#might make a part two if you guys like this one �� | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

julietsf1 · 2 days ago

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The Potion Project - Charles Leclerc x Reader (Harry Potter inspired)

summary: When a week-long potions project pairs two opposites, something starts brewing between them as well (12k words)

content: sweet Charles, cold reader, set at Hogwarts, who hired Gunther as a teacher? enemies to lovers

A/N: I'm entering my winter groove again and every year around this time I rewatch the HP movies & it got me feeling nostalgic guys!! with Charles being a big fan I just had to write something heehee :) I know he says he's Ravenclaw but I choose to ignore that

Franco fics soon! just doing some last proofreading

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The dungeons were colder than necessary. Not that it was unusual—I’d spent enough time in the Slytherin common room to acclimate—but there was something distinctly unpleasant about Potions. The damp air clung to the walls, steeped with the scent of overbrewed concoctions, the occasional waft of singed hair, and faint notes of despair.

Professor Steiner loomed at the front of the classroom like a storm cloud, his sharp eyes scanning the room as if daring anyone to breathe too loudly.

“Quiet!” he barked, his voice reverberating off the walls. Several students flinched, though Steiner’s theatrics were nothing new. “This is not a place for your idle chatter. This is my domain. You will respect it—or you will suffer!”

I stifled a sigh, adjusting my quill and parchment. Steiner was infamous for his dramatic speeches, though they were often more effective at frightening first-years than inspiring actual respect.

“Today,” he continued, his sharp accent cutting through the air, “we embark on a very special project. One that will test your patience, skill, and—most importantly—your ability to cooperate.”

I straightened slightly in my seat. It was never a good sign when Steiner emphasized words like patience or cooperate.

“This term,” he went on, “we will be brewing Amortentia.”

A ripple of excitement spread through the room. Amortentia: the most powerful love potion in existence. It was infamous for revealing one’s innermost desires through scent alone—a potion that required equal parts skill and trust to perfect.

“However,” Steiner added, silencing the murmurs with a sharp glare, “this is not merely an exercise in potion-making. This is an exercise in unity. You will be working with a partner from a different house.”

The murmurs returned, louder this time.

“Oh, Merlin,” Lando muttered beside me, leaning back in his chair with a theatrical groan. He was leaning so far back in his chair he might as well have been horizontal.

My usual partner in crime was a typical Slytherin: confident, smug, and disliked for the dumbest reasons. Although Lando himself had claimed his house allocation to be the result from ‘Slithering in every girl’s pants’. A remark I mocked him for at every chance I got, of course. Not that he was wrong, though.

“The potion is delicate,” Steiner continued, glaring at Max Verstappen, who was whispering something to Daniel Ricciardo across the aisle. “It requires precision. Focus. And most importantly—trust. Without these, it will fail spectacularly. Ja, you will fail spectacularly.”

“Now,” he said, pacing the front of the room, “I will announce your partners. Listen carefully—there will be no changes.”

The roll call began, each pairing met with a mixture of groans, laughter, and resigned sighs.

“Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri.”

Oscar, a soft-spoken Ravenclaw, looked visibly distressed. Lando grinned, clearly planning some sort of mischief.

“Carlos Sainz and Alex Albon.”

Carlos, the ever strategising Ravenclaw, gave Alex a polite nod. Alex, the friendly Hufflepuff that he is, returned it with a vibrant smile.

“Daniel Ricciardo and Max Verstappen.”

Max’s expression remained stoic, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Daniel, on the other hand, clapped Max on the back, loudly declaring, “This is going to be fantastic!”

“Fernando Alonso and Lance Stroll.”

The room collectively groaned. Of course. Two Slytherins working together defeated the entire point of inter-house cooperation, but neither Alonso nor Lance seemed remotely apologetic.

Lance’s dad was also a professor, but he always denied that having anything to do with his seemingly never-ending luck.

“George Russell and Ollie Bearman.”

Ollie, the youngest of the Hufflepuffs, looked ready to bolt. George, a Ravenclaw with an air of calm superiority, gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“Lewis Hamilton and Franco Colapinto.��

Franco, ever the optimist, grinned at Lewis. The Gryffindor Seeker offered a polite nod in return, his demeanor radiating quiet dignity.

“Pierre Gasly and Valtteri Bottas.”

Valtteri, the epitome of Hufflepuff steadiness, seemed unfazed. Pierre, a flamboyant Gryffindor, raised an eyebrow as if already calculating the odds of success.

“And finally,” Steiner said, his gaze landing on me, “Y/N and Charles Leclerc.”

I froze.

Charles Leclerc—the golden boy of Hufflepuff. Cheerful, clumsy, and infuriatingly optimistic.

He turned around from his seat in the front of the class, flashing me a grin that made my blood boil.

I glared at him, already regretting every decision that had led me to this moment.

...

By the time class ended, the room had descended into controlled chaos. The sound of chairs scraping, glass clinking, and voices clashing filled the air as everyone began gathering their supplies and—predictably—arguing with their partners.

Charles, bless his Hufflepuff heart, had already made a mess. He reached for a jar of billywig stings on the shelf, fumbled it like it was a Quaffle, and sent it tumbling to the floor.

“Sorry!” he exclaimed, bending down to pick it up—only to bump his head on the desk on the way up.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. This was going to be a disaster.

Across the room, Franco was chatting animatedly with Lewis, waving his hands so much I half-expected him to take off like a billywig himself.

“...and then there was this time during the Quidditch match when I nearly got hit by a Bludger, but I dodged it like—” Franco made an exaggerated dive motion, knocking a vial off the table. Lewis caught it effortlessly, his Gryffindor poise still intact.

“Focus,” Lewis said mildly, setting the vial back in place.

“Right, focus,” Franco said, clearly not planning to focus at all.

At the front of the room, Max and Daniel were already plotting, their voices carrying easily over the din.

“We’ll finish first,” Max declared confidently, his Slytherin arrogance practically radiating off him.

“Obviously,” Daniel replied, grinning. “We’re the dream team.”

“Be realistic, hermanos,” Carlos interjected as he passed, his Ravenclaw sensibilities clearly offended by their lack of a plan. “You haven’t even read the instructions.”

“We don’t need instructions,” Max said.

“That’s the motto of people who fail,” Carlos shot back, but Daniel just laughed and gave him a thumbs-up.

Beside me, Lando was enjoying himself far too much. He was leaning back in his chair, looking between me and Charles like he was watching the first act of a play.

“Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you,” he said with a grin.

“I hate you,” I replied flatly.

“Don’t worry,” he added, clapping me on the shoulder like he was offering genuine comfort. “If you get desperate, just tell him the potion needs ‘a dash of love’ or something. Hufflepuffs eat that stuff up.”

“Don’t you have a Ravenclaw to terrorize?” I shot back, nodding toward Oscar, who was nervously rearranging his supplies like his life depended on it.

“Oh, I’m going to have so much fun with him,” Lando said, his smirk widening. “He already looks like he’s on the verge of a breakdown. All I have to do is mislabel one ingredient and—poof—chaos.”

“Remind me why we’re friends?”

“Because you love me,” Lando said simply, leaning back again.

Meanwhile, Charles, who had managed to gather most of his spilled supplies, was now trying to stack several jars precariously on top of each other. The top one teetered dangerously, and I opened my mouth to stop him—but it was too late.

The jar crashed to the floor, shattering into a million pieces.

“Sorry!” Charles yelped again, looking genuinely distressed.

Lando snorted. “Seven nights,” he said, shaking his head. “Seven nights of this. How are you going to survive?”

“I’m not,” I muttered. “Just make sure the epitaph on my grave says Death by Hufflepuff.”

By the time we reached the Slytherin common room, my frustration had only deepened. The thought of spending seven nights with Charles Leclerc—cheerful, clumsy, maddening Charles—was enough to make my head ache.

Lando lounged on the sofa nearest the fireplace, looking every bit the self-assured Slytherin that he was. His legs were draped over the armrest, his tie hanging loose around his neck, and his smirk firmly in place.

“Well?” he drawled, twirling his wand between his fingers. “How does it feel to be paired with Charles ‘Sunshine and Smiles’ Leclerc?”

“About as thrilling as you’d expect,” I replied, sinking into the armchair opposite him. “Can’t wait to spend my evenings watching him trip over cauldrons while giving me a lecture on the power of friendship.”

Lando snorted, clearly amused. “At least he’s nice.”

“That’s part of the problem,” I said, slumping further into the chair. “He’s too nice. It’s unsettling. Nobody is that cheerful without some ulterior motive.”

“Maybe his ulterior motive is making you less of a cynic,” Lando said with a grin.

“Maybe my ulterior motive is not hexing him before the week is over,” I shot back.

Lando chuckled, leaning forward slightly. “Come on, he can’t be that bad.”

“He dropped a jar twice before we even started,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Twice, Lando. That’s not just clumsiness—that’s a cry for help.”

“Maybe he was nervous,” Lando offered, though the twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.

“Why? Because I terrify him?”

“Because you terrify everyone,” he replied, laughing.

I grabbed one of the decorative cushions and threw it at him. Lando ducked, cackling as the cushion sailed harmlessly past him.

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “If Charles is as hopeless as you say, what do you think his Amortentia will smell like?”

“Sunshine and sincerity,” I said instantly.

Lando blinked. “Sunshine? Sincerity?”

“Yes,” I replied, leaning forward in mock seriousness. “The man practically radiates it. He probably spends his free time rescuing injured animals and helping old witches cross the street. Honestly, he probably smells like freshly baked bread, lavender fields, and the satisfaction of knowing he’s a better person than the rest of us.”

Lando howled with laughter, clutching his stomach. “Lavender fields? Satisfaction? You’re killing me.”

“Am I wrong?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Lando admitted, still chuckling. “But now I’m picturing him cradling a three-legged puppy while giving an inspirational speech.”

“Exactly,” I said, smirking. “The boy is too sweet and soft. It’s suspicious.”

“And here I thought you were being unfair,” Lando teased, shaking his head.

“Oh, I’m completely unfair,” I said lightly. “But you can’t tell me you don’t see it. He’s practically glowing.”

“Fair enough,” Lando said, still grinning. “What about Franco? What’s his going to smell like?”

“An older woman,” I replied without hesitation.

Lando froze for a second before dissolving into laughter. “Merlin’s beard, you’re right. Max and Franco, both of them. Older women everywhere, beware.”

I leaned back, considering. “Although, your potion might not be much better. Portuguese pastries, for sure.”

“What?” Lando exclaimed, sitting up slightly. “Pastel de nata?”

“Mm-hmm,” I said, nodding. “Which, let’s be honest, doesn’t narrow down your soulmate pool at all.”

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered, covering his face with a cushion.

“Thank you,” I said sweetly.

Once Lando had recovered from his pastry-induced existential crisis, his expression turned mischievous again. “Alright, back to Charles. Do you think he’s already figured out what yours will smell like?”

I frowned. “Why would he care?”

“Oh, come on,” Lando said, rolling his eyes. “It’s practically inevitable. You, with your sharp tongue and overwhelming perfection. Him, with his golden retriever energy and clumsy charm. By the end of the week, he’s going to be hopelessly in love with you.”

“If you don’t shut up,” I cut in, “I will hex you into next week.”

Lando grinned. “You won’t do it.”

“Try me,” I said, narrowing my eyes.

“You’re just mad because I’m right,” he said smugly, leaning back again.

“I’m mad because you’re insufferable,” I shot back.

“Sure, sure,” he said, waving me off. “But when you’re proven wrong, I’ll be here. Ready to say ‘I told you so.’”

I reached for another cushion, but Lando had already leapt to his feet, laughing as he dodged out of range. “Goodnight, Y/N. Enjoy your sunshine and sincerity!”

“Goodnight, Lando,” I called after him, shaking my head.

The common room fell quiet after he left, save for the crackling fire and the occasional drip of water from the enchanted windows. I sank deeper into the armchair, letting my head fall back against the cushion.

Seven nights with Charles Leclerc. Seven nights of clumsiness, cheerful optimism, and broom polish.

This was going to be a long week.

…

The Potions classroom at night felt different. Quieter, somehow, but not in a peaceful way. The torches burned low, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls, and the faint scent of old ingredients hung in the air. I’d arrived early—not out of enthusiasm, but because I refused to let Charles Leclerc think I was the kind of person who was ever late.

The workspace I claimed was one of the better ones: a sturdy wooden table near the center of the room, far enough from the cauldron fumes of other students but close enough to Steiner’s desk to appear studious.

I began unpacking my supplies with the precision of someone who needed to keep their hands busy. Dried billywig stings, crushed moonstone, powdered asphodel—each vial was placed carefully in its designated spot.

“Y/N?”

I nearly dropped my stirring rod at the sound of his voice. Turning, I saw Charles standing in the doorway, framed by the dim light. He was holding a cauldron that seemed far too large for one person to manage, and the cheerful grin on his face was the exact opposite of how I felt about this entire situation.

“You’re early,” he said brightly, walking toward me with the kind of enthusiasm that could only come from a Hufflepuff.

“So are you,” I replied, already turning back to my supplies.

“Thought I’d get a head start,” he said, setting the cauldron down with a loud thud that made the glass jars on the table rattle.

I closed my eyes, willing myself to stay calm. “Great idea,” I muttered, rearranging the jars he’d displaced.

If Charles noticed my tone, he didn’t comment. Instead, he began unpacking his own supplies, humming softly to himself as he worked.

“What’s that?” I asked, unable to help myself.

“What’s what?”

“The humming,” I said, glancing at him.

“Oh,” he said, looking sheepish. “It’s a song my brother used to sing when he studied. Helps me focus.”

“Right,” I said flatly, returning to my vials.

There was a beat of silence, and then: “So, Y/N, what made you want to study Potions?”

I sighed, setting down my pestle. “Charles, do you think we can skip the small talk and just get to work?”

His expression faltered for a moment before he nodded. “Of course,” he said, his smile dimming slightly.

Good, I thought. This wasn’t a social event.

We’d been working for nearly twenty minutes when the first argument broke out.

“You’re stirring too fast,” I said, frowning at the potion as it bubbled furiously.

“I’m following the instructions,” Charles replied, his tone calm but tinged with exasperation.

“Clearly not,” I said, reaching for the spoon in his hand. “Here, let me—”

“Let me,” he interrupted, holding the spoon just out of my reach.

I glared at him. “Charles, the potion is about to curdle.”

“No, it’s not,” he argued, glancing at the cauldron. “It’s perfectly fine. You’re overreacting.”

“Overreacting?” I repeated, incredulous. “Do you have any idea what happens when Amortentia curdles? Because I can assure you it’s not ‘perfectly fine.’”

Charles sighed, his shoulders sagging as he set the spoon down. “Why do you always assume I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“Because you just spent the last five minutes stirring like you’re whisking pancake batter,” I snapped, gesturing at the cauldron.

“That’s rich coming from someone who spent half the session rearranging the ingredients instead of actually brewing the potion,” he shot back, his tone sharper than I’d expected.

I froze, narrowing my eyes at him. “I was organizing.”

“You were stalling,” he corrected, crossing his arms.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t trust me,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less certain. “You’d rather do everything yourself than let me try.”

“That’s not true,” I said, though the words sounded hollow even to me.

“Isn’t it?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “You’ve been micromanaging me since the moment we started. At least give me a chance before you decide I’m hopeless.”

I stared at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. Before I could respond, the potion hissed loudly, a plume of steam rising from the surface.

“What do we do now?” Charles asked, breaking the silence.

I sighed, grabbing the stirring rod. “We stabilize it. Slowly. Carefully. Without stirring like a maniac.”

The rest of the session passed in tense silence. Charles, to his credit, followed my instructions without complaint, though his earlier comment still grated on me.

By the time the potion had settled into a murky but manageable state, my patience was wearing thin.

“Well,” Charles said, stepping back from the cauldron, “it’s not perfect, but it’s not exploding either.”

“High praise,” I muttered, wiping my hands on a cloth.

He smiled faintly, his earlier cheerfulness tempered by caution. “Thanks for... guiding me,” he said, his voice careful.

I glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. For a moment, I felt a flicker of guilt for being so curt with him earlier.

“Just... read the instructions more carefully next time,” I said, my voice softer than before.

“Got it,” he said, his grin returning in full force.

I rolled my eyes, but there was no real malice behind it.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N,” he said, gathering his supplies.

“Yeah,” I replied, watching as he left the room.

As the door closed behind him, I let out a long sigh. One night down, six to go.

The Potions classroom felt less eerie the second night, though it still carried the same oppressive silence that made the sound of footsteps echo louder than necessary. I arrived slightly later this time—not late enough to seem unprofessional, but enough to make it clear I wasn’t in a rush to be here.

Charles was already at the table when I walked in, his cauldron set up and his supplies meticulously organized. He looked up as I approached, offering a polite smile that I didn’t return.

“Evening,” he said, his voice cheerful as always.

“Let’s just get this over with,” I replied, pulling out my notes and setting them down with a bit more force than necessary.

Charles blinked at me but said nothing, turning his attention back to his cauldron. For a few blessed moments, the only sounds were the clinking of vials and the rustle of parchment as we prepared our workspace.

“What do you like most about Potions?” Charles asked after a beat, his tone light, as though he were trying to bridge a gap I hadn’t invited him to cross.

I didn’t look up from measuring the powdered asphodel. “I’m good at it.”

“That’s not what I asked,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“It’s what you’re getting,” I replied curtly.

He chuckled softly, which only annoyed me further. “Alright, fair enough. I like Potions, too.”

“Congratulations,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

“I think it’s interesting,” he continued, completely unfazed by my lack of enthusiasm. “How you can take things that seem ordinary on their own—like herbs or minerals—and combine them to make something extraordinary. It’s like magic within magic, you know?”

I didn’t bother responding.

“I’ve always been curious about how things work,” he went on, oblivious to my silence. “That’s part of why I like Quidditch, too. There’s so much strategy involved—reading the game, anticipating moves. It’s not just about flying fast.”

I hummed vaguely, hoping he’d take the hint and stop talking. He didn’t.

“I started playing when I was seven,” he said, his voice taking on a more personal tone. “My dad taught me. He wasn’t a professional or anything, but he loved the game. Growing up by the sea especially, my brothers and I lost so many snitches and Quaffles in the waves. But he would never be upset about it.”

I accidentally spilled a pinch of asphodel, gritting my teeth as I cleaned it up.

“Y/N?”

“What?” I snapped, looking up at him for the first time.

Charles raised an eyebrow. “You’re not even listening.”

“I’m listening,” I said defensively.

“No, you’re pretending to listen,” he countered. “There’s a difference.”

I opened my mouth to argue but stopped short when I saw the look on his face. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Look,” I said finally, sighing. “I’m not here to make friends, okay? I’m here to get this potion done.”

Charles��s expression hardened. “Good,” he said sharply. “Because I’m not here to make friends either.”

The words caught me off guard, though I wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Great,” I said, recovering quickly. “Then let’s focus on the potion and skip the personal anecdotes.”

“Fine by me,” he said, his tone colder than I’d ever heard it.

For a while, the only sound between us was the bubbling of the cauldron. The tension in the air was almost palpable, thick and suffocating.

We worked in silence for most of the session, our movements stiff and deliberate. Despite the awkwardness, there was something oddly productive about the lack of conversation. Without distractions, we managed to complete the first phase of the potion without any major disasters.

As I stirred the mixture carefully, I caught a glimpse of Charles out of the corner of my eye. He was focused, his brows furrowed in concentration as he measured out the powdered moonstone.

“You’re doing it wrong,” I said automatically, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Charles looked up, his expression blank. “Am I?”

“Yes,” I said, stepping closer. “You’re supposed to add it gradually, not all at once.”

“Right,” he said, adjusting his technique without argument.

The ease with which he accepted my criticism surprised me. I’d expected more resistance, another round of bickering. Instead, he just nodded and kept working, his movements precise and deliberate.

“Thanks,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now.

“For what?” I asked, frowning.

“For correcting me,” he said simply. “I’d rather get it right than mess it up.”

I didn’t respond, turning my attention back to the cauldron. There was something disarming about the way he said it, his sincerity catching me off guard.

We finished the session without any further mishaps, the potion a shimmering shade of lilac by the end of it. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a step in the right direction.

As we cleaned up, the tension between us felt slightly less suffocating, though it wasn’t exactly gone.

“See you tomorrow,” Charles said as he packed up his supplies, his tone polite but distant.

“Yeah,” I replied, watching as he walked toward the door.

For a moment, I considered saying something—an apology, maybe, or a thank you. But the words caught in my throat, and by the time I found the courage to speak, the door had already closed behind him.

I sighed, turning back to simmering cauldron. Maybe tomorrow would be better.

By the time I arrived at the Potions classroom for the third night, I had resigned myself to another evening of tense silence and forced cooperation. The heavy wooden door creaked slightly as I pushed it open, the familiar smell of ingredients and old stone greeting me as I stepped inside.

Charles was already there, of course. Punctuality seemed to be his specialty, along with a perpetual optimism that bordered on exhausting. But tonight, something was different.

“Evening,” he said, looking up from the table with a smile. In front of him sat not just the usual arrangement of potion supplies but two steaming cups of tea.

I hesitated in the doorway, frowning. “What’s that?”

“Tea,” he said simply, gesturing to the cups. “I thought it might make things... less awful.”

“Less awful,” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I figured if we’re going to be stuck working together all week, we might as well try to make it tolerable,” he explained, pushing one of the cups toward me.

I stared at him for a moment, torn between suspicion and reluctant appreciation. Finally, I sighed and took the cup, the warmth spreading through my hands as I wrapped my fingers around it.

“Thanks,” I muttered, avoiding his gaze.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice soft but sincere.

I took a cautious sip, the rich, slightly floral flavor surprising me. It was good—annoyingly good.

“Didn’t peg you as a tea enthusiast,” I said, setting the cup down.

Charles shrugged, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “I’m full of surprises.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and turned my attention to the cauldron instead.

The session started smoother than the previous two, the tea serving as an unspoken truce between us. Charles seemed more at ease, his movements less tentative as he worked beside me.

“You’re adding too much powdered asphodel,” I said, glancing at his measuring spoon.

Charles paused, holding the spoon over the cauldron. “How much should I add, then?”

“Three pinches, not four,” I replied, my tone less sharp than usual.

He adjusted the amount without complaint, carefully sprinkling the powder into the potion.

“Better?” he asked, looking at me for confirmation.

“Better,” I admitted grudgingly.

Charles smiled, and for a fleeting moment, I noticed how his green eyes caught the torchlight, the flecks of gold in them almost shimmering. I quickly looked away, focusing on the potion.

We worked in relative harmony for the next hour, the bubbling of the cauldron filling the silence between us. It was almost... pleasant. Not that I’d admit it out loud.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Charles said after a while, breaking the silence.

“Is that a complaint?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not at all,” he replied, his grin returning. “Just an observation. You’re usually telling me everything I’m doing wrong by now.”

“I’m trying something new,” I said dryly. “It’s called patience.”

“Impressive,” he said, laughing softly.

“Don’t get used to it,” I warned, though my tone lacked its usual bite.

Charles chuckled again, the sound warm and unassuming.

As the session continued, I found myself watching him more closely—not in judgment, but in curiosity. There was a quiet determination to the way he worked, his focus unwavering as he carefully measured ingredients and stirred the potion with practiced precision.

His hair, dark and slightly tousled, fell into his eyes as he leaned over the cauldron, and he brushed it back absentmindedly with his fingers. There was something almost... endearing about the way he frowned in concentration, his brow furrowed just enough to give him a boyish charm.

“Y/N?”

I blinked, realizing he’d caught me staring. “What?”

“You’re doing it again,” he said, smirking.

“Doing what?”

“Hovering,” he said, his tone teasing.

“I’m supervising,” I corrected, crossing my arms.

“Right,” he said, his smirk widening. “Supervising.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

By the time we finished, the potion was a shimmering, pearly white—a marked improvement from the murky disaster of the first night.

“Not bad,” Charles said, stepping back to admire our work.

“Could be better,” I replied, though there was no real venom in my words.

“We’ll get there,” he said confidently, wiping his hands on a cloth.

His optimism was still maddening, but I had to admit it was slightly less grating than before.

As we packed up, the tension between us felt noticeably lighter.

“See you tomorrow,” Charles said, offering me another one of his infuriatingly sincere smiles.

“Yeah,” I replied, picking up my bag.

I paused in the doorway, glancing back at him one last time. There was something about the way he stood there—his posture relaxed but attentive, his green eyes bright with that unrelenting earnestness—that made me hesitate.

“Thanks for the tea,” I said quietly.

Charles’s smile widened, and for a moment, I almost felt like smiling back. Almost.

“Anytime,” he said.

I turned and walked out before he could say anything else, the warmth of the tea lingering in my hands—and, annoyingly, in my thoughts.

…

Breakfast in the Great Hall was one of my favorite parts of the day. It wasn’t just the food—though the enchanted platters that replenished themselves with warm toast, flaky pastries, and perfectly brewed coffee certainly didn’t hurt. It was the calm before the chaos, a brief window where the day hadn’t yet demanded anything of you.

This morning, however, I found myself unusually distracted.

“Earth to Y/N.”

I blinked, realizing Lando was waving a piece of bacon in front of my face.

“What?” I snapped, swatting his hand away.

“You’ve been staring into space for the last five minutes,” he said, smirking. “What’s got you so lost in thought? Don’t tell me it’s Leclerc.”

“Of course not,” I said quickly, a little too quickly.

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure, sure. So you weren’t just thinking about how you two are best friends now?”

“We are not best friends,” I said firmly, stabbing a piece of sausage with my fork for emphasis.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve stopped complaining about him, for one thing.”

“That’s because we’ve figured out how to work together,” I said, though the words sounded hollow even to me.

“Oh, you’ve ‘figured out’ how to work together,” Lando said, grinning. “That’s code for you’re warming up to him.”

“I am not warming up to him,” I insisted, though my cheeks felt uncomfortably warm.

“Denial is a powerful thing,” Lando said, taking a sip of his coffee with the kind of exaggerated smugness that made me want to throw something at him.

Further down the table, a lively conversation among our friends caught my attention.

“So, Hufflepuff versus Gryffindor today,” Carlos said, his Ravenclaw demeanor calm but his tone betraying a flicker of curiosity.

“Easy win for Gryffindor,” Franco chimed in, his Hufflepuff scarf loosely draped over his neck. “Leclerc might be good, but the rest of the team’s a mess.”

“Oh, come on,” Alex said, his loyalty as a Hufflepuff evident. “We’re not that bad.”

Max, seated beside Daniel, leaned back with a wicked grin. “I can’t wait to see Gryffindor lose to the worst sports team in the castle.”

Daniel snorted, nudging Max with his elbow. “You’re just bitter because we won last week.”

“I’m not bitter,” Max said, feigning innocence. “I’m just realistic. Hufflepuff’s overdue for a win, and what better team to beat than Gryffindor?”

George, always the voice of reason, raised an eyebrow. “You’re placing your bets on Hufflepuff? You have considered their statistics?”

“Not a bet,” Max said smugly. “It’s more of a prediction. Just wait—you’ll see.”

Daniel shook his head, laughing. “You’re lucky I don’t take offense, Maximilian.”

“Lucky,” Max said, grinning.

The banter continued, but I tuned out as I turned back to Lando, who was watching me with an annoyingly knowing expression.

“What now?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said, smirking. “Just wondering if you’re going to make it through the match without swooning.”

I glared at him. “I am not going to swoon.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, grinning.

By the time we reached the Quidditch pitch, the stands were already buzzing with excitement. The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff banners waved proudly in the breeze, their house colors painting the crowd in shades of red and gold, yellow and black.

Lando led the way to a spot near the middle of the stands, his Slytherin scarf draped loosely around his neck.

“You’re unusually enthusiastic about this,” I said as we sat down.

“I’m here for the drama,” he said, grinning. “And to watch you squirm every time Leclerc does something impressive.”

“I’m not going to squirm,” I said, though my voice lacked conviction.

“Sure, sure,” he said, smirking.

The match began with a sharp whistle from Madam Hooch, the players taking to the air in a blur of motion. The Gryffindor team, as expected, played aggressively, their Chasers weaving through the Hufflepuff defense with practiced ease.

But Hufflepuff held their ground, their Keeper deflecting shot after shot with remarkable precision.

Then there was Charles.

As Seeker, his role was less flashy but no less crucial. He moved with a quiet confidence, his sharp green eyes scanning the pitch as he hovered above the chaos. His dark hair was windswept from the speed, and there was a focus in his expression that I hadn’t noticed before—not the cheerful optimism I’d grown accustomed to, but something sharper, more intense.

“He’s good,” Lando said, nudging me with his elbow.

I ignored him, though I couldn’t deny the truth of his statement.

The game dragged on, neither team managing to pull too far ahead. The score was tight, and the tension in the air was palpable as the Snitch finally appeared, darting across the pitch in a blur of gold.

Charles spotted it immediately.

He shot forward like a bolt of lightning, his broom slicing through the air with precision. The Gryffindor Seeker, hot on his heels, was faster, but Charles was smarter, his movements calculated as he anticipated the Snitch’s erratic flight path.

I found myself leaning forward in my seat, my heart pounding as the two Seekers closed in.

Then, in a move so daring it made the crowd gasp, Charles dove.

It was reckless, almost suicidal, the kind of dive that could end in disaster if his timing was even a fraction off. But he didn’t hesitate.

His fingers closed around the Snitch just inches from the ground, and the stadium erupted into cheers as the whistle blew, signaling the end of the match.

Lando turned to me, his smirk practically splitting his face. “And there it is.”

“There what is?” I asked, tearing my gaze away from the pitch.

“You,” he said, pointing at me. “Blushing.”

“I am not blushing,” I said, though my cheeks betrayed me.

“Sure, sure,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “Just admit it—you’re impressed.”

I crossed my arms, trying to ignore the way my heart was still racing. “He’s fine, I guess.”

“Fine,” Lando repeated, laughing. “You were practically holding your breath during that dive.”

“Was not,” I muttered, though the words sounded unconvincing even to me.

“Whatever you say,” Lando said, grinning.

As the crowd began to disperse, I caught one last glimpse of Charles on the pitch, his teammates surrounding him in celebration. There was a faint smile on his face, not the broad, toothy grin I’d expected, but something quieter, more satisfied.

I shook my head, tearing my gaze away.

It was just Quidditch. Nothing more.

…

I arrived at the Potions classroom that evening with a small package tucked under my arm. It wasn’t like me to make peace offerings, especially not for something as trivial as a strained group project, but the nagging sense of guilt from Charles bringing tea the previous night had finally gotten to me.

If I was being honest, it wasn’t just guilt. It was the faint, begrudging realization that maybe Charles deserved a little credit for his effort. He wasn’t perfect—far from it—but he was trying.

The classroom was quiet when I walked in, the soft flicker of torchlight illuminating Charles already at our table. His head was bent over his cauldron, his dark hair slightly tousled, and the flicker of concentration on his face gave him an uncharacteristic air of seriousness.

“Evening,” I said, setting my bag down with a thud.

Charles looked up, his green eyes brightening when he saw me. “Evening,” he replied, his usual cheerfulness returning instantly. His gaze flickered to the package in my hand. “What’s that?”

“Cookies,” I said, sliding the package across the table toward him. “Consider it a peace offering.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise, and a grin spread across his face. “A peace offering? From you? Should I be worried?”

“Only if you don’t appreciate them,” I said, smirking.

He chuckled, opening the package and examining the contents. “These look incredible. Did you make them?”

“Obviously,” I replied. “Do you think I’d trust the house-elves to get the seasoning right?”

Charles laughed, a warm, genuine sound that filled the quiet space. “Well, thank you. Really.”

“Don’t mention it,” I said, trying not to let his sincerity catch me off guard. “Literally. Don’t mention it. To anyone.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

As the potion bubbled steadily, we found ourselves settling into an unexpectedly smooth rhythm, each of us quietly handling our assigned tasks.

“You know,” Charles said after a while, glancing at the shimmering surface of the potion, “this is almost... peaceful.”

“Peaceful?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow. “I think you mean tolerable.”

He laughed softly, adding a careful pinch of powdered moonstone to the cauldron. “Fine, tolerable. But admit it—you’re not having the worst time.”

“That’s a low bar,” I shot back, though my tone was more teasing than sharp.

Charles grinned, glancing at me as he stirred. “You’ve got a pretty high standard for everything, don’t you?”

“Is that a problem?” I asked, tilting my head.

“Not at all,” he said quickly. “It’s just... intense.”

“Intense?” I repeated, mock-offended. “Says the guy who just called potion-making ‘peaceful.’”

He laughed again, his shoulders shaking slightly. “Okay, fair point. But don’t you ever just... let things go?”

I stared at him. “Let things go? During a project? Absolutely not. That’s how you end up with an exploding cauldron.”

“Exploding cauldrons aside,” he said, still smiling, “I’m serious. Do you always approach life like it’s a competition?”

“Only when I feel like winning,” I said with a smirk.

Charles chuckled, shaking his head. “And you always feel like winning, I suppose?”

“See, you get it,” I said, gesturing to the potion.

He snickered, his green eyes bright with amusement. “You know, for someone so competitive, you’re surprisingly good company.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Surprisingly?”

“Don’t take it the wrong way,” he said quickly. “It’s just, you’re a bit... sharp at first.”

“Sharp,” I repeated, my tone flat.

“Sharp in a good way,” he added hastily. “Like a really good knife. Useful but intimidating.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. “That’s the strangest compliment I’ve ever received.”

“Well, it’s true,” he said, grinning. “You’re efficient, you know what you’re doing, and you don’t tolerate nonsense. It’s... refreshing.”

“Refreshing,” I said, my voice tinged with disbelief. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Not when I’m trying to make someone smile,” he said, his tone surprisingly genuine.

I glanced at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.

The conversation continued in that vein, shifting from light teasing to random topics.

By the end of the session, the potion was a shimmering, pearly white, its consistency smooth and flawless.

“Well,” Charles said, stepping back to admire the cauldron, “we didn’t blow anything up. I’d call that a win.”

“Low standards,” I said, though there was no real bite to my words.

He smiled at me, his green eyes softening. “I think we make a pretty good team.”

I didn’t respond immediately, my gaze flickering to the potion. “I guess we’re... okay,” I said finally, smirking.

“High praise,” he said, laughing.

…

I pushed open the heavy door to the Potions classroom, my steps measured but deliberate. My bag hung loosely from my shoulder, the weight of the day pulling at me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. I wasn’t stomping or slamming things, but the tension in my posture probably gave me away.

Charles was already at the table, as usual, his supplies perfectly laid out. He glanced up as I approached, his face brightening briefly before his brows knitted together.

“Evening,” he said carefully. “Everything alright?”

“Fine,” I replied, setting my bag down a little too heavily.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but didn’t push the matter.

The silence stretched between us as we began to unpack our supplies. I tried to focus on the potion, the familiar rhythm of measuring and stirring usually soothing. But tonight, it wasn’t enough to drown out Lance’s voice echoing in my head.

“Slytherin girls are all the same—good at charming their way to the top but not much else.”

The comment had been thrown so casually, like it wasn’t meant to sting. But it had, even though I hated admitting it.

I grabbed a vial of powdered moonstone, twisting the lid off with more force than necessary.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” Charles asked, his voice cutting through the quiet.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, though the sharpness in my tone betrayed me.

“Y/N,” he said gently, setting down his stirring rod. “Talk to me.”

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the edge of the table. “It’s nothing important.”

“If it’s bothering you, it’s important,” he said, his tone softer now.

I glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

Finally, I sighed. “Lance said something stupid. That’s all.”

Charles frowned, his easygoing demeanor shifting slightly. “What did he say?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, focusing on the potion.

“Y/N,” he said again, his tone firmer now.

I glanced at him, surprised by the intensity in his green eyes. He wasn’t going to let this go.

“He made some stupid comment about Slytherin girls,” I admitted finally, setting down the vial. “Said we only get ahead because we know how to ‘charm’ people.”

Charles’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening slightly. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” I asked, forcing a laugh that sounded more bitter than amused. “It’s not like I haven’t heard it before.”

“Then they’re all idiots,” Charles said firmly, his voice low but steady.

I blinked, caught off guard by the heat in his words.

“You work harder than anyone I know,” he continued, his green eyes locking onto mine. “If Lance or anyone else can’t see that, that’s their problem—not yours.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.

“Thanks,” I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Charles nodded, his expression softening slightly. “You shouldn’t let people like him get to you. They’re not worth it.”

I managed a small smile, though the knot in my chest hadn’t entirely unraveled.

“Come on,” he said, straightening. “Let’s get out of here.”

I frowned. “What?”

“The potion’s fine,” he said, gesturing to the cauldron. “You need a break. Let’s go for a walk.”

I hesitated, glancing between him and the table. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, his green eyes meeting mine.

Something about the quiet conviction in his voice made it impossible to argue.

The Astronomy Tower was quiet and still, the cool night air brushing against my skin as we stepped onto the open platform. The stars stretched endlessly above us, their light reflecting off the grounds below in a soft, silvery glow.

Charles leaned against the stone railing, his gaze fixed on the sky. “Better?”

“Maybe,” I admitted, my voice softer now.

He turned to look at me, his expression warm but serious. “Lance doesn’t define you, Y/N. You know that, right?”

I blinked, startled by the conviction in his voice.

“You’re one of the smartest, most capable people I’ve met,” he continued, his green eyes steady. “If he can’t see that, that’s his loss.”

There was a sincerity in his words that caught me off guard, making my chest feel uncomfortably tight.

“Thanks,” I said quietly, leaning against the railing beside him.

Charles smiled, the kind of smile that was small but genuine, like he didn’t need to say anything else.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward but peaceful, the kind that made you feel like words weren’t necessary.

As I glanced at Charles, I found myself noticing things I hadn’t before. The way his dark hair caught the moonlight, the soft curls brushing against his forehead. The faint dimple in his cheek when he smiled, even slightly. His green eyes, so vibrant in the dim light, seemed to reflect the stars above us.

He looked... different up here. Softer, somehow, but steady in a way that made me feel grounded.

I quickly looked away, focusing on the stars instead.

“You like stargazing?” he asked after a while, his voice low.

“Sometimes,” I admitted, my gaze still on the sky.

“It’s calming, isn’t it?” he said, leaning back slightly. “Makes everything else seem... smaller.”

I nodded, surprised by how much I agreed.

“I used to come up here all the time,” he said, his tone tinged with nostalgia. “Whenever I felt overwhelmed, this was my escape.”

“Overwhelmed?” I asked, glancing at him.

He smiled faintly, his gaze still on the stars. “Everyone expects you to be a certain way, you know? Happy, perfect, always doing the right thing. Sometimes it’s... a lot.”

I watched him quietly, his words hitting closer to home than I’d expected.

“But then I’d come up here, bring my favorite pizza,” he continued, his voice softer now. “And none of it mattered. It was just me and the stars.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.

“That’s... nice,” I said finally, my voice quieter than before.

Charles turned to look at me, his expression thoughtful. “It is.”

The way he looked at me then, steady and unwavering, made something twist in my chest. It wasn’t the usual irritation I felt around him—this was something quieter, harder to define.

We stayed on the Astronomy Tower longer than I’d expected, our conversation drifting to lighter topics as the tension from earlier melted away.

When we finally made our way back to the dungeons, I felt... a little happy?

“Thanks for the walk,” I said as we reached the door to the common areas.

Charles smiled, his green eyes warm. “Anytime.”

As I watched him walk away, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something unfamiliar in my stomach, as a sheepish smile appeared on my face.

…

When I walked into the Potions classroom, Charles was already there, hunched over the cauldron with his usual air of concentration. The dim torchlight flickered across his face, casting shadows along the sharp line of his jaw. He looked up as I entered, his green eyes catching the light in a way that was unfairly distracting.

“Right on time,” he said, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Were you waiting outside, counting down the minutes to see me?”

I dropped my bag onto the table with a soft thud, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t flatter yourself, Leclerc. I was contemplating skipping entirely.”

Charles chuckled, standing upright and brushing his hands together. “And miss our bonding time? That would’ve been tragic.”

“Bonding time?” I repeated, crossing my arms. “Is that what you call this?”

“Absolutely,” he said, grinning.

“Sure it is,” I said, smirking as I pulled out my notes. “Don’t mess up my grade, Leclerc.”

“I can do both,” he shot back, leaning casually against the table. “You’re just jealous because I make this look easy.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Easy? You’re the only person I’ve seen spill powdered moonstone twice in one session.”

“I prefer to call that... experimental flair,” he said giving me a wink.

“Keep telling yourself that,” I said, rolling my eyes, grinning wide.

We settled into a rhythm as we worked, the potion bubbling steadily between us. Charles had a way of working that was simultaneously precise and frustrating, his movements deliberate but occasionally overthought.

“You know,” I said, watching him carefully measure out the Essence of Belladonna, “you don’t have to treat every ingredient like it’s a baby bird. You can be a little faster.”

“Fast doesn’t always mean better,” he replied, glancing at me with a pointed look. “Sometimes patience pays off.”

“Or sometimes you’re just stalling because you don’t know what you’re doing,” I countered, smirking.

He laughed, shaking his head. “And here I thought you were finally being nicer to me.”

“Nice?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Who said anything about that?”

“Come on,” he said, grinning. “You’re not nearly as mean to me as you used to be. Admit it—you’re starting to like me.”

I pretended to think for a moment. “I wouldn’t go that far. Tolerate, maybe.”

Charles laughed, the sound low and warm. “Admit it—I’m growing on you.”

“Like a particularly stubborn weed,” I said, smirking.

“Hey, weeds are resilient,” he said, grinning. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

By the time we finished, the potion shimmered with a pearly brilliance, the final stage completed without a single mishap.

“Not bad,” I said, leaning back slightly to admire our work.

“You mean brilliant,” Charles corrected, his tone light.

“Fine,” I said, smirking. “Brilliant. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” he said, his green eyes crinkling slightly as he smiled.

We packed up in companionable silence, the tension that had once defined our sessions now replaced by something easier, almost... comfortable.

As I reached for my bag, I caught Charles watching me, his expression unreadable.

“What?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, his grin returning. “Just wondering if you’ve always been this stubborn or if it’s just me.”

“Definitely just you,” I said, smirking as I slung my bag over my shoulder.

“Good to know,” he replied, his voice soft but teasing.

I lingered for a moment, something unspoken hanging in the air between us.

“Goodnight, Leclerc,” I said finally, breaking the silence.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replied, his voice steady.

…

Charles and I were among the first to arrive, our cauldron resting on the designated table in front of Professor Steiner’s desk.

“Everything set?” Charles asked, glancing at me.

“Of course,” I replied, crossing my arms. “We’re the first ones here, aren’t we?”

“Just making sure,” he said, his grin soft and easy. “Wouldn’t want you to miss the chance to impress Steiner with your flawless execution.”

“Our flawless execution,” I corrected, smirking. “Try to keep up, Leclerc.”

“Glad to see you’re giving me credit now,” he replied, laughing softly.

As the classroom began to fill, familiar voices drifted through the air, weaving a tapestry of conversations.

“Alex, you’re going to spill that—”

“Relax, Carlos,” Alex replied, balancing their cauldron precariously as they set it down. “It’s fine. Look—steady as a broomstick.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring,” Carlos muttered, shaking his head.

“You think Steiner’s going to notice?” Max asked, eyeing their potion skeptically.

“Notice what?” Daniel replied innocently.

“The fact that it looks like swamp water,” Max said, smirking.

“Swamp chic,” Daniel said with a grin. “It’s ahead of its time.”

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Lando and Oscar setting up their station, Lando leaning lazily against the table while Oscar meticulously checked their notes.

“You’re doing great, mate,” Lando said, smirking. “Really carrying the team here.”

“You could at least pretend to help,” Oscar replied, shooting him a look.

“I’m supporting from the sidelines,” Lando said, grinning.

I rolled my eyes at their antics, turning my attention back to our potion.

“Alright,” Steiner began, his gravelly voice carrying over the room. “Let’s see how many of you managed to brew something that won’t explode.”

One by one, the pairs presented their potions, each receiving varying degrees of praise and critique.

Finally, it was our turn. Charles and I carefully carried our cauldron to the front, the pearly potion shimmering under the torchlight.

“Ah,” Steiner said, leaning closer to inspect it. “Now this... this is promising.”

Charles glanced at me, a small, triumphant smile tugging at his lips.

“Beautiful consistency,” Steiner continued. “No residue, perfect color, no burns on the cauldron. Very good work.”

I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride as Steiner turned to us expectantly. “And the scent?”

Charles stepped forward first, leaning over the cauldron to inhale deeply. His expression shifted slightly, his brows furrowing as if he was processing something unexpected.

“It’s... interesting,” he said after a moment, his voice thoughtful.

Steiner raised an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”

Charles straightened, a faint, almost playful smile on his lips. “No. I think I’ll keep it to myself.”

The room stirred with quiet amusement, a few pairs exchanging curious glances.

Steiner turned to me. “And you, Miss Y/N?”

I hesitated before stepping forward, leaning over the cauldron. The scent was immediate, wrapping around me like a memory I couldn’t quite place. Saltwater, crisp and sharp, like standing at the edge of a windswept cliff. Beneath it, there was the faint, warm aroma of polished wood, something sturdy and grounding. And finally, a subtle hint of... pizza margherita?

I straightened, my heart thudding softly in my chest.

“Well?” Steiner asked, his tone expectant.

“It’s... balanced,” I said carefully, keeping my voice steady. “Very harmonious.”

Steiner nodded, looking satisfied. “As it should be. Well done, both of you.”

Charles gave me a small nudge as we carried the cauldron back to our table. “Balanced and harmonious, huh?” he whispered.

“What can I say?” I replied, smirking. “I’m good with words.”

As we sat down, the other pairs finished their presentations.

“I’m just saying, it could’ve been worse,” Daniel said as he and Max returned to their seats.

“How?” Max asked, raising an eyebrow. “How could it possibly be worse?”

“Could’ve caught fire,” Daniel replied with a grin.

Lando and Oscar were next, their cauldron emitting a faint but odd scent as Steiner leaned over it.

“Well,” Steiner said after a moment, “it’s certainly... unique.”

“See?” Lando said, clapping Oscar on the back. “Unique. Told you it was brilliant.”

Oscar sighed heavily, muttering something under his breath.

As the session ended and students began to leave, Charles lingered at our table, packing up his supplies with his usual care.

“What did you smell?” I asked suddenly, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Charles glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “Why? Curious?”

“Just wondering,” I said, trying to sound casual.

He smiled faintly, his green eyes catching the torchlight. “I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

I hesitated, quickly looking away. “Never mind.”

Charles laughed softly, the sound low and warm. “Suit yourself.”

As we walked out of the classroom, his words lingered in my mind, mingling with the memory of the scent I couldn’t quite shake.

Ocean. Polished wood. Pizza margherita.

It was unmistakable. It was him.

…

The Slytherin common room was quiet, the kind of rare silence that felt stolen rather than earned. I sat curled in one of the oversized armchairs near the fire, letting the green-tinted flames flicker patterns across the walls. The day had been long, but I was finally alone with my thoughts—unfortunately, those thoughts had been annoyingly preoccupied with one person.

I should’ve known the peace wouldn’t last.

The door slammed open, and I didn’t even need to look to know who it was. Lando’s footsteps were as distinctive as his personality—loud, unapologetic, and just the right amount of chaotic.

“Well, if it isn’t Madame Amortentia herself,” he announced, throwing himself into the chair across from me.

I sighed, not even bothering to look up. “Do you ever knock?”

“On a common room?” he replied, feigning shock. “What do you think I am? A bloody Hufflepuff?”

“Don’t let Charles hear you say that,” I muttered.

“Oh, so we’re talking about Charles now,” Lando said, leaning forward with a gleam in his eye.

I immediately regretted opening my mouth. “What do you want, Lando?”

“To know what you smelled, darling! Can’t believe you haven’t told me yet,” he said, grinning.

I blinked at him. “What?”

“The potion,” he said, his grin widening. “The Amortentia. What did you smell?”

“I thought you were in the room,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“I was,” he replied, shrugging. “But Steiner didn’t exactly announce your deepest secrets to the class, did he? So, what was it?”

I hesitated, knowing full well that any answer would only add fuel to the fire.

“Nothing important,” I said finally, turning my gaze back to the flames.

“Nothing important?” Lando repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief. “Y/N, it’s Amortentia. It’s literally the most important thing.”

“Not to me,” I said firmly.

“You’re such a liar,” he said, laughing. “Come on, tell me. I won’t judge.”

“You will absolutely judge,” I replied, glaring at him.

“Fair,” he said, smirking. “But I’ll keep it to myself. Scout’s honor.”

“You’ve never been a Scout,” I muttered.

“Semantics,” he said, waving a hand. “Now, spill.”

I sighed, knowing there was no escaping him. “Fine. It was... saltwater. And wood. And pizza margherita.”

Lando stared at me for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Pizza margherita?” he repeated, clutching his sides. “Are you serious?”

I rolled my eyes. “You said you wouldn’t judge.”

“I lied,” he said between fits of laughter. “That is the most ridiculous combination I’ve ever heard.”

“Thanks,” I said dryly. “Glad I could entertain you.”

“But wait,” he said, sitting up suddenly, his grin turning wicked. “Saltwater? Wood? Pizza? That’s Leclerc, isn’t it?”

My stomach twisted, but I kept my face neutral. “It could mean anything.”

“Sure,” Lando said, smirking. “Anything like... broomsticks, the ocean, and the one guy who eats pizza at every Hogsmeade visit?”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” I insisted, my voice rising slightly.

“Oh, it means everything,” Lando said, leaning forward. “You’re done for. Absolutely smitten.”

“I am not smitten,” I snapped.

“You’re blushing,” he pointed out gleefully.

“I am not blushing,” I said, though my cheeks betrayed me.

“Y/N,” he said, grinning. “This is amazing. You, the untouchable, too-cool-for-anyone Slytherin, has a crush on a Hufflepuff.”

“Say that louder,” I said sarcastically, glaring at him. “I don’t think the first-years in the dungeon heard you.”

“Admit it,” he said, crossing his arms. “You like him.”

I stared at him for a long moment, the words forming on my tongue before I could stop them. “Fine,” I said quietly. “Maybe I do.”

Lando’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he was actually speechless.

“Wait, really?” he said finally, his grin returning. “This is even better than I thought.”

“Lando, I swear—”

“No, no, this is great,” he said, cutting me off. “You’ve got to tell him.”

“Absolutely not,” I said quickly.

“Why not?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Because it’s ridiculous,” I said. “And it’s none of his business.”

“It’s literally all of his business,” Lando said, grinning. “You smelled him in a love potion. That’s fate.”

“Fate doesn’t smell like pizza,” I muttered.

Lando laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. “Oh, this is too good.”

I buried my face in my hands, groaning. “Why are we friends?”

“Because I’m the only one who tells you the truth,” he said, his voice still tinged with laughter.

“And what’s the truth, then?” I asked, glaring at him through my fingers.

“That you like Charles,” he said simply. “And he probably likes you, too.”

My stomach did a little flip. The words hung in the air, heavier than I’d expected. I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed quiet, the crackle of the fire filling the silence.

“You should do something about it,” Lando said after a moment, his tone softer now.

“Like what?” I asked, my voice quieter.

“We need a party,” he said, grinning again. “And we invite him.”

…

The Slytherin common room was a cacophony of sound and motion, transformed into a celebration only Lando could orchestrate. The green-tinted lanterns overhead flickered in rhythm with the enchanted music, casting shimmering shadows across the stone walls. Snacks, drinks, and laughter filled the room, the air thick with the smoky tang of firewhiskey and the faint warmth of burning candles.

I stood near the snack table, nursing a glass of firewhiskey that burned pleasantly as it went down. The heat steadied me—something I desperately needed tonight.

Lando, of course, was everywhere. He flitted between groups like the chaos incarnate he was, occasionally pausing to throw me an annoyingly knowing look. I ignored him, focusing instead on the flickering green flames of the fireplace.

“This is your party, you know,” Lando said suddenly, appearing at my side as if summoned by my irritation.

“It’s not my party,” I replied, not looking up from my drink.

“Oh, it absolutely is,” he said, smirking. “Top marks in Potions, the best Amortentia the class has ever seen, and the most interesting guest list Slytherin’s hosted in years? You should be thanking me.”

“For what?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Making my life harder?”

“For making it interesting,” he replied smoothly.

I sighed, taking another sip. Before I could respond, the crowd stirred, and I glanced up instinctively.

Charles had arrived.

He stood in the doorway, scanning the room with a tentative smile. He wasn’t in his uniform tonight, and the change hit me harder than I expected. A dark sweater clung to his frame, the sleeves pushed up to reveal strong forearms, and his hair—perfectly messy—framed his face in a way that made his green eyes seem even brighter.

“Great,” I muttered under my breath, looking away quickly.

Lando, of course, noticed immediately. “Well, well, well,” he said, his grin practically glowing. “If it isn’t your boyfriend.”

“He’s not—”

Lando cut me off with a dramatic wave. “Oi, Charles! Over here!”

I barely resisted the urge to throttle him as Charles’s gaze landed on us. His smile widened slightly, and he began making his way over.

“Stop it,” I hissed, glaring at Lando.

“I’m just helping,” he said, smirking. “You’re welcome.”

Charles reached the snack table, his easy grin lighting up the space. “Y/N,” he said warmly. “This is... impressive.”

“Lando’s idea,” I said quickly, keeping my eyes on my glass.

“Well, he did a good job,” Charles said, his voice light.

I nodded, still avoiding his gaze.

Charles tilted his head, his brows knitting slightly. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I replied, the words escaping too quickly to sound believable.

“You sure?” he asked, his tone softening.

“Positive,” I said, finally forcing myself to meet his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He hesitated, clearly unconvinced, but nodded. “Alright, if you say so.”

As he turned to join Alex and Carlos near the fireplace, I exhaled sharply and took another sip of firewhiskey.

“That,” Lando said, appearing at my side like a smug apparition, “was embarrassing.”

I glared at him. “Go away.”

“Not a chance,” he said, grinning. “You’re making this too fun.”

Charles didn’t stay in one place for long. He moved through the room with a quiet ease, pausing to chat with everyone he passed. I tried to focus on anything else, but my eyes kept drifting toward him—his laugh, his smile, the way he leaned casually against the fireplace like he belonged there.

“You know,” Lando said, sidling up to me again, “you could just talk to him.”

“I talk to him all the time,” I replied, rolling my eyes.

“Not like that,” Lando said, smirking. “I mean really talk to him. You know, like a human.”

“I am human,” I snapped.

“Debatable,” he said, stealing a sip from my glass.

I snatched it back, glaring at him. “Lando, leave it alone.”

“Never,” he said cheerfully. “Especially not when it’s this obvious.”

“It’s not obvious,” I said, though the heat in my cheeks betrayed me.

“Oh, it is,” he said, smirking. “And honestly? You’re lucky he hasn’t figured it out yet.”

“Figured what out?” Max asked, appearing out of nowhere with a plate of biscuits.

“Nothing,” I said quickly.

“Y/N’s tragic love story,” Lando replied smoothly.

I shot him a murderous look. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, grinning.

The night wore on, the common room growing louder as the firewhiskey flowed more freely. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t avoid Charles forever. Every time I turned around, he was there—talking with Alex, laughing with Daniel, or glancing in my direction when he thought I wasn’t looking.

Lando, of course, continued to stir the pot.

“Y/N, Charles is looking for you,” he said loudly as I passed him on the way to the snack table.

“He is not,” I hissed, my cheeks flushing.

“Oh, but he is,” Lando said, smirking. “And you should probably do something about it before he gives up.”

“I’ll do something about you,” I muttered, grabbing another glass of firewhiskey.

Finally, as the night began to wind down, Charles approached me again.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, his voice warm.

I nodded, swirling the firewhiskey in my glass. “You?”

“It’s been nice,” he said, leaning casually against the table. “Good company.”

I smiled faintly, the warmth of the drink loosening my nerves. “Lando’s idea of a party is always... chaotic.”

“Chaotic, but fun,” he said, his green eyes glinting with amusement. “Kind of like him.”

I laughed softly. “That’s one way to put it.”

He studied me for a moment, his expression shifting. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

I hesitated, the weight of his gaze making my chest tighten. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just seem... different tonight,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Distracted.”

I forced a laugh, shaking my head. “Maybe it’s the firewhiskey.”

“Maybe,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. His eyes held mine, steady and searching, and I felt the familiar nerves in my stomach.

“Well,” I said finally, breaking the silence, though my voice came out softer than I intended.

Charles didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze lingered on me, his green eyes warm and with a light twinkle. The noise of the room seemed to blur into the background, leaving just the quiet weight of his presence.

His expression softened, a small, almost hesitant smile tugging at his lips. The air felt heavier, charged in a way that made my chest tighten.

“I should go to bed,” I said abruptly, the words tumbling out faster than I meant. I stepped back, breaking the spell as I clutched my empty glass for something to focus on.

Charles blinked, seeming to come back to reality himself. “Yeah,” he said, his tone lighter now. “Yeah, uhm, I should probably head out too.”

There was a pause, something neither of us filled right away.

“Well, goodnight,” I said, glancing at him briefly before turning toward the stairs leading to the dorms.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said, his voice soft and steady, following me even as I walked away.

I climbed the stairs quickly, my heart thudding harder than I cared to admit.

…

The dormitory was suffocating. My thoughts churned endlessly, replaying every look, every laugh, every moment from the party with Charles. His steady gaze, the faint smirk on his lips, the warmth in his green eyes—all of it had etched itself into my mind.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

Throwing on my cloak, I slipped out of bed and tiptoed past the rows of sleeping Slytherins. The common room was empty now, its usual flickering green light dimmed to a soft glow. Even the fire was just a faint ember, its warmth fading. The silence was a relief, but I needed more than that.

I needed space.

The halls were eerily quiet as I wandered, my footsteps soft against the stone. I didn’t have a destination in mind, but my feet carried me to the Astronomy Tower, as they so often did when I needed to think.

The moment I stepped onto the open platform, the cool night air hit me, sharp and bracing. The stars above stretched endlessly, their faint light illuminating the grounds below. I leaned against the railing, inhaling deeply and letting the quiet settle around me.

“You couldn’t sleep either?”

I jumped, my heart leaping into my throat at the sound of his voice. Turning quickly, I saw Charles leaning casually against the opposite railing, his cloak draped loosely over his shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied, smiling faintly. “But if you must know, I was taking a walk.”

“Taking a walk?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow. “At this hour?”

He shrugged, his green eyes glinting faintly in the moonlight. “Couldn’t sleep.”

I hesitated, gripping the railing tighter. “And you thought the Astronomy Tower was the best place to fix that?”

“Maybe,” he said, stepping closer. “Or maybe I thought I’d find you here.”

My heart stumbled at his words, but I forced myself to keep my expression neutral. “Why would you think that?”

Charles tilted his head, his gaze softening. “You’ve been... different lately.”

“Different?” I repeated, my voice wary.

“You’ve been distracted,” he said simply.

My chest tightened, and I looked away, focusing on the stars instead of him. “I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But I don’t believe you.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us felt heavier than the quiet night should’ve allowed. Charles leaned against the railing beside me, his shoulder brushing mine lightly.

“What’s bothering you?” he asked eventually, his voice low and steady.

“It’s nothing,” I replied quickly, though even I didn’t believe the words.

“You’re lying,” he said, his tone soft but firm.

I turned to glare at him, though there was no real anger behind it. “Why do you care?”

Charles smirked faintly, his green eyes catching the starlight. “Because you’re usually better at hiding whatever’s on your mind. This must be serious.”

I huffed, looking away again. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” he said lightly.

His calm, teasing tone grated against my nerves, and yet... it also made the tightness in my chest ease just slightly.

“Is this about the potion?” he asked suddenly, his voice dropping just enough to make my pulse jump.

I froze, my fingers tightening around the railing. “What makes you think that?”

Charles shrugged, his smirk widening. “Call it a hunch. You’ve been weird ever since we smelled it.”

“I haven’t been weird,” I said quickly, too quickly.

“Y/N,” he said, his tone filled with amusement, “you’ve been avoiding me, stumbling over your words, and blushing more than usual. I’m pretty sure that qualifies as weird.”

“I don’t blush,” I muttered, though my cheeks were already warming.

“You do now,” he said, laughing softly. “It’s cute.”

The silence stretched again, but this time it felt charged. Charles turned slightly, his body angled toward me, and I could feel the weight of his gaze.

“What did you smell?” he asked, his voice soft.

My heart raced, every muscle in my body screaming at me to say something, anything but the truth. But the longer I stayed silent, the more his gaze lingered, steady and unrelenting.

“Nothing important,” I said finally, though the words sounded weak even to me.

“Y/N,” he said, stepping closer. “Come on.”

“Are you done?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

“Not even close,” he said, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Because if I had to guess, I’d say it smelled like someone you know.”

I hesitated, my pulse quickening. “What makes you think that?”

Charles smirked, tilting his head slightly. “Because you can’t look me in the eye right now. That’s usually a giveaway.”

I exhaled sharply, the tension in my chest building with every passing second.

My pulse pounded in my ears as I looked away, my grip on the railing tightening. “It smelled like... saltwater. And wood. And... pizza margherita.” I said finally, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

Charles blinked, his expression shifting. “What?”

“I smelled you,” I admitted finally, the words barely above a whisper.

His green eyes softened, his smile fading into something more genuine. “Me?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” I muttered, looking away.

He was quiet for a moment, the weight of my confession hanging between us. Then, slowly, his lips curved into a teasing smile. “So, what you’re saying is... you think I’m handsome?”

I groaned, my cheeks burning. “That’s not what I said.”

“No, but it’s what you meant,” he said, grinning now.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Ridiculously charming,” he replied smoothly, his grin widening. ”At least, according to you apparently.”

His bright eyes met mine, the teasing glint fading as his gaze turned serious. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because,” I said, my voice trembling slightly, “it’s complicated.”

“Nothing’s complicated,” he said gently, his fingers brushing against mine. “Not if we don’t let it be.”

I swallowed hard, the warmth of his touch grounding me. “I didn’t know if you felt the same.”

Charles smiled, his green eyes crinkling at the corners. “Y/N, I’ve liked you for a long time.”

I stared at him, my heart pounding. “You have?”

He nodded, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I smelled the cookies you baked for us.”

Before I could respond, Charles closed the distance between us, his movements deliberate yet unhurried. His lips met mine with a warmth that sent a shiver through me, like stepping into sunlight after a long, cold winter. The kiss was gentle, not hesitant but full of a quiet certainty that left no room for doubt.

His hand slid up to cup my cheek, the roughness of his fingertips against my skin grounding me, steadying the wild, racing thoughts that had consumed me for days. I felt the weight of his presence in that touch—calm and sure, like he had been waiting for this moment far longer than I’d realized.

I leaned into him instinctively, my hands grasping the edges of his cloak, the thick, familiar fabric anchoring me. His other hand settled lightly against my waist, pulling me closer. The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried yet somehow desperate, as if we were trying to say all the things we hadn’t dared to speak.

The scent of him—something crisp and clean, faintly woodsy—mixed with the cool night air, and my heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it. My chest ached, not from fear or nerves, but from the overwhelming realization that this felt right.

When we finally parted, his lips lingered a moment longer, as though neither of us wanted the spell to break. His green eyes searched mine, earnest and unwavering, his breath mingling with mine in the stillness of the tower.

“I told you I never wanted to be friends,” he admitted, a faint smile tugging at his lips, the words carrying a weight that felt familiar.

“Good,” I replied softly, my heart racing as I echoed his earlier words. “Because I don’t think I could ever settle for just friends.”

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x you #cl16 x reader #cl16 one shot #charles leclerc one shot #harry potter imagine

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stevieschrodinger · 5 hours ago

Text

Part One Thirty

Couple of things - I've been going through it lately and just wanted to get this bit out. I do have more planned but I need a break after this. The Carpenters song referenced is 'all you get from love is a love song' and if you don't know it you can give it a listen and then you'll get the 'broken arm' joke.

They squish together into the phone booth, Steve hitting the numbers almost on reflex now, going through the motions of briefly speaking to Robin’s mom.

He angles the receiver so that Eddie can hear too, their cheeks practically touching, “Steve! Chrissy’s here-”

“Why?” Eddie cuts her off immediately, “not time to close the shop,” he almost sounds a little critical when he says it, making Steve smile.

“I know I know,” Chrissy says, “but he came back!”

“So we waited for him to leave, and we followed him,” Robin adds enthusiastically.

If Steve couldn’t hear for himself that they’re both at Robin’s place, and they’re both absolutely fine, he’d be panicking now, maybe he kind of is, because he’s sort of snippy when he says, “Robin what the fuck, it’s not safe, you two aren’t- you’re not Cagney and Lacy for fucks sake.”

“Steve it’s fine,” Chrissy tells him, “he went to Starcourt, so we went home and called Hopper right away.”

“Good,” Steve breathes a sigh of relief, “okay, so what now?”

“We don’t know,” Robin admits, “we’re just waiting to hear now. See what happens?”

“Okay we could...Eddie, you want to kill some time in town, and we can call again later?”

“Yeah” Eddie pulls back his sleeve to check his princess watch, “...lunch. And shopping?”

“Sure thing baby.”

Chrissy squeaks down the phone, “oh you’re both just too cute together.”

“Oh my god don’t encourage them.”

“Oh!” Chissy starts, “I met El and all the rest of the kids, isn’t she just, so cool? She made some pens float around!”

“El is the fewest bad kid. She’s quiet,” Eddie agrees, but Steve is absolutely certain Eddie’s warmed to the kids a lot over the last couple of months, so he knows Eddie doesn’t really mean it like that.

“Least,” Steve corrects softly, “she’s the least bad. Probably.”

“Best of a bad bunch?” Robin hazards.

“Maybe,” Eddie tells her, “we can come home soon?”

“Errrr…I mean, see what Hopper says, I guess? We might know later, but you guys shouldn’t come back today anyway, it’s a few hours drive, and you’ll need to pack up and everything, right?”

Steve frowns, as Eddie, very briefly, looks sad, “maybe tomorrow,” he says to Eddie more than the girls, “is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, “I...like the flower shop?”

“You miss it?”

“Yes, and Chrissy. Miss them. I know they’re not gone but...they’re not here.”

“Oh Eddie honey, I miss you too, okay? And when you get back you can come into work, there’s stuff to catch up on,” she whispers then, “Robin isn’t good with the flowers like you.”

“Hey! I’m trying my best here-” but she gives up, everyone else laughing over her.

The payphone starts to beep, “we’ll call later okay!”

Steve’s pretty sure Eddie’s jar will be empty again after today. He’s bought four more records, more Led Zeppelin, plus a Dio record because ‘Rainbow in the Dark’ was playing when they walked in and Eddie really liked it. Steve absolutely certain that the girl with a green Mohawk wearing a Dio shirt sealed the deal, but he's not going to tease Eddie about it.

Eddie comes out of the changing room of the second hand clothes store, showing Steve the jeans he’s trying on. He’s been making do all this time with Steve’s draw string sweats and jeans with a very cinched in belt, so it’s definitely time for Eddie to choose his own things but...Steve wasn’t expecting Eddie to choose anything quite so tight.

“Stevie? What do you think?”

Steve swallows thickly before he answers, he swears Eddie’s only getting away with wearing them because his dicks on the inside, the thing would get strangled otherwise, “you look really good Eds. You like those ones?”

“Yes. Black, like my tail. And look,” Eddie scratches at the ripped fabric, his knees on display, “see my knees. I like to see them, they’re new.”

Steve bites his lips briefly to suppress the chuckle, “you should definitely be proud of those knees, you did grow them yourself.”

Steve frowns at the sight of Eddie in a leather jacket; it’s so very far removed from everything he’s been wearing. It’s so different from all of Steve’s clothes, but Steve can’t deny he’s making it work. It definitely suits the look Eddie’s starting to cultivate. He’s very much leaning towards darker colors, and he was really pleased when he turned up a Led Zeppelin tee shirt out of a pile.

The difference between the Eddie that comes out of the dressing room and the Eddie that went in is startling, Steve’s pullovers and polos all tend to be lighter colors, so all the black is very different.

“You like it?”

“I mean, as long as you like it, sure, you’re the one who has to wear it. But yeah, yeah I do like it. You look good.”

Steve has to stand by while Eddie rummages across a tray of cheap jewellery, “they’ll turn your fingers green,” he warns vaguely. Eddie shrugs, probably not understanding what Steve means as he tries things on, he likes the shiny silver ones that definitely are not silver, “you’re such a magpie.”

Eddie chooses two chunky rings that are so cheap he will get change from his last five dollars, but he clearly likes how they look on his fingers; he doesn’t even take them off to pay for them. Steve knows he’s just here to hold the bags, but he doesn’t mind. Eddie’s worked hard for this money, he should spend it on the things he wants.

Steve meanders through the store, it’s mostly second hand furniture and ‘antiques’, but Steve figures that term is being used very, very loosely. As near as Steve can tell it mostly looks like house clearances and that sort of thing. He spends a little while at the glass cabinets, staring at all the little figurines. 'Dust gatherers,' his dad calls them. There’s some tiny little jade ones, big tall porcelain ones and everything in between.

He’s distracted away from them by the sound of twanging. Bad, uneven twanging on an acoustic guitar. Steve follows the sound, finding Eddie just fiddling with the strings, the guitar still lying on it’s back. It doesn’t have a case, and looks pretty beat to hell to Steve, covered in stickers and all scratched up, but Eddie is entertained by the noises, and he looks up, smiling, “you going to buy it?”

Eddie shakes his head, “not enough left.”

“How much are you short?”

Eddie checks his pocket, and then the little label hanging from the neck, “six dollars?” he hazards.

“Okay, well, I’ve got four left on me, so maybe you can haggle the guy down.”

“I’ll try,” Eddie grins big, taking the change from Steve.

They’ve dropped everything off at the car and, with nothing left to do to kill any more time, they head back to the phone and smush into the booth together.

“He wasn’t there when Hopper got there,” Robin tells them, and Steve sighs, disappointed, “but! El looked into my head real quick, and she says he’s called Doctor Owens. She knew who he was, and she says he’s...nice.”

“Nice,” Steve repeats, deadpan, “a man who facilitated experiments on little kids. Nice.”

“Well...I mean maybe as nice as he could be given the circumstances. I got the impression he never...he wasn’t cruel about it. If you know what I mean.”

“I guess,” Steve hazards, “Eddie?”

Next to him, Eddie’s kind of staring into space, frowning, “Owens. Yes. Remember that word, maybe?”

“Okay. Okay, so what are they doing now Robs?”

“Well, Hoppers keeping an eye out and he’s going to try the Motel right now, but if he’s not there he’s going to start doing drive bys of Starcourt and stuff, and hopefully he turns up,” Steve can hear in her voice that she's shrugging, “but Hopper says since no one else is asking any questions, he’s hopeful that it’s just this guy working alone, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah okay.”

Eddie listens to his new record while Steve makes dinner. He has his guitar over his lap, and occasionally plays a note or two. He understood the mechanics of it already, but Steve figures he must have seen someone with a guitar on TV at some point.

Steve’s absorbed in what he’s doing, and doesn’t notice at first that the twanging noises have stopped. The record ends, but it feels like it’s been a long time of quiet, and Steve looks over to find Eddie, expecting him to be flipping it.

He isn’t.

Steve turns off the stove, covering the two pots he’s been carefully nursing. Eddie isn’t in the cabin; Steve finds him on the dock. He’s just...standing there, in the near dark. Just...staring out across the lake.

“Eddie? You okay?”

Eddie looks around again, “heard something. Had to check it’s safe.”

“You could have said,” Steve comes up close, wrapping a hand around Eddie’s hip. Eddie turns in reflexively, looking for a quick, soft kiss, which Steve is happy to give.

“Think the trees look like The Upside Down.”

“Do you?” Steve looks around; all the trees have leaves on, they’re dense and alive and nothing like the dead twisted things that litter The Upside Down, “I don’t think they do.”

Wind moves through the trees, the susurration of leaves is kind of loud, “sounds like bats. Many many bats,” Eddie shifts closer, pressing himself against Steve.

“You okay?”

“I don’t...I think I don’t like it here.”

“Oh...well,” Steve makes a decision, “since they’re pretty sure it’s just the Owens guy, how about we go home tomorrow? I mean, you might not be able to go to work and stuff until they find him-”

“Yes. Home tomorrow.”

Steve looks around again, tries to see it through Eddie’s eyes. Tries to see what reminds him so much of The Upside Down. Maybe the panic attack in the shower knocked some stuff loose; Steve doesn’t know. Eddie’s been making do with strip washing from the bathroom sink the last couple of nights, and that’s been fine but not ideal. Eddie’s hair needs a wash.

“Okay, we’ll call when we go through town, okay, let them know?”

“Yes...take my book back.”

“You finished it?”

“Almost.”

“Lets go inside, I can finish dinner and you can tell me what it’s about?”

“So they’re...stealing treasure from a dragon?” Eddie nods, his mouth full of dinner. “Okay, fair enough.”

Eddie swallows, “I want to read The Lord of The Rings.”

“Okay, I’m sure we can get it at the library.”

“You promise dragons aren’t real?”

“Yup. Definitely not real, and there’s no hobbits or wizards or- or elves or any of that stuff. And magic isn’t real- well. That kind of magic isn’t real, at least,” Eddie frowns like the book committed a crime.

“But...dinosaurs. Dinosaurs were definitely real, you have those in your book?”

“Yes...dragons can fly though. And breathe fire.”

“Well...some dinosaurs could fly, and they were big like a dragon, some of them.”

“Really?” Eddie’s eyes go wide, “I thought from my book like...cow sized?”

“Hu uh,” Eddie excitement is actually palpable, “definitely a dinosaur book next, some of them were like...as tall as trees,” Steve doesn’t actually know, he was most definitely not a dinosaur kid, but he’s pretty sure at least some of them were tall like that.

“All the time, used to do this. When I had a tail,” Eddie’s voice is muffled where he’s bent over the kitchen sink.

“Yeah...I guess I did,” and it’s true, Steve was washing Eddie’s hair pretty much every other day when Eddie still had a tail. He feels the back of Eddie’s head almost reflexively at the memory, following the ghostly, barely there ridges with his fingers through the suds, “it’s getting so long again already.”

“Good. El said Max makes nice braids when it’s long enough.”

Steve snorts a laugh, “oh yeah? That’s going to look great, now eyes and mouth closed, I’m gonna’ rinse.”

Eddie has his head resting on Steve’s tummy while Steve plays with his hair, hand buried in his curls, massaging his scalp, “what you doing baby?”

“Hear.”

“Hear? Oh what, you’re listening?”

“Listening to Stevie’s inside.”

“Anything interesting?”

Eddie nods, his cheek dragging against Steve’s skin, “funny tummy noises. And bumping.”

“Bumping? Oh, beating, my heart right?”

“Yeah. Stevie, we can definitely go home tomorrow?”

“Sure thing babe, we can get packed up in the morning,” Steve yawns, “you want to go to sleep?”

“Maybe. There’s bad dreams here.”

Steve blinks his eyes open to look down, a weird shiver raising goosebumps on his arms, all the way down to where his hand is still buried in Eddie’s hair. Eddie didn’t have to put that quite so creepily. “I think it’s just...maybe it reminds you of things here, so your mind is kind playing tricks on you a little? There’s nothing bad here baby, I promise. What do you think?”

“The water reminds me of Barb.”

Steve frowns, “Barb? How do you know about Barb?” Under Steve’s hand, something crawls unpleasantly beneath Eddie’s skin.

Eddie shrugs, “Nancy told me you killed her.”

“Stevie!” Steve fights, briefly, confused. “Stevie love, it’s okay. Bad dream.”

Steve’s kind of sweaty and panting, but he quickly realizes that it’s Eddie whose holding him, so he quits moving, “Jesus Christ,” he breathes out slowly, trying to calm himself down, “I’m fine. Thanks. I’ll be okay in a minute.”

“You want to tell me? Here, water.” Steve takes the glass, sipping it carefully. He can feel the cool water go down, grounding him.

Steve has no desire whatsoever to talk about it, so he deflects, “what time is it?”

“Five?” Eddie leans over, checking his watch before putting it back, “half five.”

“I miss you saying five and a half, it was cute.”

“I can say five and a half,” Eddie takes the glass again before snuggling in.

“Did I wake you?”

“No. Already awake...bad dreams.”

“Fucking hell. We need to go home just so we can get a good nights sleep. What did you dream about?”

“You. Lost you, in the trees...we were here but...Upside Down trees? I tried and tried to find you. Could hear you, ‘help help,’ really scared.”

“Maybe it is this place,” Steve settles down again, pulling Eddie close, “weird that we’re both having bad dreams right?”

“I don’t like it.”

“No but...lets just rest a little, and then breakfast and we can get packed up, okay?”

“Okay, Stevie love.”

Eddie waits outside the phone booth, leaning against the car where it sits parked by the curb. Steve calls Family Video today, knowing that Robs should be at work, “hey Bird-”

“He got him! Hopper! He got the Owens guy!”

Steve feels himself relax, one less thing to worry about, “good. Good, we’re coming home.”

“Okay, Hopper does think it was just this guy. He was staying at the Motel, Hop had to wait around a bit, like proper stake out!! But he did get him. Said he couldn’t find any evidence of him like, working with other people, and El’s going to talk to him or something. Make sure. I’m not sure about that bit but-”

“Okay, okay, so where is he?”

“Hopper’s got him at the Motel. Probably like, tied up, do you think? Steve what if he’s like, working for the government though. Or or the Russians-”

Steve rubs his forehead, “Birdie, I know you do love some empty speculation-”

“I do!”

“But how about we wait until we actually like, know?”

“Spoil sport.”

They say goodbye and end the call, Steve offering the keys to Eddie, “want to do a little of the driving?”

Eddie grins big, clearly surprised and pleased by the offer, “yes I do!”

“Okay, careful though, you don’t know the roads like at home. And no getting distracted by the cows.”

Eddie ‘moos’ really loudly in response, once in the drivers seat, he pauses for a second, “should have bought tapes,” he laments.

“Well, unlucky, I’m thinking some Carpenters.”

“Nooooo,” Eddie laughs.

“Shut up, I know you love it. Now sing to me about how the best love songs are written with a broken arm.”

“I think that’s what she said! Broken heart makes no sense,” Eddie grumbles, Steve still laughing.

Eddie had caved after two hours of driving, but still, considering all Eddie had done before today is short journeys around Hawkins, Steve figures he did really well in an unfamiliar place, and he told Eddie so. Eddie has turned into a surprisingly careful driver, Steve doesn’t know if it’s his consideration for Steve’s beloved car, or if it’s Steve’s constant reminders that Eddie cannot afford to draw any attention to himself. Either way, Steve feels safe in the passenger seat.

“Okay, I think I should take you home to unpack, then I can figure out how to call Hop and see if I can go over.”

Steve’s not even surprised by Eddie’s response, “both go, you mean.”

“Eddie...I’m not sure it’s-”

“Stevie,” Eddie manages to make it a complete sentence.

“Look...I’m not going to take your choice away, okay, if you want to come, then that’s fine. But...you get I just want you to be safe, right? And I feel like the less this guy knows, the better?”

“I know...I know,” Eddie has his thinking face on, when he’s wrestling with how to say something. It’s been happening a lot less lately, but this concept must be more complicated. “The people had me in a tank. They...hurt me. I was scared. Now...Owens is in the tank? He has to...he has to say why. To me. And sorry.”

“I...is that what you want? For him to apologize? To...explain?”

“Apologize and explain. Yes. And...I will not hurt him. I’m Eddie. I’m not people.”

Steve shouldn’t be surprised, not really. He feels like he knows Eddie inside and out, but his natural compassion, his...kind of innate goodness still blind sides Steve sometimes. Steve had vaguely considered that a realistic outcome of this may be that he’s helping Hopper hide a body. Maybe. It was kind of an abstract thought he hadn’t wanted to poke too hard but, realistically, they’re talking about a man who experimented on children, on Eddie.

Steve is clearly no where near as forgiving.

Hopper meets them both outside the room. Steve has no idea what to expect, really. The rasp of Hopper stubble is loud when he scrubs at his face, “El thinks this Owens guy is legit. He already knows Eddie has,” Hopper gestures vaguely, “human parts.”

“How?”

“After Starcourt happened, he went back to poke about, and he saw you both. More importantly Eddie, driving a car,” Hopper’s words are full of accusation, like ‘see I knew him driving would be trouble.’

Eddie waves a hand dismissively, “I can go in?”

Hopper sighs, but Steve isn’t going to fight Eddie on this. He knows what he wants, and he’s so fucking smart. Steve’s sure Eddie doesn’t fully appreciate the risks, not since he doesn’t get fully grasp how stuff like actual governments work but...yeah. It’s Eddie’s life, but Steve still takes his hand. If they’re doing it, they’re doing it together.

Hopper just sighs and rolls his eyes.

Steve figured that, somehow, this guy would just...look evil. He doesn’t. He looks like a harmless old dude, sitting on the edge of a sagging motel mattress, looking over some papers. He cannot disguise his interest when Eddie walks in.

He’s not restrained or anything, he’s just...there. There are books and pens and folders and shit spread out on the opposite bed, like he’s been working.

“Owens?” Eddie checks.

“Yes. Yes hello it is...so wonderful to see you again. And to hear you speak! How good is your understanding-”

“I think we have questions, first,” Steve cuts him off sharply. He doesn’t seem threatening, just...genuinely pleased to see Eddie. The guy has to be up to something, Steve can’t shake the suspicious thought that the guy must be one hell of an actor.

“Yes. Of course. I have everything, all of my notes, from Starcourt, so any questions you have I will do my best to answer.”

“Okay, where the fuck do you get off experimenting on people?” Steve’s pretty sure his voice is reasonably calm. He’s vaguely aware of Hopper coming in behind them, pulling up a folding chair he must have gotten from his truck.

Owens closes his eyes briefly, before addressing Eddie,“yes. Of course. I am so so sorry for what you were put through but..the work we were doing. I was not fully aware of just how intelligent you were. Are. I didn’t at first fully comprehend that we were even dealing with a sentient specimen-”

“He’s not a specimen, he’s a person,” Steve snaps.

“I am very smart,” Eddie adds helpfully.

“Yes. Yes you are. And the transformation you have undergone is nothing short of miraculous, if I could take some bloods-”

“Absolutely the fuck not. What were you doing with the Russians?”

“Oh,” Owens seems genuinely confused by the question, like it hadn’t really occurred to him, “when the original labs were closed, the funding ended. Of course we were aware of the mirror dimension-”

Eddie looks at Steve, “he means The Upside Down.”

“-Oh, is that what you call it? Well, it was deemed for too dangerous, and not worth the expense, to continue, not after such a catastrophic failure. The Russians however didn’t seem to have any such issues and were interested in opening a gate; I had to go where I could to continue my work, you understand. And then they brought you back with them. What should I call you?”

“Eddie. I’m Eddie.”

“And you’re working? And you’ve learned to speak and drive a car...your ability to process new information is staggering. The physical changes, did they just happen? What was the-”

“Stop, just stop. What do you want with him? Why have you been asking around?”

“Stevie,” Eddie says quietly, pulling Steve back a little by his shirt. And yeah, okay, Steve may have taken a step forward.

“I just...want to continue my studies. Eddie’s change...the differences in his make up, his body’s ability to rewrite itself – it could lead to...well, significant discoveries. The data I could gather, imagine the effect on modern medicine, what we might achieve – the potential to help people could be immeasurable.”

“We could...help people?” Eddie echoes.

“Yes, well. We could try. Like I said I would have to do some tests to understand-”

“No,” Steve crosses his arms over his chest.

Next to him, Eddie asks quietly, “what tests?”

“Just...take some blood, for now. Just try to understand how this happened and...what the changes mean on a genetic level.”

“Look, Eddie, you do not have to do a single thing for this guy, okay? This could be dangerous, they could come and take you away again-”

“I would most certainly like to avoid just that,” Owens interjects.

“Oh yeah, right. Sell me on that then,” Steve snaps at him.

“Look,” Owens spreads his hands, he hasn’t moved from his seat on the bed, “I’m the only one who knows about this. The little contact I’ve had with my previous...employers implies that they’re done with the site, they’ve scrubbed the remains of Starcourt, it’s already being filled in. I only know you even exist because I just happened to see you. No one knows Eddie is alive right now, that he didn’t die in his tank, except for me. If I tell anyone they will take him, potentially back to Russia, and I’ll loose access to him. If I inform the American team, I’ll have to admit that I was working for the Russians, which would cause some obvious fall out for me. This way I can just…continue with my work.”

Steve rubs his eyes. It sounds...legit. He guesses. Logical. “Hopper?”

“El says he’s on the level.”

“Jesus fuck,” Steve huffs, walking in a circle.

“Stevie? I want to help people.”

“I know you do baby.”

“Oh, are you two in a relationship-”

Steve finds himself leaning over to point in Owens face, “do not.”

“Okay, okay,” Owens spreads his hands, “look, I think you need to see this from the other side too. What if Eddie gets sick? What are you going to do, take him to the doctor? And what about El, and her powers? What if something comes up with her? I’m more than happy to-”

“I’m sure you are,” Steve stops him, “and you agree with that Hop?”

“I mean, he’s got a point. Don’t think we could take Eddie to a regular doctor, and El was fine with letting him look her over. I mean I maybe don’t agree with the shit he’s been involved in but...I don’t currently have a lot of choice with getting my kids brain powers looked at.”

“I don’t like it.”

Hopper shrugs, “nope.”

“This is such a bad plan.”

“Not as bad as-”

“Don’t you dare-” Steve starts.

“Letting some fish guy-”

“Hopper!” Eddie adds, affronted.

“Bite your toes off.”

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #ficlet #ao3 author #upside down creature eddie #Fish Guy Eddie #creature eddie munson #creature #robin buckly #chrissy cunningham #buckingham

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greengoblinswifey · 3 days ago

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𝑭𝒂𝒎𝒆’𝒔 𝑬𝒅𝒈𝒆 ・₊✧🩶 Part I

Pairing— Nicholas Chavez x Model!Reader

Warnings— Mentions of drugs and alcohol, Substance Use, Mature Themes.

A/N— Comment to be a part of the tag list, hope you enjoy this series <3

Series Masterlist

The glossy conference room table reflected the headline of the magazine tossed unceremoniously in front of you.

“America’s New Wild Child: From Runways to Rock Bottom”

Below it was a photo of you stumbling into a hotel lobby, visibly intoxicated, mascara smeared, and your once-iconic dress askew. It wasn’t just one headline, it was everywhere. Every blog, tabloid, and gossip page seemed to have some variation of your downfall plastered across their pages.

Your manager, Angela, sighed heavily from across the table, rubbing her temples. “You see this, right? The Shade Room picked it up. TMZ is all over it. Even Vogue is doing a piece on whether or not you’re the next Kate Moss, but not in a good way.” She leaned forward, her voice sharp. “You’re toxic right now. Nobody wants to touch you.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “This isn’t true. My ex-best friend—she’s jealous. She made this all up.”

Angela gave you a pointed look and slid her iPad across the table. On it was a video—paparazzi footage of you from a few nights ago. You were stumbling out of a car, practically being carried by someone, slurring your words as you waved off photographers.

You groaned and pressed your fingers to your temples. “Y’all please, that was one time.”

“It’s never just one time with you!” snapped Melanie, one of the executives at your agency. “This is becoming a pattern. And we’re not here to babysit you.” She stood, exasperated. “You’re one of the highest-paid models in the world, and now look at you. You’re a liability.”

Angela raised a hand to calm the room. “Give me a few days,” she said, her voice firm. “I’ll clean this up. We’ll fix her image. She’ll be the ‘it girl’ again. I just need time.”

Melanie crossed her arms but didn’t argue. “Fix it fast. Otherwise, we’re done.”

As the meeting wrapped up, you sat silently, staring at the incriminating headlines. After years of grueling work, endless runway shows, and clawing your way to the top, it was all unraveling because of your past addictions and your inability to leave it behind.

Angela pulled you aside as the others left. “You need to clean this up. No more excuses. No more scandals. And definitely no more drunken or high paparazzi shots. Got it?”

You nodded numbly. “Got it.”

“Good. Now, start small. Let’s use that mansion of yours. Throw a party. Invite everyone who matters. Show them the glamorous, sophisticated version of yourself. Make them forget the messy headlines.”

Your lips curved into a small, defiant smile. “A party? That, I can do.”

2 Days Later

The house practically glittered under the LA moonlight, perched in the most exclusive part of the city. Your glam team buzzed around you, perfecting every inch of your hair and makeup as you sipped champagne. Outside the window, you noticed the usually dark house next door was now bustling with activity.

“Looks like someone’s moving in,” you said absently, gesturing with your glass. From the corner of your eye, you saw a guy carrying a box inside. He looked young, around your age maybe two years older, and vaguely attractive, though you didn’t pay much attention.

“Maybe he’ll be better than the last neighbors,” you joked to your stylist, smirking. “If he’s cute, I might even invite him to the party.”

As the night fell, the party roared to life. The mansion was packed with models, actors, and influencers. Music pounded through the walls, and laughter echoed in every corner. You danced like you had something to prove, the champagne flowing freely. At one point, you made out with a fellow model on the balcony to the cheers of a crowd. You were chaos incarnate, and you loved every second of it.

Around midnight, you were helping a tipsy friend into a waiting limo when you noticed someone approaching from the house next door.

“Excuse me.”

You turned, your vision slightly blurred, and found yourself face-to-face with the new neighbor. He was dressed casually—jeans and a hoodie—but his sharp jawline and piercing eyes caught your attention.

“I’m Nicholas,” he said, offering a tight smile. “Nicholas Chavez. I just moved in.”

You arched a brow, leaning lazily against the limo. “And?”

“And I have an audition tomorrow,” he continued, his tone calm but firm. “Your music is loud, and I can’t sleep.”

You laughed, the champagne fizzing in your head. “Well, didn’t you know who you were moving in next to?”

His lips twitched, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I found out too late,” he said dryly, a pointed reference to the headlines.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Funny. I’ve never seen a single headline about you.”

This time, he chuckled softly, though it was more condescending than amused. “Well, I’ll try to keep it that way.” His gaze flicked down briefly before meeting your eyes again.

You noticed, scoffing. “Nice try, but staring at my chest isn’t going to make me turn the music down.”

“Noted,” he replied smoothly, his tone unreadable. “But seriously, could you tone it down? Just a little?”

You waved him off, turning back toward the house. “Good luck with your audition.”

The door slammed behind you as the party continued to rage on. Whatever Nicholas Chavez wanted, it could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, you were untouchable—or so you thought.

You weren’t worried Nicholas would turn out like your last neighbors, the ones who had gleefully run to the press with tales of your ‘wild, disruptive parties’ adding fuel to your already blazing reputation as a noisy party girl.

The party raged on, and you weren’t exactly innocent in keeping it under control. The music blasted as guests danced, smoked, and drank with abandon. Lines of coke were casually set out on mirrored trays, and you caught more than one person lighting up joints in the corners. Even you, despite promising yourself you were done with that lifestyle, gave in after a few glasses of champagne, doing a line or two when a friend coaxed you into it.

By the time the sun started to rise, people were passed out on your marble floors, the air heavy with the stench of spilled liquor and smoke. You stumbled to bed without bothering to clean up, the haze of the night swirling in your head.

You woke to the sound of chaos downstairs—your housekeepers already hard at work, scrubbing every inch of the aftermath. Your head pounded as sunlight streamed in through your curtains. Groaning, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand and blinked at the time. It was already midday.

Dozens of missed calls and messages from Angela stared back at you. She’d been blowing up your phone about a last-minute shoot, one you had completely missed. You cursed under your breath, knowing she’d be furious.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled into the bathroom for a long, scalding shower. As the water poured over you, you couldn’t help but rethink the night before. You’d promised to get it together, to clean up your image, but it was getting harder to hold yourself accountable.

After drying off, you wrapped yourself in a silk robe and walked to your window. Across the lawn, you noticed Nicholas pulling into his driveway. He stepped out of his car looking exhausted, a coffee in hand, wearing a nice suit. You figured he must have just returned from his audition. It must’ve been early. For a brief moment, guilt pricked at you. If he hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, it was probably your fault.

Angela didn’t wait for you to sit down when you arrived at her office. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she snapped, slamming her laptop shut as you walked in.

“I’m sorry, A,” you began, your voice hoarse from the night before.

“Sorry?” she cut you off, standing up and pacing the room. “Do you know what I’ve been dealing with all morning?” She grabbed a folder from her desk and threw it onto the coffee table in front of you. A stack of printouts slid out, screenshots of articles and photos from the party.

The headlines were brutal: “A Drug-Fueled Disaster: Is Y/N Destroying the Modeling Industry?”

Photos showed passed-out models, trays of coke, and worst of all, a video of you taking a line.

You froze, your stomach twisting into knots.

Angela slammed her hands on the desk. “This was supposed to be elegant, extravagant, a chance to clean up your image. Instead, you turned it into some rockstar-adjacent drug den!”

“I didn’t know people were recording,” you said weakly, avoiding her glare.

“That’s not the point!” she barked. “You were supposed to set an example. Little black girls look up to you. This is the image you’re giving them?”

You exhaled sharply, frustrated. “Angela, with all due respect, I’m not their mother. I didn’t ask to be anyone’s role model.”

She rolled her eyes, her frustration palpable. “Well, congratulations, because you’re not much of one anyway. This is your last chance. Do you hear me? Last chance.”

You nodded quickly, desperate to make it right. “I’ll fix it. I swear.”

“I already have something cooking up,” she said sharply, leaning against her desk. “But in the meantime, go downtown, look beautiful, and give them something positive to talk about. No booze, no drugs, no nonsense. Just smile, shop, and sign autographs. Sober.”

You groaned inwardly at the thought of dragging yourself out in public, especially hungover, but you didn’t dare push back. “Got it.”

Your driver dropped you off at one of the most exclusive shopping districts in the city. Bodyguards lingered in the background as you strolled from boutique to boutique, taking your time and letting the paparazzi get their shots.

Every time someone asked for an autograph, you smiled warmly and obliged, posing with fans here and there. This was your coping mechanism—shopping your problems away, hoping the public would eat it up.

“Looking good, Y/N!” one of the paparazzi shouted as you exited a store with bags in hand.

You forced another smile, playing your part, and waved at the cameras before ducking into the backseat of your car.

When you arrived home, the guilt from last night gnawed at you. You couldn’t undo the noise and chaos, but maybe you could soften the blow. After all, Nicholas didn’t deserve to suffer because of your mess. Deciding to make amends, you ordered a small cake from a local bakery with “Welcome” scrawled neatly in frosting.

Holding the cake, you made your way next door and rang his doorbell. At first, there was no response, and for a brief moment, you wondered if he was ignoring you. Maybe he had seen the articles and already formed an opinion. The thought annoyed you, but just as you were about to turn away, the door opened.

Nicholas stood there in joggers and a fitted t-shirt, his face a mix of surprise and curiosity. His hair was slightly disheveled, and he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. His eyes dropped to the cake in your hands.

“Hi, neighbor,” you said with a small, sheepish smile.

He raised an eyebrow, reading the icing. “Welcome?”

“It’s for you,” you explained. “To welcome you to the neighborhood. And, uh, sorry about last night.”

His surprise lingered as he stepped aside to let you in. “Didn’t strike you as the generous, ‘welcome-with-cake’ kind of girl,” he said as you followed him into his sleek, modern kitchen.

The place was immaculate—white marble countertops, stainless steel appliances, and tasteful art on the walls. He set a glass down on the counter and gestured toward a barstool for you to sit.

“Well,” he added with a smirk, “especially not after a night like that. I’m surprised you’re even standing.”

You groaned, slumping into the chair. “Please don’t tell me you’ve seen the articles.”

He grabbed a knife to cut the cake. “The articles, the pictures, the videos, yeah, I’ve seen them.”

You groaned again, covering your face with your hands. “Great. Just what I needed. My new neighbor thinking I’m a train wreck.”

“Not thinking anything,” he said casually, slicing into the cake. His tone was calm, nonchalant. You couldn’t read him, and it annoyed you. Was he judging you? Laughing at you? You couldn’t tell.

You cleared your throat. “Anyway, welcome to the neighborhood. And again, sorry for the noise.”

He placed two plates on the counter, handing one to you. “Thanks. Want to eat this with me? That’s if you’re one of those rare models who actually eat carbs and don’t starve themselves.”

You shot him a pointed look. “Don’t joke about that. And yes, I’ll have a slice. Or two.”

He chuckled softly, taking a seat across from you. As you ate, you studied him a little closer. His face was sharp, striking, he was definitely good-looking, though in a boy-next-door-meets-Hollywood kind of way. Then it hit you where you’d seen him before.

“You’ve been everywhere lately,” you said, setting your fork down. “You were in that Lyle and Erik Menendez show, right?”

He looked up, surprised. “You watched it?”

“I caught the first episode,” you admitted. “It was really good. Intense, but good.”

“Thanks,” he said, his expression softening. “It was a tough project, but worth it.”

You leaned back in your seat. “Hollywood’s a mess. Be careful.”

He nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

The conversation felt easy, almost too easy. Sitting across from him, you couldn’t help but notice how his t-shirt hugged his chest and arms, or the way his jaw tensed when he chewed. You realized, with a twinge of irritation, that you were definitely attracted to him. The idea of tearing his clothes off flashed through your mind, but you quickly shoved it aside.

You had too much going on to add that kind of complication to your life. Besides, sex was supposed to be the last thing on your mind right now.

Standing abruptly, you pushed your chair back. “I should go. Thanks for letting me crash your place. Enjoy the cake.”

He walked you to the door. “If I need anything, should I come knocking?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t plan on babysitting you, but sure, I guess.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Noted, neighbor.”

The moment you stepped through the door, your phone buzzed. Angela’s name flashed across the screen.

“Good,” she said briskly when you answered. “You’re home. I’ll be at your place first thing in the morning.”

“Why?” you asked cautiously.

“There’s a plan,” she said, her tone leaving no room for questions. “I’ll explain everything then, and we’ll put it in motion. Be ready.”

She hung up before you could respond. You stared at the phone, curiosity swirling in your chest. Whatever she was planning, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement. If this was your chance to claw your way back into the spotlight, you’d take it.

For now, you poured yourself a glass of water, settling into the couch as you tried to shake off the day. Tomorrow was a new start—or so you hoped.

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morganski-19 · 1 day ago

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Chills Right to the Marrow Part 51

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 48, part 49, part 50

“What if we let him stay with us,” Eddie says out of the blue, sitting on one of their new kitchen chairs.

Wayne stops unpacking glasses, turning to look at him. “What?”

“Steve, what if we let him stay with us. Just while he tries to find a place.” He fidgets with his hands, avoiding Wayne’s eye contact. “We’ve, uh, been talking, and he’s put off trying to find a place. Now that he knows the end date, he’s started looking but can’t afford any of places that are open right now.”

Wayne pushes the box back onto the counter, he can finish it later. He turns fully toward Eddie, leaning back on the counter and crossing his arms. “So, you want us to let him stay here.”

“Yeah, and it could be like paying him back, you know. For letting us stay with him. Return the favor, and everything.”

He sighs, wiping a hand down his face. “We don’t exactly have the space for that. Unless you’re planning on him sleeping on the couch.”

Eddie stutters, further ignoring Wayne’s gaze. Mouth opening with no sound coming out.

“Or is this the part where you finally tell me you two are seeing each other?”

Eddie freezes. “How did you know?”

Wayne shakes his head. “Cause I’m not an idiot. You two go from chewing each other’s head off to being super close and touchy. And I saw Steve try to sneak out of your room when I got back from a shift. He thought he played it off, but I knew.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Wanted to see how long it took you to tell me yourself. It’s been almost three weeks, and we all live together. You really thought I didn’t know?”

Eddie shrugs. “I don’t know. We were just feeling it out, didn’t want to tell anyone in case it blew up fast.”

“And now you want him to move in with us? Sleep in your room, in your bed. You really think that’s a good idea?”

“I thought you would be cooler about this. Steve’s a good guy, you know that.”

He does know that. But he knows a lot of things that leave him questioning. Even if it’s just from passing comments. Ammunition that could have been meaningless, but there was history behind it. History Wayne doesn’t know but can assume what it means.

Maybe he’s an ass for assuming. Maybe he’s just being overprotective. But when it comes to matters of the heart, people can be reckless. They can jump without looking just to get hurt in the end.

Steve might be a good guy for letting them stay in his house. He might be a good friend, a good role model for the kids. But a good boyfriend, for Wayne’s boy, he’ll never be good enough. No one will.

“I know. I’m just worried that letting him stay here would make a jump you’re not quite ready yet.”

Eddie nods, looking down at his hands. “It’s early, I know. And it’d be temporary. I just—I don’t want to leave him high and dry. He helped us when we had nowhere else to go, I thought we might be able to so the same.”

Wayne gets where his head’s at. He gets wanting to do something to thank Steve that would be anywhere near the way he’s helped them. Hell, Wayne does too. There are just so many reservations in his head. So many ways that this could go wrong.

“I’ll think about it,” Wayne concedes. “On a few conditions, it is actually temporary, and I’m the one who talks to him about it. You say nothing until I do, got it.”

“Got it.” Eddie smiles brighter than he has in a long time. “Thank you, it means a lot, even you just thinking about it.”

He sighs. “Yeah well, you have a point.”

“You’re not going to get, like, super weird and protective now that you know right?”

Wayne scoffs, going back to the box that needs unpacking. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Steve told me what happened while I was still in the coma. I know you didn’t like him around me. I know that has changed, but it’s different now. And don’t you remember back in my freshman year where I told you about that guy in my English class and you threatened to kill him if he looked at me wrong?”

He shrugs. “That’s just part of being a parent, can’t turn it off.”

That kid would have deserved what came to him if Wayne actually followed through. After the first few months of peace, he made Eddie’s life a living hell.

“Well, Steve’s a good guy, and he’s good to me, so just, tone it down a little bit.”

Wayne turns to look at Eddie again. He’s honestly surprised that this conversation is happening, but also glad that it is. Eddie’s hasn’t exactly seen that many people. Not in the town that threatens to crucify you for walking on the wrong side of the road. As far as Wayne was supposed to know, this was Eddie’s first time seeing someone. But he knew that on some of the weekends where Eddie would disappear for a night, it was to sneak into one of those bars down in Indy.

That was dangerous, this was less so. As far as Wayne knows, Steve’s romantic life is a mixed bag. Short term relationships and one long one that ended semi-badly. Sue him for being cautious. Sue him for looking out for his kid. After all the pain they went through in the past year, he could at least try to make sure heartbreak wasn’t added to the mix.

“You happy?” Wayne asks, watching as Eddie’s face softens.

“Yeah.”

“You being safe?”

“We haven’t gotten that far yet, but when we do, we will.”

Wayne nods. “Then I’ll tone it down a little. Just a little. Don’t go expecting miracles.”

The rest of the box gets unpacked, the glasses and other dishware slowly filling the cabinets. The home starting to really look like a home.

“Thank you,” Eddie says quietly.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Steve gets back from work late. Wayne wasn’t exactly waiting for him, but he wasn’t exactly not waiting for him. He was just in the kitchen, putting something together for a late dinner, knowing that Steve was going to be home soon. If it felt like a good time, he was going to bring it up. If it didn’t, he was going to give it a day.

But he can feel that protective burn bubbling up and can’t snuff it out. He needed to know.

“I know about you two,” Wayne says. More menacingly than he meant to, but doesn’t know how else to start this.

Steve freezes, hand on the fridge’s handle. Holding it open. “What?”

“You and Eddie, I know.”

He nods, closing the door and clearing his throat. “For how long?”

“Few weeks. You’re really not a slick as you think you are.”

Steve leans on the counter, crossing his arms. Ready for a lecture. “We were going to tell you, just wanted to make sure we weren’t making a mistake first.”

“Interesting word there, mistake.” Wayne’s pressing, trying to lure out what he needs to see. Make sure that this isn’t something he needs to worry about.

“I just didn’t want to lose another friend because of a relationship. It took me years to be able to be friends with Nancy. I didn’t want the same to happen with Eddie.”

Wayne nods. Satisfied with the answer.

“What you said a few weeks ago, that you saw the way I acted around him. And you wanted to stop the hurt before it started. I’m not planning on hurting him. I can’t promise I won’t mess up; I tend to do that a lot. But I always try to make up for it, to learn. I’ve gotten really good at apologizing.”

The protectiveness dies down, Steve hitting everything he wanted to hear. And Eddie’s right, Wayne knows that he’s a good guy. He’s made mistakes, but he’s grown. He’s changed. It’s as much as Wayne can ask for.

“You know, earlier today, Eddie brought up this idea of letting you stay with us until you find a place on your own.”

Steve’s face fills with shock. “He did?”

Wayne nods. “Yeah. As you can imagine, I had my hesitations. We don’t exactly have spare rooms like you do. But,” Wayne can’t believe he’s really saying this, but it feels right, “if you wanted, you could stay with us. With the promise that you find a place on your own, and that this won’t put an unnecessary strain on your new relationship.”

“I—” Steve tries to get out. “Thank you.”

Before Wayne can register what’s happening, Steve’s hugging him.

“Thank you,” he repeats. The words heavy with relief.

“Yeah, well. After all you did for me, it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

Steve lets go, taking a step back. “But you didn’t, a lot of people don’t. So, thank you.”

He realizes that there is so much story of Steve that he still doesn’t know. Hurt and pain that he keeps hidden away. Not for other people to see. Steve walks away before he can ask, or even question. Hesitating before walking down the hall to Eddie’s room.

This was going to be interesting.

apologies for the late post, I was at work and then driving home from break, and forgot to post before I left (like I planned to). And posting tag lists from mobile sucks ass.

tag list (closed): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

@devondespresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug,

@greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake,

@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

@papergrenade, @waelkyring, @sweetheartprincess28, @katouasobj, @astercomoasflores

#chills right to the marrow fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #wayne munson #wayne pov #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie

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lyricalt · 3 days ago

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[tf2 minific] request: tie up job

sniperspy - rating T - sniper trying to flirt for his literal life

(NOW ON AO3)

------

“Oh, well. Hello there, darl. Ain’t this awkward,” Sniper says, glancing up from his scope when Spy’s foot steps over of the barrel of his rifle and stays there.

Spy looks down at him. His revolver isn’t pointed at Sniper, which is awfully lenient. Sniper, who is laying belly down in an extremely vulnerable position on the ground, notes that Spy makes a point to not put the revolver away either.

They don’t usually have run-ins like this. When Sniper takes on an extra side gig, he usually makes some vague reference to the location and Spy does the trick of avoiding the same general area. Unfortunately, vague comments don’t usually stand up to direct communication, which also don’t stand very well in the face of non-disclosure agreements signed with blood, metaphorical or otherwise.

“I hope that isn’t my asset you are attempting to assassinate,” Spy says, arching an eyebrow.

Sniper’s mark is, in fact, the very same asset Spy is probably trying to protect. There’s only one man sitting by his lonesome in his penthouse of pretty glass walls and likely stolen art pieces for some kind of money laundering scheme. Not that Sniper really understands most of it. He’s just a guy on top of a roof with a rifle, a bullet, and a hefty twenty percent deposit in his back pocket.

“No chance of voiding your contract?” he asks. He’d try and bat his eyes for a laugh but Spy’s got years of experience over him on that front. Besides, he shouldn’t need to resort to any more spy-ish tactics.

“Same chance of you nullifying yours, I’m afraid,” Spy replies with a ghost of a smile. He nudges Sniper’s rifle, making sure the aim’s no good. “My asset told me that someone might be after him. Imagine my surprise when the trail led to you.”

“Argh, that was right sloppy of me.” Sniper sighs. “What gave me away?”

“I find myself looking more towards rooftops lately,” Spy says, amused. He lets up on the rifle but slides his foot over Sniper’s firing wrist, pressing down hard until Sniper has no choice but to remove his finger from the trigger. “Now, you know I have to ask; who hired you?”

“And, as you might already know, I dunno. Got me a ticket from the clerk. They just wanted your man dead and I’m just some dummy bloke with a very long gun that can shoot very far.”

Spy groans. He lifts his revolver, pointing it at some non-lethal part of Sniper’s body. “I would hate to torture you for more information.”

Sniper flicks the brim of his hat up to give Spy a hopeful look. “I’m sure I could stand to have a little bit of torture. Who knows, might get me to admit some stuff. Maybe not relevant stuff to your mission. Depends on how hard you go. Y’had no problems tying me up to a chair two weeks ago.”

“How very unprofessional of you to bring that up. You know we’re both working right now.”

“I know, pookie. Just buyin’ some time,” Sniper says, grinning, and pulls the trigger.

Spy’s head whips towards the penthouse. There’s a crash of glass as the bullet goes through, shattering an entire window. The penthouse alarms start blaring.

The weight over Sniper’s wrist lets up by the tiniest fraction, but it’s enough. Sniper uses the second of distraction to take advantage of Spy’s foot as leverage, rolling his rifle over like a tripod to reload. He aims again and fires the second bullet. Spy flinches as the heat of the barrel sears his ankle.

“Bonza,” Sniper breathes, watching the mark fall over with a pretty new hole through their head. Gotta be proud of good work after all, even as Spy kicks the rifle away with an annoyed tsk.

“That was ill-advised,” Spy says, dangerous and low. “You didn’t let me explain. Now there will be other mercenaries after you. I’m only one of several. Your mark hired a team of us.”

“Right, right. I gotcha,” Sniper says and rolls on his back, sweet and innocent as a babe. He slowly puts his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Before you're obligated to capture me, can I make an offer?"

Spy's revolver tilts to the side, the equivalent of a shrug. "Might as well."

After a moment of making sure Spy won’t shoot him immediately, Sniper puts his fingers to the brim of his hat. Carefully projecting every movement, he pulls out a small slip of paper, like something that would come out of a fortune cookie.

“I’d like to hire you for the service of rescuing me," Sniper says, holding it out. "Here’s what I’ll pay.”

With the revolver still pointed at him, Spy takes the slip. He reads the lucky numbers.

“It’ll be easy,” Sniper adds. “You already know all their security details.”

Spy’s expression goes flat. “You left a trail on purpose. You knew I’d be working for them.”

“S’why I took the job, mate. Big boss cartel fellas are bloody hard to assassinate without some immediate opposition,” Sniper says, getting comfortable on the ground. He sees the end of Spy’s revolver dip downwards. “Already assumed that, even if I got the kill, there would be kickback. You bein’ one of them.”

Spy crumples the slip of paper in his fist. He puts it in his mouth and swallows it.

Sniper thinks the rice paper ought to be a nice touch. No chewing needed. Still, it doesn’t hurt to further his case with, “I did the math. My payout eclipses yours, even after taxes.”

Spy stares at him. “You looked through my desk. That night when you said you couldn’t find the cond-”

“Plus! Even with the minuscule hit to your reputation—which, with your network, should recover in a month—I’d still come out on top,” Sniper interrupts, now rushing the pitch, “And I’ll still have leftover change to treat you to dinner and a screw at one of them nice resorts you like.”

“You followed me. You took the job knowing I’d be there,” Spy says, sounding more affronted with each accusation. “You used me as an inside man.”

“Betcha so turned on right now. ‘Cause I did something heaps sneaky and underhanded. Like a rat bastard. Got you so hot for it, I bet.”

Spy’s gaze goes to the sky, as if questioning his life choices. He isn’t denying anything though, so Sniper can mark it as a triple win in his books.

“So, you gonna save me before your other guys start figuring’ it out, or what?” Sniper asks, dropping his voice into a small whine. He has a hunch Spy secretly likes hearing it. “C’mon, lemmie buy you out. You love all that turncoat nonsense.”

They stare at each other. From the corner of his eye, Sniper can see quite a lot of people gathering in the penthouse. The alarms have gone silent, which isn’t a very good sign. Laser sights start skimming the adjacent rooftops.

“What restaurant and which resort?” Spy finally asks, glancing at his watch.

“Non-negotiable, darl. They’re your type of shindigs though, I’ll promise you that.”

Spy’s eyes dart to the penthouse. His earpiece seems to be going off, muffled radio calls crackling through. “You mentioned screwing.”

“Lucky for you, you get a loyal customer discount,” Sniper says, and since he’s already on his back, he draws up his legs to nudge against Spy’s. “You can have me à la carte.”

Spy looks at the not-so-subtle positioning of his legs for a good long while. After a moment, he taps his earpiece and says something brief in Italian.

Eventually, he tucks the revolver away and holds out his hand. “I can have a getaway yacht ready in fifteen minutes.”

Sniper takes it, and Spy’s hauls him up into a sitting position. If their hands stay joined for a tad longer than strictly necessary, Sniper doesn’t mention it.

“I’ll have to knock you unconscious first,” Spy says. He has a very promising gleam in his eye.

Sniper winces.

“Aw, no. I can fake unconsciousness well enough,” he tries, but the whiny tone won’t work this time.

“Best to make it look authentic,” Spy says, leaning over to touch Sniper’s face, glove cold, but his thumb brushes against his bottom lip. He smirks down at Sniper in a very familiar way. “Relax your jaw for me.”

Sniper barely has time to do as he’s told before Spy backhands him into oblivion with the butt of his revolver.

#sniperspy #bloody suit #tf2 #local mercenaries in your area will not shut up #promptfic #nonao3

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aliens8n · 3 days ago

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Lucifer Morningstar [ABC of smut]

I hope you guys enjoy this little bundle of headcanons!

Warning: Nsfw theme

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Lucifer is the type to wrap you in silk, fetch you the finest wine, and whisper sweet words until you're utterly spoiled.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his wings and back! His wings are a bit more sensitive than most of his body so he enjoys the sensation they bring when touched in such a heated moment. As for his partner, he likes their hands, I don’t think there is a proper reason other than he just finds that body part fairly attractive and well obviously useful!

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He isn’t very fussy about it and rather easygoing about it depending on the moment! He does enjoy little mess. It's all part of the fun. He likes the aftermath the most!

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He is the king of Hell!! He had lifetimes to perfect his skills after all. And he’s very confident in his abilities!

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He would not play favorites with this part. Why would he limit himself to just one? He prefers to keep things interesting, and spontaneous. With how flexible he am, he think it'd be a pity not to show off a little.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

This man is a fine mix! He can be either serious or playful! Sometimes He is playful, after all, what’s the point if you’re not having a bit of fun? But there are moments when things get serious, and he can be... quite intense.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Everything about him is perfectly groomed. He takes pride in his appearance, after all.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Occasionally he does indulge himself, but he prefers to make it much more exciting such as having an audience or even... Partner to help!

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Lucifer has a taste for the more intense side of things. A few that he definitely would bring to the bedroom is power play, and don’t worry he has no problem giving his partner the power if they so desire. Breath play? Absolutely! He finds that it adds such an exquisite edge. A frequent visitor in the bed would be the whole spectrum of BDSM... restraint, discipline, just enough to keep things interesting.

L = Location (favorite places to do they do)

Despite all his beautiful kinks and willingness to experiment, this sweet king's all-time favorite spot to get freaky in is his bedroom. After all, nothing beats privacy and comfort.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Want to get him excited? Show that you mean business and not afraid to well play with the devil! Power and confidence are the way into his heart and pants!

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

He will NOT do any sort of genuine harm! Nuh-uh, he might be the King of Hell but he has some morals. Another way to turn him off is overdoing teasing and playing and then giving nothing.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving absolutely but isn’t going to say no if you want to put in some work!

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He isn’t the biggest fan of them as he prefers to take his time and fully indulge himself but he won’t just completely shut down the idea.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

He is always willing to push the boundaries, and try something new. Referring back to a previous letter are limits, everything must be thrilling, not reckless!

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

A better question is how much are you up for!~

T = Toys (do they own toys? Do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Lucifer is quite fond of using them on a partner. As for himself, he isn’t opposed to the idea and enjoys a toy or two!

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Too damn much but at least by the end, you’ll be left feeling satisfied as well eagerly thinking about what he will come up next.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He is not the quiet type! Sounds from moans to growls, anything your filthy mind can think of he mostly has made that sound a few times before. After all, he is prideful, not shy.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He is quite the romantic so he loves candles, fancy silks, and dramatic settings... He adores creating the perfect atmosphere for you both to indulge in and have a good time in!

#lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer

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gh0stly-pages · 2 days ago

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Out of Our Minds (Part 5)

Ledger!Joker x Harley Quinn-esque f!reader (18+)

CW: violence by gunfire and gas, implied deaths/fatal injuries

Words: 5.8k

Chapter Summary: After a long night of plans, you're ready to break your patient out of Arkham Asylum

previous part: part 4

Notes: Welcome back! sorry for the long wait, life has been pretty busy but here's the next part! Things are really cooking up in this one. Just wanna preface that in this series you are NOT a good guy, you're turning into a villain like Joker, so there will be lots of violence and so if you're uncomfortable with that stuff I advise you not to keep reading! I won't be getting graphic though (and I really hope that I don't have to be the one to remind you that in real life, murder bad) Also this whole chapter includes a plot for breaking out of Arkham that is very farfetched but we're gonna pretend like it makes sense, okay? okay. Enjoy!

Arkham is cloaked in shadows.

The patients are forced into these shadows, pushed there by people desperate to remain in the light. They want to be the light. To show themselves as all things good and pure. They walk around with their chins held high and their shoulders back, clucking like birds. They are bright. Intelligent. Classy. Or so they want to be seen as. What lurks beneath is all darkness.

These people avoided the shadows, and thank goodness for that.

As you lurked in the shadows, preparing for the madness to come, you couldn’t help but smile.

_________________________________________

Your heart is pounding as you approach the two guards outside of Joker’s cell. You’ve managed to move his session to be the last one of the day, and the anticipation has been killing you.

You don’t know how you got here. You don’t mean literally, you know how you got there, walking with shaking legs through security, scared that somehow they would see it in your face. That you were hiding something. They didn’t even question you, waving you along while looking bored. After that, you realized they couldn’t read you at all. They simply didn’t care. So now, you hold yourself with confidence, hoping everything goes just the way you planned.

But getting here, being Joker’s accomplice, that you were still figuring out.

“Hello boys,” you say to the guards, even though they’ve seen you enough times to know the drill. They hand you the little remote, enter the code, and the door unlocks. Not a single word exchanged. You give them your best bitchy smile before walking through the doors. “Thanks.”

There Joker is, his face paint still intact, though smudged. You let out a deep sigh of relief, and while the door closes behind you, you take your seat, not exactly sure where to start. “Mr. J,” is all you can manage to get out.

Joker leans forward, dark eyes glinting. “Yes, sweets?”

You take a deep breath. “Are you ready to break out of Arkham?”

The smile on his face is like none other you’ve ever seen from him. It’s giddy, it’s dangerous, it’s thrilling. God, you love it. “Doll, that, ah, might just be one of the best things I’ve ever heard you say.”

It took you all night to think up a plan, with the little time you had. You knew you had to take advantage of just how little people cared for you, finally it was serving as a positive. You’d racked your brain, setting up a giant piece of paper on your wall and drawing out the layout of Arkham. You’d marked where the guards would be, how they’d move, the security cameras and alarms scattered around the building. It had all looked like a mess at first. A puzzle you wouldn’t be able to put together. Yet the more you thought about it, the more you realized you were thinking too much about how to perfectly escape and not how to rely on your own strengths. Not only could you fly under the radar, but you were light on your feet, had learned a few tips from Joker on weaponry, and the only people who (mostly) respected you in Arkham were your patients.

You’d not gotten any sleep but it was worth it as you pieced everything together. The main part of your plan did not necessarily involve high level theatrics like J, but Arkham was in for one hell of a ride.

Reaching up into your hair, you pull out a hair pin, reaching over and grabbing Joker’s wrist. “Here’s what we’re gonna do,” you say, starting on attempting to unlock the cuffs. Joker’s lesson was somehow still fresh in your mind but it wasn’t an easy task. “I’m going to press the button on my remote that will alert the two guards outside the door to come in. We’ll be standing on either side of the door, and we’ll need to take them both out.” To your surprise, the handcuffs unlock with a small click, and you beam as the cuffs fall away.

Joker lifts his hand, moving his wrist, which is partially bruised from the cuffs. “And what about the other layers of security?”

“There’s two layers of security. That was the tricky part, but I’ve talked to a few of my patients and they’ve agreed to… start a ruckus as a distraction. As long as most guards are occupied with the patients, the ones out there won’t have backup. We can knock them out easily.”

He smacks his mouth. “It all sounds too easy.”

You move to his other wrist, pushing the hair pin into the cuff. “I know, but it’s not gonna be easy. Things are going to go wrong but we’ve gotta try.” Again, with a bit of a struggle, the cuffs pull open with a satisfying click. You look down at his ankles, grateful that it seems he hasn’t been cuffed there. “You’re free.”

He stands up, stretching himself out, and you watch with earnestness as he groans and cracks his knuckles. “Not just yet, dolly. Got that remote handy?”

You grab the remote from your purse before tossing the purse to the side. You won’t be needing that anymore. “Got it.” As you stare down at the remote, everything hits you way too fast, like a mallet to the chest. Your breathing falters, your heartbeat speeding up with a rapid bump bump bump-. It’s not that you’re scared, not necessarily, but you’re scared that you’ll fail both you and Joker. You’re not J. You don’t know how to do this shit. “I…”

Everything goes blurry and it takes you a second to realize Joker has moved in front of you. He places his hands on your shoulders, bending slightly to look you right in the eye. “You’ve got a sharp mind, dolly. I, ah, know you wouldn’t fail,” he says, an odd reassurance but it works, and you can feel your breathing go a bit steadier. Then you realize how close the Joker is. He’s touching you, no cuffs, no table between you, no barriers. He’s right in front of you, all of him. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Right,” you mumble, straightening yourself. Much to your disappointment, he drops his hands from you, moving towards the door. You suppose it’s now or never. With a shaky breath, you follow after him, moving to the opposite side of the door. Now, the both of you stand on either side, prepared for whatever comes your way. “Ready?” you ask him.

He nods. “Ready, Doc.”

You press the green button.

The both of you press your backs to the wall as you hear the door click open. It’s far too early into the session for you to be leaving, so the guards must know something is wrong. The first guard walks in, the door swinging open so that it blocks the view of J, while you hold your breath to keep quiet. The guard doesn’t notice you, and his mouth drops open as he sees the table empty. He draws his gun, holding it out. “What the fu-“

Springing into action, Joker grabs the guard from behind, picking him up and throwing him across the room. The guard screams, his gun flying away from him as he hits the floor. In one quick swoop, Joker grabs the gun off the floor and jams the butt of it into the guard’s head, just as the other guard runs inside the room, already firing shots. J made it look so easy, but this other guy is your problem. Filled with a sudden adrenaline, you come up behind him, kicking him forward. You’re not the strongest, so he only stumbles, immediately whipping around to try and shoot you. Combat certainly isn’t your strong suit, not yet, but you can move exceptionally well. You sidestep him as he tries to ram the gun into your stomach, and you opt to knee him in the groin. He groans and tries to shoot you again, and you squeal as the bullets pierce the walls. Thank god the room is soundproof otherwise the guards outside would have come running in. From the corner of your eye, you catch Joker watching you. He’s holding the gun. He could shoot the guy easily but he doesn’t. He wants you to take the guard down.

“Bitch,” the guard mutters, opting to try and throw himself on top of you just for you to dodge him again, lifting your leg and giving him a good knock to the ribs. He cries out, and as he tilts to the side, you give him a good punch to the temple. With a sick pleasure, you watch as he collapses to the floor, eyes wide open, barely breathing. Quickly, you grab his gun, not wanting to take any chances.

You look up at Joker, who’s smiling as he watches you catch your breath, gripping the gun in your hand. “Impressive, doll. Though, ah, you definitely need to work on your skills.”

“You’re the one who gave me a night to think of this,” you grumble, and he chuckles. “Wasn’t exactly able to take a defense class.”

“I’ll teach ya.”

Suddenly, the room begins to glow red, sirens blaring that make your bones vibrate. You look at him in panic, he looks at you with excitement. Clearly, you both have very different definitions of fun. The sirens aren’t for you though, the Arkham security team doesn’t like to cause commotion for just a single patient causing mayhem. The patients must have started a ruckus, whether it be a riot or starting a fight with one another, you hadn’t gone into the details. You just told them to be distracting.

You tilt your head towards the door. “Coming?”

“You go first, doll.”

You move ahead, prying the door open. Two more guards stand in the room, talking in hushed whispers beneath the blare of the siren. They don’t even notice you as you hold out the gun, firing into one guard’s shoulder and immediately spinning and shooting the other one in the hand. The guard whose hand you shot drops to the floor, their gun hitting the ground alongside them, and you quickly move forward and kick it. But as you kick the gun, a bullet flies out in front of you, nearly grazing your nose, and you spin around, the guard who you shot on the shoulder aiming his gun right at you. Fuck. You tense as his finger moves to pull the trigger again but before he can move any farther a bullet digs into his side and then one into his chest and he goes limp.

You turn to see Joker huffing with the gun in his hand still smoking. “Doll, you’ve got a lot to learn. You’re not even-“ He turns and shoots the other guard in the chest “-getting in good shots. You’re leaving yourself vulnerable. Gotta make sure you get em’ where they can’t shoot back.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, suddenly feeling embarrassed. You didn’t expect to be this unprepared.

Seeing your expression, Joker falters a bit. “No apologies. I’ve told you, it, uh, doesn’t mean anything to me. It’s just a word.” He comes up to you and nudges you with his shoulder. “C’mon. Last room of guards before we have to run, right?”

“Right.”

“Well then,” he says, pointing to the door with his gun. “You first.”

This time, you don’t want to screw things up. You put the gun behind your back, pulling the door open with your other hand and entering the final room. This room has a security camera in the corner, so you don’t want to go in all guns blazing. You have an idea, and with the gun, gesture for Joker to stay hidden. You hope that’s what your gun waving conveys anyways. Three guards turn to look at you, the ones that greeted you when you first came in, two men and a woman. They’re all masked but you can make out the slight outline of their face beneath the face shield.

The woman runs forward, no gun drawn, leaving it still hanging at her hip. “Miss l/n, what happened?” She tries to crane her neck to see behind you but you’ve inched the door closed enough so she can’t see too much on the other side. “What happened with the nutbag? Are the guards attending to him?”

You nod rapidly, trying to look like you’re startled. Your acting skills might need some touching up, another thing to work on. “Yes, I- I just wasn’t feeling very comfortable… Felt like I needed to get out of there.”

The woman snorts. “Alright, ma’am. Well, is there anything you need from us? Some other whackos are causing a disturbance.”

“Yes, I, um-“ You pull out your gun. “I need you to step aside and let us through.” You slam the barrel into her stomach, sending her flying backwards, and in one fluid motion you shoot the security camera in the corner and then train your gun on one of the other guards. You can sense Joker step out from behind you, shooting the other guard before he can even lift his own gun. The guard you’ve trained your gun on aims his gun right back at you. “You’re gonna let us go, ain’tcha?” you say, trying to keep your voice from shaking. You have to remain confident. “Or else this bullet is going in your head, right, Mr. J?” you say, looking at Joker. If you’re gonna be a villain to these people, might as well play the part.

Joker nods, mimicking your stance and pointing his gun at the guard. “Whaddya say, doll, what should we do if he, uh, refuses to listen?”

You tighten your finger on the trigger. “I can think of a few things.”

The guard drops his gun, raising his hands in surrender. It sends warmth through your chest. Even if it's sickly satisfying. You feel proud. “Okay, okay,” he blubbers, looking between them both. “Please just don’t kill me, I’ll let you go, please.”

Joker giggles. “How generous, you know, normally I’d use you to get out of this place but I don’t think we need the extra weight.” Joker shoots the man in his left hand, bam, then once in the other, bam. “Looks like you won’t be able to do much! Buh-bye!” The man faints immediately.

Seeing Joker at work, this sinister side of him you’ve only seen on the screen, makes you shiver, and your grip on the gun only tightens, knuckles going white. “The uniform. Take his uniform.”

Joker pouts at you. “Aw, it ain’t even my color.”

“J,” you warn.

“Kiddingggg, doll. Why so serious?” Grabbing the man, Joker strips him of his uniform roughly, getting each piece off before stripping out of his own clothes. Your cheeks turn pink and it all happens so fast before you can even think to turn your head and give him privacy. He pulls his shirt up over his head, chest in full display. The first thing that catches your eyes are all the scars and bruises littering his stomach, pink and jagged, scars you want to trace beneath your fingertips. He’s surprisingly toned, just like his arms. Not muscular exactly, but strong looking. Before you can get a better look, he pulls on the guard’s black undershirt, then fastens on the bulletproof vest. When he catches you staring, he grins. “Enjoying the show?”

You turn your head as he kicks off his pants, though you can still see him in your peripheral, throwing on the black cargo pants the guard had donned. “No,” you lie.

“And, are you, uh, gonna be gracing us with a costume change as well?”

You bite back a smile. “No.”

“Pity.”

When he’s finally done, you turn around just as he puts on the helmet. You don’t like that it’s hiding his face from you but you can still see his scarred smile if you look hard enough. “Lookin’ good, soldier,” you tease, saluting him.

His lips twist into a smirk. “Lucky I like givin’ orders. Let’s move.”

“Okay, J, for this part, you’ve gotta follow me. I’ll run up ahead and lead you down to where we need to go, you gotta take out anyone you can. Got it?”

“Let’s see if we die or not, shall we?”

“You could try and be positive .”

You open the door, poking your head out to look around, and shit, it’s chaos out there, guards running back and forth, clearly busy with whatever the patients started. You can hear screams, banging, and laughter beneath the sound of the still screeching sirens. The place still glows a flashing red. You point to the right, down a long hallway. “This way!” you shout, running towards a set of doors at the every end of the hall. Arkham is a bit of a labyrinth but you know it well. Down that hallway leads to another hall which leads to more doors which then, finally, leads to the staff wing of Arkham. It’s where the back exit/entrance is. And also where you’ve parked your getaway vehicle.

You don’t wait for Joker, but you can hear his steps behind you, the combat boots he stole pounding on the floor. Nobody seems to notice either of you at first, or they’re too busy to even give it any mind. You know eventually someone will run past Joker’s conference room and realize he’s not inside. His room empty. All traces of him gone. But you hope you’ve bought at least a bit of time.

As you run, more guards run past you, and you’re nearly knocked off course as one bumps your shoulder. You keep steady on your feet though. Thank goodness for all those gymnastics lessons. The only time you glance over your shoulder is to make sure Joker is behind you before you push through the doors. Once you see him in all his suited up glory, you carry on through the doors, Joker just a step behind. “To the right again,” you yell. There’s less guards down here, but that means even more likely you’ll be caught. Already, you can see them turn to you, wondering what the hell you’re doing running off with one of the guards close behind. As the two of you run, one of the guards turns their attention to you. “Hey! What are you two doing?” the guard barks, running up in front of you. “The lady has a gun!”

You could probably give them an excuse that you’re running away from the danger but you feel too angry. “Running to safety, dumbass!” you say, using the gun like a hammer and hitting them on the head like a game of whack-a-mole. That was a hell of a lot more fun than shooting a gun. As the guard crumples to the floor, at least five other guards take notice, and you have to quickly jump over the guard’s unmoving body to run as fast as you can through the doors. You can hear gunshots explode all around you, it’s like a miracle you’re not hit, and you can tell which gunshots come from the guards and which from J. But before you know it, every single one of them falls flat on the floor. “Nice one, J,” you say, and he cuts up ahead of you, opening the door for you.

“Ladies first,” he says.

“So gentlemanly.” You shoot out ahead of him. Now you’re in the staff hallway, lined with doors which leads to locker rooms and places to conduct meetings. At the very end of the hall is the exit. You’d be jumping for joy if it wasn’t for the fact that any second more guards would be chasing after you.

You grab his arm, pulling him down the hall, running faster than you ever have in your entire life. “Exit this way!” you scream through the chaos, heading into the “staff only” area of the building. Looming ahead of you, just down the hall of rooms and lockers, is the staff exit, leading to the back end of Arkham. You look over to Joker. “You ready?”

Joker moves his arm away from you, instead grabbing onto your hand with his own free one. “As I’ll ever be.”

The two of you barrel down the hall, practically slamming into the exit doors, desperately tugging them open. There doesn’t seem to be many people around except for a few guards lining the outside, and Joker moves to take care of them as you yank him towards your car. Well, your stolen car. You weren’t gonna risk coming in your own vehicle. “Here,” you say, pointing to a black car in front of you. Letting go of J’s hand, you stuff yourself into the driver's seat, and Joker shoots at another guard before cramming himself into the passenger seat. “Drive,” he yells, and you grab the keys from your pocket, turn them in the key hole, and slam on the pedal. He throws off his mask, tossing it in the back seat. “Faster!”

As you get to driving, you remember the final bits of your plan. The part you’re most proud of. “Hey, J, wanna hear what other distraction I planned?” you yell over the roar of the engine, as you swerve around the parking lot.

“Whaddisit?”

“Gas! The same kind they might have used on you. Rigged it all up on my own. The patients should be all rounded up in their cells by now and the guards? They’re getting knocked out cold!”

You have to focus, but you turn towards Joker, your heart swelling in your chest when he looks impressed. His eyes are wide as he pulls down the window and looks back at Arkham as you pump it straight out of the parking lot, taking down the small security gate. In your rear view mirror, you can see green explosions of gas within the windows. If all worked well, only the guards should be getting knocked out about now, leaving no one to come after you. Police will be on their way, but that at least gives you a bit more time and them a distraction. Plus, they aren’t sure what they’re looking for, no clue what car or who helped Joker escape, not until they can wake the guards.

Now, you realize, you can’t just go back to your apartment. It’s too risky. You look at J as you slow the car, trying to blend in with the rest of Gotham traffic. You failed to plan this far. “J, I don’t know where to go now.”

“I do,” he says, leaning over, making sure not to put too much weight on you or crush you as he takes hold of the wheel. “Just pump the gas, doll, I’ll get us somewhere safe.”

It sounds like a horrible idea, but you nod. You’d make it work. “Okay,” you say, and as the light turns green, you hit the gas. It’s scary as hell just controlling the gas, letting Joker swerve you both around, but you trust him. Ha, funny. You trust the Joker. He drives you towards the outer parts of Gotham, and as you enter a rather dingy residential street, he moves the car off the road. “Park it here,” he says, and you obey, pressing the brake and shifting the car into park.

“Why here?”

“I’ve got a spot around here.”

“You have an apartment?”

He snorts. “No, I’ve got a, uh, hideout spot in one of the abandoned warehouses at the outskirts of Gotham. And it wouldn’t be very wise to park right outside the entrance.”

Smart, you hadn’t thought of that. Clearly you lack experience in this realm. You grab the keys and throw open the door, Joker doing the same, and the two of you begin walking on the sidewalk, Joker taking the lead. Darkness has already set over the city, and the two of you walk beneath the light of dim street lamps. It’s cold out, and your white coat isn’t exactly meant to keep you warm, so you hug yourself to try and keep away the chill. “Is it very far?” you ask, and you realize this is the first quiet time you both have had together since escaping. You’ve been too anxious over escaping to even think about everything that’s happened. To think of how the Joker is right next to you, taking you to one of his many hideaways.

Joker shakes his head. “Not too far, doll.”

Silence settles upon you both, the two of you far too preoccupied with getting to the warehouse to say much of anything else.

As you walk, the blare of sirens starts up in the distance, and when you turn behind you, you can see police lights in the distance. You’re positive they’re not for you, not yet, but if they even caught a glimpse of the Joker, the two of you would be over. Joker knew this too, clearly, grabbing your arm and picking up his pace, practically dragging you as he began to run. Everything is a blur as the two of you fly through the streets. Even though you’re not bad at running, after a few twists and turns, your legs start to hurt, your chest feeling heavy. But Joker doesn’t stop, probably used to running from lord knows what. Before you can register anything, you’re climbing over gates and Joker pushes open the large doors of the abandoned warehouse, pulling you in and up a crumbling flight of stairs until you reach the second floor.

Finally, Joker and you stop moving, taking time to catch your breath. Fuck, everything hurts.

You gasp, throwing yourself against the concrete wall of the warehouse, sliding down until your butt hits the floor. Your chest moves rapidly up and down as you try to catch your breath. Joker crouches in front of you. “Breathe, just breathe, good girl.” He holds out his arms. “C’mere.”

Immediately, you lean forward and throw your arms around him, going limp. He stands up, taking you with him, your legs dragging lifelessly on the floor until only the tips of your toes touch the concrete. You bury your face into his shoulder, and for a second everything feels right. Finally, a quiet moment, and everything crashes down on you, every decision you’ve made. It takes a second for you to process that you’re hugging the Joker, and he’s letting you hug him back. This man, this villain you’d become infatuated with, was holding you close. You’ve imagined something like this before, even when you didn’t want to, but this is better than any of that. “We did it,” you mumble into his guard shirt, which smells like rust and gunsmoke. “We escaped.”

“You did it,” he says, and when you finally pull back to look at him, he’s smiling at you. He gently settles you back on to the floor. “They’re going to come looking for us though. We’ll need to lay low for the moment.”

“In here?” It’s strange to be so close, your arms still wrapped around his neck. “This where you usually stay?”

“I stay all over.”

“Very spacious,” you say, moving your head to look around. “Where do you sleep though? On the hard floor?”

“Chaos doesn’t sleep, darling.”

“No, but people sure do.” You tug gently on one of his locks of hair and he growls. “You need sleep.”

“Can’t sleep now. Not when we’re being pursued.” He wrinkles his nose. “This your first time being a wanted criminal?”

“Duh.”

“I really can’t believe you did it, doll. Made up a whole plan and everything and got me out of Arkham.” Much to your dismay, he moves away from you, walking to some other part of the building. You hesitantly follow after him. “We can camp out here for the night but then we’ll have to move.” In a secluded corner of the room, a moth-eaten curtain hangs from the ceiling, concealing that whole part of the room. Joker takes the curtain in his hand, then looks at you. “Course, we can’t exactly fend for ourselves without weapons, can we?”

Yanking back the curtain, on the other side is a wall full of all sorts of weapons. Guns, knives, even TNT. There’s crates full of clothes, Joker’s clothes, you assume. Some clown masks. All sorts of tools for mischief. You look at it all like a child in a candy store. “J, this is amazing. Isn’t it kind of risky keeping it locked up in here though?”

“I’ve got some goons guarding it. And nobody in Gotham comes in here anymore, I’ve made sure of it.” He shrugs. “If anyone were to find it, let em’ take it, I’d just get duplicates and use them all on the thief.”

You move forward to get a better look at everything as Joker drifts behind you. It should be scary just how much violence is here at his fingertips but know it just makes you swell inside.

“So, how about it, doll? Pick your poison,” Joker says, holding your shoulders from behind. You look over all your options. The guns weren’t exactly your style, you were better at hitting people with them than you were at shooting them. The blades looked nice, and you’d like to learn to use them, but they could only do so much. Something that did catch your eye, sticking out from the other weapons, was a mallet in the corner. It was a tad comically large, definitely not the regular kind you’d see on a construction site. You move forward, Joker moving with you, and grab the handle.

“Whaddya have this one for?” you ask.

“Uhhhh, to kill people with?”

You glare at his snarky response, though you’re still smiling. “I figured that much. Where’d you get it from though?”

“Amusement Mile.” The old, abandoned theme park towards the other end of Gotham. It’s been shut down ever since you were a child, but you remember your parents driving past it. Seeing a place that must have been so exciting and colorful look so dark and decrepit was chilling. “Found it at one of those old high striker games. Adjusted it a bit.”

Lifting it, you test the weight. It’s definitely heavy, but the weight is distributed evenly, making it easy to maneuver. You give it a quick swing, the whoosh of the mallet like music to your ears. This was what you needed. Sturdy, not too hard to wield, and perfect to pair with your swiftness. “I want this one.”

“Gonna play a game of whack-a-bat with that one?” He maneuvers in front of you, grabbing the handle of the mallet before you could give it another swing. “You can take that one. But you need a gun too. The mallets they’re, uh, too big to get around places sometimes.”

You look back at the wall and point at a small silver gun. “I’ll take that one too.”

He grins. “Are you sure you’re, ah, ready to cause some damage?”

You drop the mallet. “I’ve been ready.” All your life you’ve been pushed to the side. No, pushed to the ground. You were ready to hurt some people back. To make skyscrapers crumble and leaders fall. This anger inside you boils, and you can feel your grip tighten on the handle, envisioning every person who has wronged you.

Joker’s laugh pulls you back to reality, stepping up closer in front of you. “Calm down there, lovely. They call me the Harlequin of Hate but I think that title better suits you,” he says, cupping your chin. “My little Harlequin, partner to the Clown Prince of Crime.”

————————-

That night, you’re stuck sleeping on a mattress on the floor.

You flop down on your back, the mattress not the comfiest thing you’ve ever slept on but it works. There’s no blanket, so no way of keeping warm, and you try and shift around to find a comfortable position. Joker sits on the edge of the mattress, his knees tucked up to his chest, and it’s such an odd sight to see him so regular that you laugh. His head jerks to look at you. “Admirin’ the view?”

“Maybe,” you say, smiling as you lay on your side. “It’s just weird to see you here. Not in Arkham or fighting B-Man.”

He hums. “It ain’t everyday I bring people around ere’. At least, not like this.”

“Lucky me, huh?”

“You realize you’re in this forever now, right? There’s, uh, no goin’ back from here.”

The weight of it settles on you. “I know... I wouldn’t have gone along if I didn’t know that.”

“Well, if you wanted to go, you could go now. You could walk free, tell the cops I threatened you and made you do all this.” He looks down at his feet. “I, ah, won’t stop you.”

You’re surprised to find your eyes watering. Joker, this menace, a force to be reckoned with, was giving you the option to leave. He could be fooling you, of course, but you could tell from the way the words escaped him awkwardly, uncomfortably tender, that he meant every bit of it. He’d let you go, you could continue your regular life, maybe find a better job. But that wasn’t the point of why you freed him. You wanted to escape too, to show Gotham how corrupt it was, and you wouldn’t do that without J. “I’m not walking away,” you say back.

“You’re insane, ya know that?”

“I know.” You stare at one another in silence. Finally, you yawn. “Are you… are you gonna come to bed?” You’re not sure exactly what’s going on between you and Joker. You like him, you know that much, but how much exactly does he like you? Enough to keep you around, obviously. But to what extent did he want you around? Did he want not just your loyalty but also your affections? You were ready to give affection, but was he?

Joker shakes his head, and you feel yourself grow disappointed. “You go on, doll. I, uh, gotta keep watch.”

“Mr. J-“

“I like it when you call me that.”

“-You’ve gotta get some sleep. You’re gonna pass out without it.”

“I’ll be fine,” he grumbles. “Don’t ya get your pretty little head worried over it.”

“You’re an ass.”

Your anger only makes him smile. “If you’re so, ah, worried, then just wake up early and I’ll drift off for a bit.”

“Then that’s exactly what I’ll do,” you say, flipping over, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you ticked off. You’re not actually upset, you just wished Joker prioritized himself a bit more. That was something to deal with another day. “Goodnight, J.”

“Night, darlin’.”

That night you dream of Gotham in flames. You dream of chaos. You dream of him.

Taglist:

Taglist: @lightsabergirl / @knoepfl / @jeffswh0re / @itsmrshamilton / @heath-ledger-jokers-wife / @lolwey / @ilovetoomanymen / @amazingzou/ @ronniesweetkisser / @emberhatesthemoon

lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

#dark knight #dark knight joker #dark knight joker x reader #heath ledger joker #heath ledger joker x reader #joker x reader #ledger joker x reader #dark knight fanfic #dc joker

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storiesfromafan · 1 day ago

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My Girl - Benny Cross x Reader

A/N: I know this is a slow series, but hopefully it's not too bad 😅

(Also, posting this from my phone, might have to fix this up later 😅😅)

Previous: Part One, Part Two, Part Three

I’ve got sunshine, on a cloudy day

When it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of May (ooh)

I guess you’d say

What can make me feel this way?

My girl, my girl, my girl

Talkin’ ‘bout my girl, my girl

- My Girl by The Temptations

It had been a week since Benny spoke to you. And it was all he could think about. Sure, he’d seen you around the town, mostly at the grocery shop or the diner, in passing. But it wasn’t enough. He’d gotten a taste of your sweet voice. Seeing you up close; the colour of your eyes, which had specs of (colour) to them. How your hair was (colour) but when the light hits it, it looked (colour). How your cheeks go a rosy colour when you were shy or embarrassed. Benny wanted to experience it all so much more.

Cal waved his hand in front of Benny's face, snapping the young Vandal from his thoughts of you. That’s right, he was currently playing a game of pool with the man laughing at him. While waiting for his shot, it looks like Benny had zoned out again. Holding the cue against his body, Benny shot Cal and those around him an embarrassed smile. Which only made them laugh.

“Sorry" he muttered, moving with his cue to the pool table and looking over his options. Before finally lining up his shot and taking it, sinking the four ball.

Johnny was sitting near by on a stool, nursing his beer. “Ya alright kid? Ain’t like ya to be off with the fairies".

Before Benny could say a word, Cal beat him to the punch. “Yeah, he’s alright. Just found himself a girl".

Johnny raised his eyebrows in surprise, this was the first time he’d heard about there being a girl. “Is that right, huh?”

Another man – one from the diner incidents – laughed before speaking up, “yeah! She’s a shy, little thing. Some of the guys were makin' fun of her, but Benny stepped in and told them to ‘knock it off’”.

Johnny nodded, listening to the man’s words. Benny stood back from the pool table – his turnover – as he listened to them, embarrassed by the retelling of the diner. But it was true. He stepped in and defended you. And he would do it again for you if needed him too.

Sliding off his stool, Johnny down the rest of his beer before walking past Benny. He chuckled, patting him on the back. “Well, ya'll have to bring her around sometime. Would be nice to meet the girl that’s got ya by the balls".

Johnny then walked off to speak with a few other guys. Cal and the guys around Benny laughed at their leaders' words. They even jostled Benny and shared their own comments, which he wasn’t too fond of. But Benny knew he’d have to bring you to the bar. It would be a shock for you, but he knew you could handle it. Plus he’d be there with you, making sure nothing happened to you.

“Alright, spill!” Fran demanded, as she and Sandra sat across from you in a booth at the diner where this all began.

“Yeah! I had to hear it from my neighbour, who heard from her hair dresser, who got the gossip from Mrs Martin about Benny coming into the grocery store! And talking to you!?” Added Sandra.

You sat on your side of the booth, wishing it would swallow you up from their intense gazes. Once more, they asked you about Benny. And to be honest, you didn’t know what it meant. He’d come in for gum, and you shared a small conversation.

Taking a sip from the milkshake before you, you sat back and cleared your throat. “Well...there’s not much to say-" you started before being interrupted.

“Oh bull!” Huffed Fran. “From what we’ve heard, it was pretty intense between you too!”

“Yeah, so don’t down play it!” Added Sandra.

You sighed. “Really! It wasn’t like that, it wasn’t that big a deal!” You took a moment to gather your thoughts. “It went like this; I was just working and stupidly singing when I was surprised to see Benny. And I was a complete bumbling idiot! He wanted to buy gum-"

“Gum?” Both women questioned.

You nodded. “Yes, gum. He then apologised for the Vandals comments" you recalled that moment a week ago. “Benny then asked for my name, which I gave him, and he said it was pretty, that it suits me...then Mrs Martin showed up, and yeah, she wasn’t pleasant to him at all".

Both women stared at you, as you went back to your milkshake. “Bull" Sandra said, leaning over the table. “That’s not the story, right?”

“Yeah, its too...clean?” Fran said confused.

You wanted to laugh at their faces, but held back. “It’s the truth".

Both women sat back against the booth, utterly confused. As they began to tell you, the way they heard it was some big drama. That Benny was harassing you when Mrs Martin stepped in. Not to mention one retelling told that you were shamelessly flirting with Benny, practically in his hands, one palm on each cheek, and not that of your face. You blushed at the notion.

“If this is what we've heard, just imagine what your parents might hear" Fran's words sobered you up.

You hadn’t even thought about your parents, and God only knows what they’ll say, or do, if they hear the gossip of Benny and you. But it being after a week and only now had your friends heard about it. So, there could be a small chance they might not hear it. So long as you stayed clear of any further gossip, you might be in the clear.

Unfortunately for you, the other half of the gossip mill didn’t know your plan. You heard the bell above the diner door jingle and heavy feet. You were talking to your friends, not even caring about your surroundings. It was only when you glanced up to look at Sandra and Fran, discussing a coming movie to your local theatre, were you confused to see their shocked faces. They looked stunned, mouths slightly agape and eyes wide. Before you could questioned them the silence at your table was disturbed by an all too familiar gruff voice.

“Hey (Y/N)”

You turned only to find Benny. Who looked just as good as the last time you’d seen him. Only this time he was wearing dirty white jeans, black t-shirt and his denim vest that sported the Vandal colours. The way he looked at you with those baby blues of his, warm and twinkling. The way his full lips turned up in a shy, slightly toothy smile.

You felt one of your friends kick your foot, snapping you from your observation of him. “H-hi Benny...”

Hearing his name from your lips, in that honeyed voice of yours, had Benny's heart skipping a beat. His smile brightened, and he slowly began to relax. Finally, he noticed your companions, which he smiled at – but not as brightly as he had you. Benny even shot them a hey. You’d have laughed at their reaction to being acknowledged by the gorgeous Vandal. But you were busy trying to wrap your head around him being here in the first place. And even then, that voice in the back of your head was telling you to be careful, you don’t need more gossip getting around town.

“Mind if I join ya?” Benny asked, looking at you, yet not even waiting for your reply before slipping in into the booth next to you, boxing you in without an escape.

All you could do was look at Benny, not doubt like a deer in headlights, while he just continued to look at you. That charming smile on his lips. Both Fran and Sandra shared a look before turning back to you and Benny. One of the women cleared their throat, which got your attention. Turning from Benny, breaking the connection between you both. From there, they made small talk, which was mostly directed at Benny. Who only gave vague or one word answers.

You found it amusing how he didn’t seem to care for their attention. Yet when you spoke, he listened attentively and spoke to you. Slowly, you relaxed and were able to drink the rest of your milkshake, all while those baby blues watched you. Fran and Sandra eventually left, as they weren’t getting any of Benny's attention. So they slinked away with their tails between their legs.

“Finally, just us" Benny sighed, placing his arm on the back of the booth. His fingers brushing your clothed back.

A small, pleasant shiver ran down your spine. Your breath catching for a moment. You imagined what it would be like if you had been wearing a sun dress. How warm he would be, how rough those pads would be against your skin.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Benny's rough voice said into your ear, his breath fanning over you from how close he was to you.

When you turned to look at him, you were surprised to see how close Benny was. Being so close, you could see how blue his eyes were, with small specs of a darker blue. They were beautiful and captivating. You could easily get lost in those blues.

“A-ah, yeah...I'm fine" you squeaked out, making Benny chuckle.

He moved back a little, a warm smile crossing his lips at your words. “Good. I wanna know, do you wanna come to a meetin’ when I get back in town?”

You blinked. “You’re leaving?”

“Just for a few days, sweetheart," he replied, drumming his hands on the booth.

“Oh...” you muttered.

Then you took a moment to think over his offer. You knew you should keep your distance, stop any chance of gossip coming back to bite you. And yet, this was the second time he’d sought you out. Coming to talk to you. You should be running away from Benny Cross, and yet you wanted to move closer to him. Maybe you could be a girl he could want.

‘You sure?’ That voice asked. Yet you did your best to ignore it.

Pushing away your thoughts and insecurities, forgetting the repercussions that could come from talking and being seen with Benny. You couldn’t deny how you liked having his attention. So, you made your bed and planned to lie in it.

“Sure Benny" you smiled.

#benny cross x reader #benny cross x y/n #benny cross x you #the bikeriders x reader #austin butler x reader #benny the bikeriders

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hlficlibrary · 3 days ago

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Heyy, do you have any recs for canon fics where Louis is like “straight" but still secretly hooking up with Harry behind the boys' backs? Or maybe one where they’ve never dated but eventually have some kind of confrontation about their weird dynamic? Basically, a fic where Louis struggles with his own sexuality and the feelings he has for Harry 😬😬

Thanks!! 💞

Hi, anon! You're very welcome! Here are some fics that I think fit what you're looking for!

Nobody compares to you by fallenflowercrowns / @headband-husbands

Harry has a long-term crush on his bandmate and best friend Louis, who is straight, at least as far as he knows. He also starts falling in love with this guy he met on tumblr. Who also has a crush on his own best mate. Things are about to get complicated.

Or, the one where Harry falls in love twice, Louis is just incredibly sweet and supportive, and Al from tumblr is super nice but also really secretive about his identity - not that Harry can blame him, considering his own blog is run under false pretences, too.

Follow Your Heart by dimpled_halo / @comebackassholes

“What do you mean exactly?” Harry asks. Louis’ heart is threatening to beat out of his chest. His stomach is sinking, and he’s holding his breath waiting for the words he knows are coming.

“We think it would be best to market you guys as a couple,” Simon tells them. The tone in his voice makes Louis think there’s no wiggle room to even try to argue about it.

Louis’ heart stops and his breath hitches. This cannot be happening. This has to be some sort of dream. Actually this has to be some sort of prank, really. He absentmindedly looks around the room for any evidence of hidden cameras or microphones to no avail.

“You’re kidding,” Louis says flatly. Louis is pretty sure a lot of the music industry these days likes to hide the fact that an artist isn’t straight, afraid that it might affect record sales and now he’s sitting in the middle of an executive label meeting being told he had to be in a relationship with his best friend–who’s a boy he’s been secretly in love with for most of his adolescence–in order to sell records? What kind of alternate universe level bullshit is he living in?

Completely, and Absolutely by iwillpaintasongforlou / @canonlarry

Louis is so completely and absolutely NOT gay that the fact that anyone thinks Harry is his soulmate is just being ridiculous. Including himself. He just thinks they're mates that are two parts of the same soul, and that's not weird at all. Okay?

Or, the one in which Louis spends the entirety of X Factor so deep in denial that he doesn't realize he's gay until he's already 3000% gone for the dimpled mess in his arms.

#ask #anon #ficrec #minificrecs #canon #sexualitycrisis

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waynes-multiverse · 12 hours ago

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I was so tired yesterday I knew if I read it I wouldn’t do it justice, so had to wait till I was better rested.

I feel like this was a theme for all of us before the summer. I felt that comment in my tired bones 😂 Hope all's good with you, though! Missed ya a lot, friend 🤍

“Out of the two of us, you’re the way bigger wreck. Some would even think it’s your husband who died, not mine.” broke me

I'm glad it broke you! I was rather proud of that line 😂 Plus, I think she made a great point for Beau lol

I love Beau asking about the dating, and doing it about face as soon as he realizes other guys have made inquiries.

Haha yes! Beau was hearing that and going, "Dammit! And here I thought I was being an honorable gentleman by giving her time to grieve. Meanwhile, these cockroaches are already hitting on her like damn vultures! Her husband's body ain't even cold yet..." 😂

And the vibrator line – Quinn got apology cookies for the laugh that I cackled out and woke him!

Oh, she definitely was pushing boundaries there 🤣 And yay, cookies for Quinn!!! 🍪

I know it was meant to be sweet, but very, very bittersweet – beautiful!

Ooof, right? Part of what I loved writing about this series were these really tragic moments between them. There's always this "wrong place, wrong time" dangling in the air and tons of "what ifs". Well, hopefully the stars align for them... 😉

And BTW, you have the paragraph

Ah, thanks!!! That one got away from me. Finally corrected it after months... 😂🙈

I swear to the Gods, when I read “He was making up for lost time as best as he could, even if it meant taking you out every night for the rest of your life.” the next thing I heard in my head was “ because he doesn’t have much time left to do it,” and that stopped me cold. Foreshadowing, or too much Dateline – I’m not sure. But it gave me chills.)

Ooop, we'll see where this story leads... Might not be death that will haunt her and cause a rift 👀 (Or maybe it will 🤷‍♀️)

Quoting all these lines back to me? You're making my writer heart soar, woman! 😍❤️❤️❤️ (On a side note, I really loved the metaphor with the cassette tape. He really is her B-side 🥰)

“Not at all, Sheriff. You know I always appreciate your input,” (that double entendre got Quinn another cookie!)

I imagine Jenny internally also snorted pretty hard at that one 😂

And man, you ended on kind of an ominous note… I’ve got a real bad feeling. Whatever happens, at least they have that soft moment between them.

Yup, let's hope it won't be the last! 🤞

Polaris – Chapter 7

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, fluff, angst, serial killer, mentions of cartels, grief, smut

Word Count: 7.2k

A/N: The chapter where we find out why Ted is on Beau's punch list aka The One With Ted... 😂

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 7: Storm Coming

May 2021

“I sold the house,” you said, your voice ripping through the quiet of the car during another starry stake-out night.

“So you’re homeless now?” Beau joked and peeled his eyes away from the front window view and glanced at you from the driver’s seat, his hand resting on the steering wheel, the other one in his lap.

You chuckled. “Yup, but I got a hot plate now in my motel room and one of those Italian moka pots. So, you know, some would say I’m living the dream.”

Beau snorted in amusement before he pensively rubbed his mouth with two fingers. “You didn’t have to sell the house, you know?”

You heaved a sigh. “Yeah, I kinda did, though… I didn’t like staying in there anymore. It’s just… too many memories, I guess? ‘Sides, I’m always down here anyways. Actually considering moving here.”

Beau frowned at you, his nose scrunching. “What, to Mexico? Are you nuts? Over my dead body are you doin’ that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had a say in it,” you retorted rather playfully and put a shocked palm on your chest in mock.

“Damn right, I do,” Beau scoffed his reply with a teasing grin. “Who do you think is lookin’ out for ya, huh?”

“Wait, you think you are? That’s what you believe?” You snorted a laugh, entering banter territory with him.

It was usually how you passed your time during most of these stake-outs – laughing, teasing, and the occasional talking about your problems. You’d never known Beau like this before. He was your husband’s best friend, but he had been more of an acquaintance to you. Now, after months of spending close to every day together, it felt like he was your best friend. Since Randy’s death, he’d been there for you, even if it was mostly out of guilt.

“Yeah, what d’you think?” Beau countered challengingly.

“Oh sweetie, you’re not looking after me. I’m looking after you,” you stated confidently. The smile that twitched on his lips seemed to actually agree with you. “Out of the two of us, you’re the way bigger wreck. Some would even think it’s your husband who died, not mine.”

“Are you calling me a girl?”

You coolly shrugged your shoulders. “Either I’m calling you a girl, or I’m calling you gay. I’ll let you pick.”

Laughingly, Beau scoffed and muttered, “You wish I was gay.”

However, you still heard his mumbled reply and responded, “Actually, I wish you were a girl and that I was gay.”

Beau stared at you and leaned back against the door for a better view of you, his brow raised and the corners of his lips drawn slightly upwards in amusement. “What are we even talking about?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted with a shake of your head.

The two of you then burst into loud laughter that filled the entire SUV. For a moment, all your sorrows and hardships seemed to be forgotten, carried away to the desert with the nightly breeze. Then, the familiar and comfortable quiet took over the car again.

“I’m moving out of the house, too,” Beau said, his eyes focusing on the barren landscape and desolate road ahead. “I’m giving it to Carla. I mean, she didn’t ask me to. God knows she can take care of herself… But I want Emily to keep living in the home she grew up in, you know?”

“Yeah, I get that. That’s really nice,” you said quietly. Your soft smile then morphed to a grin. “So you’re homeless, too, huh?”

Beau laughed, throwing his head back into the seat. “Yeah, guess I am. Maybe we should live together?” he suggested half-jokingly.

“Like roommates? Ugh, God no!” You scoffed in abhorrence. “We’re way too old for that. You’re over forty, I’m barely in my thirties–”

“You do know I know exactly how old you really are, right?” Beau teased.

You decided to ignore that jab and continued, unbothered. “It would be seriously so sad. The Widow And The Divorcee – sounds like the worst sitcom on the planet. ‘Sides, it’d be super awkward if one of us starts dating again.”

“Fine, maybe you’re right,” Beau relented with a soft chuckle and then glanced at you sideways. His heart gained speed in his chest. “You ever think about it? Dating? Gettin’ out there again? Been nine months.”

You twitched your shoulders, choosing not to look at him. “I don’t know. Is nine months long enough after your husband died?”

Thoughtfully, Beau licked his lips and let out a small sigh. “I don’t think there’s a timeline, or a right and wrong. I just think it’s one of those things that when you’re ready, you’re ready.”  “Well, consider me not ready then, I guess,” you replied honestly.

“Alright,” Beau accepted, bobbing his head. “But I still think you should try again at some point, you know? You shouldn’t be alone for the rest of your life. First of all, it’d be a total waste, ‘cause, I mean, look at you. And secondly, you’re barely in your thirties, after all,” he repeated your earlier joke with a soft grin.

You felt the heat creep to your cheeks in the moonlight. As you looked at him, you could see his smirk, making you laugh. “Noted,” you replied and were thankful for his pep talk. “I mean, there’ve been offers.”

Beau quirked one eyebrow, a hard lump forming in his throat as his chest tightened. “Offers? Like plural? Who?”

“Well, just some of the guys from our team. Cody, Jordan, Ted…” you named a few. “Also a few locals. Remember those guys we played pool with a few weeks ago? Two of ‘em asked for my number.”

“Huh. That is plural…” Beau pursed his lips and couldn’t keep his brow from wrinkling, his grip on the steering wheel stiffening. “Well, you know, when you’re not ready, you’re not ready. Shouldn’t force anything. No rush, darlin’.”

Smooth, Beau thought wryly with an internal sigh.

“Right, I know,” you agreed. “I do miss sex, though. Getting kinda bored of my vibrator.”

Beau choked on his spit. “Jesus…”

“What? Am I not allowed to talk about it? I thought we were friends. You’re supposed to care about my well-being and happiness,” you argued, frowning.

“I do care. Just… Can we please not talk about that?” he begged and exhaled a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his freckled nose.

“Fine. I miss having women around…” You shrugged and muttered, “Didn’t peg you for a prude.”

“Okay, let’s just get one thing straight – I’m not a prude,” he clarified in defense, his cheeks turning a deep shade of red.

“Alright, also noted,” you quipped, smirking to yourself. Sometimes you enjoyed making him a little uncomfortable. His blushed cheeks could be quite cute. “What about you? Have you still not talked to Carla? I’m sure you can win her back if you tried. You’re a lot better now.”

“Well, thank you for the, uh, vote of confidence, but it’s really over, I guess. We just talked about all the divorce proceedings last time. I actually think she started datin’ someone recently,” Beau told you.

Your eyebrows rose in surprise. “Really? Who?”

“I guess some rich tech guy. I don’t know…”

“And you’re good with that?” you questioned in disbelief.

Beau scoffed a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Ha, no… But what am I gonna do? Kinda shot myself in the leg with that one. I don’t blame her for moving on. It’s been over for months now.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry. I was kinda rooting for you two,” you admitted.

“Well, thanks, but we weren’t you and Randy,” Beau said. It made your brow knit.

“What d’you mean?”

“C’mon, you know what I mean,” Beau replied as if it were obvious, but you still shook your head. He sighed. “You and Randy would’ve never gotten divorced.”

“You don’t know that.” Honestly, you doubted it yourself, but you were too curious to find out what he meant by his statement.

“I do know that,” Beau insisted with certainty. “You guys had that once-in-a-lifetime kinda love. The kind that made other people jealous, you know? Your love made every other relationship pale in comparison. I always figured once the honeymoon phase was over, you’d settle and be less vomit-inducing, but that never happened. Me and Carla were never like that. Not even in the beginning,” he explained, a small, soft smile shaping his mouth. “You guys were special. True love. The stuff folk singers write cheesy songs about.”

“I guess we were,” you mused quietly, the memory of everything Randy was to you causing tears to well in your eyes.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Beau apologized as soon as he noticed the sadness on your face. He reached his hand over to your side and squeezed your thigh gently, just above the knee.

“No, it’s alright,” you brushed him off, swallowing your heartache down. “But hey, if Carla wasn’t your once-in-a-lifetime, maybe she’s still out there. You just haven’t found her yet. I mean, that’s kinda a nice outlook, right?”

Licking his lips, he bobbed his head, his gaze focused on his hand on the steering wheel. “I doubt it.”

“Why? Never say never,” you said encouragingly.

“Well, maybe I already met her, and it’s too late now,” he replied. It sounded more like an actual fact than a hypothetical theory. You found yourself wondering.

“What, did you have like an old college flame? The one that got away?” you teased lightheartedly, but he only grew more serious.

“Somethin’ like that,” he replied vaguely, rubbing his mouth with his fingers.

“Look her up on Facebook. Maybe she’s divorced, too. You could reconnect or something,” you suggested. He nodded but didn’t seem too convinced. You then shot him a hesitant glance from your periphery. “So, now that Carla’s moving on, are you gonna start dating now, too? Jump back into the game?”

“I guess so… Why?” A part of him was curious to hear your response, while another part reminded him that his desired answer was only wishful thinking – and completely insane on top of that.

“That fiery brunette lady at the bar last night seemed really interested in you. Maybe you should hook up with her if she’s there again tomorrow night?” you proposed in earnest.

Wide-eyed, Beau blinked at you in incredulity – like you had lost your goddamn mind. “I’m sorry, what?! Hook up? Who are you right now? Are you tryin’ to set me up?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged simply, not seeing what the big problem was. “Don’t look at me like I’m trying to convince you to get a tramp stamp above your ass with a dirty needle. I’m just trying to be a good wingman… woman. Randy would’ve tried to set you up, right?”

Beau sighed frustratedly. “Yeah, he would’ve,” he admitted in a grumble and then barked, slightly more furious, “But you ain’t him. And I don’t want you to be, so stop it, alright?”

“Geez, I’m sorry. I was just trying to help,” you mumbled defensively and raised your hands in surrender, unsuccessfully hiding your upset over his reaction. He felt guilty when he saw the small pout on your face.

Beau rubbed his forehead before dragging his palm over the rest of his face. “I know. I’m sorry, too,” he said and let out a deep breath through his nose. “I just-… I guess I’m just waiting, okay?”

“Waiting for what?”

Beau squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. For you to be ready, he wanted to say. But he couldn’t very well do that now, could he?

“For Christ’s sake, Y/N…” he breathed exhaustively. That was all he managed to say. With his palm on his mouth, he rested his elbow against the car door, gazing out the window.

“Why are you so upset?” you asked, your brow woven with confusion.

“Switch subjects,” he requested.

It was a phrase the two of you used whenever you didn’t want to talk about something anymore. When someone pushed too much, or the topic got too emotional and you needed a break. The only rule was to always respect the request, so you had no choice but to let it go after that.

“The Texans game sucked last night, huh?”

That elicited a snort from him, and he looked at you with a warm smile. “Yeah, goddamn awful.”

“How many times are you gonna watch those?”

Beau’s question broke your concentration. Your gaze snapped from your laptop screen to his concerned face. You’d been rewatching the victims’ videos for four days straight now, trying to find more clues. Maybe even something that directly led to Diane.

“I keep thinking maybe I’ve missed something,” you mumbled and stared back into the computer, your teeth gnawing on the pen between your lips. “It’s 48 hours each. We have twenty-four victims. I keep watching them sped-up to get through them all, but maybe I should slow ‘em down. I mean, I’ve watched them full-length, normal speed a couple of times before, but maybe I should watch ‘em even slower and really focus, you know? There’s gotta be something there…”

Bobbing his head worriedly, Beau pursed his lips and took a scan of your desk. He counted eight empty cups of coffee and five cans of energy drinks. There were bags under your red eyes and your hands were jittering. He knew you hadn’t slept a lot. He tried to hold you in his arms, but as soon as he dozed off, you snuck out and went back to work.

Beau shut the laptop. “You’re cut off.”

“Hey!”

“Y/N, you need to sleep. Just look at you, darlin’. This obsession isn’t healthy. I’m taking you home,” he declared sternly, ignoring your protests. You were pretty sure he had used his dad voice, too.

“I need that woman in prison, Beau.”

“You startin’ to sound like Jenny…” Beau quipped under his breath.

“We’re running out of time. There’s only one day left before the next victim drops,” you stated and tried your best to keep your voice steady as it broke off towards the end.

“I know.” Beau clasped your shoulder and squeezed gently. “And we’ll get her. I promise you. But you’re no good to any of us if you’re exhausted and losing it right now.” You nodded and rose from your chair. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you flush against him, kissing the top of your head affectionately. “How about some dinner, huh?”

You grinned warmly. “What, like a second date?”

“Exactly like a second date,” Beau said and mirrored your grin. He was making up for lost time as best as he could, even if it meant taking you out every night for the rest of your life.

Your phone buzzed on the table, your brow quirking at the number. Eagerly, you picked up and wound yourself out of Beau’s embrace. “Special Agent Y/L/N… Uh-huh… Great, thank you.”

Beau pursed his lips. “We’re not going out, are we?”

“‘fraid not, Sheriff.” You shook your head and chuckled at his groan. “That was IT. They’re finally done and sending over the IP addresses.”

“Alright, guess I’m gettin’ take out,” Beau announced with a small sigh, knowing the two of you were in for a long night – and not the one he had planned.

You smiled and pecked his lips. “Thank you.”

August 2020

Beau’s heart thudded frantically in his chest as his knuckles tapped your front door in the early evening. The sky was a color spectacle full of azures, indigos, and apricots as the summer sun slowly set. His boots only stood on that same spot not even twenty-four hours ago. It still felt like a surreal nightmare he couldn’t escape, his hope to wake up soon a ceaseless prayer.

He’d stayed with you all night, held you as you cried yourself to sleep. Beau awoke on your couch with your head resting on his thigh and a strange feeling in his gut. He couldn’t help but think you were beautiful, even in a state of utter turmoil, shoving said thought swiftly down into the depths of his darkening soul.

But he’d spent all day thinking of you, plagued by guilt and torn by misplaced feelings. He’d sat through hours of interviews, going over and over the events of last night till his mind spun like a hamster wheel. He was forced to fill out forms, sign documents, and recount each unforgettable step. He’d listened to lectures, sermons, and admonitions. His captain gave him a tongue-lashing that sounded like mere white noise before he was sent home with a suspension – investigation pending.

Only he didn’t go home; he came here.

At home, his wife and daughter were waiting – for a husband, a father, an explanation. None of which he could provide. Beau wanted to wallow in his grief, his guilt, his loss in peace. He lacked the strength to be strong, play pretend, and act above it all. He wanted to be punished, sent to perdition, and held accountable for his lapse of judgment. A suspension wasn’t good enough. It barely patched the abysmal gaps in his heart.

The only suitable punishment was you. Witnessing your suffering was his personally crafted hell. You were the broken remnants of his destruction, the shattered pieces of his idiocy, the explosive fallout of his arrogance.

And you hadn’t answered a single call or text of his. His torturous worry was part of his penalty.

Consecutive rings of the doorbell and incessant knocks remained unanswered. For a moment, Beau rested his forehead on the door. He felt helpless and clueless all the same. You had friends and family to take care of you, probably better suited and closer to you than him, but somehow he felt burdened with the responsibility.

He took the spare key out of the left-side planter and barged inside. The ground floor was deserted. Last night’s uneaten dinner still sat untouched on the table. It felt like a whiplash against his bare back.

Bolting upstairs, he found the door to the main bedroom ajar. He pried it open slowly, the sight of you delivering his second lashing. This time, he felt the sting burning through to his heart.

He found you curled up in bed, on your husband’s side, in your husband’s t-shirt, with your wedding photo album clutched tightly in your arms. His breath halted for a moment; his heart did, too.

Did he do this? Was this all his fault?

“Y/N?” His deep voice was quiet and careful as he spoke. Slowly, he walked over to your side and knelt down in front of you. “Darlin’, hey… You need to get up. Eat somethin’.”

Beau was sure you hadn’t moved all day. He didn’t ask you if you were alright or how you were doing. The question seemed insulting. The answer was obvious. Your phone was lighting up on the nightstand with a million unanswered calls and messages, his own among them. Your beautiful eyes were vacant, red, and empty. You didn’t cry, however, not anymore. You were dehydrated and all out of tears at this point. You never looked at him, not even a glance.

“I want him back,” you whispered, your voice coarse from screaming, crying, cursing.

Beau nodded, licking his lips. Caringly, he caressed your head, brushing a few strands of messy hair out of your face. “I know. I hope you know I’d trade places with him in a heartbeat if I could.”

For the first time your eyes found his. Your gaze was scathing and piercing. “Tell me what happened.”

Beau let out a harrowing sigh. He had rehashed the story all day long. He wasn’t sure if he could do it again, but maybe this version was the most important one. Who deserved the truth more than you?

“Y/N, I don’t think this is such a good idea, darlin’,” Beau tried to reason, mostly for himself. He wanted to hold on a little longer, the idea of you hating him tearing him apart. He wanted to spare himself the additional guilt, the anger, the hurt.

“Tell me or leave.”

Beau closed his eyes and nodded hesitantly. “Okay, alright.” He took a deep breath and settled down on the floor, leaning his back against the wooden bedside table. “We were closing in on that biker gang. Few murders, arms trafficking, drug deals… You know the drill. I’m sure Ra-… he filled you in.”

Not that long ago, Randy had asked you for advise on the case. You gave him your contacts in the DEA and a number to a CI.

“Your DEA guy warned us. Said the gang was working closely with the cartel down in Juárez. But I had my own intel that only a few members were meeting at the Hatcher warehouse in MacGregor. It was supposed to be a small deal. But I figured it could lead to bigger things if we shook ‘em down, you know? But fuckin’ Harper told us no like usual. Refused to give us back-up. Said to pass the case on to the DEA. But Randy and I worked our asses off the last few months to get even this far. We were so close. I didn’t wanna let go… So, I suggested we go in anyways. It was supposed to be only three guys from the gang. I knew if we were smart about it, we could easily take ‘em down, you know?”

You rolled onto your back and propped yourself up on the bed. Shaking your head, you chuckled humorlessly and grabbed the half-empty whiskey bottle from the nightstand. “‘Course you did. It’s not the first time you broke a rule or shit on authority.”

“Yeah, and I was right every single time,” Beau bit. His anger wasn’t geared at you but at himself. He knew he was in the wrong. He flew too close to the sun and got burned. But he still felt the need to defend himself, even if it was unjustified.

His gaze drifted to the dresser and the patch of wall above it, decorated with photographic evidence of yours and his partner’s life together. The wedding, dates, vacations, holidays – it was all there. Beau had watched it all, start to finish. He wished he could rewind the tape and cut off the ending, all so you could have the love of your life back. He didn’t know yet your cassette had a B-side. One that featured him.

“You got fucking lucky, is all,” you scoffed.

“Randy backed me up on it!”

“Of course he did! You’re his fucking partner! He would’ve followed you anywhere if you asked him to,” you snapped, shaking your head. You gulped down some whiskey then and locked your jaw before you met his eyes again with a glare. “And? What happened then, Beau? Was it only three guys?”

“No.” The word was almost inaudible. He shook his head with a harsh swallow. “They were meetin’ with a few cartel members there. My intel never said anything about that. When we were inside and saw what was really going on, it was already too late to get out. They made us, bullets started flyin’… They got a hold of Randy and… shot him.” A tear escaped down his cheek, his throat closing as he tried to choke out the last bit of the story. “I had to leave him there. I barely got out myself. I’m sorry, Y/N. I know this is on me.”

Your lips twitched with a bitter smile. You didn’t look at him, just rubbed your tired eyes. “Damn right it is. Get out.”

“Y/N, please–”

The storm in your eyes made him stop as you met his gaze, his useless apologies becoming stuck in his throat. “I said, get out. I ain’t asking a third time. You’re the reason my husband is dead. You’re the reason I don’t even have a body to bury. So, get the fuck out.” Like a snakebite, your words were targeted, sharp, and venomous.

You finally got out of bed and prodded towards the en-suite bathroom. The truth had been what you needed to switch the fighter inside of you back on. You knew what you wanted to do then and were determined to get it.

“Y/N–”

“Do you know what cartels do to bodies, Beau? To rivals? To law enforcement? ‘Cause I just came back from a job where we found forty-eight decapitated bodies, left to rot inside the walls of a house. Still haven’t found the heads yet. Probably never will,” you told him and stared him dead into his dark green eyes. “Ever seen that before, desperado?”

Beau bit his lips, averting his gaze. “No.”

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” You scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “Now, leave. Please. Get the fuck outta my house. I don’t wanna see you anymore,” you spat and slammed the bathroom door shut behind you.

Beau then grabbed the whiskey bottle you’d left and walked out of your home. It was the first of many nights he started to drink himself to sleep, but at least it kept the nightmares temporarily at bay.

“Theodore.” Beau forced a bright smile onto his freckle-dusted face, although the stiff features could barely fool anyone. At least, they wouldn’t have fooled you.

“Beau, good to see you again.” Ted smiled and did a more convincing job of it as he waltzed into Lewis and Clark County’s Sheriff’s Department. It almost seemed like he meant it. “I was surprised when Y/N told me you got a gig as a sheriff here.”

Translation: I was surprised because you were such a fuck-up back in Texas.

Beau feigned a chuckle. “Yeah, I bet you were.”

“Hopefully, you’re givin’ the DAs here less headaches,” Ted jabbed under the disguise of friendly banter. He then turned to Jenny with that same shit-eating grin. “Your sheriff is a little troublemaker.”

Sweet Lord, Beau wanted to whack the bastard.

The blonde deputy coolly brushed the accusation off. She shrugged and playfully nudged Beau’s arm, sending the Texan attorney a smile. “I prefer him that way.”

“Hey, there she is!” Beau smiled with frazzled relief when you finally hurried into the station. A little while longer, and he definitely would’ve thrown a punch.

“Hey, Ted. Thanks for coming. How was your flight?” You greeted him with a warm smile and a quick hug.

“Good, good. Never been to Montana before,” Ted said and then let his eyes wander up and down your body. “Look at you. You look great!”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” You subtly cleared your throat. You could physically feel Beau stiffen next to you. In your periphery, you could spy a tightly clenched jaw and a few strained muscles in his neck.

“Mind if Y/N and I borrow your office, Sheriff Arlen?” Ted asked and emphasized his title. “Considering the nature of this case, I’d like to keep it as private as possible. Don’t want anything to reach Ms. Newton’s ears.”

Your hunch had been right. Several IP addresses pointed to Diane, some to public Wi-Fi’s. You and the team still needed to connect her to the other states and find out where she’d been staying there, but you could definitely trace some posts in recent weeks to her home in Montana. It was enough for an arrest warrant, but you still needed more evidence.

Additionally, it had all come together a little too easily. It seemed like a giant trap you were walking into. Diane wanted to be caught. But why?

“Why don’t I just join you? I’m sure Y/N here doesn’t mind,” Beau suggested with a tight smile and then snaked his arm around your middle, pulling you closer. “Ain’t that right, darlin’?”

Internally, you sighed a little at his obvious territorial pissing, but you were willing to throw him a bone. You stretched up and claimed his plump lips in a fervent kiss that Beau only all too happily reciprocated.

“Not at all, Sheriff. You know I always appreciate your input,” you replied with a dirty smirk at the double entendre.

As Beau looked down at you, he mouthed ‘God, I love you.’ You grinned in response.

“Happy to give it to you,” he said with another sweet peck of your lips. A triumphant and slightly cocky grin graced his lips as he looked back at Ted.

“Oh, so you two are back together?” Ted realized, his brow rising to his hairline. He’d never seen you two together but certainly had heard the whispers down in Mexico from your old task force. He’d been the DA for those cases as well. You’d never explicitly told him about you and Beau, though, even when he had tried to pry a little on those dates you went on.

“Well, I’m a hard one to quit,” Beau quipped almost proudly, like a peacock showing off his fan of feathers.

“As are cigarettes and many other vices,” Ted shot back with the same stupidly proud grin.

Translation: You’re an ass. And a failure. She deserves so much better. I’m ‘better.’ But maybe that didn't need a translation.

Beau should’ve known it was hard to out-argue a lawyer and ground his jaw. After all, he’d been married to one for many years.

You, on the other hand, shared a wide-eyed and baffled look with Jenny that bordered on amusement. You had almost gasped in shock. You hadn’t expected such a fiery reply, sure the men would stick to their Southern manners. But, oh well, everyone’s packing in fucking Texas…

“Why don’t you two go ahead? I’ll join you in a minute,” you ordered more than you earnestly proposed and shooed the two men down the hallway towards Beau’s office.

“Sure it’s such a good idea to lock those two in a room alone?” Jenny teased, her eyes lingering a little too long on Ted’s perfectly formed ass as he sauntered down the hall.

You couldn’t blame her. You had checked out Beau’s in the same breath.

“It’s only for a short time. They’re not gonna kill each other,” you laughed it off. Jenny arched a doubtful eyebrow at you. “That quickly,” you added a correction. “So, what did I miss here?” you asked and nodded towards the two men, closing the door to Beau’s office behind them. All you heard last was them talking about the recent Texans game.

Ugh, of course, they’d end up by football…

“Dick measuring contest,” Jenny supplied wryly.

“Ah, figured…”

“Well, better them than to lock Agent Y/L/N and the sheriff into the same room,” Poppernak joked with a soft chuckle as he appeared next to you and Jenny, chiming into the conversation.

You gaped at him in mock-shock. “Mo! I can’t believe you just said that,” you chided playfully.

His cheeks turned crimson red. “I’m sorry, Special Agent Y/L/N,” he apologized in a fluster.

“Mo, I told you to call me by my first name,” you reminded him with a smile. “Or I’m gonna have to start giving you silly names like Beau does.”

“Oh, I love Sheriff Arlen’s nicknames,” he quickly defended with a nervous laugh.

“Do you?” Jenny tilted her head with a questioning eyebrow.

He shrugged. “They’re clever.”

August 2020

“Old Fashioned,” you ordered with a look at the bartender, feeling Beau’s confused eyes and crinkled brow wander up to you. “Couldn’t have picked a nicer bar, huh? This place is a dump. You know that, right?”

Beau clicked his tongue and took a sip from his Ranch Water. “What are you doing here? Thought you never wanted to see me again.”

You let out a small sigh but didn’t meet his gaze. “Carla called me. Your family is worried about you.”

“I didn’t tell her where I was. How did you know I was here?”

“I didn’t. Carla said you haven’t been home in three days. Figured you’d gone on a bender. This is the fifth cop bar I checked out. Finally got lucky,” you said and thanked the bartender as he placed his drink in front of you. You settled down on a barstool next to Beau.

“Quite the effort. Sure I’m worth it?”

Your tongue swept over your lips. “Beau, look at me.” His forest-green eyes found yours upon your soft plea. “I’m sorry I put all that shit on you. It wasn’t fair. It’s not your fault, okay? His death isn’t on you. I know you loved him like a brother.”

“I did.” Beau took another sip of his drink. “But it is my fault. I was reckless and arrogant. We both know it.”

“It was a set-up, alright? I talked to my DEA contact. Cody said your intel was wrong. They knew you and Randy were closing in on them. They wanted to get rid of you,” you explained.

Beau smacked his lips. “I still shoulda known better. I should’ve seen it was a trap.”

“Maybe,” you admitted. You couldn’t say you would’ve done the same thing, but you knew Beau would’ve never purposely put Randy in danger if he had even the faintest idea. “But it could’ve happened to anybody. This was bigger than you knew.”

“It wouldn’t have happened to you,” he stated quietly. You couldn’t argue with that. You were more by-the-book than he was. You would’ve never gone against a superior’s order. You would’ve respected it.

“Look, just go home. Talk to your wife. Get some help,” you said. “You missed your suspension hearing, but I spoke on your behalf. Told them it wasn’t your fault. The DEA backed me. Harper’s gonna reinstate you. Just come back as soon as you’re ready.”

Beau nodded slowly. Even if he didn’t say it, you could tell he was thankful for your efforts. “I can’t go home.”

Your brow furrowed. “Why? I’m sure Carla will understand. You need to talk to someone about this. Go to therapy – and not the alcoholic kind. Losing a partner is not something you get over quickly. You need people in your corner, including your wife.”

“You mean the wife that lets criminals out on the street?” Beau’s gaze was focused on the glass in his hands. The wrinkles on your brow deepened. “The guy that shot him… Carla’s his defense attorney. Was, at least. He was supposed to do time, but two months ago, she got him paroled.” With a dark chuckle, he emptied his glass.

“Beau…” You knew he had always struggled with Carla’s job, making you sometimes wonder about their dinner conversations at home. “It ain’t her fault more than it is yours. She’s just doing her job. You know that. You’ve been together for so long, you’d think you’re used to it by now.”

Beau scoffed a chuckle and gestured to the bartender for a refill. “I was a young cop back then. Wasn’t on the job as long. I didn’t know it would bother me so much. Still lived in that hopeful bubble, I guess.”

You smiled knowingly. “You mean the ‘I didn’t think I’d see as much shit and injustice as I do now’ bubble?”

He snickered softly. “Yep, that one. Just didn’t think it’d be this hard, you know?”

“I get it. I mean, me and Carla butt heads all the time over this stuff. But we do it in a competitive fun way and then get drunk,” you said with a light chuckle. “Guess it’s different when you’re married, though, huh?”

“Yeah, it is…” he sighed.

“Still, go home. Talk to her,” you encouraged but could see your words of wisdom fell on deaf ears. “By the way, the funeral’s on Saturday.”

He turned his gaze away from his glass and found your eyes. “You need any help with that?”

“Maybe you can give a eulogy. You knew him best. I think he would’ve really liked that,” you said with a warm smile. No matter your own feelings, you knew deep down Randy would’ve wanted you to forgive his partner.

“Yeah, I can do that. Anything you need, okay?” Beau clasped your hand that laid on the bar counter and squeezed reassuringly before dropping it again.

You smiled appreciatively and teased, “Maybe show up sober. Or at least close-to.”

Beau chuckled a little. “I promise.”

You stood up from your seat then and put some cash for your drink on the counter. “Alright, I’m heading home. You need me to call you a cab?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’m just gonna finish this drink, then I’ll head out, too,” he said.

“You sure? Don’t make me come back here,” you threatened playfully.

Beau laughed softly. “I won’t. Thanks for everything, Y/N. I mean it.”

You sent him a smile and gave his shoulder a squeeze on your way out. “You’re welcome. Get home safe, okay?”

However, Beau couldn’t keep any of his promises. He made it home after three more drinks and woke up on the front lawn of his house. Carla wasn’t happy when she found him in the morning as she brought Emily to school. But Beau couldn’t stop. Every time he closed his eyes, the tragic events flashed before him like a horror movie, witnessing Randy’s death in a never-ending loop. He kept seeing his partner get dragged away, heard the shot over and over again like a rain of bullets without a ceasefire.

The guilt was eating him alive. The guilt of getting his partner into this mess in the first place. Of leaving him behind. Of surviving and coming out alive when he didn’t deserve to.

So, Beau kept drinking to forget, even though he knew it was a futile endeavor. The memory would never fade, but at least it was blurred.

Your heavy breaths echoed through the small trailer. His mouth moved down the column of your throat, leaving a wet path of ravenous love bites in its wake.

“Fuck, baby,” you moaned wantonly, his grip on your flesh punishing as he kept you pressed flush against him while he devoured you on the little dining table. Your ass sat on the wooden surface, your crossed ankles locked tightly behind his muscular back.

“God, you made me so happy today,” he growled against the shell of your ear, his rising length rubbing against your core through layers of denim.

“I can see that.” You giggled, your hands dangling in his hair. “There’s no need to hate him so much, you know?”

“Says you,” Beau quipped and unzipped your jeans, eagerly pulling them off you as his mouth sucked your clavicle purple and blue. “That slimy coyote always had it out for me.”

Beau removed your panties as well, tossing them behind his shoulder where they landed in the kitchen sink. “Whoops.” He grinned charmingly but was unstoppable, freeing his throbbing dick as he shoved his jeans and boxers barely over his ass. He didn’t bother to slip out of them all the way, too impatient to wait any longer to enter you.

“Still, I’m already yours. I’ve always been yours,” you said and braced yourself on his broad shoulders as one large hand on your back pulled you closer to the edge of the table. His other hand grabbed his cock, twisting his fist along the hard, long shaft a few times before he glided his cockhead through your slick folds.

“Not always.” With one harsh thrust, he pushed inside you, your tight walls fighting to make room for him and adjust to his stretch.

You gasped at the pleasurable burn that coursed through your body and ignited every sizzling nerve. He dropped his head to your shoulder, giving both of you some time to get used to each other. You could tell you were in for a wilder ride tonight. You always loved when he fucked you rough and hard. There was something raw and animalistic about the need in his hypnotizing green eyes.

Beau then claimed your lips with one fervent kiss, enough of a spark to cause a wildfire. He met your gaze, hands gingerly cupping your cheeks. “But I love that you’re mine now. And I’m sure as hell gonna make you mine tonight, darlin’.”

You crashed your lips against his, your kisses frenzied and untamed as his hips began to slam into you. His pounds into your pussy were relentless as you swallowed every inch of him. You gripped him tight, already feeling your first orgasm bloom. It accumulated like dark, violent storm clouds on the horizon, forecasting roaring thunder and heavy rainfall.

“Oh God! Fuck, baby!” You screamed as your climax tore through you like a hurricane, your cunt gushing on his cock and pulsing around him. Your nails dug into his shoulder blades and scratched down his back as you came undone.

Beau groaned into your ear, squeezing his eyes shut as he barely held on himself. But he didn’t let up and kept up his furious pace, not ready to stop yet. “Shit, keep doing that. You’re so fucking tight, Y/N,” he grunted against your skin, your sensitive flesh barely withstanding his ruthless pumps. “Want you to come again, darlin’.”

With his declaration, his hand slipped between your sweat-clad bodies. You came close to losing your mind as he thumbed furiously at your clit, the stars already starting to twinkle in front of your eyes. You could feel yourself get shoved to the edge once more, staring down the steep cliffs of white-hot ecstasy.

Your mind was consumed by need, his grip on your hips bruising as you exploded. You cried out raucously, your whole body quaking in his hold upon your eruption, the aftershocks so powerful they could cause cracks in your bones.

Beau spilled his seed deep inside of you, his body stuttering in rhythm with yours as your earthquake took him down with you. Hazy gazes met each other with lazy smiles as ragged breaths mingled.

“Fuck, that was good. I think that one might make it into our Top Ten.” Beau chuckled gravelly and placed a gentle kiss on your temple.

“Hmm, not sure. We have a few greatest hits.” You giggled and bit down on your lower lip with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes. “Can I tell you something?”

Beau cupped your cheeks, thumbs caressing the heated and rosy skin as he lifted your gaze. “Anything.”

“Just between us, you’re the best lover I ever had,” you confessed with a wide grin. The corners of his mouth rose to match yours.

“Well, between us, I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. You’re it, darlin’. You know that, right? You’re the love of my life,” Beau revealed, making you smile brighter than you ever had before.

“I’m not sure about the sex, but this moment, right here, is probably gonna make it into the Top Ten,” you said softly as a few tears stung your eyes.

“Good.” Beau smiled and pecked your forehead.

The buzzing of a phone shifted your attention. You recognized it as yours, and Beau was quick to retrieve it from your jeans pocket in the pile of clothes on the floor.

“It’s Jenny,” you told him before picking up. “Hello… What?! Uh-huh, we’ll be right there.”

Beau’s brow furrowed as he watched your features flicker through an array of emotions. “Bad news?”

“Uhm, honestly, I don’t know,” you said and swallowed some of your confusion down, gathering your thoughts. “Jenny said Diane just walked into the station and gave herself up. She is ready to confess but only wants to talk to us.”

“Us? As in us two?” Beau’s eyes narrowed. You nodded. “Well, that doesn’t sound fishy at all,” he commented wryly.

“Yup, I don’t like it.”

Chapter 8: Chemical Bonds – JUNE 26

A lot of revelations and foreboding in this one... 👀 Also, I just love having Beau say the word "coyotes" for some reason 😂

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#comment reblog #polaris #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen

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the-cosmic-cauldron · 1 day ago

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Unpopular Synastry Opinions 💘💓❣️💚💞💖💙💛🖤💗💜💔❤️💕

Disclaimer: This is a long post. If it doesn’t apply, let it fly. These explanations in my perspective resonate most with your Synastry based on the Whole Sign system.

💕 For me, in order to have a romantic connection with someone, their planets must fall into the houses of romance in your chart. If not, it doesn’t mean you won’t have a romantic relationship, but it does suggest that the connection might be more rooted in friendship, familiarity, work, career, or business rather than romance.

🏡The houses of romance are the 5th, 7th, 8th, and 12th houses.

1️⃣ The 1st house in synastry isn’t particularly amazing to me. In fact, I think it can cause more issues than it provides benefits. The reason is that everything becomes tied to the house person’s identity. For example, if your Sun falls in their 1st house, everything revolves around the house person’s sense of self. While there might be attraction and allure, it also creates a dynamic where the focus is heavily on one person. To me, this doesn’t really scream romance as much as it functions as a confidence booster for the house person. I think it works well if there are other connections to the romantic houses (5th, 7th, 8th, or 12th), as the 1st house overlay can complement those by boosting someone’s confidence within the relationship. However, on its own, I don’t see the 1st house as particularly compelling or significant for fostering deep romance.

(My first house falls in the Moon of my ex, and although he always gave me so many compliments, I never felt like I was extending that same energy to him. This can sometimes lead to the planet person feeling used. First house energy can often come across as selfish.)

2️⃣The 2nd house in synastry always points to a business partnership, working on a project, or trying to accomplish a goal together. To me, it is not a romantic house. It’s heavily focused on assets, finances, and values. While some people tend to romanticize it—because that’s part of the allure of synastry and the desire to find romantic connections—it’s ultimately a serious house. This is where you and the other person are likely to focus on discussions about goals, plans for making money, or increasing stability, rather than romance.It’s not a romantic house at all, and it can also be easily afflicted because it deals with sensitive matters like finances and personal values. If the planetary interactions aren’t beneficial, it can become detrimental. Someone’s planets in your 2nd house could mess up your money, disrupt your goals, complicate business ventures, or undermine your responsibilities and stability.

( All the people I’ve met whose planets fell in my second house were people I encountered when I was trying to accomplish something, had a goal in mind, or was driven and focused on achieving that goal. That’s why I believe the second house isn’t really a house of romance—when you meet these people, you’re not necessarily looking for romance; you’re focused on your goals.

For example, I met two people whose planets fell in my second house while I was in cosmetology school, focused on earning my cosmetology license. I also met a guy in college while I was working toward my degree and pursuing education. Another time, I met someone whose planet fell into my second house, and they actually introduced me to someone else whose planet also fell into my second house.

I’ve noticed a consistent theme: most of the time, when you meet people whose planets fall in your second house, it’s in structured environments like work or school. You might meet them while handling finances at the bank or while pursuing a skill or goal in life. These connections often happen when you’re focused on something significant.

However, these relationships can go either way—they may uplift and support you, or they may become a detriment. In my experience, many of these people ended up being more of a detriment than a positive influence, likely because the second house can sometimes be afflicted and easily lean into its negative aspects.)

3️⃣The 3rd house, to me, is best suited for friendships. The reason it works well for friendships is that it fosters a talkative dynamic. With someone’s planets in your 3rd house, you’re likely to have a relationship where you both enjoy talking about your day-to-day lives, sharing what’s going on, gossiping, and having casual chit-chat.This placement often involves doing things together around town, like going to the mall, visiting restaurants, hanging out at bars or clubs, spending time in nature, or attending events. The energy of the 3rd house brings a sense of local community and a hometown vibe. It emphasizes communication, sharing ideas, and bouncing thoughts off one another.Because of this, the 3rd house is ideal for friendships, as it creates a lighthearted, engaging, and socially active connection.

(The third house is another place where you can meet people, particularly in learning environments. This could include retreats, workshops, hobby classes (like candle-making), or even orientations at school or work. Essentially, any setting where learning takes place is a likely spot to meet someone whose planet falls into your third house.

For example, I once met someone whose Ascendant fell into my third house, and what’s interesting is that we met in a communication class in college. I always find that so fitting for third house energy. When we started talking, we really hit it off—we were texting 24/7, chatting constantly, and hanging out frequently. We’d go to local places like restaurants or ice cream shops, which is so typical of third house energy.

Our activities were very local: we’d attend festivals, events, bars, and clubs together. It wasn’t about long-distance travel; it was about enjoying day-to-day life in the same area. We’d gossip, share details about our daily lives, and even FaceTime when one of us went on vacation—she would literally show me her day in real time.

The third house energy also shaped the tone of our conversations. Since her Ascendant was in Aquarius, we often had open-ended discussions about the future, radical ideas, activism, and LGBTQ topics. This placement is fantastic for friendships—it’s the “bestie energy,” where you always want to hang out locally and talk endlessly. It’s the type of connection where you’re constantly saying, “Let’s go anywhere in town and just hang out.”)

4️⃣The 4th house, to me, is not really a good house for romance or friendship. The reason I say this is that for romance, the 4th house is about familiarity, but that familiarity doesn’t always feel good. It can be something like, “Oh, you remind me of home,” but what is home? That’s different for everyone. People come from all sorts of backgrounds, and what feels familiar to one person might be unhealthy. For some, home could mean toxic people, manipulators, narcissists, abusers, or individuals who lack compassion. Navigating the 4th house can be difficult because not everyone has a positive experience with familiarity. This house also focuses a lot on home life, and when it’s negatively afflicted, it can cause tension between you and this person’s family. Their family might not accept you, they could judge you, or it could simply create a dependent relationship. In friendships or romantic relationships, the 4th house can trigger old wounds, leading to feelings of being stuck, codependent, or bogged down.That said, if someone comes from a healthy, nurturing home environment and has a positive background, the 4th house can create a sense of comfort and security, especially if familiarity is what they’re seeking. However, most people are often looking for something different than their family or roots when they seek a partner or even a friend. They want something new and different. So, for many, the 4th house can be an afflicted house.

(In my experience with people whose planets fell into my fourth house, the relationship always felt like I already knew them. With fourth house energy, there’s this overwhelming sense of familiarity—you feel like you’ve met this person before, or they remind you of someone from your family or home life. It’s almost as if they embody the essence of your upbringing, and that familiarity can create an instant connection.

When you meet someone with planets in your fourth house, they might remind you of your family or your home life, making it feel like you can understand them easily. There’s a sense of relating to them on a deep level because they reflect so much of what you’ve already experienced.

However, what I don’t like about fourth house energy is how it mirrors so much of your home life and your past. The relationship tends to reflect your prior experiences, including your upbringing and relationships within your family. If your home life wasn’t healthy or was filled with challenges, this can be incredibly triggering.

For example, I grew up dealing with manipulation at home, and I met someone whose personal planet fell into my fourth house who was also very manipulative. Another person with this placement was extremely emotional, which mirrored the highly emotional environment I grew up in. Like me, this person had also grown up in an emotionally destabilized home and dealt with similar abuses. Relationships like these can create a trauma bond because you’re connecting over shared wounds and struggles from your past.

Of course, if you had a healthy and happy home life, this dynamic might feel completely different and positive. But when that’s not the case, it can feel overwhelming and even draining. Most of the fourth house relationships I’ve been in have felt familiar and similar to me, but that similarity wasn’t always a good thing. At times, it felt like it hindered the relationship because it didn’t foster growth or bring anything new to the table.

The fourth house energy often brings relationships that reflect what you’re used to. But I think most people, myself included, are usually looking for something different—something outside of their comfort zone and past experiences. Fourth house relationships tend to repeat patterns from the past or bring people who are too similar to you.

For instance, I tend to avoid confrontation when I have issues, and I can be quite passive. I met someone whose planet fell into my fourth house, and they were exactly the same way. Instead of addressing problems, they just blocked me, which is something I’ve been guilty of doing as well.

People whose planets fall into your fourth house can act like a mirror, reflecting your past or your unresolved issues. They can be so similar to you that it becomes difficult to grow or create the kind of relationship you truly want. These relationships often feel like they have unresolved tension or lingering issues, and they don’t always foster a deep or fulfilling connection.)

5️⃣ To me, the 5th house is all about romance. Some people often talk about how the 5th house is fleeting, but you have to understand that they only attribute that perception because they’re projecting their own idea of romance onto the 5th house. The 5th house represents the type of romance you see in the movies, where someone gives you flowers, shows up for dates, writes love letters, and you’re going to different places together, enjoying time with each other. It’s the kind of romance where you’re so in love and captivated with one another, always wanting to be around each other, bringing each other happiness. You smile more when you’re together, and life just feels better because you’re doing things you love, inspired by the other person. The 5th house is a deeply romantic house. I don’t fall into the trap of thinking, “Oh, it’s not long-lasting.” I think people often say that because they’re projecting their own idea of romance onto it. But the 5th house brings that idealized, cheesy romance—the kind where you write each other love letters, poems, or even sing to each other. It’s giving gifts, roses, and all the Pinterest-worthy relationship moments. That’s the energy the 5th house brings.When you see an artsy couple painting together, that’s 5th house energy. When you see a couple who’s always laughing, giggling, and having fun, that’s 5th house energy. And when you see a couple who can’t keep their hands off each other, always touching and feeling on each other, that’s 5th house energy too. It’s a house that brings a fun, playful, and passionate vibe to relationships.

( The people whose personal planets fall in my fifth house always make everything feel like a fun time, where the focus is really just on fun, romance, and romantic things. Even with my sister, whose personal planet falls in my fifth house, we are really close. She’s done so many romantic things for me, like giving me romantic gifts, and we’re affectionate with each other. We write each other long paragraphs, compliment each other, and do fun things together. We try out hobbies like planting plants, doing artwork, and doing makeup together. We just have so much fun—we laugh together and always watch these dramatic shows, which is such fifth house energy.

Even in friendships, the fifth house energy makes things so enjoyable. You’re always going out to eat, doing things that make you laugh, and creating memories together. You’re really loyal to each other and don’t want that loyalty to ever break. You go on a lot of dates and genuinely have fun. My ex, whose personal planet also fell into my fifth house, and I did the same things. We’d go to Dave & Buster’s to have fun, ride scooters all around town, and spend hours on FaceTime joking and laughing. We’d go out to eat together, enjoying food, and listen to music together. We wanted to start things together like hobbies. He’d write me love letters, send me paragraphs expressing his love, and dedicate songs to me. We had songs that were “ours.” He’d get me flowers and buy me gifts, things he didn’t do for other girls. He was so deeply in love with me and wanted to do all the cheesy and romantic things.

Fifth house energy is truly needed—it makes you feel so attracted to each other. You just appreciate each other so much, and giving gifts, compliments, and doing romantic things comes effortlessly. Even in friendships, you’re always ready to have a good time. You really become besties because you enjoy each other that much.)

6️⃣Again, I know a lot of people romanticize certain houses, but the 6th house is not one to romanticize. The 6th house is a boring house. It is not about romance. I think it’s a good house to have in your relationship with your parents. If you have a parent with a 6th house placement, it can make them a great, responsible parent to you. The 6th house handles day-to-day routines, work, goals, projects, responsibilities, and health. So, yes, if you have a relationship with your parent that involves the 6th house, that’s fine.However, you don’t want to have a friendship in the 6th house. It leads to a boring friendship—one that you probably have because you work together or attend school together. It’s a friendship that’s likely to fizzle out because, outside of the goal or task you’re working on, it lacks depth and becomes dull. It also requires a lot of work. With a parent and child, the 6th house is somewhat inevitable because parenting is a lot of work. But in a friendship or romantic relationship, if it requires too much work, it can cause strain. It can make you feel miserable, as if there’s no romance in the relationship.There’s also a level of service and duty in the 6th house. You might even feel obligated to the other person. That’s why I said the 6th house is best for parent-child relationships. In that dynamic, you’re more likely to feel obligated, but in a friendship or romance, it can feel burdensome.

(The sixth house is really a boring placement for me. I know a couple of people whose personal planets fall into my sixth house, and there’s always this sense of boredom. I feel like they’re boring, and I want more fun, adventure, and excitement, but they just can’t provide that for me. That’s what the sixth house is—it has a very dry energy, and it often comes with a feeling of obligation and work. You might feel obligated to these people, even if you genuinely don’t want to do things with them. You might still feel like, “Oh, I just have to do this for this person,” or, “Let me just suck it up and go hang out with them,” because that’s the energy they bring.

One thing I’ve noticed is that there are often really boring periods in the relationship where nothing exciting is happening. All your hangouts feel really dry—maybe you don’t have much to talk about or share. You’re only talking about your job or your goals, and there’s nothing else you’re really discussing. People with a sixth house placement will talk a lot about work, responsibilities, and their goals. There’s rarely any deep or fun conversation. A lot of these people focus on education or other serious topics, which adds to the boring feel.

Also, with sixth house energy, these are the kind of people who might give you only what they can offer, rather than meeting your expectations. You might expect more romance, fun, or excitement, but they’ll just give you, “Oh, let’s hang out and do this,” and nothing else is really planned. I had one person whose personal planet fell in my sixth house, and they were so boring to talk to—it was just a snooze fest. Another person, I always felt like I never had fun around them. Everything just felt dry. Communication can be deep in some aspects, but I feel like a lot of what they want to do is super boring and routine. They really just want to stick to their routine, and that’s what I don’t like about people whose personal planets fall into your sixth house—they’re unwilling to break out of their routine. You have to adjust to their routine, and if it’s someone in your family, you’re going to feel heavily obligated to them. You may not even care to be around them, but you still feel like you have to stick around and do things for them.)

7️⃣ The seventh house represents the quintessential romance that we are told about—opposites attract, and you find someone who completes you. The whole idea of the seventh house is that you meet someone who complements you, someone who makes you feel loved and makes everything in your life more meaningful. The seventh house is about opposites attracting. You come to this earth with only a certain amount of traits, attributes, or space for yourself, and then you find a partner who completes that picture for you. So, the seventh house is all about finding a soulmate. To me, the seventh house really indicates soulmate energy—the energy of your other half, the energy of what we could even call a twin flame. That’s the energy I get from the seventh house.For example, if you’re an Aries Rising, the seventh house would be Libra for you. In saying that, the seventh house is Libra for you, meaning Aries holds a certain energy opposite to Libra, and Libra holds a certain energy opposite to Aries. When they come together, they almost become complementary. The passive and the assertive unite to create a wholesome picture.When you think about the seventh house, you think about people bringing different qualities. You think about Libra bringing the romance, flowers, and all the beautiful romantic things. You think about Aries as the provider, the protector, the person who takes care of the house, makes sure the bills are paid, and makes decisions. It’s a traditional type of relationship that you get with the seventh house.For some people, they prefer the romance of the fifth house, but I would say the seventh house is more about a traditional relationship. It’s where the woman is more submissive and the man takes on the role of the head or the leader of the house. The seventh house energy suggests that we have roles that we’re assigned and we play, and that’s how we navigate our relationship. The seventh house is about courtship—the person you’re with courts you. It follows the traditional steps, like courting, proposing, getting married, and living happily ever after.

(People forget that your 7th house is based on your rising sign, not your sun sign. A lot of people will say, “Oh, I couldn’t go with this type of person based on their sun sign,” but it’s based on your rising. Every person I’ve met whose personal planet fell into my 7th house has had a crush on me. They’ve been interested, thought I was attractive, and enjoyed our conversations. I’ve had two people whose planets fell into my 7th house, and yes, they did find me attractive, but at the same time, they got really into me when we were talking. Just being able to have discussions with me drew them in even more. I feel like a lot of them thought I was the perfect person for them or the “good girl” for them.

I feel like 7th house energy represents someone feeling like you’re the right person for them. With friendships, it’s that type of bond where the other person really understands you. I had someone whose personal planet fell into my 7th house, and I felt like they truly understood me. They easily grasped my perspective, and I also felt like they were my vibe. I like to talk a lot, and they liked to talk a lot too—we just clicked.

7th house friendships can be really fun. Every time someone I’m around lands in my 7th house with any planet, they always want to talk to me. They get curious about me, feel like I’m a good person, and are drawn to the positive elements of me. I feel like people with a personal planet in my 7th house really like me. That’s what you often get—an affinity for you, even if you’re just friends. If you’re in a relationship, they always kind of like you. Even if you’re different, they’re interested in those differences. They don’t shy away from them; in fact, the differences pull them in. )

8️⃣Unlike the 5th and 7th houses—where the 5th house represents cheesy, romantic, fun couple goals, and the 7th house represents the traditional couple that leads to marriage—the 8th house represents the deep couple. Imagine a couple that has long, meaningful conversations, getting to know each other on a level most others don’t, where they can read each other’s minds and pick up on cues without speaking.Imagine a relationship where you can have tantric intimacy, or where just being around each other creates a sense of arousal. Picture a bond so strong that you feel like a ride-or-die partner, with unshakable loyalty to the deepest degree. No matter what happens, you remain devoted to this person, willing to go through thick and thin, hell and high waters, as long as you’re together. This is the type of person you would fight for—literally. It’s the kind of relationship where you protect your partner to the highest degree, never allowing anyone to disrespect them. That’s 8th house energy.The 8th house energy is staying up late, talking for hours about each other’s lives, bonding over past experiences, traumas, fears, and the most vulnerable parts of yourselves. It’s the kind of relationship where you can stare into each other’s eyes and see straight into each other’s souls. This type of relationship teaches you so much about yourself, both inside and outside the bedroom. It’s a bond where you trust your partner so deeply that you share things with them you wouldn’t with anyone else—your secrets, your money, your entire self.The 8th house energy is not for everyone, just as 7th house energy isn’t for everyone. The 8th house demands a level of depth, vulnerability, rawness, authenticity, and intimacy that touches every aspect of the relationship. It’s not a surface-level bond. It’s not the type of relationship you post about online for the aesthetic. Instead, it’s the type where you pour your heart out, writing five-page letters detailing every reason you love this person.The 8th house energy can feel so intertwined that when your partner goes through something, it feels like you’re going through it too. At times, the intensity can become overwhelming, leading to moments when you feel the need to take a step back and catch your breath. These relationships often experience heated arguments and deeply emotional highs and lows. Yet, despite the challenges, this is the type of relationship that fosters immense growth. It’s the ultimate catalyst for personal and relational evolution.

(Be prepared for deep bonds when someone’s personal planets are in your eighth house. Every person I’ve had dealings with whose personal planet is in my eighth house has resulted in a deep relationship. Usually, what happens is that if you’re dealing with someone of a gender you’re attracted to, there’s automatically a lot of focus on intimacy. That comes to the forefront, and it’s something that isn’t always talked about, but the eighth house brings up raw, primal energy—those suppressed desires. When you’re around that person, you just really want to unleash them. It also gives you this perspective of navigating intense emotions and channeling them into physical intimacy.

With friendships, the relationships are very deep, with a lot of loyalty. You can easily talk about deep topics quickly, often diving into trauma bonding. You discuss your fears and vulnerabilities, and you may feel more open to talk about things you normally wouldn’t. But with other people, especially in romantic dynamics, the eighth house energy can also be fearful and uncertain. You may not know if you can trust the person, and sometimes those bonds never fully develop because there’s a lack of trust. Trust issues often arise with eighth house energy.

I’ve had eighth house energy with people where I could talk to them on the phone for hours. With this energy, when you’re around them, you can feel their emotions. It creates an empathetic bond, especially depending on the sign it’s in. I’ve also noticed that eighth house energy prompts you to confront your trauma or unpack your issues. So, a lot of talking about personal struggles, trauma, and vulnerabilities happens. It creates a very ride-or-die relationship—you might hate the person one minute and love them the next, but there’s a loyalty that remains. It’s a very passionate relationship, and there’s a lot of passion shared between you.

What I’ve noticed in eighth house relationships is that they often go through cycles. You may be super close, then fall off, and then come back together. You’ll never really forget someone whose planet falls in your eighth house, or vice versa. They’re the type of person you think about deeply, even if things are no longer happening. These relationships can get overwhelming at times, and you may need space from each other. At some point, stepping back from the situation is necessary. Money often comes into play with eighth house energy—either the person doesn’t want to spend on you, they’re going through a financial crisis, you need money, or you end up loaning them money. Money is always somehow tied to eighth house relationships.)

9️⃣The 9th house is not typically seen as an ideal house to share with someone in a relationship. It often represents distance, usually physical distance. Whether the relationship is with a family member, a friend, or a lover, there’s likely to be some physical separation involved. At some point, you may find yourselves apart due to opportunities for personal growth, education, or differing life paths—such as one person moving to a new city while the other stays behind. This distance can create challenges and make the relationship feel tricky to navigate.Another aspect of 9th house relationships is the potential for arguments and conflicts, especially when it comes to philosophies, beliefs, and education. Everyone has their own perspective, and if these perspectives clash, it can lead to constant disagreements. For example, if you and the other person have opposing beliefs, the relationship may turn into a cycle of asserting your viewpoints without finding common ground. This might look like one person being Christian and the other Muslim, which can create difficulties in navigating shared values. Or it could be a dynamic where one person is highly spiritual while the other is deeply religious, like a mother forcing religion on a child who leans more toward spirituality. In romantic relationships, differing beliefs can also show up in lifestyle choices, such as one partner favoring traditional provider roles while the other prefers a 50-50 partnership. These clashes over philosophies can make the relationship feel strained. However, if both people share similar beliefs, the 9th house energy can foster open discussions, thoughtful debates, and mutual growth. It becomes a space for diving deep into shared values, exploring ideas, and expanding together. This mutual understanding can make the energy of the 9th house productive and rewarding. The challenges of the 9th house also include the physical distance that often arises. Travel may be necessary to see each other, and the lack of physical closeness can take away from the intimacy of the relationship. Additionally, the 9th house often focuses on growth and expansion, which can mean that personal journeys take precedence over the relationship itself. One person may prioritize their personal development or career, while the other might not, creating a mismatch in priorities.In summary, while the 9th house can provide opportunities for intellectual growth and shared exploration when beliefs align, it often comes with challenges like physical distance, differing philosophies, and an emphasis on individual journeys over the relationship. In my personal perspective, it’s not the easiest placement for building a strong, intimate connection.

(I’ve had two relationships with people whose personal planets fell in my ninth house, and what I can tell you is that, at some point, there’s going to be distance. At some point, it’s going to be long distance, and you’ll have to decide which path you want to go on: do you want to stay together, or are you growing apart? Ninth house energy often leads to relationships where you just grow apart. You get together initially, share common philosophies, outlooks, perspectives, and beliefs, but then you grow apart as you’re on different paths, and it no longer aligns.

In both of those relationships, there were clearly two different belief systems, and I feel like that’s usually what happens with ninth house placements. It typically means that you come from two different backgrounds. For the first person, I wasn’t religious, but they were. For the second person, we had different upbringings—I grew up in apartments with both parents, and they grew up in a house with a single mother. Just two different lifestyles. Both of these people had different beliefs from mine, and it created a lot of tension because we had conflicting belief systems and perspectives. That was a big struggle for me.

Ninth house relationships can sometimes feel like you’re longing for something you’re not getting. You’re yearning for something, and it’s more about hope than reality. Another thing I’ve noticed in ninth house relationships is that they tend to occur when you’re going through a period of growth, challenges, or transition—when you’re moving on to the next chapter. You often meet these people when you need someone to pull you out of your circumstances or give you a new perspective. You might meet them when you’re more closed-minded, struggling, or isolated. But what I’ve found is that these relationships are often meant to help you in the moment, and then, at some point, you break up and move on because they don’t last forever, on and off again relationship)

1️⃣0️⃣To me, the 10th house is not a good house for anything other than work. It functions well in a professional setting because, in the workplace, there’s an inherent understanding and acceptance of authority. You expect to have a manager, boss, or supervisor—someone above you in the hierarchy, such as a CEO. Even if you dislike your manager or supervisor, you generally respect the roles and the structure. This hierarchy makes sense in the context of work, but when it comes to friendships and romantic relationships, the dynamics become trickier. The 10th house works better in a parent-child relationship. For example, having a 10th house placement with your mother or father can be beneficial. They can provide structure, guidance, and support in making decisions about your education, career, and other life matters. Parents in this placement can help you build discipline and make strategic choices. However, in any other relationship, particularly romantic or platonic, the 10th house tends to introduce issues like power imbalances, abuse of authority, narcissism, and overly critical or forceful behavior. This house can easily become afflicted and detrimental.In romantic relationships, authority is not a desirable dynamic unless you’re someone who explicitly seeks a traditional structure, such as a woman looking for a man to be the provider, leader, or authority figure. However, in modern times, many people don’t want that kind of dynamic in their relationships, and as a result, 10th house placements in romance often create friction. Additionally, the 10th house focuses heavily on public image—how you’re perceived by the world around you. This can lead to relationships or friendships that look perfect on the surface but are completely different behind closed doors.For example, a romantic couple with 10th house energy might appear polished and ideal to the outside world—they dress well, present themselves as successful, and seem like the “it couple.” But privately, their relationship could be riddled with conflict, domestic violence, or toxicity. Think about Beyoncé and Jay-Z: they were seen as the ultimate power couple, but behind the scenes, they faced challenges that tarnished that perfect image. Similarly, a 10th house friendship might look like two people who are inseparable and deeply connected, but in reality, they talk down to each other, bully one another, or even blackmail each other. The public perception is completely at odds with the truth. When the 10th house energy is working positively, it might involve mutual support to achieve success or maintaining a strong public image together. However, even in its best form, it lacks depth and intimacy. It’s more about external appearances and worldly accomplishments than genuine emotional connection. For this reason, I don’t see the 10th house as conducive to romantic relationships. Its focus on power dynamics, public image, and superficial success often overshadows the qualities that make a partnership meaningful.

(In the relationships I’ve had with people whose personal planets fall in my 10th house, one being a romantic relationship and the other a friendship, I’ve noticed a pattern. The person with the planets in my 10th house often idealizes you for your appearance or public image, even before they get to know you. They might be attracted to you simply because you’re pretty, have a nice style, or present yourself well. It’s not in a dreamy, Piscean way, but more in a superficial, external way—they want to be part of your life because of how you look or what you represent.

For example, the first guy I dated with personal planets in my 10th house thought I was attractive and liked my style, but he focused more on how we looked as a couple and wanted to present a perfect image. He would tell everyone how much he loved me, but behind closed doors, he treated me terribly. He was rude, critical, and even talked to other women. The second guy was similar, but in this case, he made me look good publicly, like we were close friends, but secretly had a crush on me. Eventually, he started expressing his feelings, and everything turned awkward.

What I’ve learned is that 10th house relationships can be very mismatched. What’s presented to the public isn’t always what’s happening behind the scenes. You might look good on the outside, but your relationship could be falling apart, or vice versa. There’s often a disconnect between how things are presented to others and what’s really going on privately.)

1️⃣1️⃣To me, the 11th house is really just a house for friends. It can also work well in parenting, especially as the parent-child relationship evolves and the child gets older. With 11th house energy, a parent might be more accepting, allowing their child to fully embrace who they are. This house also functions well in a work environment, where you’re collaborating with people you respect, find intriguing, and genuinely enjoy being around. That kind of energy makes for a great professional setting. However, when it comes to romantic relationships, the 11th house doesn’t feel romantic to me. Unless you’re looking for something unconventional—like a friends-with-benefits situation, a sneaky link, or a polyamorous relationship such as a thruple—the 11th house is not ideal for romance. This house gives off a vibe of I like being around you, but I don’t want any strings attached. Some people argue that 11th house energy represents “besties to lovers,” but I disagree. Synergy in a romantic relationship is something that typically exists from the beginning and continues throughout the relationship. I don’t believe it starts as friendship and then grows into something deeper. Instead, 11th house relationships often lead to situationships. For example, when someone says, We’ve been talking for three months, but they haven’t brought up commitment, that could be a result of 11th house energy. It tends to avoid true commitment and romance, sticking instead to a friendship-like dynamic. In our modern culture, when you’re dealing with someone you’re physically attracted to, this energy might naturally lead to intimacy, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it will lead to commitment. If you share 11th house placements with someone, it’s important to recognize that the relationship will likely be unconventional. That’s just the nature of the 11th house—it prioritizes friendship and camaraderie over romantic spark.For example, have you ever seen a couple who are so alike in personality that they seem more like friends? They can laugh, goof around, and have a great time together, but imagining them being romantically intimate feels almost impossible because their energy is so platonic. That’s 11th house energy. It’s the type of connection where someone might say, We’re sneaky links; we hang out late at night, but I’m not trying to commit to this long term. Couples with 11th house energy might describe each other as my best friend, not necessarily because they’re deeply in love but because that’s exactly how they view each other—as best friends. This is the person they talk to about everything, the person who gets them like no one else. While that dynamic can be valuable in a relationship, I don’t personally see it as romantic. It feels more like a friendship with an unconventional twist, rather than a deep, lifelong romantic partnership.

( People with personal planets in my 11th house feel like good friends to me. One relationship I had, I felt like it messed up the romantic part because I just wanted to be friends and be intimate whenever we felt like it. That’s the energy the 11th house brings—it’s very friendly.

We shared common interests, like nature, traveling, good food, and psychology. Another person I knew had similar interests, like anime, photography, and activism. I’ve found friendships with 11th house people are easy to develop because we click right away. It’s also the kind of unconventional friendship where the person might be a bit “weird” or have niche interests.

In romantic relationships with 11th house people, I’ve never been able to stay in them. Even when a friend wanted to try a romantic relationship, it felt like we were just better off as friends. The connection felt more like friendship than romance, and that’s how I’ve felt in all 11th house relationships. Even with someone I was in an actual relationship with, it felt more like a friendship than a romance. We shared interests, had fun together, and talked a lot—often through online mediums. I met one person online, and we communicated a lot this way. So, relationships with 11th house people tend to be more about friendship and shared experiences.)

1️⃣2️⃣The 12th house is a controversial house because it represents many things that can easily be misunderstood. It is undeniably a romantic house because all the water houses are inherently romantic. Water represents emotions, depth, and the connections that bond us together through shared emotional experiences. Romance, at its core, is built on emotions—falling in love and staying in love are deeply emotional processes. However, the 12th house can be difficult to navigate because we live in a concrete, practical world. We’re expected to work, go to school, and handle daily responsibilities, which often strips away the romantic energy to begin with. The 12th house is especially challenging because it represents a spiritual kind of love, and many people don’t focus on spirituality in their daily lives. Instead, they’re preoccupied with the practical.Additionally, our cultural ideas about romance—such as courting, dating, talking stages, and following a linear progression to commitment—don’t align with 12th house energy. This energy doesn’t follow those parameters. If you’re looking for a relationship that fits into your physical, practical day-to-day life, 12th house energy might feel out of place or even disruptive. This is why some people with 12th house energy in their relationships may end up having secret affairs. For example, someone who doesn’t have time for romance in their primary relationship might seek out a secret connection to fulfill that desire for something mystical and boundless. The 12th house is a house without boundaries, concreteness, or structure, which can lead to things like secret love affairs or deception. However, people often misunderstand what 12th house energy truly is. It’s a spiritual love, a telepathic connection. It’s when you meet someone and feel like you can read their mind. It’s when you feel an inexplicable familiarity, as though you’ve known them in a past life. It’s soulmate energy, often tied to karmic lessons and spiritual growth. This is the type of love where you might dream about each other before even meeting or have dreams that predict the circumstances of your first encounter. It’s a connection where you feel deeply attuned to one another’s energy, where simply being in each other’s presence feels like entering another dimension. Words often fail to capture the depth of this connection because it’s not a verbal or physical relationship—it’s intuitive and telepathic. This type of bond is reflected in relationships where couples explore spirituality together. They might meditate for hours, burn incense, study astrology, or discuss esoteric topics. It’s a relationship that transcends the physical and focuses on the soul. You see past each other’s flaws and physical appearance, loving the person’s essence unconditionally. In a 12th house relationship, you often want to escape from the world together. This isn’t a connection where you want to be surrounded by crowds or in busy, chaotic environments. Instead, you crave solitude with this person—whether that’s staying at home, retreating to a cabin in the woods, or finding some secluded, peaceful place to be together. Even intimacy in this relationship feels deeper than the physical. It’s about unlocking parts of your subconscious and evolving together. You help each other discover more about yourselves, exploring hidden facets of your being and diving into the depths of your soul. The 12th house often leads to relationships where you avoid focusing on practical matters. Instead, you want to engage in hobbies, dance, play, or simply escape reality together. This avoidance of the practical is what makes the 12th house dangerous for romance—it lacks boundaries and isn’t rooted in the physical world. It’s boundless, spiritual, and open, which can feel both freeing and unsettling. Ultimately, the 12th house is about a love that transcends reality, existing in a realm of its own.

( Relationships where someone’s personal planet falls in my 12th house are really hard to manage. Often, you’re not even prepared for what that relationship brings. I had an ex with their personal planet in my 12th house, and we kept coming together. There was so much between us—he’d walk me to the train station, call me all the time, and we were great with intimacy. But I had intense feelings I couldn’t understand. That’s the thing with 12th house energy—it’s confusing. You can love someone deeply and feel close to them, but sometimes the lines blur, and you can’t figure out how you really feel. The 12th house energy is internal, spiritual, and psychological, not as physical. Sometimes, you feel so close to someone, yet distant at the same time. There’s a lot of weirdness in these relationships. You end up talking about things you’ve never discussed with others, and sometimes you find yourself attracted to the person in a way you’re not used to. You care deeply, but it’s hard to express that care. This energy also requires a lot of alone time. You feel like you can only truly be yourself with each other. When you’re around other people, you act differently. It can be a very private relationship where you don’t share many details about each other or the connection. The relationship just happens, and you keep it to yourselves. There can be weird tension when you’re together, as it feels like you’re picking up on each other’s emotions without knowing how to interpret them. Trust issues often come up, and the energy can feel confusing. In one situation, I literally thought, “This is my soulmate,” but at the same time, I felt the need to get away from him. It’s a confusing, isolated energy. These relationships do best when they exist in their own world, but trying to bring others into it can cause problems. There’s a lot of love and care in 12th house connections, but it’s not always easy for others to understand.)

💜My favorite aspects in synastry are trines and oppositions. The reason I love trines is that they come naturally. There’s nothing you need to do in the relationship to create that element—it simply exists when you’re with this person. It’s like being with your mom, who naturally wants to make food for you, nourish you, and pamper you. You don’t have to ask her every day, “Can you make me food?” She just comes home, whips up a pot, and serves it to you. That’s the energy of a trine—effortless, nurturing, and harmonious. Oppositions, on the other hand, remind me of a defiant child. For example, a child might insist on touching a hot stove despite their parent’s warnings. They’re so set in their thoughts and feelings that they ignore the warning, touch the stove, and get burned. Then the parent says, “I told you so.” Oppositions are about growth. They challenge you to expand your perspective and adapt to new ways of thinking, feeling, and living. For example, a naturally passive person might enter a relationship with someone assertive. While the passive individual may have always “gotten away” with their passivity, this relationship teaches them that they must assert themselves at times. They learn a life lesson through this dynamic. That’s why I appreciate oppositions—they foster personal development and growth.Now, sextiles are not my favorite because they feel underutilized. To me, sextiles are like having a talent or hobby you enjoy, such as digital art. You love creating digital art, but you’re too busy with responsibilities to actually pursue it. A sextile is similar—it’s an energy that doesn’t naturally show up in a relationship unless you consciously decide to activate it. That can be frustrating, especially if life is too chaotic or busy to make use of the potential. You might experience small glimpses of the energy, but it doesn’t fully manifest, leaving you feeling unfulfilled.As for squares, I don’t like them because they feel overly contentious. Squares remind me of a Karen—the type of person you see in viral videos, arguing with strangers in public or refusing to learn, change, or compromise. They’re stuck in their ways, and no amount of reasoning or problem-solving will get through to them. Instead, they escalate situations, creating unnecessary tension and conflict. In a relationship, a square feels like constant resistance, drama, and pushback. It’s exhausting and difficult to navigate, which is why I avoid squares as much as possible.

💚I think it’s important to also look at the aspects and the signs involved. A lot of people might say something like, “Oh, my Venus conjuncts my partner’s Venus!” but overlook the fact that both Venuses are in Gemini. If you’re looking for that romantic, ooey-gooey love story, and your Venuses are conjunct in Gemini, well, it’s not the same as you might expect. Gemini isn’t a traditionally romantic sign. It’s a sign that focuses on duality, intellect, versatility, creativity, and sociability—it’s not centered on romance.If your Venus is conjunct someone else’s Venus, but it’s in a sign that values intellect and versatility over deep emotional connection, what does that mean for your relationship? And more importantly, is that what you want in a relationship? That’s why I don’t place a lot of weight on conjunctions alone. For instance, if your Venus is conjunct someone else’s Venus in Pisces or Cancer, that’s different because those are more emotionally-centered, romantic signs. But if your Venus is conjunct in Aquarius, for example, Aquarius represents innovation, progressiveness, and community. Sure, you both might value free thinking, but that doesn’t necessarily translate to romance.When analyzing a chart, you need to consider the signs, not just the aspects like conjunctions, trines, or sextiles. The signs tell you how the energy of the aspect will manifest. Otherwise, you might enter a relationship thinking, “We have so many romantic aspects!” only to realize that they’re not as romantic as you thought when you dig deeper. For example, let’s say your Mercury is in Aries and your partner’s Mercury is in Libra. This creates an opposition. You might immediately think, “Oh no, we’re going to argue all the time.” And yes, that can be true. Most people don’t know how to navigate relationships, whether interpersonal or romantic, in a healthy way. Many people are still maturing, learning, and, honestly, in need of therapy. So yes, even a single opposition can create tension in your relationship because as a species, we’re not always emotionally evolved enough to handle relationships harmoniously from the start.If you’re naturally fast to speak and your partner is slow and methodical, that opposition will come up again and again in conversations. It’s inevitable. But that doesn’t mean the relationship is doomed—it just means that oppositions highlight areas where growth and compromise are necessary. Relationships are part of our evolutionary process, and most of what we learn about ourselves happens through those challenges. That’s why I don’t believe in a perfect synastry chart. Do I think there are synastry charts that favor romance and foster loving, emotionally deep, and physically intimate relationships? Absolutely. But people often romanticize aspects like “His Venus conjuncts my Venus—he’s my soulmate!” without considering the nuances. For example, if both Venuses are in Leo, you might struggle with pride and ego clashes, constantly feeling like the other person is wrong and you’re right. That kind of energy requires work and self-awareness.In synastry, it’s crucial to acknowledge that as humans, we’re still evolving emotionally. Relationships will inevitably reflect tricky elements from the chart. And no matter how many positive aspects exist, challenging ones like oppositions will have an impact. It’s up to us to decide whether we’re willing to grow through those challenges or not.

💘 Lastly, some people’s charts simply aren’t geared toward romance, so their relationships are going to look a bit different. For instance, there are people with very heavy Earth charts. Earth energy is practical and focused on everyday life, routine, work, and responsibilities—it’s not naturally inclined toward romance. The same applies to Air signs. Air signs prioritize intellect, communication, and social connections over traditional romantic gestures. In contrast, Fire and Water signs tend to be more romantic, at least from my perspective. People with strong Fire and Water placements crave romance. They want the cheesy, heartfelt gestures. They’re drawn to passion, intimacy, and the idea of partnership. Fire and Water individuals often seek traditional or deeply emotional connections. On the other hand, someone with a heavy Air chart might not want a traditional relationship. They may prefer a bond centered on intellectual connection or friendship rather than emotional depth or physical closeness. Similarly, someone with a heavy Earth chart may desire a relationship but also value personal space. They might not be interested in moving in together or merging every aspect of their lives.

💛This is why it’s so important to understand both your own needs and the needs of the other person. For example, I have a water-based chart, so I need that emotional connection. I also have a fire influence, which means I crave passion and excitement. Not everyone is going to need or value the same things in a relationship. Before diving into synastry, it’s helpful to ask the other person questions like:

• Do you care about romance?

• How do you feel about commitment?

• Do you want to get married someday?

• Are you looking for a soulmate?

• How deep do you want love to be in your life?

• In friendships, what do you value most? Hobbies? Going to events? Daily conversations?

These questions can reveal a lot about someone’s priorities and expectations. When you pair that with synastry, it becomes easier to see how a relationship might play out. Sometimes, what people call “unrequited love” is just a mismatch in romantic inclinations. For instance, there’s this growing sentiment that men aren’t courting women as much anymore, but I think a lot of men just aren’t naturally romantic. These might be men who don’t see the value in grand gestures like flowers or serenades. Instead, they express commitment by simply being present or spending time together—but they’re not especially affectionate or expressive. Looking at a person’s chart can give insight into this. If you’re dating someone with the Moon in Aquarius, can you really expect the same level of romanticism as someone with a Moon in Pisces? Or if someone has a Pisces rising, they may approach love with sensitivity and idealism, whereas a Capricorn rising might prioritize pragmatism and stability over emotional expression.I once knew someone who valued friendships far more than romantic relationships. He was mainly interested in physical intimacy and wasn’t emotionally invested in long-term commitments. Understanding these differences is crucial when dating. You need to ask yourself:

• Am I okay with someone who’s more focused on casual connections?

• Or am I looking for a deep, long-term commitment?

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