#definitely requited feelings

[keldae]

Musings

Gale couldn't remember the last time he had slept with someone – spending his time asleep wrapped in a lover's arms had been before Mystra. He hadn't ever needed to sleep when he was with his goddess in her realm, and she would never have come to the mortal planes to spend an entire night with him. So sharing his bedroll now was… unusual.

Not a bad type of unusual, he admitted to himself. But still unusual. And it was even more unusual that he hadn't had relations with his bed partner yet – that hadn't ever been a situation he'd found himself in, during the years before Mystra.

But then, with the orb in his chest… having sex was out of the question.

Unable to shut his mind off, he propped his head up on his pillow, looking down at the half-Elf who had stolen his blankets, and was trying to steal his heart. Devi was dead to the world, squished tightly against Gale's side, coppery hair loose around her head. Gale smiled fondly down at the little half-Elf, watching as a few strands of her hair moved with every slow breath past her parted lips. 

What are you seeing in your dreams tonight, Devi? he thought, gazing down at the thief. Hopefully her dreams were pleasant tonight. He didn't think she'd had a bad nightmare since they'd started sleeping together in the Underdark – he definitely had had pleasant dreams while sharing his tent and bedroll with her. Are you in Baldur's Gate, thriving as a little thief? Or are you thinking of the halfling and the dwarves from the book we read tonight? She had seemed to enjoy the story he had read to her.

Devi shifted slightly, rolling onto her side, facing Gale. Before he was quite aware of it, he was reaching to gently brush the loose strands of hair out of her face, tucking the locks behind one delicately pointed ear. His thumb touched her lips, slowly tracing the outline of her mouth. For a moment, he felt an unspeakable yearning for the woman sleeping beside him. If her thoughts during their lesson in the Weave were any indication, she wanted to kiss Gale, despite his affliction – and gods knew he desperately wanted to give her that kiss. He wanted to know what it would feel like to press his lips against hers, to let his tongue meet her own, to taste her mouth and breathe in her exhales as he fulfilled the vision she had shared with him of a kiss…

He closed his eyes, trying to force his mind away from the dangerous thoughts of kissing the woman with him. He'd spent the last year struggling to stabilise the orb – he couldn't risk his mental discipline failing him now. If he killed them all because of letting himself think too much, too enthusiastically, of kissing a beautiful girl… He wanted to groan in frustration.

Except that would have woken Devi up. He settled for silently scolding himself instead. Get a grip, Dekarios!

Besides, Devi wouldn't – couldn't – truly love a broken man like Gale was. He was older than she was, by quite a few years – and in trying to keep up with her youthful half-Elven exuberance, he definitely felt every tenday of his age in comparison to her. And he was irreparably broken, only a shadow of the man and wizard he had been a year and a half ago. He was the reject of a goddess, damned by his own foolishness, and doomed to meet an explosive end alone. 

In comparison, Devi was young, and full of life and fire and optimism. She had had a poor start in life – any child born poor in the Lower City of Baldur's Gate had a disadvantage. But she was smart, and stubborn, and if she was given the correct support, she could exceed any expectations for a girl born as a poor urchin. Maybe, Gale thought, he could leave a note leaving his wealth to her after he met his unavoidable end? Or he could just give her the key to his tower in Waterdeep before he inevitably had to leave the party to die somewhere safer. If she could cure her tadpole, maybe she could live on, somewhere safer than Baldur's Gate. And it would be a good use for the money and wealth he had, rather than leaving it all to rot. It wasn’t like Tara would really be able to use it, after all.

But he digressed. Devi was too young for him to pursue romantically, too vibrant, too lively to tie herself to a damned man. In another life, if they had ever even crossed paths, they would never have given each other a second thought (unless Devi had identified him as a pickpocketing target… which, Gale knew she would have targeted him in a heartbeat.). Even if he hadn't been damned, they were in entirely different social circles. Imagine the scandal, if he were to return to Waterdeep with an uneducated, uncouth, younger Baldurian thief, and one who could swear like a well-educated mercenary at that, as his lover! 

Gale grinned for a moment, imagining the reactions of some of his more class-conscious peers. His amusement faded with a sigh as he looked back down at Devi. You don't deserve as grim a fate as tying yourself to me would give you, he thought. You're too alive and hopeful to bind yourself to a broken, damned man. In another life, one where he wasn't a walking explosive, he might have still taken her to bed, trying to perhaps prove that being this much older than her just meant he was more experienced with pleasing a lover. And he was pretty certain he had pleased Mystra when he was the goddess’s lover – he could have wowed Devi with his command of the Weave in bed. He had already impressed her with their magic lesson after the tiefling party, and that had been tame! What he could have done behind a sound dampening ward to blow her away and make her cry out his name in bliss, over and over again…

Speaking of blowing away, he firmly turned his thoughts away from the idea of bedding Devi, thinking about spell incantations instead. The orb rumbled in his chest, but remained calm for the moment as his heart settled back down.

With another sigh, he stroked Devi's hair back from her face again. Where will your mind take you tonight? Will you dream of me? You really shouldn't – I'm a dead man walking. You deserve better than a broken heart. Although, wasn't he bold, to think that Devi might care for him the way he did her? What could he possibly offer her besides his knowledge of the arcane? He was doomed twice over – once from the illithid tadpole, and once from his own idiocy. She at least still had a chance at a normal life once she was cured of the tadpole. 

Tomorrow, he decided, he would start trying to distance himself from her. It would hurt her in the short term, and it would be agony for him, but it was for the best. She deserved better than to develop affections for a man who had nothing before him but an explosive death. Maybe he could subtly point her in the direction of Wyll – the warlock, despite his devilish appearance, was a good man. He was certainly a better man than the wizard who had tried to advance himself beyond mortal limitations to impress a goddess – and even with Wyll’s pact to a devil, he had a hope for a future beyond a destructive death alone. And he was younger, and handsome, and full of life and vigour, and could crack a joke to make even Devi groan while she was laughing…

Gods, this was already breaking Gale's heart.

But Devi would be happy with Wyll. Or maybe Shadowheart, if Wyll didn’t strike her fancy – the two half-Elves seemed to have a close connection already. Even if Shadowheart was a Sharran, Devi didn't seem to think less of her for it. Or Karlach, as boisterous and friendly as she was, would be a good match for the feisty little thief.

None of them were a depressed middle-aged wizard who had already exceeded his potential and his usefulness to Faerûn. 

Gale sighed yet again and started to roll away from Devi onto his side, trying to get some sleep. In the morning he would talk to Devi, and see if the thief would be receptive to the idea of spending her nights apart from him. Certainly, she would be upset at first – Gale fully expected to get slapped. But she had to see the logic eventually, right? She was more than smart enough, even if she was uneducated –

At his side, Devi softly moaned in protest of his movements. Her hand reached up, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down on his back again. Before Gale could do anything, the little half-Elf wrapped her arm around his stomach and settled her head on his chest, squirming until she was comfortable. Once she was satisfied with her human pillow, she sighed and draped her leg over his before she fell fully back to sleep, peacefully lost in her dreams.

Shit. This was not doing a damn thing to help Gale reconcile himself to letting go of her. She felt so damn good beside him, warm and snuggly, tucked under his arm where she belonged. How in the Nine Hells was he supposed to separate himself from her when she did things like this to him? His heart twisted in his chest at how serenely innocent she looked. She trusted him enough to sleep with him, even with the orb in his chest that could kill them all in an instant. Hells, she was sleeping on him now, only inches from the ugly markings he bore!

And she didn't seem to be bothered by that in the slightest.

“Why do you do this to me?” Gale whispered to the woman at his side. Giving up, he wrapped his arm around her, holding her closer to him. Was it his imagination, or did a little smile flicker over her lips as she felt him embrace her? He inwardly groaned – there was no way he could force himself to let go of her, or make her let go of him, when she so effortlessly held his heart in her hands. He was dooming her, every night that he slept with her, every time he read a book for her, every time he gave her a kind word or a smile or a gentle touch.

She would never let go of him in the way she needed to, in order to save herself from him and his grim fate. And Gale knew she would only call him a “self-destructive hopeless idiot”, or something similar, and cling tighter to him if he tried to talk to her about this and make her see sense.

Was she wrong, though?

Frustrated, Gale closed his eyes again and tried to will himself to sleep. Perhaps in the morning, he could think of a way to gently turn Devi from him and to a partner who actually had a future. It would break his heart, but it was better than dragging her down with him.

But maybe he could allow himself one more night of holding Devi against his heart and wishing he could safely confess his love for her. He sighed, forcing himself to resist the urge to kiss her hair, or her forehead, or those perfect lips. If he started kissing her even innocently right now, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop, not until the orb ended him. But gods, he wished he could… He could have died happy while kissing her, but it wasn't worth the risk he posed to everyone else in a ten-mile radius. Nobody else deserved to die while he indulged himself in kissing the woman he wanted – especially not the woman in question.

He sighed, shifting as much as he dared until he was comfortable under Devi. His other hand came up to slowly card his fingers through her loose hair, a soothing motion that made her contentedly hum in her sleep. Dammit, Devi, he thought, you make it too easy for me to love you.

That thought made him blink his eyes open again. Was this…? He thought for a moment, then sighed. Yes – this was love he felt for the woman in his arms. This was adoration, and devotion, and more than a bit of strongly-denied lust. He wanted her in every way possible – emotionally, and in spirit, and yes, physically too. 

But he wanted her safe and happy, even more than he wanted her with him. If you really love her, then you have to let her go, he tried to tell himself. Doesn't she deserve better than to be with you? Wyll would make her happy.

But what if she doesn't want Wyll? What if–

He firmly shut down the little voice in his mind before it could make the suggestion that maybe the woman in his arms wanted him. Nobody with any sense would want the older, broken, damned man that he was.

Then again, just that day, Astarion had been very enthusiastic in telling Devi that she had no sense, or self-preservation instincts, whatsoever…

Shut up. He scowled, then tugged the blankets up a little higher over himself and Devi. Just go to sleep. With any luck, Devi will see the truth herself without any prodding. And if she doesn't… it will hurt, but it will save her in the long term to break from her.

He sighed, then settled in to sleep, savouring what he was determined would be his last night holding the woman he loved.

—

Only a couple of hours later, Gale awoke to the sound of a whimper. He opened his eyes, frowning into the darkness of his tent until he heard a stifled sob from the half-Elf in his arms. He mumbled the incantation for a light cantrip, looking at Devi with anxiety spiking in his chest.

She didn't appear to be hurt. But her brow was furrowed as if she was in pain, and she was shaking. “Stop…” she whispered, flinching from something only she could see. “Please…”

Worried, Gale gently shook her shoulder. “Devi,” he lowly said, softly calling her name. “You're dreaming. You need to wake up.”

Devi didn't seem to hear him. She flinched again as though she'd been struck. “No,” she begged whoever was tormenting her. “You're hurting me!”

Gale shook her again, fear making the motion a little harder. “Devi,” he spoke her name again, a little louder. “Wake up, darling. I have you – you're safe. Wake up.”

His words didn't seem to be getting through. Devi whimpered again, her fingers tightening in Gale's shirt. “Please… help me… stop!” Her next words made Gale's heart twist in his chest. “No! Not Gale! Please!”

“Shhhh.” Gale shook her again and pressed his lips to her hair. “It's all right, darling. You're safe. Wake up now.” He lowered his lips to her ear as she whimpered again. “Wake up, Devi. You're safe… you're safe. I promise. Wake up. Wake up!”

Devi's twitching and flinching finally slowed, then stopped as Gale kept kissing her hair and whispering soothing reassurances to her. He finally felt her clutch his shirt a little tighter as she turned her head up to him. “Gale?” she whispered, her voice tiny and broken.

“I'm here,” Gale murmured, relief washing through his veins. “I have you. You're safe – it was just a dream, dear one. You're perfectly safe.”

“Oh, gods.” Still shaking, Devi buried her face in the crook of Gale's neck, clinging to him. “You were… you were…”

“Shhh,” Gale whispered. “I'm here.” He took her hand, guiding it to rest over his beating heart so she could feel his pulse. “I’m here. You’re all right – and so am I. Just breathe.” He heard a little sob from the woman he was holding, and felt his heart break for her. “Shhh. Breathe with me, Devi. Can you feel me breathing?” He waited until she nodded into his neck. “That’s my girl. Breathe with me, darling.” He focused on taking slow, calming breaths to make his chest move enough for her to easily feel him. For the first few breaths, Devi couldn’t quite match his slow breathing – stifled sobs made her body jerk unevenly under his arm. But as the minutes passed, she seemed to find his rhythm with breathing, her inhales slowly coming to match his as she calmed down from her nightmare. 

“Thank you,” she finally mumbled, slowly pulling her face out of his neck. There was a suspicious wetness on her cheeks that told Gale she’d been crying into his skin; indeed, he could feel her tears on him. “I’m sorry–”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Gale murmured, stroking his thumb over her cheekbone. He offered her a small, reassuring smile. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Devi started to shake her head, then hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of the blanket. “I… told you how my father’s a gods-damned bastard that not even the hells want?” she asked, her voice low and quiet. 

Gale nodded. “You’ve told me he’s a terrible person and you plan on dancing on his grave when he dies,” he softly answered. “Or using his grave for a latrine. Perhaps both.”

Devi made a little sound that Gale thought was trying to be a laugh, a laugh mingled with a sob. “He deserves it. He and his friends, they…” She took a shaky breath, not looking at Gale’s face. “They were hurting me, and then they… they decided to hurt you when you appeared in the dream — I think you were trying to save me? But they… gods, the things they did…” 

“Shhh.” Gale pulled Devi’s face back into the crook of his neck; she went to him willingly, clinging to him. “We’re both all right – there’s nothing to be afraid of in this tent.” Except the orb, and the tadpoles, and the threat of the Absolute, and the small-but-still-present risk that Mystra would simply spontaneously detonate the orb in Gale’s chest to kill him and everyone around him – Gale shook his head. “We’re safe here. Nobody can hurt you when I’m here to protect you.” 

“They hurt you,” Devi mumbled. “They were hurting you, and they were going to kill you, and–”

“Shhh. It was just a bad dream, darling. I’m entirely unhurt, and so are you.” Gale hesitated for a moment, then chuckled. “And you can tell your subconscious that I don’t fear a thief and his henchmen. I might be outnumbered, but I would make them regret facing me before falling.”

Devi trembled again in his arms. “You couldn’t fight,” she whispered, quiet enough that Gale almost couldn’t hear her. “You… you were trying to save me. If you had fought them… they would have hurt me more.”

Apparently Devi’s subconscious knew Gale well enough to know that this was a truth about him. If that nightmare had been reality… Gale knew he would have stopped fighting the instant it became clear that his resistance would have endangered the woman he loved. “Shhh,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “It was just a dream. Your father can’t hurt either of us here.” 

He felt Devi slowly nod, but she still clung to him, shaking like a leaf. He suspected that she was probably too scared to easily go back to sleep. With a grunt, he reached out for the book they had been reading earlier that evening – or rather, that he had been reading to her. Nudging the lights to where he could more easily see the pages, he opened the book back where they had left off. “Shall I try to get your mind back onto a more soothing subject?” he asked. At her hesitant nod, he kissed her hair again, then started quietly reading the next chapter. The halfling and dwarves had been caught by ogres, and were being argued over by said ogres who couldn’t decide how to cook them properly. It was one of Gale’s favourite scenes in the book, and Devi seemed to be entranced by the story normally. Indeed, she seemed to calm down as he read to her, shifting from having her face buried in his neck, to resting her cheek on his shoulder. 

As Gale came to the end of the chapter, he looked down to see Devi’s eyes closed and her lips slightly parted again, her breathing soft and slow. He wasn’t sure when she had fallen asleep again, but he was grateful that she had found rest. Careful to not disturb her, he replaced the bookmark in the pages, then set the book back down and extinguished the lights over their heads. Devi grunted as he slowly rested on the pillow again, then snuggled up as closely as she could to him.

Gale sighed softly, running his hand over her hair soothingly. Apparently this was the gods’ way of foiling his plan to break apart from Devi before anything could begin with them. Who else was going to cuddle the little half-Elf after her nightmares? Who else would read to her to get her mind off her fear again? Try as Gale might, he couldn’t imagine Devi snuggling up so closely to Wyll, or Shadowheart, or Karlach, or any of their other friends in the party. For some reason, she had chosen Gale, doomed and damned as he was.

Guilt and hope surged in equal amounts in his heart – guilt because he was dragging Devi down with him, and hope because maybe he wasn’t quite as broken and useless as he believed himself to be. Maybe Devi saw something in him that he couldn’t see or acknowledge himself.

It would have been easier if she didn’t see anything in him, he thought. 

He yawned and let himself cuddle Devi closely, doing his best to make sure she felt protected and safe in his arms. “No harm will come to you if I can help it,” he promised her in a whisper. “You are safe with me.” Closing his eyes, he rested his cheek on her hair and let himself fall back asleep, praying that Devi’s dreams for the rest of the night (and his, he supposed) would be peaceful.

If you dream of me again, dear one… dream of the happiness that I can’t give you in reality. Please don’t dream of either of us suffering for the other, he thought before sleep reclaimed him.

[asteropewpew]

dearest shooting star 🌠

loving anaxagoras felt similar to the momentary awe whenever you spot a shooting star. that quick, brilliant flash of light streaking across the midnight sky, so vivid and arrogantly defiant against the moon.

i shine brighter than you, it would say to the soft glow of the moonlight illuminating the late night. this shooting star was so bright that it seemingly cut a large swathe across like very definite sword strike, all the while burning up the rest of itself during the end of their cosmic journey. so look only at me.

"Your students looked quite... apoplectic." You look observed, tone filled with knowing amusement as you watched his students amble their way out of his classroom with varying expressions of frustration. Or in some cases, with a look of absolute vengeance. "A lively morning earlier then, yes?"

Anaxagoras doesn't quite chuckle, but the small, involuntary huff as his lips curved slightly in smug glee gives away his current sentiment regarding his students. His form tilted slightly forward as he turned to face you, a pair of vivid seafoam eyes gleaming brightly with all the knowledge and intellect that captivated your attention like a treacherous lure.

It's both fortunate and unfortunate (for your heart), that your own class ends at just around the time that his class ends—with the bell tolling overhead to signal the students to do a self-study session (or exchange shared moments of misery) at numerous amphitheaters or at the central library of the Grove.

"As always, our class ended with another debate."

"About the gods, Professor?"

"Naturally." Given his rather vocal stance as a blasphemer, it was no surprise that his students had seen fit to challenge him to yet another debate. More likely in hopes to humble him rather than commit to any intellectual exchange, you mused. "And as always, they are infuriated whenever I poke out the holes in their arguments."

"Their collective spite would end up with you getting killed one day, you know?" A lie. For as notorious as Anaxagoras had been in criticizing the actions of the Flame-Chase Journey right alongside, his students had somehow decided that he was deserving of their gifts and...other knick knacks that you were most definitely sure were priceless antiques.

Poor Hyacine who's been given more work by the rising mess around his office, no doubt. Although Anaxagoras' new student named Phainon had been mentioned as some sort of precious antique collector and appraiser, which made organizing things much easier, if any.

"If they commit as much dedication to verbally eviscerate me on court trials and debates, they should focus it on their thesis proposals." The sneer in his face made your lips quirk into a smile.

"You should really stop goading your cute little students, Professor Anaxagoras."

He opened his mouth, likely retorting his favorite correction before realization caught his would-be misstep. The small "tch" made your smile widen even as he shot you a warning glare, not missing your clear attempt at throwing him off despite following his numerous insistence regarding the matter with his name. "Telling me how to handle my students now, Professor?"

It should feel criminal how your name comes out of his mouth in a slow, lilting drawl. Almost indulging, if you were to entertain your own fanciful whispers.

"Just a word of advice as a fellow lecturer." But his unimpressed look told you as much about just how convincing your excuse is.

loving anaxagoras felt like loving a shooting star. there is joy in catching that moment of fleeting beauty across the sky, knowing that it would forever be different from any other shooting stars in the world. but like all things, even shooting stars are unforgiving towards their admirers.

they were utterly beautiful in their destruction, the broken fragments carrying with it such a devastating power that perhaps a part of you would break in return; echoing the shatter of a brilliant celestial body with your own hapless heart.

"What did you do?" You rushed to ask, voice trembling ever so slightly as you looked at the ragged exhaustion across Anaxagoras' face.

"Merely created something that puts us in equal standing with the gods." He sounded victorious, as if the price of his triumph wasn't riddled with blood and pain. Anaxagoras looked inappropriately disheveled, clothes rumpled and singed at some of the hems—pale blue hair clinging to his face that was full of grime and sweat and a few cuts here and there. "And I have succeeded in finally making it useable."

There are tremors in his hands, visible ones and you couldn't take your eyes away from the inflamed skin where the bright red of the Philosopher's stone adorned his right hand. Instantly, you feel the impossibly heavy weight of his trust in allowing you inside his personal alchemical laboratory.

There's a myriad of things that you could say to him, and yet all of it would make you nothing more than a hypocrite who allowed the one that you cherished most to completely ruin himself in pursuit of knowledge. All those years that had you faithfully shadowing him in his unquenchable thirst for answers, barely managing to reel him back just in time before he truly hurtled towards the deep end.

All those years of endless exasperation and countless debates as you hurried to catch up to him, all of it cultivated into biting back down a few choices of words directed at his dangerous recklessness. "Really? Treating yourself so poorly while you're in an experimental binge doesn't quite count as a logical course of action."

You hurriedly knelt down beside him as you brought out a roll of fresh bandages from your satchel, and he was mindful enough to not give you much grief as he obediently placed his trembling hands in your hands.

"Am I ever in danger with my own experiments?" His retort made you purse your lips as you carefully started tending to his wounds, a deep frown crossing your face for all that your hands remained gentle in treating his injuries.

The silence that followed, was a little stifled. Even with you, as immersed in your irritation and worries, didn't fail to notice the tension lining over his shoulders.

"This won't be the last." In the end, it was Anaxagoras who broke the silence, sounding a little gruff as he ducked his head to avoid your gaze. "I still need to find the answers to my new questions... far too many thing—"

"Be that as it may," you interrupted his halfhearted reasons with a pointed glare, "you are still expected to teach your own students instead of passing all them off to me every time you get possessed in doing your experiments!"

He tilted his head in consideration, as if only belatedly recalling that he had spent longer in his laboratory than he had expected.

"The brats should know better than compare you with me." The stupid, foolish, heretic scholar with one of the sharpest minds of today, missed your very non-subtle show of concern. Amazing. Truly a mind of the ages indeed. "And besides, you're the only one that wouldn't revise my lesson plan without consulting me first. Or make those impressionable students learn something that they shouldn't waste their time."

"No, I just want to get them off me because I'm tired of grading forty students every week on two different subjects."

"..." The foolish professor didn't even try to object, knowing better than to test your limits.

You also refrained from pointing out that his students have this weird tendency to debate with any professors that even dared to make them stray off his meticulous curriculum, for all that they are keen to put him through the wringer for at least once before they could graduate. "No personal laboratory time for at least a while."

"You can't possibly demand that of me."

The smile on your face dared him to argue any further than this. "I believe Hyacine would appreciate being notified of your... occupational injuries."

There's another beat of silence, but it was a little easier this time. Familiar.

Although your worries still made your chest grow tight, his disgruntled look soothed something within you as he obediently tilted his head up for you to dab at the small cuts and abrasions across his face.

Even more, the victory was sweeter when Anaxagoras eventually grumbled in defeat.

loving anaxagoras felt a little like condemning yourself to watching the fleeting destruction of a shooting star. you, a criminal who was sentenced to chase and watch the one that you loved the most, meet his own end with the most joyous laugh that you've heard from him.

anaxagoras who would completely burn up himself upon reaching the zenith of his journey, content in defying the tranquility of the evening night in a blaze of brilliant light. the false sky, as he had claimed, with eyes sparkling like the simulated constellations in the astronomy laboratory where alchemy fabricates a sky without the threat of aquila's temperamental gaze.

how you wanted, to valiantly preserve that shine without losing the brilliance that belonged to anaxagoras and his endless curiosity. except he was the kind of person who was never meant to be caged, confined and conforming to conventional ideas.

because he was always and foremost, meant to be free.

(and you could only hope that he can come back to you from time to time, if his time permits it; which was a factor that was slowly getting dwindling with each passing day.)

...Perhaps you'd have known it then, that he wouldn't simply just stop at embedding a Philosopher's stone in his right hand. That nothing could truly ever satiate his thirst in finding out the intricacies wrapped around Amphoreus and the ever-enduring Flame-Chase journey.

That he would embody your most favorite celestial body in all its vivid, and gut-wrenching beauty like this.

"Anaxa—are you crazy?!"

You saw him, slumped over the pillars of the central table while the contents in his personal laboratory which looked as if a veritable storm had swept upon it. Potions and vials lay shattered all over the ground, his alchemical gun lying innocuously beside him while numerous papers full of almost unrecognizable scrawls were scattered on the floor.

For a brief, frightening moment, you feared the worst.

"My name...is Anaxa...goras," he rasped after a moment, lone eye a little dull and unfocused as he struggled to recollect his thoughts when you rushed over to him. "Do not...call me Anaxa."

"And very soon, those words will be your last words if you don't get to the Courtyard as fast you can!" Panic was laced in your voice as you tried to check whether he had any debilitating injuries that require a mad dash to the Courtyard.

(Thin. He's thinner again.)

"This is a...culmination of my life's research and a milestone...regarding my capabilities," he argued, wheezing as he bared his teeth in an attempt to hide his pain when he tried to shift his position as you carefully prodded at his form.

"Which would be utterly useless if you don't make a patent of it while you're still alive," you snapped, finally letting out a breath when your preliminary search yielded nothing but a couple of bruises and symptoms of dehydration alongside exhaustion. "Have you truly decided to throw your life away like the foolish blasphemer that you are?"

Ever since he came back from that one conversation with Empedocles after he'd lost his eye, you know that he was a little different.

Sharper perhaps, much more intense as he had been before. Yet he looked perpetually weary, for all that his back stood tall and unwavering while handing out criticisms and advice for his students and fellow scholars.

As if he was always desperately running towards something that remained just out of reach.

"Why...do you care anyway? You're always so...meddlesome." The question made your heart grow still. It felt like being in the middle of Aidonia's harshest snowstorm, the wind howling at your foolishness for daring to even hope. "Don't you understand...why I must...do this?"

He is so thoughtlessly cruel at times, your dearest shooting star.

"I can't accept that what you're doing is so important that you would throw away your entire life for it." You didn't beg, but all of your emotions saturated each and every word. "Please, just take a break, Anaxagoras. There is time. You have time."

"Nothing is more important than seeing the Truth...of the false sky." His voice was hoarse, yet unwavering with the weight of his own conviction and obsessive desire. "And proving that...the Flame-Chase journey is not so linear in its approach. Everything else...was just an afterthought."

"Perhaps I had thought too highly of our time spent together." It hurt, when you could sense nothing but the genuine truth laced in his words. He's definitely suffered some sort of altered mental status right now, but it did little to lessen the sting. "And that my effort towards a dear colleague and companion, was nothing more than a show of charity in your eyes."

Anaxagoras didn't speak, nor did he even need to, as he had finally passed out in abject exhaustion and pain-filled sleep.

(Perhaps it was the best, that he couldn't hear the bitter disappointment in your voice.)

You allowed yourself a look, a last glance, feeling like you've swallowed knives with each indication of self-neglect over his form. His clothes were bigger than it should be on him, not to the point of fright but enough just to indicate how much he's foregone sustenance at least multiple times. Likewise, there's a clear expression of exhaustion in his face. His clothes were disheveled, likely from his latest stunt more than an unconscious habit—but he looked utterly... small in that moment.

It would be easy to hate him. To rage and hate his foolishness, the ease in how he discarded his own present in favor of crafting a future that he had decided that was not his to see. The sheer hypocrisy by how passionate he was in insisting the sanctity of life and autonomy over "misguided notions" of honor and obligation, when each of his choices had contributed to his eventual ruin.

But you couldn't.

Despite all your frustrations and concerns, you never would be able to hate him for as much as you cherish him.

You know you were not so important as to be able to anchor his feet, but you can't help but wish you were.

loving anaxa meant suffering from daring to attempt that you could handle the intensity of a shooting star. it's like being a moth drawn to his vibrant flame, helplessly oblivious to the eventual agony of being burned alive.

you loved still loved your shooting star who had captivated your attention so tightly, before he spirited your heart away from your hands without any intention of returning it. nor even trying to take care of it.

anaxagoras was a great many things, but he was also utterly oblivious at the best of times. you should have created a boundary with him early on, to rein in your feelings as soon as your traitorous heart thundered at the sight of his bright, satisfied smile.

(but you didn't. and equally hurt and filled you with humility for every time you could see a part of anaxa that perhaps few or rather, none had ever been privy to see it.)

your blasphemer was always meant for great things, regardless if he would be scorned or admired for his actions.

and you could only watch and try to help him when he has burned himself too early in his journey towards searching for the truth of this world.

the astronomy laboratory was one of your favorite ventures, and you keep to your silence even as the door opened to welcome the familiar clack of footsteps coming towards the center of the laboratory.

"...I didn't know that there's someone using the astronomy laboratory."

"It's occupied." your voice was clipped, sparing only the barest words as you didn't bother to turn around and acknowledge the illustrious anaxagoras. there was a brief pause, before you heard a rustling sound as he carefully sat down beside you.

ever since that day, when you had rushed anaxagoras into the courtyard after he had collapsed, you decided to keep your distance. a futile attempt at drawing a boundary when you've already reached a point in no return, but you held strong even when hyacine had cautiously asked if you would like to visit him even just once.

it was more for your sake than his, and you were confident that he wouldn't even notice—for all that he's dedicated his focus and attention to his dogged pursuit of the truth.

"You weren't present to the general meeting with all the Professors." it took everything in you not to flinch when you felt the weight of his gaze on the side of your face.

"I was busy." you were very much grateful that the darkness hid much of your expression as you drew your knees close to yourself.

"Busy with what?" he probed, because he never did have a sense of self-restraint when it comes to satiating his curiosity. "Hyacine told me that you asked to be relieved of another class to handle. And that you also applied for a...sabbatical leave."

the latter sentence echoed his mystified confusion, the notion of a vacation apparently being a foreign one to the foolish scholar.

"I'm accompanying Hyacine and Phainon on their usual visit back to Okhema." there, that should be enough to get him off your back and leave.

except it doesn't.

"You've never shown any interest in leaving the Grove for that holy city." it was evident how poorly he had regarded the capital with the eternal light, and you've heard his sentiments regarding a certain chrysos heir residing in the city often enough to understand his position.

but you didn't care much for that.

what pricked at your still smarting heart was—

"I don't need to report to you nor justify any of my actions to you for anything, Professor Anaxagoras." you replied, voice chillingly cold and void of your hurt as much as you can. "As you have made yourself quite clear on my interference to your pursuit of knowledge."

There was another pause, the fabric of his coat rustling as he abruptly moved closer to you.

"That day when you rushed me into the courtyard," his voice was faintly urgent, promptly you to finally give a glance at his pinched expression with a carefully distant look. except the faint unease within his piercing eyes made your traitorous heart flutter once again. "Did I say anything?"

this close, you could see that hyacine's work had lessened the exhaustion and overall gauntness of the scholar's face. despite you still childishly holding on to your anger, you felt a tension within you finally relax.

"Nothing but the truth, Professor." it was maddening, how your anger was quietly doused by seeing just how much he had recovered (even if you could still sense an air of weariness around him).

"That's not—" anaxagoras tsked, ever astute in deducing a hint from your response. "I said something."

you kept silent, because you refuse to be considered a puzzle where he would look for clues to satisfy his own questions. no, it would hurt you far too much if he treated what had happened as nothing more than a logical problem to be straightened out.

(it would be like holding out your still mending heart for him to destroy.)

"Whatever it was, it was enough for you to refuse a visit to me at the ward." the intensity in his gaze proved too much, and you ducked your head to look away from him. you saw his hand make an aborted move towards you, before it stopped and curled into a tight fist. "It happened when you caught me in my personal laboratory, and I was cognizant enough to respond but not enough to retain the memories of our brief interaction before you brought me to the Courtyard. You're angry. And I hurt you."

your foolish scholar had known nothing but the thorny path that would lead to his goals, and it was your own foolish decision to chase after him like a persistent shadow. in the end, everything can be traced back to your own decision to accompany him for so long—like that hapless moth who was drawn to the raging inferno that was anaxagoras the blasphemer.

you knew that he would change the world, at any and at all costs. even if the damning price was to ruin himself in the process.

"What did I say?" he asked again and... abruptly, you felt very tired.

forget it.

"It's alright," you murmured, finally looking up to give him a lopsided smile. don't worry, went unheard. "It was...my fault more than yours."

there was another pause again, before he spoke again.

"I am in need of a...companion for Hyacine to finally relinquish her watch on me." he said, stumbling over a particular word while you gave an inquiring hum.

you like to think that you know the undertone of his statement. don't go.

but you never truly left him, even in the height of your anger and hurt. hyacine would never fail to give you updates regarding his wellbeing and any additional expenses quietly paid for by you (under the guise of an anonymous benefactor), and combined with her stubbornness and the threat of making ika sit on his chest was enough for him to veer off from going back to his laboratory far too soon.

"...I can do that." it would be another story if you saw his main table and be reminded of how you initially saw him, but that was a thing for the future.

his shoulders slumping over slightly made a smile finally crack across your face, and he swiftly closed the remaining distance to rest his weight against yours.

"Good." and he sounded like he meant it.

you know that anaxagoras doesn't apologize for his actions, not because of pride but because he would not regret any of the actions that he had made. that each of his actions were driven with a purpose that would ultimately bring him closer to his goals.

when his hand carefully rested above yours after a while, the warmth spoke more than his clumsy attempts at making it for his apparent misstep. you gazed back upon the twinkling constellations, with the weight of anaxagoras' presence sitting close to your side.

your shooting star, if only for a moment, paused in his relentless pursuit to accompany you for the night.

it wasn't quite an apology, but it was more than enough.

(p.s. first time trying to do this so please tell me your thoughts? would you also want an anaxa pov to compliment this hehe)

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

"Cuhut it out- you guys!" "Nu-uh, not until you're all perked up first! You don't want those gym challengers meetin' with an ol' mopey leader, do ya?" "Whitney's right, dear friend. No need to hide that beautiful smile of yours, alright?~"

What it takes to cheer up Johto's beloved ghost boy 👻💕

[beeflare]

Reposting every iron man edit I get because the man I am (???) with is making an iron man suit

[darkipoop]

AH we're late cuz life's been busy bUT-

introducing our main goobers, Dr Jasper Lyne (they/them) and ALTR-2215914 / Void (currently any pronouns) :3

Alright, hand over your IRIS sonas/OCs

[corinthianism]

SOMETHIN' STUPID || VIKTOR

pairing: viktor (arcane)/fem!reader additional tags: viktor's pov, viktor is a certified yearner, maybe ooc, unrequited love that's actually requited, no physical descriptions for reader other than having dainty fingers and being shorter than viktor, hopefully correct use of czech pet names, barely proofread synopsis: the ever-brilliant viktor finds himself drowning in feelings for his colleague, so what does he do? bury them, of course.... until he learns that love is not something you can just ignore.

author's note: hello everyone! it's been a long, long while since i've written anything so i thought i would try and see if the ol' writing machine (aka my brain) still works lol. this is more of a blurb than anything so please go easy on me. also trying out something new by writing in present tense (lmk if it flows well!) viktor might be a little ooc but i'm still trying to fully understand him. hopefully my characterization of him in future fics (if any) will be more faithful to the viktor you're all familiar with. anyways, enjoy 2k words of viktor yearning like CRAZY 🫶🏼

Viktor doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. How many more times would your eyes meet from across the room at one of those parties he never really wanted to attend in the first place? How many more times would your fingers brush in the early morning, when he accepts the steaming sweetmilk that you so kindly got for him? How many more times would your laughter intermingle softly late into the night, when exhaustion took over and your writing started to look more like chicken scratch rather than letters?

He might just go insane.

How was it possible to want someone this much? Maybe he’s experienced something like this before, in tiny amounts, for people he hasn’t thought about in years. Deep down, he knows that even if he added all of those fleeting romances together, it would still only be a fraction of what he feels now. For you.

He can’t pinpoint that exact moment in time when everything changed. There were definitely a few of those moments that stood out more than others, but none of those instances were the catalyst for whatever this is. But they certainly don’t help his case.

A few words of encouragement.

A book recommendation.

A smile— so soft, so intimate, he briefly allows himself to believe that it was meant just for him. Something precious for him to keep, to be his and his alone.

In the dim light of the lab, he finds you asleep on your desk. The humming glow of the hex crystals leaves you blanketed in a gentle blue. He’s heard tales of this before, from when he bothered to listen to such things. It would happen just like this, they said: his heart would beat so fast, it threatened to leave his chest entirely. His skin would burn with something unmistakable, a feeling that left one in a state of simultaneous confusion and clarity.

He feels it all now and he finds it polarizing. It’s too much and not enough. He chases and runs away from it at the same time. A part of him wants it to stop, to go away and leave him forever for the sake of ending this game he’s painfully losing… but a greater part of him hopes that it will grow and grow to the point where maybe you’ll notice and do something about it. His palms get a little sweaty just thinking about making the first move. Symptoms of a lovesick fool.

The soft sound of your breathing quiets the pounding of his heart, prevents the wretched feelings from overflowing and spilling everywhere. Even if it was just for tonight. Tonight, he keeps his lips sealed, fights to keep himself from reaching for you. It would be unbecoming of him.

His eyes land on you again, observing how your head rested on your arms. Understanding hits him then, why you’re so bothered by seeing him stay at the lab so late that he ends up falling asleep. That position couldn’t have been comfortable. Of course, he knew that from experience, but it’s your comfort he’s thinking about right now. He wonders if this is what you felt whenever you woke him up and implored him to go home.

Surely not.

No, he can’t wrap his head around you possibly viewing that act the same way he does. Not when he wants to bottle this moment, wants to capture the preciousness of seeing you like this. It just can’t be the same.

So can you really blame him if when he finally rests a hand on your shoulder to wake you gently, he lets it linger there for just a little longer? An infinitesimal piece of time that he claims for himself. He never thought himself to be the sentimental type, but he cherishes it all: he cherishes the way you blink slowly as you returned to the waking world, and your tired murmur of his name that makes his chest tighten.

It’s just a wisp of a moment, never really tangible enough for him to hold in his hands, but he cherishes it all the same. It’s burned in his memory, in his very being, the same way everything else about you is. Every piece of you that you so generously gifted him.

“You should go home, darling.”

The word slips past his lips before he could even think about it. But he allows himself this one indulgence. He can’t help it. He’s always been a bit greedy.

“What time is it?” you ask.

“Far too late for you to be here,” he answers.

You huff out a breath of a laugh, “That’s rich coming from you.”

He finds himself smiling. How does someone manage to be so endlessly endearing without even trying?

It takes an embarrassing amount of effort for him to pull back his hand from your shoulder. Had you been more awake and had the room been brighter, he might’ve schooled his expression into something more neutral. Something to hide the unbridled adoration in his eyes. He doesn’t do that now. With the shield of darkness to protect him, he lets the mask come off. He lets his affection for you wash over him in waves. It would’ve been liberating, if it wasn’t for the tiny detail that that affection was unrequited.

Still, he says your name with utmost care. “You must go home and rest.”

To his surprise, you listen. You mumble a tired "okay” and gather your belongings, slipping on your coat. “You should go home, too, Vik.”

“I will. Soon. I just need to finish a few things.”

Your face twists into a frown, “No, you’ll do that tomorrow.” Before he can interject, you speak up again, “Just… come with me? It’s late and I don’t want to walk home alone.”

His brain refuses to reconcile with what his eyes see: the trepidation written all over your features, the way you clutch the lapel of your coat just a little tighter. He knows it’s a trap, you just want to get him out of the lab but how could he possibly reject the promise of a few more minutes with you? The chance to pretend, even if it’s just for those precious few minutes, that he was taking you home as someone more than a colleague? More than a friend? Only a fool would say no to you. Or perhaps he was a fool either way. He really must be going insane.

He says yes almost instantly.

It’s cold in Piltover tonight. It makes his bad leg ache more than it already does, and so his strides are a bit more careful. He doesn’t say anything about how you also slow down to match his pace but he appreciates your considerate gesture nonetheless.

The moon hangs in the sky big and bright, making everything around you seem softer. It’s picturesque. Almost romantic. He tries his best not to entertain that thought for much longer. Instead, he focuses on what you say to him so he could ignore the traitorous thoughts his mind conjures up and the way his knees were protesting because of the cold.

Conversation with you is easy— terrifyingly so. It was one of the first things he noticed about you when you first met.

Early on in the process of finding sponsors and securing funding, him and Jayce quickly realized that they needed help. Yes, Jayce is a friend of the Kiramman family. Yes, Viktor is Heimerdinger’s protégé, but they’re academics. At the end of the day, Jayce’s warm personality could only do so much when he was still greatly inexperienced with navigating these more political spaces and for all of his experience and perceptiveness, Viktor knows he’s no good at sweet-talking sponsors, either.

Enter, you.

Caitlyn Kiramman was the one to recommend you, her former tutor. Jayce was quick to back her up, remembering that you were also Academy alumni; a particularly strategic businesswoman. Viktor was hesitant at first, knowing that a third party could complicate things. Hextech was born out of the dream to help people. He worried that bringing business and politics (even though he knew it was necessary) into the mix would warp Hextech into something it wasn’t. Jayce convinced him to take a gamble, and it seemed that the potential of Hextech was enough to bring you back to Piltover from your travels across Runeterra.

It took him a while to warm up to you. You weren’t nobility, but most definitely well-off. Even more so after your years as a business consultant to organizations all over the continent. He respected you, sure, but Viktor had a hard time trusting someone who was so… privileged. How could you possibly understand how important it was that Hextech remained a beacon of hope for the less fortunate? Perhaps it was naive of him to think that way, as much as he hated to admit it.

But true to your reputation, you delivered exactly what they needed. You bridged the gap between Viktor and Jayce’s hopes for Hextech and the support they needed from sponsors, protecting them and their inventions from being taken advantage of.

Suffice to say, you earned his admiration.

Never in a million years would Viktor imagine that you would captivate his entire being, too.

It was daunting. Scary, really. Especially now that he’s beginning to understand the full extent of his affections. Years and years of burying that softness from his youth deep beneath the armor of his intellect— all that hard work diminished by a pretty girl. Gods, he really is just a man. Not even that. With you, he feels like a highschooler with a crush. It’s painful. Downright humiliating. But he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not when you link your arm around his, laughing at something he said. Was he really that funny? Probably not. He’s just happy to make you laugh.

“You don’t have to be nice about it. Salo is a grade-A asshole,” you grinned. “We both know it. If I have to spend another dinner with him present I might actually stab a fork in my eyes.”

He smiles, “Ah, but that wouldn’t save you from his incessant chatter.”

“I’ll stab the fork into my ears too."

“I might just follow after you,” he hums, “you’ll have to check if it works first, though.”

Your friendship blossomed when your visits to the lab became less for work and more for leisure. You wanted to visit, wanted to learn more about what he and Jayce were working on and why. Everything after that was just dominoes. You, with all your fiery passion and sharp wit, have become a permanent fixture in his life and now? He could hardly imagine life without you in it. You're one of his dearest friends and, much to his dismay, that makes his current predicament even more challenging than it already is.

Before he knew it, the two of you were standing in front of your apartment building— one of the most luxurious in Piltover. He could only imagine how much it cost, though he knew for certain that your penthouse probably barely made a dent in your wealth. He’s gotten somewhat used to your differing lifestyles, but he’s never completely able to not marvel at it. A gust of wind kissed his skin once more as he turned to look at you.

“This is me,” you say, gloved hands in your pocket and your lovely, lovely face framed by your hair and ruby red scarf. He recognizes it as the gift he gave you a year ago now. A spur-of-the-moment purchase on one of the rare occasions he was actually outside Academy grounds. He remembers thinking that the color would look nice on you. He was right. He finds himself holding onto the seconds before he has to go. “Thank you for walking me home, Viktor.”

“Of course,” he nods but the calmness of his voice don’t match the way his eyes bore into yours. “It’s only proper.”

“Proper?”

“Yes. Proper. I am a gentleman, after all.”

His accent comes out thicker, emphasizing the words more than he means to.

“I didn’t take you for someone who cared much about propriety,” you tease.

“Is it because I’m from the undercity?” he deadpans and he relishes in the look of horror on your face that replaces your grin.

“What? No!” you exclaim, smacking his arm when you realize he’s just joking. “You. Are. Impossible.”

A laugh bubbles out of his chest, “Oh, that’s cruel. You would hit a defenseless man? How heartless.”

“Shut up. That cane of yours is a weapon of war. Don’t think I haven’t seen you smack Jayce with it.”

“If I hit him with it, he probably deserved it.”

“Poor Jayce,” you laugh as well. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

Viktor smiles.

“I do not think you could even if you tried, lásko."

He freezes and so do you. The laughter—the music—that you shared for the briefest of moments was thoroughly snuffed out, leaving you both in a silence that threatens to swallow him whole. He didn’t mean to do that. He didn’t mean to speak so gently, but there is not a part of Viktor that could withhold this sincerity from you. Specks of the truth, of the confession he’s barely managed to wrangle into submission and lock away somewhere dark and unreachable.

He pulls back on instinct. He’s shown too much, said too much. You don’t move. He is petrified.

Your eyes widen and he sees his reflection in them, staring back at him. This is it, he thinks. He’s crossed the line and he’ll have to deal with the crushing blow of your rejection.

You manage to compose yourself and what you say next is… well, unexpected. Your tone is light, clearing the air and allowing him to breathe again.

“Do you say that to every woman or am I a special case? I’d hate to be part of a roster.”

He’s taken aback, but he feels a weight lifted off his shoulders. You are a miracle in his eyes. Washing away his worries with a kind smile and a few choice words. He laughs again and this time, he doesn’t stop himself from speaking the truth. It’s now or never.

“Surely you know by now that you are singular,” he whispers, his accent a pleasant drawl in your ears. He takes a step forward. It is gravity that pulls him in, not the Earth’s, but yours. A force that he can’t help but be drawn to. Not that he would ever dare to resist it now that his fear has shrunk down to something a little less debilitating.

His face is inches from yours. You don’t move. He gets a little braver.

“I do not appreciate your implication that I would pay attention to anyone else,” his voice is low, honest. “As if anyone could compare to you. As if you don’t hold my very being in the palm of your hand. Miláčku, I adore you. Don’t you know that?”

There is a hint of pleading in his tone, begging you to understand the full scope of his feelings from those few words so that he wouldn’t unravel before you, a bundle of nerves and petals the same shade as your scarf.

“Say something. Please,” his fear rears its ugly head once more. “Say the word and we’ll pretend this never happened. I will remain your colleague and nothing more. A friend, if you would allow it.”

“What if I don’t want that?” you ask, your own voice a little shaky with uncertainty. Maybe it was also fear. That, he’s not quite sure.

Viktor doesn’t fully trust what he’s hearing, thinks it to be a figment of his deluded imagination, but his heart is screaming at him now to push forward.

“What is it you want, lásko? Tell me and it shall be yours.”

You're almost breathless when you finally respond, “You. I want you."

The world stills. Time itself screeches to a halt. There is only you and him, together in this moment that he knows will be woven into the threads of his soul. He has never known euphoria quite like this. He can’t name it yet, doesn’t know if this is love. He can only hope that it will be.

When he looks into your eyes again, he does not see his own terrified reflection. He just sees you. And the sheer intensity of your gaze that rivals his own. Have you always looked at him that way? Was he just too blind to see it?

“Do you mean that?” he finds himself asking. He has to— has to make sure that this is real.

You smile again, dainty fingers intertwining with his. It is a gentle smile, a hopeful smile that answers his question before you even open your mouth.

“I do,” your voice is so gentle and yet it squeezes his heart. “I’m yours, Viktor, if you’ll have me.”

He brings your knuckles to his lips, places a reverent kiss on them like you’ve given him the world. In a way, that’s exactly what you did. Maybe his lips were always meant to be on your skin, worshipping you like the goddess you are. It feels too natural for it to mean anything else.

And for the first time in a long time, he allows himself to hope.

“I would love nothing more.”

[reidmarieprentiss]

Always You

Summary: Spencer is in love with his best friend, you already have a boyfriend.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: being called a bitch (not by spencer), sharing hotel rooms, pining, love confessions, break ups, (un)requited feelings, HAPPY ending

Word count: 4.6k

a/n: if your partner of multiple years does not know your basic likes and dislikes ..............

main masterlist

For two years, seven months, two weeks, and six days, you have been a dedicated member of the BAU. For two years, five months, two weeks, and four days, Spencer Reid has been hopelessly in love with you. But for two years and four months, and one week, you’ve been in a relationship with Duncan Cody, the Counter-Terrorism agent who everyone not-so-secretly despises. Spencer was just too late to tell you how he felt, and for two years and four months, that regret has gnawed at him, leaving him haunted by what could have been. 

—

The team was on a case in a small, dusty town in New Mexico, and the accommodations were limited, forcing everyone to double up on rooms. Naturally, you chose to bunk with your best friend, Spencer. But he was unusually tense about the arrangement.

“Hey, JJ, can we switch?” Spencer asked, his voice carrying a hint of nervousness.

JJ looked up from her phone, puzzled. “Huh? Why? I thought you liked rooming with Y/N.”

Spencer swallowed, trying to keep his voice low and steady. Usually, he did love sharing a room with you—it was comfortable, familiar. But the oppressive heat of New Mexico had driven you to wear lighter, more revealing clothes, and Spencer had been struggling with the sight of you all day. The thought of what you might wear to bed, or worse, the possibility that you might wear nothing at all, had his mind spinning and his temperature rising.

“Yeah, no, I do. It’s just… I thought you might want a chance to room with her instead of Hotch,” he stammered, attempting to sound casual.

JJ smiled warmly, shaking her head. “Aww, thanks, Spence, but I don’t mind. Hotch and I usually just talk about the boys until we pass out. It’s actually been pretty nice.”

Spencer forced a tight smile, feeling the knot in his stomach tighten as JJ cheerfully dismissed his suggestion. He could hardly blame her; in fact, he would normally jump at the chance to room with you. But the idea of spending the night so close to you, especially in the sweltering New Mexico heat, had his nerves frayed.

Back in the room, you were already making yourself comfortable, tossing your bag onto the bed with a carefree smile. "It's like a sauna out there," you groaned, fanning yourself with your hand. "I might just sleep in my underwear tonight."

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat, his mind racing at the mental image that followed your innocent comment. He cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray him. "Y-yeah, it's definitely... warm."

You flashed him a grin, completely unaware of the effect you had on him. "At least the AC is working, right?"

"Right," Spencer echoed, swallowing hard. This was going to be a long night.

“Do you mind if I take the first shower? I’ll be quick, I want to get right to bed; I’m beat,” you asked, glancing up from your go-bag as you rummaged through it for your toiletries.

Spencer, trying to keep his cool, nodded quickly. “Ye–yeah, that’s fine.”

You smiled, seemingly unaware of the effect you had on him. “Oh, and which bed do you want?”

He blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Um, whichever is fine.”

“Thank god, I want the one by the window. Thanks, Spence!” You flashed him a grateful grin before grabbing your things and heading off to the bathroom.

As the door clicked shut behind you, Spencer exhaled a breath he’d been holding. It was wrong to fantasize about his best friend, especially in the very not-safe-for-work way that he often did, and especially when you had a serious partner. But he couldn’t help it. You were the kindest, most genuine person he knew, and the fact that you were also the most stunning person, inside and out, only made it that much harder for him to keep his feelings in check.

Minutes later, you emerged from the bathroom, keeping your promise to be quick. However, Spencer’s pulse skyrocketed when he saw you—dressed in nothing but your underwear and a thin tank top that left little to the imagination. He could feel his face flush as he quickly averted his gaze.

“I’m all done, Spence. Shower’s all yours,” you said cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to his inner turmoil.

“Uh, thanks!” Spencer blurted out, nearly tripping over his own feet as he shot up from the bed, making a beeline for the bathroom. He knew there was only one solution to his current predicament—a long, cold shower.

Once both of you were settled in bed with the lights off, you couldn’t resist starting a conversation. Sharing a room with Spencer always reminded you of those childhood sleepovers—giggly, fun, and safe. The quiet darkness seemed to invite whispered secrets, the kind that felt easier to share when you couldn’t see each other’s faces.

“I think Duncan is going to break up with me,” you whispered, your voice just loud enough for Spencer to hear, but soft enough that it felt protected by the shadows.

Spencer’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

You hesitated for a moment, as if hearing the words out loud made them more real. “I hadn’t said it out loud yet. It sounds crazy now that I have.”

“Why do you think he’s going to break up with you?” Spencer asked, his voice gentle, though he could feel a tightness in his chest.

You sighed deeply, the weight of your thoughts evident. “He’s been pulling away recently. Fewer date nights, less texting during the day… I haven’t spoken to him on the phone once since we got here.” You paused, gathering the courage to continue. “We haven’t had sex in weeks.”

Spencer felt a sharp pang of something unpleasant in his stomach at that comment—jealousy, frustration, regret—he wasn’t sure. “Oh, I’m sorry, Y/N,” he murmured, struggling to keep his voice steady.

“Thanks, Reid,” you replied, your tone quiet and resigned.

For a long moment, silence hung between you, thick and heavy, as if neither of you knew what to say next. Just when you began to drift off, almost convinced that sleep was pulling you under, you heard Spencer’s voice, low and tender, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

“If he lets you go, he is the single biggest imbecile on this planet.”

You blinked in the darkness, half-convinced you were imagining things. Did Spencer really just say that? But before you could ask, the silence returned, leaving you to wonder if it was just a dream after all.

—

No more confessions were made during the case, and within a few days, the team was back home. But for Spencer, the case hadn’t been the only thing on his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you might be single soon. The possibility gnawed at him—would he have a chance? Could he ever muster the courage to tell you how he really felt? Who knows?

What he did know, however, was that you had been using him as a frequent escape from your shared apartment with Duncan. Spencer didn’t mind; in fact, he cherished every moment with you.

“Hey, Spence, do you want to order pizza and watch a movie tonight?” you asked casually as the workday began to wind down.

“Yeah, sounds great,” Spencer replied, his smile brightening his features.

As soon as you walked away, Derek strolled over to Spencer’s desk, a look of mild concern on his face. “Uh, Reid?”

“Yeah?” Spencer responded, glancing up at him.

“I thought you had a date tonight?”

Spencer blinked in confusion. “Huh?”

“With that girl from the post office?”

“Oh.” Spencer’s eyes widened as he realized he had completely forgotten about the date. “I completely forgot.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, surprised. Spencer never forgot anything. “Listen, Reid. I know we all have our feelings about Duncan… but be careful, okay?”

Spencer frowned slightly, unsure what Derek was getting at. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just—she’s hurting right now, but what happens when they make up? I don’t want to see you getting hurt.”

Spencer’s mind began to race as he processed Derek’s words. “We’re just friends, Derek. I’m just supporting her in her time of need.”

Derek gave him a look that was equal parts sympathetic and skeptical. “I hope you’re right, Pretty Boy.”

As Derek walked away, Spencer found himself caught in a whirlwind of thoughts. Was Derek right? Was he setting himself up for heartache? He didn’t know the answers, but one thing was certain—he was in too deep to turn back now.

—

You were sitting on Spencer's couch, enjoying a slice of pizza, when his phone started ringing on the coffee table. Since Spencer was in the bathroom, you reached over to grab it, assuming it might be work-related. But the screen flashed a name you didn't recognize: Amanda. Who's Amanda? you wondered, feeling a twinge in your stomach that you quickly tried to dismiss.

When Spencer came back from the bathroom, you waved his phone with a teasing smile, trying to mask the discomfort you felt. "Who's Amanda, Spence?" you asked, your voice light but edged with curiosity.

His face dropped instantly, a look of confusion and then realization washing over him. "What?"

"You got a call from someone named Amanda," you repeated, watching his reaction closely.

Spencer's shoulders sagged as he took the phone from you. "Oh shoot, I forgot to cancel our date tonight. She probably thinks I stood her up."

Your heart sank a little. "Wait, Reid, you had a date tonight? Why didn't you tell me? I could have gone home!"

The mix of surprise and a slight sense of betrayal hung in the air. Spencer looked genuinely apologetic, his eyes wide with concern. "I... I just forgot. With everything going on, it slipped my mind. I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you here if you had other plans."

You forced a smile, shaking your head slightly. "It's okay, I just... didn't realize." Inside, you were conflicted, feeling foolish for how comfortable you’d become in his space, reminding yourself once again that you were just friends, despite the years of ignoring that pit in your stomach.

—

The entire team had taken note of the significant amount of time you and Spencer had been spending together, and they were all too aware of his long-standing crush on you. Their concern for their friend was palpable, which made the next rooming arrangement all the more telling. When the opportunity arose again for team members to share rooms, JJ immediately claimed you as her roommate. You caught the unmistakable look of relief that Spencer sent her way. What the hell?

That night, as you settled into the room with JJ, the question that had been nagging at you finally spilled out. "Why did Spencer seem relieved not to room with me? Did I do something wrong?"

JJ looked at you with her soft, comforting eyes, shaking her head gently. "Oh, I don’t think so," she reassured you in her calming tone. "Last time he asked me to switch, I think he just wanted a break," she added, her words kind but straightforward.

"Got it." The words felt like a punch to your gut. Your best friend didn’t want to room with you? The thought made you feel nauseous, or maybe it was the urge to cry that was overwhelming you.

"Is everything okay?" JJ noticed the tears brimming in your eyes.

"Yeah," you waved her off with a forced chuckle. "I’m on my period, just overly emotional," you laughed it off, masking the true turmoil you felt.

JJ immediately responded with a warm smile. "Aw, honey, I have pain killers and tampons if you need anything!"

"Thanks, JJ," you muttered, grateful for her kindness but still reeling from the emotional sting of the evening's revelations.

—

After the case, you found yourself withdrawing from Spencer, the sting of feeling like an imposition too sharp to ignore. Instead, you poured your energy into mending the fraying edges of your relationship with Duncan. Spencer, on the other hand, was left puzzled by your sudden distance, unable to pinpoint the cause of this shift in your dynamic. It wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of a faint hickey peeking out from under your collar that he understood—or thought he did.

“So you fixed things with Duncan?” he asked one day, trying to sound casual as he joined you for coffee in the breakroom.

“Yup. I’ll be out of your hair now, don’t worry,” you replied with a tight smile, and without waiting for his response, you walked out, leaving Spencer bewildered in your wake.

“What was that about?” JJ inquired, having witnessed the interaction from her spot by the vending machine.

“Not sure, she’s been giving me the cold shoulder since the last case,” Spencer murmured, frowning deeply as he stirred his coffee absentmindedly.

“Oh, I might know why,” JJ said, her voice lowering slightly.

“Why?” Spencer looked up, his interest piqued.

“Well, she knows you didn’t want to room with her,” JJ revealed, her expression sympathetic.

“What? You told her?” Spencer’s voice was a mix of surprise and slight irritation.

“She asked, Spence. She was really upset about the whole thing too. You should talk to her,” JJ advised, her tone earnest.

Spencer nodded slowly, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. “Yeah, okay. I will,” he agreed, his mind already racing with what he would say to you, hoping to mend the unintentional hurt he had caused.

—

"Y/N, can we talk?" Spencer caught up with you just as you were about to step into the elevator on a quiet Friday evening. The office had already emptied, leaving you both as the last on the floor.

"Sure, what's up?" you asked, pausing to face him, noting the serious look on his face.

Spencer opened his mouth to explain the hotel room situation, his mind racing for the right words that wouldn't betray his deeper feelings. "Well, you see, it's about the hotel room situation on the last case, and I just—uh, I mean, when we were assigned to room together, I found myself in a bit of a predicament, or rather, a series of considerations that perhaps aren't usual, or rather aren't typically problematic in ordinary circumstances, but given the nature of—"

"Spencer, it's fine. You don't have to room with me on every case. I'm sorry I never asked first," you interjected, misreading his hesitation.

"No, no, I want to room with you," he blurted out, more forcefully than he intended.

"Then why did you ask JJ to switch?" you asked, your confusion evident.

Spencer felt trapped between his desire to comfort you and his fear of making things awkward. "Um...it was just really warm on that case, and I—I didn't want to see you in your underwear," he admitted, his cheeks coloring slightly.

"What? Spencer, you could have just told me. Oh my god! I was walking around in my underwear!" you exclaimed, half-amused and half-mortified.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, looking genuinely apologetic.

"No, Reid, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Is it because I have a boyfriend?" you asked, your tone laced with concern.

Spencer scoffed at the mention of Duncan. "No."

"Then what is it?" you pressed, your gaze steady on his.

Caught with no more excuses, Spencer knew he was cornered. His heart raced with the realization that there was no turning back. "Because I'm in love with you," he confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush.

—

Spencer Reid's confession echoed in your mind, each word reverberating through your thoughts like a bell that couldn’t be unrung. Spencer Reid is in love with me? The realization sent your thoughts into a tumultuous spiral as you drove home, the familiar streets blurring past. You considered pulling over, needing a moment to process the swirling chaos in your head, but you pushed on, driven by a need to just get home.

When you finally walked through the door of your apartment, the atmosphere struck you immediately. It was dimmer than usual, the air filled with a scent that was distinctly not yours. The smell of soy candles—a scent you distinctly disliked—mingled with the scent of red roses, another thing you didn't care for.

"Duncan?" Your voice was hesitant, almost wary as you set your things by the door and walked deeper into the dimly lit space.

"In here, babe," Duncan called out from the living room.

Following his voice, you found him standing in the center of a meticulously staged scene, surrounded by the roses and candles. The setup was so unlike what you would have wanted, so disconnected from who you were.

"Uhhh, what’s going on here?" you asked, your tone a mix of confusion and a growing sense of disconnect.

Duncan turned to you with a smile that didn’t feel genuine, the ambiance around him feeling more like a set piece than a gesture of genuine affection. "Y/N," he began, his voice taking on a rehearsed quality that made your heart sink even further. "I’ve been thinking a lot about us, and I just really think it’s time we take the next step together. What do you say?"

The words, meant to be romantic, felt hollow and oddly generic, as if they were pulled from a script rather than from his heart. Standing there, with Spencer's heartfelt confession still burning bright in your mind, Duncan’s display felt even more jarring.

The room was dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows as Duncan's unexpected question hung in the air. “What?” you asked, your voice shaking.

“Y/N, will you marry me?”

The word slipped out before you could even think, a reflex born of surprise and clarity. “No.” It was firm, decisive, echoing slightly in the quiet room.

Duncan’s face crumbled, his brow furrowing in confusion and hurt. “What?” he echoed again, his voice a blend of disbelief and dismay.

You sighed, feeling the weight of the moment heavy on your shoulders. “Uh, this is just so out of left field. I mean, we have never once talked about marriage.”

Duncan’s response was quick, a desperate attempt to salvage the situation. “But, babe, we live together,” he reasoned, as if cohabitation alone was a precursor to marriage.

“So? You basically ignored me for a whole month,” you countered, your voice steady despite the turmoil swirling inside you.

“Right, but then we fixed things, so we know we work together,” he argued, trying to paint a picture of a resolved partnership.

You couldn’t help but let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Solid logic,” you replied sarcastically, the absurdity of the conversation becoming more apparent.

Duncan's frustration was palpable. “Are you really being sarcastic right now?”

“Yeah, and I wish you were too,” you shot back, wishing the whole scenario was just a bad joke.

Duncan’s next words were sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife. “Fuck you, bitch.”

You froze for a moment, the harshness of his words striking deep. “What did you just call me?” Your voice was calm, almost eerily so, as you fixed your gaze on him.

“A bitch,” he repeated, his voice cold and hard.

“Get out,” you said, your tone final. You stood up, your posture rigid with resolve.

“No, I live here too,” he protested, but there was a waver in his voice now.

“Whose name is on the lease? Get out before I call my team. Do you want Derek and Emily to escort you out?” Your words were a clear threat, backed by the certainty that you would follow through if needed.

Duncan hesitated, his anger giving way to a flicker of fear as he considered your words. Then, in a sudden burst of spite, he hurled the ring box at you. “Keep it, I don’t want your bad juju.”

With that, he stormed out, the door slamming behind him with a force that seemed to shake the apartment. Silence descended, heavy and absolute, as you stood there, the ring box at your feet, a stark reminder of the relationship that had just disintegrated before your eyes.

—

Spencer Reid had cried more times in his life than he cared to count. He cried when he was bullied as a child, when his father walked out on him and his mother, when he made the heartbreaking decision to place his mom in a care facility. He cried when he was kidnapped, when Emily died—or so he thought. The list of tears was long, but today, he added another entry: the day he told his best friend he was in love with her, only for her to stand there as still as a statue, silent and unmoving, until his heart shattered so completely that he had to leave before she saw him break down.

Now, he lay in bed, the lights off, his eyes puffy and wet, replaying every scenario he wished had happened instead of the painful reality he’d experienced. He sniffled, whimpered, and curled into himself, desperate for a do-over, a second chance to make it right. But life wasn’t that kind.

A knock sounded at his door, pulling him from his misery. He ignored it, too consumed by his sorrow to entertain company. The knocking persisted, three more times, before it finally ceased. Relief was short-lived, however, as his phone began to ring. Without checking the caller ID, Spencer answered, his voice sharp and uncharacteristically harsh. “What?”

“Spence, it’s me. Please open the door.”

He’d never moved so fast in his life. Leaping out of bed in such a hurry, he promptly tripped over his own feet and crashed to the floor with a thud. “Ouch,” he muttered, pushing himself up with a wince. Ignoring the ache, he scrambled to the door, swinging it open with such force that it nearly bounced back. His heart clenched at the sight of you standing there, your expression filled with concern as you took in his tear-streaked face.

“Hi, Spence,” you greeted softly, your voice gentle as if trying not to scare him away.

“Hi,” he croaked out, barely holding himself together.

“Can I come in?” you asked, your tone tentative.

He nodded and stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter. Once inside, you turned to face him, clearly gathering your thoughts.

“So, uh, I’m just going to talk. You can listen or interrupt, whatever you want,” you offered, trying to ease the tension.

Spencer nodded again, still too emotionally raw to form coherent words.

You took a deep breath. “Duncan proposed to me.” The words hung in the air, a bombshell that detonated in Spencer’s chest. His heart broke all over again, shattering into a billion pieces. “I said no.”

His head shot up so fast he thought he might have given himself whiplash. “What?”

“Yeah, it was bad. He had red roses and soy candles set up in the living room.” Spencer’s nose scrunched in distaste; he knew how much you hated those things. “And when he left, he called me a bitch and threw the ring at me.”

Spencer’s fists clenched, a protective anger surging through him. “I’ll kill him.”

“Nah, someone else will. I’m sure of it,” you replied with a small, rueful smile.

His anger softened, replaced by confusion. “So…what are you doing here?”

You looked at him with determination and vulnerability. “What ring would you buy me?”

“Huh?” Spencer blinked, taken aback by the sudden question.

“If you were to propose to me, say tomorrow. What kind of ring would you buy for me?” you asked, your eyes searching his.

“A round cut diamond with a thin silver band,” he answered without hesitation, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

“I’m in love with you too,” you confessed, your voice steady, but your eyes shimmering with emotion.

“Wait, what?” Spencer was incredulous, his mind racing to process what you’d just said. But even as his heart tried to catch up, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Duncan got me a thick gold ring with a pear-cut lab-grown pink diamond,” you explained, shaking your head at the mismatch.

“Did he know you at all?” Spencer asked, the smile growing despite the shock still coursing through him.

“Apparently not. I’m going to kiss you now,” you declared, stepping closer, leaving Spencer no time to overthink, no time to doubt—just enough time to feel the world tilt as your lips met his.

It was gentle at first, a tentative brush of lips, as if testing the waters. But then something shifted, a dam breaking as all the unspoken feelings, the years of longing and missed chances, came rushing to the surface. Spencer responded in kind, his hands lifting to cradle your face with a tenderness that belied the storm inside him. His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a tear that had escaped in the heat of the moment.

He poured everything he couldn’t say into that kiss—all the love, all the fear, all the hope. The kiss deepened, growing in intensity, but it remained sweet, a quiet revelation of the love that had always been there, just beneath the surface.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and slightly trembling, your foreheads rested against each other’s, both of you taking a moment to simply exist in the aftermath of the kiss. Spencer’s eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with wonder and relief.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

“Me too,” you replied, your voice equally soft. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize.”

“Better late than never,” he said, a small, genuine smile spreading across his face.

You laughed softly, the sound breaking the last of the tension between you. With your hand still resting on his chest, you could feel the rapid beat of his heart, mirroring your own.

Spencer’s hand slipped from your cheek to your hand, fingers intertwining with yours as if afraid to let go. “So, where do we go from here?” he asked, his voice carrying a note of hopefulness.

“Wherever you want, Spence,” you replied, your smile reassuring. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Spencer’s eyes twinkled with affection and mischief, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “I never want to room with Hotch again.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and full of warmth. “Just me?”

Spencer’s expression softened, his gaze unwavering as he responded with quiet sincerity. “It’s always been you.”

The words hung in the air, filled with all the meaning and truth he had held back for so long. Before you could fully process the weight of his confession, he leaned in again, capturing your lips in another kiss. This time, it was slower, more deliberate, as if savoring every second, every sensation.

The world outside seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of you wrapped up in the warmth of each other’s embrace. This kiss wasn’t just an expression of love—it was a promise, a confirmation of everything that had been unspoken until now.

When you finally parted, both of you breathless but smiling, it was clear that nothing would ever be the same. And that was perfectly okay.

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

tag list <333 @spencerreidsreads @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @reggieswriter @loumouse @mentallyunwellsposts @time-himself @chaneladdicted @kathrynlakestone @furrybouquettrash @hearts4spensco @gilwm @khxna @charismatic-writer @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @noelliece @dreamsarebig

[say-al0e]

Movie Night

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18, Minors DNI!

Summary: You've been crushing on Eddie Munson for ages. When you finally ask him over to a watch a movie, you learn that your feelings are definitely requited. Warnings: General mention of Eddie's reputation/being mistreated for said reputation, protected PinV, oral (m receiving). Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader Word Count: 7.8k (it got away from me, my bad)

“I think I’m going to ask him out.”

Steve, who had been sorting through tapes on autopilot - huffing at each return that needed to be rewound, muttering under his breath each time your perch on the counter jeopardized his precarious pile of returns - lifted his head at the sound of your voice.

A quick glance around the store reminded him that it was empty, save for the two of you, Dustin Henderson, and Eddie Munson. It was obvious that you weren’t talking about Dustin and he knew you weren’t talking about him - been there, done that; be kind, don’t rewind. 

The only logical conclusion was Eddie and that pulled a grimace from Steve as he spared your one-time classmate a  weary glance.

Across the store, Eddie watched as Dustin - with flailing limbs and grinning lips - sorted through tapes in search of a film neither you nor Steve had ever heard of. He looked amused, eyes wide and bright as he listened to Dustin, and it brought a soft smile to your lips that Steve quickly erased.

“You’re going to ask out Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson?” Steve shuddered, as if he couldn’t bear to think about it - only a little exaggerated, a little dramatic in a way he often teased Dustin for - and shook his head as he transferred his pile to the cart. “Why would you do something like that?”

Though Steve had made great strides in shedding the high school persona he’d spent so long clinging to - he was no longer the Grade-A douchebag he once was - there were still moments of reflexive snobbery that made you roll your eyes. It didn’t help that there was an undercurrent of jealousy, spurred by Dustin’s newfound Eddie worship, but he seemed to realize his mistake as he held up a hand in apology.

“He’s cute.” There was a defensive bite to your tone, sharp and pointed - a derisive huff that made Steve raise a brow - as you spared the pair a glance.

Though most wouldn’t believe it, you’d always found Eddie cute. When he returned to school your junior year (his first senior year) with longer hair, wearing a leather jacket, you’d been drawn to him immediately. There was something about him that enchanted you - his hair, his smile, his big brown eyes, his theatrics, his give-no-fucks attitude - and saddled you with one of the biggest crushes you’d ever had.

Despite the years of pining, you never acted on it. Eddie never gave you much reason to believe your feelings might be requited, other than the time you caught him checking out your ass beneath your cheer skirt senior year, but things were different now. High school insecurity was gone and you no longer cared what anyone thought about your personal life.

And if Eddie truly had no interest in you, you wouldn’t be stuck in a building with him five days a week.

Steve’s face remained sour, uncertain - despite his knowledge that Eddie was almost perfectly your type - so you rolled your eyes and jostled the desk, just to make him jump. When he glared at you, you grinned.

“I mean, what’s the harm? Eddie’s always been nice to me. At worst, I pull a Henderson and replace you with Eddie.”

“Please. My life would drastically improve if you left me alone.” At your mock outrage, Steve sneered - though you could see the glimmer of amusement in his eyes, one that confirmed he was joking, though he would likely apologize for being bitchy later, anyway.

Steve shook his head as he shoved a tape, ready to be marked as a return, into your hands. “Of course Munson has always been nice to you. You’re hot.” It was said easily, as if it was the most logical explanation, a point blank huff that had him shrugging when you teasingly wagged your brows. “You know I think you’re hot. Shut up. And Munson’s weird, but he’s still a guy.”

The sharp nudge of your foot to Steve’s side drew another annoyed huff, this one accompanied by a swift swat to your foot - one that made you laugh and Steve roll his eyes.

“He’s not weird,” you defended, eyes narrowed as you scratched at the Family Video sticker covering the spine of a tape. “Just because you’re not into the same stuff doesn’t mean he’s, like, a freak or something. He’s just a guy. A cute guy, but just a guy.”

Finally, as if he’d come to terms with the fact that no work would be done until you’d decided to make your move or backed down, deflated and intending to leave well enough alone, Steve turned to lean against the counter. He folded his arms over his chest and allowed his gaze to flicker between you and Eddie.

“You’re really into him?” 

Steve knew that you were. Just as you’d given him dating advice, he’d given you the same in return and knew that you had a thing for metalheads in theory - guys with leather jackets and music collections that made his head hurt - but the last person you actually pursued was more like him. It was always the safe choice and he wanted to be certain that you knew what you were getting yourself into.

“You’re totally forgetting that I thought Billy Hargrove was gorgeous until he opened his mouth and proved himself to be a Grade-A dickhead. At least Eddie’s really a nice guy.” With a sigh, you slid from the counter - careful not to destroy Steve’s pile - and frowned as you spared Eddie another sideways glance.

A dejected sigh escaped, fell from your mouth in a puff of hot air, as you emulated Steve’s stance and folded your arms over your chest. You understood where Steve was coming from - his question was fair, one that made perfect sense - but it made your chest ache as you searched for the words to adequately describe what you’d been thinking.

“I just… I’m tired of going for the safe choice, you know? I’m tired of looking for people that won’t disappoint my parents or make judge-y assholes look twice, even if they make me miserable.” With a forced laugh, a sound that rang hollow in your own ears, you turned your full attention back to Steve. “I think you’re the only person I ever even attempted to date that I halfway liked and we both know how that ended up.” Steve made a face, one that clearly displayed his understanding, as he tilted his head to study Eddie, trying to see what you saw. “Eddie’s cute and sweet and I’m not just into him because I feel like I’m supposed to be.”

Steve understood, if only vaguely - he’d chased after people just because he felt he was supposed to, spent his entire high school career being a guy he didn’t really like because that was who he felt he was supposed to be - so he nodded. With a wave of his hand, he gestured to Eddie. “I say, if you want to ask him out, just do it. There’s no chance he’ll turn you down. He’s weird, not an idiot.”

With Steve’s encouragement, if only barely, you turned to face Eddie. There was a fire burning in the pit of your stomach, flames lapping at your already warm skin, as you considered exactly how to approach him. There was no sense in trying to beat around the bush - he was sweet, flirty and kind, but would need to be asked directly, just to avoid any misunderstanding - and you knew that you couldn’t have a conversation with him with Dustin Henderson stuck to his side.

“Steve.”

An exasperated sigh escaped Steve, who had only just turned back to his work, as he held his hands up in defeat. “What?” Warm brown eyes narrowed, focused on you in an exasperated frustration that made you laugh. “What do you want me to do? I’m not asking him out for you.”

Laughter bubbled in your throat, escaped a little louder than you intended and drew Eddie and Dustin’s attention as you imagined Steve playing the middleman for you and Eddie. With a dismissive wave of your hand, you turned your head and pouted at Steve. “Take responsibility for your child and distract Henderson. I can’t ask Eddie out with him right there.”

Steve fixed you with a wholly unimpressed stare, not at all surprised by the turn your day had taken. “Fine,” he sighed, turning his attention back to the screen in front of him. “Get him over here and I’ll distract him. But you owe me. Cover my shift on Saturday? I’ve got a date with Lisa.”

“I thought you were going out with Anna?” Steve grimaced in a way that told you there would be a deeper conversation later, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to be distracted. Instead, you waved a hand. “Whatever. Henderson is literally only here because of you. I don’t owe you shit.” You rounded the counter, brows raised as Steve pulled a face, and laughed when he rolled his eyes. “I will swap you, though. I’ll take your Saturday night if you take my Friday night.”

“Yeah, alright. Just go before I change my mind. The kid can be a total cockblock when he wants to be and I’m thinking about letting him.”

With a middle finger tossed behind you, angled in Steve’s direction - met with his laughter and, no doubt, a middle finger of his own - you started off across the store. Dustin and Eddie had dropped their conversation to furious whispers, an exchange that you couldn’t make out from your distance, but fell silent the moment your steps sounded a touch too close.

“Henderson.” At your greeting, Dustin’s attention snapped to you, eyes wide and lips parted with a sentence you’d broken. Eddie shot him a sideways look and you raised an eyebrow at the silent conversation that passed between the pair. “Steve wanted to talk to you.”

Dustin frowned, eyes darting between you and Steve - whose back remained to your group. “About what?”

Eddie stifled a laugh, wide eyes amused as he watched you huff, and you rolled your eyes as Dustin waited expectantly. “I’m not a mindreader, Henderson. Ask him yourself."

Without so much as another glance in your direction, Dustin turned his attention back to the shelf he and Eddie had spent twenty minutes dissecting. “I’m busy,” he declared, fingers reaching for another tape that he had no intention of renting.

“Un-busy yourself. Now, preferably,” you snapped, eyes narrowing as Dustin turned to look at you. Before he could respond - mutter something smart, a quip that would leave you more annoyed - Eddie laughed and nudged his shoulder.

Eddie’s eyes, wide and pretty - a glassy brown that you could lose yourself in, given the chance - met yours. There was a knowing glimmer, the understanding that you wanted him alone, though you could see a hint of confusion as he tried to imagine just what you could want. “I think you’ve got about five seconds to leave before she snaps, Henderson. Might want to make yourself scarce.”

With Eddie’s encouragement, Dustin shot you an unimpressed glower before he stomped across the floor, muttering all the while. Beneath his breath, he mumbled something about not understanding girls, a huff that Suzie was the least difficult girl in his life, and had the nerves not been threatening to choke you, you would’ve laughed.

“I love those kids,” you began, eyes following Dustin’s retreating form as he approached the counter with an exaggerated huff, “but, man.”

A soft huff of laughter, accompanied by the crinkle of leather as Eddie stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, met your eyes. That knowing smile grew a touch brighter, something more understanding, as he nodded. “It’s his tone,” he declared, grin conspiratorial. “A little humility would go far there.”

“Thank you! That’s what I’ve been saying!”

Eddie laughed and shook his head as you tossed your arms, exasperated, before glancing at you from beneath his lashes. Despite the clear amusement still settled across his features, it was obvious that he was studying you. It made you eager to shrink beneath his gaze, unused to being the center of his attention for longer than a few moments, but you willed yourself to keep your head held high as he raised a brow.

“So, Henderson’s gone,” he pointed out, dragging each syllable out just a moment longer than necessary. “What’s up? If you’re lookin’ to buy, I don’t have anything with me. We could meet later, though, if you want.”

“No, no. That’s not -“ You cut yourself off with a shake of your head, incredulous laughter threatening to escape as you did. “I don’t want to buy. I was thinking, maybe we could watch a movie or something? I want to watch The Return of the Living Dead but my friends are all chickens. I know you like horror so, I just thought, maybe we could watch it together.”

Eddie blinked, clearly caught off guard, and stilled for what felt like an eternity. In reality, only a moment passed before his lips began to curve into a slow smile. There was mischief glittering in his eyes, a warmth you hadn’t seen from him before, and you knew in that moment that Steve was right. “Are you asking me on a date, princess?”

“I am.” Despite his best attempt at nonchalance, Eddie’s brows winged up at your blunt acknowledgement. “Are you going to say yes?”

“Fuck yeah,” he agreed, easy and quick as he laughed. “If I ever say no to a date with you, assume I’ve finally lost it. But, uh, you sure about this?”

Eddie glanced across the store - met another pair of warm brown eyes before Steve and Dustin both hurriedly busied themselves with pretending they weren’t attempting to eavesdrop - and you rolled your eyes. He was far from the first person to assume there was more going on between you and Steve than friendship, but you were quick to dispel that line of thinking.

“Completely.” You debated for a moment, curious as to whether you should dig yourself deeper, but the bright glint in Eddie’s eyes - hopeful and delighted - spurred you on. “I’ve kinda had a thing for you for a while,” you admitted, attempting to feign nonchalance as you swiped at a wayward piece of dust on a shelf. His surprise was evident, brows lifting beneath the curl of his hair, but before he could comment, you barreled on. “My parents are out of town. I have to finish my shift,” you began, glancing at the clock above the desk, “but you can come over at, like, seven?”

“Seven, yeah.” Eddie’s agreement was quick, voice a little dreamy - as if he still couldn’t quite believe you’d asked him out, that you were seriously inviting him over or that you’d admitted to having a thing for him. “That sounds good. I, uh, I’ll see you then.”

“Cool, awesome.” You nodded, grinning at him - unable to even feign nonchalance as his smile mirrored your own - before you turned back to the desk. “I’ll see you at seven, then.”

Neither Eddie nor Dustin lingered long after your conversation - the latter, no doubt, leaving with the knowledge of where Eddie would be spending his evening, thanks to his gossiping with Steve. Eddie left with a smile in your direction and you saw his flailing celebration the second he stepped out of the store, even if you dutifully pretended not to noice. 

Steve, however, made it a point to keep the joyous gesture at the forefront of your mind.

For the remaining three hours of your shift, you endured Steve’s teasing. He poked fun at your upcoming date, wondering idly if Eddie would be waiting for you when you arrived home - too excited too wait until seven - or if he’d wear something other than his leather jacket or black t-shirt. But, no matter what he said, you simply rolled your eyes and kept checking the clock every ten minutes.

The time seemed to crawl, passing so slowly that you were half-sure Dustin changed the clocks just to mess with you, but when the hour struck six, you were out the door with a parting wave and a bright ‘thanks’ to Steve for taking on closing duties alone.

There was little time for anything more than a change of clothes and a quick tidying of your home before seven rolled around, but you knew that Eddie wouldn’t really mind. Though there was something about him that made you nervous - excited, giddy, some kind of schoolgirl crush - if you really thought about it, you figured there was little you could do that would truly bother him.

And, thankfully, before you could think too much about it and send yourself spiraling, a knock sounded at the door.

At seven on the dot, you found Eddie standing at your front door. He’d changed - his leather jacket remained, but it covered a nicer shirt instead of the worn Metallica shirt he’d donned earlier in the afternoon - and you could smell the green apple of his shampoo as he grinned at you.

“Hey.” Though he attempted nonchalance with an easy smile, you could see the nervous tension in his shoulders.

Eddie had been burned - you knew that - and he was likely waiting for the catch. There was none, just a desire to get to know him better, and you wanted desperately for him to know that. So you mustered up your widest grin and held the door open for him.

“Hi. Come in.” As he stepped inside, closer than necessary - shoulder brushing yours, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body - you hoped he don’t notice the breath you took to steady yourself. “So, I got Return of the Living Dead and Sleepaway Camp. Not sure if you’ve seen either, but Return is supposed to be amazing and Sleepaway Camp is one of my favorites.”

“I haven’t seen Return yet,” he admitted as you closed the front door, “but I’ve heard good things. Sleepaway Camp, though? This whole time, I thought you were cool.” The jab was teasing, meant entirely in jest and accompanied by a grin, and earned a roll of your eyes as you gestured for him to follow you deeper into the living room.

“I don’t know where you got that idea, but I’m happy to prove you wrong.” Eddie followed, close enough that. He could reach out and touch you, and the idea made your thoughts a little fuzzy as you approached the couch. “I won’t be taking any Sleepaway Camp slander, though. It’s killer.”

Eddie paused, tilted his head and regarded you with furrowed brows and a badly concealed smile as he watched you reach for the tapes. “…was that a really bad pun?”

“I keep getting cooler, I’m aware.” Eddie laughed, unable to conceal his smile any longer, as he took a seat at one end of the couch. “I was going to say we could start with Return since neither of us have seen it but now, you’re going to suffer through Sleepaway Camp first.”

As you placed the tape into the VCR and pressed play, you could hear the shuffling of Eddie tossing his leather jacket onto the chair beside the couch. “Fine by me,” he hummed, a sly grin on his lips as you glanced at him over your shoulder. “Maybe the company will make it better.” When you fixed him with your best unimpressed look - a feat, considering the heat traveling to your cheeks - his grin grew a touch wider. “I keep getting more charming, I’m aware.”

“Wow.” The nervous energy began to dissipate with every teasing jab. You were reminded of how easily you’d always gotten along with Eddie - how easily you’d always been able to converse with him, despite the crush that made you conscious of your every move -  as you approached the couch yourself. “You know, now that you mention it, I never realized…” Warm brown eyes tracked your every move, anticipating - hoping for - a compliment as you took a seat at the opposite end. “… just how big your head was.”

The opening scene began to play, sounds of a B-horror film filling the small space, as he reached for the lamp on the side table. “Big head, big… well, you know how the saying goes,” he teased as he settled deeper into the cushions and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I do but I’m pretty sure that is totally not how it starts.”

Eddie shrugged, grin never faltering as he watched you reach for the lamp at your end of the couch. “Same thing. Creative license and all that.”

“Right. All the songwriting and campaign planning, makes sense you get a little creative.” When he tipped his head, seemingly surprised that you knew about both his songwriting and campaign planning, you rolled your eyes. “I’ve had a crush on you for, like, three years. I know things about you, Eddie. And, I mean, I spend time around Dustin Henderson, begrudgingly most of the time, but he talks about you all the time. So, I’ve picked up some things.”

There was a look of something akin to awe on his face as you shifted closer. “You’re pretty, you like horror and metal, and you like me. Why?”

It broke your heart to hear the doubt in his voice - to see the hesitance in his eyes, the residual concern that he was being left out of the joke - and you couldn’t help but sigh as you continued shifting closer to him. “Because you like horror and metal and you’re kinda cool. And, I mean, it doesn’t hurt that you’re kinda hot, too.”

“You know,” he spared the television a glance, “if you didn’t have sort of questionable taste, I’d think this was all too good to be true. But, I’m not gonna question it too much ‘cause you’re kinda cool, too. And definitely hot.”

“Glad to know we’re on the same page, then. Now, are we going to just talk or are you going to allow me to educate you in good horror?”

Eddie’s laughter drowned out a brief moment of dialogue - a line you could easily recite - as he tossed an arm over the back of the couch and shook his head. “‘M sorry. Educate away, princess.”

For a few brief moments, the pair of you settled. Eddie kept his attention on the television - and even cracked a smile or two at some of your favorite moments - while you kept your attention on him. His side profile was captivating, so distracting that you didn’t notice the minutes ticking away as you studied him, and he was kind enough to refrain from pointing out your obvious staring as the film played on.

Though you could feel the rapid beat of your heart, a warmth prickling at your skin as you remained conscious of the fact that you’d finally taken the leap and had a chance to make your move, Eddie seemed unfazed by the proximity as he laughed at a particularly cheesy scene. However, when you shifted closer - body now practically touching his - you caught his sharp inhale.

It brought you a sort of comfort to realize that he was not as unaffected as he seemed, nowhere near as nonchalant about the entire encounter as he wanted you to believe, and you couldn’t help but smile as you tipped your head to look at him.

“Do I make you nervous?”

The question was teasing, a light jab, but he didn’t miss a beat. “Of course you do,” he confirmed with a nod and a laugh as he glanced at you. “You’re smart and cool and hot. You fucking terrify me.”

“Me?” You scoffed, despite yourself, and shook your head. “As if. I’m totally not scary.”

“‘M serious.” Eddie relaxed, if only slightly, and shifted his body to face you fully as his arm fell around your shoulders. “No one had their shit together in high school, but you did. You knew what you wanted and it was kind of intimidating.”

“I definitely did not have my shit together,” you confessed, laughing as you leaned into his embrace. “But I’m glad it looked like I did. Maybe I’m just a good actress.”

“If that’s acting, you should be up for an Oscar, princess.”

As Eddie laughed, a quiet sound that washed over you and filled your chest with a sticky warmth, you shook your head. “You’re the only one who gets to call me that, you know?”

Eddie hummed, a flash of confusion washing over his face, before he asked, “What, princess?”

“Mm. I think if it was anyone else, it would sound condescending. Like they’re trying to be a prick, you know. But I don’t mind it from you,” you confessed. “It’s kinda nice.”

That grin you were beginning to love - genuine, warm, happy - lifted his lips as he shifted once more and knocked your knee with his own. “I’m not a big fan of nicknames, for obvious reasons,” he confided, “but I like it when you call me Eds. It’s kinda cute.”

“God, we’re kinda gross.”

“Totally. But I’m not complaining.” Eddie removed his arm from around your shoulders and brought his hand to cup your cheek. He paused for a moment, studying your face, before he asked, “Does it make me a total loser if I’ve thought about kissing you for, like, ever?”

For a split second, you wondered if he could hear the beat of your heart over the screaming emanating from the television - and if you’d heard him properly over the noise. But when you met his expectant gaze, wide brown eyes waiting for you response, you realized you didn’t really care.

“Only if you keep thinking about it instead of actually doing it.”

With your permission, Eddie leaned in and tentatively pressed his mouth to yours. The kiss was careful, hesitant, but you could feel the underlying excitement as the warmth of his palm bled into your skin. Without thinking, you breathed a contented sigh as you lifted your hands to his hair and tugged him impossibly closer.

The noise of the film continued in the background, unnoticed by either of you as Eddie took the initiative to deepen the kiss. He swiped his tongue along the seam of your lips, urging you to open up for him, and you gave in without a moment of hesitation.

As many times as you’d thought about this moment - as many times as you’d pictured yourself in this situation, at the center of Eddie’s attention, with his hands and mouth on you - the reality was infinitely better than any dream. Eddie’s hands were calloused, rough from years of guitar and, now, his work at Thatcher’s, but his touch was featherlight as his hands began to wander.

Gentle fingers brushed along your jaw, dragged down the side of your neck and shoulders, inching lower until they found your waist. Your fingers tangled in his curls, indulging in your long hidden desire to play with his hair, as Eddie pulled away to allow you both a moment to breathe.

“We’re missing the totally not awful movie,” he pointed out, breath fanning over your neck as he dipped his head to nose at your jaw.

“We can rewind it later.” 

Eddie laughed, his smirk evident as he nipped at the hinge of your jaw before lapping at the skin to soothe the brief sting. “Thought you wanted to educate me, princess,” he teased.

Warm hands began to wander, fingers dipping beneath the hem of your t-shirt to brush the heated skin of your waist, as he pressed soft kisses to your neck. Your own hands began to wander as well, dipping to his chest as he latched onto a patch of skin just beneath your ear. 

“Want to kiss you more.”

He hummed, pleased with your answer, as he tipped his head to meet your gaze. Soft brown eyes were blown black and there was a hunger in them that you’d never been privileged enough to see. Now, the sheer weight of his desire hit you all at once as he grinned. “Glad to know we’re on the same page, then.”

Before you could huff, playfully pout at his taunting callback, Eddie reclaimed your lips. This kiss was more heated than the first, hesitance now gone as you realized you both wanted the same thing, and it completely obliterated any remaining thoughts other than how good it felt to have him pressed so close.

Though his hands began to wander, touch fleeting as it dragged across your hips and thighs, over your middle and back to your arms, he remained respectful. As eager as you both were, his hands only fell to your chest when you lifted them there yourself.

Eddie groaned into the kiss the moment you placed his hands, fingers experimentally flexing as you shifted impossibly closer.

“You can touch me however you want,” you allowed, word exhaled against his mouth as you separated just an inch to breathe. “I’ll tell you to stop if I don’t want something.”

“Fuck.” His forehead fell to yours, curls beginning to stick to his forehead with the lightly beading sweat, as he laughed. “Ditto. I’m all yours, princess. Take whatever you want.”

“That’s a dangerous offer.” The hand you’d left on his bicep, fingers tracing the stark black ink of his tattoo, began to wander then. Slowly, you raked the tips of your fingers down his chest - not bothering to hide your grin as he inhaled sharply at the sensation of your fingers raking over his lower stomach - and stopped at the buckle of his belt. “What if I want everything?”

“It’s yours. Been yours,” he admitted, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his gaze met yours once more. “Fuck, you’re all I want, princess. ‘ve been crazy about you for a while.”

“Keep talking like that and you might make me fall in love, Eds.” It was too late - you were already halfway there - and you both knew it. Still, Eddie laughed dutifully as his gaze fell to watch your hands tug at his belt buckle.

“Give me a few hours. I’ve been there, time for you to join me.”

The admission was half-teasing, accompanied by a breathless laugh as you worried with the warm metal beneath your fingers, but it still filled your stomach with a storm of butterflies. The time you’d spent pining over Eddie could’ve been spent lying beneath him, going on dates with him, enjoying time with him, and you were determined to make up for lost time as you tipped your head and pressed your lips to his once more.

“I’m closer than you think.”

Before he could consider your admission too closely, you pulled away and slipped off the couch to kneel between his spread thighs. Those brown eyes went wide, big and disbelieving, as you unbuckled his belt.

“Whoa. Fuck, wait.” Eddie swallowed harshly as he swept his hair from his eyes and glanced down at you. A gentle hand fell to your cheek, urging you to meet his eyes as he blinked away the lust-fueled stupor. “You don’t have to… I mean, I don’t expect you to -“

“Eddie.” He paused, tongue darting out to wet his lips once more, as you cut him off mid-sentence. “You can say no. But I want to. Is that okay?”

Eddie was far from a blushing virgin. You’d heard the rumors, tales of just how talented he was - had even heard the stories of a few trysts from the man himself - but his hesitation gave you pause. However, before you could pull away, he assured you.

“Yeah! Yeah, that’d be - yeah. I’ve had sex. I’ve just… No one has ever… It’s usually a quick fuck and then back to whoever they’re supposed to be dating,” he confessed, pink tinging his cheeks as he hurried to explain himself. “Blowjobs aren’t usually the priority.”

Though you knew Eddie fairly well, enough to have been half-in love with him for a while, you knew his reputation. But to know that others had taken advantage of his desire to love and be loved in return, it made your chest ache. Despite his reputation for being a freak - for being scary, intimidating - you knew that he was a sweetheart who deserved more than he’d been given. And you wanted to show him that you were apply to make him a priority.

“I’d love to be the first, if you’ll let me.”

“Fuck.” Eddie shuddered, his chest heaved with a sharp breath, as he raked a hand through his hair and nodded. “Yeah,” he allowed, “yeah, please.”

Eddie leaned back into the cushions then, allowing himself to relax into the plush of the couch as you popped the button on his jeans. It was obvious just how much he was enjoying the attention - plain to see from the bulge in his jeans and the pink staining his cheeks and neck - and you couldn’t help but smile as you took in the sight of him.

“You’re so pretty, Eddie.” It was reverent, a breathless observation as you tugged at the denim and studied the slope of his nose - the curve of his jaw, the wild tangle of his hair - and you meant it wholeheartedly.

“Flattery will get you absolutely everywhere, princess.” He lifted his hips, allowing you to tug at the denim just enough to expose his boxers - cheeks flushing darker when you bit back a smile at the sight of the blue and white checkerboard pattern.

“Not flattery, just honesty. You’re distracting,” you admitted, glancing up at him from beneath your lashes as you began to palm at the bulge in his boxers. “But I wanna see how much prettier you are when you’re falling apart.”

“You’re killing me. Fuck.”

Deciding that he’d had enough teasing, you gave in to the desire and tugged at the final layer of material separating you. The moment you exposed him to the air, you both gasped - him at the sensation of cool air hitting blistering warm skin, you at the sight of him.

Without thought, you spit into your palm before allowing yourself to reach out and experimentally stroke his cock. Eddie groaned at the feeling, his head tipping back and his eyes fluttering shut, and you felt a surge of warmth wash over you. Each noise he made ran straight to your core, fanned the flames of the fire already beginning to burn out of control, and you shifted to allow yourself some relief before leaning in to lap at the bead of precum already beginning to form.

Another noise, this one louder, met your ears as a warm hand fell to your head. He was careful not to push, careful not to attempt to take control, as he sought to anchor himself to the moment but you wouldn’t have minded either way. And as you traced the vein running along the underside of his cock before taking the head between your lips, you could hear him swear beneath his breath.

Though you were tempted to prolong the pleasure, witness him falling apart piece by piece as you slowly worked him up, you were too worked up yourself to do more than take as much of him a you could into your mouth. You knew there would be time to experiment later - time to push yourself to take him all - so you focused on giving him the best experience you could in that moment.

It only took a few moments for his thighs to begin to flex beneath your touch, for his chest to heave and his noises of pleasure to grow louder. And though you could see the hint of embarrassment tinging his cheeks at beginning to fall apart so soon, you felt a surge of pride at your ability to rile him up so completely.

But before you could lift your head and urge him to come, assure him that it was alright, he spoke. “Fuck, princess. I don’t wanna come in your mouth.” Eddie urged you up, then, away from his cock as he attempted to catch his breath and pull himself back from the brink. “Wanna come with you. Can I fuck you?”

The blunt question warmed you from within, stole your breath and had you keening as you nodded eagerly. “Please.” A moan escaped your lips as he reached out to cup your cheek and pull you into a messy kiss that was an eager clash of tongue and teeth.

For a moment, you both lost yourselves in the kiss. Eddie groaned as your hand remained on his cock, fingers stroking slowly as you waited for him to gather himself, only for him to swear as he broke the kiss. “Shit. Fuck, I don’t have a condom,” he lamented, eyes falling shut. “Sorry. Wan’t exactly expecting,” he waved a hand, gesturing to your hand, “this.”

Luckily for the both of you, you still had a stash of condoms - given to you by Steve as a joke the last time you considered asking Eddie out - in your nightstand. “I do,” you revealed, giggling as his shoulders relaxed. “C’mon, pretty boy.”

As you stood, offering Eddie your hand, he groaned once more. “Is it your goal to kill me, princess? Because I think you might actually kill me.”

“What a way to go, though, hm?”

Eddie stood, quickly tugged his jeans up but left them unbuttoned, and followed close behind as you led him up the stairs, his hand warm in yours. You could feel his body heat radiating, could hear his shallow breathing as he attempted to even it out, and you were secretly satisfied to know that you had such an impact on him.

Even more, however, you were thrilled to know that you were only moments away from getting what you wanted.

With quick steps, you tugged him down the hall and into your bedroom, pulling the door shut behind you as you entered. Once inside, Eddie paused for a moment to take in the sight.

“You know, I was expecting a Tom Cruise poster,” he teased, laughing only slightly when instead he saw Nikki Sixx.

“What can I say? I’ve got a thing for pretty, dark-haired metalheads.”

A smirk quirked his mouth as he tugged you close, hands falling to your waist as he dipped his head to capture your lips. The kiss was eager, uncoordinated and messy but breathtaking as his hands began to wander. Deft fingers flitted to the button of your jeans, and after a moment of hesitation, popped them open.

“If you want to stop, we can,” he reminded you, fingers ghosting along the sliver of skin just above your jeans. “We totally don’t have to do this.”

“You’re incredibly sweet, Eds.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, hands drifting to his hair to tug at the curls as you met his gaze. “But if you don’t fuck me, I might cry and I don’t feel like crying tonight.”

Eddie grinned, glad you were as eager as he was, and hummed as his fingers began to drift lower. “Can’t have you crying on my watch, princess. ‘Less they’re good, ‘I totally fucked you stupid’ tears.”

“I mean, if you’re up to the challenge, then by all means.”

Though it might’ve been the wrong thing to say, a taunt you would later regret, he took the challenge for what it was worth. There was a determined glint in his eyes, a burning desire that tied your stomach in knots, and it was burned into your field of view as he pressed his mouth to yours once more.

For a moment, you weren’t certain which sensation to focus on as Eddie’s tongue licked at the seam of your lips and his fingers ghosted over the cotton of your panties. However, he drew your full, undivided attention as he nudged the fabric aside and swiped his fingers through your slick folds.

A hum of encouragement met your ears as Eddie coated his fingers in your slick, teasing for just a moment before he found the sensitive bundle of nerves. With his lips a fraction of an inch from yours, he asked, “This all from blowing me?”

It was incredulous, almost as if he couldn’t believe it, but you hummed. “Thought about it for ages. Reality was better.”

“Don’t think I’ll last long enough to return the favor right now,” he confessed, breath fanning across your lips as he rubbed lazy circles over the bundle of nerves, “but I’ve gotta taste you before tonight’s over. Got myself off so many times thinking about it, ‘bout you.”

Eddie grinned at the moan you released, at the way you sagged against him - unable to hold yourself entirely upright with the promise of him between your thighs, the thought of him touching himself to that image. “You sure you’re not trying to kill me?”

“What a way to go.” He lingered, just for a second, before Eddie pulled away and shushed your whine with a press of his mouth to yours. “I’m gonna come in my jeans if I don’t get inside you soon, princess. Promise to take my time with you later. Gonna give you everything you deserve, treat you right.”

“Ditto.” He laughed, amused and flattered in equal measure, as he began to tug at his clothes. Encouraged, you followed suit and, soon enough, a pile of garments littered your bedroom floor.

However, neither of you dwelled on the sight for long as you headed for the bed, stopping only to retrieve a foil packet from the bedside drawer.

Every dream encounter you shared with Eddie varied - sometimes he was soft, other times he manhandled you exactly the way you wanted; sometimes he was quick, others he teased for hours - but nothing lived up to the reality of having him climb into your bed after you.

This encounter would be quick and dirty, a desperate search for relief, but you knew that it was only the first of many. And, encouraged by the future that now seemed so clear, you reached out and tugged him into you.

Lithe arms braced themselves at either side of your head, tattoos stark against his pale skin, and you hummed as you decided you would someday spend as much time as he’d allow you committing them to memory. But that could wait. For now, you simply savored the weight of him above you and tangled your fingers in his hair as he positioned himself at your entrance.

“Haven’t even gotten inside and I already can’t wait to do this again,” he confessed, dipping his head to nip at the hinge of your jaw. “And again. And again. I’m already ruined for you, princess.”

Before you could confess the same sentiment, admit your utter ruin at his hands, he pressed his hips forward and began to sink into you. The stretch was bearable, a tinge of discomfort completely overshadowed by the warmth of his skin against yours - the weight of his body pressed to yours, the nip of his teeth at your jaw - and you inhaled sharply at the feeling.

Eddie stilled for a few long moments, hands stroking at whatever skin he could reach - your hips, your thighs, your stomach - as he breathed reverent nonsense. The words blurred, compliments and awed whispers of how good you felt, but it paled in comparison to the moan he released when you yanked at his curls and begged for him to finally move.

The pace he set was blistering, deep and quick and perfect, and you marveled at how right his touch felt. Every snap of his hips, every brush of his mouth against your skin, every whispered word of praise; it felt as if each was a puzzle piece, suddenly falling into place.

Though he took great care to ensure your pleasure, he made no attempt to treat you like a doll, like something that might shatter beneath his touch, and you were grateful for the heavy press of his hands to your skin as he pawed at your thighs. Almost immediately, you understood one another - both quickly fell into step beside one another - and you felt the flames he’d been fanning begin to grow out of control.

Heat engulfed you, body burning with every swipe of his fingers and snap of his hips, and it grew harder to draw your breath as his fingers found your clit. Eddie nipped at your jaw, breath fanning over your skin and sending goosebumps erupting, as he encouraged, “Come for me, princess. Wanna feel you.”

With anyone else, you might’ve been embarrassed at how quickly you barreled toward your release - at how eager you were to give in and come just because he asked - but this was Eddie. Anything he wanted, you would at least consider, and your body knew it well. So with a few swipes of his fingers and another snap of his hips, you barreled over the edge with a cry of his name.

Almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting for you, he followed suit. One, two, three snaps of his hips before he buried his face in the crook of your neck and came with a moan that you knew would play on a loop in your happiest of dreams. 

For a few moments after, you both lay still - Eddie with his head buried in the crook of your neck, hands still stroking your heated skin; you, with your eyes shut and lips parted as you caught your breath, fingers raking through his curls. It was blissful, a moment you’d dreamt about, but the dream was interrupted by reality as discomfort began to set in.

When you began to squirm, Eddie quickly pulled away - pulled out and cooed when you whimpered at the loss - and tossed the used condom into the bin beside your bed before returning to lay beside you. He pulled you close, wrapped his arms around you and tugged you into his chest, and you both lay in silence for a long moment before he spoke.

“So, you wanna actually watch those movies now?”

With a laugh, you tipped your head and buried your face in the crook of his neck. “Mm. Give me a minute. Gotta return to the land of the living first.”

“Take your time, princess. When you do, though, maybe you can return as my girlfriend.”

Eddie could almost certainly feel your smile, grin bright and happy as you hummed against his skin. “Yeah,” you agreed easily, not bothering to hide the giddiness you felt, “I think that can be arranged.”

Though it wasn’t how you pictured your evening, you knew it was better than anything you could’ve imagined. And, while Steve would be annoying, you couldn’t wait to venture back into the world with your boyfriend by your side.

__________________________________________________

Author's Note: Take this away from me. I've been working on this forever but got stuck on the smut.

Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower, @1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter, @hunnybunimdun, @breathinfive, @s-u-t, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d, @rae-iin, @pennamesgame, @stefans-wife, @voldieshorts, @frankie-mercury, @bbymochi1, @serendiipty, @saturnsworld01, @eddiemunson1sstuff​, @valthevalkyrie-main​, @crying-caro​, @inglourious-imagines​

[queerfables]

I wanted this post to be more coherent but I am coming apart at the seams. Listen. Listen to me. Listen look no look me in the eyes and listen LISTEN.

Crowley and Aziraphale know. They're in love, and they know. Their love is requited, and they know. That's why it hurts so much! They don't say it. They can't say it. The consequences for both of them could be disastrous. But they know, they know, they know.

This is forbidden love at it's absolute pinnacle. This is centuries of dancing around an unsayable, inescapable truth. Loving someone this way is intense. It's a fiercely romantic headrush, because everything is high stakes fantasy and it's you and your beloved against the world. It's a soul crushing nightmare because the thing you want more than anything is always there, just out of reach. It's passion and yearning and stolen touches and desperately hoping the other person understands all the things you can't say.

It's also just unbelievably stupid. You have a sizzling moment of intimacy with someone and then three days later you're trying to act like business associates.

This dynamic has been present since season one, and sometimes the atmosphere between Crowley and Aziraphale becomes urgent and surreal enough that they almost name it. There's the bandstand, where Crowley suggests they could run away together. There's Aziraphale in 1967 saying, maybe one day we'll dine at the Ritz. These aren't the words of those unsure of another's feelings. These are declarations made in the clearest terms they dare.

The clincher for me is Aziraphale's face when Shax says she wouldn't have thought he was Crowley's type. It's a nasty comment meant to play on Aziraphale's insecurities: "If you're anything to him, it must be something sordid, and I'm surprised you can even offer him that." And she completely misses the mark! Aziraphale disregards her words without a thought. That eyebrow says he knows exactly how Crowley feels about him, and Shax's insinuation is laughable. He is uniquely Crowley's type.

It's less definitive for Crowley, and it makes sense that it would be. For the most part, Crowley is the accelerator and Aziraphale is the brakes. It is hard to hold faith that someone wants you when all they can tell you is "slow down". That doesn't mean he's unsure of Aziraphale's feelings. It means that he's unsure how much he's allowed to say. Aziraphale wants him to push right up until he doesn't, and it hurts them both when they go too far and have to walk it back. Even so, Crowley's confession makes it pretty clear that they're both in on this unspoken thing between them:

"you and me ... group of the two of us ... and we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't"

And then he kisses Aziraphale. And he doesn't do it carefully or tentatively. He doesn't wait for Aziraphale to be ready. Because that's how this dance goes, isn't it? Aziraphale wants him to push, and it's going to hurt and they're going to have to walk it back but fuck it all because Crowley is going to give them the thing they've spent their existence pretending they didn't want.

[love-byers]

something interesting....

the point of the running up that hill scene in Dear Billy is not just max remembering she is loved, it's her remembering the love she has for others. remembering the happiness she feels when she's with them.

it wasn't lucas's love for max that saved her, it was max's love for lucas. if she didn't love lucas, those memories wouldn't have saved her. the love and happiness wasn't handed to her by lucas, it already existed inside of her.

when, if you don't recall, THEY WEREN'T EVEN DATING.

during mike's monologue, his words should be evoking el's love for him. her memories of him. but nothing comes to her except when they met in the forest, because that's the only thing he says that's based in reality.

and, if el really loved mike, HE WOULDNT HAVE NEEDED TO SAY ANYTHING IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!! her love for him, the happiness he brings her would've been enough, requited or not, just like max.

for example, will believes mike does not share his feelings. but it doesn't matter. mike is still the light of his life, mike still gives him strength and makes him happiest. that's because his love for mike is strong on its own.

he doesn't need mike to spell everything out for him, because they have a genuine connection. a connection that doesn't require words to enjoy and understand. i didn't say it. you didn't have to.

i talk a lot about mike not being in love with el, but el is DEFINITELY not in love with mike. and i don't think she ever was.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

I'm sorry if this isn't the place to ask, but I'm kind of going through a bit of a hard time right now, I'm around 17 and I've somehow gotten every fucking paraphillia that gets you the straight to jail for even having stuff about it treatment (zoophilia, necrophilia, pedophilia) and I feel fucking awful about it, like I tend to keep a pretty strict moral code when it comes to this stuff, and I don't want to act on any of these urges when it comes to this, and I know I'm not going to.

yet I keep feeling this dread that I'll rape someone, kill someone and I don't know what to do, I don't want to be a monster but it feels like no matter what I do or say there's always going to be a part keeping me from ever actually being a person.

it feels like I have committed a crime, not one now, nor in the past, but on in potential, by even having the thought to do anything regarding these, it feels inevitable, like I'm going to do something whether I like it or not and I have to constantly be on high alert 24/7 lest I have the chance to even let my mind wander to far.

I don't know, I should be feeling ok with how my mind works, I know that what I'm in to doesn't define how I act, that I won't actually do it, just even then it feels like I'm set up for failure, you know? that my life is something that no matter what I do, or say or become, it will always have that stain that prevents me from deserving life.

ps. if this isn't anonymous, please don't post it off anon.

hi anon,

okay. deep breath. let's have a little sip of juice or something.

so, right out of the gate: you're not a criminal. thinking things isn't a crime. being horny isn't a crime. liking something that's kind of yucky isn't a crime.

also, hey, addition concept, because I have to say it: doing something that is classified as a "crime" is not what makes you a bad person. completely consensual gay sex is illegal in many places. collecting rainwater is illegal in many places. hell, in a great deal of places it's illegal to just lay down in a park and take a nap, even if you don't have anywhere else to sleep. what the fuck is up with that. just because something is illegal doesn't mean that people who do it aren't people or that there's something fucked up and wrong with them. let alone thinking about it!

okay, back to your main thing. listen. raping and killing someone doesn't just happen by accident. you have to work pretty hard to kill someone. like, there's a pretty significant string of active choices that have to happen there. (unless there's a freak accident, but oops - that's an accident! not something you did on purpose! different thing!) all of the stuff you're describing being into is stuff that you'd definitely have to Make A Choice to actually do - you're not just gonna fuck a horse or a dead body by accident, dude. where do you even find a dead body? there are SO MANY STEPS between you and fucking a dead guy at any given time.

and re: the pedophilia - listen, I get it. the thought of hurting a kid by accident is horrifying, right? but you can't accidentally molest someone. molestation and sexual abuse are activities that requite intentional behavior. the choice to abuse a child is a CHOICE, not something that happens on a whim. the only way that happens is if you're prone to, say, blacking out and behaving abusively, which, okay, that's a problem! but it's a problem because that's something that you need help with and in that scenario you also deserve care, dude.

there's nothing wrong with you; you're just into some stuff that freaks you out. hot tip: actively dwelling on how gross and fucked up and evil this stuff is isn't going to help you feel any more healthy or normal about it. you've got to practice just letting these thoughts happen and noticing them without recoiling from them or beating yourself up about it, like you would with anything else. "the sky's blue today. I want a latte. might be kind of hot to fuck an ostrich. need to pick up cat food. oh, shit, gotta answer that message." just let it slide on by without taking up all the real estate.

you're fine, you're not a criminal or a failure or stained or whatever. you're just a person who's a little stressed. be well and, per some gentle suggestions in the replies, maybe consider looking into the possibility that you may have OCD.

[runninriot]

Caramel

for @vecnuthy 💜

also written as fill for the @steddiebingo prompt: alternate first meeting

rated: T | wc: 1.903 | tags: best friends eddie & jeff, pre steddie, (chaotic) flirting, Eddie Munson has a crush, confident Steve Harrington, sexual innuendo, Scoops Ahoy, no upside down au | also on ao3

Eddie is going to kill Jeff.

He'll make it slow and painful and even that won't rectify the betrayal.

   “Oh, come on! I've been listening to you whine about your stupid crush forever now, and I'm sick of it. So, do something about it while we're here.”

He does not whine, just to be clear. If anything, he's simply stating the tragic facts of hopeless love and never-to-be requited feelings.

Excuse him for thinking his best friend would actually support him and offer some consolation in these trying times. But no, Jeff's being a dick. Using Eddie's misery for his own amusement by dragging him in here.

They were about to grab lunch, but then Jeff pulled him through the doors of Scoops Ahoy without so much as a warning, under the pretence of a sudden craving for ice cream.

Eddie would've much rather stepped through the gates of hell than set foot in here but he couldn't fight it, not without catching other people's attention. And that's the least of what he wanted, having eyes on him. Especially those hazel ones, dark bright and warm, with green and gold speckles whenever the light hits them right.

   “I'm so going to murder you,” Eddie grits through his teeth, trying his best not to alert the group of girls standing in front of them. He feels hot from- anger, but Jeff has the audacity to laugh.

   “I mean it, man. You can't force me to-”

   “Welcome to Scoops, what can I get ya?”

    Fuck.

He hadn’t even noticed they were next in line but it’s definitely too late now to run and hide. Eddie's heart stops for a moment but contrary to the silent prayer he sends to no one in particular, he doesn't drop dead.

Instead, he's tripping all over his own tongue, swallowing nothing because his mouth's suddenly so fucking dry.

   “I, uh, we, uh-”

    Jesus H. Christ.

He's never been known for being very cool. Or a smooth talker for that matter. Especially when it comes to- well. Doesn't matter. He's obviously not going to try to flirt with the guy that's been haunting his every waking hour and his dreams ever since he started working in the record store across from Scoops. But making a fool of himself wasn't really the plan either.

   “I'll have the triple choc. Oh, and add one scoop of strawberry cheesecake, please." Jeff's palm comes down on his shoulder, patting him appreciatively. "My friend Eddie here is being generous today."

If he turned to look at him, he could see the shit-eating grin on his friend’s face, but all Eddie can do is stare at the pretty-smiling guy in front of him.

Steve, the name tag says.

Steve, wearing his stupid hat and his stupid uniform with the stupid red neckerchief hanging from the far too revealing collar that offers a dangerously delicious glimpse at the brush of dark hair peaking out from the low-cut neckline.

And speaking of neck- fuck!

In all the times Eddie stole secret glances at the man in question, he’s never been this close to him, always just yearning from a distance. But now that they’re standing merely a few inches away from each other, there’s no chance of missing the beauty spots scattered across his neck and face. So close, Eddie can count them individually, wants to remember each of their placements so he can dream about mapping them out with his fingertips, and maybe name them like stars.

   “So, Eddie,” someone says and it's then he realises he’s been caught staring. “Now that your friend's all set, what can I do to make you happy?”

Eddie’s heart does a weird little flip at his words, feels blood rushing into his face, hot-red bashfulness creeping into his cheeks and ears. He could swear he saw the other man wink at him. Could swear the way he said his name had a special kind of tone to it. But that doesn’t mean shit, right? He's probably just charming to all the customers, perfectly selling his happy little sailor act. And it's working, is the worst part. Makes Eddie blush even more than he already had, standing there absently twirling a strand of hair around his finger like an idiot, god.

    Brain to Eddie! Asking permission to reboot.

   “I, uh, I’m not sure.”

Heaven help him. This is embarrassing.

   “Want me to help you decide?”

Eddie is sure Jeff will tease him later for swallowing his tongue, but making up words is hard with your brain on overdrive. So he nods dumbly, eyes wide like those of a deer staring into the headlights of a truck – surely looking as stupid as he feels.

   “Hmm, let's see.”

Steve places both hands on top of the counter and leans forward, deliberately letting his eyes rake over Eddie in a way that makes him break out in cold sweat, giving him the horny-shivers. Making him feel like he's caught in a suffocating heatwave, all heavy-breathing and sweating just from having Steve's eyes on him.

   "You don't seem like the vanilla kind of guy. Maybe something a little more... fruity?"

Eddie's pretty sure he's stopped breathing, feels dizzy and disoriented, can focus on nothing but Steve's lips forming words he must be imagining.

He nods again, doesn’t really know what he’s agreeing to because his brain is on complete shutdown now, incapable of processing any of the words he’s heard.

   “What about this?”

Before he realises what’s happening, he feels the smooth surface of a plastic spoon pushing against his bottom lip. Gently, almost as if asking for permission – not going further than that, just waiting for him to take what he’s being offered.

Eddie’s eyes fall shut when he wraps his lips around the spoonful of ice cream, savouring the tangy-fresh flavour of lemon or lime, he’s not sure.

When he opens his eyes again, he catches Steve looking at his lips, licking his own like he is the one that’s been offered a taste. Like maybe he’d want a taste. Of ice cream. Of Eddie’s lips?

   “Did you like that?”

Like?

    Huh.

What a weird way to describe this earth-shattering experience.

Like doesn’t even come close to what Eddie feels right now. It’s overwhelming, heart stopping, mind-blowing.

It’s-

    Oh, wait.

Steve’s not talking about-

    Oh, God.

   “Yeah, I- I like it. The, uh, the ice cream,” Eddie stutters, feels hot all over from the embarrassment of letting himself get lost in an illusion of Steve flirting with him. Of Steve asking if Eddie liked being spoon-fed by the man of his dreams.

    Fuck!

How he is able to come back from whatever insane idea had possessed him, will forever remain a mystery to him, but he finds his voice despite everything, straightens himself to bring some much needed distance between him and the other man.

    “A little too sour for my taste, though.”

Steve scrunches his nose, and it’s as dorky as it is adorable, which- doesn’t help at all to stop Eddie’s heart from drumming a happy-sappy beat at the sight, makes his stomach swoop the way it does on a roller coaster drop.

   “Should’ve guessed a guy like you likes it sweet.”

Sweet like Steve’s smile.

Sweet like Eddie imagines Steve’s lips must taste like.

Sweet like the kisses he’d place onto every inch of Steve’s caramel skin, if ever given the chance.

   “Caramel!” Steve exclaims like he’s just heard Eddie’s thoughts aloud, “That’s your flavour.”

Without asking if he’s right, Steve takes his scooper out from the pouch hanging from his hip, twirls it around in his hand – show-off! – and drags it through the tub of creamy goodness to his left.

Eddie doesn’t protest, can’t take his eyes off the large, veiny hand wrapped around the metal spoon. The hand he’d give everything to see wrapped around something else. It's not his fault; he’s not in control of his thoughts. Can’t stop his dirty mind from filing every single movement of Steve’s working hands for later use because if that is all he’ll ever get, he might as well enjoy it to the fullest.

   “Try it. I know you’ll love it.”

Steve offers him the cone topped with a giant scoop of the toffee treat, looking at him expectantly with his brows raised high and a teasing glint in his eyes.

And you see, Eddie would never claim he’s the smartest person he knows. He’s definitely a dreamer and bad at reading social cues sometimes, but despite all that, there is just no way he’s imagining this.

Steve is flirting with him.

Has been flirting with him all this time.

Maybe it’s time to give something back.

Eddie brings the ice cream closer to his mouth and starts to lick. Draws it out by turning the cone in his hand, twirls his tongue around once, twice, in a way he hopes doesn’t make him look like a lapping dog, but comes off as seductive as it feels.

Rich caramel bursts on his taste buds and Eddie moans a little louder than necessary around the melting mouthful of flavour. It must sound obscene to the ears of any innocent bystander but he doesn’t care. Puts on a show for Steve who hasn’t taken his eyes off him the entire time.

  “Mmm, fuck! That’s so good,” Eddie groans, watching Steve’s Adam’s apple bob when he swallows roughly at his words. “You really know how to satisfy your customers.”

Eddie isn't the best at flirting, he can admit that. But somehow Steve doesn't seem to mind, smiles even wider now that Eddie gave him something to work with.

   “Yeah?” Steve asks as he leans closer, elbows propped up on the counter that separates them, chin resting on his hands. Looking up at him through his long lashes, his hazel eyes suddenly darker than Eddie remembers them. “Love to hear that. Wanna know what else I know?”

His question throws Eddie off, because it’s not quite how he expected the other man to continue their little game. But it’s too late to turn back from what he started, and he’s curious, so he nods and waits for Steve to continue.

   “I know that you’ve been looking me up and down every day for the past three weeks from your little music store over there.” He points over Eddie’s shoulder to the glass front revealing an open view to the other side of the passage way between Scoops and the equally visible interior of the store.

Eddie gulps, feels caught, but Steve doesn’t give him a chance to come up with an excuse.

   “I know that you take your lunch break every day at the same time and I know that it lasts for another-“ he turns to look at the clock on the wall before locking eyes with Eddie again, “25 minutes. Mine starts in 5.”

Eddie will kiss Jeff on the mouth. Or, you know, maybe not – depending on whether this goes the way he thinks, hopes, Steve’s very unsubtle invitation might imply.

But he’ll thank him one way or another, for dragging him in here.

For being the best friend a stupid man with a stupid crush can have.

And if the caramel ice cream goes to waste, melting away in a soggy cone, forgotten on top of the staff’s bathroom sink- it doesn’t really matter.

Because Steve’s lips taste even sweeter.

[elliethefroggy]

What if Eddie had been a little less oblivious and had invited to Buck to trivia-karaoke night.

They’re all three going to hang out at the karaoke bar, and at first Buck’s nervous because Tommy is super cool, but once the trivia quiz actually starts, all the nerves go away, and Buck’s sponge of a brain has a chance to shine.

He gets question after question right, barely having to consult the two others. Eddie’s probably used to this side of Buck, but Tommy gets to sit there, mesmerised because not only is Buck exceedingly attractive but he also has brains (does Tommy have a competency kink? Who’s to say).

By the end of the night, Tommy’s probably forgotten all about trying to answer the questions, too busy watching Buck’s eyes light up every time he knows an answer (and those eyes light up an awful lot). Overall, the night goes well, and Buck’s amazing brain probably wins them a pitcher of free beer or something.

Because that night went so well, all three of them start hanging out more and more. Maybe Tommy somewhat discreetly suggests to Eddie that they invite Buck along, just so he has the opportunity to stare in Buck’s eyes some more.

But Tommy doesn’t do anything at about his developing crush, at least not right away.

Firstly it’s because Tommy’s trying to figure out just what the deal is between Eddie and Buck. Are they dating? Are they the most healthy divorced couple of LA? BFFs? Platonic soulmates? Not-so-platonic soulmates?

Maybe it doesn’t take him that long to figure out that those two are not together, but then he still needs to make sure that there isn’t some unrequited or very-requited-but-they’re-both-oblivious crushing going on between Eddie and Buck.

My guess it takes him a while to finally decide that they’re some flavour of queerplatonic life partners (he decides on this after a lot of subtle and not so subtle questions; Christopher is probably his most helpful informant).

(Realistically, Tommy would have probably just straight up asked one of them if they were together because Tommy seems pretty good at communication, but that’s no fun for me.)

But then, once he’s figured out that Eddie and Buck are definitely not a thing, he still needs to figure out what exactly Buck’s sexuality is.

Because, sure Buck’s only ever dated women and is such an ‘ally’. But Buck spends way too long looking at other men’s asses. Tommy notices this because he’s probably caught Buck staring at the same asses Tommy himself was just looking at (remember the hanger scene when Tommy very blatantly checks out Buck’s ass).

So now Tommy’s having to figure out just what Buck’s sexuality is. Is Buck gay? Is he closeted? Is he as straight as he claims to be? Is he repressed? Also what’s with all the flirting (because of course Buck’s going to be unknowingly flirting with Tommy; Buck just can’t help himself).

Eventually, Tommy and Buck are going to have some one-on-one bonding time without Eddie.

Buck takes him up on those flying lessons which means Tommy gets trapped in a confined space with Buck on a regular basis, having to deal with his growing feelings towards what can only be a golden retriever in human form. Buck is kind and sincere and so so earnest, Tommy has no choice but to fall for him.

But Tommy still doesn’t know where Buck’s sexuality lies, and he’s getting to the point where’s pulling his hair out in frustration, trying to figure it out. Because no way can a heterosexual man stare at Tommy’s lips that often. There is no straight reason for that, right?

He then makes the mistake of also offering Buck Muay Thai lessons.

He doesn’t realise his mistake until they’re both sweaty and shirtless. Buck looks very good sweaty and shirtless. But it’s fine, Tommy manages to cope, he just avoids looking at the large expanse of wet skin right in front of him. He’s not distracted by all that skin. He’s fine.

(Luckily, Buck doesn’t know enough about Muay Thai to notice how badly Tommy is fighting.)

Somehow they both get tangled up and they fall to the ground (I don’t know shit about Muay Thai). Buck lands flat on his back and Tommy ends up on top of him. Tommy goes to get off Buck immediately because Tommy’s not exactly light, but then he makes another mistake: just as he places his hands on either side of Buck to push off the ground, he looks at Buck’s face

Buck’s cheeks are nice and red (because of exertion? Because of Tommy’s close proximity? Both?), Buck’s breathing heavily, his breaths getting faster and faster the longer Tommy stays where he is. Buck’s eyes are near black, his pupils leaving only the thinnest band of colour.

Buck’s staring at Tommy, and Tommy’s staring at Buck. Then Buck once again glances down at Tommy’s lips as Tommy is lying over him, their sweaty chests pressing against one another.

And Tommy cracks.

He throws himself off Buck, getting to his feet, and crosses over to the other side of the mat to put some distance between himself and Buck.

When he turns back to look at Buck, Buck is still lying on the ground, now leaning back on his forearms, looking up at Tommy. Which is a sight Tommy would love nothing more than to see again.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Tommy says, “but are you really straight?” Which is definitely not how Tommy wanted this conversation to start, but sue him, he’s having a breakdown. “Sorry,” he repeats, “It’s just there’s been a lot of flirting and a lot of starring at my various attributes,” he tries again, poorly, “Not that I’m complaining; I would love nothing more than to have you stare at my lips and flirt with me for as long as you want. But I need to know where we stand before I lose my mind trying to figure you out.”

And the thing is, Tommy’s not the only one who’s been struggling these past few weeks.

Buck’s been dealing with these weird feelings towards Tommy since day 1. At first he just figured it was because Tommy was so cool (which he is), and then he thought it was because he was jealous that Tommy was spending so much time with Eddie, thinking maybe Tommy was trying to steal his spot in the Diaz household. But is wasn’t either of those things. Buck’s been wracking his brain for weeks, trying to figure out just what he was feeling towards Tommy.

And here’s Tommy, all sweaty and shirtless, so much glistening skin on display, and Tommy’s offering Buck a possible answer to all these feelings he’s been unable to name.

And what Tommy’s implying makes some sense. Buck thinks over all the instances he’s hung out with Tommy, compares his behaviour to the times he’s had crushes on women, and thinks maybe Tommy’s onto something.

Buck, who is a big believer of the scientific method of experimentation, figures there’s an easy way to test Tommy’s theory.

Buck slowly gets up from the mat as his brain goes into hyper-drive, processing the fastest sexuality crisis known to humanity.

Maybe Buck flexes a bit as he gets up because Tommy’s watching him and he’s always liked attention.

By the time he straightens up, the sexuality crisis has been dealt with and he’s ready to act on these newly revealed feelings.

He likes Tommy’s theory a lot.

“I have been staring at your lips a lot, haven’t I?” He says, purposeful flirty.

(Once again they have both been (knowingly or not) starring at each other longingly for weeks, they are both shirtless and covered in sweat, and had their naked chests pressed up together just moments ago; neither of them are thinking very rationally.)

And Buck (flirty Buck who made picking woman up into an art-form) walks/stalks over to Tommy, leaving enough room for Tommy to back away if he wants to.

“Maybe you should do something about that?” Buck suggests, and very deliberately stares down at Tommy’s lips.

Tommy knows they should have a more thorough discussion about where both of them stand, but he’s only one man.

Tommy closes the gap between them, places two fingers underneath Buck’s chin, and slowly leans in to finally kiss Buck.

The kiss lasts no more than a moment, not nearly long enough for either of their tastes, but Tommy needs to be sure that Evan’s sure.

“So?” he asks simply, fingers still under Evan’s chin.

“Yeah, definitely not straight.” And Evan leans in to kiss Tommy again. Tommy does not mind at all.

(They then spend the rest of their Muay Thai lesson making out.)

[haruchuiyo]

A different kind of like

content: nsfw + requited love + making out + slight dry humping + mr hood has a invisible touchable face + size difference!!

posting this cause a mootie wanted me to 😛

—

You are quite sure that these men are paranormal. No, you know they are. They’re entities you can’t quite understand. Or maybe they aren’t but they’re definitely paranormal. Especially the one in front of you.

Ever since you met Mr Hood as you came to this world, he’s been nothing but nice and patient with you. Not scolding you when you go the wrong path, not talking back when you feel irritated and he doesn’t say anything but obliges when you wish for something. This hooded creature quite literally feels like he is at your beck and call.

You were sitting atop the table and you were staring at Mr Hood. He decided to stand in front of the door and you felt like he was looking at the gap behind you in the corner. You have no idea why he seated you on the table, but he did. But you’re not complaining. This seat gives you a full direct view of looking at Mr Hood.

There’s no visible face to look at, which bums you out. You know he’d be equally good looking as he is faceless.

You swing your legs in the air and then you sit up straight, which gives you goosebumps because it feels like Mr Hood’s ‘eyes’ clearly landed on you for the first time he entered the room with you.

“Mr Hood.” You start off and he turns quiet, waiting for you to continue. “Come here.” You softly tell him and he doesn’t hesitate to do as you say. He walks towards you, his steps echoing inside the almost empty room.

When he closes in, it always surprises you just how enormous he is. He should be approximately over two meters and his lanky body makes him look taller than usual.

You reach your hands out to softly grab onto his cloak and you see how his head tilts down to look at your hands, before they look up at you and he tilts his own head.

“You okay? Pain?” At his question you shake your head.

You doubt he’d understand what you wanna do and how you feel towards him, he quite literally said he doesn’t like you when you asked if he did. He helped you all these times simply because he wanted to help. There were no ulterior motives. But it’s been a few weeks inside this world and he’s still as monotone as he was from the beginning.

“Desire touch you.” You’re still trying to grasp the proper pronunciation of their language but the way Mr Hood’s head sat up straight, clearly told you he understood what you said.

“Desire touch me?” He repeats and you subtly nod your head.

There was a pause before he spoke up once more, which gave you what felt like heart palpitations. “Where?”

“Face…?” You slowly ask, curious and nervous for his reaction. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds before you felt his hands on your wrist. He craned his head down a little and with his grasp on your hands, he lifted them up. Then he places your palms on his invisible face. And it’s clearly a face, you can feel it.

He’d say his skin is flawed but it’s only scarred, you can feel uneven skin on his face. Not that you mind it. You start off by softly brushing your thumb over his cheeks and he quite literally stills. You breathe out and your thumbs stroke his cheeks again and you hear Mr Hood’s breath hitch. His breath hitched, which never happened and you’ve never heard him do any kind of sound like that.

You continue by softly sliding your palms up and you feel eyes, he closed them as he felt your thumbs on his eyes and you gently brush over his eyelids before going up, he has thin eyebrows. He has eyebrows. That thought makes you smile and you see how Mr Hood steps in closer to you. You know he’s staring at your smile right now. You’ve always felt like he turns extra quieter when you smile, might it be because he’s staring at your lips? You hope so.

Your hands continue up, and you touch his forehead, softly massaging the spot between his eyebrows and Mr Hood hums. Contentedly. This makes happiness surge inside of you so fast. You’re starting to feel giddy. Then your thumbs reach down and you feel his nose. Oh. His nose is definitely pretty, you know it. You felt a slight bump on his nose bridge and that makes you smile even more and that makes Mr Hood step in even closer. He isn’t close enough for it to be inappropriately close, though you wish it to be.

As you slide further down, you feel something soft and chapped. You freeze slightly with surprise but Mr Hood closes the gap between you two. You need to spread your thighs a little more to accommodate his size. You feel his own thighs against your thighs, because he’s so big. He’s standing between your thighs and that makes the happiness inside you disappear and gets replaced with something you can't figure out. But it feels good.

“Soft.” You mutter, as you brush your thumb over his lips once more. You softly pull his lower lip down and you feel a pair of hands grab onto your waist through your white dress. You gasp lightly at his grip, it’s strong but not quite strong enough to hurt you.

“Enjoyable?” You ask and Mr Hood nods his head, you sigh in relief and feel like the greatest person ever to make such a stoic man react like this, even if it’s not the biggest show of reaction.

“Enjoyable.” He remarks.

And you continue further down.

You felt his neck, you heard him draw in a breath and you quickly let go of your hold on his neck, but he was quicker in placing your hands back there.

“Not hostile.” You nervously assure and Mr Hood shakes his head softly. “Understand.” He simply says which gives you the clarifications that he knows you won’t hurt him even if you’re touching his vital body part.

When your hands slide down further, you figure out that this man doesn’t wear much clothing underneath his cloak. You felt some thin clothing, or a shirt. That makes you question if he wears any pants. Which makes you wonder why he should wear clothes in the first place, when his body isn’t visible at all. But then wouldn’t it be weird to walk around naked under a cloak?

Your hands slipped beneath his cloak and touched his collarbone, close to his chest and Mr Hood’s hands were quick to hold onto your neck. That sent your heart racing, it’s beating so fast. There’s no idea what he could do, but hopefully he won’t hurt you.

“Feel different.” His voice was laced with uncertainty to them with a dash of breathless tone to it. He feels different. Different for him might be something he’s not used to.

“Feel good?” You ask and he slightly squeezes your neck, which had you slightly squeezing your eyes shut. His small squeeze kind of hurt but not too much.

“Enjoyable. Different.” Oh.

He feels good. Your touch makes him feel good, that’s why he said it feels different. It’s enjoyable to him. That sent a rush of giddiness through your body, at the same time you had wrapped your legs around his waist and Mr Hood’s hands trails up to cup your face. Your breath hitches when you feel his thumbs touch your lips.

“Not hostile. Dangerous.” He had softly mumbled and you felt him lean in, no you saw and you felt a warm breath close to your mouth which had you softly panting and subtly parting your lips. This man makes you react so easily in every way possible, and you don’t know if he knows the effect he has on you.

Mr Hood does know. The day you told him you like him, he didn’t understand. He decided to leave and when he was alone, he pondered on for days. There’s one kind of ‘like’ for him. It’s friendly. He likes Mr Crawling because you said he’s friendly. He likes Mr Wheelchair cause all he does is sit and he doesn’t bother anybody. He likes. He knows what like is. But why does your ‘like’ feel so different? Moments he had with you after that day, he felt weird and different around you. When you talk, he can’t help but listen and drowns out any sound around except for danger. When you smile, he doesn’t understand why he stares so intensely. Has he not recovered? Is he in pain? And he feels this quite nice feeling when you talk to him. Is that what he sees on Mr Chopped when you carry him when he told you to do so? Happy? Is he happy around you?

“Dangerous?” You softly inquired and Mr Hood decided to give in to his urges and questions about why he feels the way he does towards you.

When he latched his mouth on yours, you gasped. He didn’t do anything else but place his lips on yours. It was all instinct, he’s never put his mouth on anybody, but seeing your lips part like that, made something inside him grow. When you softly moved your lips, his breath hitched once more and he decided to move his lips against yours too. Oh. This feels enjoyable. He likes it. Your lips are soft, dry though but he doesn’t mind. And when he softly nips on your lower lip, it emitted a sound from your mouth that made his ears perk and he decided he likes that sound. That sound was enjoyable. So he decided to nip on your lower lip again and there was the sound again.

It’s cute, he thinks when he pulls away and sees a cute expression on your face. Your eyes are slightly widened and your usually dry lips are now wet. Moist even.

“Enjoyable?”

You need him to do that again. You raise your body higher by the help of your grip on his waist and wrap your arms around his neck.

Is that what they call a kiss in the other world? And your first kiss is with a man who doesn’t have a visible body but you like it. And he clearly likes it too by how he’s subconsciously moving his hips against yours, his soft restrained grunts against your mouth before he latches on your lips again, his grip on your face tightening.

Tightening to the point it started to hurt, he could crush your skull if he could. Doesn’t matter if your body can heal by itself, it hurts. You grow terrified, you’ve never felt like this before around him.

“No. No!” You harshly pulled away his hands from your face, which in turn made you land with a thud on the table you’re sitting on because you unhooked your thighs from his waist. Mr Hood took a step back, you hear his heavy breathing and you see his chest heave up and down harshly.

“Pain?” His voice sounded worried, you felt your vision start to look blurry and you felt something wet fall down your face. This took a bad turn. Mr Hood hurriedly stepped towards you once more and held your face but quickly pulled away.

“Desire you no pain. That true.” Why is this stoic monotone man frantic? Why is his voice so worried? Does he really care about you? Was he kissing you because he wanted to? Or did he give in to his internal desires and did what only made him feel good, not because he wanted to kiss you?

“Me desire want to help you.” He softly spoke and you sniffled, the tears still falling. You had never felt this scared so fast. You know he would never hurt you. You have no idea why you’re questioning his actions when you clearly know this man didn’t only give in to his desires, but he did it because he wanted to. If he didn’t, he’d simply tell you and leave.

“Help how?” You ask and you feel his hands reach up once more, they’re slightly shaking and you regret pushing him away so harshly. All this man has done is helped you. He’s dropped you once when you were of a small stature, unintentionally. This time was unintentionally too but you didn’t react this way when he dropped you. Of course it leaves quite an impact on him.

“It's okay, you can touch me.” You reassure him and he places his hands on your face once more, gentler than he was before. And it quite literally made tears fall down even more. How is such a being like him so gentle with you? You’ve killed, you’ve been insufferable and you know you’re not the nicest person but why?

“You… face wet.” He starts off. “Dislike. Much.” He doesn’t like your tears. “Dislike, dislike.” He repeats frustratedly. He is clearly saying he doesn’t like to see you cry.

“I was scared first.” You tell him. And he turns quiet. “Me not hostile.” His words made you let out a slight chuckle and you nod your head. “I know. But now, I feel safe.” You finish and Mr Hood tilts his head as he softly touches your tears and wipes them away.

“Safe?” He asks. And you nod your head. “Always. Only been scared around you two times.” And you know he understood that and you wished so badly his face was visible because he’s clearly smiling right now.

“Happy?” You ask instead and he nods his head, which he learned from you. “Happy.” He says and leans in to your face. And you feel his mouth on your cheeks and he softly sucks your tears before he starts licking and he pulls away so quick, it startled you.

“Consume that?” He asks and you giggle, you shake your head saying a giggly no and yes and he continues to lick your face. He mutters something, if you understood right, he is basically saying your tears taste weird. Which had you giggle even more. So Mr Hood decided to lick your lips instead. This time he was careful to not hold you too tight as to crush your body. Seeing your eyes produce those wet things, the tears dropping down your face, if he had a heart, he thinks he’d die from something being wrong with his heart. He dislikes your tears and crying.

—

id kiss his chapped lips all day

hope you truly liked this 🥹 if you did, a like and a reblog would be incredibly appreciated <3

[andreafmn]

Requite | Chapter 1

Word Count: 3.9k

Summary: When everything seems to fall into place in Forks, Washington, a string of mysterious deaths call the attention of both vampires and werewolves in town. As the redheaded vampire returns with her mind set on revenge, (Y/N) and Bella Swan find themselves in the center of danger once again. With secrets still lingering between them about their past best friend, they will find themselves stuck in a whirlwind of love, betrayal, and the hardest choices they’ll have to make. But one thing is certain: no one will go a day without a taste for vengeance. 

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Calm in a town like Forks was a mirage. Or, at times, it was simply a distraction. While the supernatural walked amongst the land, there would never be calm and tranquility. Their existence was enough to shift the balance of the universe, and it would always find a way to rectify itself. Even just a couple of days could send the small town down a whirlwind, regardless of who got caught in the middle of the current.  

(Y/N) Swan didn't know that yet. At that moment, she thought she had faced her worst battle yet. She had survived a vampire attack; she had saved her sister from drowning in the ocean, and she had even endured an abusive relationship. There couldn't be anything else thrown her way that could be worse.  

Or so she thought. But of course, hindsight is twenty-twenty.  

Finals were approaching, and (Y/N) had never wanted to go back to homeschooling more than at that moment. For the better part of a year, she had been able to focus on her schoolwork at her own pace. In school, she had to submit to her teacher's pace. If she had it her way, she would have already been done with her year's curriculum. Instead, she was buried up to her nose in her and Bella's books.  

“So, dad gave me another letter from Jacob,” Bella muttered as she closed her history book, seemingly over the topic. “Seems he really wants to talk. Although it seems he's not sure about what.”  

Bella passed the piece of paper to her sister, her eyes searching for any answers on (Y/N)'s face. But the younger Swan remained stoic as she perused the letter. Jacob had started over seven times, angrily scratching over every sentence until he left a vague plea to see the older Swan and explain everything that had gone down behind her back. In between strikes, he said he felt like a schoolboy asking Charlie to hand over notes. He asked her to pick up the phone. He begged her to talk to him before he talked to her own sister. Most of all, he asked her not to choose Edward. 

Every letter for the past few weeks had been the same. Angry and desperate requests to see Bella before (Y/N) told her the truth of what he had done. Every letter was accompanied by a frenzied call, his voice always distressed and anguished over the receiver and always picked up by Charlie. And every time, he received the same answer. Bella didn't want to speak to him, and (Y/N) had not said anything.  

The younger girl wasn't sure why she was protecting him. Jacob had done atrocious things deliberately. He had manipulated, belittled, and dismissed her for months. He had quite literally left her for dead when she had faced a murderous vampire. He had used her feelings for him to get closer to her sister. Jake had chewed her up and spat her out when he had been done with her. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to turn her family against him—much to Paul's dismay.  

(Y/N) had made Paul promise he would not tell anyone what Jacob had done. Not when Bella cornered him at night when he snuck in, not when her father tried to coax it out of him when he joined them for Saturday breakfasts or Sunday dinners, and definitely not when he had asked her to his senior prom in front of both Swans.  

“When are you gonna tell me what happened?” Bella asked as (Y/N) folded the note back up. “Don't you think I should know if I'm ever gonna talk to him again?”  

“There's not really much to say,” the younger girl shrugged as she closed the books in front of her. “I won't stop you from being his friend, Bella. Whatever happened between us happened—it's not gonna change no matter how much we talk about it.”  

“What if I just ask him about it?” her sister offered. “Will you be fine with that?” 

“You can do whatever you want, Bells,” she said. “But believe me when I say he’s not gonna tell you anything.” 

“Don't you think I should know his true character if I'm gonna associate myself with him?” her sister pushed, exasperated. “(Y/N), the things I know he did are bad, but I need to know the whole truth if I'm ever gonna start to think to forgive him.”  

Before she could answer or even give herself time to make up her mind, her attention turned to a peculiar smell in the air. The sisters exchanged a questioning gaze before leaving their books on Bella’s bed and following the scent all the way to the kitchen. There, Charlie was fanning smoke coming from the stove, the open window blowing the cloud back inside rather than helping to keep it out of the house. The smell of wood and pine mixed with the smoke in the kitchen created a choking and uncomfortable environment.  

“What are you doing, dad?” Bella exclaimed as she opened the microwave only seconds before a catastrophe while (Y/N)turned off the burner their father had neglected. “Trynna burn down the house?” 

“Oh! Girls!” he exclaimed as he finally noticed their presence. “I, uh, I was trying to make dinner.”  

“You put a jar of sauce in the microwave,” the older daughter sighed. “With the lid on. Yeah, metal and microwaves don't really mix well.” 

“Did I at least get the pasta right?” Charlie questioned expectantly. “It's just boiling water.”  

“Well, yeah, but you should stir it too,” (Y/N) chuckled. “And maybe add enough water for the noodles inside. That usually helps the pasta not stick to the pot and burn.”  

“I'll take that into consideration for next time.”  

Bella and (Y/N) exchanged a worried look, knowing their father would not have been caught dead in the kitchen had he not had something to say. It was written on his face—something was clouding his mind. His brow was furrowed, his shoulders were tense, and there was concern plastered across his features. Charlie had something to say, and he was trying to let it go down with a plate of burnt spaghetti.  

(Y/N) was the first one to talk, curious about her father's behavior. “What's going on, dad?” she inquired as she tried to clear out the burnt sludge in the pot. “Why the sudden need to cook us a meal?”  

“It's not illegal for me to make a meal,” he argued. “Especially not in my own house.”  

The sisters exchanged the same look once more, unsure what it could be that he was hiding. He was avoiding their gaze, focusing on the last bits of smoke that disappeared into the rainy day. 

 “You would know, huh?” Bella teased, staring at the badge shining on his jacket.  

“Yeah,” he chuckled dryly. “Good one.”  

Charlie was quiet after that, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the rack that had housed his gun sling for the better part of the week. Ever since the pack didn't have to investigate the odd slaughtered hitchhiker, no one had reported sightings of the massive, mysterious wolves. Of course, the man didn't know that, but he was glad the semblance of calm had returned to the small town.  

Silence rained in the Swan household as Charlie sat at the table with the newspaper and Bella worked on cleaning the rest of the pasta pot. (Y/N) couldn’t handle the tension, feeling herself drowning in the unease of the room. There were too many unspoken words between the three of them, and there didn’t seem to be a confession coming from any of them.  

“Well, why don’t I run out to the diner and get us some food?” (Y/N) offered. “Dad, thank you for trying to make us some dinner, but I would like to eat something tonight—something edible.”   

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” he said, clearing his throat. “Is, uh, is your, uh, boy, uh, friend, uh, your friend Paul coming over tonight?”   

“During stipulated visiting hours,” she chuckled, “yeah.”  

“Alright, get him something too, then,” her father instructed before moving his gaze back to the paper in his hands. "Take some money from my wallet. It's in the inside pocket of the jacket.”  

“Cool. I'll be back soon.”  

“I'll call ahead, so the order is almost done when you get there,” Bella announced. “Make sure they pack my order of onion rings.”  

"Will do,” (Y/N) said, slipping on her jacket and pulling up the hood. “Be right back.” 

She pulled her phone out as she made her way to her van, clicking on the number three on her speed dial. But before the line could ring more than once, arms wrapped around her, and she was lifted off the ground. An undeniable warmth engulfed her, and she couldn't help the laugh that left her throat. “Paul,” she shrieked joyfully as he spun her around. “You're early.”  

“And you're on your way to get some food,” the boy smiled brightly as he turned her to face him. “I'll go with you.” 

“How could I say no to such a tempting offer?” (Y/N) smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck before giving him a small kiss. “And you should be wearing a jacket in this weather. I know you don't need it, but others don't know that.”  

“Well, I would have worn the hoodie I left in the van, but it seems like it has a new owner.”  

“I told you, whatever's left in the car is mine,” she grinned. “Not my fault you can't keep track of your belongings.”  

“Let's just go get the food before your dad starts to wonder what's taking so long,” he chuckled. “I think I'm finally winning him over.”  

 (Y/N) laughed as they got into the vehicle. She had started getting used to Paul appearing out of nowhere, filling her quiet and empty moments with his laughter and wild occurrences. He had become a welcome constant in her life, and she couldn't remember a time when he wasn't in it. “I don't think dad will ever warm up again to the idea of another guy dating one of his daughters,” she teased. “But if anyone has a chance, it would definitely be you.”  

“Thank you for the vote of confidence. And here I was thinking I had a leg up on everyone.” 

“Hey, he's getting you food,” (Y/N) laughed. “He likes you enough. At least he likes you more than Jacob. Even Bella sorta likes you.”  

“I take it you still haven't told them what happened,” Paul asked, taking her hand in his and giving it a comforting squeeze. “At least your sister should know what that idiot really did to you to cut him out from her life completely.”  

“And what good would that do?” the girl sighed. “It won't change what happened, nor would it serve her to lose one of the only people she can call a friend.” 

“Do you really think he's the kind of friend Bella should have? Should she really keep someone that would have let her sister die by her side?”  

“Can we not talk about him?” (Y/N) argued, turning the van into the diner parking lot. “I don't want to waste my time on him anymore—not now and definitely not later.”  

“(Y/N)...”  

“No more talk about him, Paul,” she said firmly as she killed the engine and turned to face him. “If you mention him again, there will be consequences. Starting with locking my window at night.”  

"You drive a hard bargain,” Paul replied while cradling her chin in his hand. “And it seems I don't have another choice but to agree.”  

With a chaste kiss, they left the van, walking hand-in-hand into The Lodge like they had done it a million times before. It was easy for everything to feel natural with Paul. Being with him made her heart feel at peace. And after all she had been through in the short time she had resided in Forks, she more than welcomed it. In hindsight, (Y/N) knew she had played a hand in all the hardship that had befallen her. She ignored how she felt about Paul; she pushed him away over trivial miscommunications, and she had stayed with Jacob for far longer than she ever should have.  

“Is this gonna become a weekly thing, huh?” Cora, the waitress who always took their order, said with a smile. “What is this now three weeks in a row that you two have come in?”  

“Something like that,” (Y/N) chuckled. “This time is because dad tried to cook dinner. And well, that never goes down as well as it should.”  

“What'd he burn this time?”  

“Spaghetti,” the girl smiled. “And he tried to microwave a jar of sauce with the lid on.”  

“Charlie should really just stick to the police work,” the woman laughed. “And you came in just in time. Steak with cobbler; a double medium-well Lodge burger with extra bacon and onions and cheesy fries; a single bacon cheeseburger with cheese and bacon friends; and a veggie burger—which has surprisingly become a best-seller since we put it on the menu last year���with onion rings. I threw in a couple of slices of apple pie slices in there for you guys. On the house.” 

“Thank you, Cora. But could I trouble you with replacing two of the slices with some chocolate cream pie?” Paul asked, sporting his award-winning smile. “As good as it is, (Y/N) here is allergic to apples, and I wouldn't want her to miss out on dessert.”  

“Oh my goodness, sweetheart. I completely forgot!” Cora exclaimed as she scrambled to the pie display. “Tell you what, you keep those extra slices, and I'll give you three of the chocolate. And I'm gonna leave a note right here so no one forgets.”  

“You don't have to do all that, Cora,” (Y/N) said. “It was an honest mistake.”  

“Nonsense, (Y/N),” she smiled. “I'm happy to do it. And between you and me, I like the chocolate one better. Your boy here has really good taste.”  

“That he does,” the younger Swan replied as she felt heat flush to her face. She paid for the food, handing Paul the bags as she put away the change, ignoring the teasing stare the waitress was sending her way. “Thanks for everything, Cora. I’ll see you next week.”  

“See you, sweetie,” she called back. “Say hi to your dad and your sister for me.”  

“Will do!”  

(Y/N) felt stupid with how much she was smiling. Paul had remembered her apple allergy, he held doors open for her, he remembered her favorite pie. They were bare minimum standards, but she couldn’t help the joy that overtook her when he did them. Paul knew her in the most simplistic of senses, and she couldn't believe she had stopped herself from feeling that way.  

“You remembered my apple allergy,” she smiled, bumping his shoulder as they walked back to the van. “Thank you.”  

“I should be able to remember the fact that my girlfriend's throat could close if she eats apples,” Paul chuckled. “It's not a fact I should gloss over.”  

The girl stopped in her tracks at his words, realization sinking in. “What was that?”  

“What?”  

“What you just said.”  

“That I should know apples could possibly kill my girlfriend?” he chuckled again, unsure what he had said wrong. “What about it?”  

“You called me your girlfriend, Paul,” (Y/N) stated. “You've never called me your girlfriend before.”  

“Oh, uh, well, you know, I didn't... we haven't had the talk but... you know,” he stammered awkwardly, his skin growing red as he scrambled for the right words. “Is it okay that I call you my girlfriend?”  

(Y/N) smiled before standing on her tiptoes to place a kiss on Paul's lips. “It is more than okay,” she beamed. “I like the sound of it. Especially when it's said by my boyfriend.”  

“That does sound good, huh?” Paul circled his free arm around her shoulders before kissing the top of her head. “Now, let's get this food to your house before your dad thinks I've kidnapped you.”  

Like mere minutes before, Paul and (Y/N) were back in her van, the smell of diner food filling the cabin, and heading back to the house. Just the month before, the youngest Swan could never have thought she would be where she was. With Jacob, she couldn't see farther than a couple of weeks down the road—not that it mattered in the end. There were so many parts of her that had become overwhelmed with the darkness of their relationship, lost in the endless void that came with being close to Jake.  

None of that mattered now, though. Happiness had found itself back in her life, and it seemed to start infecting the rest of the Swans. Charlie and Bella cheered when the couple arrived with the food, making space on the table for the bags. The older Swan girl placed the food on plates as Paul and (Y/N) served drinks for the table. Peering into the windows of the house, no one would have guessed all the pain that had led to that moment.  

By the time they had reached the desserts, Bella had picked up her discarded Wuthering Heights book while Paul and (Y/N) whispered amongst themselves. It was a rather normal scene for a less-than-normal family.  

“So, um,” Charlie cleared his throat as he wiped his mouth, “I did have a reason for cooking dinner for you guys, as you may have guessed.”  

“Is that what that smell was?” Paul mumbled.  

Trying to stifle her laughter, (Y/N) placed a hand on his forearm and whispered, “Not right now, Paul.”  

“Anyway, it's regarding your grounding, Bella,” the man continued, focusing his gaze on his oldest daughter rather than the boy who’d seemed to invade his new family dinners. “I’m not very good at this whole grounding thing, and you are far too good a kid for being grounded. You haven't complained, you've come home at curfew, and that boy hasn't stepped foot in my house since he came back—which I much appreciate.”  

“You did say he couldn't come over,” Bella stated, a hint of a laugh hiding under her words. “But I don't want him over—not for now, at least.” 

“Well, good. I think it's about time you were up for some parole,” Charlie said, a tentative smile tugging at his lips. “I just hope you take this time to reconnect with your old friends and focus on something other than those Cullens.”  

Bella finally set down her book, saving her spot with a clean napkin. “I've been trying to do that, dad,” the girl admitted. “I know I haven’t been myself these last few months, and I broke your trust by leaving with Alice, but I do want you to know I’ve been trying to change.”  

“I know, Bells, and I've seen that,” he smiled. “That's why I think it's time you get some of your freedom back. As long as you're prudent with it.”  

“Right, no one wants a repeat of the past few months,” she laughed. “But I do appreciate you trusting me again, dad. I promise to do my hardest to make you proud, even if it takes forever.”  

“I'm already proud of you, Bells,” Charlie said. “I'm proud of both of you girls—no matter what. All I want is for you to be happy and fulfilled by whatever you want in life. Especially you, Bella. Now that you're about to enter a new stage in your life.”  

The man slipped an open envelope toward his oldest daughter while he tried his best to conceal the smile that threatened to stretch across his face. “You opened it,” Bella noted. “That's a felony, Sheriff.”  

“Couldn't help myself,” her father beamed as she pulled the papers out of the envelope. “Congratulations, kid.  This is just the first of many.” 

University of Alaska Southeast had been one of the only colleges Bella had personally applied to. Unlike some of the schools (Y/N) and Charlie had sent applications to using some of her old essays, she knew she could get in. And it did help that Juneau was overcast most days of the year, given she didn't know just how long she had before she had to face the inevitable. Regardless of what Edward had told her, there was no way to know when the Volturi would come to make sure their word had been made law.  

She received her sister's congratulatory hug and Paul's words, unsure how else to respond. The girl knew she should have been happier—it was her future after all. But she couldn't help the dread that filled her as she thought about giving it up. There wouldn't be any human experiences she would be able to live through—emphasis on the human. Once she was turned into an immortal monster, that's all she would know.  

“What about you, Paul?” Charlie asked, clearing his throat and breaking his oldest daughter out of deep thought. “What're your plans after school, kid?”  

“Uh, well,” the boy stammered, straightening his posture. (Y/N) stifled a laugh as she shared a knowing look with Bella. Their father loved interrogating anyone who stepped foot in his house, and it was Paul's turn to get a grilling. “I was, um, accepted at Western. I'm still undecided, but I'm thinking of getting a degree in Manufacturing Engineering. Still, I'll have to defer for a year.” 

“Why's that?”  

“Financial aid only covers so much, and I don't really want to get loans,” he explained. “The counselor at school said I could accept Western's offer and defer for a year while I worked with my dad to save up some money. That way, I'll have something to tide me over my freshman year.”  

Paul squeezed (Y/N)'s hand under the table and fought back a smile when squeezed back, mentally repeating the script he had practiced the night before with the youngest Swan. If there was one thing she knew, it was that her father was predictable.  

“Well, it seems you've got a good plan there,” Charlie said, sounding almost impressed. “That's good. So, engineering, huh?”  

The boy droned on about what he liked about the degree when Bella's phone chirped twice with a text message. Invested in their conversation, Charlie and Paul did not notice the frown that pulled the corners of the girl's mouth, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips. (Y/N) noticed, though, and she pointed toward the living room. The two sisters left the conversation about college and hoped they were just out of hearing distance for privacy.  

“Is everything okay?” (Y/N) questioned. “Who texted?”  

Bella handed her younger sister her phone, allowing her a moment to read. “Edward sent a picture of today's newspaper,” she said. “Apparently, the deaths that have been happening in Seattle that have dad grouchy are newborn vampires running rampant.”  

“And Jacob wants to talk,” (Y/N) added, feeling a knot forming in her throat. “He's really persistent, huh?’  

“(Y/N), you need to tell me what happened between you two.”  

“God, it's not gonna change anything,” the girl groaned. “Why can't everyone just let it go?”  

“Fine, I'll drop it,” Bella said. “I'll just go over to La Push and get his version.”  

Next ->

A/N: teased y'all for long enough with that little prologue, but strap in. This book is gonna be one hell of a ride 🤭 If you used to be tagged in Speak and would like to be tagged in Requite, you will need to fill out the form below. Once Tumblr stops allowing the tag list, I will be closing it. If you’d like to be tagged: click hereMake sure you have my notifications on so you know every time I post!

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[yoyowrites]

more modern cumplane thoughts.

marriage of convenience?

its convenient for shang qinghua, who is starving and has no healthcare (using usa rules bc i am dumb American sorry) since he's aging out. he's complaining to his best friend, trust fund baby shen yuan, who suggests they get married. sqh is freaking out bc is his crush requited and are they jumping straight to marriage?

unfortunately no, shen yuan still identifies as straight tm. he just wants to help his friend and get his family off his back but he definitely doesn't like men. it would be a completely platonic marriage.

sqh wants to say no but he hasn't gone to get a check up in over two years and they've been friends for so long. sqh can totally deal with his crush only caring about him in a platonic sense. right?

shen yuan totally won't realize what he feels for shang qinghua is more than friendship. it will just be them living together. they're practically roommates. just some paperwork. and if sy's eyes linger when sqh leaves the bathroom in just a robe thats only him judging silently. thats all