#and i got really indignant until i remembered that i literally made up a guy that i thought was interesting

[ghostinthegallery]

Whenever I see someone raving about a 40k character or faction or event or concept that I do not like or just fine incredibly boring, I remind myself that the odds are good we both have entirely different ideas if what those characters/factions/events even are. We may legit not be talking about the same things.

I'm not talking about having different tastes (which also happens). Between the books, codexes, more books, white dwarf, books, and fanfic it's so easy to get wildly different impressions about literally everything in 40k. Half the shit is made up by fans and the official stuff is contradictory. Nothing is canon, everything is true, the only constant is that your blorbo is a war criminal.

[havecourage-darling]

Firsts: The First Time

AO3 link || Part 6 of 12 (each chapter is a standalone)

<< Firsts: Jealous & Gigs || Masterlist || The First Argument >>

I'll Remember You

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Henderson!Reader

wc: 10.6K

warnings: Given the nature of it being the first time, the second bit has some explicit smut.

A/N: I overthought this one too much lmao hope you guys like it! I couldn't reread it another time so as always, ignore any mistakes! (also, I was thiiis close to just calling it first sexy times lmao)

“What are we seeing this time?” Steve asked, his leg bouncing up and down.

You checked the time and winced at the ache in your back. For the past week you had practically lived at the library, studying flash card after flash card, writing until your hand had cramped up and your muscles felt like they were atrophying.

A warm hand absently rubbed at the right muscle and you arched into his touch like a cat. Eddie smiled, still arguing about the importance of Black Sabbath in the music industry with Robin and Gareth, his fingers tapping against your spine in acknowledgement.

“Alien,” you said, “I think we’ve still got time. Food should be out soon.”

The diner you had all chosen was down the street from the theater. It was still one of the first outings but, you had been trying to bridge the gap between your friends and Eddie’s friends. You got along great with the guys. Eddie preferred Robin and Nancy’s company to Steve’s but, more common ground was being found with every hour you spent together. Steve had even laughed at a few sarcastic quips Eddie had made. You knew they’d be good friends if they both just stopped circling each other suspiciously.

“Who picked Alien?” Steve grumbled.

You didn’t remember but your guess was on Robin.

“What? Scared of a little aliens Harrington?” You asked, raising one of your brows. Your father used to say that one of your professional skills was the ability to goad Steve into a fight.

Steve smirked and you knew you had him. “Who saved who that night in the junkyard Henderson?”

“Considering that was the night you stole my bat and never gave it back, technically I saved myself.” You did miss that bat. Steve had claimed he lost it but you knew it was hidden away somewhere.

“You dropped it! I didn’t steal it.”

“Sure,” you huffed.

“Do I even want to ask?” Eddie said, his hand settling on your waist as he pulled you closer to him. You slid easily in the booth, your hip hitting his.

“You really don’t,” Robin answered for you.

Eddie looked down at you, his hair wild as always, and eyes soft. He was wearing the necklace you’d gotten him for Christmas – he hadn’t taken it off since he’d opened it. You smiled at him, your hand coming up to curl a lock of his hair around your finger and tugged on it lightly. His eyes flashed and you startled when you heard Steve groan.

“Do you two need to be so disgustingly into each other? It’s like watching my sister on a date,” Steve said, his face scrunched up.

“I watched you swap spit with Wheeler for a year, shut it,” you snapped back, not looking in his direction. Eddie’s smile grew at your comeback. You only whirled around to glare at him when you felt his foot connect with your ankle.

Steve frowned, expression indignant, and both of you started to squabble.

“I don’t know how I ever thought you two might’ve dated,” Robin said, sighing. She dropped her chin onto her palm and watched you both like you were a tennis match.

“Me too!” Eddie added, bumping Robin’s fist.

You and Steve shot them similar disgusted looks.

“I didn’t,” Gareth said, shrugging when you all turned to look at him. “Henderson’s too cool for Harrington.”

“Hey! What!”

Grinning, you leaned across the table and kissed his cheek. “You’re a rockstar Gareth.” Eddie squeezed your hip as Gareth smiled, flustered.

“Stop trying to get all my friends to fall for you,” Eddie said, teasing you.

Before you could answer, Steve shouted: “I’ve literally known Henderson since before Dustin was born.”

“So?” You asked, gasping at him indignantly.

Steve shot you a look. “So! We’ve known each other for too long.”

“What does that have anything to do with it? Am I not good enough for you?” You argued, biting back laughter at his expression. “I’d like to remind you that one of us graduated second in their year.”

“Don’t start that with me,” Steve said, pointing at you, descending into a familiar argument. “You always have to make it weird!”

After a particularly snappy comeback, you grabbed your chest, pretending to be offended and mortally wounded. Eddie’s huffs of laughter warmed your neck as he tucked his face in your hair.

“Finally, oh my God thank you,” Robin said, beaming at the waitress as she dropped off your order.

A chorus of thank yous! were the only sound before you all descended into eager silence. You quickly picked apart your food, placing your crispy fries onto Eddie’s plate – he liked the crunch – and making room on your own as he gave you some of his onion rings. You thanked him as he handed you his cleared side plate for your ketchup – you hated when your food touched – and you handed him the mustard.

You were mid-chew when you caught Steve’s curious look.

“What?” You said around a mouthful of food. “Do I have something on my face?”

Eddie turned to look and shook his head, his fingers wiping away some crumbs from your cheek.

“No, what I can’t look at you?” Steve asked, chewing thoughtfully. Experience taught you that he was up to something but you were too hungry to poke at it.

“Whatever weirdo.” You rolled your eyes and went back to your burger.

Within minutes, everyone’s plates were cleaned off and you were all climbing back into your cars. “Crap,” you muttered, pulling your seatbelt on.

“What?” Eddie asked, pulling out of the parking lot and following Steve’s car up the road, towards the theater.

“I forgot to go to the bathroom before we left,” you groaned, leg jiggling.

“Chugging everyone’s milkshakes will do that to you,” Gareth said helpfully from the back.

You sighed, trying to think of the desert. “So,” Eddie started, “this would not be the best moment to tickle you?”

“I’ll rip your head off with my teeth,” you threatened sweetly, shooting him a wide smile.

He smiled, his eyes lighting up, and you knew the threat hadn’t registered. He didn’t need to say it, but you knew he was thinking something not appropriate to be said in company.

“Always violence with you,” he said instead, shaking his head. You shot him a look that said you knew the direction of his thoughts. Eddie grinned, eyes flickering down your body. Just as you were going to tease back, Eddie parked close to the entrance and you nearly tore your door off. “Can you get my usual Eddie?” You shouted, darting past a waiting Robin and Steve.

“Where are you going?” Steve called out, hands on hips like the mother he was.

“Bathroom! Don’t want to miss the beginning of the movie!” You shouted back, not slowing.

Carl, the usher who was always on shift in the evenings waved at you as you passed him. You usually tried to avoid him since he had a tendency to get too touchy and you never knew how to address it.

Quickly, you walked back out, drying the last bit of water on your jeans. Not focused on where you were half-speed walking, you stumbled into someone.

“I’m so sorry – oh, Carl! Did I hurt you?” You asked, Carl’s hands coming up to your own to help you keep your balance. His palms were too warm and soft.

“No, it was my fault,” he said, his eyes searching your face for any sign of pain. You smiled, pulling yourself out of his reach and smiling politely. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said, eyes glancing over his shoulder and catching Eddie’s eyes. He was standing outside the theater with Robin, drink and popcorn in hand.                                                                                                

A touch to your elbow startled you and you took a step back instinctively. Carl was smiling down at you, oblivious. “What movie are you seeing? I haven’t seen you here in a while.”

“Alien,” you said, a little short, and taking a step towards your friends. “I think it’s actually starting soon – sorry again!”

Not waiting for an answer, you darted over to Eddie. He rose one of his brows and glanced behind you. His arm came around you as you reached him. “Are the guys inside?” You asked. Robin nodded – her grin barely hidden.

Looking up at Eddie, you watched his eyes flash before turning down to meet yours. “Ready?”

Nodding, you went to take a step towards the theater but Eddie didn’t move. Before you could ask what was wrong, he ducked his head and kissed you. You kissed him back, surprised but always welcome, and nipped at his bottom lip. He pulled back, pupils dilating a little, and grinned.

“What have we said about using your teeth?”

“That it turns you on?” You asked, savoring the way his voice deepened when he was trying to be serious.

“Which means…”

“Uncomfortable situations in public,” you finished, laughing. You reached up and nipped at his ear in retaliation, thanking him for your popcorn. “Did you add the-”

“Chocolate while it was still piping hot?” Eddie said, kissing your temple softly this time. You offered him a piece as you all walked to the doors. His teeth grazed your fingers and you shot him a look.

“Want some?” You asked Robin, trying to ignore the match you felt ignite in your chest.

She, predictably, wrinkled her nose. “Steve got us regular popcorn,” she teased, “I don’t know how you can stomach that combo! I always forget that abomination.”

“A Henderson classic,” you said, chewing on your buttery, chocolatey goodness as you tried to spot Steve and Jeff in the dark.

“How did you get roped into it?” Robin asked Eddie, herding you both to the left.

You eyed the seats, looking for The Hair, licking the trail of melted chocolate off your fingers and glanced at Eddie. His eyes were focused on your tongue, his expression heated and you froze mid-lick. “I was easily convinced,” he said faintly. You grinned.

“God, you two need a room,” she groaned, walking towards the middle seats.

“You know, we could sit alone over there in that corner,” Eddie’s breath fanned over your ear. Your stomach flipped and your toes curled at the promise in his tone.

“This is supposed to be group bonding,” you said, elbowing him.

“We’ve already bonded,” he teased – you really hadn’t yet – “my friends like your friends, yours like mine, look at us – one big happy family. Can’t mommy and daddy have fun on their own?”

Skin on fire, you avoided his heated look and elbowed him harder. “Keep it in your pants Munson,” you whispered, lowering your voice further at the glare of a nearby girl. “Sorry!”

Eddie laughed, tugging you towards your friends.

“Tease.”

You had stayed awake far too late that night for the early shift that you all had in the morning. You barely managed to drive your way to Family Video, your eyes squinted against the sun, and stumbling out your car with your hand clutching your coffee.

“Late night?” Robin waggled her brows. “Eddie seemed excited to finally say goodnight yesterday.”

Steve, standing behind the counter with his arms crossed, snickered and you rolled your eyes.

“He took me home,” you said, tossing your head back, ignoring their twinkling eyes.

There was something about Family Video during the opening shifts that you didn’t entirely hate. The sun hit the dusty windows just right, illuminating the small – normally dark shop – and for a second, you didn’t feel like it was a forgotten dungeon somewhere. You adjusted your green vest, your name tag glinting off the sunbeam coming in.

Robin shelved another tape before leaning her elbow against it. “And did he drop off Gareth before you?”

“I don’t see what that has anything to do with this,” you said, avoiding the question. Eddie had all but made Gareth barrel roll out the van before parking in your dark driveway and dragging you onto the bean bags in the back.

“It has to do with the fact that probably everyone in a ten-mile radius could tell he was ready to climb you like a tree,” Robin said.

Steve nodded, pointing at Robin. “It would be nice if you two could tone it down a little,” he complained, “it’s rude to rub salt into the wound. Some of us are unhappy being single.”

“Didn’t you just go out with that cheerleader?” Robin asked.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah, but I’m not even sure if she likes me that much.”

“Who cares, it’s still someone willing to sleep with you,” Robin threw her hands up.

Something in your expression must’ve tipped Steve off because he rounded his torso to you.

“I mean, you’re getting laid, right?” Steve asked, narrowing his eyes at you.

Avoiding his searching stare, you continued to shelve the returns.

“Oh my God Steve,” Robin hissed. At your pointed silence, she whirled around to you, brows rising. “Really?”

“Why not?” Steve asked, stepping towards you.

“Hold on, there has to be some boundaries,” Robin said, misinterpreting your silence for discomfort.

You sighed, shooting her a grateful look. Steve was your best friend, for better or worse, you knew he was only being his regular nosy self. He might tease you, for years, but he’d never let anyone else do so. “He said he wanted to take things slow,” you admitted.

Robin gasped. “Eddie Munson? The guy who basically undresses you with his eyes the second you walk into a room?”

Flustered, you walked into the next aisle, and cleared your throat. “We wanted to get to know each other better,” you said, defensiveness creeping into your voice.

“When did he say that?” Steve asked, popping out at the end of the aisle.

“Like right before we started officially dating,” you said, sighing, knowing that Steve was like a bloodhound, incapable of letting things go.

“Which was…” He said, waving a hand in the air.

“Three or four months ago?”

“What?” Robin shouted from the counter.

Steve’s eyes widened. “And you’ve both just been stewing in this infuriating sexual tension? Jesus.”

You went to defend yourself but Robin beat you to it. “Dingus is right dude, it even itches at me,” Robin said.

You shrugged helplessly. “I don’t want to pressure him! We met in a weird way – I basically threw myself at him while drunk during the Halloween dance.”

“You?” Steve asked, eyes widening. “You offered him…”

“Sex?” You said, questioningly.

“Nice,” Robin said grinning.

You rolled your eyes. “I was drunk. He didn’t – take me up on it if you both remember. I think at first, I wasn’t ready because I didn’t want him to think I just threw myself at anyone like that – not that there’s anything wrong with that,” you said, eyeing Steve who scowled at you. “I wanted him to know that it was specific to him. Then I think he wanted to prove he wasn’t just with me only for sex.”

“This sounds way more complicated than it needs to be,” Steve said, rubbing his temple.

“It’s not like we were friends before we got together! We both needed to find out if we even liked each other past the…the…”

“Shallow intense desire to jump each other’s bones?” Robin offered.

“Yes, that!” You sighed. “Besides, we don’t go to the same school – he’s focused on his band, I have work, there’s more effort that needs to go into it when you both don’t live or study near each other.”

A large part of the last few months had been spent driving back and forth between campus, your home, Eddie’s trailer, Hawkins High, and the Hideout. You were both never casually in the same place, you had to orchestrate it all. Which, didn’t sound as troublesome as it was.

“That’s true,” Robin said, chewing absently on a candy bar.

Steve groaned. “Which I get, but that was almost four months ago now. You both move in tandem at this point. It’s weirdly domestic. Didn’t he just get you a limited-edition record for Christmas? He said he drove to like some record store three hours away. You don’t do that for someone you’re not serious about.”

“It’s cute!” Robin said, defensive. “The way you both hand each other off what you want during dinner or the way he got your weird popcorn order right, even I get that confused sometimes.”

“It’s adorable,” Steve said, sarcastic dripping off the words. “What would be nice is we all didn’t have to feel like we’re crawling out our skins from the sexual tension.”

“Well that seems like more of you problem,” Robin retorted.

They both quickly started squabbling, both getting huffier with each remark.

“Wait, wait!” Robin waved a hand in the air. “We haven’t even asked – do you want to? Are you ready?”

“To have sex?” You asked, lowering your voice and glancing around the store.

“Well, yeah,” Robin said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’ve done stuff, you know, but I’m not ready yet. At all. And it’s cool if you’re not.”

“Exactly,” Steve said, turning to you. “If you’re not ready that’s different! Besides, Munson is way better than that other douchebag.”

Robin’s eyebrows disappeared into her bangs. “Smiths?”

Steve rolled his eyes so hard you had to bite back a laugh. Your ex-boyfriend and you had dated for a year – you’d met at camp. He’d dumped you for another girl in his school fairly quickly after you’d had sex. Steve and Dustin had threatened to beat him up the summer he came to visit. You knew he wasn’t winning any best boyfriend awards but he was mostly harmless. Neither of you had been doing well with the distance.

“Ew,” Robin said, wrinkling her nose, after Steve had retold a dramatic and, no doubt, exaggerated story, “what a dick!”

“We’ve all gotten over it,” you said, “aside from Steve and Dustin.”

“He was a poser,” Steve grumbled, “Dustin would back me up.”

“He’d back you up on almost anything,” you rolled your eyes.

“I can’t help but point out that you haven’t answered the question,” Robin said, eyes twinkling when you glared at her.

You focused back on the videos you were shelving. “I’m ready whenever he is,” you said, avoiding their eyes. After a heavy silence, Steve sighed.

“Henderson,” he said, coming around to you.

“What!” You snapped, tired of this topic. You made the mistake of glancing at him and he straightened.

“Oh my god, you’re like two seconds from jumping him, aren’t you?”

You want to die. No, you wanted to strangle Steve and take him down with you.

“I cannot explain this enough,” Steve continued, like you weren’t planning his murder, “it’s always important to wait until everyone is enthusiastic and happy and ready.”

Robin nodded, backing Steve up. “Consent is non-negotiable, obviously but in this case – wait,” she turned to Steve, “maybe we should let them figure it out.”

“I can’t!” Steve said, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “They might take years and I can’t handle another movie night or lake visit with all their goddamn pheromones around each other!”

You glared at him. “You’re the one going on ten dates a week!”

“Because I’m trying to find what you have! I don’t want just meaningless sex; I want someone who’s cool and likes me and…and knows me!”

You and Robin gape at him. “You’ve grown so much,” Robin said, pretending to wipe a tear. 

“Good for you Harrington,” you said, squeezing his arm. “She’s out there for you – definitely not Chelsea though.”

“Oh God no,” Robin agreed, “she’s horrible.”

“Like you’re one to know,” Steve said, glaring at Robin.

“Tammy has a great voice!” She argued and you sighed.

“Back to you,” Steve said, waving a hand through the air, “listen, I know that you’re both kind of stumbling in the dark here and I’m telling you this because you’re my friend.”

“What?”

“Munson would throw you against the wall in two seconds if you let him,” Steve said, exhaling heavily like he’d gotten something off his chest.

“What? Has he told you about…that?” You shifted, a little uncomfortable for the first time.

Steve and Robin laughed loudly, bending over and clutching their stomachs like you’d just told the funniest joke in the world. You frowned, crossing your arms.

“Sorry, it’s just, that’s such a dumb question,” Robin said through her chuckles.

“I hate you both.”

Steve waved a hand before finally calming down. “We just know. It’s like…electricity!” He snaps.

“…. electricity?” You asked flatly.

Steve smiled, as if remembering something. “Yeah, sexual electricity,” he said. Robin bobbed her head and wiggled her fingers around.

“Usually only the two people who want to jump each other’s bones can feel it but you make my skin crawl with it – not in a bad way don’t stare at me like that – it’s more like I want to shove you both in a room so you can just get it over with.”

You blinked at Steve, quirking a brow. He sighed and shook his head. “No one listens to me.”

Robin smiled, hopping down from the counter. “Listen,” she said, wrapping an arm around you, “we’re not trying to be pushy. We’re your friends and we want you to be happy. If that means getting laid…then, we’re just trying to tell you that he’s definitely waiting on you, not the other way around.”

Was it true? You tried to think back on the last few weeks but it was hard to tell where the boundaries were. They’ve always been a bit blurred between the two of you when it came to physical affection.

“Wouldn’t I have noticed?” You asked, exasperated. “Wait, if you guys noticed wouldn’t he have noticed?”

“Guys are stupid,” Robin said, snorting. Steve bobbed his head, pointing at Robin.

“I don’t usually agree but yeah,” Steve said. “Munson is pretty much wrapped around your fingers so I doubt he’ll be the one to make the first move.”

“But…I – well,” you shot them an embarrassed look and Robin frowned.

“What?”

You huffed, annoyed with yourself. The three of you always talked about everything – in fact, you all could probably use some boundaries.

“I don’t have a lot of experience,” you mumbled, “I’m not sure…how to make the first move? Jeremy kind of just did everything for both of us.”

Robin smiled sympathetically. “Beats me, I know less than you do.” You both turned to look at Steve, who blinked at you in return.

“Shit, we’re doomed,” Robin mumbled under her breath.

“I heard that,” Steve said. “Well, I guess…uh, first – do you know if he…has any experience?”

You both looked deeply flustered, looking anywhere but each other.

“For God’s sake, Dingus told us a detailed recount of his hook up last weekend and you both turn into blushing nuns now? This is a crucial code red!” Robin crossed her arms.

“Yes,” you said, walking towards the counter to grab more tapes to organize. “He’s dated and hooked up with a girl but I’m his first relationship. My only experience was with Jeremy so…we’re screwed basically.”

“Of course not!” Steve said, standing up suddenly. “You’re a Henderson. Hendersons don’t give up.”

You rolled your eyes but appreciated the sentiment. “So, what do I do? How do I bring it up?”

“I vote for just asking,” Robin said.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay,” he huffed, “you have to drop some hints first. See how he reacts. You can’t just ask.”

“Hints?”

“I’m not sure if they want us to play something different,” Eddie said, twirling in your chair. You both were in your room after Eddie had picked you up from your last class. He’d been recounting the story of his earlier conversation with the manager at the Hideout.

You’d both stumbled into the back of his van, per usual, and had started making out. You had tried to keep Steve’s hints in mind. You’d moaned just a little louder, been more eager, let your hands trail a little lower, but in the end, he’d moved you towards your house just as it felt like something was happening.

“Maybe if we rearrange out setlist?”

Did he know? You wondered. Had you been to obvious and now he was just too embarrassed to tell you he wasn’t ready? Were you too obvious? Did he not like that? Maybe you hadn’t gone far enough. Would you have picked up any of the hints if your places were reversed?

“Princess?”

“What?” You straightened, coming out your spiraling thoughts. “Sorry.”

The corner of Eddie’s mouth twitched, a smile building, and he joined you on your bed. “I asked what you thought of our setlist?”

Steve and Robin’s voices bounced around in your head. Eddie’s wild hair and smiling eyes pushed you over the edge. “Do you want to have sex with me?” You blurted, mortified.

Eddie blinked, surprised. The silence in your room echoed, every second making you strongly contemplate fleeing the country.

“Not like, right now, but…it’s…um, Steve told me that he thinks you’re waiting for me to give the green light but I told him that you’re the one who brought up taking it slow! I don’t ever want you to feel pressured – if the answer is no, I mean, obviously I don’t care. I don’t – I wouldn’t ever –” You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“Steve said we had sexual electricity? I don’t know what that means but I thought…I’d ask, in case you feel it? Oh my God, why is this so painful?” You muttered the last part more for your sake than his.

Eddie finally seemed to reboot and he lurched forward for your hands, overshooting and smacking into your arms. You both winced and he straightened. “Sorry, you just caught me off guard,” he said, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. “You’ve never pressured me into anything, have I…I mean, do I-”

“No!” You rushed to assure him. “No, of course not. I mean, I’m pretty sure I can take you if you did but, you know, no.”

Eddie’s laugh settled your nerves and you smiled at him. You couldn’t help the nervous jiggle of your leg, the bed moving with your anxiety.

“Uh, I-” Eddie scratched the back of his neck, a nervous habit you recognized. Oh crap, he wasn’t ready and now you seemed like a total asshole who didn’t know how to recognize the signs and you were going to enjoy murdering Steve – “I sort of thought you weren’t ready.”

“What?” You squeaked, sitting up.

Had…Steve been right?

“I didn’t want to ask and look like a dick. I know I was the one who asked to take it slow but I didn’t want you to think that because of the…thing we have, that I expected anything. I really did want to get to know you first,” he said, uncharacteristically nervous.

“Oh,” you said, realizing you’d done the exact same thing. “I, uh, me too.”

Eddie grinned, shaking his head. “So, in other words, we’re sort of idiots?”

“Speak for yourself,” you huffed, “I’m the one who actually brought it up.”

“Because I’d look like an asshole if I did!” Eddie protested, acting mortally wounded. “It’s not gentlemanlike.”

“I’m sorry,” you snorted, “I don’t see any gentlemen here.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed and you fought your laughter. You jumped off the bed, shrieking, as he ran after you, hands reaching for your body. Skirting around the table, you managed to get to the living room before he’d caught you.

Out of breath, your chests rose with exertion as he beamed at being the victor. You tried to buck him off you but he held your wrists to the carpet next to your shoulders.

“Your hurt my feelings,” he joked, eyes filled with laughter.

“Poor baby,” you said, trying to find enough traction to flip your positions. “Didn’t know your ego was so fragile.”

Eddie laughed and shook his head. “You know how to kick a man when he’s down, Henderson.” You used your heel to shove your legs up but were immediately thwarted by his legs trapping your knees between his. “I know all your tricks, enchantress. You’re not escaping me this time.”

You grinned, defeated. Eddie beamed, his lips coming down to yours. Eagerly, you pulled on your wrists – easily breaking his hold on them. You brought a hand up to his collar, holding him nearby and the other urged him to drop some of his weight onto you. After you both came up for air, you shook your head.

“I won’t be defeated so easily next time,” you joked, bumping your nose with his.

“I know you well enough to never underestimate you, Henderson,” he said, kissing your forehead with a sincerity that made your heart ache. How had you missed his presence for so long? How had he been a virtual stranger only a few months ago?

As if reading your thoughts, he sat back, and shot you a look.

“I can feel it by the way, I’ve felt it since that first day in the sweltering gym. It’s like, when I’m playing the guitar,” he said, eyes unfocused, like he was lost in a memory. “When I’m in a bar, the amp right next to us, and I hit the right notes at the right time. Or when I manage to kill it with a campaign, everything goes right for once and it’s…explosive. It’s a current over my skin, like I’m a live wire. I could power the entire city with it.”

You tilted your head, playing with one of his rings, watching him nod to himself.

“That’s how you make me feel, just by walking into the room,” he said, smiling slowly. “I just look at you and feel like I’m lighting up from the inside. I don’t know why but I don’t really care. I’m just happy its there.”

Sexual electricity, you sighed, really not wanting to give Steve any credit.

“I know what you mean,” you said, sitting up to kiss his jaw. “It’s like those sparklers on the fourth of July. That’s what you feel like.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asked, relief flashing across his face, expression looking oddly vulnerable.

You often forgot that Eddie had cultivated this image of himself – someone who didn’t care what anyone said, let people make judgements, and walked around with two middle fingers up to the world. The scary outsider. But…he’d also let you see beyond that. He was so much more and you knew it wasn’t easy for him to let you in, despite the fact that he’d never admit it. Honestly, there wasn’t a scary bone in his body.

So, maybe Steve had been right and you needed to take the lead here.

“Eddie Munson,” you said, tilting your chin up.

“Princess Peach,” he said, mimicking your tone.

You bit back your smile but you knew by the laughter in his expression that he’d seen it.

“If you want to have sex with me, I’d like to have sex with you,” you said, proud of the fact that your voice didn’t shake.

Eddie grinned, his entire face lighting up. “That sounded super romantic,” he said, clutching his hands to his chest, “do you romance all your boyfriends like this?”

You tried not to wince. Most couples naturally fell into the next step, it seemed like you and Eddie were doomed to stumble through all the firsts.

“Don’t get me wrong, I like it when you take charge,” Eddie said, licking his bottom lip, “it leaves no room for misconceptions.”

“You haven’t really answered me,” you said, ignoring his satisfied expression.

“I very much want to have sex,” he said, huffing like the answer was obvious, “with you, of course.”

You rolled your eyes. “I assumed so.”

“Good intuition,” he said, grinning shamelessly.

You dragged your gaze down his body as he leaned against the wall. His arms were crossed and the leather stretched to accommodate.

“Please don’t look at me like that,” Eddie groaned, shifting suspiciously.

“I’m not looking at you in any way,” you argued, knowing full well that you were.

Eddie’s look reflected the same knowledge. You tried to hide your grin and leaned back onto your hands. “How about this, we don’t do anything today,” you started, “I’m too wired and there would be too much pressure. Plus, my brother should be back in like thirty minutes.”

He nodded. “Any other time this week when the mood strikes-”

“-yes! When it happens, it happens,” you said, relieved.

Eddie nodded, offering up one of his fists. You rolled your eyes at his wide grin, oh what the hell, and bumped it with yours.

Ideally, after your entirely mature – and painfully mortifying – conversation, you’d assumed that you’d be set for the next time you saw each other.

Unfortunately, life had other plans. You were meant to drive over to Eddie’s the following day but a sudden last-minute assignment from one of your classes threw you off course. Then, when that was over, Eddie needed to go to one last practice before a gig two towns over. You both agreed to set a date night for that Friday – as a failsafe.

The day before, you found yourself driving home early from your shift after class and you grinned to yourself. For once, life seemed to want to give you a break. You’d probably be able to catch dinner or a movie with Eddie before you were expected home. You had family over for the holiday and you knew your mom wouldn’t let two days in a row slide but you could try.

Barely offering up a general greeting, you darted into your room and called Eddie. After two rings, he answered.

“Munson Residence, this is the butler Jeeves speaking.”

“You’re such a dork,” you said, laughing.

“Your highness!” Eddie said, voice brightening. “I didn’t know I’d have royalty calling me tonight.”

“I call you almost every night, Munson.”

“I beg to differ,” he said, huffing, “I call you sometimes.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me young lady!”

“I still don’t know how you do that,” you said. You were almost sure he guessed half the time and was just lucky enough to be right.

“I just know you well enough or it’s a secret and I’ll never tell, you decide.”

“Or you could come over and we could grab a bite and I’ll make you tell me?”

“I’ll be there in fifteen – oh, fuck.”

“What?”

Eddie’s sigh echoed in your ear. “I can’t. Jeff just called me to say he was on his way – something’s wrong with his guitar. I think a few of his strings snapped and you know how he is with it.”

“Uh, how you all treat your guitars like children, you mean?” You snorted.

“Excuse me, I would never be so careless with my baby,” he scoffed.

“Yeah okay,” you smiled, “alright, I just wanted to see if I could steal you for a night.”

“I’m sorry princess but our gig is this weekend and he needs my help,” he said, his voice getting softer. “We still have our date tomorrow.”

“I know,” you sighed, “I was just looking forward to seeing you. I haven’t seen you since Monday.” You heard loud knocking through the phone.

“Hold on,” Eddie said, disappearing for a moment. “I can drive by when I’m done here, even if it’s late,” he said after a minute, Jeff’s panicked rambling audible in the background.

You smiled, imaging Jeff’s flailing hands. “No, it’s okay, I don’t want you to drive all the way out here just for a few minutes,” you said.

“I do know how to climb into your window,” Eddie reminded you.

“My aunt and cousin are staying over this week, remember?”

Eddie groaned. “Is the universe conspiring against us? Is it because I called Jason Carver an empty-headed jock? I take it back!”

You laughed, picturing his expression.

“I miss that,” he said, voice sounding defeated. “I miss you.”

“It’s only been a few days,” you said, reminding both of you.

“I want to see you every day, even if it’s for five minutes.”

You smiled widely, your ever-present butterflies fluttering around. “I know, me too,” you sighed, “we really did become that couple, didn’t we?”

“Hey, you said it,” Eddie laughed when you huffed. Jeff’s voice escalated and Eddie grunted. “Alright, I’m coming!”

“Go help him before he has a panic attack,” you said, “I’ll see you tomorrow then? Pick me up from work?”

“See you tomorrow your highness,” he said, waiting for you to hang up first.

You set the phone down and chewed on your lip. You knew you were being ridiculous but you wanted to just see him, even if it was just for an hour while he fixed Jeff’s broken strings. Glancing at your watch, you smiled when you realized it wasn’t too late. You kept your footsteps light as you walked down to Dustin’s room and knocked on his door.

“Hey,” you said, leaning against the doorway. “I’m going to try and head out for a bit to Eddie’s-”

“Mom let you leave?” Dustin sat up, interested. You’d both been told under no circumstances were you to disappear like you usually did while your aunt and cousins were visiting from out of state.

“Not yet,” you said, “I’m going to tell her I’m going to Nancy’s for school. Help cover for me?”

You and Dustin had gotten into the habit of always telling each other where you were going – even if you lied to others about it. It only took a few close brushes with death for both of you to realize that someone should know where you really were at all times.

“Yeah,” Dustin said, sighing and dropping back onto his bed. “I’ll cover for you.”

“I owe you one!” You said, kissing the top of his head.

“Yeah, yeah, tell Eddie I said hi,” he grumbled, going back to his book.

A few minutes later, you were in your car driving down to the trailer park. You bopped your head along to the radio, excited. Parking next to Jeff’s car, you hopped up the steps and knocked on the door.

It swung open a few minutes later, Jeff’s stressed expression popping out. He smiled when he saw you. “Hey, Eddie said you couldn’t come over.”

“Who is it?” His voice called from the living room.

“It’s Henderson,” Jeff shouted back.

“Dustin?” Eddie’s voice carried over, his head popping out from over Jeff’s shoulder.

“I’m glad the first person you think of when you hear my last name is my brother’s,” you said dryly.

Eddie’s grin split his face, softening him immediately. “Between the two of you he’s more likely to have snuck out, especially considering that we talked maybe 45 minutes ago.”

“I didn’t sneak out,” you said, stepping into the trailer.

“And where does your mom think you are?” Eddie asked, raising his brow.

“Nancy’s,” you said sheepishly.

Eddie laughed and the sound washed over you, comforting you. Reaching out, you pulled him closer and kissed him. “Hi,” you said, bumping your nose with his.

“Hi princess,” he said, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Hey, this is cute and all but I’m mid-meltdown here!” Jeff complained.

You hid your laugh into Eddie’s shoulder and stepped back. “I know, I’m sorry – go ahead, I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

“I don’t,” Eddie grumbled, pinching your hip before making his way back to the dining table.

You tried to distract Jeff – who had never had any of strings break and as the lead singer, was usually very careful with his guitar – and watched as Eddie quickly fixed it. After a few minutes, it was done and Eddie helped Jeff tune it.

“Dude, thanks,” Jeff sighed, packing it back into its case.

Finally allowing yourself in his proximity, you dropped into the sofa next to him. Eddie smiled, placing his hand on your thigh and squeezing it once. “How did it happen?” You asked Jeff, taking Eddie’s hand in yours.

Jeff launched into a long-winded story, pausing for some cold pizza and a beer midway.

“Well shit,” you said, having dropped your head onto Eddie’s lap. “That really is bad luck.”

He nodded, chucking out the garbage and gathering his stuff. “I should head out, thanks man, seriously.”

Eddie slapped Jeff’s outstretched hand and kept your entangled ones on your stomach. “No problem - let me know if anything sounds off.”

Jeff waved at you and walked out. Shortly after, you heard the engine turn and the sound of gravel under tires.  

“So, how was your day?” Eddie asked. “What classes do you have on Thursdays again?”

You recounted your day, smiling when Eddie asked a few questions.

“What about you?” You asked. “Get any more detentions?”

“I was on my best behavior, thank you very much,” Eddie said, pinching your hip. “I only smoked outside this time.”

You jumped, smacking his leg and poking his stomach. He started to tell you about his newest English assignment when you realized something.

“Eddie,” you said, sitting up from his lap. “We’re alone.”

He blinked at you and glanced around his living room. “I’d hope so, Wayne’s on a double shift until the morning.”

“We’re alone,” you repeated, wiggling your brows.

Understanding bloomed across his face and a small smile grew. “I thought we agreed on date night? Can you stay the night?”

“Dustin’s covering for me. If you want to wait, I don’t mind,” you said sincerely, “but, we said we didn’t want to feel pressured – what’s more spur of the moment than this?”

“I haven’t cleaned my room,” he frowned, expression tightening with nerves. You smoothed a finger across his forehead.

“I don’t know how to tell you that I’ve slept over with your house before looking exactly like it does now,” you said, laughing when he rolled his eyes.

“Do you…want to?” He asked, eyes darting down your body.

“Do you?”

Eddie shot you a flat look. “I thought we went over this. I always want to. I know it’s neither of our first times but, I don’t want you to feel like it’s just some regular day.”

You felt a surge of affection for him. Bringing your hand up to cup his face, you leaned your forehead against his. “I cannot tell you how much I love our regular days,” you said quietly, like speaking too loudly could break the spell. “Regular days are the best because they remind me that we’ll have more of them. That I’ll keep having days where it’s just you and me. Something that’s just ours.”

Eddie’s eyes darted between yours, as if searching for something. After a moment, he nodded – almost to himself – and surged forward. His lips crashed into yours and his arms tightened around you.

“Come on then,” he said against your lips, pecking you one last time. He stood, hand taking yours and leading you to his room.  

Trying to be efficient, and avoid any of your sudden nerves, you peeled your shirt off. Unfortunately, it caused your hair to get tangled on your necklace and you stumbled. Pain jolted down your scalp as it felt like it was trying to yank out the strands.

“How did you even manage to do that?” Eddie asked, untangling the few threads out from the chain.

“I don’t know!” You said, laughing as you placed the necklace on his dresser.

Not a beat later, Eddie tipped over his jeans as he was trying to kick them off and a pile of discarded shoes next to the bed almost took you down with him. Eventually, you both crawled to his bed, exhaling. There was a beat of silence before you both started laughing. You rolled to your side and watched him sit up and peel his shirt off. You shed your jeans off and added them to the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Shifting onto your knees, you paused at your undergarments, your bra strap slipping off a shoulder.

Eddie sank back down onto the bed, in his underwear. “What’s wrong?” He asked, hand reaching for your wrist and rubbing comforting circles into your skin.

“I might not be good at this,” you whispered, “the guy before you, he wasn’t – we never…. I never really got there often. Not like I do with you.”

Eddie smiled softly. “Don’t set the bar too high.”

You laughed and hid your face into his neck.

“Hey, it’s not like I have a whole portfolio of experiences,” he said, nudging you until you looked up at him. “You’re the first time it means something. Besides, you’ve never had a problem getting me there, remember?”

Feeling lighter, you nodded and reached up to kiss his jaw.

“We can stop whenever you want,” he said, trailing light kisses down your neck.

“It’s silly,” you said, tightening your hold on him, “it’s not like we haven’t-”

“-it’s not silly,” he said, uncharacteristically serious, he leaned back and looked you in the eyes. “We make the rules and no one else, okay?”

You looked at him, your heart doing summersaults, and nodded. “Okay Munson.”

“Okay Henderson,” he said, smiling slowly.

“Fuck,” you said suddenly remember the new box hidden under your bed, “I don’t have the condoms.”

Eddie smiled, his ridiculous, wide grin, and hopped off the bed. You watched him dig around one of his drawers. He held up a handful and tossed all but one onto the night table. You raised your brows and his grin widened.

“What? I told you, just because I wanted to go slow doesn’t mean I didn’t practically dream about it every waking moment,” he said, climbing back over you. “The first time you laid down in my bed I think my brain short circuited.”

“And I’m the pervert?” You teased, tickling his ribs. He squirmed and let out a surprised laugh before shooting you a glare.

“If it wasn’t for my perversion, we’d need to go buy some,” he said, trailing his fingertips over your hips and this time you laughed. Squirming to try and get away from him, Eddie crawled over you, caging you in. “So, I believe the right words are thank you, handsome and charming boyfriend of mine.”

You smiled, lifting your head so you could lick a strip up his neck and almost laughed as his muscles strained. “Thank you, handsome boyfriend of mine,” you whispered, “for being a pervert so that we could be prepared in this moment.”

Eddie grinned. “You are welcome.”

You both laughed again, almost knocking your heads together – which spurred your laughter on more – and by the time you’d finally stopped laughing, you were lying side by side clutching your stomachs. You reached out and intertwined your hand with his. You had always thought that your first time with Eddie would be heated, full of scrambling hands, and a rush of adrenaline. Instead, the way he laughed was comforting and familiar. His fumbling hands were much more endearing and the slow heat simmering in your blood was driving you crazy - in the best way.

“Can I?” Eddie asked, nervous hands hovering over your fallen bra strap.

You nodded, warmth spreading in your chest as he peeled back one of the cups. He pressed lazy kisses across your chest leaving electricity behind in their wake. One of your hands made its way into his hair, scraping your nails lightly against his scalp and savoring the way he shuddered. The other was digging into his shoulder as he bit down onto your skin. You jolted, your hips messily hitting his and you both hissed.

“I’m getting to you too,” he joked, attention going lower.

The familiar sensation of his fingers pushing aside your underwear and slowly sinking into you had you on edge immediately. You felt your entire body come alive at his touch, anticipation building in your belly. His mouth dropped to your chest, lips sucking on your skin, leaving a trail of small bruises.

You felt like you were perpetually on edge – waiting for this moment and you were finally here. Eddie smirked when he felt the wetness in between your thighs.

“Shut up,” you said, no heat behind your words. Eddie twisted his fingers in a way that had you squirming and biting down on your lip.

“What was that?” He asked, laughing when you shot him a half-hearted glare.

You scratched at his back as his fingers picked up speed, unable to think much past the heat pooling in you.

“Take it off,” you said, hands pawing at his underwear. You wanted to feel him, all of him.

You felt almost weightless, trying to catch your breath as Eddie stood and peeled his underwear off. You pulled your bra off easily but your legs felt too wobbly to attempt standing. Eddie grinned, noticing the tremor in your thighs and kneeled at the edge of the bed. He kissed you softly, trailing up your leg, your stomach clenching with each inch he gained.

“Eddie,” you moaned as his hair tickled your inner thighs, his breath hot on your skin. “Please.”

“As you command, princess,” he said quietly, pressing a final kiss to your hip before dragging your underwear slowly down your legs. You thought you’d feel bare and vulnerable the first time you were fully naked in front of him. But, the soft yellow light from the lamp on his dresser cast a warm glow to his skin and you could only focus on how much you wanted this.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” You said, eyes taking in his pale skin and the fading bruises you’d left last week. You outstretched your hand, reaching for him.

Eddie’s eyes softened impossibly, the brown deepening as he tossed your underwear into his drawer. At your questioning look he smiled. “I need a souvenir; you’re not getting those back.”

“You’re shameless.”

He snorted. “You called me beautiful and wore light blue underwear, you knew what you were doing.”

“I bought a nicer pair,” you said, sighing when you finally felt his skin against your own, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Your legs fell open and he settled between them, his own sigh falling from his lips. “They’re black lace, they have little bows on each hip,” you told him, smiling when you felt pressure more insistently where you were pressed together. “They reminded me of you when I saw them. Robin wouldn’t stop laughing when she went with me to buy them.”

“And where is this lovely set?” He asked, hands searching the bed for the condom.

“Ready to be worn for our date tomorrow,” you said, reaching to mouth at his neck. He grunted when you wrapped a hand around him. “You’ll see them, don’t worry.”

Moving your hand up slowly, letting your grip tighten as you went, you felt him buck his hips.

“You’re killing me here,” he said, breath warm against your ear.

“What do you think you’ve been doing to me since the night at the dance?”

Reanimated, Eddie’s hand clumsily hit your side as it searched for the foil. “Where is the fucking condom?” Eddie growled, finally breaking away to glance around you. Shifting your hips, you heard him groan deeply. “Sweetheart, please don’t do that or we’re going to have a different problem on our hands.”

You laughed and shook your head. “I think I feel it beneath my hip,” you said, detangling your hand from his hair and reaching for the packet. You brandished it with a flourish, grinning at him.

“My hero,” he grinned, ripping it open and sliding it on.

“You would think that the sarcasm doesn’t do it for me,” you said, gasping when you felt him hitch your thighs up to his waist, “but it really, really does.”

“Lucky me,” he said, kissing the crook of your neck in just the right spot and you went all but limp. You suspected if you had the ability to purr, you would. “If you want to stop-”

“If you stop on my behalf, I’ll strangle you,” you said, nudging him with your heel. “Come on Munson, make an honest woman out of me.”

“I don’t think that means what you think it does,” Eddie laughed, sounding strangled. “It really isn’t fair how much you turn me on,” he said, pressing against your entrance. You back arched, startled by the pressure.

“I’m fine,” you said, breathless, “I was distracted.”

“Sorry, is this not entertaining enough for you?” He asked. You laughed, surprised at his teasing, and you both groaned as he sunk further into you.

You gasped, heart in your throat. Eddie let his head drop to your neck, his breath coming out in short pants. You both waited, adjusting, and you nudged him again. Once he was fully buried in you, you inhaled sharply. It hadn’t felt like this with Jeremy, not even close. Eddie’s skin was so warm against yours, like a roaring fire in the middle of winter.

“Eddie,” you plead as a small wave of pressure built in your stomach, “please, move.”

He leaned back, his eyes darting frantically across your face. “Are you sure?”

“I promise, I’m fine,” you said, voice hitching as he pulled out. You felt a dull ache at the stretch but it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as your first time had been. In fact, as he pushed back in - just as slowly – you felt his head brush against a part of you that made you see stars for a moment. Well, that was new. “Eddie, faster, faster,” you demanded, wanting to chase that feeling.

He smiled beyond his concentration. “Needy,” he snipped, teeth coming down to your collarbone.

“Please,” you begged and that seemed to snap his restraint. He began in earnest, his brows furrowed, and lips sloppy as you both panted. You dropped your legs out wider and gasped when he found the right angle. “There, there!”

Eddie swallowed your scream as he slammed into you over and over, the pressure within you climbing higher with every movement. Instinctively, you tightened your legs around his waist and the added pressure had you both stumbling. Smiling, you tightened your grip on him further and watched his hips fall out of rhythm.

“I-I,” he stuttered and exhaled harshly, squeezing his eyes shut. You watched him struggle to come up with the words and instinctively reached out to grab his hand. Squeezing three times, you waited for his eyes to open. When they did, there was a seriousness to them that you didn’t expect. You saw something new, something he seemed a little scared of. Your hand came up to cup his cheek and he leaned into your touch.

“Hey,” you said softly, “I know.” And you did. This was what you both wanted but it was new and overwhelming. You were connected now, in a way that couldn’t be undone. 

His eyes cleared, searching your face for any hesitance. You knew he wouldn’t find any. “Stay with me, okay?” You whispered, mouth going back to his neck when he nodded. Your other hand trailed up his side, nails scratching lightly. He slowly picked up again, his energy becoming a little frantic.

“Princess,” he grunted when you started meeting his thrusts.

“I’m here,” you said, the room spinning around you. You shut your eyes and his hand around your thigh tightened. He latched onto your skin and you were far too gone to protest another visible bite. He pressed himself closer, like he wanted to burrow into your body – but he already had. He’d made his way past your defenses, past your walls, and reached into your rib cage to steal your heart for himself.

You loved him.

The realization had your eyes snapping open, searching for him. He leaned back, away from your chest and found your gaze. Your heart thumped pathetically.  

“I want to burn this into my memory forever,” he whispered, ducking down for a kiss. “The only time I managed to stun you into silence.”

This idiot, you thought, laughter bubbling up. “Don’t give yourself too much credit,” you said, wrapping one leg higher onto his hip and thrusting down a little harder. Both of you groaned at the new depth, stumbling together. “What was that you said about being stunned?”

Eddie laughed; his eyes mischievous. “Well played, milady.” He took advantage of the new angle and drove himself deeper into you. Your back arched at the sensation, your blood turning into fire. His stupid little satisfied smile made your heart want to leap out your chest.

Yeah, you loved him.

The idea and subsequent acceptance shifted something inside you. There was a new urgency, like you wanted to claw your way to the surface for a breath of air. Eddie groaned, his hand tightening around yours, while his other hand found the spot between you. He pressed down, his fingers unrelenting and you squirmed at the shot of pleasure that crawled up your body. His fingers danced between you and slowly drove you to the edge.

“Come on,” he said at the hitch of your hips, “I’ve got you.”

It was enough to make something inside you snap. You shut your eyes, overwhelmed by the power of it, and his hand squeeze yours – grounding you to your body as your soul felt like it was trying it’s best to leave it. Just when you thought it was over, a smaller cluster of waves pulled at you again.

“Eddie,” you whispered, not sure what was happening.

“I’m here,” he echoed you, his fingers against you relentless, “I’m here with you.”

You arched higher, and higher, until you thought you’d snap your spine in half. One perfectly angled thrust had the waves breaking. You screamed, letting the new sensation take over you.

Eddie picked up the pace for another few minutes and just as you started to feel over-sensitive, he followed you into oblivion. You felt wrung out, alive, and happy.

“Am I crushing you?” He asked, limp like a ragdoll.

“Yes, you weigh a ton,” you said, delighting in the feeling of him on you but liking his indignant glare more. You wrapped yourself around him and he huffed, his arms coming around you too.

He moved off you after a few seconds, taking a moment to get his equilibrium and padding out to the bathroom. Taking the chance, you stretched your limbs, a delicious soreness settling in. Flipping over to your stomach, you bunched the blankets around you for warmth and winced a little at a jolt of pain you felt. As you shifted cautiously, you felt it ebb away. You heard the garbage rustle and Eddie climbed back into bed with you.

“You look comfortable,” he said, lying onto his side next to you.

“It’s a comfortable bed,” you answered, snuggling into his pillow, wanting to wrap yourself up in his scent. “Plus, a few orgasms will do that to you.”

Eddie laughed and leaned his weight onto his arm, his palm holding his head up. He trailed calloused fingertips down your bare back with a softness that made your heart ache. You turned your head to watch him, his eyes on your skin. Eddie’s hair was wilder than usual, his skin flushed, and the bruises on his throat a reflection of your overeager enthusiasm.

“Not to inflate your ego,” you said, your voice quiet in the comfortable silence of his room, “and not that I have that much to compare it to, but that was a pretty high standard you set for yourself. I’ve never…not twice. Almost rarely once.”

Eddie smiled, his teasing eyes coming up to meet yours. You stilled. The world tilted, as if righting itself from years of having been off its axis. His brows furrowed, cutting his playful expression.

“What?” He asked, his drifting hand coming up quickly to your cheek. “Did I hurt you?”

He loved you too.

You knew it as surely as you knew your name. You breathed, a new sort of pressure building in your chest. The best kind. The kind that made you want to wrap yourself around him and never let go. The kind that made you so happy you could feel it down to your toes. The type that came with loving someone who loved you back. The butterflies in your stomach soared, their wings too big for their cage – wanting to be let out.

“No, just waiting for your ego to make its appearance,” you said, brushing it off.

Eddie grinned, worry leaving his expression. “I was going to say, not that my ego isn’t being inflated, but I think that had less to with me and more to do with us.”

“What?” You asked, popping your head up.

He laughed, his arm coming around your waist to pull you into his arms. You wrapped yourself around him, your body half atop of his, and laid your chin onto his chest. “It’s never been like that for me,” he said, eyes on you. “That wasn’t me or you, that was us.”

A slow smile grew on your face and Eddie’s matching one was twice as big. “That’s a nice superpower we have then,” you said eventually.

“We should take every moment we can to examine it,” he said seriously, hand drifting south. “In fact, we should double check – nay, triple check -- today, just to be sure. Just give me a few minutes, I think my soul hasn’t come back to my body yet.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m on top this time,” you said, sitting up and feeling him twitch already beneath you. “You can be behind after that.” The growing immediate interest had you shifting, smiling when he groaned.

“By all means,” he said, clearing his throat and eyes darting down to your bare chest. “Who am I to tell her highness what to do?”

You grinned, glancing appreciatively at his back as he leaned over to grab another wrapper off his nightstand. Triumphantly coming back with another condom, he quirked a brow at you.

“What?” You asked.

“Were you just checking out the goods?” He asked, expression delighted.

Head thrown back, you laughed. “And if I was?” You asked eventually through your amusement.

“Nothing,” he said, “feel free to objectify me whenever you want sweetheart. I’m yours.”

I’m yours. Had he always looked at you like that? Like he was holding his heart in his hands, begging you not to crush it, and not even aware he was doing it?

“You’re mine huh?” You said teasingly. “Then I guess that makes me yours.”

There was a beat of silence, an unfamiliar look flashing across his face, and a small smile twitched at his lips.

“I guess it does,” he said, his voice going soft and a little awed. You couldn’t help your own smile as you leaned down to kiss him. “Easily the best thing that’s ever been mine,” he said quietly, as if he said it too loudly, you’d take it back.

“He didn’t mean that sweetheart,” you called out to his guitar, hanging behind you.

Eddie’s laughter filled the room with a brightness that rivaled the sun. The butterflies grew and you curled a protective hand over his outstretched heart. You’d never let anything happen to it again. You loved him but, you knew he needed to be the one to take that first step.

He wasn’t ready yet, but that didn’t matter.

You’d wait as long as you needed to.

A/N: small reminder I'm not the best at writing smut lol but I tried y'all! clearly these keep getting longer and longer... lmao

[blazingparker]

What’s Up, Danger?

**so this is the fic that the lovely @snowstark allowed me to run by them to make sure it made sense to other people and not just my own brain. i really, really hope you enjoy it!

read it on ao3!

Summary: When Peter Parker gets bitten by a radioactive spider in his college’s lab, he doesn’t expect anything that comes next. Not becoming Spider-Man, not being hunted down by the Avengers, and definitely not a secret friendship with Tony Stark.

--

“So, let me get this straight. You want us to hunt down the one superhero in New York City that’s not mooching off my bank account, force him to tell us who he is, and then try and get him to join the team?” Tony could not believe what he was hearing. He sat back in his seat at the head of the table and stared straight ahead at Nick Fury.

“We don’t know that he’s a superhero,” Fury drawled, relaxing in his chair at the other end of the table. “He could be more evil than we know.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the guy plucking kittens out of trees and helping lost old Dominican ladies with directions is a supervillain in the making,” Tony deadpanned, clearly not impressed.

“Tony, orders are orders.” God, Steve was infuriating.

“Tell me, do you ever question anything or are you a walking lapdog?” Tony and Steve glared at each other until Natasha cleared her throat, breaking the tension in the room.

“Look, we’ll bring him in.” At Tony’s look of indignance, she raised a hand. “There’s no reason to go out there guns blazing, though. He hasn’t done anything to warrant that. If we show up looking ready to fight, he’ll avoid us. We will handle this professionally. With tact.” On the last word she stared pointedly at Tony, who pretended not to notice.

“So long as this ends with us knowing who’s behind the mask, I don’t care how you get it done,” Fury said as he stood. “I’ll let Pierce know you’re on board. That should get the prick off my back for a while.” With that, he left the room to the six Avengers sitting around the table.

“What is it with you and going along with whatever SHIELD wants?” Tony barked out, and Steve crossed his arms.

“SHIELD knows what’s best to keep this world safe. We should trust them to give us missions that are important and best left unquestioned.”

“Yeah, I don’t think telling us to beat up the guy who saved the owner of that deli that got blown up last week qualifies.” Tony huffed out an irritated sigh.

“Look, let’s just try and approach him one-on-one,” Natasha suggested. “That way no one feels threatened. Maybe one of us can form a relationship with the guy, get him to trust us.” When no one voiced an objection, she continued. “Tony, you can go first since you’re so protective of the guy.”

“Protective?! I am not-” Natasha left the room before Tony could finish.

---

The first thing Tony noticed when observing Spider-Man was that the guy had absolutely no self-preservation instincts. He literally flung himself off the top of a building, whooping and hollering all the way down until he almost made a little spider puddle on the ground before finally shooting out a web and swinging away. The guy ran into a burning building without a second thought and came back out with a kid in his arms.

That last incident was how Tony finally had the chance to speak with him. By tracking him with JARVIS, he saw that Spider-Man had stopped at a local playground. It looked like he was taking a breather, and was even more likely given the guy had just inhaled massive amounts of smoke. He suited up and flew over to the spot, clearly catching Spider-Man by surprise.

“Hey there, Spider-Man. Or should I call you Danger-Man, since you seem to have a knack for running right towards it?” Tony landed a respectable distance from where Spider-Man was perched on top of the jungle gym.

“What can I do for you?” Okay, so Spider-Man was young. His voice told Tony that much.

“Look, I’m not gonna lie to you. Nick Fury sent me. Us. The Avengers. But it’s just me for now.” Already, Spider-Man had visibly tensed. If Tony could see his eyes behind those pathetic goggles, he’d bet good money that they had narrowed considerably.

“What do you want.” Spider-Man said, his tone conveying it was a demand that Tony tell him now, not a question anymore.

“We want to know who you are. What makes you tick. What made you put on that god awful excuse for a suit and run into a burning building today.”

“Not all of us are billionaires, Stark. Some of us have to work with what we’ve got, and I haven’t really got much.” Tony’s mouth quirked up in a half-smile at that and he huffed out a laugh. Spider-Man’s quips were infamous, and now he could see why. The guy was good.

“Look,” Tony allowed his faceplate to flip up. Maybe that would help relax the agitated vigilante in front of him. Being able to look at his eyes had to be better than a titanium-alloy mask. “For the record, I was against this plan. I told Mr. Eyepatch up there that we should leave you alone.”

“Then why aren’t you?” Spider-Man sounded a little surprised at that admission.

“I got outvoted. The Avengers are a democracy, apparently. Cap’s a real bitch about it. I preferred the authoritarian model.” Tony sniffed, glancing away before looking back at Spider-Man when he chuckled quietly.

“Good to know you really are the big happy family that they show on the news,” Spider-Man shot back. Tony couldn’t help a real grin from forming that time.

“Oh yeah, big time. Ever seen Annie? It’s like that. Except Annie is actually the entire team and I’m Daddy Warbucks for all of them.” After a moment of shared laughter, things grew quiet again. Tony took a step forward, counting it as a win when Spider-Man didn’t scramble to get away.

“I’ll leave you alone from now on, since that’s clearly what you want. On one condition.”

“What’s that?” Spider-Man sounded wary but intrigued.

“Gimme your number.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Just because I’m gonna leave you alone doesn’t mean the others will. If they pull some stupid shit while trying to convince you to tell them who you are, I wanna know. Give me your number.”

“How would I call you if you have my number?”

“I’ll call you first.” Tony was surprised to find he actually truly did mean it. Spider-Man just stared at him for a second before rattling off a phone number and disappearing into the night.

This definitely wasn’t ideal. Tony knew that. But at least this way he had a way of knowing if the team went too far in their attempts to complete the mission.

Grinning, Tony plugged the number into his phone before hesitating over the space left for the contact’s name. He didn’t know Spider-Man’s identity, and definitely couldn’t plug in Spider-Man in case anyone ever saw. Remembering his very first quip to the vigilante, his thumbs flew over the screen.

Danger.

---

Over the course of the next few weeks, Tony and Spider-Man struck up a routine. After each encounter with the Avengers, Spider-Man would give him a call and let him know how it went down. Luckily, things hadn’t gotten violent yet.

Tony was also finding himself...attached. To this masked vigilante from Queens. Something that made absolutely no sense and was probably going to end in disaster for them both. This guy clearly wanted nothing to do with the Avengers - no matter how friendly the two of them had become.

A ringtone disrupted Tony from his thoughts and he grabbed his phone, smiling a little when he read the screen.

Incoming call from: Danger

“What’s up, Danger?” Tony asked as he answered, pushing back from the lab table he was stationed at and walking to the window.

“Are you ever not going to answer the phone that way?” An exasperated voice came from the other end of the line. Tony grinned. He’d taken to always answering with the same “what’s up, danger?” First, it had been because he didn’t want anyone to walk in and hear him greeting Spider-Man. But slowly, it was becoming an inside joke with the two of them.

“Not a chance. But c’mon, gimme the rundown,” Tony said, gazing out over the New York City skyline as though he might see Spider-Man if he looked hard enough.

“Cap and Widow came this time. Gave me the same rundown, telling me they were running out of options and didn’t want to have to resort to other measures,” Spider-Man informed him. His voice dipped lower on the last few words in an imitation of Steve’s voice. Tony’s blood ran cold at that, and he quickly sat down on the nearest chair.

Why was he so afraid for Spider-Man all of a sudden? They were just pals. The guy was a vigilante that clearly had enhanced strength and other powers and could take care of himself.

“What the hell does that mean?” Tony asked, clenching his jaw.

“I didn’t exactly stick around to find out,” Spider-Man said with a laugh. “You could ask him though.”

“And risk him finding out exactly how I knew of this threat? Not a chance. Then things would just get worse,” Tony explained with a sigh.

“You really don’t need to be so worried. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m not worried.” The words came out just a little bit too fast, and Spider-Man chuckled.

“Sure, Tones.” The nickname sent..something through Tony. Not affection. It was not affection. Nothing like that. “Anyway, I gotta hang up. Got readings to get done.”

“So you’re in college!” Tony cried triumphantly, waving a hand in the air to try and tell JARVIS to add that to the file he had on Spider-Man. When there was silence on the other end of the line, he sobered up a bit. “I’m not gonna look into it. Promise.”

Another beat of silence.

“Alright. Talk to you later, Tony.”

---

The next time Tony’s phone rang, he was eating dinner with Natasha and Rhodey after being dragged out of his lab. When he saw Danger flash across the screen, he quickly excused himself and walked out of hearing range.

“What’s up, Danger?”

“Would you tell Hawkeye over there to quit it with the arrow-fest?” Tony’s eyebrows just about disappeared into his hairline and he clutched the phone a little tighter. He could hear Spider-Man’s breath coming fast, like he’d just finished swinging. He probably had.

“The what?” He asked, voice edging on a growl.

“He and Thor showed up, tried to ask me again. When I made it clear I wasn’t interested in joining the Brady Bunch and tried to leave, he took a shot at me. Without my danger sense, I definitely would’ve been hit.” Another interesting fact about Spider-Man, but Tony couldn’t pay attention to that now.

“He-fuck, I’m so sorry. That was never-I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Tony ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly.

“It’s fine, Tony. You didn’t take the shot at me,” Spider-Man insisted. “I can handle a few pissed-off Avengers. Really.” After a moment of Tony trying to come up with a response, the vigilante spoke again with a softer voice. “Tony, I’m okay. It’s not your fault. I’m not hurt, I’m safe at home.”

Somehow, the knot that had been growing in Tony’s chest eased at hearing Spider-Man was safe at home. He nodded before realizing he was on the phone and that response wouldn’t really work. “Alright, as long as you’re safe.” Where the hell did that come from? “I-I hate to cut this short but I walked out on Rhodey and Nat and-”

“-and if you’re gone too long, the jig is up. No worries, I get it. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Tony couldn’t stop a smile at the understanding in the man’s voice.

“Talk tomorrow.”

---

After that phone call, Spider-Man’s run-ins with the Avengers got increasingly volatile. While Clint had admitted to losing his cool when he shot the arrow and acknowledged it had been a mistake, they’d lost whatever trust they’d built up with Spider-Man.

Well, the others had. Not Tony.

Each encounter had more biting remarks than the last, and their duration was getting shorter and shorter. The Avengers had even tried catching up to him multiple times in one night. All that resulted in was an exhausted, irritated Spider-Man - Tony could hear it in his voice when they spoke on the phone.

Tony was working on a new suit in the lab when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Glancing at his watch, he realized it was nearly two in the morning. His crooked heart started beating a little faster at that - only one person would call him so late.

“What’s up, Danger?” Tony asked cheerfully as he picked up the phone. The cheer dissipated immediately when he didn’t get a response. All he could hear was labored breathing and a groan of pain. “Hey. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Hey, Tony,” Spider-Man answered, words slurring together. Tony immediately moved to his closest functional suit, letting JARVIS transfer the call over as he got into it.

“What happened?” Tony tried his best to keep the panic from edging into his voice. The faceplate closed and he could see JARVIS running a tracking program, trying to find out where Spider-Man had last been seen.

“No big deal. ‘S just a guy. He had a big knife. Huge. ‘S not safe for the neighborhood,” Spider-Man answered. Tony felt a chill run through him - Spider-Man had been stabbed ? His danger sense never allowed anyone to land a blow.

“Apparently not so safe for neighborhood Spider-Men either,” he quipped with a shaky voice. “Are you doing okay? Have something to stop the bleeding?”

“Does pavement count?” Even in an injured state, the guy was still churning out one-liners like it was nothing.

“I have located Spider-Man, sir,” JARVIS piped up. “Plotting the fastest course.” Tony whirled around, blasting the nearest window and watching it shatter before shooting out of it at top speed.

“Why didn’t you dodge it?” Tony asked, desperate to keep Spider-Man talking to him until he could get there.

“Danger sense isn’t workin’.” Spider-Man’s voice was significantly quieter at that, like he was ashamed.

“Faster, JARVIS! Why not?” Tony barked the command at his AI but softened his voice for the injured vigilante.

“Tired.” The one-word answer was enough. Even if the Avengers hadn’t struck Spider-Man directly since the incident with Clint, they’d caused this. Their persistence had worn down a decent man to the point where he couldn’t defend himself against the common criminals of Queens. That wasn’t what they were supposed to be about, and Tony felt disgusted just thinking about it.

Luckily, he didn’t have to for much longer. The suit began to descend towards a rooftop in a sketchier area of Queens, and Tony spotted the red and blue jumpsuit the guy insisted on wearing. The faceplate flipped up as he landed and knelt next to the form lying on the ground.

“What’s up, Danger?” Tony asked, trying to tease as he gently pushed away the blood-soaked fabric to get a look at the wound.

“Oh my god, this again? Just leave me to die.” Spider-Man groaned, but didn’t push Tony away. The older man laughed, shaking his head. He then pointed his index and middle fingers at the wound, allowing a healing gel to spray out of the suit and onto the injury. It was a new creation of Tony’s - it would stop the bleeding and keep the wound stable until they reached a medbay and could get real medical attention.

“There we go, Spider-Man. We do need to get you properly fixed up, though. This is a temporary solution.” Tony said, leaning over the man still lying there limply. Slowly, Spider-Man brought a hand up to his head. Tony thought he was feeling for blood, and watched in shock as the hand gripped the hood of his mask and tugged it off.

Of course he’s hot, was the first thing that went through Tony’s mind. Floppy brown hair, soft pink lips, and those big eyes that reminded him of a certain deer from an animated Disney movie. Spider-Man shifted slightly, trying to sit up with a quiet groan, and Tony rushed to support him and help hold him up. Spider-Man looked up at him and gave him a crooked grin.

“It’s Peter,” he said. His name. Tony smiled brightly in return.

“What’s up, Peter?”

[obeymeluv]

Quick! Kiss Me! [Part 2 - Lucifer]

So originally this was supposed to be multiple brothers per part but this got unexpectedly long and I only had the energy to get through Lucifer. I’ll definitely get to the other brothers. This project may take priority over the others until I get them all out. I know what I’ll be doing for Mammon’s, sort of for Levi’s, definitely for Satan’s, definitely for Beel’s, and I’m not quite 100% on Belphie’s or Asmo’s. Honestly, they’re not all supposed to get this long, but this one had some lead up + Lucifer. The other ones will probably be a couple of paragraph’s, maybe a page at most.

Note: The Thrall/The Call is something that came up in a Diavolo piece forever ago. Can’t even remember which one because I had to go back and find it myself. It’s basically one of their tell-tale signs they’re trying to seduce someone or flirt with someone.

Some of these kiss scenarios will get a little NSFW because the bros get to kiss you, have a crush on you, and are excited dorks. Everything under the cut just to be safe.

Any bolded italics are your/MC’s thoughts since you can’t currently speak.

Quick! Kiss Me! [Part 2]

--

After a few awkward moments of the brothers standing around, their hearts squeezing in their chests as they tried to hold back their individual Thralls to make your choice more neutral, they realized their wouldn’t be a choice. There couldn’t be. The lip color was too scrambled to work in such a small space with that many people. You’d just barely blinked and the brothers skittered off at inhumane speeds that made your skin crawl; in your human brain it was very much those ‘distant echoes of horror movie noises one should never hear.’ Lucifer turned so abruptly his cape snapped; he melted seamlessly into the natural darkness hiding around the House of Lamentation.

That was the starting gun for the others to disperse.

Belphie exploded into black wispy shadows, sinking into the floor. Asmodeus stretched his wings again, flapping leisurely towards his room as he blew you a teasing kiss. Satan’s eyes, somehow greener and more bewitching than ever, hesitated to leave you as he retreated up the steps, made it about three before deciding to jog, and finally teleported towards the top and around the corner, hints of his horns and a brief whip of his tail following him. A skin-prickling rumble sounded soon after; the fourth-born had embarrassed himself.

Levi sought the privacy of his room, as to be expected. He would die if he kissed you ANYWAYS, but to kiss you in front of his brothers?! He’d rather have a conversation with a stranger! Gross! He was more than happy to get his red face out of view and mumble…whatever he was talking about…into his handheld console.

Only Beel and Mammon remained.

You looked at them curiously, brows raised. Beel gave you his casual smile, a little humming laugh at this situation, and promptly picked Mammon up by the collar of his jacket as they walked away from the foyer area. It was clear the second-born would lounge around and maybe try to sucker into kissing him first. You’d like to think Beel was forcing him to hide so the lip color could give you an accurate reading, but you’d always wondered if the kind, ever-hungry brother got jealous. If he did, he never showed it (and for a guy with six brothers, that was impressive).

Brain and body calmed by the emptiness, by the fact that they were somewhere in the house, you set off on your quest for a kiss. No one’s going to believe this, you rolled your eyes, starting towards the right wing when a gust of cold air overtook you. A chilly numbness set in, nipping at your fingertips and pulsing in your lips and face enough to give you a headache. Not that way, you turned away sharply, the cold receding as you moved in the other direction. Some people have really cute ‘how did you meet?’ stories and mine was getting tricked into magic demon makeup that my boyfriend had to free me from, as you found yourself in the middle of a random hallway an aggravating realization set in: the House of Lamentation was so ornate and old that all the hallways looked the same.

Same walls, same tone of polished furniture, same light fixtures, and the carpeting was a given.

Hadn’t you already been down this hall?! Why was it when you really needed to find one of SEVEN people, you couldn’t find any of them?! You felt like you’d walked the whole house! The House of Lamentation was far bigger than it looked on the outside (was that even possible?) and now you were beginning to think the brothers picked the very corners of the house! You were honestly surprised the brothers hadn’t come looking for you. Some small part of you was too amused and couldn’t help but smile at the fact that centuries-old demons were freaking out and pacing in their hiding spots like schoolboys fixing to go on an overnight trip with their crush.

You shuffled forward, wondering what a positive response felt like. Time alone to just think was really odd, especially with how chaotic the Devildom could be, but it led to some really interesting thoughts. No one would believe the ‘magic demon makeup’ part of your story but you could lie and say it was a really intense game of Hot and Cold. Any of them would make good boyfriends, you admitted to yourself, glad none of them were around to see the pink in your cheeks. If one of them popped up, you’d just lie and blame it on the warm tingle prickling at your lips.

A warm tingle?! That was a lot like what you felt when your lips were sealing shut! You spun in a startled circle, not sure when the feeling began, and desperately tried for a stronger reaction. A prickle became a tingly bubble, like a glass of champagne going to your head too fast, and soon your body felt like it was floating, rolling on waves upon waves of a butterflies-in-my-stomach that washed you up in front of a door.

Inside you found…

Lucifer sitting at his desk, half-heartedly pouring over paperwork. You pushed the heavy door open, feeling like you’d pulled the curtain back on a privacy charm, and wiggled past the old wood. The lazy tapping of whatever he was writing with stopped, the eldest perking up like someone had set him free of the eternal coil of paperwork. If you hadn’t been looking at him while trying to pull your other leg through, you would’ve missed the boyish glow of hope, the they picked me! It’s me!, that was promptly devoured by his blossoming pride.

Face propped up on a gloved wrist, now lounging confidently back against his chair as his other wrist dangled off the arm, Lucifer invited you in with a sly smile and a beckoning roll of his fingers. You rolled your eyes. We both saw your heart stop. You don’t need this ‘tall, dark, and dom’ fake allure, you waved your hands about to emphasize the ‘allure’ as you flashed him a well-meaning smile. You felt pretty confident knowing you could fluster the first born, the one with the sin of pride.

It was actually really heart-warming to know he was so eager to be yours.

“This is no act, I assure you.” Lucifer abandoned his cloak on the back of the chair, undoing it with one hand as he rose to meet you. His wings unfurled slowly and softly, ever majestic, and feathered out to their full length. They shuddered and fluttered, blowing a gentle air about the room. His eyes, normally a gradient of red and black, looked completely red. Lucifer’s pupils had taken on some slit-like appearance that had flecks of black rimming the sides.

A purr rolled in his chest, something quiet but confident, enticing, as he waited for your hand. You found yourself hypnotized by his eyes—maybe for real?—dropping your hand delicately into his. The leather folded around your skin and you couldn’t look away, even as he brought it close to his chest and then higher still, like he’d put it on his shoulder. To pull you into a kiss as dramatic as this—in the quiet only surrounded by the sound of his wings and a purr and the fire crackling in the back of the room—was very Lucifer.

You stood on tiptoe, looking up at him expectantly. Hell, you even batted your eyelashes to really get at him.

WHAT?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

Lucifer’s lips brushed your knuckles again in a stuttering kiss. He placed a few more open-mouthed kissed up your finger before the laughter took over him again. He knew exactly what he was doing, just like he knew what he was doing when he smoothed his hair back away from his face. “Have I left you speechless, my dear?” he’d started to stand to his full height, shit-eating smirk on his lips. His voice was wrapped in a sultry purr that was undoubtedly the first sin mankind ever heard.

That cool façade was strangled in the grip you had on his folded collar, bringing the first-born nose-to-nose with you. Lucifer was hardly intimidated by your glare but oh you were very darling.

BECAUSE YOU CAN’T AIM! Your nostrils flared as you pouted a bit. You’re supposed to kiss me HERE! You pointed to your lips.

“I can’t aim?” Lucifer’s wings twitched, probably in indignation. Were you implying he couldn’t do something? His lips twisted upwards in a little huff, the beginnings of a sneer even. All of that melted away when that large hand cupped the back of your head, fingers twining in your hair. You’d just registered the sensation when he brought your lips to his, head tilted and savoring the kiss.

It was a long with a slight suckle, the eldest truly indulging in this minuet of a moment compared to the usual chaos of his daily existence. He felt you sag against him, hooking his other arm around your waist to stumble towards his desk. You were an awkward clatter of bones against him, chest-to-chest, and one leg falling out of the chair, but you managed.

“This was how it was supposed to be,” Lucifer confessed softly, sitting you in the space he’d cleared for you. Literally. You just now realized the scant space on his desk was big enough for you to sit. He dragged the chair forward, your legs naturally coming to rest against the padded backing on either side of his waist. Lucifer tucked some hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek. “I wanted to kiss you this way,” but my pride got the best of me, he didn’t dare finish saying it, but he thought it.

You felt your lips open, swollen and beautifully tender. To breathe through them felt weird. They still tingled with the after-effect of the enchantment. Lucifer watched you lick your lips experimentally, draw in a breath, and allowed himself to be drawn in, too. You shared a few more languid kisses before his D.D.D started to go off.

You saw Mammon’s icon pop up, then Asmo’s. The brothers were looking for you. “That reminds me,” Lucifer patted your thigh before pushing himself away. He stole another kiss before rounding the corner of his desk. He opened the door just slightly, stepped out of the room, and bellowed something in demon tongue that had a clear message of finality ringing in the house. Whatever he’d said made him lock the door to his study with a quickness, a crimson spell burning into the wood.

Looking very much like a smug older brother, Lucifer dropped himself elegantly back in his chair. One hand situated your legs just as they had been, the other one pulling you close for good measure. He coaxed you into a few kittenish kisses, flinching against your lips when the banging started. You could hear Mammon complaining outside the door. A spell fizzled against the door; seems like Belphegor or Satan had fired one off. Content and exhausted, he found purchase in the curve of your neck, enjoying the silence and your scent.

“We’ll get through this.” You combed your fingers through his hair. You’d have to face the brothers eventually.

“I look forward to it.” Lucifer kissed your shoulder.      

[fruitcoops]

ok this is a very specific request so don't worry if you ignore it, but would you write something about remus helping interview new PTs with moody, and when they eventually find hestia?

Yeah!! I love writing Hestia as the new PT and this was a really neat prompt! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove

Moody reached over and put a hand on Remus’ knee to stop its incessant bouncing. “Breathe, kid.”

“Sorry,” he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he looked at the stack of resumes on the desk. “I’m just nervous.”

“This isn’t your job anymore, you don’t have to—”

“No!” Remus blurted. Moody raised his eyebrows. “Sorry. No, I’m fine, I can stay.”

The old man’s face softened. “We’ll find the right one, okay? You get to be a player now, Loops. You don’t have to stress about this part.”

Yes, I do. Moody must have seen the hesitance on his face, but he shook his head and pressed the buzzer for the first interviewee to enter. The door opened, revealing a middle-aged man with a resume the size of a small Bible in his hands; Remus felt something die inside. It was going to be a long eight hours.

-------------------

Noon came and went, then one o’clock, then two, until four pm rolled around and the stack of paperwork was beginning to resemble the leaning tower of Pisa. The previous applicant, a woman with a temper like a dragon, had decided the best way to handle her polite but firm rejection was to let loose a barrage of verbal abuse on them both.

“Go home,” Moody told him for the eighteenth time.

“Not until we find the right one,” Remus insisted.

“This isn’t your job—”

“I know. Fucking—” He broke off with a huff and rested his forehead on the tabletop. “I know, Moody, but I need to do this. I need to know we’ve got the right person in there, or I’m not going to be able to relax ever again. I promise not to get too involved after this, but please. Please let me do this with you.”

A few beats of silence passed before a heavy hand settled between Remus’ shoulder blades. “You’re a good kid, Lupin. I’m gonna miss you.”

“I’ll still be here every day,” he mumbled.

“I know. Ready to keep going? We’ve only got a few left.”

Remus straightened and winced as his back cracked. “Alright, let’s do this.”

He pressed the buzzer again and the door opened, revealing a young woman with a sky-blue scarf around her head and neck. “Hestia Jones,” she said as she sat. Her face was kind, but she carried herself with confidence. Remus liked her immediately.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Jones,” Moody said, opening her folder. “My name’s Alastor Moody. I’m the head trainer for the Lions.”

“Remus Lupin, the old PT.” Hestia’s handshake was strong. “We’re just going to go through a few basic questions, then you can ask whatever you’d like and we’ll continue from there. Sound good?”

“Sounds great.”

Hestia’s confidence did not waver throughout the interview; her answers were clear and concise. She was quick-witted and smart without being pretentious, and nothing she said made Remus believe she would put up with any whining about exercises or stretches. For the first time in six hours, he felt like they had a really strong candidate.

Moody tapped her portfolio on the desk with a pleased look on his face. Well, as pleased as his face could get. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Jones, I think we’ll—”

“Wait. Could I borrow you for a moment?” Remus asked. Both of them raised an eyebrow at him, but Hestia nodded and stood up. “Awesome, thanks. It’ll just take a second.”

He led her down the hall to the rink, where the team was finishing up with a light scrimmage for bragging rights. He heard several calls of ‘Loops!’ and waved, then motioned her toward the bench. “Quick question,” Hestia said, following the puck with her eyes. “What’s going on here?”

“Hands-on demonstration,” Remus answered. Any minute now.

Pots skated up to the boards, out of breath and sweaty. He grinned when he saw Hestia. “Hey, you’re here for the PT position?”

She blinked in obvious surprise. “Yeah. Hestia Jones.”

“James Potter.” He looked to Remus, who glanced toward the Gatorade bottles. “Hey, H—can I call you H?”

“Sure?”

“Can you grab me a blue Gatorade?”

Hestia didn’t skip a beat before grabbing one off the bench and cracking it open for him. James’ smile widened. “Superstition?” she guessed.

He lifted the bottle toward her in a ‘cheers’ motion. “Indeed.”

“Can I be honest for a second?” she asked, chancing a look at them both.

“It’s preferred,” Remus said.

“I always thought superstitions were kind of bullshit.”

James barked a laugh as Remus snorted. “Y’know, H, I seem to remember this guy saying something very similar on his first day.”

“Pots!” Sirius called. “The hell are you doing?”

“See you around, Ms. Jones,” James said, skating away with a mock-salute.

One by one, each of the players swung by the bench for their rituals and good luck charms. Hestia didn’t miss a single one, keeping her eyes on the game the whole time. She was friendly and bantered right back with the guys despite a few hiccups or moments of surprise when they appeared seemingly out of nowhere; within five minutes, Remus had his answer.

“Thanks for that,” he said as they headed back down the hallway. The tension had begun draining out of his lower back at last.

She shrugged one shoulder. “Never hurts to gauge team dynamics.”

“The Lions—” Remus trailed off, searching for the right words. “They’re a family. A loud, messy, wonderful family that either draws you in or scares you away in the first ten days.”

“You care about them a lot.” It wasn’t a question, but her tone was gentle.

“I do. Which is why I’m going to do everything in my power to convince Moody to hire you when we go back in there.”

Her dark eyes widened. “Really?”

“If you want to,” he amended. “Be prepared to be damp literally all the time, because all of them are huggers.”

“Yeah, I—” She broke off with a laugh. “I think I can handle that. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Remus said, turning the handle on the door. “It’s not my decision.”

Moody was still sorting through the resume pile when they answered; he glanced up, then folded his hands and leaned forward on the desk. He scrutinized them both for a moment, nodding slowly. “Congratulations, Ms. Jones. Welcome to the Lions training staff.”

Her face glowed with happiness as she reached out to shake his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Moody. It’s an honor.”

“Thank you.” He tilted his head toward Remus with a teasing gleam in his eye. “Now I don’t have to listen to him getting all twitchy.”

“Hey!” Remus protested, though he could muster up very little true indignance. “I’m not twitchy!”

“You about bounced yourself out of your chair, Loops,” Moody said drily. “Forgive me for misunderstanding. You start July first, Ms. Jones.”

The excitement on her face made Remus remember the first time he had stepped into the little PT office with his name badge and binders, buzzing with joy. Now, there was a whole new road ahead.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Hestia said.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Stalker X Stalker, Part 11

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Perma tag: @nathleigh @peachmuses

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades @jayjayspixiepop @blueslushgueen @fan-written @seraphichana @nerd-nowandforever @toodaloo-kangaroo

Plot? What's that? I only know domestic fluff

She really didn’t know what to think when Tim asked to move in for a second time the next morning.

On the one hand, it felt like she was taking advantage of him. He’d seen her get shot and she doubted he’d really thought rationally since.

On the other hand… he essentially lived there already and it would do a lot to alleviate the anxiety the both of them had...

She rubbed her eyes -- ha, as if she hadn’t been awake the whole night to make sure he hadn’t had nightmares -- for an excuse to look away while she thought. What should she do? She would be lying if she said she didn’t want him to move in, she knew that was clouding her judgement, but even if she recognized her bias it wasn’t easy to just put it aside.

She sighed lightly and lowered a hand from her eyes. Tim looked really cute after having just woken up with his hair all messy and his eyes half lidded and one of his cheeks slightly flatter where he’d been resting his head against her and who can really say no to that face?

… well, Marinette supposed that would allow both of them to relax a little...

She let her hands drop to rest on top of his.

“Sure, darling. If you want you can move in… but, if you ever want to move out, I won’t stop you. Just ask.”

He cracked a tiny smile. “The only time I’d ever move out of this place is if you were changing apartments.”

She snickered. “Where I go, you go?”

“You have no idea,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “You bats and your dumb cryptic sentences. Would it kill you guys to ever say a single thing directly?”

“Yes. I’m pretty sure that I would drop dead on the spot.”

Her lips twitched. “Oh yeah? Heart attack or sniper?”

“Can’t tell you. I would drop dead on the spot.”

“Damn. Foiled again by the… mystery cause of death!”

The smile on Tim’s face brightened and he looped his arms around her. “You’d save me.”

“Oh? And miss out on my chance to get that rich boy money you probably gave me in your will?”

He schooled his face back into a serious look. “I see. I’ll have to write you out of my will, then. Make sure you bring me back.”

“Nooooooooo! My scheme! Ruined! Now how will I become a millionaire without trying?!”

They looked at each other for a few seconds, his face purposefully smug and hers pinched into a frown…

And then they broke character, giggles falling from their lips and smiles lighting up their faces. She tipped her head forward until it rested against his chest. He squeezed her tighter.

Then, to her surprise, he flopped back on the couch, pulling her with him. “Alright, sleepy time,” he said cheerfully.

“Darling --.”

“You didn’t sleep last night. Sleep.”

She pressed against his chest until she could sit up just enough to glare at him. “I have super strength. May not be as strong as Connor or anything but I can definitely get away from you if I wanted.”

“Of course.” A smug look made its way across his face. “But you wouldn’t hurt your darling, would you?”

She glared harder despite the slight reddening of her cheeks. His smirk didn’t waver.

Marinette huffed and dropped back down. “You’re the worst.”

“You love me.”

She didn’t respond to that, instead just grumbling ‘pillows don’t talk’ and letting herself finally nod off.

~

Having two perfectionists trying to figure out the layout of a limited living space might not have been their brightest idea. They should have, at least, gotten someone to help.

Instead they had brought out Marinette’s tape measure and mapped out the entire apartment on a sheet of paper and then made tiny shapes for the furniture. Now, they sat at the table, obsessively moving pieces around.

It could have been worse, of course. Neither of them were the type to hoard things. He wasn’t all that concerned with anything other than his clothes and his laptop. Marinette only cared about her clothes, video games, and baking tools -- all of which could be tucked away in the provided closets and cabinets with ease. If needed they could probably get by with nothing but a dresser and a pull out bed each.

So, yeah, their own personal living styles weren’t the problem…

It was their work. Who knew their workaholic tendencies would be their downfall (besides everyone, of course)? She needed a lot of space for her fabrics and mannequins to make sure nothing got damaged. Tim would need a lot of space for his supercomputer if he didn’t want to make the long trip to Bristol every night.

Speaking of the trip to Bristol! He needed a place to put his motorbike and his suit. Shit. He could find a place to park his bike if he tried, but… he started cutting out a piece for the suit.

Marinette saw him adding more stuff and her head hit the table.

He snickered a little and poked her hair until she, however reluctantly, picked her head back up to send him a halfhearted glare. He smiled, reaching over and plucking the tiny square of paper from where it had stuck itself to her forehead. A blush spread across her cheeks.

Then she happened to glance down and her annoyance was back in full force.

“We didn’t think this through,” she said.

His smile became more strained as he looked down at their map. “Moving sounds so easy on paper.”

“Maybe it’s easier for people who don’t have such complicated lives.”

“Yeah. You’re right. I’m quitting.”

“Aw, but then I’ll lose my patrol buddy! I’ll have to do everything with your siblings instead.”

His nose scrunched up. “God, no. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please, you love your siblings.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know they’re the worst.”

She looked like she was going to argue, but then she tipped her head and nodded. “True.”

He snickered.

Their smiles disappeared quickly as they looked back at the layout of the apartment. Could they even fit all their stuff?

… wait, actually, could they?

He started shuffling things in and he realized that, if they wanted to have space to walk, there wasn’t enough room. No wonder they’d had so much trouble finding a layout that would work. It was literally impossible. They needed more space.

She hesitated slightly. “... what if we bought out the apartment next to this one for work? It could even double as a backup in case you ever decide you want to have a place of your own again.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Can we do that?”

“You’re rich, you could probably figure it out.”

He rolled his eyes. “I mean, yes, we can technically kick out the people next door but I’d kind of prefer if we didn’t displace random families.”

“I mean… we could always…” She made a stabbing motion.

He couldn’t laugh at that. Laughing at that would be bad. So he wouldn’t do that.

“Bean -- Mari -- no.”

“I’m just saying! We’d even get the apartment at a discount!”

Okay, he might have laughed a little.

… they didn’t end up stabbing anyone but, hey, if the family next door happened to get some huge scholarship courtesy of The Wayne Foundation that they didn’t remember applying for with the stipulation that they would have to move districts... then they just so happened to have a lucky break. Good for them.

Which meant that they only really needed to buy a desk, a dresser, and a bed.

So they went to Ikea! A boring place where no shenanigans ever happen!

… well, no shenanigans ever happen if you’re not a pair of vigilantes that bounce bad ideas off of each other like they were playing a particularly intense game of Don’t Let The Balloon Touch The Ground and the entire world would blow up if they dared to lose.

Speaking of things that touch the ground, the resident dumbasses should probably have kept their feet firmly planted on it.

Marinette squinted down the escalator. “Oh, they’re definitely going to kick us out.”

“Definitely,” he agreed.

“Maybe arrested.”

“Maybe that, too,” he said brightly, checking the pot over his head to make sure it wouldn’t come off.

“... the PR team is going to hate us,” she warned him.

“Absolutely.” He could feel the gaze on the back of his head, telling him that the employees had noticed them and, quite likely, knew what they were planning. “Ready?”

A grin spread across her face. “Of course.”

He smirked. “Good, because they’re coming.”

She glanced back at the employees making their way over to interfere.

“Threetwoonego!”

He pushed off with his foot, relishing in her indignant yelp, and grinned widely as he started the very bumpy ride that was snowboarding down an escalator. He’d thought he’d be more or less okay because he had been a skateboarder but it turns out that boarding down moving stairs is very different from boarding down flat planes. He let loose a string of curses as he struggled to hold the plank of wood to his feet and not die a very painful, very stupid death.

Marinette came whizzing past him, eyes wide and the tray she’d been using as a board somehow missing.

She met his eyes briefly and flashed a grin.

And then they crashed.

It was about as painful as one would expect. Tim was glad that he’d thought to give himself a pot-helmet-thing because it had cracked down the middle and he didn’t even want to think about what would have happened if he hadn’t done that.

And he was the lucky one. He got out with a few bruises and a better appreciation for his own life. Marinette was nursing an arm that looked like it was trying to imitate the escalator they had just slid down, lips pressed together tightly as tears threatened to escape.

He carefully crawled over to check for any other injuries that might have been less noticeable.

She grinned up at him, either because he was currently checking to see if her teeth were all in place or to be smug. What she could currently be smug about, though, he had no clue…

“You’re so stupid,” he told her, just in case she wasn’t already aware.

Her smug grin remained even after he had removed the finger from her mouth. “You’re just mad that I won.”

“... sorry?” He hadn’t even been thinking about their impromptu race, too concentrated on the whole ‘making sure they hadn’t just died’ thing, and it took a moment for his brain to catch up. Then he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, won a pretty new cast, maybe.”

She snickered. “You had to cheat and you still didn’t even win. How does it feel to suck?”

“Probably still better than it feels to have a broken arm.”

She sat up. “It’s fine, I’ll live.”

He snorted. “You bet you will. I’m going to bubble wrap the whole apartment.”

“You can’t babyproof the place! We don’t even have kids yet!”

Before he could question her use of the word ‘yet’, the employees managed to get their attention. They were trying to get down the currently very broken escalator and the one that was currently going the wrong way for them. Despite this, the two of them had only a minute max before they reached them.

Marinette and Tim locked eyes.

“Run?” She suggested.

He was already getting to his feet. He dropped a business card for the employees and turned to her.

He grabbed her good hand and they sprinted out of the store, smiles lighting up their faces and laughter spilling from their lips. The poor employees hadn’t stood a chance of catching the two vigilantes, even injured as they were. They knew the city like the back of their hands and were able to weave in and out of side streets and alleyways without much thought.

Once they were sure that no one was following them -- leaving a store unattended in Gotham was a terrible idea and Tim had left a card for them to call -- she tugged him to hide between two buildings.

They squeezed into the tiny space and leaned into each other for support while they struggled to catch their breath. Her good hand came up to grip his shirt. He rested his forehead against the wall above her.

She lifted her gaze to his and he wished she hadn’t because he’d already been out of breath enough before she’d done that but now here was staring into her blue eyes, the corners crinkled in a way that had become so familiar to him over the past few months, and god… all he could think about was all the stories that described how time stopped when you fell in love… and how those stories couldn’t be more wrong. He would have hated for that to happen because if time stopped then he would have to see that perfect smile of hers in anything but real time and he doubted that it would have looked nearly as beautiful without the way her shoulders shook with barely restrained laughter or the slight fluttering of her lashes or the steady pinkening of her cheeks.

She finally gave a little puff of laughter. “What?”

He blinked once, trying to bring himself back to what was going on. “Oh, I was just thinking…”

“Oh? Don’t strain yourself.”

He smiled. “I was just going to say something nice but instead I’ll insult you on your stealth. You’d be a terrible criminal, laughing during your getaway.”

She rolled her eyes. “You laughed, too.”

“Yeah, but when I did it it was super cool and professional.”

“Ah, I see. How could I not have noticed it before?”

He snickered. “Well, if today has proved anything, it’s that you are not, in fact, the world’s greatest detective.”

She grinned. “You were the one that put the pot on my head originally.”

“You came up with the idea to go down the escalators like that.”

“You agreed.”

“You -- I -- shut up,” he complained, sending her a glare.

She smiled at him until he pretty much had no choice but to smile back, letting his head fall the last few inches to press his forehead against hers.

Her hand gripped his shirt a little tighter.

He moved his hands from the wall to her waist.

They stood there, letting time pass them by, searching each other's eyes for some sort of answer to the question neither of them could bring themselves to ask aloud. He bit his lip, trying to swallow down his anxiety.

Her eyes flicked to his lips, her own parted as if to say something, before she seemed to think better of it.

She closed the gap. His heart skipped a beat at the feather-soft feeling of her lips against his and he let his eyes flutter shut. She teased his lip out from between his teeth with her own.

And then she pulled back just slightly.

He opened his eyes just enough to see her shy smile and the blush lighting up her face.

“You… you really have to stop doing that. They’ll get chapped --.”

He pressed forward again, capturing her lips in a kiss that was far more desperate than the last. She gasped quietly and he took the chance to slip his tongue into her mouth. The hand fisted in his shirt slid up to wrap around the back of his neck, dragging him even closer. He pressed her back against the wall, a hand trailing up to tangle itself in her hair, trying to reach more --.

She brought her bad arm up to cradle his face and then yelped in pain.

He jumped back. Right. Broken arm. Looks like a staircase. Not good.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh… let’s get you treated.”

~

Marinette ended up with a pink cast and an order to stay home for at least a week.

She pouted, resting her head back against the couch as she watched him shuffle around in search of his second shoe (it was tucked behind her back, but he didn’t need to know that). “I’m not a child, you guys can’t just ground me,” she complained for what felt like the millionth time.

Tim rolled his eyes. “We all have to do it when we break bones unless it’s an all hands on deck situation. Been like that since even before I was Robin.”

“But B goes out with broken bones all the time!”

“That’s different.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“It is. If there is a situation where B can be a hypocrite he will do it”

Marinette scoffed. “And you’re allowed out because…?”

He started counting off on his fingers. “None of my bones are broken, my job requires me to leave, I don’t get in trouble 9/10 times I leave the house… should I go on?”

“Last one is a lie,” she mumbled.

“No, I only get in trouble, like, 8/10 times I leave.”

It was hard to maintain her glare. She settled for sticking her tongue out at him like the mature adult she was. He returned it, despite the fact that he was also an adult according to the law.

He grinned and came to sit next to her on the couch. She shifted around until she was leaning against him instead of the couch, legs tangling with his.

He didn’t say anything about the blatant attempt at trapping him there with her. Instead, he leaned closer to her face and said: “Speaking of leaving, do you happen to know where my other shoe is?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Why do I get the feeling that you already know where it is?”

He snickered. “I know you, Bean. So, can I have it back?”

“Hm… I don’t know…” she said, twirling his tie around her hand.

He let her pull him down for a kiss. She giggled against his lips as his hands ghosted over her in search of the missing shoe. She kept her good hand at his collar as a kind of silent promise that she wouldn’t -- couldn’t -- move the shoe, even throwing her bad arm around his neck just in case.

He pulled away a few moments later, squinting at her suspiciously. “I’m beginning to suspect I’ve been tricked.”

Her eyes widened in mock innocence. “Me? Trick you? I could never.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, where is it?”

She glanced at the time and smirked. “I guess you’ve earned it…” She pulled her foot out from between the couch cushions to show him the shoe she had hastily slipped on when he’d gotten close.

He scoffed lightly and slipped it off. “Y’know, if I had literally one of the most common fetishes in the world that wouldn’t have worked.”

“But you don’t, so it did,” she chirped with a cheeky grin.

“Guess that’s true…” He pecked her lips one last time before pulling his shoe on and she grinned as she watched him head to the door.

Only to stop a little short because of a knock.

He raised his eyebrows and glanced back. “Are one of my siblings coming over?”

She pressed her lips together thinly to keep herself from laughing. “It’s not any of their normal times. I just figured that, if I had to be home alone all day and couldn’t really do any work because my stupid cast, I should at least keep busy while you were gone.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. He stepped forward and opened the door to reveal a delivery guy with three giant boxes. The furniture they had ordered from Ikea had arrived.

He signed for them and then turned to glare at her. “You planned all this so I couldn’t go.”

“I mean… you could always leave me here to do them myself.” She batted her eyelashes at him innocently. “Of course, my broken arm will make it a little difficult but I’m sure I’ll manage.”

She had been stared down by Batman in full kevlar, she could handle the glare Tim gave her in his slightly messy work suit.

Then, he sighed. “Do you have a backup plan?”

“Obviously. Don’t think you’ll like that one as much.”

He scowled. “You’re really this determined to not be home alone?”

“Oh, no, this is about getting B to allow me out. Trapping you and your siblings here is just a means to that end.”

“You’re going to be trapping my siblings here, too?”

She grinned. “Yep. They show up all the time, might as well use that.”

His shoulders slumped a little.

She giggled. “If I have to stay inside all the time then so do you guys. It’s the rules.”

And, so, she reached for him until he pressed a short kiss to her lips.

Then, they got to work. Or, rather, he did. She had been relegated to just sitting nearby and helping him figure out how to build it.

She took a few pictures for their public accounts as necessary: a picture of him with three screws poking out of his mouth while he tried to figure out the weird L-shaped tool he’d been given, a picture of the two of them staring at the instruction sheet with confused frowns on their faces (taken by Tikki), Vanelope enjoying the boxes the stuff had come in, what was definitely not a thirst pic of Tim, and then the finished furniture in the apartment.

It was there, right before she was about to post it, that she realized that she hadn’t actually publicly followed any of the Waynes. She squinted at her bio, which proclaimed that she would only follow people she genuinely liked, and then at the ten people she had followed. The internet would notice if she suddenly followed eight more people.

“Darling?”

He peeked an eye open from where he was relaxing on the couch and then raised an arm for her. She took his hand and smiled a little when he pulled her into his lap so he could hug her like a pillow.

Then she pulled a more serious look to her face. “Do you want to go public or not?”

He buried his face in her neck. “Sure.”

“... not even gonna think about it?”

He shrugged. “They’re going to suspect it no matter what. Especially since we were goofing around in an Ikea of all places and you’re uploading pictures of me helping you with furniture.”

She nodded slightly. “I know, but I don’t have to upload them.”

There was a long silence as they considered their options.

Eventually he just sighed and tightened his grip on her. “I’ll go with anything you want to do, Bean.”

She relaxed slowly and, hesitantly, she sent him the photos. “Here, you can upload them, too. Might as well make it public on both of our accounts.”

He picked his head up slightly to check out the pictures. She felt his lips curl into a smile against her shoulder at the picture of Vanelope. “This one is nice.”

She snickered. “All cats are cute, obviously it would make a nice picture.”

He hummed his agreement. “No offense to you, you’re cute and all, but the cat definitely wins the cutest here.”

“I’m not offended at all. We could never beat that.”

Then, she got an idea.

“Except… maybe… want a picture of us kissing for the reveal?”

“I’ll take any excuse,” he said with a wink.

She rolled her eyes even as she felt her face warm. “You don’t need an excuse to kiss me, dumbass.”

Now it was his turn to blush. Yay, revenge.

… also, it would be cute for the picture if they were both a little red for it.

She twisted in his lap to press a kiss to his lips. His hands came up to cradle her face. She threw her bad arm around his neck, fingers threaded in his hair.

Her camera clicked. They ignored it.

[mammor0n]

Delayed Reunion | Mammon x Reader

Finally, you’re reunited with your ‘first guy.’ A certain aphrodisiac adds an interesting twist to your reunion.

Words: 1k

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE NEW LESSONS!!! Like literally some of Mammon’s verbatim responses. Also implied smut but nothing graphic.

Not even one full day back in the Devildom, and already something had gone awry. You’d been shipped all over the castle, nulling the effects of the aphrodisiac one by one, but there was one person you had yet to find.

Finally, you’d crossed paths. And he was not pleased.

“Grr… MC! Why didn’t you come by my room first, huh?! Why?!”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Mammon was on a roll, continuing before you could get in so much as a noise of indignance.

“Are my brothers more important to you than me?! Is that it? They mean more to you than THE Mammon?!” Though his words were hard, they held an underlying softness, eyes glistening with a vulnerability that the demon tried so hard to repress. “Well, do they?!”

“No one’s more important to me than you, Mammon,” you told him, offering a tiny smile. “I wanted to come and see you as soon as I arrived, but I couldn’t get a moment to myself… I missed you so much.”

Mammon jolted back, blinking and sputtering at your response. “R-right, exactly! That’s what I thought!” he insisted. “I mean, I was your first, wasn’t I? You’re number one on my list, y’know? Always.”

You smiled, stepping forward and running your hand down his arm. He stiffened, before slowly relaxing into your touch. 

“You’re number one on my list, too, Mammon. Forever.”

His cheeks reddened. “So why didn’t you stop by my room first, huh? Why didn’t you..?” he fumbled. You squeezed his arm reassuringly.

“I’m here now, Mammon. You’re my first guy, remember? I always want to go to you first, even when the universe tries to stop me.”

“R-really?” His voice was small, dripping with uncertainty. 

You nodded. “Really.”

“W-well, of course ya wanna spend time with THE Great Mammon, right?!” he barked a laugh before his eyes landed on your hand that still rested on his bicep. He swallowed, cheeks flaming.

“MC… The whole time you’ve been gone, you’ve been all I could think about. Like, can you believe that? Me, THE Mammon, spendin’ all my time thinkin’ about you? Like, I haven’t even been able to focus on comin’ up with ideas for makin’ money…”

You raised an eyebrow, and Mammon averted his gaze sheepishly. 

“...Well, okay, it’s not like I’ve STOPPED thinkin’ about that stuff. But still, I’ve spent as much time thinkin’ about you as I have thinkin’ about makin’ money! Like, what’s WRONG with me? That’s no way for the Avatar of Greed to act.” The demon’s jaw was tight, and he refused to meet your eyes.

“I thought about you as well, Mammon. Every day. You were the first person on my mind when I woke up, and you were my last thought before I went to sleep. I… I’m so glad I’m back, Mammon. I missed you. So much.” Your eyes burned, and you laughed, the sound thick as it stuck in your throat.

Mammon squirmed. “Ugh, dammit. This is bad…” You looked at him questioningly, and had his cheeks been any more scarlet, they’d have been glowing. “That fire inside me is REALLY burnin’ now…”

It was your turn to blush. Right. The aphrodisiac…

“Do you want me to make it go away?” you asked.

“Make it go away..?” His eyes darkened, before fading. “Wait, you mean by givin’ me an order? Like, if I do what you say, that’s supposed to cure me, right? Maaan… This is killin’ me! It’s killin’ me, but… still, that’s alright. I’ll just deal with it. If I follow one of your orders, then this feelin’ might go away, right? Well, I don’t want that…”

“You don’t?”

Mammon shot up defensively. “Well- I- I mean-” He swallowed. “I just wanna be with you like this a little longer, okay? And- and if you go givin’ me orders, then- then you’re just gonna leave again, aren’t ya? And- and I don’t want ya to go away. Not again.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Mammon. I promise.” You stepped closer to him, arms looping around his neck. His skin was hot beneath your touch, but he pressed closer to you despite his blush until you were chest to chest. Mammon leaned forward until his forehead met yours, a low groan tumbling from his lips.

“Y-ya make me crazy, y’know that? Look at me, y-you’ve got me all worked up. The hell am I s’posed to do now?”

You smiled. “Well… this isn’t an order, but… maybe you could kiss me,” you suggested, tone light. 

Mammon gulped. “Are you tryin’ to get me even MORE worked up?” he demanded. “Now you’re playin’ with fire…”

“Then burn me. If it’s you, I don’t care. I’m your human, right, Mammon?”

“Damn right you are,” he breathed, before sealing his mouth to yours.

The heat of his lips on yours had you putty in his hands, melting against his chest as his hands snagged in your hair and grabbed at your hip. He hummed into the kiss, a low moan that fed into your own gasp. His tongue met yours, and the urgency off the kiss simmered down to a slow, passionate exchange that stole your breath and left your head spinning. If Mammon hadn’t been clutching you so desperately, you were half-certain that your knees would have given out.

Your D.D.D buzzed, and Mammon made a discontented sound of objection as you drew back with swollen lips and burning cheeks. You glanced to the screen and sighed at the sight of Lucifer’s message.

“Ignore it,” Mammon whispered, his breath brushing over your earlobe as he leaned to press kisses to your neck, sucking and nibbling at the skin.

“Lucifer will be mad…” you protested gently, but Mammon didn’t ease up on his affections, instead opting to tighten his grip on you.

“If ya really want me to stop, just say the word.”

You didn’t answer; only leaned in to kiss him again. “Fuck Lucifer,” you muttered. Mammon grinned into the kiss. 

“I have a better idea of who you could fuck,” he whispered cheekily, before locking his door and pulling you towards his bed.

__________

thanks for reading!! drop a comment/reblog to let me know if u enjoyed?? 👉👈🥺

[wiypt-writes]

Riding On

CH7- Home, Sweet Home

Summary: Frank and Fliss find their perfect family home, but there’s something bothering Mary.

Warnings: Bad Language words. Discussions about suicide. A little bit of angst.

Pairing: Frank Adler x Fliss Gallagher

A/N: This is a bit of an emotionally charged filler chapter…and we move time on a little through to June in the middle. And photos of the Adler house are included at the bottom so you can visualise what I used for inspiration.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding On Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 6

You’re giving it another try, staring at the deep blue sky, and you say to the driver just drive, coz you never felt so alive.

 April 2019

“Hey honey, you ok?” Frank juggled his phone, pinning it between his ear and his shoulder as he leaned over his computer in the office, scanning the database on the screen for a filter part they needed to order. 

“No, I mean yes! I’ve just heard some awesome news!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, so you remember the guy that bought the house that backs onto the yard when Old Man River died…” “That wasn’t his name.” Frank chuckled “It was Mr Morris.”

“He called himself River, it was funny and suited him. Anyway, that’s not the point. You know the guy who bought it…guess what I found out before?”

Frank stopped what he was doing and straightened up. He didn’t like that dick, one bit. When Mr Morris had died at the start of the year, Fliss had been quite upset about the news as the old man had been very friendly to her, often popping in for a cup of tea a few afternoons a week for some company. Mr Morris’ son had sold the house without them even knowing it had gone on the market, which was a shame as it would have been perfect for them given the location. The guy who had bought it, Frank didn’t even know his name, nor did he care because he was a dick and a pervert to boot. The way he looked at Fliss made Frank want to punch his face in.

“What’s Douchey Mc Douchebag done now?”

“You’re so childish.” she scoffed “Anyway, I was only commenting to Joanne last night that we haven’t seen him for like a month and she went home and mentioned it to her dad who works with some other guy in the property development business and the long and short of it is he’s gone bankrupt Frank!”

Frank laughed loudly “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, babe!”

“I know right!” Fliss voice was gathering pace and pitch, the way it always did when she was excited. “So literally about half hour after she’s told me this, someone turns up and there’s a For Sale sign outside, the house is on the market!”

Ok now he was interested. Frank could picture the look of excitement on her face as she spoke to him and he felt the smile cross his face “No shit?”

“Yeah, I’ll send you the website to look at the photos but…oh God, it would be perfect! Some of it is really nice, some of it needs decorating but…”

“Ok, well, why don’t you call the realtor? Arrange a viewing” he said “Hopefully you won’t puke halfway round this one.”

“Ok, first off that wasn’t my fault. Bean objected to the smell. Who the fuck cooks eggs the day they know they have someone coming to view their house?” her indignant tone made Frank chuckle “And second off…”she paused “I already did. He said he can meet us at half 12.”

“Half 12? As in lunch time? Today?” Frank frowned.

“I know I just really don’t want to miss out on this one Frank, and you said you were gonna come up here for lunch and-”

“Ok, ok.” Frank sighed “I’ll shuffle some stuff around, work a little later tonight and take an extra half hour.”

“I love you.” she replied and he could hear the smile in her voice.

“Good job I love you too.” he said back gruffly “Because you’re a pain in my ass.”

He bid her goodbye and just as he was looking at the rota to make sure there were enough staff in to cope if he took a longer lunch, his phone beeped. He clicked through to the link Fliss had sent him and had a scan through the photos. To be fair the house didn’t look in too bad condition. It was deceptive from the outside, looked like a small farmhouse but they knew thanks to the extension Douchebag had put on the back it now formed an L shape and from the look of it, was pretty spacious. The kitchen was new, the main bathroom was new so the big work looked like it had been mostly done. The décor in some of the rooms was really old fashioned, especially the hallway you and the front reception room, but that was all cosmetic. What really grabbed him was the price. It was up for just over 320 thousand, which was a fucking steal considering the size, location, the garden and the garage/outhouse it came with.

“You ok Frank?”

He looked up and smiled as Alan, his boss walked in to the office. “Yeah, sorry, Fliss has found a house and managed to book a viewing for lunch time. Fucking 7th one in 2 weeks.”

Alan snorted “Keeping you on your toes I see?”

“Well I gotta say, this one’s looking pretty good. It’s the house that backs onto our Yard out in Pinellas Park.” Frank explained “It was sold not even 6 months ago to a developer and he’s apparently gone bankrupt so put it back on the market.”

“Huh.” Alan smiled “Sounds like it was meant to be. Take it you’re going then?”

“Yeah, Charlie and Gary are in all afternoon. I thought I could take an extra half hour, work it back tonight or…”

“Frank, when was the last time you actually took a full hour for your lunch and didn’t cut it short by 10 or 15?” Alan looked at him.

Frank hesitated “Yeah, but that’s-”

“No buts.” Alan shook his head. “Do what you gotta do.”

“Thanks Alan.” Frank smiled, “I appreciate it.”

Alan waved away his gratitude before he dropped into the chair on the opposite side of Frank’s small desk and gestured for Frank to sit down.

“I wanted to talk to you in person, before the news gets out. I’m looking at retiring Frank, fully this time.”

“That’s good news, for you I mean.” Frank smiled, taking his seat. “You must be happy?”

“Kinda bitter sweet.” He shrugged “But I hit 70 this year and bout time I let it all go. Bill’s already chomping at the bit to book damned fishing trips so...it’ll be nice to step back. But I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Shoot.”

“My son, James is going to be taking over, that won’t come as any surprise to you as you’ve seen him knocking around a bit and he likes you.”

“Good to know I’m not going to be out on my ass.” Frank smiled, breathing out a little.

“No, not a chance. I wouldn’t allow it.” Alan said “I’ll still be the owner, just stepping back from major decision making and day to day running. Anyway, the point is Frank, James needs a deputy. He is young and a little inexperienced. I’ve seen how quickly over the last year you’ve picked up rotas, staffing issues, dealt with the stock takes, haggled with the supply chain…I wondered if you’d consider it.”

Frank blinked “You wanna make me deputy manager?”

“In a word, yes. And I know you got your hands full at the moment and they’ll be even more full when that boy of yours arrives but the changes won’t come into effect until the end of the year so we got plenty of time to work out the details.”

“Wow, I err…” Frank shook his head “I don’t know what to say.”

“I don’t need an answer now.” Alan said, “Take some time to consider it. Talk it over with Fliss.”

“I will, I’ll give it some thought.”

“Ok, well, that’s all I dropped in for.” Alan said, standing up, groaning a little “Did you just hear my damned knees click?”

Frank laughed and shook his head “No, but to be honest mine click too so I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Getting old sucks.” Alan said, shaking his head “I tell ya, the minute I can’t enjoy the simple things in life, put a bullet in my head.”

Frank snorted as Alan shot him a wink and left him to his thoughts.

******* Frank glanced down at the wooden boards beneath his feet in the entrance hall. They were solid old wood, oak he thought, and with a clean and polish would look stunning. He looked up and saw Fliss talking animatedly to the realtor, a young man called David as he nodded and gestured to his left. Fliss opened the door and looked at Frank who followed her into the first reception room. It smelt musty, and there was an old sofa and threadbare carpet in the room but it was light and had a nice, airey feeling to it thanks to the large windows at the front of the house.

“New carpet and a bit of paint…” Frank mused nodding, “Be good as new.”

She nodded eagerly, her eyes shining a she looked around and nodded at the fire place “Really, in Florida?”

“It gets cold, as you know.” he teased “Besides, we just fill it with some of your million candles or whatever…”

She nudged him and they turned around, David watching them.

“So, you’re obviously in the older part of the house that hasn’t really been touched apart from upstairs.” he explained, “But if you follow me I’ll show you the extension which is all new and, well, to be honest, I think it’s stunning.”

The three of them moved back into the hall and through a door at the end which led into a huge open plan kitchen and living area. The kitchen was gorgeous. Sleek white units, modern appliances, marble tops, a huge breakfast bar. Douchebag had clearly spent a fortune doing this up. The floor was a light grey and white laminate which David pointed out was heavy wearing.  To the left of the kitchen area was a huge space where Frank could clearly picture their sofas and TV, and then just off that was a door which led into another smaller reception room, freshly painted and carpeted.  He was just pondering how they could turn that into a play room when Fliss gave a gasp and nudged Frank pointing to the large bay window at the back which had been converted into a seating nook of sorts. They made their way over and saw that the view extended right over their garden highlighting a small pool area which was surrounded by a low set of railings with a gate that were all painted a glossy black. The pool itself was sparklingly clean and clearly brand new.

“Oh wow… “ Fliss mumbled, looking at the sand stone tiles that surrounded the area and the rest of the garden.

“Yeah the rear garden loops in an L round the house” David said. “There’s a larger fence around this area to keep it private and separate from the land at the front that runs flush to the yard area.”

Frank’s hands dropping to her hips as he nodded to the right “Could extend that little patio area for a table and chairs, maybe build a brick BBQ. Couple of sun-loungers for that bit at the back of the pool.”

She nodded eagerly before they headed back into the hallway they’d entered into where the realtor showed them the little room that was to the right as you came in the door which held a number of shelves and coat hooks and a toilet and sink basin. They then headed up stairs to find 4 bedrooms. The master extended down the entire side of the house overlooking the main yard area of Sandybrook. It needed some work, the plaster and paint was peeling away in some areas, but Frank wasn’t worried at that. It was an easy job. What he was pleased to see was that the rest of it was in good condition. There was a brand new en-suite attached to it, housing a toilet, a huge shower and his and hers sinks. The room also had built in wardrobes and huge ceiling to floor bi-folding doors which opened up onto a small balcony. Douchebag had clearly been focussing on the big jobs first before he got into the cosmetics, which Frank had to give him credit for.

The main bathroom was in between the wall of their en-suite and the next bedroom, both situated at the back of the house over the extension and overlooking the fields belonging to the yard. The plaster was fresh in that bedroom but hadn’t been painted, again, not an issue, because Frank knew a certain little miss would be no doubt picking a colour as soon a she spotted this room.

“Bet Mary chooses this one.” Frank said, voicing his thoughts and Fliss nodded, smiling

“I would if the Master didn’t have that en-suite.” she grinned “Look at that view!”

“Yeah, who’d have thought you could work from home in the equestrian business” he chuckled as they then headed to the next bedroom on the opposite side of the landing. This was also rather large, but like the main part of the master bedroom, was clearly one of the original two bedrooms the house had and it needed some updating.

The 4th bedroom was a smaller one up a narrow set of stairs hidden by door in the hallway. It opened up into an attic room which tucked into the roof of the house.

The realtor then led them back down and the out to the outbuildings. There was a huge garage with a half- finished apartment of sorts above it that had been used as storage but could be easily a guest suite if they so wanted,  and then the thing Frank had really loved was the workshop off the side of the garage, accessed by a small door. It was musty and full of crap but was somewhere for him to store all his tools and work on any side projects he decided to pick up.

All in all Frank was finding it pretty damned hard to pick faults in the place.

As they headed back to the main house and Frank asked David politely to give them a moment to look around alone and he nodded eagerly before Frank and Fliss headed back into the house.

“I’m getting good vibes Sailor.” Fliss said as she turned round, looking at the kitchen, once more heading over to the bay window seat, “really good vibes.” she spun back to him and he smiled at the look on her face. “I mean, ok, a few rooms need decorating and there’s some finishing off bits to do all over but it’s nothing that dad can’t help with and I’m sure-“

At that she stopped dead, and gave a little gasp as her hand flew to her bump.

“You ok?” Frank stepped forward.

“Yeah he’s…” she swallowed “Bean’s kicking, Frankie! Quick!”

He reached out with his hand and she took it, pressing it to the side of her bump. After a second or two he felt something wriggle a little under his palm and he looked at Fliss, his face cracking into an open mouthed smile as he felt his son move for the first time.

“Lissy…” he swallowed his eyes misting over. “That’s…oh my God!”

“You should feel it from my POV!” Fliss smiled her own eyes glassy too.

Frank didn’t want to take his hand away. Instead, he kept moving his palm, tracking their baby’s movements when eventually they stopped.

“I think that means BB likes the house.” Fliss looked at him.

Frank scoffed, shaking his head. “BB’s Momma likes the house.”

“Doesn’t his Daddy?” she asked, her hands sliding round his neck.

“Yeah, his Daddy does.” he replied honestly in a low voice as he looked around the large room. “In fact, I like it a lot.”

“You think Mary will?”

“Are you kidding?” Frank snorted “Soon as she sees that view and that pool, she’ll be packing to move in straight away.”

“Suppose there’s only one way to find out.” Fliss smiled.

So they did. They brought Mary back the next day after school. She had squealed at the window seat, yelled about the pool and as she had shot upstairs and headed into the bedroom Frank had predicted she would like, given a jump for joy as she realised from the upstairs she had a view over the tall picket fencing that shielded the private area of the garden.

“I can see Monty!” she gleefully pointed out before turning to Frank and looking at him then to Fliss, her hands on her hips “If you don’t buy this house you’re a pair of dumbasses.”

The same sentiment was echoed by Bill when he turned up fifteen minutes or so later and walked around with Frank whilst Fliss and Mary headed to feed the horses. He did exactly the same thing he had done when they had looked at the apartment, pointed out what they needed to do, how long it should take them to do, rough estimates of cost. Plus, he also reminded Frank they were in a great position. They could buy the place and then give his months’ notice on the apartment meaning they could stay where they were until it was finished.

So that was it. Decision made. The next morning they went in with a cheeky offer, some twenty thou below the asking price which was rejected instantly. Then they upped their offer by five…then an additional three to total eight, with the fact that they were cash buyers and not in a chain a huge bargaining chip.

It was later that evening, just after they had finished dinner when the realtor called back.

“Evening Mr Adler, ok so…I have spoken to the vendor. He says if you can up your offer by another two thousand then you’ve got a deal.” David spoke. At that, Frank let out a huge grin, as he looked out of the kitchen window at Mary and Fliss who were outside the apartment, both sat on a chair round the table. He and Fliss had both agreed they were prepared to go to the full asking price, in their mind it was worth it, but they were about to seal the deal here for ten thousand less.

 “Ok, two thousand more.” Frank said, keeping his voice level “But the property comes off the market as we don’t want anyone else spotting it and offering him more before we exchange contracts.” he repeated word for word what Greg had instructed him to do when he had asked him to handle the conveyancing earlier that morning.

“Ok, so the offer on the table is Three-ten on the proviso he grants exclusivity…” David repeated. “Ok, leave it with me.”

Frank finished loading the dishwasher, and had just grabbed himself a beer when David called back not even five minutes later.

“Congratulations Mr Adler, you have a deal.”

He thanked him, and grinning ear to ear headed outside, jumping down the steps onto the lawn.

“What you looking so pleased about?” Fliss looked up at him suspiciously.

“David called… we’ve settled on three-ten plus exclusivity” he smiled

“What, you mean…” Fliss’ mouth fell open and Frank nodded.

“Yup, subject to contracts, the place is ours!”

Mary gave a loud cheer as Fliss jumped up and leapt at him as he smiled, wrapping her in his arms, swinging her up slightly.

“I can’t believe it…” she whispered. “Our own home!”

“I know” he beamed, setting her down as he gave her a quick peck. “I’ll call Greg in the morning. When I talked to him about it he said that with no loans involved it shouldn’t take too long. We could be looking a having the keys in a month.” His hands dropped to her hips, palms resting either side of where his son was growing “So plenty of time to do his nursery.”

Fliss grinned and using the arms that were round his neck pulled his face down to hers and pressed a fierce kiss to his mouth. “God I love you.” she mumbled.

“Love you too.” he grinned, kissing her again, ignoring Mary’s fake puking noises in the background.

*****

June 2019

“Mr Adler?"

Frank stopped as he had been striding over the yard to collect Mary and turned to see Mrs McCarthy, her teacher walking towards him.

"Hi." He smiled, removing his sunglasses so he could look her in the eyes.

"I'm so sorry to bother you"

"No bother at all." He assured her "is everything OK?"

Mrs McCarthy glanced over to where Mary was stood talking to her friend, Rosie, and turned back to him

"Yes...nothing too drastic but I wanted to make you aware about a little incident in class this afternoon"

Frank looked at her, blinking "incident?"

"Maybe that's the wrong word." The older, blonde woman said "Look, as you know next week it's the end of year Gala, the fundraiser and we invite the parents to join us for activities.”

Frank nodded, wishing the woman would get to the damned point. He was hot, dirty and bothered after an afternoon of helping the team on a particularly awkward repair and wanted nothing more than to stand under a cold shower for an hour and flop down outside with a beer.

"Well, one of the girls asked Mary if she was bringing her mom and if they were making anything for the bake sale and Mary rather bluntly told the girl her mother was dead and then clammed up. She didn't speak a word for the rest of the afternoon."

Frank felt his chest tighten as he looked over at Mary who was now giggling with Rosie and sighed

"She didn't do anything wrong" Mrs McCarthy pressed "I was just a little worried."

"Thanks for letting me know, I'll talk to her later, make sure she's okay." Frank assured her.

The woman nodded and headed back across the yard as Frank gave a sharp whistle and slid his aviators back onto his face. Mary looked up and said goodbye to Rosie and came wandering over as Frank waved to Rosie's mom who tossed a hand in greeting in response.

"I'm not Thor" She fixed Frank with a stare.

"I know but I couldn't be bothered walking over." He replied honestly as they climbed into the truck

"You have a good day?"

"It was OK." She shrugged. Frank eyed her for a second before she pulled the car away from the kerb and set off down the road.

"What's for dinner?" Mary asked.

"Steak, baked potatoes and salad." He replies "Fliss' choice."

"Are you grilling?" Mary asked.

"Yup." He nodded

"Cool." Mary nodded "Can I go in the pool before?"

"Got any homework?" Frank countered with another question as he looked at her. Mary shook her head

“End of year next week and Uni didn't give me any summer work."

"Then yeah, of course you can.”

Frank didn't raise the so called incident, deciding to let her chill out a little bit at home first and digest how she felt. After 20 minutes or so of general chat Frank pulled up their driveway and stopped the truck next to Fliss' truck. As they hopped out Mary glanced across the garden over the smaller part of the fence where she could just see Fliss walking across the yard.

"Please can I go see Monty?" She looked at Frank and he nodded.

"I'll watch you." He agreed. With a grin she sprinted over the lawn, climbed over the fence and dropped over onto the other side. Thor gave a bark and Fliss turned round and smiled at her, before she waved at Frank. He waved back before he headed down the side of the house, through the gate in the larger fence before he unlocked the back door and stepped inside the cool air conditioned kitchen, kicking off his shoes and heading straight to the fridge for a beer. Draining half in one he stood, looking around and smiling. They’d finally unpacked the last box yesterday evening and Fliss was still in the process of moving things around their new home, positioning them where she wanted them.

True to Greg’s word, they’d had the keys to the house 4 and a half weeks after making the offer, and 2 weeks post that once the bedrooms and hall had been decorated with a lot of help from Bill, Verity and Roberta (who had been happy for them yet still cried her eyes out when they’d left the park, despite the fact they had assured her they would still come visit and she could also come stay with them too) they’d moved in. The only thing left to do was the reception room (which could wait, it was easy to just shut the door and pretend it didn’t exist) and Bean’s nursery, which he, Fliss and Mary had decided to do together as a project. Mary and Fliss had spent nights pouring over Pinterest for ideas and they’d finally settled on a scheme. Frank had picked up all the plastering supplies and the paint, the furniture was on order and should be arriving at any time that week now he thought about it…so hopefully that weekend they could get cracking. That might cheer Mary up now he thought about it.

Taking his beer with him, he picked up his boots and took them to the cloakroom/bathroom by the stairs. He trudged up the steps, shaking his head at Fred who was led at the top, his paws hanging over the edge of the step as he eyed Frank.

"You're gonna cause a fucking accident." He looked at the ginger cat who merely swished his tail in response. Frank headed into their bedroom, stripping off as he went, walking straight into the en-suite, turning on the shower, setting his beer down on the edge of the sink unit. He stepped in and under the stream of cool water, closing the screen behind him, his mind still on Mary and how he was going to bring up what her teacher has said. With a groan he opened the door, reached out of the cubicle for his beer, took another gulp before he set about washing the grime of the day away.

***** "Have you finished grooming him?" Fliss asked, standing in the doorway to Monty's stable. Mary glanced over from where she had been brushing through his white tail and nodded.

"Wanna take him to the paddock?" Fliss smiled. "Cap and Bronson are waiting for their little pal."

"Sure." Mary shrugged and Fliss frowned a little at her demeanour. She was quiet, which was unlike her when she was round the horses. She was normally full of excitement.

"You OK?" She asked and Mary nodded.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You seem quiet, that's all."

"No, I'm good." She shrugged, before she tossed her brush into the little grooming box she had, closing the lid and passing it to Fliss. Fliss placed the box into the larger wooden one outside the stable before Mary put Monty's halter on and led him out of his stall. Fliss allowed them to walk ahead, her hand on her bump as she followed them out of the yard and down the little path to the gate that led to the paddocks. They reached the one were Monty was going and undoing the gate, Mary led him in. The white pony stood patiently for her to take his halter off before he stuck his nose into the crook of her neck and shoulder. Fliss smiled as Mary gently stroked his neck and then to her utter horror she saw Mary’s shoulders begin to shake as the girl started to cry.

"Hey, Mary..." she soothed, stepping forward as the small girl turned to her, wrapping her arms around her as best she could, pressing her face into her bump "Oh baby what's wrong?"

Mary didn’t reply, instead she continued to sob and Fliss felt powerless to do anything other than wrap her arms around her, one hand resting on her head, the other between her shoulders.

“Something happened at School…” Mary whispered and Fliss gently tipped her head up to look at her. “Someone said something and…”

“Ok, how about we go back to the office and you can tell me all about it ok?”

Mary nodded, sniffing as her sobs died down. Fliss held out her hand and Mary took it and together they headed back down to the yard. Joanne looked at Mary who was hiccupping slightly with her sobs and frowned but Fliss shook her head.

“Can you feed the top barn for me and then you can go.” she said to Jo who nodded. “I’ll lock up.” “Sure, see you tomorrow. Bye Mary.” she smiled. Mary looked at her and gave a small wave before Fliss led her into the office. She grabbed them both an apple juice from the fridge and then Mary sat on the chair at the end of the desk, wiping her eyes with a tissue that Fliss handed her from the box.

“You ready to talk?”

Mary nodded, and then she stood up and walked over to Fliss who made room for her to clamber up onto her lap. It was a bit awkward but after a little shifting around they found a way she could sit unobstructed by Boston Bean and Mary lay her head against Fliss’ shoulder.

“It was about the gala.” she sniffed “One of them asked me if my mom was coming and…”

“Oh sweetie.” Fliss sighed, rubbing her back. “I get that must have been hard.”

Mary shrugged “I told them she was dead.” she said matter of factly “I get that and I never knew my mom so I don’t miss her as a person…but then I started to think about why she died and I don’t understand.” “Understand what?”

“Why?” Mary looked at her. “Why would she do what she did when she had me? Why did she want to leave me behind?”

Fliss took a deep breath and cradled the girl as best she could, trying to think of a way to explain to which Mary could relate, and then it came to her, she could use her own experience here. There was no getting around the fact this was going to be a heave conversation, but Mary was a smart kid and deserved to be treated as such.

With another deep inhale, Fliss looked down at her, kissing her head before she opened rather bluntly "You know I tried to kill myself."

"You did?" Mary pulled back to look up at her "Why?"

"Because I saw it as my only way out." Fliss gently smoothing Mary’s hair back. "I was stuck in an awful situation. My ex-husband hurt me physically and mentally and I gave up. I wanted out."

Mary remained silent and looked at her.

"For someone to get to that point...they have to have hit rock bottom. Like there is nowhere to go. It's not their fault. And it doesn't mean they don't love the people they leave behind just that they're desperate to escape whatever pain they feel, be it in their head or their body or both."

"But I still don't understand." Mary shook her head.

"And you may never, not fully." Fliss sighed gently "And as horrible as it is that's something you are gonna have to live with but you have to remember that your mom was sick. And for whatever reason she saw this as her only escape. It wasn't Evelyn's fault, it wasn't Frank's fault and it certainly wasn't yours."

"But if she loved me like Frank says she did..."

"You think I don't love my mum and dad? Or Steve? Charlie, Joel?"

Mary blinked before she lay her head back against Fliss' shoulder. "Of course you do.”

"But I was still gonna leave them behind. I was desperate. And you wanna know the real stupid thing?"

"What?"

"When I got better I still went back to John. I went back to a real toxic environment and a man that abused me. Because I felt like it was what I deserved. And even though I left him way before I met you and Frank, it wasn't until me and Frank started dating that I really understood I wasn't to blame. I always thought I did something to make him hurt me but I didn't. Being with Frank, the way he treats me and loves me made me see that it was him with the problem, not me.”

"But that's different" Mary glanced up

"The trigger was, yes." Fliss nodded "But your mom, like me, was in a position so helpless, so unbelievably sad that she thought she was to blame and that the world, including you, would be better off without her even though she was so wrong."

**** Once showered and dried, Frank dressed in a pair of shorts and clean T-shirt before he headed back downstairs. There was no sign of Fliss or Mary but as he strode out into the garden he heard a car heading down the drive by the side of the house from the yard and correctly assumed it was Joanne leaving for the day. He opened the gate and just saw the tail of her car turn onto the main road as he headed into the garage for the charcoal to light the BBQ.

Once that was done, leaving the flames to die down he headed out across the lawn, vaulting over the small fence onto the yard. He headed round the barn and frowned as he couldn't see anyone. After a quick look round he spotted the door to Fliss' office was closed. He went to open it but stopped as he could hear the sound of voices. It was Mary and Fliss but he could tell from the pitch and stutters in Mary's that she was upset. He paused, hand hovering over the handle as he heard Fliss speaking to her softly. "Stack, you are so loved. Frank loves you, I love you, Nanny V, Poppa Bill, Uncle Steeby, Roberta, Evelyn...Thor, Fred and Monty..." she paused "You're such a special little girl and I know I'm not your mom but, well, I feel like I am."

"You do?"

"I'd do anything to keep you safe and happy. And so would Frank"

They both fell silent and Frank swallowed, the lump in his throat almost choking him.

"Don't ever feel like we don't" Fliss continued "and if I have to bake 200 fucking cookies for your Gala next week to prove it then I will."

Mary giggles "You know Bean can hear you swearing."

"Well I won't tell Frank if you don't"

"Do you think Frank feels like my dad?" Mary asked a moment later and at that point Frank really wanted to walk away. He couldn't listen to this, he didn't want to listen to this...but something kept him rooted to the spot.

"I know he does." Fliss replied.

"But he doesn't like it when people say it. I know that, I heard him talking to you. Bill’s not your real dad but you still say he is…."

“That’s slightly different sweetheart.” Fliss sighed "My real dad left my mom before I was born, so when he died. I didn’t even know him and I don’t care that I didn’t either. But your mom was Frank's sister. He wants to make sure you remember her, understand who she was. He could have easily just pretended to be your dad all this time, you would never have known any different but he didn't. Because he loves you and your mom too much. He's too honest and it’s important to him that you understand. But that doesn't mean he doesn't love you like he is your dad, or that you can't love him like he is."

Frank turned away from the door, looking up at the sky and taking a deep shuddering breath. Fuck, this was hard to hear. He knew Mary had been upset before but the thought that it ran this deep was killing me. Wiping at his face, his hands then dropped to his hips and he looked down at his sneakers before he turned to the door, reaching for the handle but once more pausing as he couldn’t face interrupting them, not whilst they were in the middle of a moment.

“I suppose that makes sense.” Mary continued  “And I do love him like he is. And I love you like you’re my mom too.”

“Well that’s all that matters.” Fliss replied “It may be unconventional but we’re a family, and that’s the main thing huh?”

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks Lissy.” Mary spoke.

“You’re welcome Stack” Fliss’s voice was soft and there was a pause as Frank could picture the pair of them hugging.

“Hey, did you now I’m going to be doing all the money stuff for the bake stall?” Mary’s voice was suddenly up beat as she switched topic “Because I’m good at maths they said I could be in charge of payments and handing people their change and stuff.”

“Nice work kiddo.” Fliss smiled, “Tell you what, we’ll put Nanny V on the case, her baking is way better than mine. We can get her over one night next week whilst Pops is helping Frank with the plastering in the nursery.”

Ok, that was it, safe to enter without interrupting anything. Frank gave a little knock and then opened the door, fixing a smile on his face.

“Hope I haven’t interrupted any girl talk” he smiled and Mary jumped up and ran to him, giving him a hug. He looked at Fliss who wiped her eyes.

“Ok?” he mouthed at her and she nodded back, her lips moving silently as she replied.

“Tell you later.”

“BBQ is lit.” Frank said, looking down at Mary “You still wanna play in the pool?”

She nodded and grinned. “Yeah.”

“Sounds like a great idea.” Fliss grinned “Let’s lock up and head home…oh wait, we don’t need to head home because…” “We’re already there!” Mary grinned, and then she spun round to see Fred peering round the door. “Hey, look who came to visit!” “Bout time he earned his keep.” Frank grumbled “Go catch some mice.”

Fred stalked past him into the office, looked around, before he sauntered back out, clearly not interested.

“He’s a lover not a killer Frank.” Mary grinned, as Frank watched the cat walk off into the evening sun.

The three of them locked up before they headed back to the house and Mary shot upstairs to get changed.

“So, how much did you hear?” Fliss turned to Frank as he pulled a beer from the fridge along with a bottle of water, sliding it over to her.

“Enough.” he sighed “Her teacher collared me before. Said that one of the kids had asked about her mom in class and she’d gotten upset.”

“She asked me why Diane did what she did.” Fliss sighed, “Why she left her behind if she loved her so much.”

Frank swallowed. “What did you say?”

“I explained about why I tried to kill myself.” Fliss shrugged “Told her about the desperation I felt…but that didn’t mean that I didn’t love my family just that I saw it as my only way out. I know it was heavy and maybe not really the right thing to do but...”

She was cut off as Frank stepped forward, taking her face in his hands as he kissed her, hard. It took her a moment to catch up but once she did she melted into him, her mouth opening to grant him access as he ran his tongue along her bottom lip.

“Thank you.” He said gently as he pulled away, his hands still cupping her face.

“What for?” Fliss asked, reaching up to gently wrap her fingers around his wrists.

“For loving her as much as you do.” he shrugged. “For loving us both as much as you do.”

“Oh, Sailor.” Fliss’ eyes brimmed with tears “How could I not?”

***** Frank didn’t sleep particularly well that night. Mary’s conversation with Fliss was running through his brain and every time he drifted off he would wake about an hour or so later, fresh worries and concerns running through his mind. In the end, at just before 5 am he gave up and climbed out of bed. He grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of sweats and putting them on he headed downstairs. He flipped on the TV in the hope the early morning new would distract him, but it didn’t.

It was clear to him that Mary was struggling with where she was going to fit in the family dynamic. He hadn’t really worried much up to that point, being convinced by Fliss that if they kept her involved with stuff to do with Bean she would be ok but this went much deeper than the fact they were expecting a baby.

He’d be lying if he said the thought of him claiming to be Mary’s Father had never entered his mind. It would have been a lot easier but out of loyalty and love to Diane he had wanted to make sure she knew about her mother, and understood the truth because in the end, a lie would always come round to bite you on the ass. It wasn’t that he had a problem with people assuming he was Mary’s father but…

God what a fucking mess.

“Hey…” a soft voice drew him from his thoughts and he looked up to see Fliss stood in the doorway, his T-shirt she was wearing now hardly covered the top of her thighs thanks to her Bean bump.

“Sorry beautiful, did I wake you?” he asked.

“No.” she shook her head, dropping down next to him. “I got up to pee and you were gone.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” he shrugged.

“What’s wrong handsome?”  she lay her head on his shoulder and he took a deep breath.

“Just thinking about Mary that’s all.” he shrugged. “She’s always asked questions about Diane but not like that.”

“She’s getting older Frank.” Fliss said, her hand reaching out for his as she began to play with his fingers “She’s bound to start thinking about things differently. She was ok last night after she talked to me, and then later you when you tucked her in. She doesn’t keep her feelings bottled up, and that’s good. It’s a testament to you that she feels like she can talk to us about things.”

“I know.” Frank looked down at her, kissing her head “I guess I just worry Lissy, worry about how she’s gonna feel when Bean is here and he’s calling us mom and dad and she doesn’t.”

“Frank.” Fliss sighed as she sat up straight. “Mary knows we love her. And what she calls us doesn’t change a damned thing. You’re worrying unduly now. We can’t do anything about that other than-“

“Yes, yes we could.” Frank looked at her. Fliss took a deep breath as his eyes locked onto hers, instantly understanding.

“I thought you said you’d never even consider adopting her?”

“I never thought I would.” he shrugged. “But it’s been playing on my mind after what mother said and then after last night…” “Why? What did Evelyn say?” Fliss asked.

“When she was here last, she told me that Diane’s memory wouldn’t suddenly fade if Mary called me dad…” he licked his lips “It was almost like she was giving me permission to do it…you know? Not that I need it or really give a shit what she thinks.” he paused, taking a deep breath “If I’m totally honest Diane isn’t the only reason I said I didn’t want to. I just never thought of myself as being dad material. I was such a screw up until I met you and I thought that by staying as her Uncle, it would give her that distance, you know?”

“Not dad material?” Fliss looked at him, shaking her head “Oh Frank, you idiot. You’ve done an amazing job with her…and you will do with Bean too.”

He smiled at her, sniffing slightly as she continued.

“But there is one person who’s opinion counts most here.” Fliss said gently “And that’s Mary. If you’re serious then you should ask her if it’s what she wants. Because after 9 years of calling you Frank…”

“I know.” Frank agreed, “And I agree, completely. It would have to be her decision. But at least if I ask her if she would like us to then-“

“Us?” Fliss looked at him, blinking. “You mean you want me to?”

“Of course I do.” Frank nodded, before he frowned slightly “But if that isn’t what you want, I understand. It’s a big-“ Fliss cut him off by pressing a kiss to his lips “Of course I do Frank. I love Mary like she is my own anyway so…” Frank beamed at her and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her head. “So, we’re agreed. We ask her?”

Fliss nodded and pulled back, her hand resting on his cheek. “We ask her.”

Chapter 8

[scripts4dreamers]

I literally JUST sat down, pt. 5

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Six, Part Seven

AN: The case stalls, but no one’s willing to give up on you just yet. Characters: Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi. Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

---------------------------

Saturday morning dawned cold and bright but you hardly felt rested. You’d spent the better part of the night trying to squash your panic, curled up under your duvet with your phone in your hand, convinced that the second you closed your eyes something terrible would happen. The facts of the case bounced around in your mind like wasps, angry and frantic, trying their best to get out, but it was no use. You simply had to accept it, someone you worked with was stalking you. They were stalking you and murdering innocent people in some sick attempt to fulfil the fantasy in their mind, and that put everyone in your life at risk.

You’d realized it the night before and the thought alone made you feel sick. Stalkers were, by nature, unpredictable so there was no way for you to know which of your friends would be a target. The stalker could see any of them as a threat and decide to take matters into his own hands. Your only comfort came in knowing that your parents were on a cruise near New Zealand, and all your friends were safe under Rossi’s roof. For now.

You sighed and forced yourself out of bed, pulling on the most comfortable set of clothing you had and shuffling downstairs. As you made your way into the kitchen you were met by a sea of friendly faces and your spirits lifted slightly.

“Morning, Sunshine,” JJ greeted sympathetically, “we were wondering when you’d be up.”

“What time is it?” You asked, accepting a cup of coffee from her gratefully.

“8:17,” Spencer answered, giving you a small smile.

You smiled back and looked around, doing a mental headcount of all the faces at Rossi’s kitchen island, “Where are Morgan and Prentiss?”

“Morgan went to meet the M.E.,” JJ answered, slinging a protective arm over your shoulder, “and Em-“

“She’s still in her room,” Garcia cut in, pushing a cupcake on a plate towards you, “she’s awake but she won’t come down.”

You frowned and looked at JJ for clarification. JJ sighed and gave you a gentle squeeze.

“She’s-uh-she’s taking this whole thing pretty hard,” she admitted softly, “she doesn’t want to admit it, but you know how she is.”

You nodded, “I’ll talk to her,” you said, pushing yourself away from the kitchen island and pouring a second cup of coffee.

You trudged up the stairs, exhaustion tugging at your eyelids with every step. Emily’s room was next to Morgan’s and, before knocking, you just took a minute to watch. Emily was sitting on her bed with her back towards the door, staring intensely at something in her lap that you couldn’t see and your heart dropped.

———————————

Your stomach hurt from laughing so much as you watched the man Emily had brought over scamper off with his tail between his legs. Some real life FBI agent he’d turned out to be.

“That. Was. Brilliant,” you laughed, jostling her with your shoulder, “you, Emily Prentiss, are brilliant.”

“Why thank you,” she smiled, “god sometimes it’s too easy. It’s just too easy with these guys. What, do they think we’re stupid or something?”

It was girl’s night. The first you’d had in months and, quite frankly, you needed it. Your workload was killing you, and the weight of all the death you saw on the regular was making it difficult to find joy in anything anymore. Which was why you had your girls. Emily had dragged you all out to a local bar and plied you with alcohol until you were laughing and giggling like a bunch of preteens at a sleepover. It was wonderful, and you could feel yourself getting lighter and lighter with each passing minute.

“Almost definitely,” you agreed, taking another deep swig from whatever drink Emily had forced on you.

“Or they at least think we’re stupider than them,” JJ clarified.

Emily made a noise of agreement and rolled her eyes, “Which is why I personally have no interest in dating them.”

“Not that we could even if we wanted to,” Garcia pointed out, “I mean, who has time to date with this job?”

“Not me,” you said, “I haven’t been on an actual date in ages.”

“Well I’m sure we can find someone who’d be willing to take you out, Y/N,” Emily teased with faux innocence, “let’s think, ladies; who do we know who’s smart and funny, with a similar work schedule, who Y/N might be attracted to and who already thinks she’s wonderful?”

“Hmm,” JJ played along, “ooo that’s a tough one.”

“I’m stumped,” Garcia agreed, “oh wait! Here’s a crazy idea, what about Reid?”

JJ and Emily gasped, clutching their chests with looks of surprise so melodramatic that you couldn’t help but laugh, despite your embarrassment.

“Oh my god, Reid!” Emily agreed, “It’s perfect, Penelope Garcia you are a genius.”

“But wait, Y/N swears she’s not into him like that, guys, remember?” JJ joked.

“Ooohhh,” Emily and Garcia chorused.

“Well, I guess it’s hopeless then,” Emily joked, slinging an arm around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your cheek, “you’re stuck with me, Y/L/N.”

You smiled and kissed her back, leaving a lipstick smudge on her pale cheek, “Nowhere else I’d rather be, Prentiss. Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Garcia clapped her hands together in excitement and pulled out a camera, “Everybody say BAU!”

“BAU!” You all cheered in unison, collapsing into laughter the moment the flash went off.

—————————————

“Hey, you,” you greeted, “you not coming down for breakfast?”

Emily’s head snapped up and you caught a glimpse of the photograph in her hands. It was the one from that girls night, one of the last you’d ever had at the BAU. Not that anyone had known that at the time. You could see the resentment in her eyes, and the pain and you felt a sharp stab of guilt for everything you were putting your friends through.

“Garcia’s bought those cupcakes last night, they’re really tasty.” You continued, stepping hesitantly inside, “I could fetch you one if you’d like.”

“I’m not hungry,” she replied simply, “but I’ll take the coffee if you’re giving.”

You smiled and handed Emily the cup, taking a seat beside her on the bed. For a moment you just sat in silence, drinking your coffee together and thinking, but eventually the silence had to break.

“Em I know you’re mad-“ you started.

“Mad?” She interrupted with an incredulous laugh, “Y/N I’m not mad.”

“Yes. You are,” you insisted, “you have been ever since I came back to the unit. I mean, come on, you made me share a desk with Reid so that your purse had its own spot.”

Emily sighed and stared down into her cup, tapping her manicured nails against the ceramic, “Okay maybe I was a little bit mad,” she agreed, “but can you blame me? You left without saying goodbye!”

“I said goodbye!”

Emily rolled her eyes, “Not properly. You never really explained why. One day everything was fine and the next you’d handed in your resignation. It sucked, and I was mad,” she sighed, shaking her head, “and then I blinked and suddenly it’s a year later.”

“Time flies.” You agreed.

“Yeah! Yeah and a year later you still couldn’t tell me you hadn’t actually resigned?” She probed, “How’s that supposed to make me feel? I’ve been walking around like some sort of idiot thinking that you’re gone for good.”

You nodded and nudged her shoulder with yours, deciding to ignore the ‘gone for good’ comment and focus on everything else, “Well, hey, let’s make a deal. After all this is over, we’ll meet up at your tombstone and you can yell at me all you like for keeping you in the dark, deal?”

Emily snorted and you felt the tension lift, “Okay, point taken.” she chuckled. You hummed your agreement and you lapsed back into comfortable silence before Emily continued, “But hey, the desk thing worked out great. You and Spencer seem to be getting along again.”

You felt yourself flush with embarrassment, giving Emily the ammunition she needed to start teasing you mercilessly. It was nice, and familiar and it made you feel grounded in a way you didn’t realize you were missing before.

“You’re so predictable,” she laughed, “making sad puppy dog eyes at each other from across the room all day.”

You shoved her over, which she responded to with an indignant yelp.

“Yeah well, unfortunately we’ve got more to worry about than my abysmal love life,” you reminded Emily, “so will you please come back downstairs with me?”

You stood and extended your hand, which Emily took with a soft smile, letting you pull her to her feet.

“Okay, agent Y/L/N, but only because I’m hungry and I don’t want JJ to eat my cupcake.”

“Mmhmm,” you agreed sarcastically, threading your fingers together as Emily tucked the well worn photo back into her pants pocket.

She must’ve brought it with her from home, you realized with a start. She’d dragged that photo with her all this time.

It made your heart swell and you couldn’t stop yourself from saying, “Hey, Prentiss?”

“Yeah, Y/L/N?”

“It’s still you and me, you know? You’re still stuck with me.”

She stopped, a soft smile creeping onto her face as her dark eyes softened. For a moment you just looked at one another, really seeing the person in front of you for the first time in a year. Then she squeezed your hand and you kept moving.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know that, you sap.”

———————————

The rest of the weekend was as close to bliss as Spencer could imagine while working a potentially catastrophic stalker case. He didn’t know what had happened while you were upstairs talking to Emily, it wasn’t his place, but he knew that you looked happy when you came back down. Emily looked happy too and, when she took a seat beside him, she shot him a knowing wink, which made him blush.

After that, the team was back. Morgan had confirmed with the M.E that the newest victim hadn’t been drugged, and he had indeed been tortured before he was killed. He’d also confirmed that the contents of the victim’s stomach was another grizzly message from the killer; tandoori chicken and sparkling wine, the exact meal you always ordered at the little restaurant you went to after a long case. Everyone had gotten eerily quiet when that came out. But you moved on, going through case files and reports together in the hopes of coming across some common name. It was a fairly thankless task. The only plus side was how much time Spencer got to spend with you, reading files, pouring coffee, just talking in the garden during lunch. Spencer was giddy with it, and Emily noticed.

“Real subtle, Lover Boy,” she teased on Sunday night, as Spencer watched you disappear back into the house for a drink.

He flushed and looked away, “What-uh-I don’t know what you mean.”

Emily rolled her eyes but smiled fondly, collapsing into the outdoor couch next to Spencer, “Sure.”

Just then you’d walked back out, and Emily let the matter drop for the time being. By the time Monday morning rolled in, Spencer finally felt like they had a handle on things. The picture was still murky and undefined, but now they could at least grasp its edges and make out its overall shape. The team had a long way to go, but it was something, and they’d managed to get by with less in the past. Coming in separately had been Hotch’s idea. It was likely that the UnSub was watching the team and coming in together would tip him off to the fact that work was being done outside of the office. Secrecy was their biggest weapon right now, Hotch had reminded them, secrecy and surprise. The UnSub couldn’t know what they knew. Not now, not ever. It was essential to the investigation.

Spencer remembered looking over at you when Hotch said that. He remembered the way you’d looked, the nerves and anger bubbling underneath your calm demeanor, and the way that his resolve had hardened.

“So what have we got?” Morgan had asked, “Officially, I mean.”

Hotch pressed his lips together, “White male, late twenties to mid thirties,” he’d explained, “try and float the idea that we’re looking into an ex boyfriend from high school or college. Anything we can do to throw him off.”

Spencer repeated it to himself like a mantra as he walked through the FBI building and stepped onto the elevator, bound for the sixth floor. As more agents piled in, the hairs on the back of Spencer’s neck stood up and his anxiety spiked. Is it you? A voice in his head whispered as he glanced at the dark haired man from Sex Crimes. Or you? He wondered, as a sandy haired agent with a long scar met his eye. Is it any of you? The doors finally opened on his floor and Spencer practically leapt out, forcing himself not to look back and keep his pace as normal as possible as he pushed open the doors to the BAU.

Spencer was the last to arrive, just as planned and, because of that, you’d already taken your space at his desk. The sight of you looking totally at home surrounded by his books and files made Spencer unreasonably happy and his nerves settled. Or at least, they did until he noticed the particularly devilish look in Emily’s eye, and the lack of a second chair at his desk.

“Emily, where’s my chair?” He asked.

She shrugged, “How should I know?”

You looked up at the noise and smiled at Spencer, making his heart leap into his throat.

“Sorry, Spence, there was only one when I arrived. I looked all over the office but the other one seems to have just vanished,” you explained, pushing yourself away from the desk, “you take this one, I’ll stand.”

Spencer sighed, “Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N, sit down. I’m fine with standing.”

“No, Spencer. I’m already taking up half your desk space. I’m not stealing your chair as well. Sit down.” You frowned.

“Y/N-“

“Spencer.”

“Or,” Emily interjected, with faux innocence, “you could just share the chair.”

You both froze, staring at Emily like she’d just grown a second head.

“Come again?” You asked.

“The chair,” she repeated, resting her chin on her hand, “you could just share it. Instead of arguing and wasting valuable time.” She shrugged, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, “Just a thought.”

If looks could kill, Emily Prentiss would be dead. Spencer was considering pouring a bottle of water over her head when he caught your eye and blushed bright red. He hated how easy it was for you to undo him, how quickly he became completely obvious about his feelings towards you.

“We-we can’t share,” you stuttered.

“Why not?” Emily asked.

“Because!” You protested, “Spence is a germaphobe. He’d be uncomfortable sharing with me.”

“I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable,” he said without thinking, “not with you.”

You paused, surveilling him with a kind of softness in your eye that made his stomach all fluttery and weak. Emily watched the exchange with amusement, but didn’t interrupt, just waiting to see what happened as you and Spencer sized one another up.

“Okay then,” you agreed, “let’s...share. Somehow.”

Spencer fiddled with the strap of his satchel, but breathed an inward sigh of relief as the tension passed. The office chair Emily had left you with was a big one, and Spencer didn’t exactly take up a lot of space, but it was still tight. There was no getting away from casual touches, the pressure of your leg against his, the smell of your perfume clinging to your hair when it brushed by him, the low roll of your voice as you hummed along with the song in your head. Almost all of his senses were suddenly filled with you instead of empty space. The whole thing made his brain short-circuit. Maybe he hadn’t thought this completely through. As you read through a case file, Spencer caught Emily’s eye across the desk and mouthed ‘I hate you’ at her while you weren’t looking.

“You’re welcome,” she mouthed back, shooting him a wink as she turned back to her laptop.

You shifted in your seat, sending another rush of scent through Spencer’s nose.

“Is that-” he started, “are you wearing a different perfume than normal?”

You met his eye, a little confused, but played along, “It’s new, yeah. I bought it just over a week ago but it hasn’t been warm enough to wear it, why?”

“I’ve smelled it somewhere before,” he explained, riffling through the evidence box he kept on his desk until he found the right bag. He was acutely aware of your eyes on him as he sliced through the seal, reached in with a glove between his fingers and pulled out the letter that had been left at your apartment. He inhaled, filling his nose with the familiar scent, and his stomach dropped, “I knew it. Here, smell.”

You followed his lead and Spencer watched your eyes widen with horror when you confirmed his theory, “Oh my god, he scented the paper.”

“With a perfume you hadn’t even worn yet.” he continued.

“Which means he had to have known that I’d bought it, and that I’d intended to start wearing it soon,” you followed, “which means he must have been following me that day.”

“And if he was, there’s a chance one of the stores has him on camera. Do you remember when and where you bought it?”

“I do.”

“Get that information to Garcia, we’ll have to talk to the store owners before they erase the tapes, and then she can track your movements and see if anyone’s a little too close for comfort.” he said.

Your eyes lit up with that intelligent sparkle that Spencer had always loved, the one you got in the moments when a case finally started to seem solvable.

“Spencer Reid, you are the key to everything, aren’t you?” you teased.

He opened his mouth to respond, his cheeks already flushing bright red, when Hotch’s door opened and their team leader stepped out, a stony expression on his face.

“Alright everybody,” Hotch’s voice boomed through the bullpen, “briefing room now please. We’ve got a case.”

----------------

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[earliebirb]

it’s a small world after all

This is a fic written for my dear friend Jen ( @ishipallthings​ ) who sent me this prompt. I am making a new text post because Tumblr doesn’t allow me to insert the “Keep reading” link properly when replying to an ask :( 

it’s a small world after all

steve/tony, meet cute, pre-slash, au: no powers, 2054 words 

“Great speech.”

Smiling at the compliment, Tony turns around. “Thank y—”

And nearly drops his champagne flute.

His world comes to a stop. The light chatter of the mingling guests fades away, all of his senses zeroing in on the man standing before him.

They had only spent a night together—one unforgettable night a year ago in London—and didn’t even manage to catch each other’s last names, but Tony would recognize those baby blues anywhere.

It’s Steve.

Steve from Tony’s London business trip. Or, as Rhodey has become accustomed to calling him after months and months of Tony bemoaning his own profound stupidity of letting the perfect London stranger go without giving him so much as a phone number—The Soulmate That Got Away. 

“I— What— Steve?” Tony blinks and shakes his head, just to make sure that this is not some weird hallucination his brain has conjured up out of a severe case of lovesick pining.

No matter how many times he blinks, Steve stays there, standing in front of him, dressed in an elegant navy blue suit that shows off his insane shoulder to waist ratio.

“Tony,” Steve says and maybe Tony is imagining the way Steve sounds a little bit breathless, like maybe this moment is just as overwhelming for him as it is for Tony. How Tony has imagined this scenario happening a thousand times in a thousand different ways—meeting Steve again, hearing Steve call his name.

“What— What are you doing here?” Of all the places he thought he would run into Steve again, his best friend’s wedding is definitely not one of them. Tony sets the glass of champagne down on a nearby table before he actually drops it. His hand is definitely not trembling. 

“Uh, my date is a friend. Of the bride’s.”

“A friend of Carol’s?”

“Yeah. She went to get a drink, but—”

Before Steve can finish his sentence, someone approaches him from behind, hooking her arm through his with the kind of easy affection that only comes from knowing each other for years. 

“Steve, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” the woman chides, but there is no mistaking the fond note in her voice. Her blonde hair falls just slightly below her shoulders. She is clad in a long dress whose shade of blue matches Steve’s suit. 

“Sorry,” Steve says, squeezing her arm lightly as he turns to her with a soft smile. To his horror, Tony feels his own heart sinking. As much as he wants to, he finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of them standing side by side in front of him.

Loathe as Tony is to admit it, they look lovely together.

Tony doesn’t know why he is disappointed at all. After all, he is just a stranger with whom Steve has spent a night with. Granted, it was a wonderful night—one that started with them fighting over the last croissant at a coffee shop near Tony’s hotel and ended with pillow talk that was way too deep for someone Tony had just met a few hours prior. 

Just because Tony had maybe—okay, definitely—fallen a little bit in love with him, however, it doesn’t guarantee that Steve would feel the same way about Tony. 

To reiterate once again, they are just strangers. Acquaintances, at best. Acquaintances who spent a night being physically and emotionally intimate with each other on the day of their first meeting. The sex had been more than satisfactory, but if Tony were being honest, the part of that fateful day that had secured Steve a special place in his heart was the part where they spent the rest of the night cuddled up in bed, sharing secrets and stories about their very different lives until the early hours of the morning, pretending that they weren’t sleepy before eventually drifting off in each other’s arms. 

Up until minutes ago, Tony wasn’t even sure he would ever see Steve again. It is beyond ridiculous for him to maintain the foolish hope of Steve returning his feelings, the hope that Steve had somehow also waited for him or tried to look for him all this time. 

There is also the fact that Steve isn’t the one who had woken up in bed cold and alone after a night too well spent. 

“Oh, hey! You’re James’ best friend, right? The best man. I’m Sharon.” The woman offers him her hand, a warm smile on her lips.

“Tony. Nice to meet you.” He shakes her hand, returning her smile.

There is a beat in which Sharon seems to take in the situation, looking back and forth between Steve and Tony.

“You guys know each other?”

“Yes—” Steve says.

“Well, not really—” Tony answers, at the exact same time.

Both of them fall into silence upon realizing their opposing answers. Sharon blinks, eyebrows furrowing.

“We’ve met before,” Tony manages eventually, giving Sharon what he hopes passes for an amicable smile. All the while, he feels Steve’s eyes on him. 

“I see.” Sharon nods, but her smile is disconcertingly knowing. “Well, I think I saw some of my friends over there, so I’m going to leave you boys to catch up. It’s nice to meet you, Tony.”

With that, she leaves them alone again, her heels clicking away. 

An awkward silence settles between them. After a few heartbeats, Tony takes a deep breath and makes a valiant attempt at small talk:

“So, how long have you guys been to—”

“You never called.”

“What?”

“I, uh.” Steve’s eyes flit down to his feet before meeting Tony’s. His smile looks slightly strained at the edges. ”You never contacted me.”

“You— You left without a word. I had no way of contacting you.”

“What?” Steve’s eyebrows crease together.

“You did!” Tony exclaims, extremely confused as to why Steve seems to be confused. “I woke up and you were gone. No goodbye. No nothing. How was I supposed to contact you?”

“I— I had to catch a flight, but I didn’t want to wake you, so I did leave without saying goodbye—”

“That’s literally what I just said—”

“—but I left a note!”

“...Huh?”

Steve stares at him with bewildered eyes. “I left you a note on the nightstand. I tore a piece of paper from the hotel notepad, wrote you a note, folded it, and left it there for you to find. I wrote down my phone number and everything.”

“No, you didn’t,” Tony insists, indignant. “I would’ve found—”

Except Tony now remembers that although when he woke up in bed that day he realized that Steve was nowhere to be found, he was also immediately struck with the realization that he was late for his 10 a.m. meeting with a client—the main reason he had been in London in the first place. He then scrambled to get ready and was out the door in a record time of ten minutes. 

He didn’t even glance at whatever note Steve had supposedly left on the nightstand.

When he came back to the hotel later that night, his room had been cleaned up by the hotel staff.

“What?” Steve blinks at him. 

Tony lets out a sharp exhale in disbelief. He tries to breathe through the wave of disappointment that hits him upon realizing that Steve had wanted him to call, and that both of them are just victims of an unfortunate set of events.

Steve is still staring at him, desperate for an explanation.

“I just realized that— Um. You see, that day, the morning after we… met, I woke up late for my meeting.” Tony smiles at him, sheepish and apologetic. “So I rushed out the door in a hurry. When I came back, the bed was made and the room was all tidy. There was nothing on the nightstand. My guess is that the hotel staff must’ve cleaned it up during the day, while I was gone, so…”

“So you never saw the note,” Steve finishes, a myriad of emotions flitting through his eyes.

“I never saw it,” Tony confirms, gazing wistfully at Steve, his heart constricting at the unfairness of it all. They could have started something, if luck had been on their side. Steve had waited for him to call. Now, however…

Steve clearly belongs to someone else now and whatever chance Tony had back then, it certainly is long gone by now. 

Suddenly, someone calls out Tony’s name. They both turn to see the groom making a beckoning motion from across the room. 

“Tones, let’s take a picture!” Rhodey shouts. He is flanked by Carol and Pepper. All three of them are staring at Tony, expectant smiles on their faces.

Tony nods at them with a grin before turning to Steve. Sweet, beautiful Steve whom Tony never got around to having a proper date with.

“Sorry, I have to go,” Tony says regretfully, heart heavy. “It’s really nice seeing you again, Steve.”

He takes one last look at Steve before turning around to join his friends.

Before he manages to take more than two steps, however, Steve catches his wrist.

“Tony, wait.”

Tony turns to see Steve staring at him with a weirdly intense expression on his face, like he is working up the courage to say something. 

“Yeah?”

“Before you go, can I borrow your phone?”

Tony blinks but complies readily, fishing his phone out of his pocket. Maybe Steve wants to keep in touch, become friends. 

Steve types a phone number into Tony’s phone. When he is done, he hands the phone back to Tony. The new number is saved under the name “Steve Rogers”.

“That’s my phone number. Don’t lose it this time,” Steve says, a sweet and lopsided smile on his face. He then swallows, shoving his hands into his pockets. “And, uh, listen… If it’s all the same to you, I would still very much like to go on that date with you, the one you promised we would go on once we’re both back home in New York. I know it’s long overdue, it’s been a year. But I would still love to go for coffee with you, if you’re willing.”

Tony stares at him, uncomprehending. Steve seems to take Tony’s silence as a sign of rejection, because then he licks his lips nervously and says:

“Only if you want to, of course. Only if you want to, only if you’re comfortable with it, and only if you have time. You really don’t have to if—”

“But,” Tony shakes his head, “I thought you and, uh, Sharon? Aren’t you two…?”

Steve pauses at Tony’s question. The second he registers what Tony is getting at, his eyes widen almost comically.

“Oh. Oh. Oh, no. No. We’re not like that. We’ve never been like that.” Steve breaks into a relieved chuckle. “I don’t think her girlfriend would like that idea very much.”

“Oh,” Tony breathes. He feels a rush of giddy hope, so strong and sudden that it leaves him a bit dizzy. “So, coffee?”

“Yeah.” Steve stares at him, nervous and expectant, light pink dusting his cheeks. “If that offer still stands.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“How does next weekend sound?”

Steve beams at him, smile radiant. “Next weekend sounds amazing.”

“Okay,” Tony says, stepping back slowly. “I’ll call you.”

Steve nods before ducking his head bashfully, biting his lip to suppress the growing grin on his face. 

Turning around to finally walk away, Tony feels the ends of his lips climbing up into a helpless smile, so wide it could split his face in half. 

Later that night, he calls Steve. His heart is pounding in his chest as he waits for Steve to pick up, phone pressed up to his ear. 

“Hello?” Steve’s voice comes from the other end of the line.

“Rogers. It’s Tony. Tony Stark.”

A pause. “The Tony who stole my croissant?”

Tony grins. “I didn’t steal anything. That croissant was rightfully mine.”

“I got there first. I saw it first.”

“But I ordered it first.”

“I rest my case.” Steve laughs, the sound sending warmth running through Tony’s body. “I’m so glad you called. Thank you for calling.”

Tony smiles. It’s only right that he gives Steve a call. 

After all, even though Tony had stolen Steve’s croissant, Steve managed to steal something much more valuable: Tony’s heart. 

[ofclaires]

IV. CLAIRE WALSH

PAST SELF PARAS: april 2020 / september 2020 / march 2021. 

hi, before the read more i just wanted to say THANK YOU. getting to play claire has been absolutely a treat, a challenge, and genuinely, a huge part of my life for the past year and a half or so. it occurred to me when writing this and looking back at other things i’ve written for claire that i didn’t just feel like i was writing this for myself or for claire ; but i was writing it for you guys, too ! that has been one of the most special things about gallagher for me is the writing community that i feel like we built, taking such a huge investment in our characters and everyone else’s writing. i feel like i’m writing with and for some of my best friends. i also feel like i’ve grown so much ( ok, i actually don’t just feel like it, i can look back at those three paras and SEE how my writing has improved. ) i am so blessed to have gotten to write claire with all of you and to share her story, i feel like she has been so fucking beloved & it’s given her so much life. i am so proud of her and it’s really bittersweet that i’m finally saying goodbye to her as well. so, thank you all so, so much, gallagher has been a writing experience like no other for me & i love you all ! 

trigger warnings : domestic violence & abuse, death

PART ONE: CHILDHOOD.

The trailer that Claire spent the back half of her childhood in never felt like home. Maybe because trailers are made to be temporary, or the fact that if she accepted that this was where she belonged, she’d have to give up hope.

It’s normal Maggie Walsh to be out late, Claire’s usually cleaned up the kitchen and tucked herself into bed by the time her mother comes in the door – but she’s not sleeping. She’s always had trouble with that, brain bouncing around from one thought to the next until eventually she hears the creak of the door.

Her mom’s home.

She hears the usual stumbling, the clatter of dishes falling from where she’d neatly placed them on the drying rack. Maggie’s drunk, Claire’s sure of that. Ten years old and she knows what it means to be so drunk that you can hardly see straight, that the words you say under the influence are a different reflection from the person that you really are. She inhales deeply and crawls out from under the covers to check on her. Ten years old and she knows the steps: Help her take her makeup off, make sure she sleeps on her side, glass of water on the bedside table, trash can on the floor. Maggie is only twenty-six years old herself now, not done with her childhood by the time that Claire was born, not ready to be a mother. Claire’s had to figure it out most of it herself.

“Mom?” Claire knocks on the door lightly, plastic cup full of water already in hand.

“Don’t – don’t come in!” Maggie sputters, and Claire’s confused. She defies her request and opens the bedroom door the rest of the way. When she sees her mom, she drops the cup on the floor, small hands curling into fists.

“What happened? Who did that to you?”

“I told you not to come in here, Claire,” Maggie repeats, but Claire has always been on to disregard commands. She learns at a young age that authority only means older than you or some assigned title, not that they know best.

“Who did that? Why?” She repeats her questions. Despite being mature for her age, it’s hard for Claire to wrap her head around the black eye obscuring Maggie’s face, and the swelling on her cheek.

“It doesn’t matter,” Maggie sighs, dejected as she flops down on the bed. Even in her state, she knows that there’s not much use telling Claire to back off or go away once she’s decided that she’s not going to. Her little girl is a spitfire, strangely enough reminds Maggie a lot of her own mom, like living with a miniature version of her. Maybe that’s why Claire wins most arguments. “Come here.”

Claire walks closer to the bed, kicking the cup aside on her way for no reason other than to kick something. She crawls into bed next to her mom and looks up at her, waiting for more of an explanation or literally anything but silence. 

“I don’t know why I keep looking for a happy ending. I leave you home alone, I come home like this...not helping either of us,” Maggie presses a kiss to the top of Claire’s head, runs her fingers through her daughter’s hair. It’s so soft and Claire is so little, she can’t help but look at the spilled cup on the floor with a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry,” she adds, voice choked up and words a little slurred. Tears squeeze out of the corners of her eyes when she closes them, hugging her daughter closer, “I’ve blamed you for my fucked up life for so long...that’s not fair.”

Now, Claire is only ten, but those are the kind of words that you remember forever. Still, she smiles. “It doesn’t have to stay fucked up. It can get better,” a childish spark of optimism in her heart that hasn’t yet been put out. It makes Maggie smile back though, kissing her daughter on the top of her head yet again.

“I like that,” she says, and they fall asleep curled up beside each other. Claire sleeps soundly, thinking that it’s possible. Things really could get better, and for a while, it seems like there really is a sort of shift. Maggie starts cooking, cleaning again, and she doesn’t even stay out so late. That’s when she meets Martin.

He seems better than the rest. Until he isn’t.

But Claire does her job as her mother’s protector, just as she’s been doing all of her life, and it’s that event that jumpstarts the rest of everything that happens next.

PART TWO: GRADUATION.

Claire’s come to the formal conclusion that graduation ceremonies are a waste of time. There’s all this build up, everyone’s so excited, and then you have to sit around and wait for your name to be called so you can spend two seconds walking across a stage while everyone claps. She would have skipped it entirely if her mother hadn’t already come up, and if she knew that people were going to insist. The small talk afterward is even more agonizing than the ceremony itself. It is sort of painful saying goodbye to everyone, and it occurs to Claire that there’s more people that she’s going to miss than she ever expected.

“Callum and his mother are here,” Maggie points out.

“And?” Claire rolls her eyes. Seeing Callum again to begin with had brought up a lot of old feelings, and generally, even though they’d resolved things, she tries to avoid him whenever possible.

“Well, it’s probably weird if we don’t say hello, at least, right? I’m going to say hello,” Maggie interjects, “he’s such a sweet boy.”

Claire’s eyebrows rise on her forehead as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Go ahead then,” she sighs, “I’ll wait right here.”

“Claire,” Maggie draws out her name with a withering stare, but Maggie has never been able to establish that sort of authority with Claire that would prompt any inclination of obedience, so Claire just shrugs her shoulders, unimpressed. She’s not going to budge. “Fine, I’ll be right back.”

Claire’s done her best to put the chapter of their life that includes Martin out of her mind when rekindling things with her mother, and she certainly doesn’t want to stand around making small talk with his other ex-wife, trying not to look at Callum with his matching jawline, trying not to remember everything she hates. It all comes back in a flash. The horrible cracking sound that her mother’s head had made when it connected with the wall, the blood on the marble floor. They say you don’t remember trauma properly, that your memory doesn’t work quite right, but she will never forget the way her fist connected with Martin’s face : like a puzzle piece, like it BELONGED there, and she’d done it over and over again until she heard sirens.

And yet, Claire can’t deny that it’s a part of her life that got her here, where she is today. She thinks life is shitty and random, and that not everything has to happen ‘for a reason.’ Still, she’ll catch Kass’s eye across the room and see her smiling so brightly that it seems impossible not to believe in something. Claire can’t help herself anyway – she smiles back. No one has ever been able to produce Claire’s smile in its truest form the way Kass has, unashamed of being so happy to look at someone. She once thought the idea of looking at a person and seeing your whole future was ridiculous, that you’d have to be stupid to put that much of yourself into someone, but it isn’t like that at all. All of it was unintentional, like by the time she realized it, Kass was already everything. And she feels so safe with that thought that she doesn’t mind at all.

“Am I interrupting something?” A figure steps in front of her, cutting off her line of sight. She’s not really fond of being snuck up on, so she opens her mouth to say something snarky when she’s met with the gaze of Lisanna Harlin, one of last year’s mentors. Her daughter, Elisa, is there, but she’s not graduating, so Claire’s confused by Lisanna’s presence.

“No, Ms. Harlin,” Claire says, though there’s a spark of indignation in her words that practically goes hand in hand whenever an adult commands authority.

“Lisanna is fine,” she says with a light laugh, like she’s amused Claire’s greeted her this way.

“Can I...help you with something?” Claire asks, mostly curious about how long this interaction has gone on. While she’s friendly with Elisa, she was Kass’s roommate last year, they’re not exceedingly close, so she’s not sure what else Lisanna would have to say to her other than maybe a polite hello.

It’s more than a polite hello. Lisanna Harlin works for Lexon Corp in Durham, North Carolina, a private military company that provides armed guards, bodyguards, and guns for hire. They’re the sort of place that would be looking for the best of the best in combat, and they have a bit of a reputation for hiring Gallagher girls. Claire had given up on the job search months ago since the video went out, in fact, she’s had a job lined up for graduation already : at a boxing gym in D.C., where the scene isn’t too bad. It was suited to her, but not exactly the sort of thing that her Gallagher education had prepared her for. Lexon Corp? Everything her rigorous love of January boot camps were tailored to. And they want to interview her.

A month later, Claire’s sitting on the cusp of a completely fresh start. It wasn’t easy to backtrack on the plans that she and Kass had made together, knowing how much was changing for the both of them, it had been nice to have the stable idea of an apartment together on the horizon. Now, she’s a four hour drive away, and she goes home to her one-bedroom studio in Durham after rigorous training throughout the day. But she’s grateful for the chance to work her way back into the field, and she can remember what Lisanna said to her when they gave her the offer.

“We’re aware that with your history that we’re taking a chance on you, Claire,” Lisanna said. “But we think the reasons that made other agencies look past you are exactly what makes you an asset. You care about your jobs, the people that you’re involved in, and you’d have a partner’s back until the bitter end. You listen to your intuition, trust your gut...and above all else, you have follow-through. I’m excited to be able to offer this position. Don’t prove me wrong.”

Claire swears that she won’t.  

PART THREE: KIPTYN.

Kiptyn isn’t supposed to be in the left hall closet. 

In fact, he’s not supposed to be awake at all. But who can sleep the night before their birthday anyway? Sure, he’ll be thirteen, and that’s probably old enough to have gotten over the magic of it all, but...he’d still been lying awake with excitement, the anticipation keeping his eyes open for hours on end. Well, that and the video game he’d been playing under the covers, but he’d obviously only been playing it because he couldn’t sleep in the first place.

Then he started thinking about the left hall closet and the conversation that they had at dinner the other night. In Kiptyn’s defense, Dahvia – his younger sister – had totally started it and he was an innocent bystander. After all, Kiptyn’s old enough to know that they don’t bring up Claire to mom, because it just puts her in a mood and then you can forget about doing anything else for the rest of the evening. But Dahvia’s ten, practically a baby, and she doesn’t know any better.

“Hey, mom? What sort of accident did Claire die in? Nina asked me at recess and I didn’t know,” Dahvia pipes up, before she’s even properly sat down. Kip visibly cringes. He’s older, wiser, knows this won’t go well. Still, he dares to look at his mom’s face and he notes the faraway look in her eye, like she seems to experience a bunch of things at once. Kip notices how even though her eyes are glassy, she doesn’t cry. Though sometimes, their mom will just cry randomly, like two weeks ago when he asked for help with his Spanish homework and she couldn’t even help him finish the first worksheet.

“It was a car accident,” she says stiffly, “eat your dinner.”

Kiptyn kicks his sister under the table and flashes her a look that says : Great. Look what you did, ruined dinner. Dahvia sticks her tongue out at him.

So, he knows that he’s not supposed to be in the left hall closet because he could ruin many more dinners, but he’s here anyway. He’s been thinking about it ever since they sat in silence for the rest of that half hour, and he’s come to the conclusion – his mother was lying. Because all sorts of things make their mother cry, like a bowl of mac and cheese or Spanish class, or motorcycles, and she won’t let Kiptyn take boxing lessons though his friend Robert is and he thought it sounded really cool, but she doesn’t have any problem with cars or driving, and also, she’s never told them a single thing about Claire except that. They aren’t allowed to know anything about her, especially not anything true, so Kiptyn is pretty sure that’s a lie. There’s just something just weird about it.

So, in the middle of the night before his thirteenth birthday, he looks up a video on how you pick locks and then he figures it out on the door of the left hall closet. He’s there for at least forty-five minutes, practically ready to give it all up when he hears the clicking sound, and then it opens. His first thought is : Woah. This is a load of junk.

And he’s right. There’s boxes upon boxes of paperwork, old clothes. Some things start to click, like when he finds a pair of worn boxing gloves with Claire’s initials embroidered on them. His favorite thing that he finds is the fattest scrapbook he’s ever seen – his mom always makes them, there’s one for every year of his life. Dahvia’s too, they love looking at them. The cover of this one, though, says Italy 2021. It’s all pictures of his mom and Claire, probably in their early twenties. Kiptyn mostly notices his mother’s smile, how he’s only seen her look like that a couple times in his life and yet it looks so EASY here, like she wears it all the time. It’s so strange to him. He sets the scrapbook down and crawls toward the back of the closet. His eyes land on two leather folders with gold embroidery, and he opens up the first one. In big letters at the top : GALLAGHER ACADEMY.

It’s a diploma.

This certifies that Kassandra Sutton has satisfactorily completed the…

“What are you doing?”

Kiptyn yells out like a child, not having heard anyone creeping up on him. He claps his hand over his mouth as if to shush himself. “The door was open! I don’t know how, but I just...noticed it was open and wanted to make sure that...no one was stealing your stuff!” he grins sheepishly, hoping that he can ride on the high of his birthday week to get him out of this one.

“It was just...open?” his mother looks down at him with raised eyebrows before brandishing a twisted paper clip between two fingers. The one that had formerly been stuck in the door. His guilty expression widens, he can’t help it.

“Okay, I might know how it opened,” Kiptyn admits. He hesitates for a moment, before he realizes that he’s ALREADY in trouble, he might as well just come out with it and pray to the birthday gods. He holds up the diploma with her name on it : “What’s Gallagher Academy?”

Kass’s sigh is heavy and deep, accompanied by the amount of exhaustion that comes with raising two curious kids by herself. After Claire died, she moved her family to London to be closer to their aunt and away from everything that reminded her of Claire. She never told her children why. From hiding that world from them, the world that took so many people from her : her father, her ex-girlfriend, and the love of her life. She swore that she would never lose her children to it, too. But Kiptyn looks up at her with wide eyes, desperate to know about his mother and his past, and Kass also knows what it’s like to have part of yourself missing due to family secrets that are being kept from you. He is practically a teenager now. So, she relents.

Kass doesn’t go into all of the details, of course. Just that Gallagher Academy was a school for spies, and that’s where it all started. Kiptyn already knew that his moms met in college, so it’s the spy part that’s most interesting to him. She talks about Claire with a light in her eyes he’s unfamiliar with, how she was one of the best fighters in their year, that she grew up with such a talent in the ring that she probably could’ve gone pro if her life had gone in a different direction. She talks about how they had to part ways after graduation, because Claire got a job in North Carolina and she got a job in Washington, DC, but they made it work, and both got very accustomed to the four hour drive – though it was sometimes closer to three for Claire, because she always drove too fast, even on this big, black motorcycle which Kass swears that she hated. She tells Kiptyn about how they got married, the way she’d almost moved to England for a dream job and that long distance threatened to drive them apart again – until Claire chased her down in the airport with a ring and proposal.  

She also talks about how Claire really died : the abridged version. It was an overseas mission where they’d been cornered, and Claire risked her life to save the rest of their team. There were no other casualties, and the information they were able to bring back helped stop the terrorist organization they’d been chasing to end them for good. Kass tells the abridged version for her son, gives Claire a hero’s death. In some ways, it was. She doesn’t mention the ways that Claire was consumed by the case, it was an organization hellbent on killing spies and it likely reminded her of the brotherhood. Kass had been worried about the case the whole time, because it felt like Claire was taking it too personally. In the end, she may have been right : because Claire had let it take her life in order to close it. She also doesn’t mention that such a sacrificial death means that her wife died fighting alone, swinging her fists until her very last breath. But still, she was all alone.

She had no choice but to take her kids as far away from that life as possible.

Kiptyn tries, but he doesn’t really remember Claire. He’d only been three years old when she passed away, and before then, she’d been so consumed by her last case that she was barely present. Still, he thinks she sounds badass.

He falls asleep on his mother’s shoulder that night, looking through the scrapbook of pictures from their trip to Italy in 2021. He’s animated for the first part, pointing out buildings and asking questions, wonders if Claire was sweating in all that leather, but he slowly starts to drift off. He wakes up on the couch the next morning, no trace of the book or any of the other papers he’d hauled out of the closet the night before. He looks at the closet and there’s an extra padlock. Figures.

It comes up in little ways, like a private joke that he has with his mother, like she’ll say something and flash him a secretive smile. He likes that, and he understands that this is a big secret that he has to keep. It doesn’t come up again until his fourteenth birthday the next year, the summer before high school. It’s a strange letter in a manila envelope, sealed with some expensive red wax, his name written in fancy calligraphy. The most attention-grabbing part, however, is not Kiptyn Sutton-Walsh in big cursive letters. It’s the return address :

GALLAGHER ACADEMY.

learn her skills, honor her sword. keep her secrets.

[magniloquent-raven]

for fluff: "one more chapter" or "there's enough room for both of us"

it’s been 84 years............ but here u go lmao tysm for the prompts!!!!!! i used both!

CW for some brief suicidal ideation, just in case. it’s v mild but pls be careful yall (i know, this fic was supposed to be fluffy 😅)

posted on ao3

------

Billy’s life had changed a lot in the past two years. 

So much that some days he barely recognizes himself in the mirror. The scars, the state of his hair—which he hasn’t cut since last summer and generally just throws back for convenience’ sake—the stubble he doesn’t bother with most days. Small things, in the grander scheme of what’s different about his life, but it adds up.

And it’s Friday night, he’s curled up at home, and perfectly content to be there. 

There’s a steaming mug of cider on the coffee table (a scratched-up old thing that Hop left him when he officially handed off ownership of his trailer to Billy), and wind rattling the windows, and Max is asleep in the next room. It’s...cozy. 

El stopped by earlier that afternoon, Max in tow, demanding Billy let them stay because Mike was being a dick or a DnD campaign was going on too long and El’s character died a while back so she was bored, or...something. Possibly Mike was being a dick about her character being dead. Max kept chiming in with her own two cents worth but it really just made the whole thing harder to follow.

But it didn’t really matter why they stopped by, they’re always coming up with reasons to invade his living room and eat all his food and nag him about teaching them how to do fancy braids. And Max usually wanders off to nap in his room when El starts asking Billy to read to her.

Which is what he’s doing now. 

Last month he read her Jane Eyre (her idea). A week ago they started The Hobbit. 

It’s been slow going, considering how often El interrupts to ask questions, and every time there’s a song they have the same argument about him not actually singing, but they’re making progress. 

He’s reading through the weird goblin song as monotone as possible just so he can laugh at El’s disgruntled scrunchy face, and putting up with her poking his thigh with her toes when he rolls his eyes at her, and honestly having the time of his fucking life, because, yeah, saying things have changed in the past two years is the understatement of the decade.

When he gets to the end of Over Hill and Under Hill and closes the book she gasps dramatically, sitting up and pulling the ugly orange throw blanket (gift from Mrs. Byers) she’d been snuggled up in tighter around her shoulders.

“Billy, no!” 

He drops the book in his lap and raises his eyebrows at her. “It’s the end of the chapter.”

“No.”

“Yeah, it definitely is.”

El frowns at him, her whole face going pinched. “But you can’t stop there.”

It’s moments like this that almost make Billy forget she can kill people with her brain. Moments when she just looks like a kid, all wrapped up in her favourite blanket and pouting. 

And it’s like she knows that’s his goddamn kryptonite. Because those moments also remind him that she deserves this. More than anyone he knows, she deserves all the childish crap she wants, and more. It won’t ever replace the childhood that was taken from her, but it’s a start.

So, needless to say, Billy has a hard time saying no to her.

He drops his head back against the cushion behind him, staring at the ceiling for a moment—pretending to contemplate, while she glowers at him—and sighs loudly. 

“One more chapter.” 

She beams.

They’re only a few pages into Riddles in the Dark when a car pulls up, and Billy doesn’t even have time to put the book down before the front door bursts open. 

“El! Will thought he—is that The Hobbit?” Dustin comes to an abrupt halt two paces into the room, blinking at the book in Billy’s hands. All his little friends nearly collide with his back, and there’s suddenly a gaggle of obnoxious teenagers huddled in Billy’s doorway. 

“Who cares,” Lucas scoffs, pushing him out of the way so he, Wheeler, and Will, can shuffle the rest of the way inside. “Get out of the way!”

Billy is still trying to figure out what the fuck’s even happening when Steve goddamn Harrington walks in behind his pack of brats. Because of course he was the one who drove them here. Him being a fine upstanding citizen and all that. With nothing better to do, apparently. (Not that Billy has room to judge anymore.)

Suddenly the bickering kids are mostly background noise. Billy always did have a hard time concentrating on anything else when Steve’s in the room. Especially when he’s looking like that, warm brown eyes lit up with interest, and the corner of his mouth pulling upwards in a half-smile. His cheeks are pink from the chill outside, his hair a mess from the wind, and locking eyes with him makes Billy’s heart pound. 

They’ve been on good terms these past few months and it’s a special kind of torture that Billy wouldn’t give up for the fucking world.

But he doesn’t get to enjoy the view for long because—

“—the Mind Flayer might be back!”

Billy stiffens. “What?” He glances at El. She’s sitting up straight now, her eyes dark, expression closed off. 

Mike sighs irritably. “Weren’t you listening? Will thinks he might have sensed the Mind Flayer, so we needed to make sure El’s okay.” He crosses his arms, glaring at Billy. “Because the stupid thing wants her dead, remember?”

“Wheeler,” Steve hisses, and smacks the kid’s shoulder.

“Yeah.” Billy grits his teeth, cold fingers trailing down his spine. “I remember.” 

The room is silent for several agonizing seconds, the kids all exchanging glances. Until Billy’s bedroom door opens and Max shuffles out, rubbing her eyes. 

“What’s everyone doing here?” 

~~

They’d all been hanging out at Steve’s when Will had a bad feeling. The same kind of prickling bone-deep chill he’d gotten two summers ago. Needless to say, ignoring it until people started dying didn’t seem like the way to go this time, hence the home invasion.

Which had been Steve’s idea, apparently. Or. His initial reaction had been to blurt out does this mean Billy’s possessed again, and it had spiraled from there. To Mike freaking out about El not being safe because she was here, to Lucas reminding him that Billy had only gotten the better of her when she didn’t have powers, to Dustin yelling about checking in with her either way because she might have The Facts. 

And so they’d broken a couple traffic laws to get here.

Billy suspects Steve feels guilty about suggesting he might be possessed, because he got very awkward when it was brought up. And he stepped in several times when Wheeler and Sinclair’s interrogation got a little too intense (there were threats of hot pokers involved).

It should have felt condescending—Billy’s a grown-ass adult, he doesn’t need someone defending him from lanky teenagers—but he can’t help feeling a little warm when it’s Steve coming to his defense. 

The discussion overall is a mess. El doesn’t have any answers, Billy hasn’t felt anything odd lately, and the lack of anything to go on beyond Will having a momentary freakout is putting everyone on edge. 

Max, who squished herself onto the couch between Billy and El, cuts through the cyclical arguing after the third dramatic eye-roll from Mike. “Guys, can you cool it for a second. We’re getting nowhere.” Her protest is punctuated by a yawn, which makes El giggle. 

“She’s right,” Steve sighs, mussing with his hair absentmindedly. “Billy and El are fine, everyone’s fine, we should all get some sleep.”

“Dude, are you sure you’re good to drive?” Dustin asks, squinting appraisingly at Steve. It’s a fair question, it’s late and Steve looks like he’s about to keel over, but Billy’s not sure he likes where this is going.

“Who said anything about driving?” Max snorts, glancing at Billy. 

Damnit Max.

“Is there even space for everyone here? This place is tiny.”

“Fuck you, Wheeler, not all of us can live in goddamn mansions.”

The kid opens his mouth to retort, bristling with indignation, but Will interjects, stuttering a little in his haste, “I, um, I’d feel a little safer if everyone, you know, stayed in one place? At least for tonight?”

And that pretty much settles it. 

Once everyone mumbles their (in some cases reluctant) agreement, El crows “Sleepover!” and drags Max off to find spare blankets, leaving Billy sitting on the couch alone and wondering where the hell Steve is gonna sleep. For...no particular reason...other than…

Well.

It’s not like Mike was wrong, the trailer wasn’t built to house six teenagers and two twenty-somethings. Most of them are going to end up squished on the living room floor, and Max and El already called dibs on the couch, and...well, unless Steve wants to crash in the fucking kitchen there really isn’t anywhere else for him to go other than Billy’s room. He doesn’t even have a goddamn tub the guy could curl up in. 

And just because he’s wanted Steve Harrington in his bed since minute one, doesn’t mean he wants it right now. Not like this. 

Because like this he has to deal with Max’s side-eye, and El’s knowing look (the girl has been in his head, she literally knows everything about him), and Will’s weird wide-eyed interest, and worst of all, Steve not doing this because he wants to. 

In fact, judging by the way he blanches when Max suggests it, Billy’s room is the last place he’d like to be. Which is not really something Billy ever really wanted hard proof of, thanks. 

He’s dealt with enough in his life, he didn’t need to know exactly how repulsive Steve finds the idea of sleeping in the same room as him. 

“You’re welcome to sleep in your goddamn car if my floor isn’t good enough for you, Harrington,” he bites out, probably harsher than was warranted. 

Steve blinks at him, mouth falling open, eyebrows raised. 

“Oh my god, it’s too cold to sleep outside, Billy,” Max says, rolling her eyes. “Stop being such a dick.”

“Whatever,” he mutters. “Figure your shit out, I’m going to bed.” 

The silence he leaves behind is tense and awkward. 

He’s been laying in bed staring at the ceiling, moping and berating himself, for about ten minutes when the door creaks open.

“Hey, uh,” Steve’s voice is soft, uncertain, and Billy feels like even more of an asshole for snapping at him. “I’m just...gonna...crash on the floor. Um. Good night.”

This is punishment isn’t it. For being such a douche for so long. Now he gets to try and fall asleep knowing Steve fucking Harrington is laying nearby, sleepy and warm and out of reach. He listens to Steve shuffle around, getting situated, laying out blankets and trying to find a soft bit of carpet to lay on. Has to bite his tongue to keep from saying something stupid. Like offering up his bed. Or poking fun at how much Steve sighs when he’s getting comfortable (Because it’s dumb, not cute. Definitely not cute.).

It’s unclear how long they lay there in the dark, Billy watching moonlight cast the outlines of skeletal trees across the wall, listening to Steve’s quiet breathing to remind himself he’s not alone. That the shadows are just shadows and there’s no reason to be tense and sweating and—

Billy’s pretty sure it’s been long enough that Steve should be asleep, considering how tired he looked, so he tosses his blanket off and swipes the pack of cigarettes off his bedside table, hoping to god the floor doesn’t creak when he pads across the room. There’s no noise coming from the other room, so either the kids are asleep too or a miracle has occurred and they’re all just being really quiet. 

He slips out the side door, and takes a breath. The lake is too still, despite the wind. No self-respecting body of water doesn’t have waves. But it’s pretty enough, he supposes. Enough to make for a decent view while he smokes a cigarette.

Takes a couple tries to light up. His hands aren’t what they used to be, especially in the cold. Holding off a thirty-foot meat puppet bare-handed does that to a person, tears shit up that doesn’t heal right afterwards.

He’s about halfway through his cig when Steve joins him. Billy’s shoulders stiffen at the sound of footsteps, and he doesn’t relax at all when he realizes who it is. 

“Hey.”

Out of the corner of his eye Billy watches Steve lean against the porch railing beside him. He takes another drag before he looks over properly, keeping his expression as neutral as possible. “Fancy meeting you here.” 

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Billy raises his eyebrows. Gestures with his cigarette and turns away again. “No shit.”

He can feel Steve’s eyes on him, and he resolutely ignores it. Stares out at the water and flicks cigarette ash over the railing. The wind picks up again and cuts through his thin shirt. Should’ve grabbed a fucking sweater. Not because the cold bothers him at all, but...well, because it doesn’t anymore.

He shivers when a completely-unrelated-to-the-weather chill runs down his spine.

“Soo…” Steve fidgets, and trails off awkwardly, his nonchalance painfully fake.

The corner of Billy’s mouth twitches, and he raises his cigarette to his lips, a flimsy excuse to hide his smile. 

“Did, uh. Did El choose the book, or…?”

He chokes on a mouthful of smoke. Doc Owens did tell him he shouldn’t have taken up smoking again. Though he was probably more concerned about Billy’s scarred lungs and than Steve Harrington-related hazards. 

Coughing definitely does hurt a lot more than it used to though. 

He flinches when Steve touches his shoulder, pats it, rubs a little—trying to help with the coughing, presumably—making Billy’s heart trip over itself. 

Once he’s no longer wheezing he wipes his eyes, and waves off Steve’s apologies, hoping the embarrassed flush on his cheeks isn’t too visible in the dim light. 

Steve’s hand stays where it is.

For several quiet moments Billy waits for him to withdraw but he doesn’t, and Billy finally meets his eyes. Which was probably a mistake. His heart skips again. He’s still not used to Steve looking at him like that. Soft and wide-eyed and concerned and…

God, he’s so fucking beautiful. Billy used to dream about getting this close without needing pretense, without having to pretend, getting to bask in the warmth coming off him and feel his breath on his skin and see something other than indifference—or worse, the hatred that came later—looking back at him. What he has now is...not quite what he wants. It lights him up but leaves him wanting. 

Another gust of wind makes a mess of Steve’s hair, locks falling into his eyes and sticking up in all directions, and Billy itches. Clenches his fist to stop himself from fixing it.

“Her dweeby little friends kept talking about it, and she couldn’t get through it herself. So...” Billy trails off, scratching his cheek and glancing away. “I may have had a copy laying around.”

Steve’s hand finally leaves its perch on his shoulder—both a disappointment and a relief—to brush the stray locks of hair out of his face. He grins at Billy, whole face lit up and stupidly pretty even as his fingers get stuck in tangles. “Really?” 

“Yeah.” Billy bites the inside of his cheek. “My mom used to read it to me.” 

It’s easier to talk about her now. Mostly with El, who’s still the only person who knows the full story, but, well, he’s pretty sure at least Max and Steve have guessed the bits they weren’t told. Or, hell, maybe El told everyone everything during those months he was out of commission and everyone thought he was dead, and no one’s brought it up to his face because it would be awkward as hell. 

In any case, Steve’s expression softens. 

“Oh,” he says quietly. “So, you and her were pretty close, huh?”

If asked Billy would have blamed the sudden sting of tears in his eyes on the wind. “I guess.” A pause. “Not enough for her to take me when she left,” he mumbles, chewing his thumbnail and frowning out at the lake.

His cigarette hangs between two fingers in his other hand. 

“Billy…”

“Don’t. I’ve heard every condolence in the book, okay. It’s...it’s fine.”

For several long moments the only sounds are the dry rustle of leaves in the wind and Billy’s nail-biting. 

Then Steve slips his fingers around Billy’s wrist and tugs gently. Too surprised to resist, Billy lets him. Lets his hand be pulled away from his face, thumb pressed to his pulsepoint, lets him hold on for a beat longer than necessary before letting go. And Billy stares at him the whole time, lips parted, shoulders tense, waiting to see what Steve will do next.

What he does next is smile a little sad, and tilt his head. “It’s a bad habit, you know. Biting your nails.” 

“I don’t have any other kind of habit.”

“Hm,” Steve hums, “I don’t think that’s true.” 

Which is a weird thing to say, and a weird thing to get emotional over, and yet Billy kind of feels like he’s been punched in the chest.

He rubs at the knotted scar tissue that spiderwebs across his whole torso, and can’t help but wonder—not for the first time—if Steve’s perception of him might be a little blinded by the one good thing he’s ever done. He’s tried to be better since then, atone a little, but Steve’s confidence in him still feels unearned.

And all the work he’s put into getting his shit together might all be for nothing anyways, if some fucking slime monster decides to crawl down his throat again. If Will’s right and that thing is back...for all he knows the thing has it out for him too, after the shit he pulled at Starcourt. He thought he’d end up dead, he wasn’t exactly worried about making himself a target in the long run. 

But now...

Billy exhales slowly through his nose, eyes falling shut for a moment before he grits out, “I can’t do it again.” Steve blinks at him, nonplussed. “This,” he taps his scars, “The fucking. Mind Flayer bullshit. I can’t.”

“You…” Steve folds his arms across his stomach, hands clutching his elbows. It’s a nervous tic that makes Billy ache. Always makes his heart clench, but tonight that gets lost in the black hole of anxiety already twisting up his insides  “You won’t have to, I—we’ll protect you. If we stick together—”

“It’s not a guarantee.”

“No, but—”

“We don’t know anything about this alien shit, for all we know I was never really free of it, and—I just—promise you won’t let it use me again,” Billy’s voice breaks, and he clenches his jaw to try and hold it all back, the taste of bile in the back of his throat, the crushing weight of existential panic pressing in. 

Steve’s eyes widen, “What do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean. Crash another car into me. Let your ex shoot me in the fucking head. I don’t care how, I need you to stop me.” He needs to understand, Billy’s eyes bore into him, willing him to understand.

But he shakes his head, face twisted up with horror, “I don’t think I can do that.”

Billy takes a step towards him, desperation bleeding into his voice, “Steve.” He blinks back tears. “Please.” 

“Don’t—” Steve looks away, curling in on himself, “Don’t do that.”

“Do what, ask you to perform a public fucking service?” Billy spits, eyes stinging, face burning. He regrets the words once they’re spoken, but there’s no taking them back now. He’s talked with Owens about this sort of shit and he thought he was past it. 

Apparently not.

He deflates. Like a slap in the face, it stops him dead, turns his agonizing back inward where it fucking belongs. Wiping his eyes, he sighs. 

It’s too late to stop the puppy-dog eyes Steve’s giving him now though. The unreserved sadness in the way he’s looking at Billy is so overwhelming it’s almost palpable. “Is that really how you feel?”

Is it? He’s not sure anymore. It was for a long time. Long enough that he couldn’t remember feeling any other kind of way until El reminded him. But now…

He shrugs. “It’s...complicated. I—ah, shit!” His hand jerks, and the cigarette he’d been holding falls to the ground. That never used to hurt so fucking much. “Damn thing burnt me.” 

He sucks on the stinging knuckle, waiting for the pain to subside, tasting salt and ash, and looks back up at Steve.

They lock eyes.

Steve’s expression has closed off, his gaze still heavy, but with something else, sliding down Billy’s face with an intensity Billy’s not quite sure what to make of. He’s struck dumb by the attention (not something he usually has a problem handling), lips still wrapped around his finger but his mouth has gone slack.

It feels like a static shock, one crackling jolt of a moment, something sharp lancing through him, and then it’s over. Steve’s blinking, glancing away. Billy’s hand falls to his side. It would be like it never happened except he still feels charged, pent up, heart full to bursting and stomach in knots. 

Billy sighs, and rubs his eyes. “Let’s just...go back to bed.”

Wording, Billy. Wording. His cheeks warm a little, but he manages to keep his expression neutral as he turns and heads back inside.

He practically throws himself into his bed, curling up on his side and pulling the blankets around him, back turned to Steve. Sleep seems like a pipe dream at this point, but doing anything other than pretending to get some rest would involve talking to and/or looking at Steve, so. Not an option. 

But after he listens to Steve settle back into his little pile of blankets, the minutes crawl by, and Billy gets twitchy. Wants so badly to move, toss and turn and fidget, and say something, but doesn’t know where to start and doesn’t want to draw Steve’s attention, and—

God, this is so fucking stupid.

Billy rolls over. “Steve.”

“Yeah?” 

The room is silent for a beat. He shuffles around a little and the sheets rustle loudly in the quiet.  

“Would you get up here,” he says suddenly, all at once, demanding, scarcely believing what the fuck is coming out of his mouth. 

“...What?” Steve sounds a little breathless and it makes Billy’s stomach clench.

“Just...there’s enough room for both of us, alright.” Jesus christ. 

The lump of Steve and blankets on the floor doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak, for what seems like an eternity, and Billy’s about to brush it off, turn it into a joke, take it back, something, when—

“Okay.”

Oh.

What?

Oh god, he’s getting up. This is happening. Billy stares at his silhouette, the tense line of his shoulders, his awkward gait, and wonders why he’s agreeing to this if he’s so goddamn uncomfortable. 

Guess the floor is officially less comfortable than being in bed with Billy. Joy.

But then he’s sliding under the covers and Billy forgets to be bitter because his brain is mostly static at this point. White noise and his heartbeat thundering in his ears and the deafening creak of boxspring groaning under unexpected weight.

And Steve’s doing that thing again, sighing, little hums as he wiggles around getting himself situated, and Billy is dying. He thought he was being punished before, but now he’s sure, because this is ridiculous. No grown man should be that adorable. 

By the time he’s gotten himself comfy Billy is about ready to combust. 

It doesn’t help that he’s decided to lay down extremely close and facing Billy. It’s so intimate it hurts.

“Do you think you’ll actually sleep?”

Billy shrugs noncommittally. “Maybe.” He tries to make it sound more casual than it is. Like it’s a choice and not the sad fact that he’s too fucking anxious to relax. 

Seems he’s not the only one though, Steve keeps fidgeting, his face doing something weird Billy can’t quite see in the gloom. But he doesn’t have to see to recognize Steve’s tics.

“Spit it out,” Billy sighs.

“What did you mean. When you said it’s complicated?” Steve asks softly.

Ah.

“You really wanna get into this?” He sure doesn’t, but Steve nods and Billy’s fucking weak when it comes to giving Steve what he wants. “I meant that...I...used to feel like that. All the time. It was fucking relentless.” He thinks about rolling onto his back so he won’t have to look at Steve for this, but finds himself stuck, drawn in by the faint starlight reflected in Steve’s eyes. “But nowadays I’ve got...shit to hang on for, I guess. Doesn’t make it all go away, but it makes it easier.”

“Oh.” Steve wriggles a little closer, his hand landing in the space between their pillows. Right next to Billy’s hand. Close enough that he can feel him there, but not quite touching.

He doesn’t say anything else, which Billy’s grateful for. He’s got Doc Owens for the big speeches about how life is worth living, and it’s grating enough getting them from someone who’s literal job is to say that kind of shit. 

It helps. It does. But he can only handle so much.

Speaking of which.

“I’m sorry,” Billy says quietly. He’s keeping his hand too still for it to come across as casual, trembling with the effort. If he moved his pinky just a little they’d be touching, and he’s painfully aware of this fact.

“What for?”

“Earlier, when I...I was asking for a lot.”

“Oh.” Steve shifts, the blankets rustling as he shuffles around, but as much as he fidgets, his hand stays where it is. “Billy...I don’t want you to have to go through that again, but…”

Billy, on an impulse—with a feeling somewhat akin to stepping off a ledge without a parachute—hooks his pinky over Steve’s. In the dark he hears a soft intake of breath, can just barely make out the way Steve’s mouth falls open, moonlight casting shadows when his tongue darts out to lick his lips. 

“I know. It wasn’t fair to—”

“No, no,” Steve flips his palm upward and laces their fingers together, squeezing Billy’s hand. “It’s not that. You have every right to be scared, and...look, this whole thing is batshit crazy, none of us know how to deal with it.” 

Billy runs his thumb along the length of Steve’s index finger, marvelling at the contact, and the way his pulse flutters when the gesture is returned. It takes him a second to find his voice, “True, but you’ve never asked me to mercy kill you.”

Steve exhales, the ghost of a laugh, and it warms the back of Billy’s hand. He shivers, his whole arm tingling. “Billy, I haven’t gone through half the shit you have.” A pause. “I want to help. Anything you need, just...not that.” 

Anything. It catches in Billy’s throat, stops his heart for just a second, reminds him that they’re inches apart, in bed together. For the second time tonight he feels like he’s been punched in the sternum, and he goes rigid, relaxing only minutely when Steve squeezes his hand again.

“Careful, pretty boy. Saying shit like that might give a guy ideas,” he murmurs, gaze searching, wandering Steve’s face, the shadows cast by the soft fall of hair across his forehead.

“Oh yeah?” Steve pulls their clasped hands to his chest. His heart is racing, but his voice is steady, “Well, have enough ideas with no follow-through and a guy might think you’re all talk.”

Billy’s breath catches. The world stops. “You...you don’t want me to follow through.” 

The reality of the situation hits him like a train. Flirting is one thing, he’s always had a hard time keeping his mouth shut around Steve, but this is something he’d only ever regretted letting himself imagine because he knew he’d never have it. And now that it’s within reach...

“See, the thing is…” Steve slides a little closer. His knee brushes Billy’s thigh. “I really, really do.”

“I—” his voice breaks, mouth dry, throat closing up as he tries to swallow past the lump making it hard to breathe. 

“Billy,” Steve whispers, a hot puff of air against Billy’s lips. “Please.”

Fuck.

He surges forward—hard enough that their teeth click together—and his mouth muffles Steve’s gasp. The hand not cradled against Steve’s chest comes up to touch his cheek, fingertips caressing his jaw, coaxing him closer, sliding back to thread into his hair. 

Steve’s lips are plush and warm against his, curved into a smile that leaves Billy tingling, dizzy and drunk on sensations. The way his mouth tastes, the softness of his skin under Billy’s scarred palm, the way his heart twists when Steve reaches out to touch his chest.

He pulls back, and rests his forehead against Steve’s. His eyes stay shut and he just breathes. Soaks up the moment. 

“God,” Steve sighs, nuzzling their noses together. “Always knew you’d be good at that.”

“Yeah?” Billy asks quietly, fiddling with the stray locks of hair behind Steve’s ear. He’s feeling...raw. Vulnerable. It’s a fragile state of being, one wrong word away from breaking. Or a few right words away from fucking bliss, but that never seems to be how it goes for him. 

“Yeah, even when we didn’t like each other I wondered. Annoyed the hell outta me.”

“Steve…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully, “I always liked you.”  If his heart wasn’t already racing, it sure would be now. He braces himself for the worst.

But it doesn’t come. There’s a pause. Steve’s fingers curl into the front of his shirt. “Oh.” He presses a chaste kiss to Billy’s lips, lingering, before chuckling lightly. “That explains a lot actually.”

Billy’s cheeks burn. Yeah, he supposes it would. “You’re not...freaked out?” he ventures, hesitant. 

“Mm, nope.” He reaches up, brushes a stray curl out of Billy’s face. “Definitely okay with this.”

I love you.

The thought doesn’t shock him but the desire to say it out loud does. The way it lodges itself in his throat and sticks. He hasn’t said it to anyone—hasn’t wanted to say it to anyone—since his mother left. The precedent is intimidating, but…

Steve smells like honey and clean air, laying in bed with Billy, warm and pliant next to him tracing patterns in Billy’s scars, his gaze is fond, his smile is soft, and...and Billy’s in love.

He swallows. Pushes it down for now. 

He kisses Steve again. Slower. A gentle press of mouths, and another. Takes his time deepening it, teasing with his tongue. He waits for Steve to pull away, to decide that this thing is one thing too far, but it never happens. Steve lets him escalate, and gives as good as he gets. 

They’re both breathless and flushed and Billy’s riding high on the bubbling warmth in his chest, lightheaded from it. He slides his leg over Steve’s, straddling his thigh, pressing down, seeking friction. 

He shifts, rocking forward a little, and Steve moans, low and deep right in Billy’s ear.

They both freeze. Steve’s breath coming in ragged little bursts against the side of Billy’s face. 

“Pretty boy, as much as I’d love to hear more of that, no one else in the house does.”

“Jesus christ.”

“No need to bring him into it.”

“Shut up,” Steve laughs and buries his face in Billy’s shoulder. “Just give me a minute.”

“Aw, I get you all riled up, baby?” 

Steve slides a hand down, down, and palms Billy’s cock, drawing a short gasp from him. “Yes.”

They stay entangled the rest of the night, dozing in and out of consciousness, Steve pressing the occasional sleepy kiss to Billy’s collarbone. And...Billy’s not sure what will happen after tonight, but he knows it’ll be easier to deal with if he gets to keep this. Whatever this is. He doesn’t have the heart to ask, not yet, but for the first time in a while, he has hope.

[absolutepx]

So I've been playing Death Stranding lately. Wait, that's not what this post is about. Well, it kind of is. Hang on. What is Death Stranding about?

A: Norman Reedus getting bare ass naked B. Sneaking around ghosts with the help of your sidekick, an actual baby C: Carrying 50 Amazon packages up a hill while trying to not topple over D: Waking up in the morning and drinking 5 Monster Energy™ for breakfast

For those following along at home, the answer is actually none of the above. Despite the set dressing being bizarre to the point of near absurdity, what the game is actually about, like thematically, is actually really simple.

See, the development of Death Stranding was actually quite a trip. Hideo Kojima is the video game world's equivalent of an auteur director. He has a very recognizable personal style. It's thoroughly horny – he caught a bunch of shit for the design of Quiet in MGSV, but like, a lot of Kojima characters are just -like that-, including the dudes. Also, this is going to possibly be important later.

Anyway, so Kojima was going to do a rebootmakequel of Silent Hill, and the demo actually made it to the PS store and I could actually write a whole side essay about why P.T. (it was called P.T. for some reason btw) was brilliant game design for how it used the same hallway over and over and it was somehow beneficial to the overall feeling of horror. So Konami it turns out kinda sucks nowadays and they like, fired Kojima (they were huge dicks about it behind closed doors, too) and scrapped the project and kicked him out on the street and kept the Metal Gear series which was his baby (literally the baby in the sink in P.T., he snuck a bunch of messaging about the Konami situation into the demo like a breakup album) and Kojima would go on to form his own studio and poach some of the people who worked with him to boot. So the thing about Kojima is this: he's got a reputation for already putting some wild shit in his games, like a ladder that takes like 10 real time minutes to climb in MGS3 for dramatic effect, and a boss in MGS3 that summons the ghosts of all the people you were too lazy to stealth past and killed, or a sniper battle with a really old guy that he wanted to have last two weeks or some shit until he died of old age but he was "told that "this was impossible and not recommended." That is a real quote I just looked up. So he's coming off the heels of making this hugely successful game with MGSV and the hype of the P.T. Demo and he fucking, he like took all the people that were going to be working on P.T. Along like Guillermo Del Toro was going to co-write it and Norman Reedus was going to star in it, and he's like, I'm going to make this game called Death Stranding. And the first trailer comes out for it and it's completely nuts. Norman Reedus wakes up naked on a beach crying with a baby and there are floating people in the sky? So we're all like hooooooly shit, there's no one to tell him "this is impossible and not recommended" anymore. What's he going to make now!?

So the whole time the game is in development I keep seeing these tweets where it'll be like, Kojima and one of his homies smiling with some saccharine message about being spiritual warriors and changing the world. And not just Del Toro and Reedus, there was Mads Mikkelsen (another guy Kojima puts in the game just because he apparently loves him), and the band Chvches, and also like, Keanu Reeves at one point? You know how everyone has just kind of accepted that Keanu is a being of light? Here he was endorsing Kojima. The hype was pretty confused and frantic.

The game eventually comes out. A lot of game journos hate it because I think there was this expectation it was going to be, you know, less weird and have more of the conventional structure of a video game. That's not to say the average gamer wasn't also dismissive of it, but I think on the ground level there was more of an understanding that like, yeah, Kojima just be like that sometimes.

Because the game was a timed console exclusive and your homie don't play like that, I spent the first year or so cautiously viewing Death Stranding from a distance. I wasn't sure I was going to like it – except for being really impressed with P.T., I wasn't actually a big fan of Kojima's games as games – but I -was- sure that I was going to buy it, because of the way Konami fucked him over, just out of support. And the shit I was hearing was really out there. The primary mode of gameplay is just delivery packages. You collect Norman Reedus' bathwater and pee and use it as grenades. You get a motorcycle that looks like the one from AMC's The Ride with Norman Reedus, and when you sit on it, his character in the game says "Wow, this thing is like the one from AMC's The Ride with Norman Reedus!"

But I didn't really want to know that much about it. Something has that much fucking crazy person energy, you want to go in mostly blind, right? So maybe people just weren't talking about this, or maybe I wasn't seeing it, but then I watched Girlfriend Reviews' video about it and they came right out and said it (link provided if you want to hear Shelby say it more articulately than me):

Death Stranding is basically about the exact opposite of Twitter. It's about remembering how to be kind to each other, how to reconnect in a world where people are so often hostile to each other by default. Prophetically, it's about a world where people are afraid to go outside or touch other people and how damaging that is. It's not a game about carrying packages, it's a game about helping people by being brave enough to walk through a wasteland carrying their burdens because they can't. It's about rebuilding the lost connections between people, about restoring roads and giving people hope. I bet, for Kojima and the people close to him, it's about how to answer hostility with compassion. You can't kill people in Death Stranding. You can and are absolutely encouraged to fucking throw hands with people sometimes, but all the tools and weapons are nonlethal. So I think Kojima took all the Twitter heat he got over the Quiet nontroversy, and all the feelings of isolation he had from Konami separating him from his team during the end of the development of MGSV, and all the support and encouragement he got from his bros Del Toro and Mads and the rest, and decided to channel that into making a game that was a statement about all of it. And sure, it's a little heavy handed, and sure, it's a little saccharine, and sure, the gameplay sometimes borders on miserable in service of creating emotional payoffs. For me, especially in 2020, this message is a huge success. Social media should be an opportunity for all of us to feel more connected to each other, yet primarily it feels like one of the main forces driving people apart. Why is that? Why is the internet of today such a hostile place? I'm old enough to remember web 1.0: I can haz cheezburger memes; YTMND; the early wild west days of Youtube... What happened to us? I've thrown the blame at Twitter in the past, and I think the architecture of the user experience on Twitter is absolutely a big piece of the puzzle, because it fosters negative interactions. But in terms of the behavior, people have observed that 2018 Twitter was actually almost exactly like 2014 Tumblr. (For the record, Tumblr is now one of the chillest places left on the internet, because so few fucks are left to give.)

I think part of it is the anonymity. The dehumanizing disconnection of the separation of screens and miles. Louis CK, before he was cancelled, had a great point about cyberbullying, and why it's so much more savage than kids are IRL. When you pick on someone in person and you are confronted with seeing the pain you caused them, for most sane people it causes negative feedback and you become disgusted with your actions and eventually learn to stop being a shithead. Online, at best you can "break the wrist, walk away".

At worst, you can become addicted to "clout chasing" and the psychological thrill of being cheered on by your social ingroup. It's even worse if you feel like it's not bullying and your actions are justified because whoever you've targeted is a bad person so you don't have to feel bad about what you do to them. This is where reductive, unhelpful catchphrases like "punch a nazi" come in. For every argument, one or both sides have convinced themselves that the other side is subhuman because their beliefs are so disgusting. And sometimes it's even true! A lot of times, especially these days, people really are acting like animals or worse online. Entire disinformation engines are roaring day and night, churning out garbage and cluttering the social consciousness. (Kojima talked about this bit, too, way back in MGS2. As if I wasn't already in danger of losing my thread through this.)

The human brain was not built to live like this. You can't wake up every morning, roll over and open your phone, and be immediately faced with a tidal wave of anger and indignity. It wasn't built to be aware of fully how horrible the world is at any moment ALL AT ONCE, ALL THE TIME. And you will be. Because of another way that our brain works – the way we are more likely to share negative opinions. And because of the cottage industry built on farming outrage clicks, and because of constant performative activism.

It's not that I don't agree that being informed is important.

It's not that I don't agree that the causes people get riled up about are important.

They are. They absolutely are.

But we can't keep living like this. The constant, unending flood of tragedy, arguments, and hot takes. How much of the negativity we associate with online culture is the product of this feedback loop? What if the rise of doomer culture has been, if not entirely created by, has been nourished and exacerbated by our hostile attitudes toward each other?  Incels and TERFs, white supremacists, radfems, tankies and Trumpers – it seems like on every side of every issue, there are people simultaneously getting it wrong in multiple directions at once and there are more being radicalized every day. They are the toxic waste left behind by the state of discourse. And any hill is a hill worth dying on.

So what am I actually advocating? I don't know. There are a lot of fights going on right now that are important and we can't just climb into bunkers and ignore our problems hoping that Norman Reedus and his fine ass are going to leave the shit we need on our doorsteps. We need to find the strength to carry those hypothetical packages for ourselves sometimes - and hopefully, for others as well. Humans are social creatures. We need interaction and enrichment.

We need love.

So just try to remember the connections between humanity. Try to put more good stuff into the world when you can. Share more shitposts and memes. Tell your friends and family that you love them. Share good news when you hear it. Go on a weird fucking tangent about Death Stranding. Find a way to "be excellent to each other, and party on, dudes."

[panharmonium]

@captain-jaybird​ @solo-by-choice​ - i love you guys XD

So, the fic in question was originally a collection of ten location-based vignettes following the development of Obi-Wan and Padme’s friendship from AotC to RotS.  I wrote it seven years ago and only ever showed it to my sister and @dyingsighs, so unless I fall hard back into Star Wars at some point, I probably won’t ever post it in its entirety, because I don’t think I have quite enough energy to do the kind of rewriting it would need in order for me to feel like it meets my current standards.  HOWEVER - given your replies, I pulled the only two vignettes from it that I do actually still like, because I know it has been literal years since I made any Star Wars-related work for you, and I feel like this is the least I can do to thank you for your many years of fandom friendship! 😊 

@all my old Star Wars peeps: Ancient fic snippets under the cut!  Consider this an affectionate “hello there” from me - I hope you guys are all doing well out there! <3

-naboo-

Anakin is insistent.

“Come on, Padmé,” he cajoles her.  “Just a little walk.  I get to be here without breaking any rules for once and you want to just sit inside?”  He flings open the embassy’s balcony doors and gestures out over the city.  “Look at this day!”

Sunny skies or not, Padmé can’t quite wrench her gaze away from the festival itinerary in her hands.  However many times she’s been over it, she can’t help but feel they must have missed some small detail, and in a situation as precarious as this one, the slightest slip could be deadly.  “I can’t, Anakin.”

Anakin’s carefree expression starts its rapid but familiar descent into a scowl.  “Why not?  No one’s going to bust a Senator for showing one of her Jedi guests around.  We can just walk the perimeter of the Festival platform – ”

“Anakin – ”

“You can pretend to show me the security arrangements or something – ”

“Anakin!  You’re supposed to be here to prevent an assassination attempt on the Chancellor.  This isn’t a social call.”

Anakin lets out his breath in a huge gust, waving a hand dismissively.  “That?  We’ve got that under control, Padmé.  Don’t even worry about it.”

“I am worried about it.”  Anakin opens his mouth as if to make another placating remark, but Padmé cuts him off.  “This is serious.  I can’t leave the embassy right now.  I’m not going out for a stroll.  I’m not doing anything until the Festival is over and done with tonight.”  When Anakin’s scowl does not subside, she sighs and makes a passing attempt at smoothing things over.  “I’m sorry, but the Festival of Light is enough of a headache without adding assassination threats into the mix.  I’m just a little tense right now.”

Anakin comes extraordinarily close to signing his own death warrant by rolling his eyes at her, but he stops just short of an irrevocable mistake.  “Yeah, you and everyone else,” he says instead, a very particular brand of irritation edging into his voice.  “But whatever.  Go ahead and read that thing again.  I’ll just come back when everyone’s got their bad feelings under control.”  He sweeps out of the room with the type of stormy bluster only he can manage.

Wrestling down a surge of irritation of her own, Padmé tosses the itinerary onto the desk.  Anakin, for all his moodiness, is partially right – she has the elegant program memorized back to front, and poring over it further is only going to make her feel worse.  And, come to think of it, there are a few other security measures she needs to double check with the rest of the Jedi task force.  

Pushing back her chair, she sets off in search of Anakin’s derisively referenced “everyone else.”

Most of the embassy’s guests, including the recently arrived contingent of Jedi knights, appear to have vacated the premises – emulating Anakin’s shining example and enjoying the day, perhaps, or, in the case of the Jedi, probably walking the security perimeter in preparation for tonight’s festivities.  After making inquiries, Padme finds a staff member who directs her to the rear of the ornately decorated building, where she discovers Everyone Else in the courtyard, boots and cloak discarded against the wall, dappled sun playing over his inner tunics.  

She hesitates on the steps.  It’s bad form to interrupt a Jedi in meditation, not that she has much opportunity to commit such faux pas.  Anakin rarely meditates, resorting to the ancient art only when he has failed in his attempts to outrace or outright beat his troubled thoughts into submission.  

But this doesn’t seem like meditation, exactly, not the kind she recognizes.  Obi-Wan is performing what looks like some kind of kata with a ritual slowness, pivoting and stretching with unhurried grace, flowing smoothly out of one stance and into the next, like liquid filling a clear vessel.  He holds himself suspended for an interminable count between each position, bare feet rooted on the sun-warmed flagstones, the only thing moving around him dust motes drifting through heavy beams of sunlight.

She doesn’t really mean to stay and watch, but there’s an almost hypnotic quality to the rhythmic motion – exertion of the body, sun and warmth and muscle and bone intertwined with stillness of the mind, an empty calm space, peace in the eye of the storm.

He sinks into a low stance with his back to her, head bowed, upward-facing hands loosely fisted, elbows bent and tucked in at his sides.  Then, after a long, still stretch of time, the calm murmur of his voice, rippling with something like amusement.  “Good morning.”

She blinks.  “Oh!  I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“That’s quite all right.”  He seems to come back from some far place, and straightens, turning to address her.  Holding her gaze for a moment, searchingly, he draws some private conclusion.  “You are disturbed.”

She presses her lips together by way of response, grudgingly impressed yet cursing Jedi perception to the lowest pit of Chaos.  “It’s not important,” she says.  “Just the festival.”  She changes the subject.  “What’s that you were doing?”

Obi-Wan paces over to the courtyard wall to retrieve his footwear.  “One of the alchaka forms,” he says, pulling on the soft nerfhide boots.  At her blank look, he adds, “It’s...a type of moving meditation.  One of the oldest known to the Order.”

“It looks relaxing,” Padmé says.  Would that she could expunge her own anxieties with such artfulness.

He shrugs slightly.  “In theory.”  He bends down and scoops up his cloak with an easy physicality.  “The intended goal is to clear one’s mind.  To...release troubled thoughts.”  

Something about the crease in his brow seems to belie this statement.  Thinking back, she remembers suddenly what Anakin had said earlier, and, surprised, frowns. “Are you worried about the festival tonight?  About the assassination attempt?”

He blinks at her for a moment, as if she had only just reminded him about the possible catastrophe.  “No.  No, I don’t think so.  Even if the intelligence we’ve gathered is accurate, I doubt the Separatist forces will be able to achieve much when they must first go through six Jedi.  And Naboo’s finest,” he adds, glancing up at the overhead balconies, where far-away security personnel stand sentinel, their uniforms smears of dark red across the golden walls.

“But you are worried about something.”

A beat.  Then, “No.  Merely practicing good habits.”

She laughs humorlessly and sinks down onto the steps.  “Tonight could be a disaster.”

Obi-Wan thinks for a moment before responding.  “If so,” he reminds her carefully, “it is one which all your worries will be completely unable to prevent.”

“I know.  But when it’s my people concerned...and the Chancellor, obviously...”  She ticks things off on her fingers.  “Public support for Queen Neeyutnee...the well-being of the Republic...”

“Fate of the galaxy.”

“Little things.”  

They exchange almost shy grins, private smiles.  Padmé feels one tiny knot of tension uncoil inside her, and she breathes out an exasperated sigh, ineffectually commanding the rest of her anxieties to untangle and be gone.  “I need some of that alcha-whatsit business, clearly,” she says ruefully.  “I’m a mess.”

Obi-Wan takes a step back and looks her up and down.  “I agree,” he says.

Excuse me?  Padmé suppresses a surge of indignation.

“You will forgive me for saying so, but a senator is no good to her people preoccupied.  She must keep a cool head about her at all times.”

“I beg your pardon –

“Therefore,” Obi-Wan plunges ahead, and Padmé suddenly sees the glint of humor starting in his eyes, “I feel it is my duty in this case to help you attain such calm.”

She narrows her eyes at him in mock severity, but inside, she feels her mood beginning to lighten.  “By insulting my competence?”

“By exposing you to some of that alcha-whatsit business,” he says.  “If you like.”

Padmé hesitates.  This is Jedi business for sure, far outside her arena.  But Obi-Wan just smiles reassuringly at her and extends a hand.

“Not to worry, Senator.  I have it on good authority that I am a reasonably competent teacher.”

Padmé eyes his hand for another moment, then slaps her own lightly into his open palm.  “Very well then,” she says.  “I submit myself to your reasonably competent tutelage.”

“Obi-Wan, I don’t think this is for me.”

Padmé looks down at her bare feet, torn between luxuriating in the warmth of the sun-soaked stones and fretting over the ever-widening stance Obi-Wan is asking her to assume.

“Patience.”  He sticks his own soft-booted foot against the inside of her ankle and slides one of her feet out to the left.  

“Obi-Wan – ”

Still applying a gentle pressure against one foot, he pushes the other further away.

“I don’t know how to do a split, Obi-Wan,” she warns him, tamping down on a little flare of alarm.

“That’s far enough.”

Thank goodness she’d worn a relatively uncomplicated dress today.  Senatorial garb was nowhere near so flexible as the Jedi’s simple tunics.

She looks up at Obi-Wan, who, by virtue of her lowered, bent-kneed stance, is now slightly above her.  “What now?”

“Now,” he says placidly, sinking into the same low stance beside her, albeit with considerably more familiarity and ease, “you do as I do.”

All right, then.  She waits for him to begin, but the only thing he does is close his eyes, and she can’t close hers if she’s going to follow him, so she waits, doing nothing.  Her legs begin to protest the prolonged exertion in this unfamiliar position, but the trace of fire starting to bloom in her muscles doesn’t bother her.  It’s...ferocious.  It burns the way she does inside, sometimes.  

Obi-Wan cracks an eye open and looks at her.  Padmé doesn’t flinch.  “What?” she challenges.  “You aren’t doing anything yet.”

He raises an eyebrow at her.  “I am breathing,” he says.

“So am I.”

“Not yet, you aren’t,” he says, and in the span of a moment, he seems to grow in authority before her.  His voice shifts into the calm certainty of a millennia of tradition, the well-worn tracks of an ancient, unbroken line of instruction.  “Attend.”  

He closes his eyes again, and this time she watches the slow rise and fall of his chest, the slight shift of tunic as his ribs expand.  “All meditation begins with the breath.  You breathe in life, I breathe in the Force; without either of those things both of us are nothing.”  

What a strange thing to say.  “I’m not Force-sensitive, Obi-Wan.”

“It does not matter.  You are not Force sensitive, but the Force is in you nonetheless.  We are all of us full of it.  Your people are full of it.  Your planet is full of it.”  He breathes in, slow, and she attempts to follow him.  In.  Full.  “Your breath must fill more than your lungs.  Without breath, the body starves.  Without the Force, life starves.  Therefore you must let it suffuse you.  Breath; the Force.  Everywhere.  Small, forgotten places.  Empty places.  You must allow yourself to be full.  A gas expands to fill a container – your breath will expand to fill you, if you allow it.”

She does not answer.  She is breathing.  He falls into silence beside her, joining her rhythm.  Inhale, beat, exhale, beat.  She does not count the minutes.  They slip by into nothing.  

“Now,” he says.  “With me.”

She trains her eyes on him and follows as he moves, one bright light and its smaller, slighter reflection, moving in a bumpy sort of unison.  The fire in her leg muscles climbs higher, but it doesn’t faze her.  She breathes it out, from everywhere, the small, forgotten places.  She exults in it.

“Balance,” he says, maneuvering her hands to the proper places, the knuckles of one fist pressed flat against a vertical open palm, two hands meeting just in front of her lower abdomen.  “Two opposing forces.”  He sticks his foot back against the inside of her ankle, and she slides her feet apart without needing to be told, dropping back to the correct position.  “Close your eyes.  Breathe.”

In.  Full.  Small, forgotten places.

“Now,” he says, stepping back from her.  “You will count.”

“How high?” she asks.  Her legs are screaming with a pleasant sort of exhaustion, but she’s wobbly, and this position isn’t easy to maintain.

“One hundred,” he replies.  Then – “Three times.”

Her eyes fly open.  “Obi-Wan, that’s – ”

His eyes are glowing with suppressed mirth.  “Three times, apprentice.”

If she starts laughing, she’s going to fall.  “Obi-Wan, three times is too many – ”

“Protest again and it shall be six.”

“You know,” she grunts, wriggling down in an attempt to find a slightly more comfortable position, “I’m beginning to think I’ve done Anakin a disservice.”

He raises an eyebrow archly.  “Because...?”

“All this time, he was telling the truth about you.”

Obi-Wan snorts.  “Impudence.  I’d have been running circuits around the Temple for that kind of insolence.”

“Somehow I doubt that ever stopped you.”

And there’s the smile – trademark Kenobi, dimples and all, subtle and half-hidden behind the close-trimmed beard.  “No,” he agrees.  “You are quite correct.  I became an accomplished marathon runner.”  Dropping down to the same low, planted stance she is struggling to maintain, he returns to the matter at hand.  “Let us begin.”

“Obi-Wan.”

“Mm.”  He has already closed his eyes.  She wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already made it to twenty while she’s still dithering around trying to get her breathing in order.

“This is the silliest thing I’ve ever done with anybody.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, but the corners his mouth curl up.

“But,” she says, never one to skimp on gratitude, “I like it.”  Her legs are shaking and she can’t count the number of joints she’s heard crack since they started this ridiculous exercise, but the anxious tangle in her chest is now tiny threads blowing in the wind, unwound and strewn about by breath and motion.  “And I do feel better about tonight.  So thank you.”

“I come to serve, Senator.”

Formal response, for someone who just moments ago had been shoving her into positions more suited to a gymnast than a senator.  She smiles to herself in private amusement and closes her eyes.  Reminds herself to breathe, full, everywhere.

And begins to count.

-chandrila-

Padmé has to give Obi-Wan credit.  By now, she has watched him extricate himself from Senator Se’lab’s clutches three times, and while a moonlit cocktail party in a garden of this size provides the Jedi with plenty of spaces to hide, the shadow cast by a group of hulking Ithorian senators is a more creative choice than she had expected, even from him.  Observing him from her position on the other side of the lush garden, she bites her lip in an attempt not to laugh at the deadly seriousness with which Obi-Wan keeps the Ithorian delegation between himself and the beverage table towards which the Bothan senator had stumbled.  

She cannot pass up such a rare opportunity to tease him.  Excusing herself from her group of colleagues, she sidles across the garden towards him, ensconcing herself in the shadows behind the wide backs of Ithorian senators Stonk and Bendon.  “Master Kenobi,” she greets him, smoothly.

Obi-Wan’s cool voice betrays nothing.  “Senator.”

Padmé fights to keep a straight face.  “I see you’ve made Senator Se’lab’s acquaintance.”

“I have made his acquaintance several times,” Obi-Wan replies.  “He had little memory of our first meeting at our second, and no memory of our second at our third.  Forgive me, but if I can avoid a fourth such performance, I will.  I grow tired of introducing myself.”

Padmé stifles a smile.  It isn’t fair, that one so skilled in diplomacy to earn himself a galactic-wide nickname should hate it so much.  “And did the Honorable Senator from Bothawui tire of your company?”

“Sadly, no.”

“Then how – ”  She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously.  “You didn’t – ”

Obi-Wan gives her an affronted look.  “Senator Amidala, what sort of nefarious rogue do you take me for?”  He chances a harried glance past the Ithorians, checking for any signs of his unwanted companion’s return.  “Along with the memories of our previous two meetings, the good Senator appeared to have forgotten how exactly it was that he’d been able to achieve such an impressively amnesiac and befuddled state.  I merely reminded him about the open bar.”

“Formidably underhanded,” she says, approvingly.  “But then, that’s why they call you the Negotiator.”

Obi-Wan makes a face at the nickname.  “Yes,” he says.  “And if I could only negotiate myself out of this whole affair, I would perhaps believe the title to have been aptly bestowed.”

“Obi-Wan,” she chides him.  “The best negotiators know when to call for assistance.”

He raises an eyebrow, just slightly, in what might be a faint feather-brush of amusement, then follows her gaze over his shoulder, to where the clearly intoxicated Bothan senator is making his weaving way through the festive crowd back towards them.  Obi-Wan’s eyes widen very slightly, in definite alarm.  “Indeed.  Very well said.  In that case, my lady, consider my distress signal activated.”

She extends an arm to him formally.  “Walk with me.”

Thanks to the friendship she and Bail share with Mon Mothma, Padmé knows the Chandrilan Diplomatic Gardens better than most in attendance.  She knows Obi-Wan, too, better than most, not because he opens himself to her, exactly, but – well, being in her position, one hears things, and Padmé is well-practiced at extracting trivia and truth from Anakin’s well-worn litany of complaints, worries, and fears.  

She guides them serenely down a lesser-used path, the raucous festivities behind them fading into a murmur.  “Here,” she points.  They turn through a simple, cream-colored arch into a wider space, far-away party sounds now faint, distant enough not to grate on the nerves.  All about them, only the cheerful babble of water, tumbling from multiple small falls into a network of mossy pools and rock-bordered streams.

Obi-Wan turns his head from side to side to take in the shimmering falls and eddying pools, chin rising as if in response to some sound only he can hear, features lightening. “We’ve a place very like this, in the Temple,” he says.  “The Room of a Thousand Fountains.”

Padmé knows this.  Knows too that it is a favorite haunt of his, though she will not tell him so.  Better he think her fortuitous choice a welcome coincidence, for she knows what she knows about him from Anakin, and, strictly speaking, should not have access to such confidences.  

“I’ve heard of it,” she says instead.  “It’s much larger than this, though, I think.”  She waves a hand at the small garden.

“Size matters not,” Obi-Wan intones, as though reciting an oft-repeated adage, and extends a hand gracefully under one of the falls’ streams.  To Padmé’s surprise, the water curves around his upturned palm, bending as if repelled by an invisible barrier before continuing its swan dive into the clear pool below.

“Just a game,” Obi-Wan says, in answer to her unasked question.  “And an exercise in control.  One practiced by Temple younglings.”

Not any game Padmé knows.  She and her sister – then later, her handmaidens – were more apt to occupy themselves with jumping straight into the water, shrieking with glee, than with avoiding its flow.  “What’s the objective?”

“Just this,” he says.  “Stay dry.”  He curls his fingers up to his palm and then flat again in a gentle wave, the water above his hand twisting in a delighted dance before resuming its tumble around an untouched sleeve.  “Even the youngest initiates, when exhibiting proper control, can easily redirect a flow of water around their forms.  One stands under the falls, keeping dry, while their agemates or teachers attempt to break their focus.”  He quirks a smile, one laced with equal parts memory and mischief.  “One gets distracted, one gets wet.”

She smiles at him.  “I take it you were good at this game?”

“I was passable,” he says with a diffident shrug.  “But I did not win every time.  My own clan members’ antics were at times difficult to ignore.”

“And Anakin?” she asks.  She can’t help herself.  

Obi-Wan pull his arm out from the falls, hand disappearing back into the long sleeve of his robe.  “Terrible,” he says bluntly.  “Without a doubt the worst in his class.”

Padmé refrains from making an unbecoming snort.  So she will have something amusing to hold over Anakin’s head when she returns to Coruscant.  

“You mustn’t misunderstand me, of course; Anakin is highly capable and could easily manipulate the water were he left to his own devices, but I’m afraid his mental discipline left much to be desired.”  Obi-Wan sighs and shakes his head.  “Anakin is so easily distracted – he reserved his limited ability to focus for very singular pursuits.”

“Such as...?”

Obi-Wan looks to be almost on the verge of rolling his eyes, but that would be un-Jedi, and he settles for a narrowing of them and crooking his fingers sardonically into the universal sign for quotes.  “‘Fixing stuff,’ I believe he said.”

Padmé can’t help but laugh at that, and Obi-Wan indulges her merriment graciously.  Looking re-energized, far more hale and hearty than he had in the reception area proper, he stretches out a hand.   Ribbons of water arc away from the falls all around them, streaming through the air and coalescing into a shining globe above his palm, a miniature model of Mon Cala.  The sphere’s globular surface ripples and turns slowly, casting small refractions of moonlight over the courtyard.  Small-scale beauty, to be sure, but Padmé only has eyes for Obi-Wan’s face, lit with reflected light from below, a study in simple happiness.

A Jedi at play, she realizes.  Most people didn’t believe there really was such a thing.

“That’s lovely,” she says, peering into the globe’s transparent yet distorted depths.  Something about it...she is suddenly reminded of Anakin, in another time and place, levitating a muja fruit in much the same way, and with the same burst of simple enjoyment.  “But I thought frivolous uses of the Force were discouraged.”

Obi-Wan raises his eyebrows at her, accepting the friendly challenge.  “Frivolous?”  He turns his hand so that the palm now faces outward.  Rippling with light, the globe coasts several feet away and comes to rest over a pathetically drooping momus bush, its leaves yellowed and cracked, balmgrass spiky and dry around its exposed roots.  Obi-Wan twitches his fingers downward, and the globe disintegrates, water sluicing down in a joyful shower onto the parched earth, transforming the yellow dust to a rich, wet brown.  He gives her a significant look.  “The preservation of life is never frivolous, Senator.”

Her smile climbs its way out of her with ease.  Of course.  An answer for everything.  “I stand corrected.”

In the distance, a chorus of laughter rises above the sound of burbling water, followed by what sounds like someone calling for a toast.  Obi-Wan casts a lingering glance at the falls, then back at the arched entrance to the grotto.  “We should return,” he says, and if that is reluctance in his voice she will not comment on it.

She nods in agreement.  “You’re right.  Typho will start to worry.”

Taking her outstretched arm, Obi-Wan frowns.  “I am quite certain I gave Captain Typho my word that no harm would come to you whilst I am your escort.  He must learn to trust me.”

“He does trust you.  But he’s a worry-woolamander.  It’s his job.”  It was, after all, why she had personally selected him to replace his retired uncle as her new head of security.  But, at the same time, she had grown weary of the constant trail of guards orbiting her at all times, rings of human satellites, so many she can hardly blink without catching a glimpse of security burgundy in her peripheral vision.  Far preferable to have an escort of one Jedi, especially this Jedi, than that wall of armed guards.  

And besides, Obi-Wan had promised.  While Captain Typho may not appreciate the import of such a gesture, Padmé does – Obi-Wan Kenobi’s word is worth his weight in solid aurodium bars and more.  He has nothing left to prove to anybody, on that count.

At the threshold to the main garden, wide flowering pathways thronging with diplomats and officials and lackeys alike, Obi-Wan takes in a resigned breath.  “Once more into the breach,” he proclaims, with tragicomic stoicism.

She cocks her head at him in sympathy.  “Straight to the dance floor,” she advises, and they set off, she steering him in the proper direction.  “I doubt even a Bothan will try to cut in on a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan snorts under his breath.  “Her Highness is grown very devious, in her slippery Senatorial position,” he murmurs.

“And Master Kenobi very witty, in his old age,” she shoots back.

Obi-Wan favors her with a grin, a real grin, full and shining with rarely displayed pleasure.  He bows to her, ushering her onto the formal dance floor with a graceful sweep of his hand.  “You had better hope your earlier supposition is correct,” he says, eyes glinting with the same clever playfulness she’d seen in him earlier.  “The Bothan senators have hooves, you know.”

[ifliamsmile]

Denial - Dick Grayson Imagine

summary/ request: Could I request some funny and smutty thing where reader and dick are having a bet of who gets longer without sex?

pairing: dick grayson x reader

notes: here it is, anony, hope you like it. always a massive thank u to my girls @incorrect-titans-quotes​ and @nightwingandhistitans​ <3 xxxxx

The knock on the door made you almost fall out of the chair. You place your hand over your frantic heart trying to calm yourself down. You were  too focused on your work to even pay attention to the person on the other side of the room.

When Dick walked in and saw the state you were in, it didn't take two seconds to put two and two together and realized why you were acting that way. A mocking smile appeared on his face knowing exactly that almost two weeks without sex could do to you. Not that he was better. He was living in hell too.

 The thing was,you two had made a bet: who could go longer without sex? It started as something funny, you would tease each other constantly for the first few days trying to get the other to surrender, but when the first week passed there were no more playful touches here and there,no more funny faces. It was just plain annoyance at this point.

“I hardly said a word and you are already panting y/s/n” he said, as he sat down on the chair closer to yours.

   "Yeah like you're any better. Remember yesterday when Hank patted you on the back, and you almost fell? Yeah, I noticed. You're suffering just as much as me Grayson" you rolled your eyes. 

He crossed his legs in the most masculine way, trying to get a reaction out of you, and he did when he saw the way your breath caught in your throat, he smirked.

"You can lie to yourself, babe. But can't lie to me. I see right through you.” Dick said convinced he would make you give up on this stupid bet since he needed you so much.

“I really think we should start working on this super ego of yours. It almost overwhelms me. This room is too small for me, you and him.”

”You speak as if what I'm saying is an outright lie” 

“ because it is. It’s only in your head Dickie."

“Whatever helps you sleep at night babe" he shrugged, and pursed his lips nonchalantly. 

You were annoyed.

“Did you forget already? When you told me our nights were too good for me to resist you?” You turned your chair to face him  “I told you, Grayson, Don’t underestimate me.” You told this part very getting closer and closer to his face, almost touching your lips, trying to tease him as much as he teased you.

 “Where are we trying to get with this, anyway?” He asked still close to you” Do you wanna prove how far you can go with this? wouldn't it be easier if you just...surrender?” he asked in a whisper.

 “Not an option Grayson” you said with you voice laced with annoyance. He was trying to get under your skin and he was succeeding.

“Have it your way.”  He smirked and you felt a shiver run down your spine. “You're just trying to tell your conscience that sex with me isn’t the best experience of your life. When we both know that it is. Just like mine“ His fresh breath hit your face and you swallowed hard.

“Who are you to say what was or was not the best experience of my life?” You frowned and felt a mix of anger indignation in your words. He got closer to you and looked at you deeply. 

“Don't get me wrong, y/n. I'm sure you won't like what I'm going to say, but I'll say it anyway”  he said and his shining brown eyes flashed in  your direction and you had to swallow with anxiety for what he would say. 

“Everything about you inspires desire” your body couldn’t answer to your commands anymore when you heard his hoarse voice. “Stop trying to escape reality, y/n” 

Dick’s tone was authoritative. He spoke your name again and you felt your legs grow weak.

“Forget this bet and focus on us. Let’s do what we do best”  When he whispered the last word, his voice came out as seductive. Your body was shaken by a shiver that ran from your head to the tip of your toes. And a weird but pleasurable sensation settled in your stomach.

Dick’s  lips brushed yours and you had no choice but to close your eyes when he did it himself. That way he could feel more accurately all the sensations that exploded in every corner of your body, your chest jumping as your heart raced. 

When his hot tongue touched your lips a moan escaped from your mouth. What was once hesitation was now desire, in its purest form. 

Raw, unstoppable, inexplicable desire. You just wanted Dick as close to you as possible until there was no other solution but to merge with him.

Realizing that you were already completely dominated, he brought his hands up to your waist and then to your hips, sliding it with strength. When the kiss was broken for shortness of breath with a light bite on your lip, you heard his voice:

 “I don't know what I would do if you had rejected me”  he whispered, close to your lips.

 The connection that was installed was intense. Your breath was gone for a second, so you were able to put the words together coherently:

 “It's not like I'm able to do that,” You said, surrendering to him as he kissed you deeply again. 

----

Your clothes were scattered through the room as you leaned on the wall with his hot body against yours, you and him tried to be as quiet as possible since all the titans were at home.

“You see? It wasn’t that hard to admit” he said with his hoarse voice

“Maybe, but you didn't have to be such a dick about it Grayson” you said as he shut you up with a kiss.

“True. But I needed you just as much as you needed me.” 

You put your clothes on and left the room that seemed to be so hot now. When Dick closed the door, with you behind him, you both heard a voice;

“Really, guys? Literally everyone uses that room! Ugh ” Donna said throwing her arms up in the air as she walked away leaving you both to burst out laughing.

“We’re going to hell, Dick”

[wolftraps]

For the reverb inspiration thing honestly I'd kinda like more Ethan stuff? Mostly because it'd be fun to see someone adjusting to the future institute and that sort of flavor of outsider POV intrigues me. Plus I also just... Love Naomi a lot...

As happens with literally everything I write, this ended up longer than intended. So here’s Ethan’s first week at the Blackwood Institute. Poor guy. His boss is a creepy moron. Warning for a brief mention of self-harm and eye trauma right at the start here, but pretty much everything is canon-typical. This is also on AO3.

--

Being an Assistant Archivist at the Blackwood Institute is… well, it’s nerve-wracking honestly. There’s no formal training, and this seems to be largely because there’s been only one other person to have held the position in… ever, as far as Ethan can tell. And that had been over fifteen years ago and lasted a grand total of nine months before Chloe Halloway, age 29, had a “crisis of faith” and tendered her resignation by pouring bleach directly into her eyes.

“If you’re going to reconsider your position here,” Jon said matter-of-factly, after telling Ethan this, “I highly suggest you do so prior to signing a permanent contract.”

Which was really unnecessarily creepy, sure, but creepy is sort of why Ethan is here in the first place, so not that surprising. The least Miss Halloway could have done, in his opinion, was leave some kind of manual or something behind. A guide. Notes. Ethan would probably be willing to kill a man for a “To-Do list” at this point.

Technically Ethan has his own office, but the room is dusty and cluttered and doesn’t actually have a desk or chair yet, so he set up in the main Archive area, where there are three ancient desks, three slightly less ancient desk chairs, a small table, and inexplicably, a wardrobe and a worn armchair. Finding the least uncomfortable configuration of furniture made him feel a bit like Goldilocks, despite the desks and corresponding chairs being virtually identical. He figured that was what had been meant by “make yourself comfortable.” Jon didn’t say any different.

Between orientation (signing papers, sitting through general training, another tour, getting his picture taken with an actual polaroid camera, etc) and “settling in,” it hadn’t mattered the first day that Jon didn’t give him any direction. And when Ethan got in on the second day, Jon had already been in the middle of taking a statement, so Ethan had busied himself going through the desk he’d taken. And then another desk. And then the other desk.

At the end of that task, he had various office supplies, a good dozen unfiled statements, five tape recorders, sixteen unlabeled tapes, five labeled tapes that didn’t match any of the unfiled statements, a small notebook with a few unfinished poems, a bag of what might have once been gummy worms, a nearly empty bottle of vodka, two very faded polaroids of a younger Jon and Martin with a woman identified on the back as Sasha, and a large, large stack of poorly drawn and seemingly conflicting maps. Also a lingering feeling that he would never be able to fully get the cobwebs off his arms.

He wasn’t sure what to do with any of it.

Well, except for the gummy worms and vodka, which he promptly disposed of.

Most of the rest ended up on top of one of the unused desks. And by the time that was done, it was nearly time to leave. As far as Ethan could tell, Jon hadn’t come out of his office once. Though, apparently the statement-giver had left at some point without Ethan noticing, so he couldn’t actually be sure. He does have a tendency to block everything else out when he’s focused on a task.

When he came in on the third day, the desk he’d placed everything on was clear and Jon wasn’t in his office. In absence of anything else to do, Ethan started looking through the database. From reading (and supposing any of what he heard on The Observer Chronicles was accurate), he thought he understood a couple of the categories. Others seemed a bit too… arbitrary. Most entries appeared to have corresponding files regarding any follow-up done, but very few had actual digital copies of the statements themselves. And only the discredited statements had audio files.

Jon didn’t return until well after lunch time, and when he did he seemed almost surprised to see Ethan there.

“You should take an early day,” Jon told him, before Ethan managed to formulate any of his questions. “Daisy’s brought me a statement. Probably best it doesn’t see you in case we decide to let it go.”

And then he went into his office. Ethan had no idea who Daisy was or how a statement was supposed to see him— or what it would do to him if it did— but it didn’t look like he was going to get any answers now, and it probably wasn’t a good idea to risk it. So he was left with nothing but to do as Jon suggested.

—

“You’re home early,” Naomi says when he walks in to find his mum sitting on the couch.

“So are you,” Ethan replies, and he didn’t even do all that much today, but he feels exhausted none-the-less.

“I had an appointment,” she reminds him. Right. He knew that. He’d just… forgotten. But he knows she hadn’t really expected him to remember. “Nothing to report. So? What has you home already?”

“Jon told me to go home. Someone named Daisy brought him a statement, and he thought it was better I wasn’t there. Why? I have no idea.”

“Well, it’s early yet, and they deal with some pretty dangerous things there,” she reasons. “The Jon I knew tried to look out for people. Can’t say I’m not glad if it’s still the same.”

“Sure, but…” Ethan stands there, fiddling with the strap of his bag, staring at the coffee table as he tries to find the words. Naomi waits, but he’s not sure what to say.

“Why don’t you go put your bag down,” she says eventually. “Think it over a bit, then come sit with me. I’ll get you some tea and wake up Beaker.”

True to her word, when Ethan gets back in more comfortable clothes, there’s a cup of tea waiting on the table, just barely steaming, and a squirming, growling ball of orange fluff in his mum’s lap. The moment he sits and Naomi lets go, the cat is in his lap, squeaking her indignation. Her brush is already set on the couch beside him.

“Thanks,” he says, and his mum just nods.

“So?” she prompts.

Ethan sighs. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Ethan, you’ve only been there three days. Not even three days. Everyone feels lost when they start a new job. It happened literally every time you started a new year in school, if you’ll recall.” He keeps brushing Beaker, but he can see his mum smiling in his peripheral vision and he rolls his eyes.

“No, yeah, I know that. I mean I literally have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing. There’s been no training. No instructions. I don’t- I cleaned out desks and I looked through the database and I read some old statements, and I keep waiting for Jon to say something. Tell me what I’m supposed to do. Explain anything.” Beaker squeaks again, nipping at his arm as he absently tugs a bit too hard at a knot of fur. “Sorry. Sorry.”

“I’m going to be honest,” Naomi says, huffing slightly the same way she does every time the tube runs late, even though she expects it. “That’s far, far more common than you’d think.”

“That makes no sense, though! How are people supposed to do their jobs if no one explains how to do the job?”

“Well… I think a lot of people try to pretend and copy the people around them. It’s usually better to just ask, though. People can get so used to doing something that they honestly forget that other people don’t know how, and Jon’s been doing this for a very long time. What did he say when you asked?”

On the table, Ethan’s tea is going cold. If he leans over to get it, though, Beaker will probably yell at him and run away, and brushing her really is helping him relax. But his mouth feels so dry, and it might be worth it.

“Ethan,” his mum says in that tone. That one she always got right before Caleb tried to lie to her. “You did ask Jon, right?”

There’s another knot in Beaker’s fur, but he takes more care with this one and she just keeps purring. He rocks. His mouth is still so dry.

Naomi sighs, setting her own cup down and passing Ethan his, handle out. It’d be alright today, he thinks, if their hands touched when he took it from her, but she’s always careful anyway. He takes a sip. The tea is good, as always, though he can’t help thinking of his interview with Martin. There’d been a cup waiting for him in Martin’s office. His favorite kind, perfectly made. He’d meant to ask Martin how he knew, but then he just… hadn’t.

“You didn’t. Ethan, you… Okay. Okay. Why not?” his mum asks.

“I don’t know! He’s always… in his office and- and busy or— I don’t know. He makes me a little… nervous or something.”

“Intimidated.”

“Maybe?”

“I can understand that,” she says. “The first time I technically met Jon, I was terrified of him. The first… many times. Even after I actually met him and got to talk to him, I kept having to remind myself that he didn’t want to hurt me. If he’s still like I remember him, and I’m willing to bet he is, then I don’t think leaving you to figure things out yourself or not talking to you is intentional. He’s really a very… very awkward man.” She’s staring at the wall, but doesn’t seem to be looking at anything, and after a moment she laughs a little. “Promise me you’ll at least try to talk to him Monday?”

Ethan promises, of course.

—

Jon doesn’t even seem to understand the words at first, when Ethan asks him what an assistant here does. For a few seconds, there’s no expression, and then Jon’s brow furrows and he looks down at the papers on his desk like he might read the answer there.

“I— Hmm,” he says. “F-file? Organize? I— What did they— I never actually was one, so… It occurs to me that I am very lucky I chose to include Sasha after all. You might ask her? Or- or Martin. They actually did the assisting once upon a time, so…” Jon shrugs, or Ethan thinks he does. There’s a cat draped across his shoulders, so they don’t actually move much. And then Ethan stands there, and Jon sits, and neither of them say anything, and if Ethan’s mum is right, it’s because neither of them is quite sure what to say.

Ethan leaves.

Martin was nice during his interview. Encouraging and friendly and patient when it took some time for Ethan to decide what to say. It was a far, far easier interview than he’d feared. And Martin had said Ethan could come to him if he had any questions. Despite that, Martin makes Ethan even more nervous than Jon. It’s always worse disappointing friendly people.

So instead, Ethan makes his way to the Library, because that’s where Sasha works, if he’s remembering right. Once he’s there, though, he has no idea where to look, and it occurs to him that there may be more than one Sasha. The one he’d seen when he interviewed was young; maybe a couple years older than him. But the one in the pictures he found in the Archives would surely be Jon’s age at least. There’s no one who looks like either of them that he can see.

“Excuse me,” he says to someone who is probably a librarian, since he’s sitting at a desk with a plaque that says the date and ‘You’d have been out of here days ago if you’d just asked for help.’ The man doesn’t look up from his book. “I’m looking for Sasha?”

“Upstairs,” the guy says. The library is only one floor, though. It’s the first time he’s been in it, but Ethan made note of all Mara’s warnings.

“I’d like to speak to Sasha,” he says, firmer. The guy doesn’t look up and doesn’t look up and doesn’t… and then something changes and he stiffens and slowly looks up at Ethan, and he seems almost… nervous.

The man coughs. “O-oh. You’re- you’re from the Archives.”

“Yes,” Ethan agrees. “I need to talk to Sasha?”

“Right. Sure. Um, I’ll get— uh, Kelly- Kelly will help you.” The man nods toward something over Ethan’s shoulder. When he turns there’s someone already there, a bit too close, and Ethan didn’t know teeth could be that white.

“Hi!” They smile and smile. “I’m Michael. You can call me Kelly. I’m here to help. This way please!” Literally turning on their heel, they walk away with a gait more like a bounce than a walk, and Ethan follows. Right up until they hop onto the first step.

“I—” he says. Even before they turn their head, he can somehow see their smile. Human necks almost definitely aren’t supposed to turn that far. He almost forgets what he meant to say.

“Yes?”

“I— I was told the library is only one storey.”

They smile and smile. “That’s right.”

“But… the stairs?” he asks.

“What stairs?” Their head tilts, like a curious dog, still looking over their shoulder. And human necks definitely aren’t supposed to turn like that.

Ethan looks down at the stair Kelly is perched on, and they look down as well. There is no acknowledgement of the stairs.

“Come on!” They smile. “Best to take the first step at a bit of a jump!”

And they keep going up the stairs, so Ethan takes a breath and hops onto the first step.

Except it isn’t a step. It’s… a rug maybe? It doesn’t stop looking like stairs, but the whole thing is level, and he nearly trips more than a couple times expecting his foot to hit the floor before it does. When they reach the end, he looks back. Back and down. Down at the library, one storey below.

At the end of a short hallway, there is a yellow door; one that Ethan is sure he’s seen before, except somewhere else. Kelly bounces up to it and knocks, and looks back at him and smiles and smiles, and then the door creaks open.

The person who emerges is definitely the young woman he saw when he came for his interview, but she’s also almost definitely the woman in the photograph from decades ago.

“Hi, Sasha!” Kelly smiles. “This one wants to talk to you!”

“Oh? Oh!” Sasha also smiles, and there’s a ringing in Ethan’s ear when she talks, but it seems like a fairly normal smile. At least, comparatively. “You’re the new Archival Assistant!”

“Uh, A- Assistant Archivist, actually.” It probably doesn’t matter. People are always telling him things like this don’t matter, and he shouldn’t bother correcting them. For some reason, though, it really feels like this does.

Sasha, at least, looks a bit surprised. “Really? Huh. That’s fascinating.”

Ethan is at least 75% sure she isn’t being sarcastic. “Is it?”

The hallway couldn’t have been more than five meters, but her laugh echoes down it. “It is! Thank you, Kelly. I’ll be sure Ethan makes his way back alright.”

It’s a clear dismissal, but Kelly doesn’t move. They keep looking at Sasha and they smile and smile and smile until eventually Sasha rolls her eyes and scoffs.

“Please,” she says. “I couldn’t lose one of Jon’s if I wanted to. He’ll be back in the Archives as soon as we’re done talking.”

Kelly smiles. “Okay!” they say cheerily, as if there’d never been any tension at all. “Nice to meet you, Ethan!” and then they’re gone.

“They’re a good kid,” Sasha says. “Well, then. Please, step into my office.” She closes the yellow door behind her and opens a different one beside it, that Ethan is also sure hadn’t been there a moment before. It’s a normal enough door, though. Looks a lot like Jon’s, actually. Sasha waves him through, and if he didn’t know better, Ethan would be sure he was back in the Archives.

In fact, he’s pretty sure that’s the same couch that’s currently sitting in Jon’s office and the same armchair he’d moved into his own “office” the other day; though both look in significantly better shape here.

“Have a seat,” Sasha says, dropping onto the couch— or draping herself across it rather— and eliciting a grumbling meow from an almost opalescent white cat that flicks its tail when she goes to pet it and jumps into Ethan’s lap the moment he settles into the chair. At first touch its fur feels like marble, but then he pets it and it feels like plush. He can’t hear the purr, but the rumble makes his fingers tingle.

“So, Ethan. What can I help you with?” Sasha asks.

“Well. My job… I hope.”

She sits up and sounds delighted when she says, “Oh, did you find a statement about me already? You’ve only been here a couple weeks, haven’t you?”

“Four… days?” It’s not a question. Ethan knows this is his fourth day. Knows. Yet for some reason he starts second guessing himself. It has only been four days… right? Yes. Yes, four days.

After the “stairs,” he doesn’t bother asking why there would be statements about her.

Sasha thinks for a moment and then waves his comment away. “Close enough. Time is fake. So… which one is it?”

“I didn’t— find a statement. I’m just trying to figure out what I’m supposed to be doing. Jon told me to ask you because you’ve actually done the job before.”

If she keeps laughing like that, he’s going to end up with a headache. The ringing is terrible.

“I’m sorry,” she laughs. “I wish I could think you were joking, but I know you’re not. I love Jon. He’s such a disaster. You know he knows basically everything?” Ethan does not know that. A lot, definitely. More than anyone logically should or could, sure. But everything?

“That… sounds improbable.” Buried in the cat’s equally improbable fur, Ethan’s fingers start going numb.

“He does. He knows almost everything and then always forgets that he knows anything. It’s hilarious,” Sasha says with a grin. “Alright. We used to do a lot of research, but that was back when we were cleaning up Gertrude’s mess and all the work the actual Research department did somehow got lost on its way down the stairs. The real ones. And Jon only knew most things rather than basically everything…”

She tells him she did research and reorganized possibly the worst archiving system in the world. She tells him she took statement-givers’ information and caught flies to feed the spiders in the corners. She tells him she killed worms and mapped underground tunnels and scanned in old letters and typed up written statements and managed “monster relations” and blew up mannequins and recorded false statements and hacked government networks and provided alibis and stole old books from museums and sang to the recorders so they wouldn’t start eating people’s fingers and updated the database and appeased disgruntled “youtubers” and collected obituaries and plotted her boss’s death.

Ethan is sure some of these things aren’t true, but he just walked up a flight of not-stairs, so he honestly couldn’t begin to guess which. He’s also not sure how many of them are relevant.

“Mostly, though,” Sasha concludes, “you take care of Jon.”

He does try to ask about the categories, and a couple of the titles she gives them make some kind of sense, but she also says category 06 is “me”, 09 is poker, 10 is geese, and 15 is millennials, so he decides to take those with a grain of salt as well.

When they finally leave her office, the door opens into the front lobby.

“There we are! Back safe and sane, just like I promised. I know I said I’d get you back to the Archives, but I’m not actually allowed to open doors down there anymore. And it’s only… Oops.” The lobby is quiet and the windows are dark. It’s definitely well into evening, though Ethan suspects midnight has come and gone. His watch starts buzzing with missed messages. “Well, I’m sure it’s at least the same day or Jon would’ve yelled at me by now. I could give you a shortcut home?”

The yellow door is back, and beyond it is a long hallway.

“I think I’d better take the long way,” he says.

Sasha nods. “That’s fair.”

—

If Ethan could actually figure out how to message HR, he would just message them. Even if it took them a day to get back to him, he’d still be better off than he has been so far. Unfortunately, he can’t find any sort of contact information for them at all. So the morning of his fifth day, he goes to the front desk and meets Priya No-Last-Name-As-Is-Tradition, who handles “reception, admin, and whatever Martin needs.”

He doesn’t ask, but she informs him Martin will be in a meeting all morning anyway. That’s fine. She’s more than happy to walk him up to HR and introduce him to a woman named Hope.

Hope startles when she sees them, and her fingers freeze on her keyboard, but there is definitely some kind of movement in her lap, barely visible over the edge of the desk. Then she smiles and turns to face them and Ethan does not comment on the fact that he can see two long, black limbs trying to shove some sort of yarn project into the drawer of a filing cabinet behind her. Priya nods at a job well done and leaves him there.

“How can I help you?” Hope asks. There’s something not quite right about her smile, but Ethan doesn’t comment on that either.

Instead, he says, “Do you have any sort of job description or scope of duties for the Assistant Archivist position?”

Hope blinks.

“The what?” she asks.

“The Assistant Archivist position.”

She blinks again. Her smile is gone, and he’s honestly glad for it. “Assistant… Archivist.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a thing?”

“I would hope so? I was just hired as one, so…���

She blinks again, then shakes her head. “Right. Sorry. Of course. I just… Honestly, I was sort of under the impression no one could work down there but the Archivist.”

Given that apparently only one other person has in longer than Ethan’s been alive, he doesn’t exactly blame her. Still, he’s pretty sure it’s her job to know these things, and he’d really like an answer.

“I understand,” he says, “but I do work down there. So…”

“Right. Yes. Assistant Archivist, you said? Just a moment.” She turns back to her display, taps a few keys, and then starts scrolling. And scrolling. And scrolling. All the while singing “Assistant Archivist Archivist Assistant Assist Assist the Archivist” under her breath.

Three minutes later, Ethan is still waiting.

“Are you… sure that’s your position title?” she asks finally, and Ethan turns around and heads back to the Archives.

—

While he hopes he never has to do most of the things Sasha listed as her duties, there are a couple Ethan thinks he can probably manage. He has no idea what, if anything, might need to be done with the statements that already have case numbers, but there’s a shelf of boxes near the Archive entrance labeled “Me Next!” that Jon had said were unprocessed. Maybe he won’t be able to fit them all into the proper categories, but there have to be some that are obviously false, and it seems as good a way as any to get more familiar with the database.

Halfway through the day, he switches to listening to some of the old audio files to figure out the format. It doesn’t seem too complicated. Probably he can record a couple test statements, get a feel for it.

Twenty minutes later, he gives up searching and asks Jon where to find their recording software. Jon frowns and tells him he’s better off finding a free one online, so Ethan reaches out to IT instead.

Ten minutes after that, he gets a message from Cass Walters telling him to check his apps again and that he’ll “know it when [he] see[s] it.” So he does.

Halfway through the list there’s an icon with a stylized cassette tape. It’s labeled “IM TELLING YOU IT FUCKING WORKS JON”, and Ethan figures that’s probably it. Thankfully it’s fairly intuitive, and it might end up being a total waste of his time, but by the end of the day he has three halfway decent recordings and feels like he accomplished something, at least.

-

On his sixth day, one week after starting, Ethan comes in just in time to hear someone say, “Are you kidding me?!” really quite loudly in Jon’s office.

It doesn’t sound like the sort of conversation he wants to disturb, so he goes to his desk and gets set up as quietly as he can and meets the cat’s judging stare head-on while eavesdropping. She blinks and rubs up against his leg, and he can’t help but think it was some kind of test. Apparently he passed.

“You know everything, Jon,” the same person says, and Ethan is at least 80% sure it’s Martin.

“Not ev—”

“Everything,” Martin repeats. “How can you possibly not know what your own assistant is supposed to be doing?”

“I can’t know things that don’t exist, Martin. Chloe always wanted to figure everything out herself and made things up as she went along. It may as well be a new position. So, I don’t know.” There’s a moment of silence.

“Jon,” Martin says.

“… Yes, Martin.”

“Love,” Martin says.

Jon sighs. “Yes, Martin. I realize—”

“That might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Yes, Martin. I get it.”

“He’s an Assistant Archivist! Tell him what you need assistance archiving!”

“I’ll take care of it,” Jon says. If either of them say anything in the few minutes after that, though, it’s too quiet for Ethan to hear.

“Alright,” Martin says, like they’ve come to some kind of agreement despite the silence. “I love you.”

“Yes, Martin,” Jon says, the same tired way he’d said it before, though there’s a slight laugh at the end now. “I know.”

Martin is smiling when he comes out of Jon’s office. Instead of leaving the Archives, he walks up to Ethan’s desk and sets a mug of barely steaming tea down upon it.

“It should be just right now,” Martin says, like he’d known exactly when Ethan was going to arrive— despite him being half an hour early— and purposely made the tea so it would have cooled to the perfect temperature the moment he walked in. It is, of course, made perfectly as well. “I should have warned you a bit more about Jon. He’s a bit of a moron sometimes, but he means well. The next time you ask a question and he says he doesn’t know or tries to send you to someone else, just ask again, a bit slower. Usually the critical thinking capabilities will catch on then. Come see me whenever you’re free on Friday. I’d like to hear how you’re doing, once you actually get into the work.” And then he’s gone before Ethan can say a word.

In the doorway of his office, Jon clears his throat.

“I’ve been— reliably informed that I owe you an apology,” he says, and Ethan really would rather he didn’t. Apologies are almost always terrible, no matter which side you’re on. They’re awkward and often pointless. It’s not like he’s hurt or anything. Jon feeling bad isn’t going to do anything but make Ethan uncomfortable. “I sho—”

“Okay,” Ethan says. “Can we just skip to you training me?”

“… Yes. Yes, we can,” Jon says, possibly as relieved as Ethan to move on. He looks less tense, at least. “We usually wait until the end of probation to explain the fears, but that won’t exactly work here, so we’ll get to that in a moment. You’ve already started recording, so I suppose the first thing to know is that true statements won’t record digitally. The audio always ends up corrupted. I don’t think I’ll have you start recording any real statements quite yet, but once you do, you’ll have to use the— the tape…” He trails off, staring down at the small stack of statements Ethan recorded yesterday.

When Jon shows no sign of continuing, Ethan tentatively prompts, “The— tape recorders?”

“You’ve already started recording,” Jon says again.

“Yes?”

He pulls out the statement at the bottom of the stack and holds it out to Ethan, shaking it slightly. “You recorded this statement.”

“Yes? It was the last one I did before I went home last night.”

“Play it for me.” So Ethan does. Three minutes in, staring at the paper in his hand, Jon tells him to stop. “That’s not… Set up a new recording. I’m going to start reading this, and after two minutes, I want you to take this from me and stop the recording.” So Ethan does that too.

It had felt a bit… odd, when Ethan read the statement yesterday. Like the air got thicker, almost. But he’d also been very tired, and while a lot of things are weird at the Institute, that doesn’t mean everything is. It’s different when Jon starts reading. Not so much the air getting thicker as pressing down on them, and Ethan feels very uncomfortably like someone is making direct eye contact with him. It’s creepy. He almost misses the two minute mark.

The second he pulls the paper from Jon’s hands, the feeling lifts. Somehow, he isn’t surprised that playback of Jon’s reading comes out with a terrible screech and a whole lot of broken, garbled nonsense.

Jon looks between Ethan, the paper, and the display again and again.

“Jon?” Ethan asks.

“That’s not fair,” Jon replies. Then, with a sigh, “I guess I have more work for you than I thought.”