how they hate it🙏

[canirove]

Friends, lovers… and an orange | Chapter 3

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

Adele had been on her daily run for less than twenty minutes, when she noticed that a car was following her.

"Shit, fuck" she said under her breath, looking for a place where she could hide or ask for help. But she was in a residential area, so she sped up until she made it to the closest open business she could find: a flower shop.

"Hi, good morning" she said, trying to catch her breath. "Could you please do me a favour?"

"Of course" the woman from the shop smiled.

"Could you check if there is a grey car waiting outside? I think they've been following me."

"Oh dear" the woman said. "Wait here. I'll go outside as if you've asked for some of the flowers I have there."

"Thank you" Adele replied.

"You were right, there is a grey car outside" the woman said when she walked back into the shop. "I saw a man leaving the passenger seat, nod towards here, and then talk to the driver."

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit."

"It's ok, I won't leave you alone" the woman smiled again. "Come to the back of the store with me. I'll make you a cup of tea while we wait for the police."

"Thank you very much, ma'am" Adele said while trying to contain her tears.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"And?"

"They are gone" Luca said, sitting next to his sister. "I'm pretty sure the police scared the hell out of them."

"Good" Adele said. "They deserve it for doing the same to me."

Paparazzis. The men who had been following her, were paparazzis.

Turns out that the girls at the restaurant where she and Mason had had dinner, the ones she swore had said their names, recognized them the moment they walked in and had spent the whole night taking photos of them and posting them on social media, the press writing articles about it not long after. And if you only saw the photos, they did look like a couple on a date. The smiles, the way they were looking at each other, Adele touching Mason's hand...

"Is there anything else I could do for you?" the woman from the flower shop offered.

"Oh, no, don't worry. We are leaving" Adele said. "But thank you very much for your help, the tea, the company... You are an angel."

"Just doing what anyone would do" she smiled.

"I'm not so sure of that" Luca said. "But thank you for taking care of my sister."

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"I can't fucking believe it!"

"Mase..."

"No! They followed you! They harassed you! They crossed so many lines!"

When Luca and Adele had made it home, Mason was already there, pacing around the living room. And when he saw her, he had ran towards her and hugged her in a way he had never before, completely catching her by surprise.

"But now it is over" she said. "They know that if they do it again, we will call the police and they will be in trouble."

"Yes, them. But what about the other photographers? What if they do the same? This is not ok, Addie. It is not."

"What should we do, then?" Luca asked. 

"Ignoring it like everyone has suggested us hasn't worked, so it's time we take matters into our own hands."

"Mase, what are you going to do?" Adele asked him while watching him furiously type on his phone.

"End this" he grunted.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"I know it is early for Christmas or my birthday, but I already know what I want as a gift: for the press to stop harassing my friends. Do you think that will do anything?" Jourdan asked Adele over the phone.

"I don't know" she sighed. 

That had been the message Mason had posted on his Instagram stories and twitter account, and so far, people were going nuts about it. Them, and his agency. They hadn't liked that he had done something like that without consulting them first, but he didn't seem to care.

"When are you coming back home?"

"In a couple of days when Mason is done with his job. His agency booked us the tickets."

"Is that wise, tho? Traveling together after everything that has happened?"

"I don't know" Adele said again. "I honestly don't know what to do anymore, what is a good choice or a bad one. But if there are paps at the airport, at least I know I'll have him by my side."

"Addie..." Jourdan chuckled.

"What?"

"That sounded as if... As if you are starting to feel something for him."

"What? No! We are just friends!"

"Yeah, yeah. But maybe this thing about people believing that you are together is starting to like... rub off?"

"Jourdan, no. We are just friends."

"Ok, ok. Just friends" she repeated. Though she didn't sound too convinced.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"I wish the flight had been longer" Adele yawned, resting her head on Mason's shoulder while they waited for their luggage.

"You shouldn't have slept that much. Jet lag is gonna kick your ass" he laughed.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"Just try not to fall asleep here, ok?"

"I don't think I would be able to even if I wanted to. What is going on?" she said, turning around to see what was causing all that noise.

"Fuck" Mason whispered. The paparazzis. They had found them and were inside the airport, security trying to keep them away.

"What are we going to do?"

"Mr. Mount? Miss Turlington?" a security guard said next to them. "Please follow me, I'll get you out of here."

"But our luggage..." Adele said.

"Don't worry about that now, Miss Turlington. Please follow me."

"C'mon" Mason said, grabbing her hand and starting to walk. 

"Please let us through. Please" the man said while trying to push the photographers away. They had followed them after seeing Mason and Adele leave, and there were so many of them.

"Mase..."

"It's ok, we are almost there. I've got you" he said, giving her hand an encouraging squeeze. He was walking in front of her, protecting her from everything and everyone. If he hadn't been there, Adele was sure she would have not survived it. 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"Addie, are you sure you are ok?" 

"Yeah, yeah. For once I'm not complaining about being jet lagged." Because it meant spending most part of her day sleeping and not having to leave her house and face the paparazzis waiting outside. "How is Milan?"

"Beautiful as always" her mother Elizabeth said over the phone. "But I was thinking... Why don't you come to Paris with me? We could have some time together like we used to."

"I don't know, mum..."

"C'mon, Addie. You used to love spending time with me during fashion month! And it will help you distract yourself a bit."

"I'll think about it" she said. 

Adele had always loved being backstage with her mum during fashion shows, getting to see how everything worked. And more than once, she had been asked to walk. But unlike Elizabeth, she hadn't been born to wear heels. 

"Ok. But think about that hot chocolate from Cafe Angelina..."

"That's cheating, mum" Adele chuckled.

"But if it convinces you to come with me, then it will be worth it."

"Let me call Mase first and ask him what he is doing. If we both are in Paris at the same time..."

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"I'm skipping Paris, I have a shoot in Italy for the perfume I told you about. So go have some fun with your mum, don't worry about me."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure" Mason smiled over facetime. Though it wasn't his usual smile, the one that made his dimple pop.

"Mase, are you ok?"

"Yeah, I am. Why?"

"I don't know. You look a bit... Off."

"That's this phone's camera. I think I need to get a new one."

"Ok..." Adele said. But for some reason, she didn't believe him.

"You have to promise me something, tho."

"Something like what?"

"One, that you will eat some chocolate macarons for me."

"I will" she chuckled.

"And two, that you will enjoy Paris. Wear something fun, take as many photos as you can, attend some parties with your mum... Don't let them ruin it for you, Addie. Do you promise?"

"Promise" she smiled. 

"Great. Now I better go, my agent is coming."

"Wait, have they... Have they found out yet who tipped the paps at the airport?"

"I gotta go, Addie. Bye" Mason said before hanging up, leaving her thinking that something was definitely going on with him.

[leclercsredhelmet]

So High School ✮ Mick Schumacher

A/N: Hi again! I come bearing another blurb, this time inspired by so high school and dear Mick!

“ I feel so high school every time I look at you”

Time was not a concept to you as of this moment, being unaware of what time it was you felt a certain sense of bliss. Your phone had long been discarded in your room since the early hours of the morning. Now that you pause to think about this, it was more than likely that your phone had never left your bedside table back in your shared bedroom with your boyfriend. Surely you had been in this chair for hours, and your back was starting to feel it, but you ignored it and kept staring at your computer screen writing, deleting, and rewriting sentences, all while consulting the beat-up notebook and stray papers around your table.

A long-forgotten mug with what undeniably was cold coffee sat there. Your boyfriend had replaced it before he left, he still wasn’t back or hadn’t called but that didn’t worry you. You knew that he was still training, normally he wouldn’t be out until late afternoon training but tomorrow you’d both be going on holiday in Mallorca and he liked to train for extra hours before taking a trip.

Judging by how the sun's rays were changing color you know it was late afternoon and the sun would start setting soon. Standing up you rinsed the mug and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, sitting back down to write some more. As you were finishing up the last chapter of the day you heard the door open and close followed by footsteps and a bag being placed on the couch. A familiar set of lips placed soft kisses from your jawline to your lips and you smiled while looking up at Mick. “Hallo, Mein Leibe,” Mick said, “Hola, amor” you replied in your native tongue.

“Stil writing?” he softly inquired, “Yeah, how was training?” you asked. “Good, did quite a lot of miles cycling, I covered enough for the next three days,” he said with a little laugh and you giggled. “Have you eaten since I left?” he asked. “No, I got so wrapped up in writing that I forgot” you admitted. Mick looked at you concerned, “Liebchen, I thought we agreed on you taking breaks to eat.” “I know, I just wanted to write enough to not worry about it on holiday, but I’m done now,” you said and saved your work and closed your computer.

Standing up you hugged Mick, “Don’t do that again, while I’m out. I worry about you” he said softly. “Promise, this is what you got into when you decided to date an overachieving writer, editor, and book publisher,” you said and he laughed. “That doesn’t mean you need to stay hours without food, I know you get hyperfocused but let’s practice taking food breaks please” he pleaded and you nodded. “Have you written outside or were you cooped up in here?” “Uhm, in here,” you said sheepishly. “We’re having dinner on the balcony and going for a walk around town after,” he said. Smiling you kissed his cheek, “Thank you for worrying about me” you said gratefully and he hugged you.

“You do the same for me, I have to take care of my next great novelist,” he said and you laughed, “And I have to take care of my returning f1 driver and endurance racing champion” you replied. “For the record, you’re my favorite writer,” he said pinching your nose and you giggled. “For the record, you’re my favorite driver,” you replied poking his ribs. “Before or after Charles?” he questioned and you laughed. “Always before, you’re my eternal p1, and Charlie’s one of my closest friends,” you replied with a smile. “A writer and a driver make quite a great pair,” he said grabbing your waist and you laughed because it tickled a little. “You know how to drive and I know Aristotle, we just work perfectly” you added.

Mick smiled and led you to your shared bedroom, he motioned for you to sit on the bed while he disappeared into the bathroom. Hearing him shuffle around you figured he must’ve been looking for something.

Minutes later he led you to the bathroom, he had filled the tub with water and bubbles, and prepared the tray with your scrubs and essential oils. He had lit your favorite scented candles and set the robe and warm towel out for you. “Stay there and relax while I make us some dinner,” he said kissing your cheek and disappearing. Chuckling at his gesture you peeled your pieces of clothing off and tossed them into the hamper, staying in the cold bath water you relaxed and when you’d soaked for long enough you drained the water and rinsed the bathwater off.

With a warm robe around your body and a towel around your hair, you put the candles, oils, and soaps away before getting dressed. The smell of pasta filled the hallway and living room, making your way to the kitchen you smiled at the sight. Mick had his back to you and he moved around effortlessly while he cooked, a kitchen towel was hanging by his shoulders. Standing next to him you pecked his cheek and asked if he needed help with cooking, he denied and you giggled before getting the plates out.

The small table on the balcony had been prepared and you brought two wine glasses, and a bottle of white wine to the table. Mick was right in tow with the plates, sitting down you poured the wine and ate while you talked about your plans for Mallorca. “You want more pasta liebchen? I can go get it?” Mick asked noticing your empty plate, “No, I’m good, amor” you replied. “Are you sure? I don’t mind getting you some more” he asked. “I promise, I’m good, thank you” you replied as you reached over to grab his hand. He twisted your hand and started to play with your fingers, you stayed out looking at the stars before going inside to wash the dishes. Mick went to shower and you decided to look for a sweater to put over your shirt before heading out for a night stroll around town.

Hand in hand you walked around town, enjoying each other’s company and the slight breeze. “Are you excited about next season?” you asked. “Yeah, I’m very grateful to be back, but I can’t wait to spend the break with you and do light traveling,” he said. With a smile, you leaned your head on his shoulder and he pulled you in tighter by the waist. “If there’s one thing I’m going to miss is you being near home,” you said. “I know, but hopefully now that your job is more stable you can come with me,” he said. “As long as I can you’ll always have me on your side of the garage,” you replied. “This time wearing a Rosso Corsa cap with my number on it,” he said with a cheeky smile. “Forza Ferrari” you replied and he grinned.

“I never thought they’d take me back, not after being a reserve for Mercedes, and endurance driver for Alpine,” he said. “Amor, it’s not like you’re a stranger to them, you were in the FDA and hey after Lewis’s move to the Scuderia, anything is possible, you’ve worked endlessly to get a seat and you got it. Be proud of yourself, everyone is” you said kissing his cheek. “I love you,” he said. “I love you more,” you replied. “Lewis being retired is something I didn’t see coming until later but at least he’s joining Seb, Mark, and Jenson in the club,” he said, “Our favorite retired grid dads,” you said with a laugh. Mick threw his head back and laughed. Noticing that your favorite gelateria was open you went inside to buy pistachio gelatos and ate them on a bench outside.

Something as simple as a home-cooked meal, a night stroll, and a shared gelato with Mick was your very own definition of happiness. Whenever you looked at him it felt like you were sneaking with him under the bleachers during lunch at high school, it was all so high school.

(all photo credits go to the respective owners)

[separatist-apologist]

Long Live

Summary: All archeologist Elain Archeron wants is answers about the past.

Fate is determined to give them to her

MASSIVE thank you @abbadinfluence for having the idea AND allowing me to write - I've had the time of my life, this has been so fun.

And @octobers-veryown for being my personal Rome/Italy consultant- thank you for your knowledge, your time, and most importantly, catching when I used a particularly offensive and/or wrong swear word

For @elucienweekofficial | Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Elain was up with the dawn, which normally wouldn’t have been such a big deal had Lucien not kept her up all night. He’d wanted to inform his closest circle that he was married, as he needed several witnesses to agree to sign their document before the ceremony that afternoon. Elain wondered if Lucien saw what she did—their silent disapproval, this frowns as they agreed, their pinched gazes even as they tried to offer Lucien their validation.

He risked their allegiance with his marriage and Elain suspected he simply didn’t care. 

She wished she could remember all the major players in Lucien’s reign. She wasn’t a historian—what she knew was far more limited, much broader. Still, when Hybern’s eyes had fallen on her, she’d felt recognition in the back of her mind. Whether that was good or bad, she simply didn’t know.

And she never would. 

Elain had stood in front of that mural for what felt like a lifetime, willing herself to just touch it. Go home. 

She’d never even come close, though she couldn’t admit that to Lucien. Let him think it was a close call, if only to remind him she could leave him if she wanted to. It was crazy to stay in a place that didn’t have the right kind of indoor plumbing—water was pumped in and out, but there was no waste removal like home, and Elain didn’t love using the pots. 

But the idea of going back to her lonely, confusing existence filled her with dread. And as she’d stood there, Elain had seen her future flash before her. Married back in the states, with Graysen and the two children she was certain he wanted. And while it wasn’t a miserable existence, she knew she’d spend the rest of her life wondering what might have been if she stayed with Lucien.

And Elain knew she’d never wondered what-if about Graysen. In the end, that realization had been the one that pushed her over the edge. 

The kind of love she felt was rare. Elain didn’t want to lose it over some misplaced sense of propriety. Even if that meant being dragged out of bed at the crack of dawn so Lucien could parade her around, proud as a peacock, that he’d managed to secure a wife no one approved of. Unconcerned and undeterred, Lucien then took Elain outdoors to his massive lawn and declared with much delight that it was all hers.

“Do whatever you wish with it,” he said with a broad grin.

“This is all happening rather fast,” Elain told him as Lucien turned to look at her, hair blowing in the wind. He hadn’t tied it all back yet and Elain found she liked him best this way. Maybe it was how Lucien felt when the scarf came off her head, allowing him to see her unbound hair. No one else did—and they never would now that she was married. 

“How is it done in your home?” Lucien questioned. He’d begun phrasing his interest in the future as just her home—like it was someplace past Brittania that she might visit, if she wished. Elain didn’t mind it.

“For you,” Lucien added when Elain didn’t respond, sliding an iron band onto her third finger. He turned her palm upward, tracing an invisible line to her wrist where the faint blue of her veins lay just beneath her fair skin. “Vena amoris. It connects to your heart.”

“Where I’m from, men get on their knees to ask a woman to be their wife,” Elain told him, heart hammering in her chest. 

He wouldn’t.

He would. 

Lucien slid to his knees like it was nothing, hands skimming the sides of her body as he went. Gold sunlight caught against the copper of his hair, adorning him as surely as any crown might. 

“Do they beg?” he questioned, bunching the fabric of her dress between his fingers. “Marry me. Please.”

“What if I say no?” she questioned, wondering who the Emperor was right then, him or her.

“Don’t,” he pleaded. “Say yes.”

Elain smiled, reaching for his hands to tug him back to his feet. “Of course I will.”

“The men of your home must have the nerves of the gods to withstand the waiting,” he told her, a shaky smile spreading over his otherwise handsome features. “I didn’t like that.”

“It’s good for you,” she teased, surging up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

“I don’t see how,” Lucien grumbled, snaking an arm around her waist. “What else do they do in your home?”

Elain considered it before biting her bottom lip. “Nothing worth mentioning—”

“Tell me anyway.”

She sighed, knowing Lucien was going to go overboard. “Typically, when they ask, they present their potential wife with a ring which you already did.”

“Jewelry?” he asked, eyes sharpening.

“Just a ring, Lucien,” she insisted hastily, but he wasn’t listening to her, starry-eyed as he plotted.

“Just a ring,” he repeated, gaze sweeping toward the fountain. “We’ll be married this afternoon, and tomorrow I’ll introduce you to Rome as my wife and their Empress at our first game. Have you ever seen one?”

“No,” she admitted, stomach tumbling at the thought. Lucien’s excitement was palpable. 

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Lucien murmured, “You’re going to love it.”

Elain wasn’t so sure. She knew the coliseum hosted some of the most violent sporting events in the ancient world and Elain had never had the stomach for blood and carnage. This was important to him, but also to the city he lived in and the people she needed to support her. Elain vowed she would smile through it all, and clap for the victories that belonged to Rome, if only to endear herself. 

Which gave her an idea. “Lucien?” she began, reaching for his hand. He looked between them, lacing her fingers with hers while rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand. “What if we gave the citizens of Rome a gift?”

He cocked his head to the side. “What kind of gift?”

“Something generous,” she asked. “A day's wages?”

“A week,” Lucien countered, as if Elain was going to complain about it. “Courtesy of my new wife.”

With his free hand, Lucien tapped the tip of her nose affectionately. “Very shrewd of you.”

“I thought it would be nice not to be slaughtered in my sleep,” she replied with an easy grin. 

“My new wife, champion of the people,” he murmured with obvious, unguarded affection. “Rome is lucky you stayed.”

Elain poked him in the side, finding nothing but hard muscle beneath the white of his chiton. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“No,” he replied, though they both knew that was a lie. Lucien had been away for three days, and Empires didn’t run themselves. He needed to get back to work before someone started suggesting he was the wrong choice and decided to do something about it. 

And Elain needed to track down Arina, who wasn’t in her bedroom. No one would look at her when she asked where her friend had gone, which could only mean one thing. 

Elain allowed Lucien to walk her back inside before practically running down the halls, skirts gathered in her hands as she passed important statesmen, servants and would-be philosophers, all of whom turned to look though they said very little to her face. She needed to memorize their names and get to know them, but that was a future problem for future Elain. 

Elain made her way to the suite occupied by Eris Vanserra within the palace. He had his own estate in the city he could have spent time in and yet he’d remained here—for how long, Elain wondered? 

Flinging open the doors, she expected to find the pair of them half naked in bed. 

“Surprise,” Arina said as light from the hall flooded into the otherwise dark bedchamber. Arina was dressed and sitting in a nearby chair, legs folded beneath her. “Did you expect something different?”

“Some one different,” Elain replied pointedly, eyes drifting to the unmade bed that had clearly held two people in it. “You’re alive.”

“So are you,” Arina said, arching a pale brow. “Where did he take you?”

“Back to the mural,” Elain murmured softly, closing the door behind her. “I told him everything.”

She expected Arina’s anger, for her friend to rise to her feet and begin yelling. Elain thought she might have deserved it—after all, Lucien could have killed them both if he hadn’t believed her. However, Arina remained in her chair, hands folded in her lap. 

“You didn’t go back.”

Elain bit the inside of her cheek. “What is there to go back to?”

Arina was too calm. “Your fiance. Your job. Air conditioning?”

“That last one is a good point,” Elain agreed solemnly. “It’s hot for June, right?”

Arina shrugged. “Not as hot as it would be back home. Global warming and what-not. I guess now is as good of a time as any to tell you I also decided to stay.”

“With Eris?” Elain questioned, trying to keep the judgment out of her voice. Heat crawled up Arina’s skin, warming her soft brown cheeks as she peered down at the floor.

“He’s a good man.”

“I never said he wasn’t,” Elain replied, taking a step toward her friend. “I’m just surprised that you want to stay for him…or any man, really.”

“You and me both,” Arina replied, wincing softly as she shifted in her chair. “But I’ve thought about home, and…I was miserable back there.”

Elain went to her, then, grabbing a purple pillow from a nearby chaise to kneel on the floor at Arina’s feet. Resting her head against her friend's shin, she nodded.

“So was I.”

“Sometimes I think I’m crazy,” Arina admitted, reaching for the scarf that hid Elains hair to tug at the fabric. “But everything moves slower here. People are alive, you know? And I’m tired. If Eris wants to support me while I torment him, why should I say no?”

Elain laughed. “Maybe he likes a little torture.”

Arina nodded. “He must if he likes me. We can worry about that later, though—for now, we need to figure the customs out here and quickly. Eris said Lucien intends to marry you.”

“This afternoon,” Elain said with more satisfaction than was maybe warranted. 

“You know how Romans are. Some of them will be out for blood. We can’t give them anything to work with and no reason to doubt us. I don’t want to be sent to Capri.”

Elain couldn’t help the strangled laugh that escaped her. Capri had been where Emperor Tiberus lived due to his fear of the political machinations of Roman politicians and their penchant for assassination. Commodus had later used it to exile both his wife and sister. Elain doubted Lucien would have her exiled anywhere, though if he died, she would certainly be right behind him.

“We need to be careful,” Elain agreed, looking at her friend. They were already viewed with suspicion as outsiders and would be convenient scapegoats for anyone looking to whip up anti-Roman sentiment in a bid for power. “Lucien is giving the citizens of Rome a weeks worth of wages as a wedding gift.”

“That’s…that's a good idea. Was it yours?”

Elain beamed. “It was. Today, all we have to worry about is this wedding. Tomorrow we’ll go to the games and let people see us. If we have their support, killing us will be far more difficult.”

“Until the propaganda papers start circulating,” Arina grumbled.

“So give them nothing to talk about. We’ll be the perfect Roman wives,” Elain replied, her plan solidifying. “We’re charming. We’re smart. We can get enough patricians to like us.”

“Lets hope.”

It wasn’t entirely traditional. Elain had no household for Lucien to walk toward, and instead had a processional through the city, complete with the high red and gold banner of Rome itself, as he walked through the city toward his brother's estate. Eris had agreed to act as her father given her actual father wouldn’t be born for centuries, and she had no other family. Having him on one side, and Arina has her matron of honor on the other, made Elain feel a little less alone. 

 She was made to wait in a long, elaborately embroidered white tunic belted around her waist with a hercules knot. Pinned in her hair was the traditional orange veil hastily dyed the night before specifically for her, and on her feet a pair of matching orange shoes. 

Elain’s thick hair had been secured within a yellow hair net which kept it off her neck before it had been parted and plaited six ways, and the whole thing secured with the hasta caelibaris—a ceremonial pin shaped to look like a spear of celibacy. Elain had resisted the urge to giggle over it given she hadn’t been celibate, even after arriving in Rome. Though, she doubted anyone was going to give her too much grief given she was marrying the man in question. 

A wreath of roses had been placed atop her head, the thorns all carefully plucked before they’d been woven together. She felt rather pretty despite the strangeness of the customs and how nervous everyone was as they watched for any ill-omen that might curse the wedding. More than a few women had commented that Lucien had chosen a good day in June, and Juno herself seemed indifferent to the whole thing. Elain still made an offering before stepping outside just to be safe—there was something supernatural at work given she shouldn’t have been there at all. Perhaps it was the gods. 

Crowds gathered both behind the procession and on the margins, curious as to who their new emperor had chosen and to see a wedding among the patricians play out. Weddings weren’t uncommon, and though they were often somewhat public, Lucien was making a loud spectacle. Food was free, a mimicry of the feast being prepared for those that would participate in her wedding celebration, which caused excitement that nearly became pandemonium when it was announced all citizens would receive a week's worth of wages as a gift from Elain herself.

Newly named Helena, Elain knew she’d find a likeness of her face on newly minted coins in the coming months. Lucien had informed her in a letter delivered by a rather lovely servant, that he wanted to have her portrait commissioned for one. 

Elain stood beneath the shade of one of the massive stone pines, delighting in a cool breeze. It was hot, of course, but her nerves were making her far sweatier than the heat. Even as she saw him approach, dressed in white and gold in his own toga virilis, replete with a cape pinned around his shoulders. His red hair was neatly pulled off his beautiful face and adorned with a crown of golden laurel leaves marking him as more than just a mere groom but emperor too. He looked it, right then, eyes fixated wholly on her like twin burning stars. He was a mirage beneath the heat, shimmering along the edges of his form as he made his way with single-minded determination. 

Elain kept herself still, trying to maintain an image somewhere between joyful and fearful which was the expectation for a Roman bride. It felt like the entire city was watching, picking everything about her apart to find fault or flaw they could talk about in the morning. Foolish as it was, she wanted them to love her.

I gave my whole life up for you. 

Lucien made his way up the long, stone pine lined drive in the blink of an eye. He inclined his head when he saw her, unable to hide his wolfish grin. 

“Ready?” Lucien murmured, brushing his knuckles along her cheek. Elain nodded nervously, looking up at him through her lashes. It wasn’t fake modesty—she was terrified right then. Was she making the right choice? Was she doing the right thing?

The wind picked up around her, ruffling the veil round her face not viciously, but like a fussy mother. Lucien’s smile widened.

“The gods favor us.”

Elain decided to take Lucien at his word, though it certainly felt like he was right. Everything went as it was supposed to—he spoke the words to Eris, her faux father, with smooth practice as Eris suppressed an eye roll. Everyone was dressed in clothes similar to her and Lucien in order to trick evil spirits looking to curse them with bad luck, and Elain tried to imagine the outrage it would cause on modern day internet forums. 

No one spilled wine over the guests so Elain could be the only one in white. Had Nesta been there, though, Elain knew her elder sister would have marked everyone simply to be petty. There was cake and wine and more food than any of the guests could have consumed in a lifetime. Lucien’s entirely family had come—famed Roman General Helion, and the divorced wife of the former emperor, Amera.

Lucien’s mother was absurdly beautiful and incredibly kind, welcoming Elain with a wide smile and a hug that made her miss her own mother. Helion, too, looked far younger than she knew he was, aging seemingly in reverse. It was a good omen for her future with Lucien given he favored his father so heavily. 

Jurian, his most loyal friend, was also there with his wife Vassa whom both Elain and Arina took an immediate liking to. Lucien and Jurian had just enough wine to make them boisterous without being embarrassing, and Elain caught herself watching them laugh as they exchanged jokes, strangely enchanted by the pair of them. 

There were others—men who laughed as they swore they’d never marry, eyes straying toward another man they’d brought with them as a friend—though the heated glances made them seem more like lovers. Senators brought their wives, who were gracious and kind to Elain as they shared little bits of wisdom for making the most of a wedding night—and Senator Tarquin’s rather lovely bride, who slipped Elain a piece of parchment with a recipe for  birth control.

“Just in case,” she’d murmured with a wink.

Amera offered to step in as Elain’s mother to allow the pair to play act the strangest part of the marriage ritual—the part where they play acted The Rape of Sabine Women. Elain knew of it vaguely—back when Rome was little more than a small kingdom and in need of women, Roman men had kidnapped women from nearby tribes who were raped and then made to be wives. Whether it was truth or mere legend was still debated, though the Roman’s clearly loved it.

Lucien grinned the entire time he tried to pull Elain from his mother, who put up a rather weak fight in the end. Around them, everyone laughed and jeered as Elain eventually fell into Lucien’s arms, elbowing him just hard enough to knock the wind from his gut when he held her against him.

“A kiss?” he murmured, ignoring the people around them.

She surged upward on tiptoes, kissing the man she’d thrown her whole life away for. “A kiss,” she agreed, tasting the wine on his mouth. “If you’re not careful, you’ll be too drunk to do your husbandly duty.”

“Never,” he swore, placing a hand over his heart. “I won’t disappoint you.”

The procession back through the city was far sillier. A perfect, starry sky greeted them when they stepped out into the cool air, hands clasped and smiles on their faces. As they passed the gathered crowds, people tossed walnuts which Lucien explained was a good omen for fertility. Elain couldn’t contain her amusement, giggling into his arm as they went. 

“You don’t want children?” Lucien whispered as they went, careful to keep his voice quiet.

“I’ll explain it all later,” she promised, catching sight of the Emperor’s palace atop the hill. It seemed to glow in the moonlight, ethereal and unreal even in its construction. Elain knew if she asked Arina, her friend would say it was meant to project strength and stability or whatever, but it all felt like a dream to her. Even when Lucien lifted her into his arms, carrying her over the oil and fat coated threshold in a tradition that still survived nearly two thousand years later. He broke bread over her head while his friends and family cheered, and then it was all over. Taking her past a small chaise set out for their spirits to couple on, Lucien closed the door to their bedroom with glittering eyes.

“I didn’t think this would happen,” he admitted, brushing crumbs off Elain’s veil. “Really?” she asked, stepping closer so she could press her cheek against his chest. 

“I kept expecting you to change your mind and beg me to take you back to the mural,” he admitted, holding out his hand so she could see the faint tremble. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Lucien,” Elain swore, taking that hand to press a kiss to his palm. “Trust that, if you trust nothing else. I found my way to you once, and I’ll find it again and again—in every life.”

“Let's worry about this life,” Lucien murmured, leading her to the bed. 

Elain only smiled.

LUCIEN:

“This feels wrong,” he said, staring down at Elain’s naked body. “Are you sure—”

“Just get it over with,” she snapped, head turned to the side so she didn’t have to watch.

Straddling her waist, Lucien hesitated. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“That’s unavoidable,” Elain told him through clenched teeth. Her hair was a tangled mass around her beautiful face, lips stained red from his mouth, cheeks flushed from an evening of pleasure and, perhaps, a little too much wine. “Lucien, please.”

Lucien readjusted the dagger held in his sweaty fingers. “I didn’t imagine I would be maiming my wife the morning after I married her.”

Elains smile was grim. “Do you want children or not?”

He did. Oh, but how he did—not mentioning that it was the expectation placed upon her the moment Lucien made her his bride. Elain would need to have a least one healthy child in order to please both the city and the gods and prove their union was blessed. 

A fact made more difficult when Elain, breathless and distractingly naked, had informed him she had a little piece of metal in her arm that would prevent her from having children for a decade. In order to circumvent that, it needed to be removed. Elain explained a physician would have done it for her back home and Lucien, ever practical, had decided it ought to be him.

He couldn’t explain her life to anyone, nor did he want rumors circulating about her. The problem now was that Lucien didn’t want to take that knife and wound her, even if she was asking him to. And Elain had said she couldn’t do it because she hated blood, leaving the pair at an impasse. 

Elain looked up at him before pushing at his chest with her small hands. Ignoring the arousal that surged through him, Lucien fell theatrically to the side as Elain got out of bed, threw on a shift, and marched right out the door. It wasn’t quite morning—very few people would be up given the partying that had gone on well into the wee hours of the morning. Lucien didn’t bother putting on anything himself, partly because he expected her to return alone.

He hastily threw a blanket over his half hard cock as Arina strolled in with exasperation. “Give me the dagger.”

Lucien offered it up as Elain sat in a chair, arm outstretched. He couldn’t help but watch as Arina dragged the tip of the blade against Elain’s perfect skin, causing blood to rise up and slide toward her wrist. Elain hissed, head turned and eyes squeezed tight.

“Good thing you didn’t get an IUD,” Arina muttered, the words meaningless to him. “Then you’d be fucked.”

It seemed like it took forever. Lucien’s heart was in his throat watching, ignoring the fact that he had driven his own blade through a hundred men or more in his life. Something about watching his wife maimed, even if she was asking for it, made him want to vomit.

Arina pulled the little piece from Elain’s arm between long fingernails, grimacing the entire time. “Wash that really well,” Arina urged before dropping the bloody speck into Elain’s open palm.

“This seems like the worst place to have a child.” 

“You’ll be first,” Elain called after, earning a dismissive wave of her hand before Arina was gone. Lucien stood, then, making his way toward Elain who was taking Arina’s advice. While she used a pitcher of water to rinse the blood from her skin, Lucien examined the little object with fascination.

“How does it work?”

She glanced over. “I’m not entirely sure. It uses hormones, I think, to block—”

“Hormones?”

Elain looked upward for a moment. “I forgot there is so much you don’t know. It’s hard to explain, but it basically…blocks…the things your body does to create life.”

“And you wanted that?”

Elain offered him a pretty smile. “I did, yes.”

The unspoken words between them were, of course, that now she did. Whether out of duty or love, Lucien didn’t dare ask. She’d grow into it, he decided. There was time to consider the possibilities, to see her delighted at the prospect of being a mother—of raising another potential Emperor, even. 

“Are you going to escort us to the games today?” Elain asked once she’d wrapped a little bandage around her arm. Lucien nodded, not bothering to inform her that he would much prefer to keep her in bed for the next month uninterrupted. There was something primal about the desire which felt debasing. He should be above such things.

And yet he wasn’t. Lucien thought about her the entire time he bathed and dress, adorning his military dress uniform rather than another chiton, partly because he wanted to project power to his people.

And partly because he’d need it. He wanted his new wife to understand what it meant to be married to a man like him. He wanted her to be proud of him. 

Lucien wanted everyone else to be afraid of him.

That last part was practical. There was hurt feelings among the snakes in his court who felt he’d betrayed his very station by marrying a woman who wasn’t born and raised in Rome. Lucien had heard their objections before ignoring them—tradition wasn’t the end all, be all after all. Not one among them adhered to tradition all the time.

Merely when it suited them best. 

Now they wanted to complain because it was their families snubbed, ignoring he had no duty to them at all, nor did he care to elevate them to annoying heights. He’d made his decision and today he’d silence the dissenters and stir up pro-Roman sentiment among the ordinary people and the soldiers within his walls. 

Lucien was itching to redistribute some of their ancestral lands to more loyal senators. And he would—so long as he had justification. Maybe he’d use his wife to inform him of the gossip at court so he could better make decisions. Lucien was fairly good at picking through it himself—he’d learned from a young age that if he spoke very little and maintained good eye contact, people would just keep talking and talking and talking. He’d been collecting secrets his entire life.

Elain was waiting for him, freshly bathed and dressed in pretty yellow that nearly skewed orange thanks to whoever had dyed it. She looked up at him from her spot in front of a mirror, carefully wrapping her stolla over her shoulder while leaving her neatly braided hair out. 

“It’ll be hot today, even in the shade,” he warned, kissing her cheek. He wanted to do more, though that would have to wait. 

“It’s always hot,” Elain replied with an easy smile. Was she happy? Truly? Lucien was trying so hard not to think about it because when he did, fear wormed its way and tainted his joy. He could face down a line of men pointing spears directly at his face, but he couldn’t ask his wife if she truly wanted to be with him.

What if she said no? 

“It’ll cool,” he promised, taking her hand as she rose to her feet. “You look beautiful.” She beamed. “Are you going to war?” she questioned, pressing her palm to the heavy breastplate strapped against his chest.

“Something like that,” he replied. Lucien led her into the hall where they met up with his brother and Arina, both of whom were the center of the majority of the floating rumors. Lucien had been smart—though no one would have cared if he bedded Elain here, they would have begun to talk had he not married her. Arina was quickly being relegated in the minds of those that mattered as a mistress, and mistresses didn’t command the same respect a wife would. 

Eris needed to either remove her from his bed or marry her. Judging by the look on Eris’s face, Lucien suspected it would be the latter. Deciding to discuss it later, far out of the ear shot of those around them, he nodded his head, indicating it was time to go.

Elain walked dutifully beside him, crowned with pretty green laurel leaves pinned neatly into either side of her head. She looked like a goddess, a thought he kept quiet even in his own head lest any of the gods decide to peer inside. They may have brought Elain to him, but Lucien knew that could just as easily take her away.

Beside her, Vassa had begun talking animatedly, unconcerned with Elain’s rank or status. Jurian, keeping just a step behind Lucien, took the opportunity to say, “They’ll call you mad for this.”

“Only if I lose,” he replied, stepping into the streets with a grin. “Which I won’t.”

“Careful, lest Minerva hear you and decide you need to be humbled.”

“I welcome her wisdom,” Lucien informed his friend, “though it is Mars who watches me today.”

Mars had been watching him for a long time, though truthfully, Lucien had always considered Minerva a more welcome patron. She was far cleverer than him, of course—but Lucien considered himself clever, too. You didn’t become Emperor without a little of her favor, after all. 

The city was alive even in the early morning heat. Musicians and other entertainers had come out, drowning out the excited chatter as people filed toward the towering coliseum. It had been a good decade, if not more, since an Emperor had last hosted games for the people. Beron had been too busy lining his own pockets with the taxes he collected to care, and Lucien knew keeping the people fed and entertained was the easiest way to ensure their loyalty. 

Passing the tax collectors, Lucien saw the line to collect Elain’s gift stretched down a whole city street, wrapping itself into the next as people waited with unabashed excitement. He intended to repeat the gift once his coins were minted, forever associating the generosity with Elain herself. 

Forever known as Augusta Helena. 

Lucien followed Elain up to their seats, shaded beneath a canopy already unfurled to keep those in the stands shaded, too. The noise was deafening, delighting him as Elain leaned forward over the rail, elbows resting against the stone so she could take it all in. Beside her, Arina did the same, wide-eyed with wonder.

He kept forgetting they’d never been, had never seen any of the glory of Rome. He’d kept them secluded, and thought they’d made their way into the city earlier in their stay, this wasn’t comparable to a little shopping at the market. 

Lucien was allowed to make a speech, though he chose to keep it short. He welcomed Romans to the first day of his week-long celebration, thanked the gods for the glory bestowed upon them, and introduced his wife to a roaring crowd of people before he sat himself down and waved on the beginning of the spectacle. 

Elain didn’t like blood—she’d told him so just that morning. Now, as the gladiators filed out, Lucien tried to imagine the entire thing through brand new eyes. What did they do in her home for fun, he wondered? Did they not have something similar she would have enjoyed? Elain’s light dusting of freckles were stark against the paleness of her face when the first man fell to the sand, throat cut inelegantly but efficiently. It wasn’t the most brutal of killings, but it was the first. 

The crowd roared out their pleasure, screaming in a cacophony of noise for their preferred champion as blades clashed and the dirt beneath their feed muddied. It was merely a warm up—all the warriors were slaves captured from rebellions or outright wars and made to fight for the amusement of Lucien’s people. Whether they lived or died was of no consequence to him—they were too new for anyone to be terribly attached to. 

They were waiting on a different gladiator—Lucien had seen the graffiti coming in, had noticed the posters of his shirtless form slapped against buildings. If he looked at the crowd, he’d see children holding little dolls sold just outside the stadium along with the banners that would wave through the air when he arrived.

Lucien was looking forward to the fight. And when famed Gladiator Rhysand stepped out, bare chested and adorned in his strange tattoos, the crowd erupted with excitement. The former Thracian General had started off as just another low-level slave fighting because that was the only way to stay alive.

Rhysand was a freed man, now. Not a citizen, but he had wealth and property and from what Lucien could discern, a rather nice existence for someone who should have been slaughtered on a battlefield. He didn’t entirely trust Rhysand—nor anyone who had once tried to overthrow Rome’s hold on their lands. In the back of his mind, he always assumed they’d try again if they were ever able, and just like Beron before him, he intended to keep a watchful eye on Rhysand’s comings and goings. 

Convincing him to fight hadn’t been difficult thanks to Lucien’s promised quarry. On the other side of the arena, blonde hair shining beneath the sun stood the traitor Tamlin. Rhysand had asked to kill him when Jurian had gone on Lucien’s behalf to secure his presence in the arena. Tamlin the Betrayer—he’d sold them out to invading germanic tribes, promising them land and wealth if they sacked Rome but left once they’d taken what they wanted and executed all opposition that would allow Tamlin to rise to power. 

Unlike Beron, who had exiled Tamlin, Lucien wasn’t so forgiving. They’d been friends. Lucien’s name hadn’t been on the list, though he doubted he’d have been spared should a hostile army sweep into the city. Nor did he think Tamlin would have mourned too terribly if he’d been collateral damage. 

Tamlin’s father had been the cause of Rhysand’s capture, and it was rumored that Rhysand had been the one to kill him. Lucien hadn’t been part of the Thracian campaign and so he couldn’t say if it was true or not. There was no other reason Rhysand would want to kill Tamlin, a true born Roman citizen, if it wasn’t though.

It was interesting to watch the people of Rome rally behind Rhysand even as Tamlin came out adorned in Roman garb. Food was hurtled from the stands, landing at their feet as Rhysand threw up his hands and spun in a circle, yelling words lost to the roaring crowd. Tamlin didn’t bother, ever stoic even in defeat.

He’d been promised freedom if he survived and Rhysand knew it. Lucien glanced over at Elain, her eyes fixated on the warrior. 

“What do you think?” Lucien asked, lips inches from her cheek. 

“Where is he from?” she asked, and too late, Lucien wondered if she understood the markings on his body. Rhysand claimed they were for luck in battle, though Lucien very much doubted that was all they were. 

“Thrace. He was royalty, or so they say.”

She only nodded, turning back to watch. Rhysand raised his curved blade over his head and the fight began with Rhysand taking the offensive and Tamlin the defensive. Tamlin held a heavy shield in one hand, sword in the other. Lucien had seen Rhysand break through a shield before, though never one held by a former Roman trained General. Truthfully, Tamlin should have been crucified, his remains left out for the vultures to feast upon until his bones were bleached by the sun.

But this was far more entertaining. Rhysand’s citizenship was on the line—though he didn’t know it. Lucien had decided if he won, he’d make Rhysand a citizen of Rome, no longer obligated to fight in the arena if he didn’t want to. He might have fought harder had he known what was truly at stake for him—but Lucien didn’t want this victory tainted.

He wanted to see Tamlin slaughtered out of hatred rather than self-preservation. And he wanted, more than that, for Tamlin to know it had been him who’d ordered it. Lucien forgot about his wife half recoiling beside him, disturbed by the brutality of what she was witnessing.

Down below, though, was a symphony of violence. Weapons clashed loud enough the clangs could be heard from where Lucien sat, jarring his teeth with a familiar phantom pain. 

“Don’t turn away,” he ordered Elain when she gasped, eyes closing as she turned her face into his shoulder. “Watch.”

“I can’t.”

“You must,” he said, well aware eyes were on them. She couldn’t be seen as weak. Elain went back to watching, looking as if she wanted to vomit all over the floor. She could cry about it when they were alone again—but for now, she would watch.

Beside her, it seemed Arina did have the stomach for it. Her eyes were bright with interest as she leaned forward, tracking the movements of Rhysand so carefully that Lucien caught his brother glancing over, eyes pinched at the corners.

Maybe he ought to be worried if Rhysand became a citizen. Or perhaps he’d finally stop embarrassing Lucien and just make her his wife to prevent a future in which Arina found herself in a gladiator's bed. 

Turning his attention back to the battle, Lucien witnessed Rhysand plant his sandaled foot flat against Tamlin’s back, kicking with such force that Tamlin’s sword flew from his hand as he was knocked to the ground. Panting, onyx hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, Rhysand made his way toward Tamlin.

The once respected General looked scared. That moment of fear, even if he didn’t beg, dishonored him. The crowd roared as Rhysand swung a powerful thigh over Tamlin’s body, using tattooed knees to pin his arms to the ground. Lucien wished he could hear what words Rhysand spoke, sword raised high over his head.

And then it was over. He drove his blade through Tamlin’s throat, drawing forth gushing blood. Rhysands swung again, removing Tamlin’s head from his body as the crowd leapt to their feet, stomping their feet and screaming so loud the gods could not ignore them. Lucien, too, was on his feet, clapping as Rhysand turned to him, head raised in his hands.

I did as you wanted, those violet eyes seemed to say.

Lucien merely nodded in return. Well done. 

It took time to set up the next portion of the games. Lucien left Elain in the capable hands of his brother so he and Jurian could descend into the stinking underground of the coliseum. Jurian kept one hand on his sword as Lucien walked, a warning to anyone thinking they might try and get the better of him. 

Rhysand was waiting, wiping sweat from his brow with a filthy rag. It merely spread the blood on his face around, making him look truly terrifying.

“My winnings?” Rhysand asked by way of greeting. His face was obscured by shadow, though somehow the blue of his eyes were as vivid as the burning torches hanging from the damp walls. 

“Delivered to you this evening, as promised,” Lucien said, extending out a hand for Rhysand to clasp.

“Are you satisfied?”

“I am. I’d see you made a citizen of Rome, if you wish.”

Rhysand hesitated. “A full citizen?”

“Full citizen,” Lucien agreed, hoping this gesture of goodwill would not backfire on him. “With your own estate and lands to oversee.”

Rhysand didn’t hesitate, offering a slick smile Lucien didn’t quite trust. “That’s very generous. I’m humbled by the offer.”

Lucien only nodded, gaze turning back to Jurian. “Leave it to me.”

Rhysand nodded, stepping past the pair of them to leave. No one stopped him—he was no longer bound to the chains and cells of this place as he’d once been. Jurian watched, brows bunched together.

“I don’t trust him,” Jurian finally said as Lucien tried not to breathe in the overwhelming stench of rotting blood and human misery.

“He’ll fit right in, then,” Lucien replied. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Jurian reminded Lucien as several overseers began to walk toward him.

“I know I don’t. I want to,” he said with a grin. “Besides, the people will be speaking about it for years.”

“Assuming you aren’t killed.”

“Take care of my wife if I am.”

Those were the last words spoken between them. He knew Elain was going to be irate when he stepped out, but at least she wouldn’t look away. There was something familiar about the nerves racing through him. Lucien still remembered his first battle, brand new in his fathers unit, wondering if he’d survive. Lucien knew he would, now. This was how Roman men were tested, how they proved they were made of something strong. Something unbreakable.

He wanted Elain to see him—that was vanity. But he needed his city to see. 

Stepping into the arena, Lucien threw his hands in the air with an easy grin. He didn’t dare look toward the seats he knew Elain occupied—he supposed he was cowardly for that. The roar of the crowd was deafening—and intoxicating. All he could feel was the steady gallop of his own heart and his desire to taste blood. 

Across the arena, Lucien watched as Brannaghan was brought out. Dark eyed, pale, and filthier than he’d been when he’d first been rounded up, he was an outsider. A Briton who’d led an unsuccessful revolt and hadn’t had the guts to kill himself before iron cuffs were clapped around his wrists. 

It was as fair of a fight as Brannaghan would ever get. His sword wasn’t rusted or broken and he was allowed the armor of his people. Of course, there were no trees in the arena, or woods for him to ambush Lucien in. It was a fair fight—and one they both knew he’d lose. 

At least make it entertaining.

It wasn’t fun when the political prisoners gave up quickly, hoping for a clean death. Lucien would make him suffer if he fell to his knees, sword cast aside. The only honorable death was one fought well.

Brannaghan’s eyes glittered, body wrapped in crude leather. Lucien had heard the people of Brittania often painted their skin blue, a luxury that hadn’t been afforded here, though he wished it had. The more barbaric he looked, the wilder the crowd would be. 

Lucien looked at the crowd, just as wild as they’d been for Rhysand. I am your Emperor! He wanted to shout it, though no one would hear. He’d wait until his victory was assured. Lucien turned his gaze to the man in front of him as the doors allowing exit closed. There was no way out—and Lucien would rather die than beg to be rescued. Only one of them would leave alive. 

With the sun beating down on him and the smell of sweat and blood, Lucien raised his sword. He half wished he had Rhysand’s confidence to go shirtless in the arena, though courting disaster made it far more likely. 

Lucien offered a taunting smile to the male, coming closer. “I heard you fucked your sister,” he said by way of greeting. 

The man snarled in fury, running toward Lucien with his sword raised. Lucien could have driven his own right through Brannaghan’s undefended chest. Already, Lucien saw his weaknesses—this was not a man who was used to fighting up close. At least, not like the Romans did. He was an ambush fighter used to guerrilla tactics.

Lucien knew how to kill a man face to face. He was disciplined, had been trained from boyhood to cast his nerves aside and obey instinct rather than whatever urge demanded he run and hide. Lucien deflected easily, watching as the man stumbled a step before regaining his composure. The crowd cheered as the fight began in earnest. Lucien kept his sword in one hand, the other used to keep his balance. Overhead, Lucien could feel Elain’s eyes on him, could practically taste her displeasure in his mouth. If he didn’t die in the arena, he was going to die in his bedchamber.

What a way to go, he thought, blocking another blow with ease. There was another, and another—Brannaghan was tiring himself out, sweat dripping down his temple to splash on the sandy ground beneath them. Lucien wanted more even as his bones vibrated from the force of the strike. And when he pushed forward, deciding it was time to put on a show, Brannaghan simply could not contend with the superior training of a Roman soldier. 

He didn’t quit, though. Even when Lucien kicked him to his knees, sandal flat against his chest, Brannaghan swung his sword. He managed to slice a thin, shallow line against Lucien’s exposed thigh though he hardly felt it at all. He only realized when the crowd jeered. 

“Your downfall will be sung of,” Brannaghan spat.

Lucien grinned, driving his blade through Brannaghan’s chest. Fisting the man’s hair as he gasped for air, Lucien murmured, “Roma in aeternum viva.”Rome will last forever.

Lucien pushed him back, letting him fall to the ground as blood poured from the wound. He, himself, was also coated in blood though it was well worth it. Lucien raised his hands, delighted by the roar of the crowd and the warm victory racing through him. This was what he needed, he thought as the doors opened and he was welcomed in.

Lucien stepped into the gloom, eyes adjusting to the dark. He didn’t realize everyone was keeping back not because they were awed by his greatness, but because his wife was standing there with murder in her eyes. 

“My turn,” she hissed when he came closer.

“My love,” Lucien replied, pulling her against him for a messy, bloody kiss. Elain tried to push him away, but Lucien wasn’t having it. Holding her face between his hands, Lucien pressed a second kiss to her forehead. “Spare me my dignity before you end me.”

“You should have told me,” she said, eyes glancing around dim, dank space. Lucien nodded, hand on her lower back as he began guiding her out. This was no place for someone as beautiful as Elain. 

“You would have said no,” Lucien reminded her, refusing to remove his hand even when she began making her way up the stairs. Elain spun quickly, eyes flashing.

“Because it’s foolish. You could have died.”

“But I didn’t,” he reminded her. She needed to let it out—that was fine. Lucien didn’t mind her chastising simply because he loved the sound of her voice. Let her yell, so long as she was yelling at him. 

“Lucien, I swear—”

“My love,” he tried again, reaching gently for her shoulders to turn her around on the stairs. He should have had himself changed from his armor, but Lucien wanted Elain back beneath the sunlight and far, far away from the threat of violence, the smell of death, or even just the filth that populated beneath the coliseum. “I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Are you actually sorry? Or are you saying that because you want me to stop being angry.”

Lucien blanched. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“What if he’d killed you?”

“He wouldn’t have,” Lucien replied.

Elain huffed in exasperation, gathering her skirts to continue going up the stairs while Lucien trailed after her. “Why are you angry with me now?”

“You could have died—”

“No,” he said, catching her to push her gently against one of the wooden beams, their mouths inches apart. “No, I could not have. I just got you—not even Plutonis himself would dare to try and take you from me.”

Elain didn’t try terribly hard to shove him away, though Lucien still put space between them. “I was scared.”

“Don’t be,” Luicen murmured, wishing he could scoop her up against him and put her in his bed. “Trust I’ll always return to you.”

“Don’t do that again.”

Lucien grinned. “Don’t make me lie to you—”

Elain shoved him ever so slightly, like a kitten trying to take down a lion. Not that he’d ever say so. Kittens still had claws and she could take one of his eyes out if she wanted. Lucien had no doubt Elain wouldn’t if he pushed her.

“I don’t want to see it.”

“I fight better knowing you’re watching,” he replied, pressing a swift kiss to her cheek. “Let me make it up to you with some food. The lions are coming soon. Don’t you want to watch the lions fight?”

She narrowed her eyes. 

“This isn’t over.”

“Oh, how I pray you’re right.”

ARINA:

Arina had her meager things placed in a small bag and was nearly to the door when it swung open, the edge nearly catching her in the cheek. Eris paused, light from a nearby lantern illuminating his beautiful face.

“Where are you going?” he asked, voice lethal and soft.

“Back to my bedchamber—Eris open the door.”

He’d locked it, though, closing it behind him before positioning his larger body between herself and the only exit out. Arms crossed over his broad chest, Eris looked at her, lips pressed in a thin line. 

“No.”

“Eris—”

“Must we do this every night?” he asked with just a hint of exasperation. “Must you force me to beg you to stay—”

“People are talking—”

“So let them!” Eris snapped, waving a hand in the air. He seemed so very Italian to her right then, annoyed and scowling as he was as he gesticulated with his hands. All he needed was a cigarette and he’d have been perfect. She’d have flipped him off as she rolled her eyes and he’d have yelled after her, something mildly offensive without angering his mother were Arina to tell. 

But he wasn’t Italian—not yet, anyway. 

“Eris—”

“Are you afraid, Arina?” he asked, advancing quietly. 

She didn’t respond, unwilling to admit out loud that yes, she was deeply afraid that he was going to get everything he wanted and not make good on any of the promises he’d made to her. She’d held out this long, for all the good it did her. People just assumed anyway, and her reputation was damaged as if she had. It shouldn’t have mattered. Arina wasn’t a virgin even without sleeping in Eris’s bed.

But no one cared back home. They cared here. She’d staked her whole life on remaining here—with him. And now it felt like he was making a mockery of her. 

“Are you in a hurry?” Eris questioned and christ, when had he gotten so close to her? “I can’t marry you until my fucking brother is done with his celebrations or we would be.”

“I’m starting to think you’re a liar,” she dismissed.

Eris’s brows shot upward. “What did you call me?”

She was stepping into dangerous territory, but it needed to be said before she lost her mind. “You keep saying you want me,” she half whispered, holding her ground even as he advanced close enough their faces were inches from each other. “I think you don’t want anyone else to want me, but you want to see if you could do better—”

He kissed her, fingers sliding in her hair to fist her hair roughly until her neck was arched back. He didn’t stop even when she whimpered, stepping her backward until her knees hit the bed. Whatever shred of dignity or control he’d been holding on to was gone, leaving behind only the base urges of a man Arina wasn’t sure she’d ever met. 

She liked him, though. Liked the way his grip softened just enough not to hurt her but not so much he wasn’t keeping her in place. Unaware, she supposed, that this was exactly where she wanted to be. 

With his free hand, Eris shamelessly groped her through her dress, palming her breasts until Arina gasped and pulled back just far enough he had to look at her.

“Don’t tell me no,” he warned her.

It annoyed her.

“Then go find your brother and have him sign the contract that makes me your wife,” she replied, shoving him back just far enough that she could breathe again. Releasing his grip entirely, Eris stalked to his desk and opened a drawer previously locked by releasing a latch just behind. She should have figured that out.

A moment later, Eris held a piece of parchment in hand like it was his most prized possession. There was triumph on his face as he brought it to her, eyes ablaze. “It’s been signed.”

She took it from him, fingers trembling. “Liar.”

“Call me a liar again, Arina.”

“Why wouldn’t you say something?”

Eris shrugged, taking the rolled up parchment back from her with nimble fingers. “You change your mind every other hour. Why would I say a word while you decide?”

“Undecided because you don’t seem concerned.”

Eris shrugged again. “Why would I be concerned? I know how this ends.”

“And how does it end, Consul?”

He liked that more than he wanted to admit. Desire flared over his features as he prowled forward once again. “You know how it ends.”

“You haven’t touched me.”

“I’m not a monster,” he replied, cupping her face in callused hands. “I hoped you’d come to me.”

“You should know better.”

“Come to me anyway,” Eris murmured, pulling her close again. 

“I stayed for you,” she whispered, watching his eyes go wide. “Isn’t that enough?”

“It feels like too much,” he admitted, his mouth brushing her own. “I’m not sure I deserve it.”

“You don’t,” she confirmed, watching his lips curl into a smile. 

“Is this how I can expect the rest of my life to go?” Eris asked, winding a lock of hair around her fingers. “Are you itent on tormenting me?”

“It does you good,” she said, though in truth being able to talk to him that way felt like safety. Eris would let her, trusted his feelings and hers enough that it didn’t bother him. And perhaps, deep down, Eris understood why she swung back and forth the way she did. Sometimes Arina thought she was insane to stay here when going home made the most sense. 

Eris didn’t respond, kissing her instead as though his life depended upon it. Maybe it did. Maybe he needed to have her this way to prove himself. Or maybe he was simply a man who was tired of waiting and Arina was trying to subscribe too much thought behind his wandering hands. She, too, was tired of pretending she didn’t want him.

She wanted Eris in a way she’d never wanted any man. Desperately. Frantically. Like if he wasn’t inside her literally that second she might explode into a million pieces. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Eris whispered before his mouth consumed her again. Arina was addicted to this despite how new it was. Here, though, secluded and alone, Eris gave in to whatever impulses he felt. His fingers found her hair, pulling it from the half twist so it tumbled over her shoulders. She, too, was moving outside of her own awareness as she pulled his chiton over his head. The most important thing to her was they didn’t stop kissing. She thought she might die if they did, though it made undressing him so much more difficult.

She considered, briefly, demanding he strip to nothing while she watched. Maybe she’d spread her legs out and touch herself to motivate him. Eris pushed her back to the bed, coming with her in a graceless heap that made her love him more. All the slick, smooth edges were worn off here and she felt like beneath his polished exterior lay this half-wild man that she was sworn to marry.

“Eris,” she whispered into his mouth, his name caught and swallowed but Eris’s own greedy lips. He groaned, pressing his hips against her own so she could feel his erection. Arina wanted to see it, too. Arina wanted to know if Eris was as good at other things as he was with his mouth.

“Take this off,” Eris all but begged, trying to find the hem of her gown twisted around her legs. Arina almost laughed, tugging the fabric over her head.  

Eris leaned back, watching as Arina slowly pushed the straps of her dress down her shoulders. Eris whimpered, eyes made of molten flame. 

“Is this what you want?” she asked, lifting her hips to shimmy out of the dress. 

“Yes,” he all but panted. “Take all of it off.”

“You first,” she replied, eyes roaming his bare, toned chest. He worked out—she could see the defined muscles of his abs and shoulders and wanted to trace them with her tongue. When did he have the time—somehow, Eris seemed above that sort of thing.

And yet there he was, yanking the layers of his clothes off with those strong hands she’d been staring at ever since they’d first met. Arina was breathless and Eris was starting to realize he had an effect on her—maybe the same she was having on him. Eris took a breath and then stood, revealing himself fully.

“Oh, come on,” Arina whispered, earning an unrestrained grin from Eris.

“Is it how you imagined?”

“I don’t lay awake at night dreaming of your cock,” she lied., His cock was perfect, thick and large. He knew it, too. “This was supposed to be your shortcoming.”

Eris chuckled, crawling back up the bed where she was still wearing a matching set. “I have no shortcomings.”

She didn’t respond, delighted when Eris ripped off her shift and pushed apart her legs. It was clear he just wanted to look and Arina found she didn’t care at all. 

“Fuck me,” Eris whispered.

To which Arina replied, “I’m trying.”

His eyes snapped to her face and just like that, he was kissing her again, hungry and desperate. She was naked, pressed against him skin to skin. Arina could feel the blunt head of his cock lodged against her thigh, and though she wiggled, trying to get him closer, Eris had no intention of letting himself touch her between her legs.

Not yet, anyway. Arina wasn’t used to someone who wanted to draw things out, to wring as much pleasure as they could from their partner. And though she knew she shouldn’t, Arina couldn’t help but compare Eris to every man she’d ever been with before. They’d have been fucking her by now. Warm affection rose through her—she wanted to give him something.

“Eris,” she panted, pushing at his chest. Eris, misunderstanding what she wanted, fell off her to his back with a breathless apology.

Straddling his chest. Eris’s eyes went wide, fingers skimming the sides of her body. 

“What are you doing?” Eris breathed, perhaps expecting her to sink herself along his thick length. It was tempting, and yet not right then—not yet. Holding his gaze, Arina lowered her mouth to his chest and licked a path toward his navel. Eris inhaled sharply, fingers fisting the bed sheets beneath them.

“Arina,” he pleaded, realizing what she planned to do. 

Lips hovering inches from his twitching cock, she murmured, “I can stop if you want.”

Eris’s exhale was rough, and yet no words escaped him. 

“That’s what I thought,” she replied, just before tracing the vein running under his cock with her tongue.

Eris moaned, eyes wholly focused on her face. He was watching, eyes half lidded, fingers splayed over his stomach. Arina licked again, tongue teasing his slotted head. Eris’s hips bucked, hands reaching for her hair before pushing her toward his aching, swollen cock. 

“Please,” was all he managed. Arina was so impressed he knew the word at all, let alone might beg her to taste him. Widening her jaw, Arina managed to take half before it was impossible to breathe and her gag reflex rose to the surface. It seemed bad form to vomit in his lap, so Arina pulled back, using her hand to make up the difference.

Eris didn’t seem to care, for what it was worth. “Fuck,” he groaned, fingers fisting in her hair. He set the pace, guiding her up and down his shaft while she focused on licking and sucking, enjoying herself far more than she’d ever done before. Maybe because it was him, and Arina liked everything about him, or maybe she simply enjoyed giving him something. 

Clearly Eris wanted something similar because rather than coming down her throat, Eris pulled her off him with a ragged gasp.

“I’m going to finish if you keep that up,” he growled, holding her wrists over her head to keep her from escaping him.

“Isn’t that the point?” she taunted, pushing against his grip just to see what might happen. Eris’s hold tightened, mouth inches from her own.

Eris kissed her again, his free hand teasing her bare breast. “I’m not done with you yet.”

She shivered, delighted he was having as much fun as she was. She was more delighted still when Eris replicated her own action, tongue dragging down her stomach.

“When was the last time someone licked this pretty pussy?” he asked, fingers spreading her apart. There was no way she was admitting the truth to him. 

Eris was smart—he guessed anyway, if that near feral smile was any indication. “Oh, baby,” he crooned, thumb rubbing over her clit. “Neglected, are you?” “Yes,” she panted, writhing beneath his warm breath curling over sensitive flesh. 

Eris looked up with those dark, amber eyes. Teasing her with his fingers, he said the three words she was desperate to hear. “You’re not anymore.”

She would have done anything he asked of her after that. Eris could have told her to lick his feet and she probably would have. He didn’t, though. Eris didn’t ask anything at all, spreading her legs wide before pushing them toward her chest. And then he licked with the sure confidence of a man who not only knew he was good at this, but that liked doing it.

She could have wept. 

She might still, because Eris wasn’t rushing the way she was used to. It took her a moment to relax, waiting for him to raise his head and ask her if she was close or close enough he could stop. Instead, she got a soft moan of approval when one of his fingers slid along her opening, teasing without fully penetrating. 

“Don’t stop,” she begged him, lifting her body to give him better access. Eris’s hands slid beneath her ass, holding her off the bed, eyes half closed as he licked and sucked like his life depended on it. Release was building, molten in her stomach as it skated up her spine. 

She’d wanted to last longer—Arina wanted to drag this out, just in case he changed his mind. Eris teased until she couldn’t take it anymore, grabbing his hair to shove him closer. He half laughed, like the whole thing amused him, but his tongue remained flat against her clit until she came loud enough the everyone in the palace almost certainly heard her cry out his name. 

“Fuck me,” Eris breathed, looking up from between her legs, mouth glistening and red. “Get on your hands and knees.”

Arina nodded, her body still convulsing, arms still shaking and vision blurry. Eris helped once she flopped onto her stomach, grabbing her by the hips, one hand flat on her back to keep her face in the pillow.

“Very good,” he praised, knee pushing her legs further apart. “I want to feel my wife come on my cock.”

This was happening—she’d long forgotten that it was Eris behind her, rubbing the head of his cock through her slick folds. And when he slid himself into her, pushing so far that Arina forgot to breathe, it didn’t matter to her. 

Of course it’s you. Who else would it be?

“Gods take me,” Eris groaned, digging his fingers hard enough into her hips she was certain he was going to leave bruises. She tried to respond, but the words stuck to her throat. He didn’t move for a second, letting her adjust to the stretch, to the fullness of having him share space with her. 

The moment passed and Eris pulled himself out to the tip before slamming himself back into her. Arina’s cheek pressed unforgivably into the pillow. His pace was brutal and somehow perfect, made better when a ringing slap against her ass cheek pulled her off the bed.

“Do you like that?” Eris asked, reaching for her hair and wrapping it around his wrist. Arina arched her back, biting her lip so hard it hurt. “Tell me what you like.”

“Fuck me, Eris,” was all she could think to say in response. He slapped her ass again, interrupting the pleasure she was all but drowning in with a bite of pain. As it faded, more pleasure rode to take its place, muddling what was happening until her brain was confused and silent. 

Pulling her back further with her hair, until she was practically balanced only on her knees, Eris bit his teeth gently against her shoulder. “I want to fuck every inch of you. Every hole. I want you to feel my cock every time you sit down, every time you swallow.”

Arina moaned in response, delighted by his filthy words. Did he know this was her exact fantasy? Was it his, too? Arina thought so, based on the way he moaned, pushing her back down and releasing her hair so he could continue fucking her. Arina was so close again, unable to remember a time she’d come twice if it wasn’t from her own hand.

Eris’s hand slid up the curve of her ass, rubbing until he found the tight hole. His thumb pushed, creating friction and pressure at exactly the right moment. Arina came, screaming into the pillow before she realized what was even happening. All she knew was she was drowning in pleasure, shipwrecked and run aground.

Eris came not a minute later, his thrusting erratic and messy. She barely registered it until his body covered her own, mouth pressing messy kisses against the side of her neck. She could have slept like that, his body weighing her down like a blanket.

“Was it good? Did you like it?”

She didn’t know how they twisted so she lay cradled against his chest, he flat on his back. All she knew was he was holding her, mouth to her cheek as he sucked air in and out of his nose. 

“Yes,” she panted, kissing whatever bit of skin she could find. “It was perfect.”

But what she meant to say was, you were perfect. 

[redistrictgirl]

As of September 15th, 2024, Kamala Harris is slightly favored (66% chance) in the race for the presidency.

Repeat after me: Nothing Ever Happens.

In spite of a highly-watched and newsworthy debate that the Vice President is widely agreed to have won, there has barely been any budge in our topline and two of the three swing states with major probability shifts have actually moved towards Trump! There are two asterisks here in the lack of change, both of which are fairly minor in my opinion for the reasons below.

First, state-level polling has been scarce since the debate. What we have seen, ho-hum polls in the Rust Belt, don't inspire that much confidence that anything has changed. Second, our "bin" for this week does include some pre-debate polling! They don't affect the averages that much, though, only taking away three-tenths of a percentage point from Ms. Harris and one-tenth of a percentage point from Mr. Trump. That's meaningful in aggregate, but not seismic.

With that out of the way, let's take a look at the closest states:

Arizona (55% chance of being won by Trump) - Ms. Harris still has not led in a poll in this state for nearly three weeks. The asterisk here is that Mr. Trump still cannot break 50%, and there's a chance that his vote share is also declining (though we don't have enough polling to say for sure.) For now, this uncertainty as well as passable fundamentals for Democrats are enough to keep the state a tossup.

North Carolina (56% chance of being won by Trump) - This is one of the few instances where the fundamentals look rosier for Republicans than state-level polling. Shockingly, the Vice President is the first candidate to have hit 50% in about two weeks in this state, doing so in a Quinnipiac poll near the start of the week. There are plenty of fine polls for the former president, however, and I'd still expect some reversion to the mean in general, so he remains the favorite.

Georgia (66% chance of being won by Trump) - This week's Peach State polls have been very kind to Mr. Trump as he hovers around 49% decided, where Ms. Harris' share is more volatile. There haven't been many other interesting developments in the state.

Pennsylvania (69% chance of being won by Harris) - The perennial swing state continuing to hold strong for Democrats is a promising sign for them as the field of play slowly narrows. We don't have much data to work with, but the 49-46 Harris result from Morning Consult pre-debate is intriguing.

Nevada (70% chance of being won by Harris) - This state has seen positive developments for the former President alongside the rest of the Sun Belt this week, with polling from both Morning Consult and Redfield & Wilton (post-debate!) showing a neck-and-neck race. That said, there aren't too many undecided voters for either candidate to pick up in the state, so Harris will still be fairly comfortable here as long as she maintains an overall lead.

So do I think we're destined to spend the next few months in Lean D purgatory? Hardly. For one, as undecided voters make up their mind, we can expect more confidence in the model. Our sample size will also increase, which will make it easier for the model to pick up on smaller movement without outliers throwing things out of whack. That said, this is very much a close race, and even as Harris nears "Vegas favorite" territory of winning, upsets happen all the time!

[regsluvrboy]

biker! a.donaldson x gn. reader word count; 1.2k a/n; wooo!! a small project i've been working on for a bit, hope y'all like it. spent a good amount of time on this and atp i'll be the happiest man alive if even one person reads this oml. index. -> chapter 2

The sounds of metal being hit and tools being tossed around echoed through the repair shop, accompanied by Patrick's nonsensical rambling about Art and their management for the nth time that week.

"Almost done, please shut up. I gotta' focus" your voice rang out from underneath the sleek Suzuki GSX-R1000RZ. "Yeah, yeah. Listen, so-" The man standing behind you spoke, annoyed about the predicament he was in. "They told me they'd buy the Hayabusa for us, okay? And then management proceeds to just hand it over to Art without even consulting me!" Patrick whined as he leaned his side on the wall near him. You sighed, "Don't you guys switch bikes half the time?" you asked, checking the voltage regulator. "Well, yeah- But that's not the point, they handed him the bike instead of me! It's in his name now!" The racer grumbled as he watched you with little to no interest.

The you rolled your eyes, getting up and raising an annoyed brow at Patrick's rant. "Next time, you leave the bike with me and go somewhere else. I can't handle your gibberish for two hours, I have limits, Pat," you said with no real venom. The racer's dimples framed his features as he looked at you, "Uhuh, you know you love me and my rants." You rolled your eyes once more, knowing that he was right. A comfortable silence lingered in the room, save for your scoff, accompanied by a subtle smile.

Patrick cleared his throat, looking at your amused expression before continuing, "Anyways, Art's going to ride the thing tonight, coming to watch?" he grinned. You frowned, bringing a greasy hand to your forehead, twisting the baby hairs there with a sigh, "Nah, y'know I don't like him, right?" Patrick sighed, looking at you with an unamused expression, "you sure? You don't want to take a quick peek at it and leave?"

You scoffed once more, the usual look of disinterest returned to your features as you looked up at your best friend, "No, 'cause your definition of a 'quick peek' involves getting me to talk to Art, so, fuck no." Patrick shifted, stretching his arms as he let out a small groan, you sighed and walked to your shop's register, cleaning your hands with a towel before you started typing down the bill.

"Why don't you like him?" Patrick broke the silence, looking at his bike. You cleared your throat, feigning nonchalance, "Who?" you spoke, eyes trained on the register. "Y'know who. Art. Why don't you like him?" the green-eyed racer smiled knowingly. "I don't dislike him, I don't like him, I'm indifferent about him," you shrugged, though your tone suggested otherwise.

You met Art for the first time when you three were in college, with Patrick and Art being roommates, it was hard to miss seeing the blonde. What initially began as a mere acquaintance immediately grew into enmity when Art broke up with one of your closest friends at the time. Sure, maybe it was a stupid grudge to keep for five years, it wasn't even your breakup.

"You're not still sour about him and Janet, right?" Patrick cut short your train of thought. He walked to the register, leaning on the wooden slab as he smirked smugly at you. You looked at the man in front of you with annoyance traced across your features, "No it isn't."

"You're such a liar, a bad one at that," The racer laughed, leaning on the table. "He's changed, it's been like… ages since the incident. Plus, you know that relationship was a pain in the ass for both of them." You scoffed, grabbing the printed receipt before handing it to the other, "of course, you'd take his side."

"I'm not taking sides," Patrick protested immediately. "I'm being serious, it's been ages, you need to let go of that stupid grudge. Even Janet forgot about it. You're just trying to find an excuse to hate him. Which, by the way, is really hypocritical of you to say when you tell me to forgive and forget all the bullshit that goes on with my management."

You looked at him plainly, pinching your furrowed brows before meeting the racer's gaze once more. "Total's 140 dollars, pay me when you can," you looked down at the buttons on the register, thinking about what the other said.

Patrick looked at you with a sigh, looking at the register and then at you, behind it. "Tell you what, you come to watch the match, yeah? I won't make you talk to him. I know you've wanted to see the 25th edition model for a hot while, it'll be nice, okay?" Hearing that, you met his gaze once more, "Alright."

The green-eyed racer smiled, looking at you as he grabbed the bike and walked it to the front of the repair shop. You looked at your friend, "You might be right, by the way." Confusion leaked through Patrick's tone when he replied, "huh?"

"The Art thing. I may have been making excuses. Yeah," you admitted sheepishly, looking at the tall man, who was now across the shop. The racer smiled, getting on his bike, "I know, I usually am," he chuckled smugly before starting his bike. "See ya' tomorrow night, sweets!" he called out, driving off.

You noticed his helmet on the wooden slab, "Pat, wait- your helm-" you sighed in annoyance, noticing he already left. "Stupid fuck." You muttered under your breath, grabbing the helmet and placing it near the exit, in case the other returned to get it.

Patrick may have had a point. It wasn't like you had any particular reason to hate Art, other than the breakup. But something about the blonde struck a nerve within you. Even when you were acquaintances, the way he'd look at you condescendingly when you went to meet Patrick pissed you off. Every time you felt his presence, your jaw automatically clenched, waiting for the blonde to give some stupid backhanded compliment about what you were doing, or your outfit for the day. It wan an unspoken rivalry of sorts. You hated how he would walk into the room and smile at you, with that oh-so smug smirk that you desperately craved to wipe off his stupid face. You hated how he'd have long conversations with Patrick while the three of you were in the same room, making it a point to make you feel alienated. He was the living definition of an asshole. God bless Patrick's sweet heart for finding a friend in him. Things got worse when the both of them became popular racers, Art became an even bigger asshole- if that was even possible. Which made him even more intolerable - or so you assumed, you hadn't exactly talked to the guy in the two years after you graduated. But his insta stories and feed told you what you wanted to know. There was no way he would've changed after uni.

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