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mochegato · 3 years

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Calling Dibs

This day was going to be boring, Jason knew that before he agreed to the trip in the first place. ‘Agreed’ is a generous term. ‘Relented’ might be a better term. Regardless, he was in Paris for the next week. He was looking forward to the Louvre and seeing Notre Dame, but he was expected to spend time with his family for a large part of the trip and end with a branch opening party, because those are always so much fun.

He had barely plopped onto the hotel couch when something went flying past the building, crashing into the building down the street in a cacophony of shattered glass and warped metal. “Holy shit!” Jason yelled, jumping up and running to the window to assess the situation. The family looked to each other to see if anyone had a better grasp of the situation. Everyone shared the same confounded expression, before running out on the balcony to check out the situation.

Bruce sighed. This was most definitely not part of the plans. This was supposed to be a relaxing week with the family looking at art for Damian, going up in the Eiffel Tower (and preventing him from jumping off) for Duke, sampling French foods and checking out French fashion for Steph, exploring the catacombs for Tim, attending the ballet for Cass, visiting Notre Dame for Jason, and time together as a family for Dick, with just a side of meetings for him. Superheroing was not one of the scheduled activities.

Bruce opened his mouth to state a plan, but before the words made it past his lips, blurs of red and black swung past them toward the creature that had destroyed the building. It took more than a few minutes for him to finally close his mouth in a resolute line as they watched the two heroes fight. Jason’s mouth stayed open in awe as he watched the red figure expertly dodge and strike the creature. It stayed open until the creature backhanded the red hero into a wall of the building across the street.

The group flinched in sympathy at the sight, all too familiar with the feeling of getting smashed into a building. She fell to the ground in a crouch. Instead of fear, she looked back up with a glare. She jumped away and landed next to her partner in black and seemed to have a conversation before separating. The black hero distracted the creature while she swung further away. It almost seemed like she had run away until they saw her charge at the creature from the side, hitting circles that decorated its body, shattering them like mirrors as she went. With each hit the creature seemed to deflate more, until she hit the last one, a black butterfly emerging from it.

She captured it in her yoyo and released it almost instantly as a white butterfly. She called something out and threw her yoyo up into the air. As soon as she did, a pinkish red wave rushed across the city and suddenly all the damage they had watched with their own eyes, was reset to its previous condition.

They stared, mouths agape again, trying to take in everything they saw. Finally the silence was broken by Jason. “I call dibs!”

“What!” Dick exclaimed. “You can’t just call dibs on someone.”

“I just did,” Jason scoffed. “I call dibs on the red badass. You can have the cat one. Follow B’s footsteps, protégé.”

“You don’t even know if she’s straight. What if she’s into girls?” Stephanie objected. “Maybe they both are.”

Jason stared at her for a second before his eyes narrowed. “Fine. But if she’s anything other than a lesbian or ace, I have dibs. And the cat one is up for grabs.”

“Oh, I’ll grab,” Steph smirked.

“Fine, whatever,” Dick groused, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away. “Wasn’t looking for romance this trip anyway.”

“Your libido is not the priority right now. Father, did you bring us here for this?” Damian demanded.

Bruce kept his eyes on the spot where the creature had been a few seconds earlier before turning into a distraught woman. “No, I had no idea. But now that we know, let’s investigate. We’ll find out as much as we can from outside sources and try to meet up with the heroes when we can. If they have a regular patrol, we can try to meet them somewhere. If they don’t, we might have to try to show up discretely at the next attack.” He observed the people below already returning to their normal jobs. “It doesn’t seem like this is too out of the ordinary for everyone, so I don’t think we’ll have to wait long.”

He wasn’t wrong. In fact, they only had to wait until the next night for another akuma to strike. As soon as the akuma was dealt with, they caught up with the Parisian heroes, though in hindsight, they perhaps should have announced their presence a bit more clearly, judging by the way Red Hood was hanging upside down off the side of the building they were on.

“Sorry again,” Ladybug grimaced as she helped pull him back onto the roof.

“No, we shouldn’t have snuck up on you,” Red Hood assured her. “I was just struck too speechless by you to give you a better warning.”

Ladybug blinked at him a few times before turning to the rest of the group and motioning toward Red Hood helplessly. Chat gave her an amused smile. “She tends to have that effect even on the best of us.”

“As Red Hood said, we should have announced our presence more plainly. We likely would have reacted the same if you had snuck up on one of us,” Batman said, taking a step forward.

“We just wouldn’t have looked as kick ass doing it,” Red Hood added, leaning toward Ladybug.

Ladybug raised an eyebrow at him, but allowed him to move closer to her. “Well, you certainly didn’t look ‘kick ass’ falling like that,” she smirked at him.

“I’ll work on how I look when falling, then. I have a feeling I’m going to be falling a lot for you.”

Ladybug narrowed her eyes at him and puckered her lips in an unsuccessful effort to keep them from quirking up. Red Hood’s chest puffed up almost imperceptibly at the sight. Ladybug’s eyes darted over to Batman and back to him. “First, I don’t think you came all the way to Paris just to hit on me. I believe we have other things to talk about. Second, if you’re going to hit on someone, take off the helmet. It’s rude. I can’t read your expressions at all. It puts me at a disadvantage.”

Red Hood quirked his head to the side. “Can’t take the helmet off. Secret identity, you know? B would kill me. If he didn’t the squirt there,” he motioned toward Robin, “would try. But trust me, if you saw my face, you’d swoon. And I assure you, I would have come all the way to Paris if I’d known you were here waiting.”

“But we didn’t know you were here,” Batman cut in harshly. He placed a hand on Red Hood’s shoulder and pulled him back with the others. “We were unaware there was a supervillain in Paris. We’d like to offer assistance, ours and the Justice League’s, but first we should introduce ourselves. I’m Batman. That’s Spoiler, Black Bat, Signal, Robin, Red Robin, Nightwing,” he motioned to each of them in turn as he said their name. “And you’ve met Red Hood.”

Ladybug and Chat nodded to each of them as Batman said their names. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I’m Ladybug. This is my partner Chat Noir.”

“Sorry, we didn’t bring our full team. We would have if we’d known there was going to be a party,” Chat smiled disarmingly.

“We’ll be sure to let you know next time,” Spoiler grinned back at him.

“Can we sit down with you sometime to discuss the situation?” Red Robin interrupted whatever Chat was about to respond with. “It doesn’t have to be tonight, but we weren’t planning on staying in town too much longer. Not that we haven’t been enjoying our time here. And we’ve definitely enjoyed watching you work. You have got some really good moves.”

“Oi,” Jason interrupted, smacking him in the shoulder. “I called dibs.”

“Dibs?” Ladybug quirked her head to the side and scrunched up her nose in such an adorable way Jason let out an almost inaudible choke. Quiet enough that only Red Robin, letting out an almost as silent scoff, and Chat Noir, with his enhanced hearing, heard him. Chat zeroed in on him with a knowing smirk. He rested his arm on his baton and got into a comfortable position leaning against it, waiting for the entertainment. “What is ‘dibs’?” Ladybug continued, oblivious to the dynamic between the three.

Chat’s smirk grew. “Dibs, M’lady, is when you claim first rights to do something.”

Ladybug stared at him for a few seconds as she put together what he was implying. Her head whipped around to Red Hood. Her face was furrowed in an offended scowl. She pointed to herself. “Am I the thing you’re going to do first?”

Jason jerked back at the suggestion as Chat Noir and the rest of his family, sans Batman and Robin, started laughing. “No! No, no, no. No. Not… No.” He waved his arms desperately. “Not that. I…” He took a breath and glared at his family to get them to shut up, expecting them to know he was glaring harshly under his helmet. “I just get to be the first to try to impress you.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes. “You want to impress me? Do something impressive. And I don’t date as a superhero, so you’re going to have to impress civilian me. Good luck with that.”

Chat gave Red Hood a patronizing grin. “You’re going to need it,” he singsonged. He looked back and forth between Ladybug and Red Hood a few times, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He swung his baton over his shoulders and rested his arms over it. “But then again, she is the embodiment of luck so, maybe she just gave it to you.”

Ladybug’s head whipped back to him and she narrowed her eyes at him in warning. He smiled innocently back at her as if he hadn’t just been meddling in her love life… again. He needed to meddle in his own instead. Although, with the way Spoiler kept eying him, maybe it was already taken care of. “Anyway,” she said loudly, bringing the focus back to the topic at hand. “Tonight isn’t good. We both have early mornings tomorrow. But tomorrow night should work. How about meeting here tomorrow at 22h?”

“Okay, now that that is settled, I have a very important question,” Spoiler spoke up. Signal groaned next to her, preparing for whatever her question was going to be. “Where is the best place to get some French treats?” Batman let out a deep sigh. “What! I came to France to eat amazing French food and shop French fashion. They live here. They should know the good places to go.”

Chat straightened up immediately and sent Ladybug a feral grin. “You don’t say…”

“Chat,” Ladybug hissed warningly.

“They’re just asking for advice,” he answered in his most exaggeratedly innocent voice he could muster. “You wouldn’t want to deprive them of the best food in Paris. Would you, M’lady?” The devilish grin in his eyes was a complete contrast to the innocent voice. He turned back to the bats, the picture of politeness. “The absolute best place to get pastries in Paris is Tom and Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie on Rue Gotlib. It’s amazing. I recommend trying… everything. And it just so happens their daughter is one of the most amazing designers in… anywhere.”

Spoiler grinned at him. “A man after my own heart. Thanks, Kitty Cat. I’ll take that under advisement. And do you also frequent there?”

Chat blushed slightly and looked away quickly, but not before Ladybug saw the reaction and smirked at him. “Yes, he does,” she assured Spoiler. “He frequently frequents there.”

“And what about you?” Red Hood interjected, leaning toward Ladybug again, much to Batman’s chagrin.

“Are you kidding? She’s the reason I found it in the first place. I swear she’s there daily,” Chat grinned.

“Ooh, Kitty Cat, you sure know the way to a girl’s heart,” Spoiler purred at him. Chat’s cheeks burned red, but didn’t look away from her this time.

Ladybug pursed her lips in annoyance at his romantic interference but quickly smoothed out at the sight of his blush. A smile was back on her face when she turned back to the Bats, eyes lingering a bit longer on Red Hood before moving to Batman. “Anyway, we will see you again tomorrow. But Chat, maybe you should get an idea of what Spoiler likes so you can bring treats for her to the meeting tomorrow. I have to go though.” She waved at the bats before turning to Chat with a wink. “Have a good night.”

Red Hood stepped forward before she jumped away. “You don’t want to know what I like for tomorrow?” he asked huskily.

She looked up at him with a sultry smirk. “Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea of what you like. Sweet dreams.”

Red Hood watched her jump away. “Oh they will be,” he whispered to himself.

<><><><><>

Marinette had been apprehensive all morning. Every time the bell above the door rung, she braced for the bats. She let out a relieved breath as a man walked in by himself. She wasn’t positive, but she was pretty sure the group would come in together. She wasn’t sure why she knew that, but somehow she was confident of it. The man blinked a few times at her before smiling charmingly at her.

And damn if that smile couldn’t melt ice. She let out another breath, this one to calm her cheeks. She smiled at him, warmer than her regular customer service smile. “Can I help you, monsieur?”

“Do you, by any chance, have a bowl or something I can put some water in?” he asked awkwardly in barely accented French. The cocked head and curious look Marinette gave him prompted him to continue. “I wanted to… there’s this stray dog outside and he looks like he needs some water.”

American, she noted… with dimensions roughly matching Red Hood’s. And oh God, those muscles weren’t just the suit. Well fuck. Guess she did give him some luck after all. “Of course he’s fucking Adonis hot,” she muttered under her breath, but apparently not quietly enough. He smirked at her and chuckled.

Marinette’s eyes snapped up to him and she blushed furiously at having gotten caught. She took a deep breath and smiled back at him. “Blonde with a dark stripe down his back?” He nodded at her, a surprised look on his face. “That’s Éclair. He’s a local stray. An absolute sweetheart. Here, let me get the bowl I usually use for him.” She rushed to the back and came back with a filled dog bowl and some pancetta. “Can you give him this too, please? I usually do, but I’ve been stuck inside most of the morning.”

He gave her another ice meltingly brilliant smile and nodded in thanks.

She tensed at the next man who walked in, not really knowing why she was apprehensive. Red Hood was already there. She gave him her customer service smile even as her eyes darted out the window to watch Red Hood feeding Éclair. She could imagine the hearty laugh he let out when Éclair leaped up to lick his face. She smiled at the sight.

“Excuse me,” the man stepped into her line of sight.

She immediately turned to focus on him, regretfully tearing her eyes away from Red Hood and Éclair. “Yes, monsieur. Sorry about that. How can I help you?”

The man looked her up and down and leaned toward her. “I was looking for something sweet. Maybe you could help me.”

She cringed internally, but gave him a strained smile as she leaned away. “Of course, sir. We have a lot of sweet treats. Maybe you can look over the petit fours, éclairs, macarons, and tartlets. Let me know if you have any questions.”

“I have a question already,” the man gave her a leering smile. “Are any of the treats as sweet as you?”

She gave him a flat look and took a step back. She almost missed the door chime ringing. “I assure you, monsieur, you would find me far from sweet. Let me know when you’re ready to order.” She turned away and started wiping the counter instead.

Red Hood took the opportunity to step up to her and pass the bowl back to her. “Thank you. He looked very happy after the treats.”

Marinette blinked at him a few times and looked down at the bowl unmoving for a few seconds before the reason clicked for her. “Right,” she answered, louder than she meant to, as she took the bowl. “Can I get you anything?”

“What do you recommend?” he asked as he moved to block the other man’s line of sight to her.

She smiled appreciatively at him. Maybe he was impressive after all. “You looking for something sweet or savory? We have great bread, but if you’re looking for a treat, I would recommend an assortment of eclairs. It just seems apropos. Honestly, I think it’s all good, but I’m a bit biased.” She leaned in as if confiding a secret and winked at him.

He chuckled and nodded. “That is definitely something to consider.” He side eyed the other man in the store. “I’ll take a look around I think. Figure out what it is I want.”

Marinette nodded and gave him an understanding smile. She turned to the other man. “Have you decided, monsieur?”

The man made a show of looking around. “Are you on the menu? Because I definitely know what I’m interested in,” the man answered, leering at her again.

Marinette gave the man a flat look. It was not the first time she’d heard the line. She didn’t get it as much as waitresses, but still, it was a tired line… from a married man… that she had already turned down. “No, sir. I’m not on the menu,” she answered curtly, “because we are not a brothel, which are illegal in Paris, I might add. However, a quick internet search will direct you to the areas of the city where you can find that kind of menu items. If you would like one of the pastries, please let me know which ones you would like, otherwise, please leave.”

“I’m not good enough for you, but you’ll flirt with him,” he motioned toward civilian Red Hood.

“First, I get to choose who I’m interested in and that isn’t you. Second, he,” she motioned toward civilian Red Hood, “called dibs on flirting with me. Now either order or leave.”

The man huffed and left, trying to slam the door on the way out. The door closed with a gentle thud. Marinette rolled her eyes. “Sorry about that, monsieur. Are you ready to order?” She sent him an apologetic smile.

Jason stared at her for a few beats trying to figure out if her previous words meant anything. She could have just said that because the guy was an asshole. It could be a coincidence. And her partner could have sent him here purely because they had really good food. “Oh, um… what do you recommend I take?” he asked again absentmindedly, his mind still on how likely it was that it was all a coincidence.

Marinette smiled innocently at him. “Me out.”

Jason looked at her wide eyed. “What?”

“You asked what I recommended you take. I recommend you take me out,” she shrugged nonchalantly, but the grin was devilish.

Jason opened his mouth and closed it again. “Any other day, beautiful. Any other day I’d say yes, but I’m kind of working on someone else and I’m a one woman man.”

Marinette looked at him for a few seconds, a brilliant smile beaming at his response.

“Thanks for helping out, Sweetie,” her mom called coming from the back room. “I think we have it covered now. Oh,” she looked up at Jason, then at Marinette’s smile, and back to Jason. She smirked at the two. “I think you should be able to take off now, get to your real job.”

Marinette nodded and took her apron off, stowing it under the counter. “Thanks, Maman.” She leaned up and kissed her cheek before making her way around the counter. Jason turned to her as she walked out, watching her as she moved. She paused a few feet in front of him. “I have to admit, you impressed me after all.”

She smiled sweetly at him before moving to the door. She turned back at the last second, twirling to face him. “But you flirted much better with the helmet.” She winked at him and disappeared through the door.

Her mom chuckled before clearing her throat. “Anything I can help you with, dear?”

Jason turned to her blankly, still processing what Marinette had said, after a second he smiled and rushed to the door. “No, thank you ma’am. I have some dibs to collect on.”

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@jasonette-july-event @maribatserver

#maribat #jasonette #Jasonette July #Jasonette July 2021 #prompt - design

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retrievablememories · 3 years

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picture me | johnny (m)

title: picture me pairing: vampire!johnny x black!reader genre: fantasy, romance, smut, fluff, angst summary: you meet a vampire-slash-photographer whose self-identity is increasingly lost to him, and you try to help him find some purpose again. word count: 18.3k warnings: age gap (cuz you know, vampires...but everyone is legal), mentions of discrimination/prejudice based on species, self-identity issues/self-deprecation, general angst, sheltered!reader, mentions of blood and drinking blood, oral sex (female and male receiving), fingering, thigh riding, loss of virginity, corruption kink, use of lube, unprotected sex (do not try at home), creampie, johnny is packing in this fic ok! a/n: today (the 28th) is my birthday, so i’m posting this 100% self-indulgent fic that i’ve been working on between requests since september. it was very hard to get johnny’s characterization right for this fic and idk if i actually succeeded but i’m not revising this for the 1000th time lol. i love this fic with my whole heart tho.

i haven’t seen many vampire fics that really explore the whole “doesn’t show up in mirrors/photos” concept (shout em out if you know em) and...there’s probably a reason for that, this shit is hard af to write and there are some logic issues but whatever 🤪

(the beginning quote is from “criminal,” stan taemin!!)

The moment I fall for you is the end of my innocence

—

He sits in the same coffee shop everyday, like it’s a habit he just can’t break. But who are you to judge? You’re there, too. Watching him like a creep. Or maybe like an interested coffee shop patron, trying to be discreet and failing at it.

He wasn’t hard to notice. You’d never been to this coffee shop before, but your friend recommended it to you mostly for their in-house-made pastries; she claimed the coffee was good, too, but she wasn’t much of a caffeine person. You decided to give it a try when you had time between classes and a moment to breathe, not needing to talk to this advisor or that professor.

You saw him immediately when you walked past the shop window. He was sitting at a table near the front, staring down at his phone with a small cup of coffee sitting in front of him. Its miniscule size was almost comical in contrast to his...everything. He was tall—that much was obvious even with him sitting down—and imposing, wearing all black. His hair was equally pitch-black, his bangs hanging to one side and the rest shaved in an undercut. If you didn’t know much better, you’d think you’d stepped back into 2007 and landed dead in the middle of the emo craze.

He was interesting to look at. Not in a bad way, but in a way you don’t see very often. Deciding to walk in before you made yourself look totally weird staring at him through the window, you’d stepped into the coffee shop, the small bell dinging above your head. A barista greeted you at your entrance. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the man, to your left, still looking at his phone.

You’d given your order and waited for it to be ready before taking it to a table on the other side of the shop. From that vantage point, you had a good view of the man. You tried to keep your eyes on your food and your phone, not wanting to spend the whole time looking at him, but it was a little hard not to.

When you took a bite of your pastry, you quickly discovered it was just as delicious as your friend promised—probably even more so. You made a noise of approval before you could catch yourself, and you glanced around the shop in embarrassment to see if anyone nearby noticed. Didn’t seem like it, at first. But then you glanced over to the man again only to find him looking at you below his eyelashes with a small, amused smile on his lips. He only kept his gaze on you for a second before returning to his phone.

What? You hadn’t thought you were that loud. How did he hear you from over there, and above the noise of the café? Even now, you remember how embarrassed you’d felt, ducking your head and looking away.

The man finished his coffee not long after that; he slipped his phone into his pocket and stood up. You glanced up only momentarily when he stood, but your eyes soon slid back to his form when you noticed something odd. On the wall behind him, there was a big oval mirror sitting pretty in its elaborate silver frame. He stood just a few feet in front of it, yet there was no reflection of him. The only thing you could see was the other side of the café reflected back, with another man sitting alone at a booth enjoying his own coffee. The tall man’s reflection was nowhere to be found.

That was when you figured he must be a vampire.

You’d never met one before. At least, you didn’t think you had until then.

Unbeknownst to you, vampires are notoriously able to blend in more easily than most other supernatural beings—until faced with situations like that one in the coffee shop. Ultimately, there’s no faking a reflection no matter how hard you try to remain inconspicuous.

The man had caught your eye again. Thinking back on it, you aren’t sure of what expression you had on your face or what it must’ve looked like to him. It must’ve been something akin to surprise, though; you weren’t quick enough to disguise your reaction at his lack of a reflection.

He gave you another smile, though it felt sadder than the previous one, and walked out of the store, the small bell on the door ringing at his departure. He disappeared down the street in a swirl of black fabric, almost like something out of a movie, and you watched him retreat until you could see him no more.

You scraped your index fingernail over the wood table your food was resting on, your mind whirring with all kinds of thoughts. Your interest was piqued. And yet there was no way for you to know if you’d see him again.

—

At least, that’s what you believed then. Luckily for you, your subsequent visits to the coffee shop have proven fruitful; the strange, tall vampire is there more often than not, always in the same spot in front of that same mirror. Sometimes he reads a book, other times he looks at his phone, and other times still, he stares out the window at the passersby.

He acknowledges you whenever he sees you, either with a nod or a smile. You’ve never spoken to each other, though you know what his voice sounds like from hearing him talk to the baristas. It’s a nice voice, rich and handsome like him, and you find yourself gradually wanting to hear it spoken in your direction. But you aren’t sure how to talk to him, or what you should say.

There’s a lot you want to know about him and his vampirism, but you don’t think it’s fair to bombard him with questions right after meeting him—if you could somehow work up the nerve for that first step.

When you were young, your parents made sure to keep you safely sheltered away from anyone who could potentially be a vampire or any other nonhuman being. This game kept up until you went to college, where they could no longer “shield” you. Because of their lifelong fear and disgust, your knowledge of nonhuman beings is scarce and mostly inaccurate.

The man’s skin isn’t deathly pale like you’ve heard others say vampires always are. It’s nicely tanned, in fact. Nor are his eyes red, or his canine teeth abnormally sharp. And obviously, he has no aversion to sunlight, otherwise he wouldn’t be out here during the day. The only visible marker of his inhuman nature is his lack of a reflection. Maybe he’s not a vampire at all? Maybe he’s another type of being entirely. That only makes you more curious.

It’s not rare to come across supernatural beings, but they only make themselves known if they want to, or if it’s imperative to their survival. Most of them would rather quietly assimilate amongst humans or stay safe and hidden within their own communities. Humans are still too judgmental towards those who are different from themselves for nonhumans to feel truly safe or welcomed—at least not on a global scale. Small pockets of communities forged with human allies are helpful and sometimes vital for survival, but not always enough.

These small tidbits of information cycle through your mind as September gradually bleeds into October. You continue watching the thoughtful man in the coffee shop and making up your own secret theories about his life. You haven’t told anyone from school about this, because you already know the reaction would be nothing short of awful. Your parents would only let you go to school at the one university in the city that explicitly didn’t allow supernatural beings; it goes without saying that your classmates don’t view them in a positive light.

Part of you feels like you might be breaking the unspoken rules just by being at this coffee shop all the time and allowing this man to take up space in your mind. But who will know what’s inside your thoughts except you?

One day, your friend decides to accompany you on your lunch break, finally stopping by the café she recommended to you. The man is already there, as usual, and he smiles slightly when you and your friend enter. She doesn’t catch this, too busy wondering what she’s going to get off the menu today.

“I haven’t been here in forever, I wonder if Sam still remembers me?” You know Sam to be one of the baristas there, having read it on their name tag before.

“I doubt there are very many people who’d forget you,” you answer.

When you both have your food, you take a booth farther away from where the man sits, though you can still see him easily from this distance. Your friend settles into the seat in front of you.

You try to keep things inconspicuous throughout your conversation, but you must glance over at him one too many times, because your friend eventually raises her eyebrows questioningly. She turns around in her seat, making it obvious that she’s looking, and you groan as you keep your eyes in the opposite direction towards the window.

“Who’s that guy you keep staring at?”

You cough. “No one.”

“He’s obviously someone. Someone interesting enough to hold your attention.”

“I don’t know the man,” you say curtly. You shuffle your napkin and spoon aimlessly, your nervousness rising. What if he has some kind of enhanced hearing and can hear what you’re saying right now? He definitely heard you make that noise that first day.

Your friend looks at the ceiling and blows air out of her mouth. “Whatever. I’ll find out who he is sooner or later.”

You take a sip of your drink and lower your voice to just above a whisper. Although you want to leave the subject alone, you’re curious about one thing. “You mean you’ve never seen him before? This café was your hangout spot before it was mine.”

She shrugs. “No, I think I would’ve remembered someone as...visually striking as him. Why are we whispering, anyway? It’s not like he can hear us above all this noise.”

You think to yourself, I’m not so sure about that, but you merely shake your head.

You spend a few more minutes talking before movement catches the corner of your eye. At this point, it’s practically a reflex for you to look in that direction. You try not to, but your friend has already caught you and turns her head to spy, too. The man has gotten up for whatever reason to say something to one of the baristas at the counter. Your gaze darts back to your cup after you’ve gotten your eyeful, but you’re nearly startled into dropping the cup at your friend’s gasp.

Oh. The mirror.

She grips the edge of the table. “He’s a vampire…?”

You don’t know what to say to that, and you feel oddly guilty for some reason you can’t pinpoint. Like you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. “U-um, I don’t know…?” You can hardly finish your thought before your friend is scrambling to grab her purse. She hurriedly stands out of the seat, tugging your arm as she does.

“Come on. We shouldn’t stay here.”

“Are you serious—?” You feel embarrassed heat rip through your body at her display; some other café-goers are already looking at her curiously, probably wondering what the hell she’s doing. She tugs more incessantly, and you already know she’ll get louder if you don’t get up now and defuse the situation. Leaving your half-full cup behind, you grab your things and follow her out of the store, keeping your eyes firmly on her back as you pass by the man. You don’t know if he looked up, or if he could sense the reason for your sudden departure—you’ve never left the shop before him until now—and you don’t want to know.

Neither of you talk until you’re well down the street and around the corner. “That wasn’t necessary,” you huff, your hands still sweating from the spiked adrenaline at suddenly being rushed out.

“Yes it was! We all know bloodsuckers and all these other weirdos are dangerous...even if they think they’re being well-intentioned by living among humans. I hope you don’t go back there.”

“Whatever...you’re the one who told me to visit the café,” you mumble, unable to muster up the energy to say anything more. You both know very well she can’t tell you where to go, but you hope she doesn’t mention this to your other acquaintances on campus and make it into a bigger deal than it is.

When you part ways with your friend and get back to your dorm, you realize you’re missing your planner. The planner with all your upcoming assignment dates in it. You sigh heavily and roll your eyes, knowing it must’ve happened in the chaos of her pulling you out of the shop. Maybe if you’re really lucky, it’ll still be there, picked up by an employee or simply left untouched. Knowing how many people go through that café in a day, you’re not optimistic.

For the first time since visiting the quaint little shop, you’re not anticipating returning and seeing the man again, afraid he’ll ignore you or look at you with distaste—like you’re just another unsympathetic human. And would he be wrong to think that? You’re only strangers to each other.

You try not to dwell on it too hard when you go to bed that night.

When lunch rolls around the next day, you hesitate a couple times on your way to the café, not wanting to show up. However, the desire to see what became of your planner pushes you forward. You don’t even have to stay; if it’s there, you’ll take it and leave. If it’s not—oh well. You can still leave. It’s not hard to buy another.

He’s there when you arrive, of course.

He nods at you when you step inside, though he doesn’t smile as he’s become accustomed to doing. You nod back, but you can’t ignore the renewed rush of embarrassment you feel. You linger at the entrance for a second longer, wondering if maybe you should say something. Apologize, even? But what if he really didn’t know what was going on yesterday? Then how odd would you look for bringing it up?

You decide to move on and go back to the booth to search for your belongings, but his voice stops you. This takes you by surprise.

“Did you come back for this?”

You turn to him to see him holding your planner in his hand. You stare, momentarily dumbfounded, and almost shake your head before realizing it is yours. Definitely the same sticker-covered, scribbled-all-over planner.

“Oh—y-yeah. Thank you.” He passes it to you, though you notice he’s very careful not to let your hands touch. You’re a little perplexed about why, but then the rumors about vampires having cold skin pop up in your mind. Maybe that’s actually true, too. “I usually don’t lose things so easily, but…” Your voice falters, and you don’t know how to finish that sentence without bringing up the other day’s events.

He doesn’t seem to mind as he replies, “It happens to all of us sometimes...I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my camera.”

“You take pictures?” you ask, a tinge of curiosity in your voice.

He nods. “I take photos of anything that interests me. Which often ends up being everything I see. I work at an art museum, so I guess having an eye for photography comes in handy.” He hesitates for a second, then says, “I could show you some?” He waves his phone, indicating that the photos are there.

“Oh, sure.” The man gestures for you to sit down in the empty chair in front of him, and you do so. He swipes through his phone a few times until he settles on what he’s searching for, then puts the device on the table and slides it to you. You lean forward to look at it and see that it displays an album full of pictures, simply titled with the emoji “🌌.”

“It’s okay, you can pick it up.” He chuckles. You pick up the phone and swipe through the numerous pictures. Many of them are nighttime shots of the moon, trees, half-empty streets, darkened storefronts. Others depict nature scenes at sunset or the beginning of sunrise, with the sky colored in darker hues. No matter what the subject matter is, they all look to be professionally taken, even for an iPhone.

“Wow, these are nice. You said you work at a museum…are you a professional photographer, too?”

The man shrugs, and as you look at his slight grin, you realize you still don’t know his name. “Something like that, I guess.”

“You should be if you aren’t already,” you say, looking through more photos. “I’m sure you’d make a lot of money.” When you reach the end of the album, you go to hand the phone back to him but realize he’ll probably want to avoid contact again, so you slide it across the table. He takes it and slips it into his pocket.

“I don’t really care about the money,” he responds. “I just like it because…” He trails off, unsure how to convey his thoughts, wondering if he should even get that personal with a stranger. “It...helps me pass the time.” He’s not quite satisfied by that answer—it doesn’t feel like enough—but it’s all he can think of on the spot.

“Well, that’s nice too. It’s always good to have a hobby just for the sake of it...not for anyone’s benefit but your own.”

“Do you have one?” He takes a sip of his coffee. You don’t expect to be asked about your own interests, and your mind goes blank as you try to think. Why does this always happen when I’m asked these kinds of questions?

“Um, just different things here and there.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he says, amused.

“It’s not that, I just don’t have a ton of hobbies or anything. I’m kinda boring, so…” And wasn’t allowed to do much of anything until I left home.

“Being boring isn’t always a bad thing.”

You lean back in your seat, shrugging slightly. “Maybe if you see it that way. My friends don’t.”

“Would one of those happen to be the same one who dragged you out of here yesterday?” He speaks casually, putting his cheek in his hand. You slump further down in your seat, feeling exposed. Of course there was no escaping this topic. He notices your mood shift and shakes his head. “You don’t have to feel so bad about it. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last.”

“I’m sorry for all that mess,” you murmur, unable to meet his eyes. “Really, I am.” You stand up from the seat, gripping your planner. “Thanks again for this. I don’t want to take up any more of your time today.” You’re about to turn to leave when he speaks again.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, you know…you could talk with me whenever you feel like it.” That’s the last thing you expect him to say. His voice takes on a quality that’s...not what you’d call begging, but it’s clear he’d enjoy some company. Maybe he’s doing this for your benefit as well as his own, because it’s obvious how your eyes always stray to his little corner.

You nod, giving him an apprehensive smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, then.”

The rest of your day after that is uneventful, full of classes and unexciting lectures, but you keep thinking of one thing. Though he appears to enjoy his time in the coffee shop, how lonely must he really be? There’s never anyone else around him. His eyes when he’d spoken to you held a certain sadness.

And you still didn’t get his name.

You don’t see him for the next few days, mostly because you aren’t at the café. You’ve gotten busy with a new project and haven’t had as much time to return to the coffee shop, mostly spending your time in the library instead.

When you finally get a chance to buy lunch outside campus, he’s not there. This disappoints you more than you thought it would, and you wonder what his absence means. Did he just decide not to come today, or has he found another place to frequent? You kind of hope the second option isn’t the case, though you also don’t know why you’re even caring this much about where someone else goes on their own time.

You get a drink to-go this time, deciding you’ll just take it back to the library and continue your studies there. The entryway bell rings behind you as you wait for your order to be made, though you don’t pay it much attention; half of your mind is still occupied with what you need to do next for your project.

When you turn around to leave the shop with your drink, you’re surprised to see the man standing there, waiting to get his own coffee. “You’re late,” you blurt out. You immediately feel silly for saying it, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

He gives you a slight smile. “Yes, I am.” Then he spots your to-go cup. “Are you leaving?”

“Uh, well,” you glance at your drink, “are you staying?”

He nods as he steps up to the counter. “Yeah, I’m staying. My offer’s still open, by the way.”

Right. The offer to talk to him sometimes. You’re tempted to stay awhile and talk to him now, though you don’t even know what about. Your project? That’s boring. Him being a vampire? Too invasive. Your school? Also boring, and probably not the best idea considering which one you attend.

“I...think I’ll stay, then.”

You both sit at his usual table, with you grinning nervously.

“How are you? I noticed you hadn’t showed up in a while,” he asks, settling back in his chair.

“Yeah, I’m doing fine, I’m just busy with school stuff. These teachers don’t give us a break.” You laugh a little, shaking your head.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He grins. “I never did go to college, but I’ve always heard others talk about how tiring it is. And expensive.”

“They’re right.” You roll your eyes at the thought of it. “But I guess it’ll all be worth it in the end. Maybe. If the economy isn’t in the toilet.” The sound of his laughter is nice, and you’re glad you could make him laugh. “Also, I’m sorry—I don’t know how this flew under the radar, but I don’t know your name.”

He shrugs. “Nothing to apologize for, really. It’s Johnny.”

You tell him your name, too. “Since I haven’t seen you lately...how are you doing?” You circle your hands around your to-go cup, feeling its warmth transfer to your palms as you await his answer.

“I think I can say I’m the same as always—which is fine. Life slows down a little when you have a lot of time on your hands.” Johnny’s lips quirk up at that, and you think he might be referring to his vampirism. Your eyes widen a little.

“What’s that like? Having so much free time. I wouldn’t know much about that right now, but…”

“Maybe not as pleasant as you think it’d be. But there’s good in it. Like coming and going when you want to. And you can take up whatever interests you want without worrying as much about busy schedules.” You already know he’s alluding to his photography. “I do like having a job, though…it gives me structure.”

“You’re probably right…I wouldn’t know the first thing to do if I had a ton of free time…like, which hobbies to pick up first.” You consider how you initially thought about him being lonely and wonder if that’s one of the unpleasant parts he hinted to. “Speaking of hobbies...did you take any new pictures lately?”

Johnny nods. “Most of them were on my camera this time, but some are on my phone. You want to see?”

“Yes!”

Johnny lets you have his phone again to look through the newest pictures he’s taken. There are varying shots of car-lined streets and storefronts, some of the latter decorated with glowing jack-o-lanterns for the onset of October. A pigeon sits on a streetlamp during the daytime, holding its head up like royalty upon a throne. In another image, a stray cat and her kittens huddle in an alley, the babies grooming each other while the mother looks quizzically at the camera.

You recognize a few photos from the nearby park; he also had some pictures of it the last time you looked. “Do you go to this park often?”

“Yeah, it offers some great shots. It’s especially pretty if you go just before the sun sets...the light filters through the tree leaves and it looks kinda like a kaleidoscope.”

“Ah, I’ve never seen that before…” you say a little sadly. Your parents didn’t much like taking you to that park when you were younger because of how far it is from their house. And since living away from them, you’ve only been able to visit it during the early hours of the day—like now.

Johnny looks closely at you. “Would you ever want to?”

“If it’s as pretty as you say, I should.” You slide the phone back across the table to him, not catching what he’s trying to hint at as you keep talking. “Do you go anywhere else besides here and the park?” As soon as you say it, you realize this might sound a little rude and try to make a quick save. “I mean, do you have any other favorite places? I’m not trying to say you don’t have a life or anything!”

Johnny laughs at your slight panic at thinking you’ve offended him. “Nothing too out-there, I guess. The bookstore, the photography store, the theater. Pretty much all the same places others visit.”

“The movies are fun.” You trace your finger across the table’s surface, thinking of your own favorite spots. “Me and my friends like to go downtown. There are a lot of cute little shops down there…”

You and Johnny talk for a while longer, and you almost forget you have to get back to campus until you glance at the wall clock. “Oh no, I’m gonna be late.” Flustered, you jump out of your seat and crumple your empty cup. “Sorry to cut it short, Johnny, but I gotta go back now.”

He smiles good-naturedly and nods, his dark bangs sweeping his face. “I understand.” As he watches you gather your things and get ready to go, he speaks up again. “Actually, if you want to see the park at sunset sometime...I could show you? It’s up to you.”

You pause, suddenly curious at the thought of seeing him outside the café. In the back of your mind, you feel a little paranoid and afraid of your friend or maybe even your parents seeing you there with him, though the latter is extremely unlikely. It’s hard to shake that familiar fear of judgment and ostracism when it’s been ingrained in you since childhood. “That sounds good. If it’s not any trouble for you…?”

“Never too much trouble. I usually get off around 4 on Fridays, just before the sun sets at 5. Unless the weekend is better for you?”

You nod, holding your books tighter to your chest. “Friday will work for me! I’ll meet up with you then.”

Johnny smiles. “Great; I’ll see you then, kind stranger.”

Maybe he says it to be joking or quirky, to sound like one of those characters in a movie or drama, but it makes you smile. Nodding to him again, you step out of the café and rush towards the direction of your school. Johnny watches as you retreat, your roles reversed.

You meet up with Johnny at the park that Friday, just as you both agreed. You spot him sitting on a bench near the park entrance, waiting on your arrival.

Johnny’s wardrobe is still mostly dark, but it’s a little lighter than usual today. He’s changed things up with a white polo shirt underneath his black sweater. Seeing him dressed like this, you wonder what he’d be like as a student, or maybe even a university professor.

He stands up when you get closer, hearing the sound of your footsteps approaching and turning towards you. His camera sits safely around his neck, the lens catching in the light of the sun.

When you stop in front of him, he smiles at you warmly. You try to relax into the genuineness of that smile and ignore the still-lingering traces of anxiety about being out with him. “Hi, Johnny!”

“Hi, Y/N.”

You and Johnny walk around the park as he looks for something interesting to shoot. He snaps a few shots of the trees, fallen leaves, bushes, and other natural elements along the way, though it seems like he hasn’t quite captured what he wants yet.

“Are you looking for something specific?” you ask, peering at his camera as he holds it in his hands.

“There’s an aster bush around here,” he responds. “It hadn’t fully bloomed yet the last time I was here, but it should be open by now.”

It turns out he’s right as you two finally come up on the bush. Its blooms make bright purple smudges against the rest of the landscape, which is a monochrome red-and-orange palette from the leaves changing their hues. You watch as he comes up to the bush carefully and quietly, like it’s a small animal he’s afraid to scare away. Johnny is very attentive while taking pictures of it, always conscious of getting the correct lighting and securing the exact angles he wants to capture. “Compassionate” is not a word you’d usually associate with the act of taking photos, but that’s the only word you can currently think of to describe this display. He treats the flowers with a peculiar sense of respect, as if they’re a human subject.

After he’s gotten the images he wants, Johnny offers you his camera to take a few of your own. You’re anxious about holding his prized possession and are afraid you’ll find a way to mess something up, but he promises you it’s fine. You take a few shots of the sky, still with a few wisps of clouds left, and a nearby tree that’s almost stripped bare of leaves. You know the shots will probably end up blurry from your unsteady hands, but Johnny tells you you’ve done a good job anyway.

Something about getting his approval makes a pleasant warmth settle in your chest.

As you both walk down a long trail, you finally ask him, “Sorry if this is invasive, but I was wondering how old are you? Like...as a vampire.” Your voice becomes hesitant on the word vampire, even though you’re the only two in this part of the park.

He chuckles a bit. “I’m 85.” You try not to look surprised. “I’ve been turned for 60 years. Old, but probably a little younger than most vampires you’d think of.”

“Kinda,” you say quietly. “They’re always like 2,000 years old in movies.”

“The ancient vampires are purebloods. They keep to themselves and avoid mingling with turned vampires, let alone humans. Some people are even skeptical if they exist. Supposedly, they use humans as servants or blood banks.” He gives you an apologetic look after saying this, though you don’t really know why. You don’t get the feeling he’d do that to another being, but he is still mostly a stranger... “At least, that’s what my mentor told me.”

Your curiosity is roused at all this new knowledge. “You had a mentor?”

“An older woman. She was also a turned vampire.”

“Turned, huh…”

Johnny nods, toeing at a small pile of leaves on the ground. “She went away eventually, said people are meant to pass in and out of each other’s lives. I don’t think she ever had intentions to stay. But I enjoyed her company while she was there.” Johnny stops at a short bridge above a small manmade lake, and you both look down into the water.

You place your arms on the bridge railing so you can lean over more. You notice he doesn’t have a reflection in the water, and this startles you more than you expected. Before meeting this strange man, you’d never thought much before about why vampires don’t have mirror reflections, but it seems even more unnatural to see this phenomenon happen again in the lake.

You find yourself looking at the side of Johnny’s face, trying to read his expression as he peers into the water’s depths. He turns to you, and you flinch at being caught staring, but he only smiles slightly. You force yourself to form words and break the silence. “What—what did you do after she left?”

“Lived on my own. She taught me a lot of things to help me live independently as a vampire, so it wasn’t too difficult to get along without her...but emotionally? A different story.”

“You sound like you had a very close relationship with her.”

“Yes. Quite close…” Johnny’s tone suggests something deeper, more intimate than a regular friendship. You feel a bit astounded at the idea of him having an older, more worldly lover while being only a newly changed vampire. Your reaction makes you feel foolish, inexperienced. Still, you can’t help imagining a scenario of them living in a big, dark mansion somewhere in the mountains, rolling around in a bed with bloody red sheets—and maybe drinking from the occasional naïve, misled human hiker.

Strangely, too, you feel jealous at his freedom, his ability to go wherever and do whatever with whoever he wants without overbearing relatives always just a step away.

You continue staring at the ripples as they circle in and out of the water’s surface, the motions triggered by a small orange leaf falling into the lake. You’re unsure of what could be the right thing to say to his admission, so you blurt out whatever comes to mind next. “You said she taught you to live independently as a vampire. What does that mean? How do you get...you know. Blood?”

“There are ways,” Johnny says cryptically, which makes your own blood rush faster. He turns to you with a grin, like he finds your naivety endearing. “It’s nothing drastic, though. At least, not for me. I never drink directly.” It does make sense that there are other ways to drink human blood without taking it straight from their necks, though you can only speculate on which methods he prefers. “Drinking directly is lethal, and often not worth it.”

“So, it’s true that vampire bites can kill?” You watch as Johnny pushes himself off the railing, and you follow him as he continues down the trail.

“It’s not false. But it’s never really that simple.” Johnny’s answer is mysterious, and he doesn’t elaborate further. He turns to you. “Where did you hear that, anyway? Your university? The one that bans all nonhuman beings?”

“You know where I go to school?” You feel embarrassed, thinking he must assume you’re like the rest of the student body who hates nonhumans but still nurtures an odd obsession with them.

“I saw it on your notebook one day, the school insignia. I’m not a stalker, by the way.” You laugh only slightly, and Johnny seems crestfallen when he notices your apprehension. “I don’t care if you attend school there. Just because you do doesn’t mean you think the way they do.”

“You must think I’m some weird opportunist, then,” you mutter, heat finding its way to your face. “Asking you all these questions...I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think anything except that you’re a pleasant person to be around.”

You’re quiet for a moment, letting the compliment sink in. You think you should probably give him one of his own, but before you can, he says, “Look. The sun’s already setting.” Just like he told you before, the dying rays filter through the tree leaves and create impossibly intricate patterns on your surroundings. You hold your hand out and watch the latticework that the leaves create dance over your open palm.

You let Johnny take a picture of your hand with the tree shadows flitting over it, but you shy away from the camera’s lens when he points it higher to your face, a questioning look in his eyes. “Maybe some other day.”

You walk around for a while longer until the sky bleeds into a dark purple. “I guess I should be going soon. It’s getting late,” you say, though you’re also a bit sad over your evening with Johnny meeting its end.

“Do you want me to take you back to campus? You shouldn’t walk back alone. My car is just in the parking lot there.” He points to it where it sits in the distance.

You look at Johnny with a confused gaze. “But you can’t come on campus. They have...things to ward off vampires.” Like gates made of pure silver, displaying intimidating, elaborately designed crosses. You don’t know if any of it actually works, but it’s probably better not to find out.

Johnny doesn’t seem bothered by this information. “Yeah…I know. I can just drop you at the street across from the main gate.”

You hesitate a moment longer but eventually agree. He is right; you’d rather not walk alone at night, and getting a ride with him is better—and cheaper—than calling for a rideshare.

The ride to the college is fairly quiet, with the radio filling the silence. It’s not an awkward type of stillness, at least, which you’re grateful for.

As he said he would, Johnny parks on the side of the street that sits in front of the main gate, just outside the immediate vicinity of the campus. The metal crosses stare back at the both of you, glinting in the light of nearby streetlamps. You turn your face away from them, biting the inside of your cheek.

You unbuckle your seatbelt. “Thanks again for the ride. I guess I’ll see you back at the shop next week, yeah?” Again, you get the urge to say something, anything, to remedy or cover up the foreboding source of discomfort sitting just in front of you, but there’s no one sentence you could say to wipe away decades of hatred.

Johnny nods and smiles, and still he shows no signs of being disturbed. He doesn’t cast another glance at the gates. “It’s no problem. See you then.”

You get out of his car and cross the street to get inside the gate; it’s early enough in the evening for it to still be open. Any later, and it’d be locked shut to even humans. You risk another wave at him before turning back around and heading for your dorm, which sits a few yards from the entrance. Johnny lets the car idle on the side of the street until you’ve walked into the dorm, and only then does he drive away.

It doesn’t take very long for you to warm up to Johnny inviting you to other places. The next time you and him go somewhere other than the coffee shop, you accompany him as he buys some film for his camera on one of his free days. You don’t know a ton about photography, so you’re more than happy to let him tell you all about how film works and why he buys certain kinds over others.

The place he frequents is a specialty photography shop that still carries older varieties of film—ones that fell out of favor once digital cameras became a thing. The store looks noticeably old, but not in an unkempt or decrepit way. You can tell it’s been around for a while, holding all kinds of history in its structure.

“There are so many different types.” You look over a shelf of film rolls in awe. “How can you tell them all apart?”

Johnny laughs. “It gets easier if you’ve been doing it for a while…or a few decades.” He picks one up from a row of them and holds it in front of you. “35mm is the most common type, which is what you’ll find the most of when you look through any film shop. That’s what I use.”

He sets that one down and walks past another display of film rolls, gesturing toward them. “There’s also 120 and 220 film formats here…those work for even older cameras, sorta like ones you’d see in 1930s movies. You can even turn a film camera into a digital camera.”

You nod to his words, looking over what seems like millions of film canisters—and occasionally glancing at the lines of his broad back as he walks ahead of you. “You should teach a photography class. I’d be more willing to listen to you than some old professor.”

Johnny snickers. “Huh, I don’t know. Not a professor, but I am old.”

You both continue walking through the store, with Johnny giving you the rundown on every item that catches your interest.

Like the coffee shop, there’s another mirror in this store. Many more, actually—there are whole rows of them on a series of shelves, all in varying sizes and shapes. They create a fragmented view of your form as you stand in front of them, though you don’t initially realize you’ve crossed into their glassy line of sight. You’re busier with looking at a roll of film Johnny’s handed you. When you notice your reflection shifting in your peripheral view, you look up.

Johnny’s only a few feet behind you, and you know this because you can hear him and feel his presence. Yet, it’s strange to see yourself as the only person in the aisle.

Eventually, he notices what’s got you preoccupied and comes to stand next to you. Though you see him clearly in front of your eyes, there’s no trace of him in the glass reflections.

Suddenly, you’re hit with the aching loneliness of it—how it must feel to never see yourself. You can see him with your own eyes, and so can everyone else who encounters him, but what must it be like to be virtually invisible outside of other peoples’ perceptions of you? You almost feel utterly alone even though you know he’s beside you.

Noticing your sudden melancholy, Johnny takes the film roll from your hand and tosses it up in the air, making it look like it’s moving on its own in the mirrors. He means to lighten the mood, if only to see the cloudiness disappear from your expression. It works to a degree, though you still feel downcast deep below.

“It’s not good to dwell on it.” Johnny presses the film roll back into your hand, still carefully avoiding skin contact. He has no problem meeting your eyes, though, and you shyly look away from his dark gaze after a few prolonged moments.

“You’re right,” you say softly, turning back to the aisle and away from the rows of mirrors.

—

You and Johnny head to the coffee shop after your trip to the photography store. Once you get your drinks and sit down in your usual spot, he speaks suddenly. “Something’s wrong.”

Your eyes dart around the shop, thinking he’s referring to one of the patrons around you. “What? What’s wrong?” Your voice comes out a bit panicked. He doesn’t want to laugh, but he does.

“No, I mean...something’s wrong with you. You seem far away.”

“Oh…” You wonder if you should even bring it up and potentially ruin the mood. But you have been curious for weeks now, and you don’t think you’ll get a trustworthy answer by asking anyone other than him. “I just...I was wondering why you don’t have a reflection. I know it’s a vampire thing, but I’ve never really known why...you don’t need to answer, though. Like you said, it’s not good to dwell on it.”

Johnny makes a motion like a half-nod once your question is revealed, his eyes darting to the window and back to the table. His fingers trace across the rim of his coffee cup, a thoughtful but stormy expression on his face, and you’re afraid you shouldn’t have reawakened this topic. “You know...being undead means being in two places at once.”

“Two places?”

“We are caught between the living world and the world of the dead. Something that’s not really supposed to exist, yet…” He’s quiet for a moment. “You can only imagine the kind of issues and side effects that can cause. One of them being no reflection.”

“I never thought of it like that,” you say. “Two planes of existence...what does it mean to be a part of the world of the dead?”

“Our blood runs slower. Ours is more like sludge compared to yours. The heart beats only a few times per minute. Don’t need to eat or sleep, either, though many vampires still do.” Johnny pauses. “How much do you really know about vampires?”

“I don’t know much about any of this...stuff.” You gesture vaguely, meaning all supernatural beings and not just vampires. “No one ever told me these things growing up, and it’s hard to tell truth from fiction at school. People will say anything, horrible things, and you just take it at face value, I guess. I never really thought to try to find the reality.” You sigh. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in the world who doesn’t know anything.”

“Learning is good. You can always learn. I don’t think it’s too late for that.” Johnny’s voice is a little lighter. “Anyway, everyone’s knowledge is different. Sometimes it slips my mind that everyone doesn’t know what it’s like to live as a vampire, though the world never lets me forget for long.”

“Then…do you hang out with other vampires who do understand? Or…maybe humans who can sympathize?”

Johnny gives a humorless laugh. “Most humans are hesitant to interact with us, if not full-out terrified or disgusted. At the museum...it’s less pronounced because all the employees already know. They…tolerate it. But every time someone else realizes what I am and doesn’t take well to it?” He shakes his head, acts like he’ll say something else, and then abandons that line of thought. “And do you really think I’d want to spend my free time around other bloodsuckers?” He tries to play it off as a joke, but you’re more inclined to think he actually feels that way. You can only nod, feeling bad for him but also a little disturbed by his view of his own kind.

“I think you’re a kind person, and you being a vampire doesn’t affect that,” you say hesitantly. “I like talking to you. And even if you feel that way about other vampires, I…wish you wouldn’t feel that about yourself.”

Johnny remains quiet, but he nods. You wonder about the struggle occurring in his mind. The only outward hint of his uneasy state shows in the furrow of his eyebrows and the tense set of his mouth. With his right hand resting on the table, he rubs his fingers together absentmindedly, like he’s analyzing your words. You have a sudden and startling desire to hold his hand, to twine your fingers together and feel his skin on yours for the first time, but you don’t dare cross that boundary.

He finally replies with, “You’re much kinder to me, an old and bitter vampire, than you probably should be. But maybe that’s a good thing about you.”

“I think it’s a good thing,” you agree, your voice low. “Every living being needs companionship. Good companionship, anyway.”

The corners of Johnny’s lips shift in something reminiscent of a smile. He turns a rueful gaze once again to the window, lifting his coffee cup to his lips. “Aren’t I lucky to have yours, then.”

On a day when you don’t have as many responsibilities to juggle, you visit Johnny at the art museum after his working hours are up. He’d already invited you to come to the museum any day you felt like so he could show you around.

When you get there, he’s waiting in the visitor’s lobby for you, framed by receding sunlight as the day starts fading into night. He looks the same as he always does when you see him in the café on his lunch breaks, but within the context of the museum, he suddenly seems more…alive? Vibrant? He could’ve served as a muse for one of the many statuesque, perfectly proportional sculptures in the museum, and you’d never know anything different.

Your heartbeat increases at the sight of him, just enough to be outside the normal range.

“Hi, Johnny. I hope your day went well?”

“It was fine, nothing too crazy. But it’s better now.” And he smiles at you, sincere enough to make your heart ache.

“Oh—that’s great.” That’s it? You scold yourself internally, but you aren’t quick enough to think up a witty reply to his comment before the topic shifts.

“Is there anything in particular you wanna see first?” Johnny asks, leading you further into the museum.

“I guess I hadn’t thought too deeply about that…do you have a favorite exhibit? I want to see what you like.”

Johnny smiles faintly. “Let’s see, then.”

The dark-haired man takes you to a section of the museum filled with oil paintings, all by one singular artist. At first, all you see is varying shades of black and gray and red, with some white splashed in between. When you begin looking at the paintings more closely, it’s easier to see that each one depicts a different scene of chaos. Maybe a sort of organized chaos, but disarray all the same.

There is one picture that holds a clearer subject than the rest. One of the oil paintings is of a vampire—obvious by the fangs—with bloodied lips and anguished eyes. You pause when you catch sight of it, your steps stilled by the sheer frenzy in the other being’s painted eyes. Their hands reach out for the viewer as if begging for an escape that can only be provided by whoever’s observing.

“This one was painted by a fellow vampire, you know. The same one who did all the rest of the paintings in this gallery,” Johnny explains. He points at the placard next to the painting that displays the artist’s name and a short description of the piece. The word fellow comes off his tongue wrapped in cynicism. “And it was one of the ones I personally chose for this exhibit.”

You glance at him, a tinge of surprise blooming in your chest. “Really?”

He nods. “Who better to depict the ills of vampirism than a vampire themselves? I thought it was a…fascinating change of pace from all the humans who try and fail to do so, ironic as that is.”

If you look at the painting for long enough, you think you can recognize sadness in the corners of the vampire’s eyes—pure, unadulterated sadness. Different from anguish or panic. A similar mask of sadness you’ve seen on the man next to you.

You say nothing for a while. You simply feel the painful throb of your heart in your chest and listen to the small sounds around you. Even now, there are still other people exploring the museum and walking through this very exhibit, but you can’t hear or see any of them. Johnny notices the disconcerted look on your face, and his forehead creases. “But I’m sure you want to see something less…morbid than this, right? Come on.”

“Uh, I-I don’t mind,” you insist, even though you feel like you’ve just awoken from a painful trance by the sound of his voice. But he’s already gesturing for you to follow him elsewhere.

The next set of paintings you end up in front of are a series of sunflower studies. One frame depicts the long green stems; another provides an up-close view of their lined petals. One zooms in close on the flower’s brown center, only small glimpses of yellow left at the edges of the frame.

“This is definitely very different.” You look at him, a small smile pulling at your lips. “But it fits you. I see why you like it.” You remember him back in the park, taking careful pictures of the aster bush and of your hands…and then offering to take one of you. You don’t know why that last one makes your stomach jump.

“I thought you might like it.” Johnny’s eyes linger on your face as he observes your reaction to the paintings. He’s seen these flowers probably a hundred times by now in this permanent exhibit, but the wonder in your expression is new to him.

—

You both walk through a few more exhibitions after that, all with different subjects and mediums—some consist of sculptures, others are clay vases and figures. There’s still a lot to see in the museum, but you’re starting to get hungry, and you know Johnny has already heard your stomach growling.

After the 2nd time it happens and you think you might melt from embarrassment, he grins at you and makes a suggestion. “Let’s go to my office. I’ll get my things and we can eat. The restaurant here is pretty good—or at least that’s what everyone else says…”

When you get to his office, you feel almost like you’ve stepped into a room from years past. Your gaze drifts across his desk immediately; it’s not sleek and modern like you’d expect, considering the rest of the museum’s aesthetic, but wooden and heavy and vintage-looking. It’s olden quality resembles everything else in his personal space. Even his desk chair, a big and plush thing, feels vintage with its soft leather and rustic design.

This feeling is far from a bad thing, though. You enjoy the aged look of the bookcases, the picture frames, the chairs, the small decorations here and there—everything about this room.

Johnny notices how you look around, studying everything in sight, and smiles. “It’s not the most modern, but I like it.”

“It’s perfect. Like a world of its own.”

“A woman of taste, I see.” Johnny puts a hand over his heart, giving an expression like he’s truly touched, and you can only grin sheepishly. When he has his belongings, he leads you out and locks the door behind him.

“Let’s see what they have on the menu today, then.”

—

You get dinner at the museum’s restaurant, just as Johnny recommended, and he even decides to eat too. Maybe he does it so you won’t look odd being the only one eating, or because he really just wants to; he doesn’t let on. Either way, sitting across from him like this in a fancy restaurant with both of you having a nice meal feels almost like a date. You let that thought amble around for a few minutes longer before tucking it back into one of your mind’s many small niches.

“I’ll probably be digesting this for the next few weeks,” he says jokingly, pulling a mock-disappointed face at his plate.

“That sounds like the worst constipation in history.” He snorts at your comment, his eyes creasing as he laughs. You notice he has a dimple when he smiles, and your grin mirrors his. You don’t think you’ve seen him laugh quite so genuinely before, but now that you’ve experienced it, you want to hear it again and again.

Anything is preferable to the perpetual gloom, always slinking around the corner.

—

When Johnny gets back home after dropping you off at the university, he undresses himself and showers and pulls on his bedclothes, which are nothing more than his underwear and a pair of sweatpants. His upper canines ache in his gums the entire time he goes through these motions, like two pulses of red-hot heat positioned on either side of his mouth.

He takes a blood bag from the fridge and drinks it in bed, leaning his arms against his knees. A sudden remembrance manifests itself in his mind; he hears the hazy echo of his mother’s decades-past voice in his head, reprimanding him for eating in bed. A sharp pain grips his chest, and he tries to send it back to the depths where it belongs.

When the blood hits his stomach, the pain is eclipsed by the bloodlust, which is no better. His fangs drop immediately, spiking into his lower lip. Johnny closes his eyes and, very gingerly, allows himself to draw a picture of you in his mind, of your blood in his mouth and your heartbeat roaring in his ears. The way your blood would flow out so delicately, crashing into his tastebuds like the high tide. He is usually better than this at curtailing his bloodlust, not even letting it reach the point of his canines hurting—he can’t remember the last time that’s happened—but being around you sets him on edge. Awakens him in some strange, raw way.

That only makes him more wary. And more guilty about imagining himself drinking your blood. He shouldn’t even be around you if he’s losing his grip on his hard-won control. But although it makes him feel ashamed, it also causes his heart to rush.

He drains the blood bag to the last possible drop. To his relief, it calms him significantly, though the thoughts of you don’t leave. More innocent ones now, of your outing earlier in the evening. Deep beneath, they are tinged with his ever-present guilt at his vampiric nature.

Johnny doesn’t need the sleep, but he drifts off anyway, if only to quiet the conflict sending daggers into his mind.

You’ve known Johnny for a few weeks now, not counting the time you spent silently staring at him in the café, but you find yourself intertwining yourself further into his life. You end up visiting his apartment sooner than you anticipated. You didn’t think of anything as ridiculous as him living in a coffin or sleeping in the rafters like a bat, but you also had a hard time imagining what his place might look like.

You come over on a weekend when you have more time to simply hang out and not worry so much about anything else.

Like usual, he waits in that spot on the side of the street for you to come out. In the daytime, you’re more apprehensive about him being here and someone potentially seeing him and trying to cause trouble for him, but there’s a part of you that likes the rebellious aspect of it. And if he truly doesn’t mind coming near the campus to pick you up, you don’t have much issue with him doing it.

Johnny’s apartment is clean—and a little sparser than you’d expected. Maybe he’s a fan of minimalism. One side of the wall is taken up by a wide bookcase, which features a bunch of different knickknacks, books, and a collection of larger hardcovers that look like photo albums. On the other walls are a few framed pictures of different scenes, and you assume they’re ones he must’ve taken.

“This is a nice place,” you say as he takes your jacket for you and puts it up. “It must cost quite a bit, too…” You sit down on the couch, stroking the soft material of it.

Johnny shrugs. “Thanks. It’s nothing I can’t handle...being nearly a century old gives you plenty of time to save money.” He appears charmingly self-satisfied when he’s able to make you laugh. “Do you want anything?”

“Water is fine…thank you.” Johnny nods and goes off to the kitchen.

Despite trying to keep your eyes on the wall photos, your gaze follows him as he leaves. You discreetly watch him move around his kitchen. With his dark clothes, he’s like a splash of black paint against the pale tile and stainless steel.

There are blood packs in Johnny’s fridge. Lots of them. You know because you saw them from your vantage point on the couch when he opened the fridge door. They look like the blood bags you’d see in a hospital, which makes you wonder how he even gets access to those. Another mystery you struggle to wrap your head around.

He comes back to the living room with your water, and you take it gratefully, though you also feel a little awkward. You think maybe the blood bags are something you shouldn’t have seen, although you know he probably would’ve made more effort to hide them or put them away if that were the case.

“You have a good supply of blood, a nice apartment, and a great job. Does every vampire get these kinds of perks?” Admittedly, it sounded better in your head. Your attempt to stave off the awkward feeling—which was really only coming from your end—only makes it more intense. Johnny laughs dryly in response. You can’t tell if he actually finds it amusing or is just trying to humor you, which makes you feel incredibly silly.

“All of it’s government-issued if you promise never to bite any humans.” Johnny gives a wry smile. “But it’s a mistake to think vampires live glamorous lives, filling up on blood and having no cares in the world.”

“N-no, I get it,” you stutter. “Bad joke.”

“I’m not trying to embarrass you or be mean. It’s just the way things are.” Your roles are suddenly reversed, and now he seems to feel some sort of sympathy for you, like you’re just an ignorant little human who doesn’t know any better. The last part of that is more your insecurities speaking out than anything else, but you try to ignore that and take him for his word.

Johnny gets up from the couch to go over to the bookcase as you sip your water. After looking through the photo albums intently, he takes one off the shelf and hands it to you. You set your water down and hold the album carefully as you open the front cover. The cover itself has a neat little label that reads Telluride 1976 - 1980, so you can already expect what you’ll find in it. There are numerous photos of trees, bushes, snowy mountain ranges, lakes, brilliantly vibrant flowers, and woodland creatures. You stop at a picture of a deer looking straight ahead, its black eyes wide and curious as it examines the lens.

“I lived in the mountains back then, a little after my mentor had left. I spent some time trying to reconnect with nature...and all that other hippie shit people used to do back in that era.”

You chuckle. “Did you wear the same kinds of clothes, too? Bell bottoms and tie-dye T-shirts and all?”

Johnny laughs and shrugs. “Maybe…but that’s only for me to know.”

You grin and look at the photos again. “Well…did your plan work, at least?”

Johnny gives a wistful smile. “In some ways, I think it did.”

You continue looking through the rest of the album, which you could probably do for hours if you had the time—just sit and trace every possible line, curve, and ray of light. Johnny sits beside you as you do, occasionally explaining some pictures and their backstories.

“Lately, I’ve been wanting something else to take pictures of...someone else, maybe.”

“What, like a subject?” you ask.

“Yeah, it’d be nice...I haven’t taken pictures of another person in a while.”

You nod quietly as you flip through the pages—another possible hint flying right over your head. Then a thought comes to you—one that makes your skin warm. “Have you ever taken pictures of anyone you were...involved with?” You don’t say it directly, but you hope he can get the gist of what you’re asking.

Johnny nods as if he doesn’t want to admit to it, a nervous smile gracing his lips. “A few different people…but I always gave them the pictures after we, you know, stopped seeing each other...so there’s none left here.”

“I see…” For a few moments, your thoughts circle around that concept. What was it like to bare yourself in front of someone else like that, immortalized on film? What might it be like to allow Johnny to see you like that, to take pictures of you in your most vulnerable form? The idea doesn’t make you as downright anxious as you expected it to, though you can’t completely shake the lingering embarrassment about it.

After you finish looking through the entirety of his Telluride adventures, Johnny shows you some recent pictures he’s developed, and you’re giddy to see your own blurry creations among them. Now that you’re holding them physically in your hands, you can agree that they look nice, each with its own little personality.

“I thought about putting them in a new photo album,” he says, “but you can keep them, if you prefer.”

You hold them to your chest. “Yes, I’d like to keep them. Thank you.” You smile. “I’m sure I’ll leave you with plenty other photos to put in your album, anyway.”

—

The sun is close to setting again. You aren’t ready to leave yet, though, and Johnny is content to let you stay longer. He pulls out another album for you to look at, this one dated with 1960 - 1964. Unlike the others, there’s no title to describe what’s in it except for that year range.

“This is a picture of me someone took before I was turned,” Johnny murmurs, sitting back down beside you. He turns the album to you, and in the middle of the first page is a sepia-toned photo of him sitting on a bed—or maybe a couch?—wearing a suit. White, handwritten lettering on the bottom right of the photograph reads August 4, 1960.

“Oh wow...” You touch the photo gently over its protective lining. “You look exactly the same. Of course.”

“It’s the only photo I have left of myself,” he sighs, leaning back on the sofa. “If it weren’t for that...I’d feel almost like I didn’t exist at all.”

“Do you remember this day?” you ask.

“…Vaguely.” His answer doesn’t feel like the whole truth, and the way his eyes dart anxiously as he says it confirms your suspicions. Then he sighs again, heavier this time, and he seems to be exhaling all 60 years of his burden along with it. “I was...going to be married. It was for our wedding shoot.”

You’re surprised for a reason you’re unsure of, never even imagining that Johnny could’ve been married at one point in time. Could’ve had an entire life and a family, if it hadn’t been for...

“I’m sorry, Johnny.” You know you never would’ve met him if things hadn’t happened this way, and that knowledge tugs at your heart in a way that makes you feel intensely selfish.

Johnny shakes his head and avoids your eyes. “It was long ago.” He wets his lips and his jaw clenches like maybe he wants to say something else, but he remains silent for a while.

You continue exploring the photo album in silence. With its thin size, there aren’t as many pictures in it as the others—much less, in fact, but each one is still enough to keep your interest. Your mind keeps drifting back to the one of Johnny.

You hand the album back to him when you’re done. He takes it from you, but in a gesture you don’t foresee, he allows your hands to touch for the first time. You make a tiny flinch at the unexpected coolness—not ice-cold, but enough to be noticeable—but you don’t draw away from him. You let his fingers slide across yours as the photo album leaves your hands, and it sends electricity racing up and down your spine.

“S-sorry.” You’re not sure if you’re apologizing for flinching or for making contact at all, though there is no reason to because he initiated it.

“Doesn’t it ever disturb you at all that I’m not human?” Johnny asks softly, still holding the album.

“What?”

“You’ve taken all this so easily...much more easily than many others. You aren’t even disgusted at my cold hands.” A ghost of a grin comes over his face.

“If I were disgusted, I wouldn’t even be here,” you say, trying to lighten the tension. It’s not the kind of tension that arises from anger, offense, or upset, but something else that you are lost on comprehending in this moment. “Some of it’s unfamiliar, obviously, but I’m not disgusted.”

He glances down at the album in his hands, as if contemplating something. Maybe thinking about the only living photo of himself beneath the cover. Or maybe he’s thinking back to how he was turned in the first place and subsequently lost the life he was about to have. He still hasn’t told you anything about how he became a vampire, and though you’d like to know, it’s obviously a sore spot for him.

Eventually, he nods, willing himself to smile at you. “I’m glad.”

—

Night has fallen by the time you’re done exploring the decades of his life, though there is still much you haven’t seen and don’t yet know. You let him drive you back to the school as you stare out at the passing cars, wondering how many more of these people sitting in their vehicles are nonhuman and you’d never know it.

You hesitate after he pulls up across from the main gate.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Uh, nothing really, it’s just—I still don’t have your number or anything.” And I want to talk to you more often. I want to hear your voice more often. You don’t want to say anything overly dramatic or cheesy, so you just keep those last thoughts to yourself.

Thinking it had been something serious, he smirks at your concern. “Oh, I see. I’ll give it to you now, then.”

Once your numbers are safely in each other’s phones, you finally bid each other goodnight.

Though you try to steer your thoughts towards other things, you keep veering back to Johnny. His apartment. His fridge full of blood bags. His photo albums full of years of history. Even when you get into bed that night, you can’t keep him off your mind.

You wake up gasping and sweating when you dream of him with his fangs in your neck, your own blood running down your neck and chest. You glance over at your roommate to make sure you haven’t woken her and rest your head on your knees, trying to catch your breath and settle your racing heart. Your skin still prickles with how you could practically feel his heated breaths on your neck, ice-cold hands gripping your shoulders.

The worst part of it is that you can’t quite say you completely disliked it.

“It doesn’t make much sense to have a Halloween party and dress up as the very beings that you hate, but whatever…” you mumble, looking through a rack of costumes with a certain impassivity. You’re not very enthusiastic about going to this Halloween party, but your friend refuses to go alone. You haven’t been spending as much time with her anymore—partly because of Johnny and partly because you feel even more out of place around her than normal—and with all her begging and pleading, she refuses to let you opt out of this one.

“It’s about having fun, no one really cares Y/N. They’re freaks, aren’t they? That’s why people dress up as them, they’re practically meant for this.”

You become even more apprehensive about the party after hearing that, if that’s even possible. You smooth your hand over the fabric of a witch’s robe and sigh again, shaking your head. It doesn’t feel quite right to keep spending time in her presence—or anyone else who goes to your school—but you feel trapped on all sides, left without much of a choice. You would never hear the end of it if you tried to switch universities…or even drop out.

Your mind strays back to Johnny as always, with his melancholy aura and weird jokes and pretty pictures and monochrome clothes. The smell of his cologne, the lingering scent of roasted coffee beans, and his toothy smile, when he does show it to you. Something in you makes you want to drop everything you’re doing right now and go to him. It might even be nice to settle in his arms, feel them strong and solid around you—though he’d probably need just as much comforting as you.

“Dress up as this!” Your friend breaks the reverie as she prances over to you with a pair of fake fangs, the tips of them painted in acrylic blood. She holds them up to your mouth, and you struggle to manage a smile, if only to sate her enthusiasm. “It actually reminds me of…that vampire at the café. Say, have you seen him since then?”

You shake your head, moving away to sift through another rack of outfits as you try to maintain a detached expression. “Nope, not a glimpse. Haven’t even thought about him.”

When your friend doesn’t suspect anything, you let your expression drop just a tad, breathing out quietly.

The night of the party, the full moon is heavy and bold against the black blanket of the sky, which feels horribly cliché. You wonder if there are any werewolves out tonight, and what they might be doing right now.

“We’re going to have a good time tonight,” your friend insists as you both walk up the front steps of the host’s house. It’s someone you only vaguely know, a friend of a friend of a friend, but clearly a person who has an abundance of money judging by this expansive home. You don’t know why she feels the need to convince you, but maybe it’s because you haven’t seemed very enthusiastic so far. You only give a thumbs up to her words, which feels like an unconvincing gesture. Luckily for you, it works.

After a few hours, the party is still going strong but your head is starting to hurt from the music, and you’re growing weary of all the men crowding in too close, looking at you in your angel costume like you’re something to be devoured. You’ve rolled your eyes at way too many of them and their haphazardly put-together costumes, dressed up as vampires with terrible fake fangs or werewolves with manes of matted up fur.

Your friend keeps flitting around the party, talking to whoever she recognizes from classes or campus organizations, and you’ve given up on trying to follow her around any longer. Every time you turn around, she’s somewhere else. Noticing that you’re currently solo, a guy from one of your history classes comes up to you and begins what he thinks is an interesting conversation on how angels actually look more like Eldritch abominations than the cherubic humans depicted in paintings—so your costume is “technically inaccurate” —and your eyes glaze over as you pretend to listen to him.

You eventually manage to get away from him and get to an undisturbed corner, wedged next to two girls drinking cider and critically rating all the guys’ costumes. You pull your phone out and think about calling for a ride back to campus, but your thumb hovers over the message icon. You press it without thinking too much about it, and Johnny’s name appears as one of your most recent conversations. Though you feel somewhat nervous, you will yourself to open the box and begin typing.

To: Hi Johnny. I hope I’m not bothering you, but can I come over? 🙏🏿🙏🏿🙏🏿 I’m over this party

You put your phone back in your purse, trying not to get your hopes up for a quick response. You know there’s a good chance he’d still be awake at this time of night since he doesn’t need to sleep, but he has his own life and is probably off doing...vampire-y things. Whatever those things could be.

However, your hopes are met when your phone pings only a couple minutes later.

From: Of course. You’re not scared about spending your Halloween with a vampire? 😏

You smile at that.

To: I think I’ll be fine…as long as you don’t bite me.

From: 🦷🩸

—

You get to Johnny’s studio apartment not too long after, and you hang around outside his door for a few moments before knocking, suddenly feeling bashful about your costume. Maybe you should’ve changed before coming over here; what if he thinks it’s childish? Or maybe too revealing? Does he even care about that kind of stuff? Doesn’t matter now, though. You’re here, and there’s no way you’re turning back around.

He answers a few seconds after you knock, wearing a sweater and black pants. You notice his sweater is a cream color and not the usual black. He looks a little surprised to see your costume, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Wow, you look pretty. Nice of you to visit me after falling straight from Heaven.” You cringe at his cheesy line, though you also cannot deny that you secretly enjoy every bit of it.

“Thanks, Johnny...” you say timidly, stepping into his home as he lets you in. “Nice work with changing up the color scheme.”

He’s confused for a moment before realizing you’re talking about his clothes. “Oh yeah, that...um, haha. Thanks.”

Unbeknownst to you, the back of his mind is buzzing with a form of excitement he hasn’t felt in a while. Not the clawing, frantic spikes of bloodlust, but a more physical kind of desire. It’s pleasurable, but he also feels guilty about pining over how sweet and innocent you look in your all-white outfit, stockings hugging your legs perfectly and your dress just short enough to tempt the imagination. Really, you’ve painted a picture of perfect purity, and the only thing he can think about is ruining you. Putting his hands on you and peeling your dress off to reveal the soft skin underneath.

He casts those thoughts aside as you sit prettily on his couch, legs crossed at the ankles—though it’s hard to do so. “Do you want something to drink? Or eat? There isn’t a whole lot of food here, but I can order something…”

“Do you ever make your own coffee?” The question seems a bit random at first, and you try to explain. “You know, since you always get it from the café.”

Johnny smiles. “Do you want coffee? I can make it.”

You nod. “That would be nice…whatever you have.”

“I pretty much have your usual order memorized by now, so I should be good on making it.” Johnny walks to the kitchen. “You can look through the albums while you’re in there. The ones you haven’t seen yet.”

“Oh, thanks.” You feel a little nervous to be looking through the shelf of his treasured photo albums by yourself, but you’re also glad he trusts you enough to let you do it. It makes you feel important. Maybe even important to him, as silly as that might sound.

It isn’t long before the scent of coffee wafts out into the living room. Johnny returns soon with two cups of it, and just as he promised, yours is made just the way you like it.

“Thank you.” You set the album back on the shelf and take the cup from Johnny. For a while, both of you talk of nothing important—just filling the space with the details of your days.

“So how was the party?” Johnny finally asks, and he raises his eyebrows as he scans your outfit again. You grin halfheartedly.

“It was…alright. Kinda weird. I think it’d be more fun if I went to a regular university, but you know…”

Johnny shakes his head. “I can’t blame you for bailing out.”

“Yeah…I’ve been to college parties before, but the Halloween theme was a bit…”

“Strange for an institution that bans all supernatural beings?” Johnny finishes your sentence. He doesn’t look offended or irritated by it—only slightly amused.

You shrug, biting your lip. “Yeah, that.”

“Well, look on the bright side. I wouldn’t have gotten to see you in your natural form otherwise.”

This one almost goes over your head, too, but you catch it just in time. Johnny’s compliments make you feel warm all over, like you’re sitting under the sun. You grin and look down into your cup of coffee, unused to receiving such bold praise and unsure how to respond to it. Something pops into your mind, though, and you think it might be a good idea to run with it.

“You could...take a picture of me, you know. If you want to...since I’m all dressed up now anyway.” You meet his eyes only for a second and then look away, twisting the mug in your hands.

Johnny sits up a little straighter at your words, trying to catch your eyes, though you don’t hold his gaze for long. “You’re sure?” he asks.

“I’m sure. Go ahead! Before I change my mind.” You laugh nervously and carefully set your half-empty mug on the table.

Johnny’s camera is never too far away from him, so he grabs it and plays with the settings for a bit before looking back to you, a small smile on his face. “I’m gonna start, okay?” His voice is surprisingly soft. This, yet again, reminds you of him and the aster bush. He acts as if you might run away at the first shutter click, which makes you feel babied, but you don’t totally hate it.

The first few photos are a little awkward—at least to you. You aren’t sure how to pose, or if you should try to look more casual, though Johnny assures you you’re doing well. He gives you directives throughout, telling you to look in his direction or angle your face a certain way, and you follow his instructions to the best of your ability.

At one point, one of your dress straps slips down. When you go to fix it, Johnny says, “Wait. Could you keep it like that?”

You look at him, your body heating from the suggestion.

“Is that okay with you?”

“…Yes.” Your throat is dry, and your body reacts in a way you don’t expect—little nervous thrills in your hands and feet, though you try to internally explain it away as the coffee’s effects. Johnny takes a few more photos like this, and then he steps closer to gently touch your chin, guiding your face to the angle he’s looking for.

“So good for me.” It slips past his lips in a reverential murmur before he can really consider what he’s saying, and you both freeze. Your heart rate increases, and you wonder if he can hear how hard the red organ is beating in your chest. Probably.

You want to hear him say it again.

Johnny laughs awkwardly, his hand coming back to his side almost a little too quickly to be natural. “Um, I’m really sorry. That was a bit...”

“It…it’s fine.” You avoid his eyes. Johnny takes a few more photos, but the set of his mouth is a little tight, as if he’s stressed about something. Or regretting what he let slip, maybe. You want to tell him you really don’t feel bad about it, but you aren’t sure how to do that without making things more awkward…or revealing your true desires.

When Johnny has taken enough pictures of you to be satisfied with, he sits next to you on the couch, setting his camera on the coffee table and looking suddenly timid.

“I can’t wait to see them,” you say, attempting to break the tension that never really cleared the room after his earlier comment. He blinks for a moment like he doesn’t know what you mean, and then realizes—obviously, he’ll be developing the photos.

“They’ll come out nice, I’m sure. I think you’ll photograph well.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, and now it’s your turn to be unsure of how to resurrect the conversation.

“You’re beautiful.” It’s an abrupt comment. It makes your stomach twist in a pleasant, fluttery way, and you become hyperaware of his form sitting next to yours.

“Haven’t heard that one much, but thanks.”

Johnny turns to you. “Anyone who’d think otherwise is a fool.”

There’s a pause after this where you both simply study each other, watching for hidden reactions that can’t be read on the surface. The way he says it is…decisive, assured. But it also manages to be tender, as if he needs you to know what he thinks of you. Needs you to see yourself the way he does—the same way you do for him. You don’t know where the confidence comes from, but maybe his tone and his words and his endlessly dark eyes have pulled it out of you. “I want to kiss you.”

Johnny’s lips part. “Are you certain?”

“I’m certain.”

He doesn’t hesitate anymore. Johnny moves closer to you and cups the back of your neck. Something awakens in his eyes in the seconds before he presses his mouth to yours. Though he wants to drink eagerly from your lips, his kiss is languid to avoid overwhelming you, and there is an audible smack of your lips whenever he pulls away and presses back in.

His mouth tastes like the coffee you just drank, but underneath that you swear you can taste a hint of the deep iron of blood, and you don’t know how to feel about that. You think about what his fangs would feel like scraping against your bottom lip, if he’d ever show them to you, and you moan quietly.

“Do you want this? With me?” Johnny confirms once more, pulling his gaze away from your lips and up to your eyes. His own eyes are yearning, but there is also an element of something like fear roiling in them. As if you’d turn him away, even though you’ve already shown your desire for him.

“Yes. Just you. No one else.”

Johnny’s body gravitates towards yours, and you think he’s going to push you down onto the sofa, but he scoops your legs up and carries you to his bedroom instead. Even his hands on your waist and legs makes you burn inside.

This is the first time you've seen his bedroom. The sheets are cloud-soft when he sets you down on them, and his window lets moonlight shine through the open blinds and scatter in thick beams across the floor. The only other light source is the bedside lamp, which emits a comfortable yellowish glow.

Johnny joins you on the bed and lets you climb into his lap—encourages you to do so. His cool hands pulling at your thighs as you settle them on either side of his waist makes tingles go through your body. You don’t hesitate to bring your lips back together, kissing each other deeply as one of his hands cradles the back of your head and the other settles on the small of your back.

You are certain vampires don’t have any powers of enchantment—that’s for magic wielders. And yet, you feel like you’ve been put in a trance by his kisses alone, and you wonder how you could’ve lived this long without knowing how his lips feel—how they fit perfectly against your own. As if everything up to now has purposely led you together.

You shift in Johnny’s embrace, and the movement causes his thigh to slide between your legs. Your heat is pressed against his thigh directly now, your silken panties catching against the denim of his pants. You murmur against his lips, not really saying anything of substance but wanting to vocalize your desire to him. Johnny’s hand tightens slightly on your back, and he experimentally lifts his leg higher and slides his thigh across you. That draws a gasp from you.

Noticing your positive response, Johnny continues rocking his thigh up against your pussy and kissing you until you’re breathless and your nipples are straining against the fabric of your dress. You pull away from him for a moment to try to ground yourself, feeling like your nerves are already being singed with fiery pleasure. Johnny’s face is noticeably more flushed than before, but he also looks much more composed than you feel at the moment.

“It takes longer to get hard,” he explains, as if reading the lingering question in your own expression. “Since...you know. Slow blood.” You rock your hips over his thigh more enthusiastically, motivated to get him hard underneath you, and you listen to his choppy breaths as you move. Your movements aren’t the smoothest, but he helps you guide your hips in a way that feels good for you both. You’ve never been with anyone before, so it doesn’t much matter to you how long or quick it takes for him to get there as long as he does.

Feeling the bulge grow underneath you excites you. Johnny groans against your lips as you kiss him and rub yourself over his member. The sound comes from somewhere deep inside him, as if it’s something he’s been containing for a long time. Your hand goes to his waist and tugs at his belt loops, then drifts closer to his belt buckle, pulling the leather and metal apart. Johnny pauses when you get off his lap and slide further down, grips your arms like he doesn’t want you to go. “Are…you sure? You don’t have to…if it’s too much—”

“I want to, Johnny.”

With your affirmative, he lets you kneel between his legs, pull his zipper apart, and trace your curious fingers over the bulge beneath the fabric of his underwear. Johnny loses his breath when you drag his underwear down, sliding it over the heated skin of his dick. His length is thick and long—even with him not being fully hard yet—and the tip glistens wet with precum. You weren’t sure what to expect, but this is much bigger than you think you might be able to handle. It makes your face warm and your stomach do another series of flips. Still, you want it and you want him, so you aren’t going to stop now.

You lean closer to press your lips against his shaft, leaving a few soft kisses behind. Johnny’s mouth parts when your mouth touches him.

Johnny gently holds the back of your head as you leave small licks over his shaft, tasting the salty skin on your tongue. He lets out a shaky breath as he watches you, his other hand brushing the side of your face.

“Just like that…” he murmurs, his voice heavy with lust as you circle your tongue around the thick, darkened tip, catching drops of his precum. He never takes his eyes off you, and this makes you feel a little exposed, but you continue with your actions. When you suck Johnny’s tip past your lips, his thighs tense under you, the thick muscle reacting beautifully to your actions on his body.

More precum drips from him, and you find the taste strangely pleasing. It makes you want more of him, of whatever he has to offer you. You wrap your hand around his shaft, though it doesn’t fit entirely around, and begin stroking him in a way you hope feels good.

Johnny’s hand slips over yours to guide your movements and show you how much pressure to apply, what pace to stroke him at. “Like this, baby…yes, that’s so good…” He showers you with praise as you get the hang of it, and he eventually lets your hand go so you can do it on your own, his own hand drifting back to the bed to grip the comforter.

It’s hard to quantify just how much seeing you like this turns him on, you kneeling between his legs with his cock between your lips while wearing your pretty, angelic outfit. His previous guilt about “corrupting” you descends to the very back of his mind as he savors every moment of your hands on his cock and your tongue circling his slit.

“I’m close,” he whispers. You quicken your movements on him, hollowing your cheeks tighter around his dick, and the moan he gives shoots straight between your legs.

Johnny carefully pulls your head back so you won’t choke before he comes, streams of his seed shooting into your mouth and running down his cock. Your hand still squeezes around him as he comes, and he slowly thrusts into the tight circle of your fist as you milk every drop from him. By the time he’s spent, your mouth and hand and part of the sheets are completely sticky with his release. You imagine it must have been a long time since he’s last had an orgasm.

The vampire watches intently as you swallow his cum, which causes his softening dick to throb in your hand. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, uncaring of the taste of himself in your mouth. His hair tickles your face as he kisses you feverishly, his nose bumping yours and his tongue prodding past your lips.

“Come here, angel.” Johnny pulls your body up onto the bed before you can get yourself up there first. The pet name makes warmth flood through your body, like drinking a hot chocolate at the café, except a thousand times more satisfying. Johnny’s hands are once again caressing your thighs, though this time they slide up underneath your dress and squeeze your hips. “Can I take these pretty panties off you?”

“Please.”

He hooks his fingers into the sides of them and pulls them down your legs and past your ankles. One of his hands goes underneath your dress to feel you soft and wet against his fingers, and you both moan at the same time. He slides his digits through your lips and over your clit, and him leaning forward to bring his mouth to your throat is enough to have you nearly overwhelmed. His fingers tease your entrance but don’t push inside until you nearly have to beg him.

“Please, Johnny…” You push your hips up to get his attention.

“Do you want my fingers?” he asks softly.

“Y-yes…” At your words, he eases the middle one into you, slowly enough to avoid discomfort. It feels strange to have someone else’s fingers inside you. His finger reaches further than yours can, touching you more deeply than you’ve felt before; it makes you gasp a bit too sharply.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, freezing and thinking he might’ve done something wrong.

“N-no, I’m fine. Keep going.”

Johnny’s mouth edges closer to the cleavage of your dress as he starts thrusting his finger into you, warming you up enough to take a second digit. Shakily, you bring your hands up to slide the straps down and make it easier for him, and his breath hitches when you pull the top of your dress down.

His mouth envelopes one of your nipples as he slides the second finger into you. His fingers encounter a part of you that makes you moan unexpectedly and grab onto him, a little surprised at the sudden spike of pleasure.

“You’re so pretty,” he purrs, his lips moving against the curve of your breast as he speaks. “And so responsive.”

As Johnny’s mouth and fingers work you closer to an orgasm, you marvel at how handsome he looks and how good he feels. He opens his eyes to see you staring at him, your pupils wide and mouth desperate, and he separates himself from your chest to kiss you deeply once again.

When you come around his fingers, Johnny whispers more compliments to you about how good you are and how he wants to watch you come undone because of him all the time. When he thinks you might be on the brink of overstimulation, he takes his fingers out of you, slipping them into his mouth to taste you.

“I’ll take this off now. Is that okay?” He whispers this into your ear with his hands on either side of your hips, caressing the fabric of your dress.

“I-it’s okay.”

Johnny slips your dress off, leaving you in nothing but your white sheer stockings. The sight of you sitting there on his bed, breathing heavily from your climax in your pretty thigh-highs, has his cock throbbing and rising to life once again.

“Lay back on the bed.” You do, and he settles himself between your legs like you did for him earlier. When you glance at him, his eyes are heavy and piercing. In this moment, you are acutely reminded of the fact that he is not a human, with how he looks like a beast of prey about to devour a meal. You are too nervous to look back at him for long, so you stare at the ceiling with your legs shaking from anticipation.

Johnny’s mouth on you is almost jarring in how wet it is, and you arch up into him in surprise and a rush of pleasure. He gently presses your legs back onto the bed and continues licking into you, parting your lower lips with his tongue and making your thighs tremble under his grasp.

If you had to describe it in words, you probably wouldn’t be able to. He kisses your pussy the same way he kisses you on the mouth, passionately and with more than enough tongue to satisfy. Johnny slips his fingers into you again as he curls his lips around your clit, and you moan unabashedly.

You’re quickly spiraling towards another orgasm, maybe quicker than you expected; but it makes sense with you still being so raw from the climax you just had. You gain enough courage to give another glance down at Johnny, and you see the way his other arm moves back and forth from beneath the bed, stroking himself while he eats you out. Something about that pushes you over the edge, and you cry out as you come on his tongue.

As Johnny gives you time to calm down again, he stands and finally pulls his clothes off, baring his body to you. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen a man so beautiful.

He goes to get a condom, and your words stumble from your lips before you can psych yourself out of saying them. “I-I’m on birth control.” Johnny looks back at you, his gaze filled with something you can’t quite read. He comes closer to you, holding himself above you on the bed so his face is hovering just above yours.

“You want to feel me raw?” he whispers.

You nod under his burning stare, feeling like you’re on a high you won’t be able to get off of. “I need you, Johnny.”

Johnny climbs fully onto the bed then and positions himself between your legs. His cock is thick and heavy between his thighs as it bumps against your inner thigh and leaves a smear of precum behind. After putting some lube in his hand, he slicks himself with the sticky substance, preparing himself to fuck you open. Something deep in your abdomen shudders, and your walls clench around nothing as you watch him stroke his shaft, the squelching, wet sound of his hand on his dick loud in the quiet room.

When he’s done, he grabs your thighs and pulls you a little closer to him. “If it hurts, tell me, okay?”

“O-okay.”

The slick tip prodding at your hole makes you want more, though you are a bit afraid of how this is going to feel. When it finally pushes inside of you, you gasp. Johnny watches your face for signs of pain as he slides forward further.

With two previous orgasms and the lube to help, his cock stretches you open with some discomfort, but not the kind of sharp pain you expected. Your nails leave little half-moon shapes on Johnny’s biceps as you squeeze his arms and try to keep your lower half relaxed, wanting to take all of him in—or as much as you can manage, anyway. You try to keep your breathing even as he pushes into you slowly.

Your eyebrows crease and your mouth tightens when he slides deeper still, and he pauses. “Johnny…” You worry your lip with your teeth, feeling like you’ve been stuffed to the brim—and he’s not even all the way in yet.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you beg, maintaining your grip on his arms. “Just…try moving.”

Johnny pulls out and slowly thrusts back in again, angling his dick to find that sensitive spot within you. Your mouth falls open silently when he does; this feels much, much different from his fingers. This is better.

Johnny repeats the movement, being mindful not to push himself too deep—only enough for you to handle. Beneath him, your body begins unwinding at the pleasure he’s delivering to you, and your eyes flutter closed as the ecstasy takes over your mind. One of his hands goes to tease your clit as he settles into a good rhythm, and you cry out at the extra dose of pleasure.

“You’re taking me so well,” Johnny mumbles as he sits back and watches himself slide into you, both of your lower halves slick from lube and your own wetness. “So warm and wet, angel…” You can tell he’s using a lot of his energy to keep his pace controlled and gentle enough for you to actually enjoy. The idea of being fucked harder makes you ache deep inside, but you figure it’s best to save that for when you’re more used to this. You already know it’ll be difficult to walk in the morning after this.

Johnny leans forward to kiss your lips, changing the angle again and circling his pelvis into you, and a choked gasp escapes your mouth at the slow wind of his hips.

Johnny lavishes your neck and throat with kisses, and though he is a vampire, you aren’t worried about him biting you. His fangs have not made an appearance since all this started, and you doubt if he would ever bring them out in front of you. You don’t know if you should ask about it, either, wondering if it’s too soon after only a month and a half of knowing each other—but maybe you could say the same about him being inside of you right now.

“Johnny…” you whisper into the air, your fingers scrabbling against his sweaty skin. The mounting tension in your abdomen is close to snapping, and you are almost frightened by how intense it already feels. He moves his face from your neck to be face-to-face with you again and plants a heavy, dizzying kiss on your lips.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs against your kiss-swollen lips. “I’ve got you, Y/N.”

Falling apart in Johnny’s arms feels like a form of Heaven that’s meant to be kept hidden, because you might become addicted to it otherwise. Your inner muscles squeeze around his dick as you come. His name flows from your lips in a high song. You can’t imagine any physical sensation that could be better than this, his hips rocking into you as you tighten and cream around him, and you know innately that Johnny has ruined all chances of you ever feeling this fulfilled with anyone but him.

The constant pulse of your walls against his dick is too much to withstand for long, and Johnny’s muscles pull taut with pleasure when he comes, groaning into your neck and spilling overflowing streams of thick cum into you. His hips falter in their former rhythm, and he resists the urge to push himself as deep as he can into you.

When he pulls out, you whine from the discomfort of it, but also because you wish he could stay in you forever. You know you’ll be sore when you wake up—and you can already feel the very beginnings of exhaustion and ache settling in your body—but you’d do it a hundred times over without changing a thing.

—

Johnny curls himself around you after he’s cleaned the both of you up, as if he means to shield you from the world. You’re quiet for a while as you listen to his slow-beating heart and feel his cool skin against yours.

You look up at his face, which is hard to see distinctly in the dark of the room. With the lamp turned out, the only source of light comes from the moon now, but you can decipher enough to make out the shape of his lips and his glittering eyes. You know he can see much better than you in this light, and he takes his time tracing his fingers across your face and cheek, studying your features.

“Would you ever…make me a vampire?”

His body tenses at your question. “Don’t say anything ridiculous. You still have a whole life ahead of you to live. What I have here...this is no existence.” He’s not mad, at least not at you, but his voice hardens at the very idea of it.

“But what if I wanted to live it with you?”

Johnny takes a breath, but he doesn’t say anything to that. He just continues stroking your face and looks at you for a long time, like he’s searching for something. You don’t know if you truly expected an answer from him, or how you would feel if he did give one.

Eventually, your eyes begin to fall low, and sleep overcomes you. The last thing you register is Johnny’s chilly hand touching your cheek. When he notices you’ve drifted off, he pulls the covers tighter around you both. Then he presses you to his chest as he tunes out the sound of cars rumbling on the streets below in exchange for the beating of your heart—still alive, so red with blood.

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lillian-nator · 3 years

Text

Everything below was made by Me, Eye, and Ethan over the course of like 3 days

Thank you (with additions from sleepy my beloved)

Okay

Wilbur isn’t the oldest

Techno is

But it’s a war run empire, they take pride in their troops and armies and triumphs

The soldiers come first

So Techno is the commander in chief , the general

Wilbur, second born

Is heir to the throne

To the diplomatic side of the empire

and Tommy Gets shit

He doesn’t even understand why Phil had another kid

Of course there is the situation where Techno or Wilbur dies, or one of them steps down, but it won’t happen

Was he really born to be the understudy

he was born as a backup

Tommy was an accident but they’re not gonna let the public know that

like he's the Zuko

Phil doesn't really pay attention to him so his mother picks up the slack

Wilbur is 21

Techno’s 23

Tommy’s 17

However I have a really good idea for prince Tommy, just like what if he doesn’t like the way that people treat him? Like he doesn’t want all these yes men he wants to be he wants to be told now, he want somebody to tell him he that’s against the rules he just wants him like structure he just want someone to hate him he want someone to not like him and say no and tell him that he’s stupid which is why he does all of the stupid shit that he does

Ever since he was like 4

Everyone has said yes

He wants to defy them

He wants to just do something to make someone say no

That and he lowkey

He wants ~~Phil~~ Wilbur to pay attention to him

Is a Little Shit who causes so many problems on purpose to try and find someone who will push back against him

He wants someone to give him structure and discipline but overall he just wants his family’s attention

He’s broken shit, thrown temper tantrums, he’s started fights and he’ll he’s even snuck out and stole things

He’s never been stopped

People consider him snobby and spoiled

He's a brat

He gets everything he wants, but he doesn’t really want it, he just asks to see if they’ll tell him no

Tubbo = Stable Boy

Ranboo = Prince of another country (probably the americas)

Ranboo could definitely fit the role of an overseas royal prince who Tommy sees as a regal, spoiled, uppity little shit. Like Tubbo, who Tommy sneaks everywhere, has met Ranboo and likes him. Tommy can't possibly see why, he's unbearable.

Bench Trio = Best freinds

I think that Tommy and his brothers were always very very close

they just have jobs and shit

They took over Phil's shit

they probably drift apart as they get older, Wilbur and techno have duties and Tommy starts his quest for attention, they grow apart from their little brother without realizing it

Tommy and his mother (kristin) are always and have continued to be close

she definitely chides him, and tells him quietly to not do things for all of his "misbehaviors"

but there is only so much that she can do, because she has the duty to not make a scene

that and she's not who he's looking for attention from

You may be asking "How is crime recognized, identified, discussed, and atoned for?" more specifically, "Is it a 'you stole my bread so without asking anyone I'm cutting your hand off' or is it the US court system" ~~You may also be Ethan~~

The answer is:

like the UKs

But more like

Okay so the Supreme Judicial system, but Phil (and then Wilbur) has teh final say

Court system, but with Phil overseeing everything

instead of a judge

HOWEVER, that's in the national level

in smaller villages, its more of the cut your hand off system

because the judicial system isn't regulated

So bonus questions:

Punishments and the identification of whether a crime counts as a crime?

soldiers can call crimes out, and citizens can file reports

Phil's not really shit, he just doesn't show Tommy any attention because he's busy with the other two

Just honestly doesn't even care about most shit Tommy does

Like, doesn't pay attention to it until it affects him, he's busy running a country and training the boys to running a country

I don’t think they (the brothers) realize how badly everything is affecting Tommy

The only one who knows anything about the full extent would be his mom, and she’s in a similar boat to Tommy

Phil doenst really see her much either

Not like she could “Make a Scene” trying to get Phil to pay attention to his youngest, to actually love his child, he’s barely around

Kristin and Phil spend time together at night, but during the day everything is for the cameras

its like the UK royals, how they do shit just for the people

And Phil doenst want to hear about the kids at night, he wants to spend time with his wife

Tommy has stolen a car and will do it again

Just fucking hopped in and took a joyride

With Absolutely No Repercussions

Do you think Phil ever tries to hire like, a nanny or something? In the aftermath of the Car Incident? Yes, and it never worked

Tommy, like 15 at the time, pissed as hell as a random ass woman tries to tell him to go to bed at 8:30 pm

Tommy wants somebody to tell him no but not somebody hired to tell him no mannn

Tommy goes to like parties - like ragers

he has a network of really famous friends like young actors and shit

dude is a party animal, underage drinking, rumors of drugs, he’s the PR Teams worst nightmare, but they’re not going to say anything

The press makes up SO MUCH SHIT

The press once said that he had done cocaine when it was really one of his friends

Tommy adopts two dogs (hello Betty and Walter) without asking either of his parents

Betty is short for Elizabeth

He brings them in off the street

Literal abandoned street dogs and he goes, mine now

He like, walks down the street with sunglasses on, and just doesn't look at anyone as he walks the dogs, who have like black nice leather leashes

The paparazzi always finds him walking the dogs

like a modern celebrity

Mans can and will call the paparazzi on himself - because he is a drama queen ETHAN Tommy voice "hello pa pa. I have hired two new staff, pa pa." "Huh?" "they have found work in this palace as emotional support animals, pa pa." "....ok." tommy voice "he didn't even blink, elizabeth the fourteenth" END OF ETHAN MAKING FUN OF THE BRITISH

By the way just to clear things up with you all, Tommy addresses Phil as "Father"

most of the paparazzi's pictures of Tommy are him flipping the camera off

He poses for them

just sees a camera and fucking sticks his tongue out and flips them off

He’s wearing some atrocious outfit while walking his dogs and he just has a full on fashion photshoot of poses for them

If his dad won’t give him attention at least they will

Tommy befriends some of the staff

he hates a lot of the butlers tbh

thinks they're stuck up

but likes to gossip with the maids, and sit in the kitchen as the chefs cook lunch "Heyyyy, chef!" "Your highness, what is it, are you hungry?" "Can't a man just talk to his chef? Befriend his castle staff?" "Ah."

that and the kitchen gives betty and walter treats

Top ten Prince Thomas microaggressions

Number One: he calls Phil "your highness"

For context, kings are referred to as Your Majesty

He calls Wilbur Your Majesty

It was a joke when they were younger, a habit from then on, but now it’s to spite Phil

Tommy spends an ridiculous amount of money on clothes all at once, purely to see if Phil would yell at him for using the family debit card for it

He never wears the clothes

He doesn’t particularly like any of them anyways

Instead he donate them all anonymously

Tommy may be a brat but he isn’t wasteful

By the time Tommy’s 12 he’s started acting up, and it escalates slowly until he hits 15 where things just start snowballing and he gets worse and worse

he's definitely nicknamed by the press as some sort of party animal or fratboy

a spoiled brat

He’s 16, and he knows his place in the family, he is forgotten and glossed over, but he won’t be ignored, not if he can help it

The Public gives him the attention he wishes his father would give him, he walks his dogs with the paparazzi tailing after him, just hoping that maybe one scandal or one horrible picture will eventually be enough to make his dad actually See him

he'll tell the paparazzi what they want to hear

and give every magazine a story to tell

they notice him

he just wants somebody to tell him no, somebody tell this boy no without being paid to please

Tommy probably has like, pierced his ears or smth. Gotten tattoos.

he has holes in his face yes.

he pierced his ears and his nose

He has a tattoo on the inside of his finger that matches with Tubbo and Ranboo

Maybe the picture of him plastered from last weekend will make his dad reprimand him

Maybe the weed found in his backseat will get his Dad to ground him

Maybe the bottle of fucking pills he was “holding for a friend” but got caught with Will get some sort of reaction

and its not like he's only doing it for attention

he starts it for attention, but he loves it he does

he has fun, he loves his friends, he likes the parties and the air

but, he also loves the attention, he's not gonna lie

Tommy who took adderall at a party once but it didn’t do anything for him, he seemed to function a little better actually

Tommy who knows Techno has adhd and takes adderall for it, Tommy who puts two and two together Bc he’s not fucking dumb

Tommy realizing his dad never cared to even get him diagnosed or treated

and Techno does notice, he does figure it out, but he does either a "hey..." or a "m8 I'll just get you your own if its helpin you focus" and tommy is furious

Tommy's life here is just

'trying to be yelled at HARD MODE'

Just wants to be screamed at, lowkey

I think, Wilbur avoids the tabloids

And the press

And the news

However, his advisors often read him the shit about Tommy - or anything about him

But they never see the pictures

They don’t see the picture of Tommy drunk on a strangers balcony

They don't see how bad it is

Tommy however? LOVES reading what the press has to say about him

Phil sees it however,

And he’s so disappointed

He gives Tommy so many talks but it never works

Because it doesn’t get him to love Tommy, to care about what Tommy does

Not like their mother

And he never makes a scene, not in the way Tommy wants to

It's all about "YOUR RUINING OUR IMAGE"

not: "YOUR RUINING YOUR LIFE"

He never asks if Tommy is ok

He never asks if he’s safe

Tommy's mum however, SO MANY AWKWARD "STAY SAFE" TALKS

He doesn't just fucking jump off shit because of her, he's slightly less reckless so that he can come home alive to her

I just think that Wilbur, no matter how busy, would find time to concerned yell at his baby brother if he were to find out about the pills

Weed and alcohol? Not great but ok.

Pills though?? He is full blown concerned Wilbro there

His brothers care. Their father is busy. He's a jerk sometimes too.

Wilbur does put out the fire a bit

He’s glad Wilbur had his best interest in mind

But man

The news headlines

They do him dirty

Shit like “Prince Tommy Caught Doing Cocaine at Frat Party” really fuck him over

They really just try their best to make him look like shit 95% of the time

Tommy loves it, just a little

Bad press is still press

He laughs at the headline Bc he knows he wasn’t doing cocaine, but Phil doesn’t, wilbur and techno don’t know that

It’s a tense week after that headline is released

His mom doesn’t even know if Tommy would have actually done cocaine

They just don’t know

Kristin asks him

She’s the only one who believes him

I think Wilbur wants to believe him, Techno too

But it’s hard to, especially when you’re not even sure you know your own brother anymore

Wilbur says something along the lines of being disappointed in Tommy, if he thought Tommy was trying to be better

Tommy scoffs and says he is trying, but that it’s real rich of Wilbur to be or entering to care now

This isn’t even the worse headline

One time a blonde kid got picked up from the same party Tommy was at on a stretcher, he had had an allergic reaction

Some shitty journalist saw and automatically assumed it was Tommy

They ran with the story that the prince had fucking overdosed for at least a week

The things they say are close to the truth but not quite

The PR Team tries their best to help but

They don’t even know what’s true or not

Tommy goes on a bender for a week, and walks into their office with coffee and pastries to apologize

They all know that presents mean a rough week of damage control

But Tommy imports them these Bomb ass donuts so

Fair trade really

Also heaven forbid tommy gets seen with a girl

It’s the worst shit

Tommy gets caught, drunk off his ass, pushing a couch out a window

(To be fair the people were moving soon anyways, they didn’t need the couch, it was a going away party)

And the next morning, recalling what he did

He orders up those pastries and calls the coffee place

Swings by to pick up the coffee and picks up the pastries all within the next two hours and delivers them on the third with an apology note

It’s fucking DAMAGE control

Thinking about Tubbo and Ranboo being Tommy’s DDs when they can

They are

When Tommy’s handler isn’t around

Them doing wild shit together but not Wild Shit

Tommy teaches them how to do burnouts and donuts in a fucking lambos in an empty mall parking lot

Ranboo goes everywhere incognito, Tommy practically flaunts his rank, Tubbo is considered a nobody and doesn't have to do anything but show up in casual clothes. He has a uniform for stablework.

Ranboo's parents are approving of his friendship with the fledging prince, as they hope he can wrangle Tommy to regality and he's building positive relations between the two kingdoms.

Phil is disapproving, worried Tommy will taint Ranboo and his rep and cause a tense air between the two kingdoms. Tommy loves Phil's worry, he practically bathes in it, it's the attention he so craves.

Tommy definitely will hold Tubbo's hand when he walks with him, because the headlines all scream Tommy is the gay?? and while he's very incredibly straight, he finds this hysterical.

Ranboo isn't always in Tommy's kingdom and rather spends most of his time at home. He might be second to heir or the crown prince himself, but he does have to spend time in his own country. Tommy face calls him a lot and he and Tubbo are ecstatic when he announces he's going to visit

I imagine he's second to the throne because that means he can focus on building relations instead of training to be king.

Older sibling Fundy, gets chronic illness, and Ranboo has to take over the throne for a bit

One of Tommy's worst stunts was hitching a ride to the Americas/Ranboo's kingdom without telling anyone.

Whether by boat or plane, he was gonna go visit his young king friend no matter what.

I say "young king" but he's still a prince. Just filling in for fundy

But all eyes turn to Ranboo and Ranboo is stumbling with attention he'd never known. Tommy has to help, doesn't he?

He expects such a punishment for stowing away to visit, but the headlines are... positive. Prince Tommy's friendship with Princr Ranboo becomes.... legendary, practically. Tubbo is always excluded from the news, even when he comes with.

Never too fantastical for classism

But no, the headlines see Tommy's visit not as the young, rebellious prince stowing away, but as a young boy risking his skin to visit his stressed friend.

Tommy is appalled.

And Tommy just groans and shows him the phone

And Ranboo laughs and goes

“There there Tommy, I’m sure dragging me to a frat party will be enough to ruin the good press.”

“Maybe get a dui, you’ll have diplomatic immunity so no jail time?”

“Boo, I wouldn’t get jail time even if I wasn’t em-mune, I am simply too poggers.”

“Sure man, let’s go with that.”

Tommy’s like “maybe I need to actually start doing hard drugs”

Ranboos just like “no -“ just “Please god no, your brothers will kill both of us.”

The Boo is terrified of Techno and Wilbur

Not as royals though, simply as Tommy’s older brothers

Like he knows about Tommy’s issues with validation and feeling unloved, he knows his Brothers are often very busy

But he also sees the way they look at Tommy, and the way they look when people talk bad about Tommy

He knows if something were to happen and he was to cause harm to Tommy or cause Tommy to cause harm to himself

It probably wouldn’t end well for him

Wilbur and techno try as hard as they can

But they’re SO busy

That they can’t do much especially when Tommy’s so persistent on doing his shit

Tubbo is great with the horses he tends to, and Tommy adores them. Ranboo is an excellent, regal rider and Tommy and Tubbo are more rough and ballsy, so races are fair and fastpaced.

Ranboo once got bucked by a royal stallion and Tommy and Tubbo never let him live it down.

I imagine Tubbo lives on the property, as some servants do. He either doesn't have a family, has a bad one, or his family doesn't live close to the palace.

So Tommy 10/10 sneaks to the servants' quarters and he and Tubbo sneak out to ride the horses.

I feel like Wilbur makes more of an effort after the pills and cocaine incident, he tries to ask Tommy about the headlines

Purples is Tommy’s friend

Rich family, old money

Throws a lot of the parties Tommy goes to

Purpled and punz :handshake: Tommy

Frat Boys

I think you guys are underestimating the time that Tommy spends at the castle

Like he still has school, and usually 3 days out of the week he follows around his brothers like an endearing little shit

But those 4 days where he’s gone (which includes weekends) plus nights, he’s doing shit

Also, yiu know Pongo right

101 Dalmatians

That’s how Tommy walks Betty and Walter

They are like standing completely proper and walks straight

ah yes, the royal bitches and also betty and walter are there too

the paparazzi taking pictures of Tommy and the dogs

and Tommy turns, taking his sunglasses off, and smiles big and wide "They have names you know? You should stop callin' them 'the royal dogs'."

One of the guys, he's familiar with the prince turns on his camera and asks "what're their names Prince Tommy?"

"Betty and Walter. Give them some respect."

Tommy visits Ranboo sometimes. Ranboo was looking for him one day and just found him standing in a long hall, staring at a portrait.

It's Ranboo, just barely younger, hands folded behind his back, the perfect picture of regality.

Tommy is staring at it because he knows that at home, there is a portrait of Wilbur looking like that, and one of Techno, and one of Phil and Kristen, and one of himself.

But somehow this image of Ranboo is.. haunting

Not because it doesn't match with the Ranboo he knows, but because it does.

It haunts him because he can stare at his portrait for hours and never see himself, but this is so plainly Ranboo that it's chilling.

Ranboo stands beside him, hands folded behind his back as they always are when he is in nice clothes and his eyes are visible. Tommy glances over and Ranboo is facing him, but staring up at the picture. It's still him.

The clothes are different and his hair is longer now, but Tommy can't tell the difference past that.

He knows that Ranboo is what his family wants him to be

He knows that Ranboo is him if he hadn't strayed, the same past

Ranboo knows exactly what’s going through his head right now

And he knows exactly what he needs too

They get fucking piss ass drunk in Ranboo’s room order takeout and FaceTime Tubbo

They can party tomorrow, Tommy doesn’t need to be in public right now

ANywyas

Tommy and his mother have a wonderful relationship

she teaches him literacy and history, they have a tutor teach him maths

they eat breakfast together every morning

the whole family does

but his mum tries to eat lunch with him at least 3 times a week

he goes out for lunch the days he doesn't eat with his brothers or mom, out to some resturant, sometimes, they trash it or party, sometimes he just brings Tubbo, no big group, and they just chill

With Ranboo in line for kingship (the way royalty works is that if the ruler dies, it will always go to the next in line of blood, never by marriage. Even if every heir was dead, it would still not go to the ruler consort but instead to a family member of the late ruler), rep is so much more important

he can't really be seen with Tommy sometimes

not on the bad weeks

not when Tommy just destroyed a bnb or set off fireworks with his friends, or was caught throwing chairs into his friend's pool

Tommy likes sport cars

big car guys

He has an exorbitant amount of fancy cars

its truly like

disgusting

how many cars he owns

Wilbur makes fun of it Bc the kid is just now legally old to drive

But Wilbur has so many expensive instruments

Some of which he doesn’t even know how to play yet

to be fair

Wilbur doesnt go breaking his instraments

Techno, techno has swords, which makes sense Bc he’s a general

But the amount swords he has just hanging on his wall

Never meant to be used

It’s so many

I feel like Tommy has a few cars that he doesn’t even let get scratched tho much

His babies

he has his expensive cars that he wrecks

and then his expensive cars that he treats like gold

They’re named

Clementine is this horrendous orange car that he absolutely loves

Its a bright orange ferrari

(He loves it Bc it was a gift from Phil, one of the first cars in his collection)

(Tommy doesn’t know that the idea was his mother’s, his father didn’t know what to get him)

all of his cars have padding in the back for his dogs

Tommy hates purse dogs, the girls with them are always fake and horrible

but he wishes his dogs were that small

Easy to transport

but they got all gangly limbs like him

and stand up to his hip

Henry is his sleek black classic mustang convertable

its what he drives when he doesn't want to be followed by the papp

It’s what he drives when he takes The BT to lunch

its not that the paparazzi doesn't know its him

they know

but he's not in one of his bright fucking obscene cars

The press and Tommy have a weird sort of understanding

He creates their headlines and they let him have moments to himself

If someone breaches that

They risk getting blacklisted

that car was what he drove to his grandmother's funeral in

im not naming his grandmother, but all royals live like forever

Clementine barely sees the road I think

She’s kept in top condition

By Tommy’s own hands

But she probably doesn’t get driven to the parties

Or the brunches

Or the clubs

She's used pretty much exclusively for black tie events

Tubbo is his driver for those Bc he trusts no one else with the car

And he has to exit her before she’s parked

So Tubbo valets and then meets him inside

It’s also how Tubbo gets into the black tie events

so its modern right

so its like thousand-dollar suits instead of capes

so, Tommy just refuses to wear blazers and suit jackets

he always wears his button-ups rolled to his elbows

Maybe, maybe you’ll get him in a vest

But most of the time it’s a button up, rolled up sleeves, and the tie is most likely incorrect or untied

The only reason it’s correct half the time, is because Wilbur makes him let him tie it

Tommy won't wear the jacket because he prefers to roll his sleeves up - he's able to do anything, party or just like rough housing with his brothers, or helping out the staff

Wilbur won't wear a tie, or a button up most days, opting for a high-end sweater and loads of jewelry; its just much more his style.

Techno won't wear a vest because it restricts the places he can hid weapons, and he almost never keeps his tie tied.

Tommy trying to walk past Wilbur to leave with and untied tie

“Wait! You know you can’t leave like that, come here.”

Tommy’s groans and slumps over but walks over to Wil anyways

“I’m just gonna untie it halfway through the party, you know i will.”

“Well, I’m not letting my little brother walk a red carpet with an untied tie, you know I won’t”

The second half said in a mocking tone of voice, very clearly mimicking Tommy’s whining

It’s a soft moment, they stand there together, brothers

And as Wilbur’s pat the finished tie, they make eye contact and both of them have undeniably fond looks on their faces, damn they’re brothers n shit

“Thanks Wil.”

It’s quiet, it’s soft, it’s Tommy

“Of course.”

Just as soft, just as quiet, wholly Wilbur

Wilbur clears his throat breaking the soft atmosphere of the room

“Now go, you gremlin. Don’t be late”

Wilbur ruffles Tommy’s hair, careful not to mess it up too much

Tommy rolls his eyes And quickly heads for the door “Bye Wil! Love you! Don’t wait up!” Wilbur quickly yells after him

“Love you too! Don’t do anything stupid!”

“Oh Wil you know I can’t promise that!” Wilbur just rolls his eyes and returns to his book

Yeah Tommy stays away from tobacco I think

Just weed

and I wouldn't be surprised if like hits peoples vapes sometimes, but doesn't smoke cigs

for sure, its stressful

Wilbur smokes cigarettes though

and he can't act out like Tommy can

and Phil loves him..

Techno and Wilbur watching Tommy rebel in the ways they never got to

They feel kinda sad, that they never got to be kids like that, sad that Tommy feels like he has to act out for attention

he gets to do shit

like he gets to be a real teen

the whole, dumb rich 17 year old experience

like yachts, and expensive hotel rooms, and sport cars

And sure they probably wouldn’t have been going to frat parties or crashing brunch places, but they see him with BT

See him have actual friends

And they’re happy for him

But it hurts a bit

And Tommy's hurting too

It's a lot

but its like

even if Phil wasn't shit

its a lot of attention

like everyone is watching them at all times

Techno and Wilbur have to stay refined in the eyes of the press

Tommy gets to put on a show for them

Yeah yeah

Do you know how much a drunk picture of Prince Tommy is worth?

Too much

Some random guy on his first paparazzi job, gets a pic of Tommy, shirt mostly unbuttoned, tie tied around his head, drinking out of a beer bottle, and flipping off the camera while stumbling out of the most expensive hotel in the UK

The guy never has to work again

Purpled son of some billionaire, and Ranboo a literal prince is with him

They are both laughing at him

Tommy swung on a chandelier that night

A picture of that ends up online, some socialites Twitter

The amount of people in her dms for that picture?

Ludicrous

Like just the random pictures from Snapchat stories

Magazines pay thousands

Yeah the amount of double takes people have done going through their friends Snapchat stories like

Just tapping through

“WAIT WAS THAT PRINCE THOMAS????”

So, Dessert Drinks

It’s alcoholic beverages that have like chocolate or gram crackers or maybe candy in them

That are meant to taste like a dessert

So there’s chocolate cake margaritas, or like s’mores drinks

They’re Tommy’s favorite things in the world

Everyone thinks that he’d like the like strong, burning, whiskey esk stuff

But no

He wants the sweetest thing you got

Like he’ll drink straught vodka, but not if he doesn’t have too y’know?

He also like wine strangely enough

The like really expensive wine

Bc it reminds him of Wil

They have it down in the cellar

Techno is the whiskey dude

Or like 1942

Which is just a really bougie tequila

He just likes the shit that burns

Tubbo will drink literally anything

He’ll eat anything too

It definitely comes from the spot that he didn’t have that many choices like Tommy, but he genuinely just likes anything

Which is why Tommy really likes to treat him out to fancy fucking restaurants

One of Tommy’s favorite past times is spoiling his loved one

Fucking loves giving presents n shit

It's his love language

Ranboo doesn’t pay for anything when he’s visiting

Tommy insists on paying

Tommy has millions from the throne, he will use it

Plus he uses his daddy’s card so like, Phil can afford to spend the money

Oh he has one of those black cards doesn’t he

And by he I mean Phil

But you know, Daddy’s card

Black amex all the way

Boujie motherfuckers

Tommy's drunk like persona is different depending on the environment

When its Wilbur and Techno having to deal with Drunk Tommy

He’s like an excitable puppy, he would switch from rowdy to sappy real quick for his brothers

So they’re trying to get a drunk Tommy to bed but Tommy’s 100% clinging to them

Just full of affection

Techno tries to leave to go study and drunk Tommy just looks so fucking sad

Kicked puppy

He’s very much turning on the little brother charm, full scale pouting, whining, nicknames and all

making grabby hands, sitting on thr ground, fluffed up hair, shirt all wrinkled

"Fucking - fine. What are you gonna do without me, hm?"

He’s a god damned puppy and it’s hard to believe this is the same kid who got in a bar fight last week

he hangs off the chandeliers of boogie hotels

he also trashes his friend's rentals

on the other hand, he hugs his brothers

and steals Wilbur's crown

when he wears Will's crown it goes over his eyes

Still does after all these years

He’s grown but Wils head is simply too big

Tommy has his own crown of course

he just doesn't wear it as often as Wilbru does

Wilbur wears his all of the time

Tommy wears his when

A. he's drunk and with friends

B. at formal or royal events

he likes wearing it when he's partying

still thinking about drunk Tommy and his brothers having to deal with him

He makes techno give him a piggy back ride

He can walk fine, he just wants a piggy back ride man

Can you blame him?

They all really miss being little

They miss being able to be kids n shit

when their mother took care of them

and their father did all the king shit

And when Techno would give Tommy piggyback rides in the garden

When Wilbur had all the time in the world to learn how to play guitar

Even if it comes from Tommy getting drunk off his ass they’re glad they can still find the childish joy that they once had y’know?

Techno gives Tommy a piggy back ride to his room, and Tommy steals Wilbur’s crown and they talk and it’s nice

And as everything winds down Wilbur plays his guitar

And it’s so similar to when they were younger man

...

but then,,, Wilbur gets called down for an emergency meeting

and Techno has to make sure the guards are doing their rounds

and Tommy's left all alone in The Prince's Chambers

and people wonder why Tommy likes partying

fills the time, doesn't it?

He wakes up cold and alone and hungover

And he calls Tubbo and they just fucking day drink man

It’s a bad two days

Yeha but basically after this night he and Tubbo get fucking drunk as hell and they don’t come back to the castle for two days

And Tommy is barely sober during those two days

After those type of days happen Tommy always goes completely straightedge for a week

He doenst need to develop an addiction y’know?

Plus the chaos doesn’t have to happen drunk

He’s pretty irrational sober anywyas

half of the parties he's at he's not even drunk

sometimes he'll get high

but he just likes the adrenaline

and just hanging and being fucking assholes with his mates

POV you are an emotionally wrecked prince who is hanging onto this present as proof that your dad knows who you are at least in the slightest and you find out it’s not actually a gift from him but something your mother told him to get you

He didn’t even think twice just called the dealership and asked for the car, didn’t even know which one it was

mmmmm Tommy wrecks Clem that night

It’s not a good night for anyone

Got drunk as hell man

No dd

Car crash

I don’t think Clem is totaled

And Tommy is ok

But she’s scratched and dented and it’s just a representation of how Tommy feels

Something about Clementine being symbolic of hope and the idea that his father knew him

And with that crashing down

Clementine was bound to crash too

Tommy gets out with some bruises and Clementine can be fixed

But it happens on a public street so it’s everywhere

Tommy wrecks Clem

Then fucking goes on a bender

just destroys shit

parties so he doesn't think about it

and then he fucking crashes

Wilbur and Techno and Kristin all know what the car meant to him, what it symbolized to him

So when there’s a headline and a picture of Tommy staring at a wrecked Clem, they don’t know how to feel

maybe he mentioned something about upgrading Clem to Phil, or offhandedly at family dinner

And Phil asks something like “Right and when did you get this one?” Very rudely y’know

And Tommy’s like, it’s the one you got me for my birthday last year, and Phil just says something about how he has to be more specific because he doesn’t even know which one that is

And Tommy feels everything crumble around him and he just tensely says, “never mind...” and goes back to his food

The other three watch the whole exchange like, “fuuuuuuuuuck”

And then as soon as dinners over Tommy’s out the door man

He’s gone

he doesn't take the dogs, which means he's causing damage

He doenst even take Tubbo

they can hear the handler hand Tommy the keys

Tubbo comes to Wil to ask if he knew where Tommy was and that’s when they realize Tommy’s going out to cause real damage

And Tommy’s phone is turned off

They can’t contact him

Tommy gets handcuffed

he won't get arrested, but he'll get brought back in a police car

he fucking like crashed into a poll on purpose

like it was less on purpose and more like he definitely wasn’t not trying to hit something

And then they fucking breathalyzer him and he’s drunk as balls

Straight vodka type night

there's a bottle in the cupholder

He gets out when he wrecks and you just see him dead eyed staring at the scratches on her hood

The dent in her door

The cracks in the windshield

And he just takes a swig of the bottle

He lets the police take the bottle and handcuff him, taking him back to the palace

Clem is towed back too

He doenst care man

this is bigger than party to distract Bc it’s all he’s thinking about even drunk n shit

So I feel like he’s absolutely crushed

he spends like a week or two in a depressive episode won't leave his room, won't talk to his dad

and then he asks his mom "why didn't you tell me?"

and she just purses her lips and and shakes her head

and he's out

he needs to leave

he doesn't need her pity

and he just goes to Purp's and parties

because he just wants to have fun for one night before he learns that everything is a lie

His brothers are there as much as he lets them be

Tubbo too

Ranboo would try to make it over after seeing the headlines

he gets on a jet

and goes as soon as he sees the news

cause Clem was Tommy's baby

He loved that fucking car man

And then

Boom

One dinner is all it took to ruin everything

Phil's just left like "what'd I do?"

Techno is straight faced

Wilbur rolls his eyes at Phil

And Kristin just looks stressed

She’s still staring the the door Tommy all but ran out of

none of them finish dinner, Kristin waves the butlers over to clear the plates

They don’t, and Phil is just so confused and frustrated and he doesn’t know what happened

Top 10 Prince Tommy Headlines: 10. Mourning or Disrespectful: Prince Thomas caught smoking outside grandmother's funeral 9. New Connections? Prince Thomas and Prince Ranboo seen outside Palace walking Royal Dogs 8. Protective Older Brother; Crown Prince William shielding Prince Thomas from cameras while walking down London streets 7. When Will He Stop? Prince Thomas continues his week-long bender 6. Another Frat Party: Prince Thomas found stumbling drunk after rowdy night at The Ritz London 5. Boy Crazy? Prince Thomas and Mystery Boy seen dancing at Crown Prince William's Birthday Ball 4. Is Prince Thomas's Rampage Over? The Prince seen hungover, nursing a coffee at London Branch Costa Coffee 3. Time to stop; Prince Thomas caught doing cocaine at socialites party 2. A good friend - Prince Thomas flew to the United States to help Prince Ranboo with new responsibilities

1. When is enough, enough? Prince Thomas crashes after driving drunk, arrested.

10 Tommy doesn’t smoke cigs so mans was just getting high at his grandmas funeral

he was real close with his granny, it was a sad day

It was because his father said something like “oh, I didn’t know you were coming Tommy”

It was his fucking grandmother Phil

Tommy just puts his sun glasses on, and sits as far away as he can

Number 5, the boy is Tubbo, Tubbo thinks it’s fucking hilarious, Tommy is pissed

Some of those headlines seem like they’re from the car month

Obviously number one is

But then the bender headline

Then the coffee one

And then the Wilbur one

They seem like a series of events

big month for the press

Tommys hungover and he calls Wil asking for him to pick him up

And Wilbur drops everything Bc he’s just glad Tommy’s coming back home

wilbur fucking glares at the cameras

Tommy's used to it

And then the press tries to mob them and Wilbur Almost breaks decorum

Like almost fucking yells at someone who gets too close

and Wilbur never does that

he's so in-line

he never breaks the rules

but goddamn if they take one step closer -

He’s been especially stressed, and all he wants is to get his baby brother home man

He’s been smoking a lot more since the wreck

He just wishes he could make everything better

Tommy relishes in talking to the press

Wilbur will clart someone who gets to close to his baby brother

The press who’s never seen Wilbur as anything other than composed and charming suddenly being faced with a very angry older brother who smells slightly like cigarette smoke

Wilbur in the Pogtopia coat but it’s some designer piece that’s expensive as hell

It’s his smoking coat

And it’s what he picks Tommy up in

So he smells like smoke

And not the tasteful cologne he usually wears in public

just like a dark overcoat

really expensive wool

Wilbur using it to cover them from the cameras

when they were younger, like 16 and 12, Wilbur would hide Tommy

like no one got a picture of Tommy until he was 14 or 15

Kristin really hid the boys when they were kids too

Tommy trying to peak out and make faces at the camera

it was illegal to get pictures of them younger than 10

like immediate blacklist

And also maybe some legal issues

Wilbur pulls Tommy's hood up over Tommy's head

And it’s very older brother of him too, he pulls it over to protect his face but then cinches the strings to be a little shit

Those Wilbur and Tommy brother moments comps exists in the universe too

But it’s just shit like that

Tommy has a great support system

He really does

His brothers love him

His mom loves him

He has two amazing friends and a bunch of other great friends as well

And sometimes he feels like a brat for throwing all these fits over his dad y’know?

Wilbur always tries to like, keep an arm around him when they're doing red carpets

And keeps Tommy sitting next to him at Royal events

but also like, steals food off his plate

and ruffles his hair

Tommy whispers the fucking worst jokes about the dignitaries and nobles and Wilbur has to keep a straight face

god thats tommys favorite thing to do

he tries so hard to get Wilbur to laugh and lose his shit

The fucking big boobs bit

But it’s Tommy whispering it to Wilbur completely out of context and randomly at a gala

ALSO

THE WHOLE EXTENDED FAMILY BULLSHIT

TOMMY HATES IT

LIKE WHO THE FUCK IS THIS LIKE AUNT TO HIM?

HE DOESNT KNOW HER

But Royal Families are always big on that shiit

They try to hug him n shit

And Tommy depending on how Brave n shit he’s feeling (how fed up he is) will either politely excuse himself or straight up say no and step back with a glare

he's honestly uncomfortable around the strangers

who say they're family

like he's too sober for this

He needs a god damned drink

But he’s in a vest and a nice tie and his crown is sat proper on his head

And he can’t have a drink

god he's like a little doll, he plays by Phil's rules

the crown comes on and he's the proper prince

He fucking hates it

he sips on Wilbur's wine, and does the whole "tequila for water" thing sometimes

Flask in his sleeve

Techno catches him with the flask once and is just impressed

god is that a look on Techno's face

He sees Tommy slip it from his sleeve and somehow sleight off hand take a drink

And it’s just a raised eyebrow and a head nod that says

Good for you

Bc techno also needs a drink during these events

Sometimes Tommy will spike his and Techno's drinks

as Wilbur regally sips on wine

Wilbur fucking also secretly wishing he had a flask during the drier events

Wine drink just isn’t enough sometimes

Wilbur puts on his best face

and pretends he wants to be there

and gives out a warm smile, and raises a glass

god he fucking hates it sometimes

and sometimes he loves it

but man, does he hate it sometimes

Tommy complains and Phil makes a passive aggressive comment about how

“Oh but don’t you love parties Tommy.”

Wilbur sits between them

The table goes

Techno Kristin Phil Wilbur Tommy

Tommy just sneaks another sip of the flask

he doesn't have time to deal with his dads shit

Slumps back in the seat

He probably wouldn’t even try to hide it after that

Not like Phil is actually looking at him

He can let the press have it

He doenst care

just like leaves the flask next to him

under teh table

and jsut takes large swigs from it

Tommy maybe having a group of his friends crash one of the stuffy events

Not an important one

So fucking dedication ceremony to some inane building

He just invites a wild group of socialites

It’s nice

It’s not as wild as a normal Tommy Innit party

But it’s not a stuffy fucking boring ass royal meeting

they just bring some fucking whiskey into the back room and chat shit

Tommy fucking has a group of friends crash this gathering

It’s not wild

But it’s not stuffy

It’s nice

Tommy even drags Wilbur back for at least a little

and that takes a whole lot of work

It really does, Wilbur isn’t even a little tipsy off the wine, and Phil been by him the whole time and it’s just been hell, he can’t get wiobur away from the “socializing” hes doing

but when Wilbur is a bit tipsy he just becomes more charasmatic

truly a king

Less someone putting on a mask for their father

A little bit more authentic

he's a natural, sipping wine with one hand, and shaking hands with the other, crown propped beautifully on his head, million dollar suits hanging off his frame

It’s nice to see his brother in his element

its a bit sad

but its nice

A little yeah, Wilbur’s

Wilbur’s leaving him, not really but

Wilbur being king is-

It’s going to be hard

Different

More than it is already

Wilbur will always love him

But eventually he’ll be too busy for Tommy

Just like Phil is

And it hurts

But that thought is what makes Tommy take a drink of his flask and drag Wilbur to the back room

Wilbur doesn’t have to forget him yet

Tommy looks real regal too

Wilbur wishes that Tommy could see what he sees

But he knows that Tommy’s self worth issues would take more than a nice hug and some warm words to fix

Tommy looks regal, and the gold crown really fits with the whole golden boy aesthetic

and he laughs, and makes conversation with everyome

and everyone eases up around him

Wilbur wishes that Tommy saw what he sees

also

Tommy and Ranboo's texts have been leaked once

Wow so many dog pictures dude

but also

:sparkles:state secrets:sparkles:

That was hell to clean up

it fucking was

it used petnames (which the public is never supposed to know about the nickanmes of royals fun fact)

and said shit about Phil

and detailed Fundy's illness which isn't public

and talked about meetings that Wilbur forced Tommy to attend

Tommy was terrified

Ranboo too

He was so scared someone would be angry at him for it

He doesn’t think he could handle be yelled at for this thing that wasn’t even his fault

like of course he could've not said it over text

but one of his best friends lives an ocean away

and his life is just all about secrets

dont make this something too

:sparkles: hackers :sparkles:

if someone god a hold of Tommy's IP, or Phone, or Phone number

dms

they could be using instagram, twitter, or snapchat to have some of these converstaions

dms can get leaked real easily

Mmmm you ever think about Crime Bous

Because all I can think about is when Wilbur does get out of the house, and just like every event they go to

Tommy isn’t a fucking party boy then, he’s just Prince Thomas, Crown Prince William’s baby brother

And they always get photographed and shit

But they have a great time

They’re always smiling when they’re together

Sans Wilbur being a really protective older brother, and when their grandmother died

It’s nice to just go get lunch together at that one specific cafe they’ve been going to for years

Or just walk the dogs together

Just hang out and be brothers

They sit at the same table every time, and Tommy has gotten a Raspberry Lemonade since he was 8

When they walk the dogs, Wilbur holds Walter and Tommy holds Betty

Sunglasses on, big wool overcoats, and pants that were sewn just for them

And they’re seen walking out on the streets during big events a lot too

To like take a breather

Tommy has made a habit of allowing the press to ask him questions whenever they find him

Wilbur on the other hand always knows exactly what to say to press that come up to them

He always shoos them off with a polite “we won’t be answering any question right now thank you” and a blinding smile

And Tommy’s making a face at the press from over his shoulder

Either like sticking his tongue out or making some sort of face at Wilbur

As he gets older, he stops doing it as much because it gets a bit tiring, everything is tiring

But he does it every once in a while, usually a sharp grin over Wilbur’s shoulder accompanied by a middle finger

when like press sees that Wilbur smokes like a lot

big thin

and I feel like Wilbur would straight up be like "its not a big deal, its completely legal"

and hes like smoking 8 cigs a day, but its fine

He doesn’t have an issue

It’s just a little stress relief

King at 21 is a lot to handle

and maybe the stress is so much that it becomes a problem

but hey its his relief

its legal

he's fine

That’s Wilbur’s mantra most of the time

he falls asleep in Tommys bed a lot, waiting for the teen to come home

wilbur does

he finishes a pack, and sighs, rubbing his eyes

The empire is on the brink of war, it always is

He looks in Tommy's room, its empty

And he sits on the bed, waiting

10 minutes later he's asleep

The sheets don’t smell like Wilbur, and Wil thinks that’s what makes it’s so comforting

They don’t stink of nicotine or Wilbur cologne

The smell like Tommy

and while that smell like expensive booze, and coconut shampoo

its perfect

and the dogs are in Tommy's room too

he's a little less alone

Betty is the cuddler

She’ll come up and sleep next to Wil

but she wont do it to just anyone

its a bond, its trust

its the fact that Tommy likes Wilbur

she growls at Phil

she nudges at Kristin, LOVES kristin

anyways

its lonely and sad

because Tommy usually doesnt come back

Tommy snakes back in early in the morning and tucks Wilbur in

Though most times Wilbur falls asleep in Tommys bed

Uncovered

Completely dressed

He’s lucky bettys fur is sleek otherwise his very expensive clothes would be covered

I think Wilbur more often then not will wake up with Tommy in his arms, and that makes him very happy

like, Tommy comes it at 5am, and just snuggles next to Wilbur

It’s makes Tommy sad to know his brother is waiting up for him to never come

But at the same time he’s always so happy to see him when he gets home

I imagine sometimes butlers come to get Wilbur for work, and Tommy makes them leave so that Wilbur can sleep in "Hello your highness, we came to fetch King Wilbur for his morning briefing" "He's sleeping." "Well, I can see that Your Highness -" "So let him sleep." "Prince Thomas -" "Let. Him. Sleep. Okay?" "Yes, Your Highness."

I've decided that Tommy is the big spoon

in these vulranable moments, when Wilbur is weak, Tommy kind of holds him

like obviously there are a lot of tims, where Wilbur wants to hold his baby brother

however, Tommy kind of holds Wilbur, like wraps himself around Wilbur, and puts Wilbur's head in the crook of his neck

this happens when Tommy comes home to find Wilbur in his bed

either this, or Tommy curls into a ball and rests his head against wilburs chest

Tommy has daddy issues

Wilbur has the weiht of the world

Techno has ptsd

Phil: fuck you my kids are completely fine!

Wilbur’s nicotine addiction

Tommys abandonment issues

Technos fucking PTSD

Once, when the empires war was getting really, really bad, and Wilbur had to decide life or death shit

He smoked a whole pack in a day

And then just kept going

His hands wouldn’t stop shaking

why wouldn't they stop fucking shaking

Tommy stopped partying that week, he isn’t ignorant, nor a fucking dick

He was Wilbur’s right hand for as long as he needed him

Despite how badly he wanted to party until he could see straight

His brother needed him

His king needed him

And he will gladly serve Wilbur as long as he would have him

He stood right behind Wilbur

Every decision

He was right behind him

Even if it meant constant decorum and constant royal dress, Tommy was there

And that was a grounding fact

If Tommy hadn’t been there Wilbur thinks he may have lost it that week

Sometimes the only thing that kept Wilbur’s hands from shaking terribly was holding Tommy’s hands

When the advisors and court had left

Tommy would take Wilbur hands and make him do breathing exercises

Wilbur wasn’t allowed to look anywhere other than Tommy’s eyes

They would get through this

Together

They would, Tommy would make sure of it

Tommy in the room also made everyone a bit nervous and loosen up around Wilbur though

Because sometimes they act like they can boss Will around

And Tommy is stone faced, and has the media wrapped around his finger

The court knows that all it would take is one “scandalous statement” from Prince Thomas to end their careers

Wilbur could fire them, but he’s stressed

Any other day, he’s a fucking FORCE to recon with

But Tommy? He’s here to ensure the best or their careers would end

And you know that Tommy has at least 3 sources in the biggest news outlets in the empire

He could get ANYTHING out there

Wilbur’s throne is the biggest in the middle

Two thrones smaller aside him

Within the like office / study / planning room

Tommy's hasn't been used until just then

Tommy finds it quite uncomfy

But he can deal

Also Tommy drops the nicknames for the week or so

No “Big Man”

It was “Will” and “William”

Your Majesty at one or two points

But that felt a little too formal for both of them

Too alienating

Tommy learned a whole fucking lot of fucking politics that week

Not that he didnt listen in his lessons it’s just that

Well

He can’t not listen if he’s not there

It’s different IRL too

Seeing all the decisions

It’s terrifying

And he’s exhausted

Dressing nicely and talking for 12 hours a day about politics

And life / death decisions

So many cuddles dude

Just permanently cuddling if they’re not presently working or “coping”

And I think

That although Wilbur is the one who’s going through it

When they cuddle, Wilbur likes to hold Tommy

Just in the sense that Tommy’s here and safe

In the midst of all the death around Wilbur

He needs to know that his person, his kid is alright

Plus having this one thing this one routine helps him feel a little on control during this out of hand time

:sparkles: Prince Tommy PR leak :sparkles:

I talked about how Tommy was close to his grandmother

and how he was smoking outside of her funeral

maybe it was during that time in his life

really dark place in his mind

smoked and drank every day

Wilbur smoked a lot during that time yet

they probably drank together a few times

like straight up vodka

Just they’re so young and so tired

and so its like, pictures of Wilbur and Tommy (and just Tommy) drinking in the parlor, and in the like, bar area of their private living area, dark eye bags, red eyes, just straight from the bottle

Both of their ties were undone, no jackets, sleeves rolled up to their elbows, Wilbur's top 3 buttons are undone, they're both like manspreading

like they're just at their lowest, particularly Tommy, but Wilbur was having an adjacent bad time

Tommy's hair is a fuckin' mess

HOWEVER, they're both still clean shaven, neither of their shorts or trousers are wrinkled or stained

They may be going through it, but the royal image waits for no one

How does the castle react? Immediate lock down.

Interrogations or some shit

none of the princes are allowed to leave

they have to do clean up

they write scripts essentially for Tommy and Wilbur to adress the press

they need to send out a memo that they don't agree with underage drinking

its all structured, scripted, and written by advisors (and their father)

major damage control

which is just not what Tommy needs right now, because he's like trying to work through his grief

and Wilbur has a fucking fight with his father about that

Phil does not care

They fucked up

Someone else fucked up

And now they’re going to be big boys and fix it Like Phil's going to Tommy's room to get him to look over what his quick press tour and Wilbur jsut stops him in front of the door "He's fucking grieving - Let him have a moment will you? Don't you know how close he was with Gran?" "You messed up. He messed up. Now you're gonna be big boys and fix it." “You’re horrible sometimes you know that?” “I am your father” “Then act like it, your majesty”

meanwhile Tommy: in bed, hasn't slept, major depressive spiral, cuddling Betty, Walter standing guard at his door, holding onto a blanket that his grandmother gave him

just - can't even cry anymore

just empty

Literally just despondent

Staring at the ceiling as Betty noses his face

like good luck getting to get up, let alone read shit

He hasn’t showered in days

He is very much not presentable

like it's only been a week or two since his grandmother's death

and he still is processing

He is no where near done grieving

#tommyinnit #wilbursoot #wilbur soot #philza minecraft #philza #technoblade #tubbo #ranboo #SBI #sleepy bois inc #sleepyboisinc #LILLYS NEW AU #THE KING THE WARRIOR AND THE PRINCE #long post

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bookishdiplodocus · 3 years

Text

Why publishers usually don't give you feedback when they reject you

I saw a post by @tlbodine wondering why publishers send a standard rejection letter, while it would help unpublished writers a great deal if they received a bit of feedback. I didn't want to hijack their post with my explanation, so here is my own post.

For those who don't know, I used to work as an in-house editor for several (traditional) publishers. Among many other things, it was part of my job to look through the unsollicited manuscripts.

The question is a valid one, especially from the perspective of writers. I'm both a writer and an editor, so I can show you what's it like from the publisher's perspective.

My answer

I agree that it would be a good thing for writers to know why they were rejected. Is the manuscript in fact okay but just not our kind of genre? Or should you take it as a sign you should abandon writing forever?

Going through unsollicited manuscripts takes a lot of time, because there just are so many. If I had to feedback all of them as well, it would take me days or weeks -- time I need to spend on the actual books that will be published.

I know from experience that even if I do give feedback, authors still feel like it wasn't thorough enough or I've judged them poorly. I don't have the time to discuss with people who don't agree with our decision. (I've never worked so much unpaid overtime as during those years, so when I say I don't have the time, I mean it.)

My boss' answer

Only about 1% of the unsollicited manuscripts will ever be published, even if we were to ask every one of the writers for extensive rewrites, so the less time an editor spends on the other 99%, the better. The editor works for the publisher, not for the writers who will never make us money. If you want someone to give you extensive feedback, find someone and pay them.

Tl;dr

In theory, I heartily agree writers would learn from feedback.

In practice, I'd like to give feedback, because I'm a kind person.

Also in practice, we don't want people replying because that's a waste of everyone's time.

My boss says time is money and publishing books is our core business, not giving free feedback.

I hope this was helpful. Don’t hesitate to ask me any questions, and happy writing!

Follow me for more writing advice, or check out my other writing tips here. New topics to write advice about are also always appreciated.

Tag list below the cut. If you like to be added to or removed from the list, let me know.

@therska @writingwordsanddrawingpictures @the-words-we-never-said @writingwhithotchocolate @i-rove-rock-n-roll @maskedlady @no-time-like-write-now @timefire25 @black-lakritz-dragon @nzmayart @fandomrandomness-stuff @dangertoozmanykids101 @anaestheticdisaster @storytellingofravens @purpleshadows1989 @mathematicpony @i-don-t-know-words @notquitenovelist @coffeescribles @reffaces @livingthelovelylife @katsglabella @lokitty-is-my-spirit-animal @thefallenbibliophilequote @watchmewritedumb @sting-the-scribe @kais-writing-shit @dameschnee123 @curiosityonmars @oodlittlething @nonbinarychaoticstupid @blackcoffeeandtextbooks @viskafrer

#writing #writeblr #publishing #traditional publishing #querying #sanne #how to tell me a story

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imaginejamesandsirius · 3 years

Note

Can u do a fic where like James is currently dating lily and then Sirius starts dating some random guy from whatever house and James gets like super jealous and possessive trying to keep Sirius to himself (I’d write it myself but I can’t write for shit lol)

((A/N: In keeping with the prompt, there is brief James/Lily in the beginning))

James frowned. "Who's Sirius with?"

"Hm?" Lily looked up, then followed James's stare over to where his best mate was. "That's Fabian, you know that. You're on the Quidditch team together, for Merlin's sake. What's up with you?"

James opened his mouth to say that nothing was wrong with him and bugger you, Lily, for even suggesting it, then he paused. He was bothered by this. There was no reason to be bothered by this. Sirius and Fabian weren't mates, so James hadn't seen them chatting before. Gideon and Fabian were the year above them, and they were busy with Quidditch and all their NEWT classes. Neither of them exactly had time to socialize with random-arse people in the year below them. James's frown deepened. Sirius wasn't a random person, and he was perfectly capable of talking to anyone in Hogwarts, especially someone as cool as Fabian. So why was he upset? "I dunno," he said to Lily, but his mind was reeling, trying to figure it out.

Normally, James was only bothered by people talking to his friends if they were dangerous. All the Slytherins in their year had plenty of reason to hold a grudge, so that would've made sense. But Fabian was a Gryffindor, and perfectly trustworthy besides, so it couldn't be that.

"Look," Lily said with a small smile, "I get that you're used to Sirius always being around, but you wanted to spend time just the two of us, so he has time to branch out."

"He is not replacing me," James said indignantly. He was Sirius's best friend and he always would be. Getting a girlfriend hardly changed that.

"I wasn't saying that. But be realistic, for a second. He wants to spend his time with you, but you're busy. Remus and Peter took all the time you spent off doing your own thing to study, so he can't hang out with them. He had to find someone else."

"Fabian's not drowning in spare time."

"Maybe they have free time at the same time," Lily said with a shrug. "I dunno, do I look like a seer to you? C'mon, stop worrying about what Sirius is up to and let's enjoy our time alone for the next hour, yeah?"

James dredged up a smile for her because he was happy that they had some time alone in Hogsmeade before they met back up with their friends. He should enjoy this. Besides, he'd see Sirius then, and he'd be able to ask him about what was going on between him and Fabian. Because that glimpse that he'd gotten hadn't been two friends talking; it had been more than that.

He might be reading too much into it, but there had been something in the way that Sirius was standing-- or maybe it had been in his smile?-- that made James think they were flirting. If they had been flirting, James would have to caution Sirius to knock it off before he got hurt. Fabian was a good guy, yeah, but getting involved with somebody a year above them was asking for trouble. Everyone knew that they were supposed to date within their year. Less heartache that way, and Sirius was rather sensitive, even if he liked to pretend that he wasn't.

"Hey," James said, pulling Sirius off to the side. He waited until the rest of the group was too far away to hear them before continuing, "I saw you with Fabian earlier. What's going on with that?"

"Oh," Sirius said. He sounded a little surprised but not horribly shocked at being seen. He seemed pleased, judging by the small smile that spread across his face. "We were, er- on a date. He asked when he saw that I was alone, and I figured why not?"

"Why would you go on a date with him?" James asked, sounding ridiculously rude.

Sirius blinked, smile giving way to confusion. "Because he's nice to me? And funny?"

"No, I mean why would you date him?"

"The same reasons I just said, tosser. What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me," James said defensively.

"Then stop acting like there is," Sirius replied, brushing past him. They were both heading to Gryffindor Tower though, so James fell into step next to him like he always did. "I had a nice day before you got your wand in a knot. The first nice day I've had since you decided to abandon me for Lily, I might add."

"I did not abandon you for Lily."

Sirius snorted, clearly not believing him.

"We still see each other all the time!" James insisted.

"Yeah, because we take all the same classes and sleep in the same dormitory, not because you make time for me anymore."

"I never had to make time for you because you never had anything else to do; that's different," James said, and then immediately regretted it. "I didn't mean that how it sounded. I just mean that there was never someone I wanted to see other than you! Wormtail and Moony always crop up when they wanted to see us, so I didn't have to make time to see them. Lily's different."

"Tell your bloody girlfriend that she can see you when we're hanging out then."

"She already does. Or have you somehow missed her and Marlene sitting next to us in the Great Hall and in the common room? I know, of course, that you haven't. You just ignore them."

"I always ignore Marlene," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "If I look at her, she thinks it means I'm interested. Look, I don't know what's crawled up your arse today, but I'm allowed to date someone. You made time for Lily by spending less time with me. I am now spending that free time by hanging out with Fabian."

James grit his teeth together. What Sirius said made sense, but something about it was bugging him. He couldn't put his finger on what it was, but it didn't feel right. Something was wrong with the situation. He knew that he couldn't say anything to Sirius about it right now; he'd only get more upset with James. "Fine," he gritted out.

Sirius narrowed his eyes, daring him to object again, but James stayed stubbornly silent.

Sirius's relationship with Fabian was short-lived; he said that while Fabian was a good bloke and all, it didn't really feel like they were dating when they spent time together. James was unreasonably happy about that, and things went back to normal for them. He didn't realise that he'd been ignoring everything else in his life to spend more time with Sirius though, not until Lily confronted him.

"You're spending more time stalking your best mate than you do sat in class, James," she said, arms crossed over her chest. "Look, I knew going into this that you and Sirius were close, but this is obsessive."

He blinked, doing a quick run-through of the last week. He had spent a good portion of his time hanging onto Sirius-- literally, since he hadn't wanted for him to wander off if he looked the other direction-- but he wouldn't call it obsessive. "We're mates," he defended. "Of course we spend time together."

"Yeah, you're mates, but I didn't say yes to a date just to fight for your time. You used to know that you couldn't spend your every waking moment with him, and now you're regressing."

"I'm not regressing," James said. The idea was insulting, and he kind of couldn't believe she said it. He needed to make things clear to her, and there was no time like the present. "Sirius is the most important person in my life, and if you can't handle that, maybe we shouldn't be dating."

"You're a tosser," Lily said, expression stony. "But you're right. We shouldn't be dating." With that, she turned on her heel, hair tossed over her shoulder, and stalked away.

James was pretty sure he should feel something other than annoyed that she'd dragged him away from Sirius just so she could get jealous. He made his way back to their table and sat down without saying a word.

"Hey," Sirius said, scooting over to make room for him.

James had the urge to wrap an arm around Sirius's shoulders and pull him back to where he'd been before.

"What did Lily want to talk about?"

"Nothing," James grumbled, and it was obvious that he was lying, so he didn't feel bad about it.

Sirius frowned. "You alright?"

Sensing that Sirius wasn't about to drop it, he sighed. "We broke up. She said I was spending too much time with you, and I told her to get over it." He shrugged. "It's a good thing I'm not a prefect, or meetings would be awkward as hell."

"You broke up with Lily?"

James nodded.

"Over me?"

"Pretty sure Lily has a problem with me, not you, if it helps."

"You've been talking my ear off over her for three years, and then you break up after a few months?" Sirius asked incredulously. "Over me?"

"Are you going somewhere with this?"

Sirius continued to stare at him like he didn't have a clue what was going on, then shook his head. "Guess not."

As much as James wanted to forget what Lily had said, he couldn't. It kept repeating through his head as he laid down to sleep and ignoring it didn't do him any good.

He had been spending a lot of time with Sirius lately. They normally only did this over the summer, when there was nobody else around that they could hang out with. James would be less inclined to do it if he ever got annoyed with Sirius, but that didn't happen. No matter how much time he spent with Sirius, he was always willing to see him more. He never wanted a break. He'd liked Lily, but he hadn't wanted to spend half that much time with her. More than two dates a week and he started to get annoyed. Not with her, necessarily, but with the fact that he couldn't relax. He was always relaxed around Sirius.

When he'd imagined falling in love, he hadn't thought that he'd want to spend more time with his friends than his girlfriend; he'd imagined it at about fifty-fifty. It was probably what Lily had been thinking would happen too, and she'd been good with that. She hadn't been okay with the split being ninetyeight-two though, which was fair. If Lily had been the one ignoring him, he would've been a lot more pissed off than she'd been. Although, now that he thought about it, she'd been plenty angry when she first asked him to talk, and he'd tried to brush her off. He definitely owed her an apology for that.

With a sigh, he rolled onto his other side. He was hoping that he'd be able to get to sleep now, but instead of thinking about Lily, he was thinking about Sirius.

He'd been really upset when Sirius started dating Fabian. It didn't make any sense. Like Sirius had said, he was mostly spending time with him whenever James was with Lily, so it wasn't cutting into what little time they had, or summat. And on the flip side, he'd been really happy when Sirius and Fabian split. He hadn't had a reaction that extreme to his own breakup-- even though the emotion he should've felt was sadness, but his point still stood. He should've been upset about him and Lily breaking up, but he kind of... hadn't cared. He was more upset about the fact that he didn't care than that they'd broken up.

Or maybe, he thought as he rolled onto his back restlessly, he'd gotten upset with Lily for suggesting that he spend slightly less time with Sirius. Because she'd wanted her boyfriend to spend time with her, and he'd said no. If nothing else, it showed that he wasn't ready to date someone, because he didn't think his response wouldn't have been different if he'd been dating anyone else. Well, except for Sirius, because then there wouldn't be an issue. Hanging out with Sirius would be the same as hanging out with his boyfriend.

Whatever, he'd apologise to Lily tomorrow, and hopefully she wouldn't be too pissed at him. He'd be honest, and that would probably be enough.

"Lily, can I talk to you for a second?" he asked, going up to her in the common room as she was working on an essay-- History of Magic, by the look of it.

It was obvious that she was still mad at him by the way the corners of her mouth tightened, but she still nodded and set down her quill to follow him outside the portrait hole so they had a bit of privacy.

"I wanted to apologise for yesterday. I acted like a berk, and you didn't deserve that. You were right; I shouldn't date someone unless I'm actually going to make time for them, and I should've realised that before I ever tried to ask you out. I'm sorry."

"...Thank you," Lily said, scuffing her shoe against the floor. "Since we're not getting back together, can I say something?"

"Sure."

"You might want to warn the next person you date that you and Sirius aren't just close; you're a package deal."

James frowned at her. Not because he was angry, thank Merlin, but because he didn't understand what she meant. Weren't all friends like that?

"Like, you don't care for Marlene, and that's fine because we could still spend time together without it getting in the way. But if I didn't like Sirius? Forget about it. We wouldn't have made it a week. I doubt that's going to change, so a little warning might be good for you."

James blinked. "Right. Erm, thanks."

Lily rolled her eyes, sensing his insincerity. Which, in his defense, he hadn't meant to be insincere, but he didn't exactly understand what she meant by that. He'd heard every word, but it still wasn't any different than what he'd been thinking before-- Lily and Marlene were friends, yes, but no one described them as being close, certainly not the way that Sirius and James were described as close. "Whatever, mate, it's your life." With that, she walked past him and back into the common room.

James was beginning to hate these late night revelations he was having. Last night had been that he wasn't ready for a girlfriend when he spent so much time with Sirius, and tonight was- well, that maybe he wanted to date Sirius instead of some bird. He'd been horribly jealous when Sirius started spending time with Fabian-- and yes, he realised the irony of having accused Lily of getting jealous of him and Sirius when he was the one who was guilty.

Oh, who was he kidding? He wanted to date Sirius. There was no 'maybe' about it. He'd only had his realisation ten minutes ago, but he didn't know how he was going to see him tomorrow morning without throwing himself at him. Face first. He wanted to kiss Sirius. He wanted to snog his face off.

In his defense, he'd always known that Sirius was fit as hell, but he hadn't known that his appreciation of his best mate's looks was crossing a line from platonic to romantic. He wasn't sure, for a moment, if romantic inclinations were exactly what he was feeling, but when he compared it to how he felt about his other mates, it solidified his suspicions: he fancied Sirius.

And he had no idea what to do about it. He had a feeling that grabbing and kissing him the next time he saw him wouldn't go over too well.

Naturally, James dealt with the situation by kissing Sirius the first time he saw him that morning. It wasn't exactly pleasant, because Sirius had been brushing his teeth, but he didn't immediately shove James away so he was going to count it as a success.

Sirius blinked at him. He held up a finger, spit in the sink, then said, "What the hell is going on with you?" He didn't sound upset, which was another point to this being a success for James.

That being said, James really should've waited until he was more awake. He didn't have his glasses on, so everything was blurry. Except for Sirius when he had kissed him because he'd been right in front of James's face. Also it was harder to form a coherent sentence before he'd been awake for an hour. "You know Fabian?"

"I'm familiar with him, yes," Sirius said dryly. He reached for a cup and rinsed out his mouth, then wiped so it got rid of the little white specks dotting his lips.

Absently, James rubbed at his own mouth and was unsurprised that a bit of toothpaste came off. "I was erm, really jealous when you were seeing him."

"I know."

"If you know, then why are you confused?"

"You're weirdly possessive of me. I know that. Kissing me is a bit much, even for you."

James rolled his eyes. "Turns out that the weird possessive rubbish is me wanting to date you."

"What do you mean it 'turns out'?" he asked. At least he wasn't grossed out or summat.

"Well I was thinking last night, and I realised-"

"Last night? You figured out that you fancied me last night?"

"Erm," James said, very eloquently. "Yes. Is that a problem?"

Sirius snorted. "You don't waste any time."

"Well I realised it last night, but it's not like I started to fancy you last night. I think it's been going on for a while."

"You're-" Sirius started to say, then he pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh.

"What?"

"You are easily the most ridiculous person I know."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"It's you; of course it's a good thing," Sirius said, leaning against the counter. Thoughtfully, he folded his arms over his chest. "So we're dating now?"

"You never said yes, or how you felt, or anything," James pointed out.

"The answer was obviously yes."

"Was it obvious?"

"Was it not?" Sirius asked, brow furrowing.

James shook his head.

"Oh. Well, when Fabian asked me out, I figured that I couldn't feel worse about seeing you with Lily if I was also dating someone. And I've been pining after since like, third year, so it's probably a good thing that you didn't notice. It would've been really awkward. You're a bit of a dumbarse, but it always works out in my favour," Sirius said with a grin.

"Rude," James said idly. "Be nice to your boyfriend. I'm sensitive."

"Sure you are, mate. Sure you are."

#prongsfoot #marauders #sirius black #james potter #fanfic #lily evans #filled #brief james/lily #hogwarts time #no voldemort au #getting together #siriuslystarbucks

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americasass91 · 4 years

Text

Revenge on Ransom

So since I had so much fun writing my last fic, I just had to indulge on another one! This one is starring everyone’s favorite Mean Sweater Murder Daddy, Ransom! I didn’t intend for it to be this long. But I’m really quite happy with how it came out! Let me know what you think! Thank you so much for reading!! This is of course for @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817 #shamelesshoesforchris

Prompts:

“Please don’t go”

“Don’t you dare take another step”

Words:5.4k

Rating:Explicit(I mean come on, it’s Ransom)

Warnings:Smut, Angst, Embarrassment, Ransom being an asshole as usual

“A threesome.”

You scoff and roll your eyes while continuing to rub circles on your lover’s taut stomach.

“Of course you’d say a threesome. Such a typical male response.”

“What? You asked me what some of my fantasies were and that’s one of them sweetheart.”

You prop yourself up on your elbow and glance down at the unfairly attractive man below you.

“At least be original with your fantasies. And besides, you expect me to believe that you, Hugh Ransom Playboy Drysdale, have never had a threesome?” You quirk your eyebrow as you look at his stupidly handsome face in disbelief.

He smirks at you. “Believe it, sweetheart. I mean I’m aware I’m a sex god, but I’ve never divulged into more than one woman at a time.”

You once again roll your eyes. “Okay pretty boy, whatever you say.” You lay your head back down on his chest, enjoying this rare moment of cuddling between you 2. Yeah sure you guys were, well whatever you were, you still never put a label on it. But Ransom usually didn’t spend a lot of time cuddling.

“What about you, baby girl? What’s another fantasy of yours. Besides tying me up, which won’t be happening anytime soon.” He starts running his fingers through your hair, instantly making your eyes droop. You adored when someone played with your hair.

You did have another fantasy in mind. You were debating on whether or not you wanted to share. It was rather different. Then again the last time you had revealed one of your fantasies to him (public sex) it led to the most intense orgasm you’ve ever experienced. It also led to you getting kicked out and banned from Saks Fifth Avenue.

You’d never had this fantasy before, it was all his fault really. With his stupid toned, body. And his stupid bulging biceps. And his stupid handsome face. God you really hated him sometimes.

“Okay, I’ll tell you. But you should know I’ve never had this fantasy until I met and started sleeping with you. So, it’s your fault really.”

He smirks down at you. “Well go on and share with the class, baby girl.”

You look away from him and stare down at your hand that’s rested on his toned stomach. “Okay, so I know this might sound crazy but I’m super attracted to your arms. Like they really do it for me. So one of my fantasies is riding your bicep.” Your voice got quieter near the end of your admission.

His fingers stop running through your hair. You tense up waiting for his reaction. You chance a glance up at him. He’s staring at the ceiling, no expression on his face.

Next thing you know you feel his chest start to shake. He starts laughing uncontrollably. He has tears in his eyes. He reaches up to clutch his pec. You’ve never seen him laugh this hard before.

You feel your cheeks flush in embarrassment and you start untangling yourself from him. You just want to go crawl in a hole and die. You knew you should’ve just kept it to yourself. You feel his hand grab your wrist.

“Oh c-come on, sweet-sweetheart. You don’t h-have to leave.” He tries telling you in between fits of laughter. You yank your hand away and grab your clothes, standing to pull them on.

He finally realizes you're actually going to leave and stands up and gets in front of you. “I’m sorry baby girl, it just caught me off guard. Plus it’s just stupid. Really? You get to have my cock and you want to ride my bicep?”

You look up at him, cheeks still flushed red. “Sorry but you asked. Can we just forget I said anything? Go back to how it was before?”

He reaches forward and grabs your hip and pulls you closer to him, dropping a kiss to your forehead. “Sure thing, my strange little girl.”

“You’re not going to tell anybody about this right? I know you like to brag to your friends about our sex life. Kyle is still giving me shit about getting kicked out of Saks.”

“I promise I won’t tell anyone about your stupid fantasy, Y/N. Now can we please just go back to bed? I wasn’t quite done with you yet. Please don’t go.” He tries pushing you towards the bed but you reach up your hand and push against his chest.

“I can’t Ransom, I’ve got to go home and start on my thesis. I’ve been here for 3 days now. I can’t keep putting it off.” You walk around him and grab up the rest of your stuff.

“Oh, so since I won’t let you indulge on your stupid fucking fantasy of riding my arm, you’re leaving. That’s a real bitch move, sweetheart.” He brushes past you and slams the door shut to his bathroom.

You stand there in disbelief. You really did need to go home and work on your thesis. And yes part of you was leaving a little earlier than planned but you didn’t really feel like being laughed at and judged anymore.

“God you are such a prick!” You scream at the closed door. You turn and stomp your way down the stairs and grab your coat and purse by the front door and slam it behind you.

You don’t hear from Ransom for 4 days. Which honestly you’re surprised you hear from him this early. Usually when you guys fight, you’re the one texting or calling him first. And yes you are aware of how pathetic that is but you love the douchebag, unfortunately.

Just as you’re taking a break from your thesis to watch a little Netflix, your phone starts to ring. You glance at the screen and are surprised to see Ransom’s number.

“Hello?” You pick up after the fourth ring.

“Hey, sweetheart. Listen I just wanted to apologize about how I acted when you had to leave. I’m sorry. I know your thesis is important and I was being selfish. Is there any way you can find it in your heart to forgive me?”

You have a few thoughts that run through your head. First thought, you wondered if this was really Ransom. You pulled your phone away from your ear and double checked the number. Yep it was him. The Second thought was while the apology was really sweet, you noticed he didn’t say anything about your little reveal to him. That was fine. Maybe he was respecting your wishes and pretending it didn’t happen.

“Thank you Ransom, your apology means a lot. I’ll forgive you.” You head into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Thank you sweetheart. I miss you. How is your thesis going?”

“Great, I’m actually taking a break for the day, I don’t want to burn myself out.” You head into the living room and plop down on the couch, grabbing the remote to get Netflix ready.

“That’s a good idea, beautiful. So does that mean I can see my girl tonight?” He sounds hopeful as he asks.

“Sure, your place or mine?”

“Actually some of the guys wanted to get together tonight and they are bringing their significant others so I was hoping you would want to come with me?” Once again sounding hopeful.

“Sure, it would do me some good to get out of the house. What time?” You glance at the clock on your wall and see that it’s 3:30.

“They want to meet up around 7 if that works for you? I could come over now and help you...relax.” You can just feel his smirk through the phone.

“As amazing as that sounds I really need to try to get a nap in. I’ve been working on my thesis non stop and haven’t gotten much sleep, is it ok if you just pick me up later? I’ll stay the night with you to make up for it.” You grab the blanket off the back of your couch and get comfortable.

“Sure, sure sweetheart. You go ahead and get plenty of rest. You’ll need it for when I get you home later.” He all but growls into the phone.

You clench your thighs together in anticipation. “Sounds good handsome, I’ll see you around 6:30?”

“Yeah, sounds good baby. Get some sleep, I love you.”

Once again you pull the phone away from your ear, Ransom rarely ever tells you he loves you. Sure he shows it, ok sometimes he does, but he rarely ever says it. He must feel really bad about how he treated you.

“Love you too, babe. Goodnight.” You hang up and set an alarm for 5 so you’ll have plenty of time to get ready. You put Friends on Netflix and drift off into a peaceful sleep.

You arrive at the bar with Ransom at around 6:50. Ransom helps you out of his Beemer and practically drags you inside. “Whoa, is there a fire? What’s the rush?” You say as you almost trip through the door.

He stops and looks back at you. “Sorry, Y/N.The last one to show up always has to pay the bill.” He turns his head and searches the bar for his friends.

“It’s not like you can’t afford it. Oh look there they are!” You smile and wave at them as you start walking towards the table. You actually don’t hate his friends entirely. Kyle is here with his girlfriend Kate and Todd is here with his fiancée Lily.

You quickly grab a seat next to Kate, she’s become a real good friend of yours. You wrap her in a hug. You say hi to everyone and turn to see Ransom standing there looking at you. “Hey babe, you gonna sit?”

“Yeah, just going to go get us some drinks first. What’s your poison tonight sweetheart?” He asks as he shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the back of the chair next to you.

“Hmmm. I think an amaretto sour sounds amazing.” You smile up at him and he nods and heads to the bar. You turn back to Kate. “So are we the last ones to arrive?”

She laughs. “Nope, we are still waiting for Zac to show up. So everyone can thank him for the drinks tonight!” You inwardly cringe. Zac was the one friend of Ransom’s you couldn’t stand. You thought Ransom was a trust fund prick baby. Nothing compared to Zac. He walked around assuming his shit didn’t stink. You had asked Ransom once why he was still friends with him and Ransom just shrugged and said he was his longest friend. Going all the way back to childhood. So you put up with him for your boyfriends sake.

Ransom comes back with your drinks at the same time Zac shows up. He greets everyone and settles down right across from you. “Hello, Y/N. Nice to see you again.” He gives you a wink that makes you try your best not to throw up in your mouth. Ransom puts his arm around you and starts talking with Zac about some sports team or something. You’re not quite sure. You turn your attention to Kate as you, her, and Lily get into a discussion about the current gossip of the town.

About 2 amaretto sours later and it was just you and Kate left at the table. Todd and Lily left around 9:30, needing to get home to relieve their babysitter. And the rest of the guys were currently playing pool.

“So how have you and Ransom been doing? I remember you said the last time you guys were fighting a lot.” Kate asks as she takes another sip of her third cosmo.

“We’re doing great actually. Not fighting as much. I’ve been staying over a lot. So you know we haven’t been sleeping that much.” You giggle as you take another sip. Kate giggles with you, knowing how insatiable Ransom can be what with all the stories you’ve told her.

“Not gotten kicked out of any more stores have you?” She teases. “Oh my god that was one time!” You groan. “And totally worth it.” You wink at her as you look towards the guys. Ransom looks up at you and bites his bottom lip. Uh oh. You know that look. The last time he looked at you like that, you ended up pinned between him and the bathroom wall. Not that you minded.

“I’ve gotta go to the bathroom, babe. I’ll be right back.” Kate tells you as she grabs her bag and heads towards the back of the bar where you know the restrooms to be. You grab your phone and start mindlessly scrolling through Insta.

You hear the chair pull out from beside you. “Well hello there gorgeous, why are you over here all by yourself?” You turn and see Zac leaning casually against the table, looking at you expectantly. “Oh, I’m just waiting on Kate to get back. Are you having fun playing pool?” You ask trying to be polite while silently praying he’ll leave you alone.

“Nah, they aren’t much fun to play against. I already kicked their asses.” He smirks as he scoots just the tiniest bit closer to you. You glance over at the pool table and see Kyle and Ransom hanging up their cues, getting ready to head back. You inwardly sigh in relief. “Well that’s nice.” You don’t really know what else to say to him.

Kyle and Ransom make their way back over and sit across from you and Zac. You smile at Ransom and try to silently tell him you’re ready to go. He just brushes you off and turns to Kyle, engaging him in another sports conversation. You roll your eyes and smile once you see Kate coming back.

“Hey boys, done playing already?” She wonders as she takes her seat back beside you. “We were tired of getting our asses kicked by Zac here.” Kyle jokingly says as he takes a swig of his beer. You get ready to turn back towards Kate when Zac puts a hand on your shoulder and leans closer.

“You know I’d let you ride my arm if you wanted hot stuff.” Your eyes immediately go wide as the table goes silent. You can’t seem to tear your gaze away from your hands. “What the hell Zac, that’s a fucking weird thing to say. Even for you.” Kate says disgustedly, glancing at you and seeing your expression.

“Well just ask her, it’s a fantasy of hers. One Ransom doesn’t want to participate in. So I thought I would offer up my services.” He starts chuckling, squeezing your shoulder a little harder. Kate looks at you with an odd expression. “What’s he talking about, Y/N? Is that really one of your fantasies?”

“That’s fucking weird.” You hear Kyle mutter under his breath. “What kind of freak are you dating, Ransom?” He turns towards Ransom with a chuckle. Ransom looks at him and starts chuckling himself. “I don’t know man, we were talking about fantasies the other night and she told me that was one of hers.”

You honestly couldn’t believe that he was sitting there talking to Kyle like you weren’t even in the room. You could feel the stupid tears start to well up. You had to get out of there before they fell. You push your chair back and grab your coat and purse. Ransom stands up with you. “Oh come on, baby. It’s funny! We can all laugh about this!”

You were having a hard time finding humor at your expense. You asked him specifically not to tell anybody and he fucking did it anyway. And to Zac of all people! God what an asshole.

You don’t even spare him another glance as you head for the entrance. “Y/n? Are you ok? You’d don’t deserve to be treated that way.” You turn around and see Kate standing there with a worried look on her face. “I’m fine, I just can’t be around him right now.” You see Ransom hurriedly coming toward you. “I’ve gotta go.”

You run outside and look around for a cab. Of course you don’t see any. “Y/N! Where are you going?” You start walking down the street. You know if you look back at him you’ll start crying. God what an asshole. You can’t believe he told your secret.

“Y/N! Will you stop acting like a bitch and come here so we can talk?” Oh, now you were pissed. You whip around and find him still a couple feet away from you. “Excuse me? I’m acting like a bitch? You’re the one who told your perverted friend my fantasy about you. What does that make you?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Oh my god why are you so upset about that? I told him because it’s fucking hilarious! My pathetic, dumb baby is so turned on by me she wants to hump my fucking arm. It’s one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard. Of course I had to tell someone!” He starts walking closer to you.

You take a step back for every step he takes towards you. “No Ransom it’s not fucking funny! You fucking asked me what fantasies I had and as my partner, I trusted you enough to tell you. I thought I could confide in you. That we shared something but clearly I was fucking wrong.”

“Dear god what is wrong, are you on the rag or something? Is that why you’re so upset?” He had at least stopped moving towards you.

Well that pissed you off even more. “Jesus fucking Christ. I’m dating a fucking child. Correction, WAS dating a child. Not any more I’m not!” You turn around and stomp down the street. Now more pissed than anything.

“Don’t you walk away from me, sweetheart!” He had now caught up to you and grabbed your arm, turning you towards him. “You don’t get to turn your back on this relationship!”

“What relationship Ransom! If I can’t trust you with a secret that I specifically told you not to tell anyone then what do we have? You promised you wouldn’t say anything. And on top of all that, you made me feel so stupid to even have those feelings in the first place!” You can feel the tears again. You yank your arm away.

“You expect me to not laugh and not make fun of your stupid fantasy when it’s something as stupid as humping my arm?” He throws his hands in the air, looking at you like you’re insane.

“Yes Ransom I do! Because I seem to remember a few months ago you confided in me that you wanted me to fuck you with a strap on and did I laugh or judge you? No!”

Ransom looks around wildly. “Jesus, will you shut the fuck up about that! I don’t want people knowing that!”

“Why not? It’s ok for you to judge me and make fun of me for a fantasy but it’s not ok for me to tell people YOU LIKE TO SOMETIMES GET FUCKED IN THE ASS?” You screamed the last part as loud as you could. Looking past him to see Kate laughing so hard that Kyle had to hold her up. Zac just gives you both a look of disgust.

“Fuck you, Y/n. We’re done!” Ransom turns around and starts walking away. “THANK GOD! AND HEY I WANT MY STRAP ON BACK.” You smirk triumphantly and head the opposite way down the street. Ready to go home and cry your frustrations out.

It’s been about 2 weeks since your whole ordeal with Ransom. According to Kate, he’s been miserable. Good that made you feel a bit better.

You hated that in spite of everything, you missed him. You were in love with him. Those feelings weren’t just going to go away anytime soon. He tried calling and texting you. You didn’t have the energy to answer.

You were currently working on your thesis when you hear a knock on your door. You get up and open it assuming it’s Kate. She had been checking on you every other day. Instead you meet the blue eyes of your ex.

“Hello, Hugh. What do you want?” You cross your arms over your chest and stand in the doorway so he can’t get inside.

You see him wince when you call him by his first name. “I just wanted to talk, Y/N. Can I come in? Please?” You stand your ground. “No, whatever you want to say to me you can say it here. Go ahead.” You raise your eyebrows expectantly. Waiting to see what pathetic excuse he has.

He sighs. And that’s when you look at him a little closer. His hair isn’t as neat as it usually is. His eyes are red. From crying or not sleeping, you can’t tell. Your resolve breaks just a little. “I just wanted to apologize. Do I have to do it from the hallway?”

You sigh and step aside, letting him in. “Fine, you have 5 minutes.” You tell him as you head towards the kitchen counter and lean against it.

He nods his head. “That’s fair. First off I just want to tell you how sorry I am. I’ve thought a lot about everything these past few weeks and I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m an asshole.”

“Wow it took you the full 2 weeks to realize that huh?” You knew you were being a bitch, you didn’t care. He deserved it.

“I deserved that too. But what I’m mostly sorry for is how I treated you. You were completely right. It wasn’t fair of me to make fun of your secret. And to tell Zac. Whom I’m no longer friends with by the way. Not after he hit on you like that.” He makes eye contact with you and cautiously takes a step forward.

“I’ve missed you so much, sweetheart. I should’ve come after you as soon as you turned away from me. I regret that the most. Because despite what you believe, I do love you, Y/N. So damn much. These past few weeks have been hell. I can’t sleep without feeling you next to me. I know I’m asking for a lot here but is there any way we can start over? It’s killing me not having you in my life. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I can't let you go. You’re too important.”

By now you have tears falling, but so does he. You’ve never seen him cry in front of you before. God you hate him! You don’t want to forgive him that easily but you also want to go and hug him and soothe him until he stops crying.

“I don’t know, Hugh. You really hurt me.”

“I know baby, I know. Let me make it up to you. I’ll never betray your trust again, I promise.” He puts his hand over his heart and stares at you hopefully.

You can feel your walls breaking down. Dammit.

“Okay Ransom. But this is the last time, I swear to God.”

You’ve never seen a smile that big grace his face. He strides towards you and grabs your face. “Thank you, baby. You won’t regret this.” He tilts his head until his lips are touching yours. You smile into the kiss and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him a bit closer. “You want to watch a movie with me?” You ask as you pull away.

He nods. “Anything you want, sweetheart.”

You head over to the couch together and get comfortable. You’re leaning into his side with his arm around your shoulders. You finally find a movie you think you’ll both enjoy and hit play.

You both last about 40 minutes before the making out starts. You started it. You couldn’t help it. It’s been 2 weeks too long. You’re now straddling him with your hands fisted in his hair. You grind down on his evident bulge and get a groan from him. He has his hands on your hips, moving you harder down on to him. “Baby, should we move this to the bedroom?” He whispers in your ear as he moves his lips down your neck. You quickly hop off of him and skip to the bedroom. Not even bothering to see if he’s following, knowing damn well he’s right behind you.

He turns and shuts your bedroom door and saunters over towards you. He grabs your hips and pulls you against him. He goes in for another kiss but you put your hand up to his mouth. He pulls back with a confused expression.

“You know if you’re really sorry, you’ll let me indulge in a fantasy.” You smirk up at him. “Oh yeah, what did you have in mind, beautiful girl?” He asks as he starts nipping at your neck. “I think you should let me tie you up and take advantage of you.” You giggle into his ear.

He pulls back away from your neck to look you in the eye. “Is that what you want? To tie me up so I can’t touch you? To ride my fat cock and take your pleasure from me?” You shiver in anticipation and nod your head enthusiastically. “Alright sweetheart, just to show you how sorry I am, I’ll let you tie me up.”

You jump up and down and clap your hands. “Ok, strip for me big guy.” You don’t wait around to watch, sadly. You head into your closet to find some scarves you can tie him up with.

You find some that you think are going to be sturdy enough and head back into the bedroom. You find Ransom sitting against your headboard, naked as the day he was born, stroking his enormous cock. You lick your lips at the sight. “See something you like, babygirl?” He smirks, knowing you do.

“Oh, you have no idea.” You head over and tell him to lay on his back. He obeys obediently and stretches his arms and legs out. You start by tying his feet to your four poster bed. Once you're confident he’s secure, you head over and start tying his left hand to the bed. Once you get it tied you ask him to try to break away. He does and is not able to. You head over and tie his right arm the same way as his left.

Once he’s all tied up you back away and gaze at your work. Nodding in satisfaction you make eye contact with him as you start slowly stripping. He bites his lip as he stares hungrily at each new body part that comes into view. “Fuck baby, I need you so bad.” You glance at his cock and see he’s standing proud and at attention for you.

“All in good time, handsome. I’ll make it worth your while, don’t you worry.” Once you get completely naked you grab your panties off the floor and crawl up and straddle him right above where he wants you most. “I don’t think you’ll really need to be talking” You let him know as you stuff your panties in his mouth. His lust blow eyes look amused at your sudden dominant side. He thinks you’re adorable pretending to be a dom.

You start by pressing kisses down his neck and slowly moving your hips until you’re right above his cock. You lower just enough so that you can grind your drenched pussy on him. He groans and pushes his hips up into you as best he can. You glance up at his restraints and see he’s pulling on them and trying to get free. And then your gaze moves down to his bulging arms. That’s when the lightbulb goes off in your head. You lean down until your mouth is at his ear. “Well I guess since you’re all tied up I can go ahead and fulfill my other fantasy.” You whisper as you climb off of him.

He looks confused and pissed. Until you straddle his right arm and smirk down at him. “I’m taking what I want from you, right?” He eagerly nods and flexes his muscles, making you groan out in the process.

It takes you a minute to comprehend you’re really straddling his arm. You’re getting what you wanted. This almost never happens. You start off with a slow grind. You are so fucking wet. You know you’re drenching his arm and it’s running to the sheets. You don’t care. You feel so empowered. The feel of the vein in his arm dragging across your clit is exquisite. You start grinding a little faster, a little harder.

“You like me taking what I want from you pretty boy?” You glance down at him and he’s just looking back at you with lust blown eyes. He nods his head. You look over at his cock, it’s angrily leaking precum. “You’re such a slut for my pussy aren’t you, Ransom? Getting all worked up at me riding your arm. What a whore.” You spat as you pick up your pace, smacking his face in the process. You earn a growl from him. You know you’re gonna cum soon. You can feel the coil tightening. You throw your head back and moan his name out loud, grabbing your breasts and pinching your nipples.

Ransom has never seen anything so erotic in his life. Why was he denying you this in the first place? He doesn't remember. He’s so entranced watching you get yourself off on his bicep. He has to stop himself from coming.

It’s there, you feel it. You grab a fistful of his hair and grind down just a little harder and you feel the coil snap. You come so hard, your legs are shaking, screaming Ransom’s name. You have to grab onto his chest to keep yourself upright.

You glance down and see that he’s breathing heavily, cock leaking cum. “Awe does my poor pussy slut need to come?” You tease, letting your breathing calm down before you crawl towards his cock, ready to let him blow his load in your mouth.

You lower your mouth and kitten lick the very tip of his cock causing a loud growl to erupt from his chest. You are about to stuff him down your throat when a thought occurs to you. You sit back on your knees and look over at him. He’s looking back at you with an incredulous look on his face. “You know, I don’t really think you’re quite sorry enough yet for what you did to me. I think you need to lay here and think about it some more.” You tell him as you get off the bed and grab for your clothes. You start redressing and glance back at him.

He’s beyond pissed. He’s trying his hardest to pull at the scarves to break free. He’s yelling at you. It’s all mumbled around your panties that are still lodged in his mouth.

You head over to the door and open it. You turn around before leaving the room completely and look back at the pathetic man tied to your bed. “Maybe next time you want to laugh at one of my fantasies, you’ll remember this moment, Hugh.” You smirk about to close the door behind you. Ransom must have gotten the panties out of his mouth because the next thing you know, you’re being yelled at.

“Don’t you dare take another step, Y/N, you bitch! Get the fuck back here and untie me you fucking cunt!” You just close the door and laugh and head to your couch seeing that Netflix is still pulled up. You pick your favorite episode of Friends out and settle in. You turn it up to drown out Ransom who is still rudely yelling at you. You smirk to yourself and decide you’re going to leave him tied up for at least a couple of episodes.

#chris evans #chris evans smut #smut #shamelesshoesforchris #ransom thrombey smut #ransom drysdale #ransom x y/n #Cici91 writes

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jaskiersvalley · 3 years

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CW major character injury (beartrap)

Splitting up for winter seemed like the most sensible idea. Geralt would head north with Ciri and, at his insistence at not leaving his muse, Jaskier. Meanwhile Regis would lead the others south, down to Touissant for a bit of downtime. Privately Geralt also hoped their infuriatingly stubborn Nilfgaardian shadow would opt to head for the warmer climates and leave them alone. It wasn't even that Geralt was worried about the man following them. Over the weeks it had become abundantly clear that he was trying to help in his own way, even fighting off a stray bandit or two to keep their tail clean. Rather, Geralt simply couldn't be bothered to exert the energy to get to know yet another person and it was another mouth to feed. Given his rather solitary nature, the fact he was travelling with a ragtag bunch was already quite exhausting.

As luck would have it, Geralt ended up with the Nilfgaardian trailing after them, heading steadily north. The weather got colder and sometimes Geralt caught the whiff of another camp fire, creeping a little closer as it that small lessening of distance would give their tail a smidgeon more warmth. It was pathetic and Geralt was more than a little pissed off. Still, at least the trip up to Kaer Morhen would lose him. Nobody was foolish enough to try and reach the old keep alone, even Witchers succumbed to the trail, a human by himself stood no chance. So either their foolhardy idiot would find shelter for the winter in the surrounding villages or he would perish.

They were at the bottom of the mountain, one last night to get some rest before they braved the slopes. Jaskier and Ciri definitely needed sleep and to give their bodies a break. Geralt was content to meditate, keeping them safe. In the distance he could hear their Nilfgaardian make camp, daring to stray as close as he ever had. Frustrated, Geralt found himself wishing that a bear would appear and deal with the annoyance for him. Alas, he couldn't hear or smell a bear in the region despite the villages mentioning that there had been some bears sighted earlier in the year. Thankfully the local hunters had taken care of them. Lost in thought, Geralt almost didn't register the sound of something snapping shut before a pained cry echoed in the forest. Immediately he was up, sword in hand while Jaskier was on his feet too, looking around in the darkness.

In the distance Geralt could hear pained hitches of breath plus a few agonised grunts. Whatever had happened, it wasn't the swift death he'd wished on the Nilfgaardian. There wasn't anyone or anything else in the vicinity so whatever had happened, the idiot did to himself. Probably stabbed himself with an arrow in the dark. Despite all his ill-wishes, Geralt couldn't bring himself to ignore someone in trouble.

"It's the Nilfgaardian. He's in trouble."

There wasn't any argument when he set off, Jaskier and Ciri behind him, treading carefully, a flaming torch lighting their way. Geralt almost wished they hadn't had the torch because then he wouldn't have had to see the scene in front of him in full colour. The Nilfgaardian was on the ground at the edge of a small clearing where he'd obviously planned on making camp. However, the stench of blood around him suggested that something hadn't gone according to plan. Walking up to him, Geralt watched as the man realised he wasn't alone and jerked upright. A beartrap kept him rooted though. His hands were bloody, even worse, his palms had been cut open from where he'd obviously tried to pry the metal from his leg. What struck Geralt though was just how young the man looked. Wide blue eyes stared up from shock paled skin, lips almost white enough to be missed. Only slightly older than Ciri, probably about twenty, Geralt couldn't fathom why someone so young was so desperate.

"You'll need to keep still while we get this off," Geralt said, crouching down. The young man tried to scramble away but aside from leaning back, he couldn't go anywhere. "Why don't we help with the pain a bit?" Hand raised, Geralt prepared to cast axii. Before he could, a rock connected with the man's temple and knocked him out cold as Jaskier stood behind him, hand wrapped around the lightly bloodied rock.

"That will keep him still and out of it," he declared. "It was the kindest thing."

"Or you could have let me use axii to keep him calm." Geralt tipped the man's head to the side to check how badly the rock had split his skin. It was going to give him quite the bruise, possibly a black eye and one hell of a headache. Still, it did made life easier and Geralt pried the trap off. It had snapped in bone deep, probably even broke his leg. Humans were fragile like that and the trap was meant for a bear. Sighing, Geralt looked around the miserable excuse of a half made camp. It screamed of skills learned on the fly, for the sole purpose of survival rather than something practiced in safety before being put into reality. "Grab his things. We'll head up to Kaer Morhen tomorrow and take him with us."

They had more in the way of bandages with them and, while the man was unconscious, Geralt did his best to clean the wounds, splint the leg and bandage it as well as the cuts on his hands. There wasn't much to be done for the headache of the future though.

In the morning Geralt roused from his meditation to find a pair of blue eyes staring at him.

"You going to make an example of me and kill me?" The accent was harsh despite the soft voice. It wasn't what Geralt had expected coming out of the man's mouth.

"Yeah, I wasted all the bandages on you just for that. Name's Geralt."

"Cahir Mawr Dyrryn aep Ceallach."

"Quite the mouthful. Cahir alright with you?" The nod was answer enough and Geralt set about getting breakfast ready. It was only thanks to the events of the previous night that he kept an eye out for more beartraps and avoided falling victim to one himself. He set it off with a stick and winced as it splintered under the metal jaws.

Despite their best efforts, by the time they'd loaded Cahir onto the cart strapped to Roach, his cheeks were flushed with fever and Geralt could smell the sickness on him. The valiant effort to get to know his new travelling companions better was foiled by the way Cahir kept drifting off, a combination of sickness and from the hit to the head. When he woke, it was only Jaskier's quick grab to the back of his shirt that kept Cahir on the cart as he threw up over the side.

It wasn't looking good. The first night they stopped, Geralt helped rebandage Cahir's injured leg. As the cloth fell away, it became amply evident that infection had thoroughly set in. The cuts were an angry red without defined edges to the inflammation while the wounds themselves were puckered with puss.

"It's fine," Cahir tried to reassure with a wobbly smile. "I've survived worse." Which may have been true but he'd probably also been in a place with better medical supplies. The gnarly scar below his collarbone and through to his back attested to his words but Geralt didn't think it was caused by an old, rusty beartrap. If they didn't make it to Kaer Morhen soon then no amount of surviving worse injuries was going to mean anything.

Come next morning Cahir was no longer quite so chirpy. He was still and silent on the cart, Ciri sat next to him and sometimes gesturing for Geralt to look, worried that Cahir had stopped breathing. He hadn't but his deathly pale complexion wasn't giving Geralt much hope. They were still at least a day and a half out from Kaer Morhen, maybe even two because of the additional weight on the cart.

A fever peaked and fell in cycles, each time Geralt hoped it would be the last but, before long, he reached to feel Cahir's skin and winced at how hot to the touch it felt once more.

By the time they made it up to Kaer Morhen, Geralt feared it would be just a corpse for a funeral pyre that they'd be dragging in. By some miracle it wasn't. With Eskel's help he pulled Cahir off the cart, floppy as unresponsive as he was, there was still air in his lungs and an erratic heartbeat in his chest.

"What did you bring us this time?" Lambert teased before getting a better look and his grin turned into a frown. "Well shit. I'll get Vesemir."

It took three days before Cahir was declared out of immediate danger. Geralt spent a lot of it down in the infirmary, sitting next to him. The others could start Ciri's training and Jaskier was no doubt pleased to get to spend time with Eskel again. It left Geralt in the quiet, watching over someone who he had convinced himself he hated. But this wasn't the person he'd conjured up in his mind. Barely older than Jaskier had been when they met, Cahir didn't look like he had any youthful optimism or naivety.

"I'm sorry." Geralt murmured, watching as Cahir slept, breath a little less thready. He should have been better. Shouldn't have judged, not when he was on the other end of so much of it himself.

By the time Cahir roused, everyone had settled into their winter routine. Ciri trained most days, reading tomes Vesemir left her when it got too cold for the outside obstacle course. It left Geralt free to sit with Cahir, watching as glazed eyes opened, unseeing. The worst thing was, not once did Cahir cry out for someone or reach for an invisible source of comfort. In all his years Geralt rarely found someone so lonely. Even Lambert, in his training days, had called out for his mother and, of late, for Aiden. It was a struggle to believe Cahir had nobody.

"Why?" The first word from cracked dry lips and Geralt jumped. He grabbed a wet rag and dabbed it against Cahir's lips, squeezing a little water into his mouth.

"Why what?" There were a lot of questions Cahir could have and Geralt wasn't a mind reader. He startled when a weak hand clasped around his wrist, keeping his hand close. It felt all too natural to take the rag in his other hand so he could cup Cahir's sunken cheek.

"You stayed."

Something told Geralt this wasn't something Cahir had encountered before and it broke his heart. Why nobody would stick around for him was baffling. Even a Witcher had more people looking out for him, he was certain. He cleared his throat, trying to think about why he stayed. It was true, he had no reason to. "I wanted to."

The soft 'oh' from Cahir pulled at something in his chest. He let Cahir tangle their fingers together shyly, looking up at him from the infirmary bed with so much awe and gratitude, Geralt didn't know what to do with it. So he sat back down into his chair and kept holding Cahir's hand. There was a lot of talking, of getting to know each other in their future. But, for now, Geralt was content to offer whatever comfort he could, vowing to be better than all those who had come before him.

#cahir/geralt #geralt of rivia #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #cw: major character injury #tldr: cahir is injured and taken to kaer morhen

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im-just-a-random-fandom-girl · 2 years

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having a really hard time rn and just need to rant so i’m posting below the cut

having my worst couple weeks in a good 6 months or so. my anxiety is off the charts, and when my anxiety is bad, so is my depression. i’ve gotten into at least 1 argument per day with my mom, and a couple days ago got into 4. i feel like she’s suffocating me. i love her, but she’s always been overly protective and has strong opinions. college has given me the opportunity to dress how i want and do what’s best for me with my schedule without worrying that she’ll judge me or get angry with me for whatever reason. i’ve cried myself to sleep more nights than not. i’ve only been home a week and a half.

i also just feel very alone and not cared about right now. i’ve barely seen my sisters since getting home, and i was so excited to see them. they still have school, but i hardly spend time with them after they get home or on the weekends. with my youngest, it makes sense. she has final projects and tests right now, so she’s been busy with work. but any down time she has is spent with friends instead. like today, she obviously wasn’t going to do homework on a friday when she has a long weekend. but she invited her friend over to watch stranger things instead. i love stranger things and would have loved to watch it with her, but she chose her friend that she sees every day over me, her sister that she hasn’t seen in months. my middle sister still has to go to school, but she’s done with classes because she’s a senior. she has no homework, and still, i barely see her. she’s either in her room doing god knows what, or hanging out with people from school. mind you, this makes no goddamn sense because she hates her grade. she’s jumped around more friend groups than i can count, and can’t wait to go to college. it doesn’t make sense. i have friends from home, but not everyone is home this summer. everyone who is works, and the distance makes it even more difficult to see anyone. i went to a private school 30 mins away, so my friends live all over the place. i don’t know anyone from my home town really

basically, with my high anxiety and depression, i can’t function well enough to motivate myself to do anything that might help alleviate some stress, like drawing or reading or music. so i sit around, and try not to get into arguments with my mom, which just means doing a shit ton of work around the house. washing dishes, doing laundry, more dishes, walk the dog, make us all lunch, more dishes, talk to my grandma (who berates me about “not speaking spanish well” even though my spanish is very good, despite some mistakes, and claims that my youngest sister speaks better spanish than me even though her spanish is crap, AND says that my cousin can speak and understand spanish even though he doesn’t understand A SINGLE WORD i kid you not), go to the grocery store, pick up my sisters, help make dinner, walk the dog, do more dishes, and then spend the rest of the night alone.

to top it all off, i’m turning 20 on monday and i don’t think we are doing anything to celebrate. a lot of attention has been on my middle sister, and rightly so! she’s graduating high school on saturday, her prom is on thursday, she went to another prom yesterday, today she did the senior 6 flags trip, etc etc. but it also hurts. my senior year of high school was 2020. i didn’t get any of this stuff. i left from spring break and that was the last time i saw my grade. we had a graduation, but it was social distanced, and not everyone could be there. only my parents were allowed to come. i missed all of the senior year traditions that i was so so so looking forward to. i’m not jealous or angry, i just feel a little sad and some longing for what was lost. i’m just feeling very vulnerable and no one seems to notice or care. and the sting is worse because, like i said, it’s my birthday on monday and hardly anyone has given it a single thought.

idk. i feel stupid and lost and alone and i don’t know what to do.

#sara stupidity #long post #just ranting sorry

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demaury · 4 years

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open your heart (and let me know you want me here)

9k / friends to lovers / ao3 link

Here is the thing. When he started making that list, he was never planning on his best friend checking pretty much all the boxes right off the bat.

or; a childhood friends to lovers au

1- Someone who makes me feel something. Butterflies and fireworks and all that shit.

He’s fifteen when it happens, and as most things it doesn’t look like much of a big deal at first. It’s a Wednesday afternoon, and although it should be a regular one like so many others, there’s something unique in the fact that he’s sitting on the navy-blue carpeted floor of his bedroom, trying to figure out a math problem, while Eliott is humming to himself and scrolling down his phone on his bed. The setting isn’t what makes it all new, and much less Eliott’s presence — he’s actually one of the very few constants of his life, ever since the Demaurys moved across the street about a million years ago.

What makes it all new, scary, a bit foreign, is that it’s the first time they hang out, since he told Eliott he liked boys. Which- Okay, coming out to Eliott was really not the problem, really, it never was. He wasn’t… He wasn’t scared that Eliott would take it the wrong way, you know, he wasn’t scared that all of a sudden Eliott would start looking back at him with disgust, that’s not what it was about. He just… He just didn’t know how to word it out. When would be the right time, and if there would ever be one — but turns out there had been one. About a week ago, he and Eliott had been texting late at night, and when the conversation had drifted onto Lucille, more specifically Eliott’s lifelong crush on her — it’s not quite the truth, but two years feel a lot like two lifetimes when you think about it —, Eliott had jokingly suggested that Lucas should get himself someone too so they could go on double dates, once she finally agrees to acknowledge him.

(He doesn’t know why it’s taking her so long, and if he’s being honest, he’s a bit prejudiced against her because of this exact reason.)

Naturally, because old habits die hard, his first instinct had been to deflect. I’m not 45 yet, double dates sound boring as fuck, he almost wrote back, but at the last second he had erased all the words and went for Pretty sure I wouldn’t need you to make a fool of myself in front of my very hypothetical boyfriend instead. There had been a few agonizing minutes spent staring at the ceiling after that, phone turned screen down onto his mattress, while he nervously chewed onto his bottom lip with his stomach in knots; in the meantime, Eliott had flooded their conversation with offended texts, because ‘oh, so you just think you can keep me away from him??? That’s sweet’, and just like that, Lucas had felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Eliott asks excitedly, jumping in a sitting position so fast it makes the bedsprings creaks loudly, and Lucas hums in response, still frowning at his math problem without bothering to look back. He loves Eliott, he really does, but that boy has about a million things crossing his mind at all times of the day (and night), so he’s long given up on the idea of giving him his undivided attention every single time something like this happens. “What would you want him to look like?”

Lucas’ hands hover over his equation result for a moment as he blankly stares at his page in confusion, but then he throws a look above his shoulder, and he finds Eliott expectantly looking at him. “What? Who?”

“Your hypothetical boyfriend,” Eliott supplies, his smile widening when Lucas huffs and shakes his head.

“Don’t you think I have better things to think about right now?”, he groans, his attention drifting back onto his homework. He feels like he’s been twisting his brain over this for hours, and it’s not like he can possibly ask Eliott anything on the matter, because he may be two years older, when it comes to math he’s about as useless as a glass hammer.

“Better than thinking about the man of your dreams?”, Eliott gasps, and Lucas is about to tell him that this is all becoming extra cheesy for something that has no actual basis whatsoever when he adds: “You can’t find him if you don’t have an idea of what you’re looking for.”

“Because he’s going to suddenly show up, out of nowhere, just because I started picturing… I don’t know, some abs and a vaguely undefined hair color?”, Lucas snorts. He doesn’t make a habit of asking Eliott to be serious, because well, it’s Eliott, he’s got his head in the clouds a fair share of the time, but, like, come on.

But instead of picking his phone back up and moving onto another topic, one that doesn’t require Lucas’ participation at the very least, Eliott lets out an appreciative noise. “So you are picturing something, good start. Abs and… what’s the hair color again?”

Naturally, Lucas ends up smacking Eliott with his textbook — or at least trying to, because despite Eliott professing a lifelong hatred of sports of most, if not all kinds, he’s surprisingly quick and agile like a giant cat —, and, eventually, his idiot best friend agrees to leave it at that. Which would have been terrific, really, if his brain had agreed to do the same.

But later, much later, when it’s already dark outside and Eliott has been gone for hours, he finds himself thinking about it — that stupid, stupid idea. He can’t help but wonder, what if he’s right? What if he never finds anyone because he just doesn’t know what he’s looking for? Eliott has been crushing on Lucille for two years, but Lucas can’t even remember ever crushing on anyone. There’s never been anyone who made his stomach flutter, who made his mind go blank, who made his thoughts swirl around. There’s never been anyone who made his knees go weak, or turned his stomach to mush.

And maybe, as he keeps thinking about all the feelings everyone always talks about that he never got to experience, maybe that’s when he starts making it — maybe a couple of yearning thoughts are already the beginning of a list.

9- Someone who gives a shit

“How do they fit?” Eliott shouts from behind the bathroom door, and before Lucas has the time to reply he immediately adds, speech rate quickening like the words are tumbling down from his lips: “Because I’m pretty sure I can find something else.”

Lucas throws a glance at his sad reflection in the mirror, catching sight of the tee-shirt falling down mid-thighs and the shorts reaching below his knees; clearly not his best look, he thinks halfheartedly, flattening a couple of strands sticking up at weird angles at the back of his head. It’s only because he doesn’t want his best friend to take the door down that he ends up unlocking the door and stepping out of the bathroom.

“It’s fine, that will do,” Lucas mumbles, because honestly, he’s already crashing at the Demaurys’, it’s not like he can afford to be picky at the moment.

Eliott is standing in the doorway of his bedroom, and he gives him a sympathetic look — warm and gentle, honey-like in sweetness if not in color. “Good,” he nods, a nice smile stretching out on his lips as he slips into his bedroom.

Lucas follows him, shutting the door behind himself. Eliott vaguely smooths his comforter before climbing onto his bed. “What do you want to watch?”

Lucas twists his mouth a little, and for a moment he feels a bit lost without quite being able to tell why. He’s standing in this room he knows by heart, but still, it feels weird and alien. He uncomfortably rubs an invisible spot on his arm as he tries to process what’s different about it all. They’ve done that hundreds of times, he’s spent some of the best afternoons of his childhood and teenage years in Eliott’s house, in Eliott’s bedroom even, but…

But he’s never done that.

He’s never slammed the door after one too many fights and straight-up imposed himself at the Demaurys’, and judging by Eliott’s demeanor ever since he showed up, soaked wet from the rain outside, he knows he feels it too — it’s weird. It’s different. It’s not the usual excitement floating in the air.

“I don’t really feel like watching anything right now,” he confesses, fiddling with the hem of Eliott’s way-too-long tee-shirt. He’s just tired, he’s heard so much yelling today it’s like his ears are ringing.

“Oh, yeah, no, it’s fine,” Eliott says quickly. He pats the spot next to him until Lucas caves and joins him. “I just thought you might… I don’t know, like a distraction.”

“Being here is enough, don’t worry,” he says, maneuvering himself on the mattress before folding his legs against his chest, and honestly, he wishes that were true, he really does.

Because Eliott is Eliott, and he really doesn’t want his friend to feel bad about him any more than he already does — so Lucas does as he usually tries to do. He tries to shove it all as far down as possible, in the smallest corner of his brain, where it doesn’t hurt as much. He tries not to think about the fact that tomorrow is another day, that eventually he will have to come back home, and how much he doesn’t want that. He tries not to think that Eliott’s tee-shirt feels soft against his skin, and that even if it’s the weirdest sleepover they’ve ever had, even if something feels off, he still feels a thousand times better here than he does at home.

Eliott crosses his legs, and leans forward to reach for a pair of earbuds on his nightstand. “How about some music? You can choose whatever you want.”

Lucas’ eyes travel a few times between Eliott’s eyes and the earbud that is offered to him, and he picks up with a small huff. “Alright, okay.”

Eliott makes a small, content sound, like it makes him genuinely happy to spend the night with his grumpy self, listening to songs that aren’t even remotely close to his personal taste — and maybe Lucas goes along with it. Maybe he’s selfish like that, but this one night, he just gets along with it. He lets soft piano music soothe his mood a bit, slowly lulling him into sleep until his head gets too heavy and he has to drag himself to the guest mattress that has been set up for him like so many times before.

Crossing the street to go back home, that too he’s done a million times, but not often with that weird gut-feeling of walking right into a no man’s land. His dad’s car is nowhere to be seen, and the silence is deafening as he pads through the silent house. He shuffles upstairs to change before school, going about his morning routine with a weird tension lodged between his shoulder blades, his head too full of thoughts, and he’s shoving a biology textbook into his backpack when he sees it. It’s a DVD — Ratatouille. It’s, embarrassingly enough, one of those movies he could watch over and over again without ever tiring of it, and obviously Eliott knows, obviously, because they’ve watched it so many times since they were kids, and who else would have put it in there?

His mouth twists into half a smile when he picks up the DVD, a bright yellow sticky note on the front of the box. Everything is always better on Blu-ray, I promise ✳

11- Someone who fucking sticks around and doesn’t leave when things go to shit

A Blu-ray isn’t enough to make it all better, as it turns out, but Lucas surely appreciates Eliott’s gesture for what it is, and all those that follow later, when his family situation goes from bad to worse to terrible. He’s never made a habit of setting a stupid list of resolutions with every new year, but this time, and this time only, he’s resolved to stop thinking about that fucking new year. At best he’s allowing himself to laugh it off. Divorced parents? Funny as hell. Mom in a psychiatric ward? Hilarious. Family house on sale? Hysterical. They’re cruising around the near-empty supermarket, aimlessly going from one aisle to the next as Lucas picks up random stuff to drop them into the cart Eliott is pushing. It’s another Wednesday, it’s lunchtime, and he knows there’s nothing to eat at home, because there’s been no one to go grocery shopping for him.

“So what are you guys planning for tomorrow?”, he asks distractedly.

Just because he’s single doesn’t mean he’s clueless about the ways of those who aren’t — and he knows that tomorrow night is a big deal for Eliott, long before they even take left and stumble onto a sea of sugary pink and velvety red. An aisle has been pushed to the side at the center of the store to clear some more space for Valentine’s Day displays. The racks are filled with chocolates of all kinds and flavors, heart-wearing Teddy Bears, gifts, cards and even plastic flowers, but Eliott doesn’t really seem to pay attention to anything. Which, in itself, isn’t that surprising. He’s been dating Lucille for three months now, ever since they got paired together for some oral presentation at school and that it finally opened her eyes at how wonderful Eliott is, so Lucas doesn’t really expect his best friend to go for the first generic box of chocolates he finds.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Eliott says evasively, following Lucas when he walks past the Valentine’s Day area. “We haven’t talked about it much yet.”

Lucas hums. “It’s your first Valentine’s Day,” he points out distractedly, eyes skimming over various cereal brands, and he ends up reaching for a Crunch box that he drops into the cart, “I’d have expected you to buy balloons and a giant Teddy Bear or something.” Or simply to show up at Lucille’s window with a boombox, he almost adds, but he keeps it in just in time. Eliott doesn’t need any bad idea of that kind. Judging by his musical taste, it’s frankly better for everyone, starting with Lucille’s parents’ neighbors.

He hears Eliott toying with the shopping cart chain. “Luce’s kinda busy. Her parents are on her case with the BAC and all,” he says, and Lucas gives him a look, from his spot at the end of the aisle, that makes Eliott’s eyebrows shoot up innocently. “What?”

“Why are you lying?”, Lucas asks, squinting his eyes a little.

Eliott scoffs, but it comes out wrong — off-key. “I’m not lying.”

He’s definitely lying, Lucas thinks bluntly, and he rolls his eyes to himself. His best friend is so painfully transparent that he should probably be grateful about it, he should probably be happy that he’s able to read him like an open book, but instead he hates that Eliott doesn’t seem to have any clue when it comes down to it — it makes it even more annoying whenever he tries to lie to his face. “You are,” he retorts with a pointed stare. “What’s up? I thought you’d be over the moon or something.”

Eliott squirms behind the cart, his hands awkwardly drumming along the handle. “Oh, no I am, truly,” he says quickly, “I just thought we could… I don’t know, maybe go watch a movie or something. You and I.”

And there we go, Lucas thinks, and it’s like a weight is dropped onto his shoulders, making them slump with an inaudible woosh. There’s a pang inside his chest, and it’s not a big one, it’s not a breath-altering one, not those that make you want to curl into a ball and cry, it’s just the kind of sting that reminds you of a sore spot. A bruise still a little tender, a scar still noticeable.

“Are you asking me out, Demaury?” he snickers, trying to deflect the sudden change in the atmosphere, but he already knows it’s useless because he can’t be the only one going for it — they both have to play the same game, and he already knows Eliott isn’t willing to.

“I just think you might want some company,” Eliott says with a nice smile, and although Lucas loves that smile, he really does, this time it just doesn’t work.

“I’m fine,” he replies briskly, and he pulls sharply at the end of the shopping cart to move it forward. It’s a petty gesture that seems to startle Eliott, and he immediately feels bad about it. “Your girlfriend doesn’t need you to worry about me, she needs you to fuss over her.”

“But I-”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

Eventually Eliott nods, muttering a small ‘right’, and Lucas has to pretend he doesn’t want to rush out of here, lunch be damned. He hates it, he hates when Eliott is like this, and hates even more that it’s because of him. They walk through the store for a few more minutes, mostly in silence, only occasionally making a small comment or two about things they see on their way to the cash registers. Eliott starts filling the reusable shopping bags Lucas retrieves from his backpack while he pays a ridiculous amount of money for his purchases, and then they’re off.

“Hey,” Lucas mumbles pitifully as they reach the bus stop at the end of the parking lot. “I… I’m sorry if I was rude. I really appreciate what you do for me, everything, it’s just… I’m just trying to hold it together.” He looks away, tracing a weird line in the concrete from the tip of his shoe to avoid Eliott’s eyes.

“It’s okay, I shouldn’t be pushy,” Eliott says, and there’s the faint trace of a smile in his voice. He leans down to squeeze the shopping bag he’s holding between his feet. “But I want you to know I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere, so whenever you feel like talking… I’m here.”

It takes Lucas a few seconds to look up, and there’s something so soft and gentle into Eliott’s expression that it makes something melt into his chest almost instantly. He finds himself mirroring Eliott’s smile, albeit lamely — not quite as beautiful, not quite as warm, not quite as reassuring. He finds himself thinking about what Eliott just said for a while, as they hop into the bus and make their way home one stop after the other. He's not going to accept his offer for Valentine's Day, because if anyone deserves to be taken care of on that special day, it's Eliott's girlfriend. But still. Maybe, someday, he can manage to find someone who just doesn't leave.

15- Someone who feels like home

It’s a long while before he thinks about the list again — he doesn’t even know where it is, but he guesses moving abroad for a semester tends to do that to you. He’s in his second year of uni when he jumps on the Erasmus offer, and between paperwork and packing up and unpacking and settling down and trying to, maybe, eventually, meet some new people to make the next three months of his life somewhat relevant on a human level, he doesn’t have much time to think about whether or not he’s going to meet the man of his dreams at the next street corner, much less whether or not he checks an inordinate amount of criteria.

Frankly, it’s not that big of a deal. Lucas has never been excessively hopeful about it in the first place, so he can’t really say it’s something that requires a lot of self-discipline. Occasionally Eliott brings it up over text or FaceTime, because he’s an idiot like that, and he’s his best friend, so of course he considers it his double duty to bring up that kind of corny, embarrassing prospect.

“I don’t know, he’s kinda cute in a way,” Lucas says one day, roughly two weeks after landing in Oslo, about some guy he’s met at a party. He’s dutifully sent Eliott his Instagram handle for approval, and for the past few minutes they’ve been going through his publications over FaceTime, like they’re back in Lucas’ old bedroom, with Eliott on his bed and Lucas sitting on the floor.

“He looks fifteen,” Eliott replies unhelpfully, snickering a little. “Didn’t know it was a turn-on of yours. Did that one make the cut?”

“Shut up,” Lucas scoffs, and he regrets not being able to send something in Eliott’s face in retaliation. Besides, he looks barely his age himself, it’s not like he’s in a position to comment about someone else’s appearance — something Eliott promptly dismisses as soon as Lucas points it out, because ‘Lucas, don’t expect me to tell you you’re not ridiculously attractive’, and he’s vain enough to take the compliment without arguing.

After that, well, he goes back to not thinking about it.

Final terms are rolling around and he crams for it, and before he can even catch a breath, it’s already the end of the semester and Christmas is right at the corner. He lands back in France three days before Christmas Eve, and of course he crashes at Eliott’s, because he hasn’t spoken to his father in nearly four months and a half, so it’s not like he even has options to choose from — but he has to admit, it feels nice, knowing he’s going somewhere he’s wanted. Eliott has been buzzing over it for weeks now, making plans for movie nights and places to go and people to see, so much that Lucas almost forgot to be sad about leaving Oslo.

“I’m so fucking happy to have you back,” Eliott says excitedly, voice a little too loud in the narrow stairwell leading up to his third-floor one-bedroom flat, and he’s so eager that he ends up bumping Lucas’ suitcase a couple of times between the stairs, the wall and the banister.

“Jeez, calm down,” Lucas huffs, “the whole neighborhood doesn’t have to know I’m here, thanks.”

Eliott opens the door of his flat with a nudge from his shoulder, not looking even remotely sorry. “Well, that’s just the beginning if we get a place together,” he singsongs, and Lucas shakes his head a little — but deep down, he loves it. His cheeks are hurting from smiling, and he feels his shoulders relax instantly as soon as he crosses the threshold. Nothing has changed since he left last summer. Not that he expected it to, but it’s always nice. In the small, cramped living room, Eliott has already prepared a pillow and a comforter, carefully folded to the side of the couch, and it’s not even that late (not even 10), and the flight wasn’t even long (not even three hours), but Lucas already feels very compelled into dropping himself there and wrapping himself into the blanket — so he does just that. He quickly nibbles on a leftover sandwich he bought at the airport in Oslo, while Eliott excitedly rambles about some renting options he’s seen here and there, and then he quickly sets up his bed.

His best friend is sweet enough not to make fun of him for it, and when he flips off the light on his way out of the living room with a cheerful ‘sweet dreams’, Lucas doesn’t think, for one second, he can love him more than that.

“How about this?” Eliott grins triumphantly as he turns the lion plushie he had growing up in his direction. Lucas isn’t sure, but he thinks it might have been supposed to look like Simba, before he proceeded to drag it everywhere with him until the color irrevocably turned a dirty mix of greenish-yellow and grey. “Don’t you miss him?”

Lucas huffs, shaking his head, and he turns back to busy himself with a heavy storage box filled with what looks like bedsheets and drapes of various kinds. “I’m way past needing plushies, thanks,” he snorts, reaching for the plastic lid of the box to replace it in its dusty corner.

They’ve been here for about twenty minutes, in the storage unit where most of his and his mom’s stuff are neatly piled up in, and although he initially thought that this would be easy, because ‘C’mon, it’s just a storage unit, it’s not Versailles in there’, turns out there are lots and lots of things to search through. He doesn’t regret bringing Eliott along, to be honest; it takes at least two to make their way around all the stuff, and at least Eliott can reach the upper shelves. At first they had started renting the unit to store his mom’s things away after the divorce, but when Lucas moved to Norway, he couldn’t afford to pay both the student lodging and rent at his old flatshare simultaneously, so he was forced to give up his spot over there and to store his things here in the meantime.

“Have you no heart?” Eliott gasps, and when Lucas turns back, he’s pouting as he gives the plushie a sad look. “We’re definitely watching Toy Story tonight.”

Lucas rolls his eyes fondly with a scoff, and eventually, after another moment of staring, Eliott agrees to put the lion back into whatever cardboard or plastic box he found it and to move the fuck on. In the meantime, Lucas moves over to another stash of smaller plastic boxes, still looking for the clothes he left behind before Oslo, but it’s not long before Eliott makes another sound, that has Lucas’ head whipping around.

“Hey, remember this game?” he asks, grinning as he waves a version of Risk. “God I miss that old peasant woman who told us off whenever we would be beating up people.”

“Dark Eliott was really a formative experience, but don’t ever end up on the wrong side of the tracks, thanks,” Lucas snickers in his corner, taking the lid off one of the boxes before he starts rummaging through its content. There’s a bit of everything in there, from old assignments to a snapback, pictures, a couple of textbooks, and as he keeps digging through it all, Eliott huffs something he doesn’t quite catch.

It’s during that overall quiet and regular afternoon that the list makes its comeback into Lucas’ life, after months of barely giving it a thought, and maybe at least a year of not adding another entry; it slips out from an old Annabac textbook when he picks it up from the box. The fold is a little wrong and the corner slightly crumpled, and for a second he contemplates just shoving it back at the bottom box, because he’s really not in the mood to entertain that kind of ridiculously hopeful thoughts for a better future or whatever, but in the end there’s a weird kind of curiosity that pushes him to open it.

Just a quick look, he thinks, discreetly peering above his shoulder to find Eliott busy in the opposite corner. The list has a total of 54 entries, ranking from thoughtful to shallow to frankly depressing at times. A wry smile shows up on his lips at entry #4: he gotta be tall because I’m not spending my life climbing ladders to change light bulbs. Or even better, the entry #9: someone who makes me laugh so hard I cry — it has something terribly soft to it, almost… pure.

The entry #29 is entirely Eliott’s fault, he knows it right off the bat: not too many tattoos thanks. It’s crossed, because shortly afterwards Eliott got his first tattoo for some obscure reason, and despite Lucas’ adamant protests, his best friend insisted that he accompanied him to the parlor for the big day — and then he got another tattoo, and another, and after some time Lucas was forced to realize that… okay maybe tattoos were okay.

The rest of the entries are sometimes awfully precise (#34 ‘light eyes????? Fuck yes?????’ and #41 ‘abs. abs. abs.’), or completely vague (#29 Fucking consistent). And then there’s entry #50. One of the last entries, that he probably wrote towards the end of high school or during his first year of uni, during a lonely evening at the flatshare — a very graphic description of what he’d want his imaginary boyfriend to do to him, which he had written after watching some porn locked up in his bedroom.

“What are you doing?”

Eliott’s voice sounds so close that Lucas startles guiltily, snapping the list down against his chest in the textbook definition of caught red-handed. Eliott’s eyebrows shoot up as they make eye-contact, and Lucas tries to ignore the way his cheeks heat up. “I- uh- nothing,” he croaks out. “Just going through old stuff.”

There’s a glint in Eliott’s eyes, like he knows, like he can read through his fucking mind — like he too just read that entry #50. Stop fucking spiraling, he doesn’t know shit, he admonishes himself. The only thing he knows is that Lucas is acting like a teenager caught looking at porn.

“What?”, he asks, trying to find back his composure.

Eliott shrugs, with that annoying little smirk on his ridiculously pretty face. “Nothing,” he says, voice drawling a little, but he’s motioning next to Lucas to busy himself with the upper shelves in Lucas’ direct vicinity, and he knows his best friend is being annoying on purpose.

Lucas squints at him from the corner of his eyes. Seemingly unbothered, Eliott stands onto his tiptoes, arms extended at their maximum capacity to reach for a big, dusty cardboard box almost touching the ceiling, and his tee-shirt is riding high and showing the smallest trace of his rib tattoo curling down his side, and that’s when it creeps onto Lucas, at the worst, most inopportune moment. His eyes travel back and forth between Eliott and the list a couple of times, and despite his best efforts to keep calm, Lucas’ stomach starts doing a weird somersault.

Oh no.

Here is the thing.

When he started making that list, he was never planning on his best friend checking pretty much all the boxes right off the bat. That couldn’t have been farther away from what he had in mind, he’s pretty fucking sure of it. And yet here he is. He’s slipped the list into the front pocket of his hoodie before they left the storage unit, and then he took it out to shove it in his laptop bag, where he’s pretty sure no one will find it. It’s not that he’s afraid Eliott would be weirded out about it, it’s just… It’s a lot. Because it’s one thing to be aware that your best friend is insanely attractive, and it’s another one to think that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t mind being the one he kisses, the one he pulls by the waist at night, and the one who makes him feel good in bed.

The irony of the calendar (and his life, really), makes it that the next few days are just a whirlwind of Eliott Eliott Eliott, and by the time Christmas rolls around, Lucas is ready to die. Not because he doesn’t want his best friend anywhere near, but because he would very, very much appreciate if his brain could just fucking stop bringing up that wishlist every fucking five minutes — every single time he so much as glances or thinks about Eliott. Which tends to be problematic when he’s literally living with him at the moment. All of a sudden it’s like he’s hyper-aware of all the times Eliott smiles at him, reaches out to ruffle his hair in the morning, or has a nice gesture of any kind. It’s like he feels somewhat guilty for every laughter they share, and when they go do some last-minute Christmas shopping, Lucas walks around on automatic pilot for the better part of the afternoon, after inadvertently catching sight of Eliott’s arm flung around his shoulders in a mirror.

The only upside of having a dysfunctional family is that for at least 24h it takes Lucas’ mind off Eliott and that weird-ass situation his fifteen-year-old self put him in the first place. He spends Christmas Eve with his father and his new wife in a restaurant, and if one can’t be caught dead trying anything to make his son feel at ease, the other is trying so fucking hard it makes Lucas wants to throw himself in the traffic on the way to pick up his mom at her subway stop. Because yes, his stepmother insisted that he brings his mother, and Lucas was chicken enough to accept, just so that he wouldn’t have to sit through the whole dinner with his father and his weirdly enthusiastic second wife.

The whole dinner is as awkward as it can possibly be, but then Lucas comes back to Eliott’s place, early enough that his best friend is still at his grandparents’, and he tries to make sense of the feeling of relief he feels when he drops himself on the couch, only to see Eliott’s sketchbook on the coffee table, and Eliott’s hoodie thrown carelessly on the armrest, and Eliott’s drawings pinned up on the walls, and the piano pushed in the corner. It used to be in Eliott’s bedroom back at his parents’, and they would mess around trying to get the Star Wars theme right with four hands on the keyboard.

None of these things feel new — but all the hyper-awareness is weird enough to make him want to scream and hits his head repeatedly with the flat of his hand. And the worst part is that it keeps going on like this. Spending Christmas day at the Demaurys’ shouldn’t feel so weird either, and yet. He’s always been Eliott’s platonic plus one at every single one of his family birthday dinner, so he knows everyone and everything about this family. He knows that one of Eliott’s uncles and his godfather will inevitably end up on different sides of an argument about politics, that Eliott’s dad will probably try to lighten the mood, that Eliott’s younger cousins will pout for a fair share of lunch or dinner except when they’ll venture on TikTok halfway through, that Eliott’s grandmother will make a passive-aggressive comment or two about the food that his mother will try to ignore, and at some point, as always, she’ll go to the kitchen, and make a weird face only for Lucas to see, and that he’ll have to bite the inside of his cheek not to laugh — he knows all of that, because he’s been around for fifteen years.

But still it does feel weird. A little bit. And not just because he’s never spent a Christmas dinner with them. It feels weird, because it downs on him that Eliott is single, and that he’s single too, and that although Eliott’s mother welcomes him as soon as Eliott walks him and asks if they can add a plate, when they take off their coats, Lucas catches a silent conversation between her and her husband that results into Eliott’s dad shrugging. Did they ever think they were more than friends? Did they ever think Lucas was more than just the kid from across the street with a fucked-up family? Because he himself never did, but now it’s all he can think about. And if he had been a girl, or if Eliott had been a girl, if they had been in a boy/girl kind of friendship, he knows that at some point the Demaurys would have asked for ground rules, no matter how ridiculous it would have felt for them. No closed doors in the afternoon, no sleepovers in the same room, and with every birthday dinner or birthday lunch, people would have just assumed they were a particularly chill couple who refrained on PDA.

So that’s how he spends his Christmas lunch, alongside the Demaury family. He laughs at the jokes thrown around, at the same family memories he’s heard a bunch of times already, rolls his eyes at the political arguments on the other end of the table, and spends entirely too much time pondering the ins and outs of heteronormativity and the way it may or may not have shaped his relationship to his best friend.

“You okay?”, Eliott asks at some point on his way back from the kitchen, squeezing his shoulders lightly, and Lucas has to crane his neck all the way up to make eye-contact because his best friend is standing behind him.

“Yeah, I’m all good,” he says with a smile, and when Eliott goes to sit back at the table, Lucas tries his best to ignore another look he catches between Eliott’s parents.

“Can I ask you something?” Eliott asks from his spot against the stove, hands tightly wrapped around his mug while Lucas pours himself his second coffee of the day.

It’s officially the last week of the year, and to Lucas’ great dismay, he’s not particularly sure that any of his internal questioning sessions will die at midnight on New Year Eve. To make matters even worse, he doesn’t feel like he’s slept one bit, and although he initially tried to conceal it at best as he could, he guesses he’s making a poor job considering Eliott joined him for breakfast roughly three minutes ago and is already picking up on the signs.

“Yeah, sure,” Lucas says, trying to sound relaxed, nose in his mug to avoid looking Eliott in the eyes.

“You would tell me if you didn’t want us to move in together, right?” Eliott enquires after a moment. “I mean, it’s not the first time I get an idea and I run away with it and you’re…”

“No, no, I still want to,” Lucas interrupts, and he hopes his voice doesn’t sound as weird and scratchy as it feels in his throat. Because he does. He genuinely still does want to go through with it, because no matter how fucked up his brain is making things for him lately, Eliott is still the closest from home he’s ever felt.

Eliott hums. “Oh, okay,” his voice trails off, sounding hesitant, “I mean I was afraid you might have changed your mind and didn’t know how to tell me.”

Lucas laughs, but deep down he wants to slap himself because it sounds like chalk screeching on a blackboard in the silent kitchen corner. God you’re so fake. “I don’t know where you got this idea, I’m still 1000% in.”

Eliott looks sheepish, chewing onto his bottom lip uncomfortably. “Look, I know… I mean you’ve been kind of quiet lately, and I know sometimes you get lost in your head a bit. I don’t want you to think you can’t, like, talk to me or anything.”

Lucas’ grip tightens around his mug. He doesn’t deserve Eliott. No one does, but especially not him. “I’m fine it’s just… You know, Christmas mood isn’t my strong suit,” he mumbles, eyes falling. “Plus, going through all that stuff the other day… It brings up some memories.”

After all, it’s not a lie. It did bring up a lot of feelings and thoughts, and although they aren’t all that unpleasant, it’s surprisingly difficult to maintain eye-contact with your best friend when you spent most of the past few days trying not to picture his mouth on you.

“I’m sorry,” Eliott says, sounding so absolutely genuine that Lucas wants to smash something — preferably his head against the kitchen sink. “Of course I don’t know how you feel but, you’re not going through it alone, right? I’m here for you. Always have and always will.”

Lucas swears he could cry. He can’t possibly keep it to himself. Not when Eliott is his best friend, not when they’re just about to start looking for a place to live together, not when the longest Lucas has tried to hide a secret from him was exactly ten hours. “You’re checking a bunch of boxes,” Lucas confesses with a long sigh, eyes falling shut for a second.

A weird kind of silence settles in the kitchen, tension lodging between Lucas’ shoulders.

“What are you talking about?”, Eliott asks after a moment.

“The boyfriend list,” Lucas mumbles, shaking his head to himself. “Or wishlist or whatever. It’s fucking dumb, I know, and I never realized that before, but the other day I found that stupid list again in my stuff at the storage unit, and now I don’t know what to do with it, or what to think.”

If anyone needs a guide on how to ruin a lifelong friendship, Lucas Lallemant is your reference, he thinks humorlessly. But it’s Eliott. So maybe it’s not that bad, right? It doesn’t have to be a big deal. And okay, maybe he is making a big deal out of it, maybe he wouldn’t have to be afraid about Eliott’s reaction if he wasn’t the one making it sound like-

“And you feel like… it’s a problem?” Eliott asks carefully, as if he had followed his train of thoughts.

Lucas sneers, finally turning around to meet Eliott’s eyes. “Well, you tell me. I’m shaping my imaginary boyfriend after my childhood best friend, what does it say about me?” He’s pretty positive it’s not the sign of someone with a perfectly balanced life.

“That you have great taste,” Eliott grins, but it kind of turns into a wince when Lucas lets out a groan. “Hey, it doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want to, alright? I’m nothing extraordinary, I’m sure plenty of guys check those boxes.”

“But…?”, Lucas prompts, because it feels a lot like Eliott isn’t done but he’s really close to tell him that pausing for dramatic effect right now is definitely not the nice thing to do.

Eliott’s hands are still gripping tight his coffee mug. “But nothing. Like I said,” Eliott adds, clearing his throat a little, “it doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”

Suddenly it hits Lucas that he sounds fucking nervous, like, actually nervous. Why is he nervous? Oh right. He just made things weird. “Why? Do you want it to mean something?”, he asks, hoping to go for a casual laugh, but it comes out wrong, off-key.

“Well… I started making a list too, a couple of years ago,” Eliott says, before pausing. His mouth twists a little. “And it’s… uh, it’s possible you’re checking a bunch of boxes as well.”

Well that’s just getting better and better, Lucas almost says. It’s Eliott’s turn to avoid his eyes and Lucas isn’t sure what’s going on but he’s pretty positive he doesn’t like it, because now things aren’t just weird on his part anymore, and he has no idea what to do with that piece of information.

Eventually, because he’s like that, Lucas snorts — it’s just too much. “Look, I appreciate it if you’re trying to make me feel better but-”

Eliott looks offended. “I’m not,” he says, sounding earnest, and Lucas’ words die in his throat. “Okay, you know what? Come with me.” He puts his mug down onto the kitchen elements, and Lucas doesn’t even have the time to say anything before Eliott motions to leave the kitchen, dragging him along in his wake. His own coffee mug still in his hands, he stares in confusion as they walk into the living room, his best friend going to retrieve one of his sketchbooks from the tiny coffee table.

The next few seconds are particularly silent as Eliott flicks through the pages, but he eventually exhumes a loose leaf from the depths of the sketchbook. What strikes Lucas first is that there’s a lot of black ink on it. Lines, sometimes full-on paragraphs have been crossed with a thick black marker, which offers a stark contrast with Eliott’s rather small but clean handwriting.

“See? I’m not lying,” he says, and he seems to hesitate for a split second, before he hands it to Lucas. “You can read it, if you want.”

No that’s personal, is the first thing that comes to his mind. It’s the right thing to do. It’s the kind of thing he would want people to think about his very own stuff — that it’s off-limit, that peeking is rude, that it’s intrusive. He knows he’s an adult, he knows that, and Eliott is an adult too, and even more so they literally grew up together, they figured shit out together, so it’s not like Eliott would bat an eye if he ever read anything about Lucas’ slightly graphic descriptions, no.

But would he die on the spot from the sheer embarrassment? Probably.

And yet — when Eliott holds his list, he picks it up. He’s a hypocrite like that.

“Boy there's a lot of marker,” he says dumbly, cocking an eyebrow, but deep down all he can think about is that he’s holding that stupid list Eliott wrote, about the things he wants in a partner, and he hates, he hates that there’s some kind of weird hope fluttering deep inside him.

His eyes skim over the entries, more avidly than he’d like to admit. Naturally, Eliott my-head-in-the-cloud Demaury cannot go straight to the point, so it’s not surprising that each entry turns out to be at least a full sentence long.

3- They don’t mind a good challenge and won’t pass on an occasion to try out new things even if that means stepping out of their comfort zone.

8- They understand that mental health isn’t smiling all the time.

14- They’re straight-forward enough to say when things aren’t fine and don’t dismiss it with a shrug.

“Okay but that could be anyone, Eliott,” Lucas says flatly, turning the page over, and he tries his best not to feel disappointed because it’s not like he has the right to be. “And I’m sorry but I think the last time someone called me ‘optimistic’ was, like, in kindergarten, and it was about another Lucas.”

“Well that’s the thing,” Eliott argues with a small shrug, and he buries his hands in his pockets. “To me it’s kind of… you. And I know it’s confusing because well, I was there too, but I feel like… I don’t know, the point of making a list like that in the first place is to figure out what matters and what we want, no?”

Lucas’ hand tightens around his mug. “I mean, yes,” he admits, voice dragging slowly on the last word. But does that mean you want me? He can’t get the words out, it’s like his mouth is full of gravel. Another reason why Eliott’s list can’t possibly be about him, he’s far, very, very far from being brave. Or even ‘quick-witted’ for that matter — he only has biting come-backs that would also get him beaten up in middle school. “But between knowing what makes you comfortable and knowing that you want to know your best friend in the biblical sense, there’s an ocean,” Lucas points out, a bit more dryly than intended.

Eliott’s cocks an eyebrow. “In the biblical sense,” he repeats, laughter not far behind as he perches himself onto the armrest of the couch, and just because of that, because of the subtle way Eliott’s voice changes, because Lucas knows he’s biting back a laugh — it’s because of these small things that the tension lifts a little, and that the atmosphere shifts to something more bearable.

“You know what I mean,” Lucas huffs.

Eliott grins, that kind of annoying grin that made Lucas smack his face with textbooks back in the days. “Oh, yeah, I do, don’t worry about that.”

Lucas rolls his eyes, eventually glancing back to Eliott’s list — but it’s like the words don’t print themselves in his brain, like he can’t comprehend those simple sentences written in Eliott’s oh-so-clean handwriting. “You haven’t told me what all that marker was about,” he croaks out after a moment of silence.

“And how about you tell me how you actually feel about this?”, Eliott asks gently. He rises up from the couch, stepping closer, and Lucas finally finds the courage to look up long enough to hand him back his list.

“I think that you deserve to find someone more than anyone else in the world,” Lucas says, voice getting a bit quiet as he grabs tightly his cold coffee mug with both hands. “But I don’t know if that someone could be me. I never thought… I mean it’s only been a couple of days, before that I never thought of us like that.”

“But you did in the end,” Eliott points out.

It gets Lucas’ brain to work, the wheels turning even faster — because Eliott’s right. He didn’t come to think of being romantically involved with Eliott because Eliott showed him his list, he got there all by himself. And the problem isn’t that Eliott is repulsing, it’s not that the thought of kissing him and going on dates with him is weird, it’s not that falling asleep next to Eliott is grossing him out. The problem is-

“I think I just don’t want to risk losing you,” Lucas admits in a whisper, eyes falling. He’s never been in an actual relationship. His list of exes should be requalified as, at best, weeks-long flings, and he does not particularly think he’ll be a natural at this, courtesy to his parents displaying the opposite of a healthy relationship for most of his life — the last thing he wants is to hurt Eliott in the process of trying and failing.

He only looks up when Eliott’s hands cover his own around the coffee mug. “I know. And I know no amount of promises on my part will make it better, but if you need me to I’ll repeat it every single day.” His thumb gently caresses the back of Lucas’ hand. “I’ll be there as long as you want me to. And if you don’t want me like that, then it’s fine too. I’ll still be there no matter what.”

Lucas takes a deeper inhale. “Why are you so calm about all of this? How long have you been sitting on that shit to be so chill now?”

Eliott looks sheepish. “Two, three years maybe.” Lucas’ mouth falls open, but Eliott quickly adds: “I mean, it’s not that I was like, just fantasizing about you for like three years straight, it’s just that, like, I always thought you were always the one that…” His voice trails off and he huffs a laugh. “See why I didn’t say anything before? It’s just… it’s so hard to explain.”

“Yeah,” Lucas snorts, chewing onto his bottom lip. “Tell me about it.”

But deep down he’s starting to understand what Eliott means. It’s hard to put into words every little thing that makes Eliott the person he needs most. Something not even a list of a thousand entries can do. And maybe that’s why it feels so alien that, to Eliott, he’s the perfect match to his wishlist. To me it is you, Eliott had said before, and now he gets it. He gets it because Eliott’s hands are around his own, he gets it because Eliott would probably be willing to tattoo ‘I will not leave you alone’ somewhere on his arm if Lucas asked. He gets it because Eliott has been sitting on his own feelings for three years, and still he helped him out pick up guys, sort out his life, encouraged him to leave for a whole different country, and he was only brave enough to go through any of it because Eliott made him feel like he was capable of doing so.

“My list is a mess,” Lucas confesses. “And I should probably cover a thing or two before you see it because that’s, like, not appropriate for a first table read. But if you want to read it… Then you can read it. And then you can decide if you think you can put up with me more than you already do.”

Eliott’s smile is soft and blinding at the same time. He takes one of his hands off Lucas’, and when he pulls him closer by the neck, Lucas still feels weird about it, but not in a bad way; there’s just something churning in his stomach that wasn’t there not so long ago. He just leans into the touch as Eliott’s lips press onto his cheek, because Eliott smells good, and it makes him feel warm and protected in a way no one else ever made him feel.

“I’ll be honest,” Eliott says quietly, not pulling much away, “that’s why there’s so much marker on mine.”

This time Lucas feels warm for a whole different reason. He feels the tip of his ears heating up a little bit, and he’s positive it doesn’t have to do with Eliott’s immediate vicinity. “Well,” he says, clearing his throat a little bit, “that’s… something to think about.”

“One step at a time though.”

Lucas finds himself smiling, mirroring Eliott’s expression, his eyes trailing a second too long on Eliott’s lips. “Yeah. One step at a time.”

#skam france #elu fic #eluficrec #mine #*#it's been so long i feel like i don't know how to write anymore <333 #*my fics

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