#sweet jesus i have worked at the bookstore too long

[momopeachchild]

Any historical fiction novel has a woman facing away from the camera -- either her back solidly to the camera, or quarter turned, either in a city, or a library. If it’s pre-WWII it’s probably a woman’s legs, her stockings her shoes on cobble stones. If it’s turn of the century prairie dresses and boots, or dirty orphaned children. LIke..I can identify time period by book cover aesthetics, not because the clothes depicted are accurate to the time period.  Historical romance however is a nightmare and good luck guessing any time period based on the gross new digital drawing take over of the pretty canvas that used to be. 

look i dislike the corporate artyle book cover trend as much as the next person but we cant pretend every book looking the same is something new. if you stepped into a bookstore in 2013 there would be approximately 57 books whose cover art consisted of a girl in a ballgown with her back half-turned to the camera photoshopped into a vaguely fantasy-like landscape. i was 11 years old fighting for my life to find the right maximalistic girl and her single-adjective book title we cannot forget the horrors i went through please be respectful of my experiences

[munson-blurbs]

Okay okay okay so for Eddie x bookworm!Reader, Reader is HOOKED on a new book, like can't get their nose outta those pages, and Eddie is curious as to why this one is different than any other book. So he sneaks a peek and it's a steamy romance novel with some kind of ~dreamy~ hero and he decides to surprise reader with some role play and act out one of the spicy scenes with them 🙈? hehe

Combining this with this request from @solobagginses: Eddie fucking Bookworm in the library ("shhh, you gotta be quiet, baby, we're in a library, remember?"). Hope y'all enjoy!

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), semi-public sex (no one is around but still), oral (m! and f! receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it up pls), praise, slight degradation

WC: 3k

Divider credits to @firefly-graphics!

Jonas shakes out his mane of thick black hair as he pulls off his helmet, still straddling his motorcycle. 

“Care for a ride?” he asks Cassidy, winking and making her blush. 

“Wouldn’t want to be a burden,” Cassidy murmurs, peering at the tall, brawny man through her long lashes. Her breath hitches as Jonas stretches, muscles rippling under his thin white t-shirt. 

He laughs, extending his hand to help her onto the bike. “You’re never a burden, baby doll.” Cassidy licks her lips and hops onto the back, reaching her arms around his waist. She can feel his abs contracting as he revs the engine, sending a familiar tingling sensation straight to her—

“Whatcha readin’?”

You jump in your seat, placing your hand over your chest and feeling your rapid heartbeat. “Jesus, Eddie,” you hiss. “You scared the crap outta me.” You scramble to shove the book in your backpack before he can spot the half-naked man on the cover.

“Sorry, babe,” Eddie shrugs, pressing a kiss to your temple. He slides into the seat next to you and pulls out his signature bag of pretzels. “But, seriously,” he continues, “what book had you zoned out like that?”

You’re not about to admit to reading Fast Ride. Your friend dared you to buy it when the local bookstore was having a sale, and you’d reluctantly accepted the challenge. It certainly was not your usual choice in literature, but it was too intriguing for you to put down. The way that Jonas seemed to have never-ending stamina for Cassidy, always lusting after her hungrily, made you feel things in a new way. Sure, you were no stranger to sexual attraction; the way you could never keep your hands off of your metalhead boyfriend was proof enough. And after six months together, you and Eddie had spent many nights together (and a few before-school romps in the back of his van when you were particularly frisky). The sex was tender and sweet; Eddie holding your hands while in missionary, trailing kisses down the nape of your neck, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. It was everything you should want.

But sometimes, you don’t want Eddie to dote on you lovingly. Sometimes, you want him to ruin you. 

You can never admit it to him; in the book, Jonas was the one who introduced the angelic Cassidy to rough sex. She was the innocent, wide-eyed virgin who didn’t know she wanted to be corrupted until he stumbled into her life. Eddie was simply too gentle to dominate you the way Jonas did Cassidy, so your fantasy would have to remain just that: a daydream to replay over and over in your head.

Before you can respond to Eddie’s inquiry, the rest of the Hellfire Club noisily approaches the lunch table.

“I’m telling you, man,” Lucas is saying, frustration evident in his voice, “the answer was 46! I don’t know how you got anything else.”

Dustin’s shaking his head. “No, you have to work the problem left to right, even if division is before multiplication.”

“I did!” Lucas insists, rolling his eyes. “Whatever. We’ll find out who’s right tomorrow when we get our tests back.”

“Yeah, we’ll find out that I’m right when we get them back,” Dustin replies snidely, earning him a shove from his friend.

You’re normally annoyed by their bickering, trying to break up the argument as quickly as possible, but you’re grateful for the distraction. You take a huge bite of your sandwich, letting the peanut butter stick to the roof of your mouth, preventing further conversation. It was a bad idea to read Fast Ride in public, even with the cover pressed down on the table, but you were hooked, dammit. 

The bell can’t ring fast enough, and you dash out of the cafeteria, making a beeline for your locker. You’ve learned your lesson about reading in class, so you shove the novel onto the top shelf and grab your chemistry notebook before snapping the lock shut and heading to Mr. Burkowski’s class. 

“Shit, do any of you have a pencil?” Gareth asks, patting his pockets frantically. “I have a history test next period and I totally forgot that we use those stupid Scantrons.”

The rest of the guys shake their heads, grumbling half hearted apologies. 

“Wait!” Eddie says suddenly, snapping his fingers. “Y/N always has extras in her locker, and she gave me the combination.”

“Aww, aren’t you two just the pinnacle of romance?” Gareth teases, fluttering his eyelashes dramatically. 

Eddie glares at him. “D’you want the pencil or not?” Gareth just nods, following his Dungeon Master to your locker. Eddie spins the dial and tugs on the lock. A handful of freshly-sharpened pencils sits in the case magnetically attached to the inside of the door. “There ya go,” he says, plucking one from the holder and handing it to his friend. He’s about to close it when he spots the book you’ve been so weird about. 

The right thing to do is to leave it alone, act like he never saw it. But curiosity gets the best of him, and he finds himself yanking the novel from its spot and shoving it under his jacket before anyone can see. 

Since starting a relationship with you, Eddie has been better about going to class, but he ditches today in favor of devouring the mysterious book. He’s already intrigued by the cover: a half-naked man wearing only skin-tight leather pants, a motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm. He’s pressed up against a woman in a flowing white dress, looking almost virginal, a stark contrast to her male counterpart.

Eddie drives out to his secret spot in the woods, getting as comfortable as he can on the picnic bench before diving into the book. He knows he doesn’t have time to read it all, so he skims it for anything that stands out. His eyes widen when Jonas eats Cassidy out while she’s taking phone calls at work, ending with her bent over the desk while he pounds her from behind. And when Cassidy calls Jonas “sir,” pleading for him to fuck her right there on the beach, Eddie feels a twitch in his pants. He’s usually the one initiating sex, and when you do it, he immediately obliges. Do you want him to make you beg?

Glancing at his watch, he realizes that he needs to get back to school and return the book before you notice that it’s missing. He speeds back to Hawkins High, eyes on the road but mind spinning with thoughts of you and him in Cassidy and Jonas’s places. 

Only one of his friends has a steady girlfriend, so Eddie seeks him out righr after they finish band practice. 

“Can I talk to you for a sec?” he asks Jeff, biting on his lower lip nervously. 

Jeff nods. “Sure, man. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, not an emergency,” Eddie reassures him. “Just, uh, does Shelby read, like, sexy books?”

Jeff cocks an eyebrow and wrinkles his nose. “Sometimes. Why, you want a recommendation?” He laughs, but stops when he sees his friend’s serious expression. “Dude, what’s up? You’re kinda scaring me now.”

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles. “‘S just…I found one of those books in Y/N’s locker, and it’s…a lot. Like, the guy takes the girl and does it with her anywhere and everywhere. And if that’s what Y/N wants…I mean, that’s not exactly what we do.” He fidgets with his fingers, embarrassed to be having this conversation with Jeff, but he doesn’t know who else to ask.

“So do them,” Jeff says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Eddie gives an exasperated sigh. “I don’t have the money to just whisk her away to a fancy hotel room, and it’s not like we have an abundance of beaches here.” The closest thing to a beach is Lovers Lake, and sex there is like an infection waiting to happen. “There is one scene where he surprises her at work…”

“There ya go!” Jeff exclaims. “Don’t you pick her up when she closes, like the whipped little boyfriend you are?” Eddie gives him a shove, but he cracks a smile. “C’mon, a bookworm like her getting laid in the library? Probably a dream come true!”

The lanky metalhead considers this before bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly. “Yeah, okay! I’ll do that!” You work the closing shift tomorrow, so it’ll be perfect. All he has to do is show up and sweep you off of your feet.

And maybe give you an earth-shattering orgasm or two in the bookstacks. 

You’re shelving the last of the returns when you hear the familiar rap on the door. Eddie is standing on the other side of the sliding glass, waiting for you to unlock it. It’s a humid May evening, but he’s wearing a leather jacket. 

“Hey, baby,” you smile as you let him in. “Aren’t you warm in that?” you ask, pointing to his outerwear. 

Eddie’s lower lip juts out in a pout. “You don’t like it?”

“I love it, Eds. You look ridiculously hot.” You grab his ringed fingers and smirk salaciously. “Can’t wait to get you home, yeah?”

“Actually,” he starts, “I was hopin’ you could help me find a book first. It’s called Fast Ride.” He pulls you closer to him, a mischievous grin of his own spreading across his face. 

Your face heats up at the mention of the novel. “Is that a joke?” you manage. “How did you—did you go through my stuff?”

“I saw it in your locker when I was getting a pencil for Gareth, and I had to know what all the fuss was about. Didn’t realize my girl was into such kinky stuff.” Eddie starts to lean in to kiss your neck, but you push him away. 

“If you came here to make fun of me, you can leave,” you choke out, tears burning in your eyes. “This is exactly why I didn’t wanna tell you; I knew you’d just laugh at me.”

Your boyfriend cups your cheek with a strong, calloused hand. “Baby, baby,” he coos, kissing your forehead. “‘M not making fun of you. I think it’s really, really fuckin’ hot.”

“Y-You do?”

“Hell yeah,” he reassures you. “Got me wonderin’ if, maybe, you’d like to reenact one of the scenes.” He wipes away a rogue tear from your chin and kisses your lips. “I was thinkin’ about the one where Jonas sees Cassidy at her job and just has to have her.”

Your entire body warms at the idea of him having his way with you right here, right now. “I know where the cameras won’t catch us,” you murmur against his soft lips, and you feel them curl into a smile. 

You lead Eddie to the very back of the library where you keep the “to be discarded” books. They’re already worn with broken spines, so no one will notice if there’s any further damage to them. As soon as he’s certain that you’re both tucked away safely, he kisses you hungrily.

“Can’t wear that tight little skirt and expect me not to devour you, baby doll,” he growls. You notice that he slips in the pet name that Jonas uses for Cassidy, and you hum your approval. His hands grip the backs of your thighs as he hoists you against the shelf, pressing his erection into your clothed pussy. You begin to trail kisses down his neck, just the way he likes it, but he pulls away.

“Tonight’s all about you, mmkay? Making my girl feel good like only I can.” He tightens his grasp and whispers into your ear, “let me take care of you, princess.”

“Yes, sir,” you concede, letting him take complete control. “I’ll take whatever you give me.” After years of constantly trying to make the right decision, always worrying whether or not you’re choosing correctly, it feels so freeing to let someone else take the reins.

“Fuck, baby,” Eddie groans, slowly lowering you to the ground as he kneels on the old, worn carpet. He bunches up your skirt around your waist, hooking a finger into your panties and tugging them aside. “I gotta taste you.” You whimper as he kisses up your inner thighs until he reaches your cunt, licking at your pussy. His lips attach to your clit, sucking on it harshly. A chuckle escapes his throat when you let out a moan. “Sshh, we gotta be quiet, baby. We’re in a library, remember?”

“S-sorry,” you stutter, but your apology is cut short by the feeling of his tongue pressed inside your weeping hole, and you grab onto the shelf with one hand, lacing the fingers of the other into Eddie’s wild mane of hair. Involuntarily, you whine loudly at the stimulation, and Eddie pulls back. “W-why did you…”

He wipes your slick from his chin. “I told you that we have to be quiet,” he hisses, “but it looks like you can’t obey that rule, can you?”

“I-I’ll be quiet. I’ll be good. I promise.” But you know it’s no use; he’s already standing up. His pupils are blown wide with lust, and he bites down on your neck. 

“There’s one surefire way to keep you quiet, isn’t there, baby doll?” He tilts your chin so that your gaze meets his. The words are strong and confident, but his eyes are still caring, giving you an out if you want it. You nod at him, biting your lower lip in anticipation. “On your knees, princess.”

You find the strength to utter another “yes, sir,” and do as Eddie says while he unbuckles his belt and pulls his hard cock out of his pants. He pumps it once, twice, three times before tapping it on your lips. You open your mouth obediently, swirling your tongue around the pink tip as it twitches against your cheek. You take his balls into your hands, palming them and tugging softly, just enough to drive him wild.

“Thassit,” he murmurs. “Look up at me while you suck my cock. Look so pretty with your mouth full, dontcha?” You hum your response, sending vibrations along his length that make him throw his head back with a noisy exhale.

“Sshh,” you parrot him, letting his cock go with a pop. A trail of saliva mixed with Eddie’s pre-cum connects you to it. “We gotta be quiet.” You giggle at your bratty attitude, hoping that he’ll take the bait.

Sure enough, he pulls you to your feet, and you stumble slightly. “Y’okay?” he mouths,and you offer a breathy yes. He steadies you before bringing you to a shorter shelf. “Bend over for me.”

“Nuh-uh,” you tease, blowing him a kiss. You don’t even have time to taunt him further before his firm palm presses into your back as he pushes you; he takes the other and smacks your ass so hard that it very well may leave a print. 

“Such a fuckin’ brat,” he grunts, rubbing his cock back and forth along your folds, using your slick as lubricant. You feel the stretch as he slides inside you, pleasure and pain intermingling in perfect harmony. “Now you’ve gotta take your punishment.” With another spank on your ass, he thrusts into your aching sex. Neither of you bother to abide by the silence he once demanded.

“Punish me, sir; I’ve been a bad girl.” You can feel him growing even harder within your walls, and you clench around him. “Fuck me as hard as you want; I can take it.”

Eddie brings himself almost fully out of you before he slams back in, making you yelp in surprise. “Take it…take it…that’s my girl. So fuckin’ good, even when she’s bad.” He leans his chest against your back, and grips your pelvis, keeping you impossibly close. “Gonna let me cum inside you?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” 

“Fuck–I’m fuckin’ tellin’ you, baby girl,” he mutters through gritted teeth, never stopping his rhythmic pumping. “You’re gonna take all my cum. Every. Last. Drop.” He spills into you with a strangled groan, slowing his pace to bring you both down from your highs. You can feel his heaving breaths as he says, “holy shit.”

“Was that–did you like that?” you ask timidly, slipping out of your brat role and back to your normal, bookworm self.

“Did I–baby, that was so hot. Makes me mad I wasn’t fucking you in the library since day one.” Eddie laughs as he withdraws. “We gotta get you cleaned up, yeah?” He grabs the bandana from his back pocket and wipes up his mess, straightening your clothes in the process. “There ya go. Back to my place for a movie and pizza?”

You nod enthusiastically, taking his hand. Pausing for a moment, you look up at him and pose the question that you’ve been too anxious to ask. “You don’t think it’s weird that I like those books?” 

“Are you kidding?” He raises his eyebrows as you both walk to the parking lot. “Babe, I have a stack of Playboys under my bed that would call me the world’s biggest hypocrite if I judged you for this.” You playfully smack his chest, and he continues. “Besides, there’s nothing wrong with havin’ a few kinks. I mean, as long as you’re exploring them with me.” He leans you against his van and brings his lips to your ear. “I’ll tell you one of mine; kinda always wanted you to call me ‘daddy’ while we’re…y’know…”

“Hmm,” you smile, grasping his jacket and pulling him in for a kiss. “I think I can manage that.”

Eddie’s face lights up and he picks you up, spinning you around. “You’re so perfect, I fuckin’ swear.” He opens your door for you and helps you onto the seat. You wait for him to get in and start the car before you speak again.

“Hey, Eds?”

“Hm?”

“How would you feel about learning to ride a motorcycle?”

--

[angry-geese]

Hi there <3 I've read some of your works and i'm in love with your writing. May I please request a fluff gojo x fem!reader? Like they finished their work in the evening and spend the rest of the night together at home💕 It could be a oneshot or a hc, whichever you feel to write. Thank you so much ^^ I'm sorry just in case my request is somehow not really clear☺️

Of course! here you go <3

Mochi

Gojo Satoru x reader

Warnings: none! entirely fluff! this will quite literally rot your teeth. afab reader

a/n: this ended up being a little longer than I intended lol whoops

Word Count: 2.5k

Satoru Gojo is a busy man.

The strongest can't really take a break. He’s on call 24/7. People are pulling him in all directions simultaneously. With everything that's been going on, between the mess with Sukuna, and everything happening at the school, he’s been short on time.

He needs a break.

He's more tired than he lets on. He’s good at hiding it. Especially around his students. It's hard to pull him away from his work. He's insistent that he’s fine. When you’re around someone for so long, you learn to pick up when they aren't. He can pretend to be fine all he wants. You know otherwise.

Sometimes what the strongest needs is someone to boss him around.

He’s capable of taking care of himself. He’s proven that already. But worrying is in your nature. You care about him, of course you’re going to worry.

You were a first year when you met him, having just transfered schools after an incident involving a curse. In a matter of weeks your life had seemingly been flipped on its head. The switch took some time to get used to. Switching schools your first year, let alone switching to this one in particular, was never going to be easy. Getting used to the way Jujutsu society worked took a while. He was a year above you, and you remember absolutely hating him. Gojo was insufferable- or you found him to be such. But he was friends with Nanami, who was a friend of yours, so you reluctantly hung out with him. Nanami, being in the same year as you, was the first to help you out, extending a hand and helping you get used to the way things worked.

Spending time with him didn't do much to change your views. The two of you couldn't have been more different. You still are. But something about opposites attracts.

The first time you gave him the benefit of the doubt was the first time he saved your life.

It may be a bit of an over exaggeration. You’re certain you would have survived without his help, but that could also be an attempt to preserve your pride. You went after a curse, not expecting it to be as strong as it was. As far as you knew, it shouldn't have been stronger than a grade three. Being a grade two at the time, this should have been well in your ability. There ended up being more than one curse, and they were stronger than anyone had realized. You were in over your head.

It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known. It's not like you could pick and choose which curses you fought. As a student, that was decided for you.

You had resigned to your fate, separated from the others, injured. Nothing fatal. It left a cool scar, though. But you were well out of your league, put on an assignment far harder than you could deal with. You hate to admit defeat, but you had no other option.

Out of what seemed like thin air came Gojo, taking out both curses like it was nothing. Despite not liking him all that much, it was hard to not be impressed. He was strong. Stronger than you could ever hope to be.

You made it home in one piece.

It was three days before you’d finally confront him.

Getting him alone was hard enough. Being an underclassman, you didn't interact with him a whole lot. You didn't have any classes together. The few times you ran into him were when you hung out with Nanami, who was gone at the time.

When the opportunity presented itself, you took it, cornering him behind the school.

Even back then it was impossible to sneak up on him. He could sense you coming.

“Jesus-” he said, referring to you by your last name, “you look like you want to kill me.”

“You helped me out.” You said. “Why?”

He only shrugged. Not wanting to take that for an answer, you followed him. You were insistent you paid him back. You’d never let a debt like that go unpaid. The first debts are always the hardest to pay back. And when a first debt involves saving your life, well, you’ve got a lifetime to pay back. You only left once Gojo showed up. He needed to talk to Gojo about something, and although you were curious, you didn't feel like sticking around.

Gojo spent the next couple days scheming. You were determined enough you would do just about anything. He could have easily abused his power. It would have been even easier to force you to drop it, but something told him you weren't about to take no for an answer.

You wouldn't.

3pm in the bathrooms. It was hardly a week later. Your last class had ended for the day. You had snuck cigarettes in, blowing the smoke out of the crack in the window. You don't smoke anymore, but you went through nearly a pack a day in high school. There wasn't a specific brand you liked—you didn't necessarily like smoking, but you did it when you were stressed—you just used whatever you got ahold of.

You didn't hear the door open. Gojo wasn't the sneaky type, but he could be when he wanted. You weren't too hard to sneak up on.

If you didn't have contraband that likely would have gotten you expelled, you would have screamed when you saw him. He scared you, not to mention he snuck into the girl’s bathrooms. The two of you would be in equally deep shit if you reported the other. So at that moment you came to a silent agreement.

“You still want to pay me back?” He asked. “Cause I have an idea.”

You perked up at his words.

“Get me mochi from that shop just down the road. You know the one that just opened up?” He asked. “Bring me some and I’ll call us even.”

“That's it?” You asked. It was almost anticlimactic. But despite everything, he was insistent.

Gojo hasn't changed a whole lot since then.

He still has his sweet tooth. He still makes you get him mochi from that shop. It feels like you’re the ones keeping it in business nowadays.

You’re not quite sure who made the first move.

Soon you began spending more time together away from Nanami and Geto. You got along better than anyone—mostly you—ever expected. You weren't the most outwardly affectionate. While you were far from shy, pda wasn't really your thing. Gojo is the opposite. Even now, years after you began dating, he’s still clingy. You’ve gotten used to it. Gojo is possessive, he wants everyone to know you’re his. Not that they don't know already. He can't shut up about you.

Getting him alone has always been hard. Not much has changed in the past few years. He’s only gotten busier. Try to drag him away from work all you want, you rarely succeed.

Tonight he's come willingly. He finished his work early, and all you had left was stuff you could finish in the morning.

Nights at home like this—together—are rare. It feels like you hardly see him anymore. You often fall asleep alone, only to wake up to the other side of the bed being cold. He’s been so occupied with this business with Yuji, that he’s hardly had time for anything else. You sneak away during your breaks, like you’re teenagers again, stealing kisses between classes. You almost don't know what to do.

It almost feels like you should do something to celebrate.

The lights are off when you get home. Your apartment looks empty. Megumi must still be out with his friends.

“What should we do for dinner?” Gojo asks.

“Takeout?” You say. "I don't feel like cooking."

Gojo’s a decent cook, but he doesn't feel like doing so either. He’d get takeout every night if you’d let him. But that's not good for him (or Megumi) so you force him to do otherwise. Because you’re normally home, and you like baking, you’re usually the one to make dinner. There's not much in the fridge. You'll have to get groceries eventually. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. It shouldn't take long.

“How does Korean barbeque sound?" He asks. "From that place down the street?”

"Sounds good,"

You find a menu buried in one of your kitchen drawers, stashed with other takeout menus. You pick out something—two meals, plus some sweet buns for dessert—he calls the restaurant. You pay the extra cash to have it delivered. Neither of you feel like going and picking it up. It's more convenient than the alternative.

The tv drones on in the background while you wait. There’s not much on tv at this hour. News, some late night soaps. While you do like your occasional soap opera, none that you normally watch are on. Gojo changes it to the news. The weather. It looks like it'll rain tomorrow morning, but the rest of the day is supposed to be warm.

"We should go to the park tomorrow," you say, "having a picnic sounds nice."

Gojo hums in approval. As long as you make those tea cakes—the ones with honey drizzled on top—he'll agree to tag along. Maybe you'll go check out the bookstore too. It's been a while since you've last gone.

You strip out of your uniform, pulling on some more comfortable clothes; a pair of shorts and one of Gojo's shirts. It smells like him. You can't help but bury your nose in the collar.

When there’s a knock at the door, Gojo is the one to answer. He returns with your food. You gather napkins and utensils. Gojo never saw the point in anything other than stainless steel chopsticks. Or wooden ones—those given to you with takeout—if he wasn't feeling up to doing dishes. You, on the other hand, bought all sorts of colorful ones and stands that may or may not have been lifted from various restaurants. That's one habit from your teenage years you never lost. You'd pocket almost anything that wasn't nailed down. Your apartment has a rather impressive assortment of salt and pepper shakers. Not to mention the box of hotel soaps you never use, but took because you "might" need it. He enables you, taking some whenever he stays out of town, bringing them home for you. Gojo can hardly say no to you.

Gojo settles next to you on the couch, his shoulder pressed to yours. He can't keep his hands off of you. He’s possessive by nature. Everyone has to know you’re his. He always has to be touching you. Not necessarily with his hands, but he presses his thigh against yours while sitting next to you, or his body pressed against yours from behind in public.

The two of you eat in relative silence. Gojo’s attention turns to the tv, but that doesn't stop him from practically laying on top of you. Occasionally he’ll sneak bites of your food, and you of his.

When you’re done, you clear away the empty containers, sitting any leftovers in the fridge. Gojo sprawls out on the couch. He easily takes up any bit of space. The couch can hardly fit all 6-foot-something of Gojo. It hardly fits you. You've been meaning to look for another one, but haven't found the time to.

He opens his arms, and instinctively you go into them. You move so you can rest partially against the arm of the couch, Gojo's head leaning against your shoulder. His arms loop around your waist, his fingers lacing over your stomach.

It doesn't take him long to begin to drift off. He falls asleep in the crook of your neck. The low sound of the tv, combined with the warmth of his body makes you want to drift off to sleep. Sleeping on the couch like this isn't very good for your (or his) back, but you don't want to move.

The next time your eyes open, some late night game show plays, disturbing your sleep with loud music. The clock on the wall reads some time past two. It's hard to read the minute hand. You gently shake Gojo awake. One of his eyes cracks open and he lets out a soft “hm?”

“Come to bed,” you say, your arms wrapping around his neck, “it's late.”

His eyes close, and for a moment you think he’s drifted back off to sleep, when his grip around you tightens, and he’s rolling over on top of you.

“I think I’ll stay here with you, mochi,” he says, planting a wet kiss to your neck. The feeling of his lips on your neck makes you shiver.

And though he doesn't move, there's a look in his eyes that tells you he has something planned. You only notice too late that his grip never loosens, and the mischievous glint to his eyes. You couldn't wiggle out of it if you wanted to. You're effectively trapped.

He litters your neck with kisses, sending you into a giggling fit, and he doesn't stop until you’re begging him to. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from laughing. Your nails dig into your palms so hard they leave little crescent-shaped indents.

When you finally settle down, he’s pulling you into his arms bridal style, heading for your shared room. The bed is still unmade from this morning. Neither of you bothered to put it away. You were busy, and the thought slipped your mind.

Gojo shoves the covers aside, pulling you to lay on his chest. His fingers gently trace up the curve of your spine as he watches the steady rise and fall of your chest. Goosebumps prickle your exposed skin. He’s careful with how he touches you, loving, and soft. It's like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your body. His heartbeat is audible. Steady, and quet, acting as a lullaby. Your eyes shut, but you’re still awake. The intimacy of the moment doesn't go over your head.

He thinks he could die happy at this moment. Any moment, with you, really. Even during fights, or nights where he doesn't come home until long after you’ve fallen asleep, and you’re left irritated with his lack of time. As long as you’re by his side, he’s content.

He doesn't give much to the thought of settling down. His work will never let him. Neither does he think much about having any biological children. You practically have two already. Settling down isn't really an option for the strongest. This is the closest he’ll get to it.

For now, he just thinks about the park, and the blue sundress you always wear when you go.

Not many people can say they’ve changed who Satoru Gojo is as a person—let alone for the better—but you’ve changed him twice. Once in your meeting behind the school, and once again tonight. He’s found the one.

The first debt is always the hardest to pay back. But you've paid it in full.

[chickensarentcheap]

Esme stuff  :)

@tragiclyhip​, @secretaryunpaid​, @youflickedtooharddamnit​

What do you do when they’re both freaking out at the same time?

You join them 

#Iamsotired

Tasman, out of nowhere,  in the middle of the crowded Ikea, in that sweet, tiny little voice of his:

“This place is f*cking bananas!”

Some of these children have too much time on their hands.  As does their father seeing as he’s the one that enables and aids them.

A little throwback. Baby Millie (already looking and acting like her dad in many ways lol) ready to throw down with someone.

The husband’s current mug shot.  For when he goes to jail for going at someone who was staring at me for ‘too long’ in the grocery store.  Or someone had the nerve to get a little too friendly while he wasn’t right beside me.  lol

#gawdheishot  #betterwithage 

Before her eyes changed to ‘poop brown’ as TJ calls them.   She heard daddy come in the front door.  Once he’s around, I don’t exist.  Unless it’s to eat. 

#traitor

Spotted. Hot DILF in the wild.

So he decided that while we were (alone) up in The Kimberley, that we should go hiking and camp out somewhere for a few days.   He’s promised to protect from the snakes and the spiders. And the dingoes. Especially the dingoes.

#Iloveyoudontletthemeatme

LOL. Back when TJ was a very clingy little bugger.  I couldn’t even bath alone!

Look how blond he was!  And look at those huge feet!

Yeah, because I have nothing else to do with my time, right Taz?

Your father better get home soon. I know he used ‘we need milk’ as an escape.  

Jesus he’s long. Right?

This was with Addie. Who oddly was the smallest of them all.  Taken about two weeks before she decided she was done baking and wanted to come early. 

The husband’s been gone for a week and he just texted that he arrived at the airport and is heading home soon. So I responded with this pic and “I’m anxiously awaiting your arrival AND wearing sexiest outfit.”

#helovesme #forsomereason

The old fella...tired of hearing me bitch about how much work I have to do for the bookstore inventory, payroll etc...put this on my home office door.  

Shit head. 

Brookie from the back seat: “That f*cking guy didn’t use his blinker, dad!”

I think we need to limit car rides with daddy.  At least when there’s no mum in the car.

[imatechbummerliketomholland]

"ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴏᴋ, ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ?" - ʜ.ᴏ

Hello to you! There it is! My first Harrison request. I'm working for a one shot with him, but it takes me so long because it's a little angst. But don't worry, this one is just fluff! I hope you'll all like it! I did not have time to be reread and corrected. So be indulgent once again, English is not my native language.

Summary: harrison met you in this coffe/bookstore where you friend worked. Since that day, he tried to ask you out but nothing really worked he would like. Until that day. Word count: 2690 Warning: some of swear, spoilers of "one day" by David Nicholls" Pairing : harrison osterfield Request: yes!

You walked happily into the store, heading towards the counter where your best friend was. “The cup and feather” was a second home to you. The warm atmosphere that reigned in the bookstore/cafe has always seduced you. There was a peace of mind that relaxed your muscles: the woody decor, the warm and captivating light, the mixed smell of old/new books and coffee. You were leaning on the counter where Maya was completing an order for a regular.

“Good morning Luke! Enjoy your drink!” you said with a large smile.

“Hello dear y/n! Thanks sweetie! Let me know if you want to drink something. It’s on me”

“It won’t be necessary but thank you. I appreciate!”

The customer adds a generous 10-pound bill to the tip pot with a wink at you. Maya thanked Luke and then gave you a broken look. You gave her an amused smile, shaking your head, already anticipating her next line. But nothing could dissipate your good mood, your day was good.

"It's unbelievable how my tips increase when you're here. What's your secret?"

“Hello to you too, dear best friend. I don't have a secret...but maybe, try to be...nicer to customers? Give them a smile while you're taking their order! ”

“Hello honey. I’m so thankful you’re here. It’s a boring day”

It was a pretty quiet day, there weren't a lot of customers. The rather gloomy London weather seemed to have put them off. A huge thunderous sound echoed outside and Maya jumped. You had a sympathetic and somewhat amused smile. You liked the storm. To be honest, you liked the storm when you weren't alone: feel the heavy, electric atmosphere before the refreshing rain falls. She looked out the window with annoyance.

"Jesus. It looks like it's gonna be a long day" she complained

“Don’t be so dramatic! Let me help. How can I help you?”

“There is this book cart that I have to put away and that has been lying around for an hour. But my boss would kill me if he found out that someone who actually doesn’t work here, did it for me”

Maya gave you a knowing look. It wasn't that she hated you helping her with her work, on the contrary, you were quite useful to her. But she would have preferred that you spend your free time other than helping her. You took a few books from the cart, sticking your tongue out at your best friend and rushing down the aisles of the library section. The distinct sound of a heavy downpour was heard outside and a few seconds later, the store door opened to let in two young, but also handsome, men. Maya bit her lip as one of the individuals approached the counter with a polite but warm smile. He seemed tall, with a thin but toned build, thin lips, his blue eyes pierced her from the moment his eyes met hers; a fucking model.

"Hello. Do you mind if we stay a little while the downpour subsides?" he asked.

" Hell no, of course! You can stay as long as you want as long as I can admire you… uh, shit, no, as long as you order something… did I say the other part out loud?

The second boy laughed, but nothing mocking. He was shorter than the guy across from Maya, brown hair and chocolate eyes, muscular arms but not sculpted like a bodybuilder. He seemed in good shape.

The blonde raised his eyebrows, an amused smile on his lips.

"I'm afraid so. Um ... okay. Tom?" he turned to his friend "Do you want to drink something?"

"Black tea. A single sugar and a drop of milk."

Your friend nodded meaning she heard it and then she patiently waited for the blonde to place his order.

"I'll have mint tea. Just one sugar too."

"Noted! Feel free to go grab a book once you've settled in."

The blonde smiled at Maya as he turned slightly to the tables to settle in with his friend. You were immersed in reading a synopsis when you finally returned to the counter. You looked up too late while talking to your best friend.

"Hey, Maya can I keep - ouch"

You had just hit a rather solid chest and your eyes widened in surprise. Two hands grabbed your shoulders before the fall, stabilizing you on your two good. And thank you, handsome stranger because you would have been able to let yourself fall so as not to drop the book you were holding in your hands.

"Everything's alright, love?"

"Huh Huh" You barely said, still a little surprised by the impact.

He smiled at you and finally joined Tom at a table without giving you a chance to thank him. You leaned against the counter giving your best friend an indecipherable expression.

"Who are these guys?"

"I know, right?" Maya whispered, biting her lips again.

You smiled to her. You and your best friend had the same tastes when it came to boys. So it was no wonder that they found them attractive.You quickly gave a last look on the mysterious guy before focusing on the cart again. Your logic wanted you to go back and forth rather than pushing this wheeled machine. And deep down, it was also an excuse to admire the blond boy at the table 7. When you came back from your last trip down the aisles and there were no books left on the cart. You noticed with a sad expression on your face that both boys were gone. What did you expect? A romantic scene where love story is born in the aisles of a bookstore cafe. What's the point? You might not even have been his type. Correction: You were certainly not his type. Maya came over to you, a mischievous half-smile on her face.

"If you're wondering. His name is Harrison. I heard his friend call him. And he kindly tipped you 25 pounds."

"I don't work here."

"It's just like"

"I would probably never see him again, Maya"

"Believe me, I have a feeling that you will."

☙♡❧

And she was right. The following week did not bring the handsome stranger, the following week either. You had totally, or almost, forgotten this delicious abrupt encounter. You were in the aisles of the cafe, looking for the next book you were going to devour when you were politely tapped on the shoulder, a throat clearing accompanying the gesture.

"Hm, excuse me?"

You turned around and your eyes widened a little in surprise. You did not expect, or more, to see this beautiful stranger again. He was holding a book in his hands and looked nervous. His demeanor was endearing and you couldn't help but suppress a shy smile.

"Yes?"

"I'm looking to get my mom a book. I've heard of this one but ... I wanted your advice."

You raised an amused eyebrow. He wanted to buy a book from his mom and he went to a coffee shop to ask you for advice on a book he obviously couldn't buy here. You found this sweet and awkward. You gave him a shy and mischievous smile.

“You know you're not supposed to buy the books here… just read them. »You joked

"Hmm, yeah ... but ... I wanted your opinion since ..."

"I don't work here ..."

The surprise was read in his eyes as in yours but for different reasons. Harrison felt silly for asking you when you weren't an employee. You, you were surprised by your tone, which seemed so cold when it was not your intention. You didn’t want to be rude to him. In fact, he makes you a little bit uncomfortable. You had never been so awkward with a boy but, for some reason you didn't know, his piercing blue eyes bowled you over. You couldn't deny that you were drawn to him and there was something really spellbinding about Harrison. To catch up you glanced at the book, you wrinkled his nose and you scratched your head

“I'm sorry, this is not the kind of novel I read ... But if she read Fifty-shade of Grey ... this book might please her” you told him, somewhat embarrassed.

Harrison gave you a confused look and you pointed to the cover of the book. To be fair, although he won't admit it, Harrison had grabbed the first book he saw off the storage cart and it actually turned out that it was an erotic fiction rather categorized in the young adult, a bestseller. Honestly, you didn't know where to put yourself. You watched the cheeks of the boy in front of you turn deep red.

"Okay ... Okay. I wasn't there for my mom."

"No shame ..." you tried to comfort him

"No..no i swear. It..i'm … okay ...

A boy with curly hair appeared in the aisle, calling out to the young man, breaking that awkward moment between you at the same time. Harrison's friend seemed vaguely familiar to you, as if you knew him or seemed to know him.

"Harrison, we're late. Tom's gonna kill me, mate!"

Harrison gave a sigh of relief that he seemed to have held back. He gave you a sorry smile and apologized before leaving you, putting the book down on a shelf. They headed for the exit and you stayed there, without moving, still challenged by this moment. You heard a laugh that came from the curl without actually hearing the reason.

"Did you ask her advice about 365 DNI? What kind of div are you?"

"Shut up Harry."

And Harry's laugh echoed one more time before the door closed on them. After a few seconds, you returned to the counter where your best friend was. She nodded at you, as if asking like it had happened. You have to shake your head negatively while shrugging your shoulders. It was the most bizarre interaction you have had in your life. A total failure. With that, he was sure you would never see him again.

☙♡❧

But you were wrong again. You were, again and again, at the cafe. Maya was finishing her shift and you were sitting at a table with a book in your hand. You were in your own little world when your gaze was drawn to a male hand, wearing rings highlighting the veins of that said hand, placing a cup of latte on your table.

"I didn't order any-" you said before interrupting you.

Harrison was in front of you, a shy little smile drawn across his face. You frowned, intrigued. How had he guessed your favorite drink? A simple glance over the blond's shoulder told you your answer: Maya was smiling at you, thumbs up, as a token of encouragement. You looked Harrison, pursed your lips, flattered by the gesture.

“I wanted to apologize for the other time.” Harrison finally spoke.

“It's nothing ... I..I hope your mom liked the book.” you just told him with a little smile

"I… It wasn't for her."

"Oh..for whom?" you asked intrigued.

He smirked, amused by your carelessness. Was he not obvious, however? Since the day he met you, the actor hadn't stopped thinking about you. Tom and Harry kept telling him that he was completely whipped and looked like a fool.

"For no one actually. I grabbed the first book I found."

"But why?" you seemed more confused.

"I wanted to see you. It was a pretext… I didn't know how to approach you."

Your cheeks turned as red as Harrison's the last you met him. You were flattered but at the same time surprised to know that he was interested in you. You've replaced a strand of hair behind your ear, blushing. An awkward silence has settled between you two. Neither of them really knew how to break the ice. Harrison looked up at the book you had put on the table when he arrived.

"What do you read?" he asked interested

“One day by David Nicholls. It’s the one of the most moving books I have ever read.”

And you started talking for hours about how this book moved you and how Anne Hathaway and Jim Sturgess' portrayal in the film adaptation blew your mind. How you went from laughter to tears to anger. How you got attached to the characters in both the book and the movie. Harrison couldn't stop you. He admired you talking with passion and found you endearing. The way you spoke with your hands or the way you frowned when some character action disturbed you. You were in your world and he wanted to enter it.

"I hope we end up like them." He said, interrupting you.

You suddenly stopped in your monologue looking at Harrison puzzled. You didn't expect this. First, because by knowing the story of this novel. You didn't want anyone to experience people's stories, no matter how beautiful it was. Second, did Harrison just say he was considering something with you?

"Like who?" you asked

"Emma and Dexter ... I hope we have such a great story."

You pursed your lips, amused. You swallowed to keep from laughing and you shook your head. You were sure he didn't read the book but you wanted to play with him a little.

"I don't hope so."

"Why? Their love story is beautiful!"

"You haven't read this book have you?"

"Of course yes!" he defended himself, uncomfortable.

In truth, he was lying. He was trying to impress you. He had simply said he wanted to live this love affair to soften you and try to approach you to ask for a date. Once again, you smiled, genuinely amused by the boy in front of you. He looked so innocent and so confident in her walk. But you knew ... You knew he hadn't read the book.

"Harrison, she dies at the end"

Harrison's cheeks have once again turn red. He played with his hands nervously, embarrassed. He was an idiot, a complete fucking div. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to let go of all the stress he had accumulated but also to find a way to make up for it. You were blowing him outright. He thought you were so beautiful and had never been so awkward about approaching a girl. Of course, Harry had introduced him to his ex-girlfriend. But, the actor had never had a hard time flirting. He knew his strengths, he was kinda funny, can't deny he was pretty handsome, after all he was a model. He was also an actor, he could play all emotions, recite hundreds of lines of dialogue. But you looked different and he was unable to have a conversation with you without being ridiculous. You found that rather adorable.

"Okay, okay. I don't hope we end up like them."

“I hope you don't wait 20 years before asking me out?”

Harrison looked at you surprised. Did you really just reach out to her? Did he hear what you just said or did his imagination play a dirty trick on him? Her heart skipped a beat. You pursed your lips before putting on a warm but shy smile. You weren't that confident in normal times but ... but it was pushing you out of your comfort zone. You liked him, his clumsiness made you laugh and moved you a lot. You wanted to know him better. And with a simple smile, Harrison knew he had the green light.

"Would you ... have coffee with me?"

"I'm already taking one with you, idiot" you joked ...

"Yeah..hmm, okay ... um. Would you like to go on a date ... one day?"

Your smile widened. You didn't know if he had chosen his last words intentionally but you liked to think he had. And if it wasn't, that awkwardness had melted your heart. You bit your lip, a smile still on your face. Your cheeks were rosy with emotion. Eventually, you might have had your romantic story at a coffee shop / bookstore.

“Yes, Harrison. I would like to go out with you.

[itsclydebitches]

Discredit Pt. 2: More Recommended Reviews For A.Z. Fell’s

Alright, folks. Some notes first: 

1. You all rock. I’m sending out 20k+ virtual hugs for all the notes I NEVER expected to get on this nonsense. 

2. This is probably the final section, just because I’m not sure I can adequately follow up part one and it might be foolish to attempt it here. Let alone twice. But for now, here we go. 

3. Kudos to the anon who reminded me of Aziraphale’s cash-only policy <3 

4. Nicole Y’s review is based off an actual comment I read years ago, but heaven only knows where online it was. I’ve got the memory of a goldfish. 

5. Trigger warning for the use of a queer slur in this. It’s the same review as above, number 5 if you want to avoid it. 

6. There’s a text-only version of just the reviews at the end, after all the images. I’ll upload that to my Sparse Clutter collection on AO3 in a bit. 

Bonus 7. People thinking this is a real shop deserve all the good things in this world. 

That’s all I’ve got. Hope you enjoy! 👍

****************************************************************************

I’m a simple guy who likes simple jokes. If there’s a whoopee cushion I plant it. I will call you up to ask if your refrigerator is running and then tell you to go catch it. (Actually that one died out so thoroughly it’s actually capable of a comeback now!). Yes, I’m a dad and yes, I have a t-shirt that says Dad Jokes? I Think You Mean Rad Jokes! which I wear un-ironically every Saturday. All of which is just to say that my wife was well prepared for my stupidity when I walked into Fell’s.

I? I was not.

You see the bibles when you walk in? The ones to the left? Let them be. Don’t even look at them. Definitely don’t pick out the fanciest one you can find and absolutely don’t walk up to the owner with it held in your pudgy little fingers, grinning like a loon, cheerfully asking whether this should be in the fiction section. Just don’t. Mark my words you’ll regret it. Though your wife won’t. She’ll get a great old laugh out of it all.

In conclusion: it’s quite possible that mama did raise a fool and he just got his ass verbally whooped by a guy in a bowtie.  

***

Shout-out to Mr. Fell for being the only decent bloke in this city. I’ve popped in and out of his store for years—including before I started transitioning. So he knew my dead name, dead look, whole shebang and I was definitely nervous to play the ‘You know me, but this is what’s changed and are you gonna throw a fit about it?’ game.

You know what he said? “Oh, Rose! What a lovely choice. Crowley dear, why aren’t you growing any roses? Some white ones would look splendid next to my Henredon chair.”

That’s it. He just went straight into dragging his partner for not giving him roses. So hey, Mom? Next time you’re snooping through my social media why don’t you explain to all these nice people why the 50+yo book seller accepts me in ways you won’t. Don’t go telling me age is an excuse or that you’re ‘Stuck in your ways.’ I’ve watched Fell dress in the same damn clothes since I was ten!!

Yeah. Sorry. Rant over. Fell’s a gem. That’s my take. Rose out.

***

Anyone else in the shop when that guy started yelling about buying pornography? And then got escorted into the back room for some ‘private conversation’? Well done, Mr. Fell! Didn’t know you had it in you.

***

Alright alright alright alright I am TOTALLY calm about this.

Went into A.Z. Fell’s last Thursday. Not because I knew anything about the place. Just because I’ve been hitting up every bookshop within a twenty-mile radius, asking if they’re hosting any book signings. Long story short I self-published my novel Blight last month—which you can get for a mere £5 here but I swear this isn’t a promotional thing I’m just BROKE—and have been looking for networking opportunities, tips, stuff like that. So the owner listened politely as I explained all this. Then said he didn’t do anything of that sort, which didn’t surprise me given the shop’s vibe.

But then? Then??? He offered to let me do a signing there??????

As said. Totally calm about this. This man either plans to kidnap me or is actually giving me my first shot at an audience outside my blog. AKA totally worth the risk.

Tuesday the 9th. 7:00pm. Just in case anyone’s interested ;)

***

holy sweet baby jesus i was tripping balls last week you tryin’ to tell me that kING KONG SIZED FANGED FUCK SNAKE IS REAL

***

Witnessed the most perfect exchange the other day:

Grumpy Dude With No Manners: “You. Boy. Where’s the man I spoke with over the phone?”

Mr. Fell’s Partner Who Knows Damn Well Only Two of Them Work There But Clearly Doesn’t Like This Guy’s Tone: “Did this man give you his name?”

Grumpy Dude: “Might have. Don’t remember. Sounded like a fairy though.”

Me: “....”

My girlfriend: “....”

This Poor Sweet Startled Kid On Our Left: “?!?!?!?”

Fell’s Partner In The Drollest Voice I’ve Ever Heard: “None of us have wings. Out!”

***

This shop gets full stars simply because every time I walk in they’re playing Queen.

I mean, I’ve walked in once, but once is enough when you’ve got Crazy Little Thing Called Love blasting full volume.

***

Okay, I’m still kind of shaken up but I needed to write this out somewhere and this seemed as good a place as any.

I spilled my latte on a book. Just tripped on thin air, popped the lid, and chucked a venti’s worth of coffee all over a very expensive looking text. I didn’t mean to, obviously, but it happened and I just started bawling on the spot. Full on sobs because this semester has been absolute hell, I ruined this guy’s antique, there’s no way I can pay for it, I can’t even sneak away because I’m drawing the whole store’s attention...just all the things all at once. I really was straight up panicking and was seconds away from pulling out my inhaler. I couldn’t breathe.

And then Mr. Fell showed up.

Jesus it’s embarrassing to admit but I think I hit him once or twice. On the arms I mean, because he was trying to touch me and I figured, I don’t know, it was a restraint or something. He was going to call the police and hold me until they got there. But then he managed to start rubbing my back and I lost it like I hadn’t already been bawling my eyes out in this shop. Ever cry into a perfect stranger’s chest? I have! But if Mr. Fell seemed to mind he definitely didn’t show it. Just kept holding me while I probably ruined his shirt and then took me into the back and made me a new coffee in this cute little angel mug. He let me stay there while I called my sister and waited for her to arrive.

She’s a good twenty minutes outside of Soho, so we talked for a while. It’s not like Mr. Fell could fix my shit roommate or bio classes, but I guess just talking about it all really helped. I was a lot calmer by the time my sis arrived and Mr. Fell insisted I come back any time I wanted—for browsing or more coffee.

Of course, sis offered to pay for the book herself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so surprised in my life. “Certainly not!” he said. “Contrary to popular belief, no one should pay for their mistakes. It’s what makes you all so wonderfully human.”

So yeah. Thanks, Mr. Fell.

***

This little shop must have started a book club for kids! Lately I’ve seen the same group of children hanging out at Fell’s. Three boys and a girl. They’re a bit rambunctious at times, but who isn’t at that age? So wonderful seeing literature passed down to the next generation. Even if some of it is rather questionable looking...

***

It’s an honest crime that more of you aren’t talking about what a wonderful bookstore this is.

I’m a book lover at heart and Fell’s always makes me feel like I’m coming home. I just arrived somewhere safe and familiar after a particularly harrowing day. I’ve slipped under the covers of my bed after dinner and a bubble bath. It’s something like that, but with an element of surprise too. One of the reasons why I adore private and used shops over chain stores is that little touch of chaos. You walk in and sure, there are general sections to browse, but everything is just a little bit disorganized from people leafing through books and then putting them back somewhere else. There’s no real record keeping, you’ve just gotta head to one particular corner and hope for the best. It’s not the sort of place you go to if you want something specific because the chances of them having it are slim—that’s just how the universe works—and even if they did no employee knows where it is anymore.

But if you wander the shelves for a while, crouch down low to get a look at everything on the bottom shelf, pay attention to the books that don’t have easy to read titles or any summaries to speak of... you just might find something you didn’t know you were looking for. That’s Fell’s: the comfort of the familiar and the excitement of the unknown.

*** A lot of people might assume that these stories are embellished or outright made up, but as a bookseller myself going on twenty years I believe every single one of them.

That being said, I accidentally moved a rug and found chalk sigils that look like they belong in a cult. Make of that what you will.

***

There’s a special place in hell for 21st century shop owners that only take cash. Who carries cash anymore? Not me! I haven’t bothered with that nonsense in years! You can get a card reader for 15 pounds on Amazon. Or you know what? Be stingy and pay 7 for the little attachment on your phone. This place is nuts if it thinks it’s going to survive much longer on a cash-only policy, especially with some books that look like they’re worth hundreds or thousands of pounds! Yeah, yeah, just let me pull out this giant wad of bills for you. I’ll carry them around a crime-laden city because there’s no ATM near you either.

I mean jesus, you’d think this guy didn’t want to sell anything.

***

I walked in. There was a man screaming at a fern while another threatened him with an umbrella. I walked out.

5 stars do recommend.

***

I once walked in on the same (?) guy yelling at a book for daring to fall on the owner’s head. I think that’s just a Thing over there.

***

Like a lot of people here I didn’t actually go to Fell’s for any books (flat tire, Angel Recovery taking forever) and ended up staying three hours (not because of Angel). No, I wandered towards the back and found this ancient CRT set propped on a table of books, the kind that my Dad used to watch Twilight Zone on. This lanky guy had a marathon of Gilmore Girls going... though how he was managing that with a broken antenna and no DVR, I really don’t know. But yeah. He told me to pull up a chair and I did. Guy gave me popcorn.

I wish I’d paid a little more attention to his name. Charlie? Curley? I really can’t remember, but thanks for the enjoyable afternoon, man.

***

I BOUGHT A BOOK HERE

Not sure how though. Just kinda happened. First edition of Just William. Frankly I didn’t even want the thing, but the owner basically shoved me out the door with it when I took two seconds to look at the spine. Odd that he was so willing to part with this one.

Update: ... hold up. I didn’t buy a book because I never actually paid the guy. ‘Basically shoved me out the door’ was literal. Do I go back??

***

This page has really gone feral the last couple of months so I’m just gonna bite the bullet and say it:

Anyone notice that Fell’s snake and Fell’s partner are never in the same room together?

***

I really don’t like the implications of this…

***

This is precisely why the Internet has turned into a cesspool. You all should be ashamed of some of the stuff you’re writing here. Can’t two men just be friends anymore? Two real life men? These guys aren’t some characters for you to ‘ship’ or whatever. Quit making outrageous assumptions about their sexualities and use this website for what it’s actually for: reviewing the bookshop. Honestly I’m so sick of this sort of this shit.

***

Dude. They run a queer-focused shop together with a flat on the second floor. Fell calls the guy ‘Dear’ and he’s always calling him ‘Angel.’ People have literally seen them kissing. If you want I can give you the number of my physician. He might be able to help you pull your head out of your ass.

***

What the hell is your problem? I’m literally just reminding people to stop making assumptions. It’s gross and insulting. These guys check their Yelp page. You really think they’re gonna be okay with this stuff?

Also: I’m not the five-year-old relying on insults, so.

***

Making an account purely to set the record straight: I’m the hot twink in question and I married that angel. Peace

[eddieeatsass]

On the Edge of an Avalanche

Summary: Graduation was upon them and Eddie Kaspbrak was eager to leave Derry behind. His one last hurrah would be the senior ski trip, earning him an escape from his mother and the looming stress of college admissions. It was supposed to be a relaxing vacation, until he got slated to look after resident pain-in-everyone’s-ass, Richie Tozier. Pairing: Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak Rating: E Chapter: 3/5 Read Chapter 2 Here  /  Read on AO3

The next morning felt like a slow-motion scene unravelling before him. Eddie had spent most of the night replaying the events that him and Richie had engaged in, dissecting it for all he could and trying to figure out what it all meant. He hadn’t fallen asleep until the birds were waking up, singing a morning song that rang more like a lullaby to Eddie’s tired ears.

  The first time he woke he felt a warmth pressing up against his back, arms curling around his torso, and smelled sickly-sweet cinnamon that was unfamiliar but undeniably soothing. He fell back asleep not long after.

  The second time Eddie woke he felt rustling beside him, a gentle press to his cheek, and just barely heard something whispered. He never opened his eyes, sleep already pulling him back in.

  The final time he woke that morning was very different from the others; a booming voice announcing an arrival had shaken him out of slumber and almost out of bed.

    “JESUS CHRIST WHAT THE SHIT-” Eddie clutched his blankets in a death grip, holding them up higher as if they could shield him from the onslaught.

  “Wakey wakey Eds and bakey!”

  Eddie groaned internally, already upset at his body for having such a visceral reaction to the sound of Richie’s voice even while it was so tired, and Richie was so loud. Did he have any self respect?

  Eddie peered out from behind his sheets, eyes meeting a ruffled bed head and an early morning smile.

  Okay, maybe Eddie didn’t need self respect when Richie looked that good.

  “I brought breakfast.” Richie stated, holding the plates up as a peace offering.

  Eddie didn’t even have to think before he scooted over, making room for Richie and patting the open spot.

  Richie hobbled over, handing one of the over-stacked plates to Eddie and plopping himself down with a small “oof”.

  Choosing to avoid the elephant in the room for a while longer, Eddie speared what he assumed to be an egg with his fork. He couldn’t be certain, as Richie had coated everything on both plates with a healthy serving of hollandaise sauce.

  “How’s the ankle?” Eddie asked tentatively.

  “’s fine.” Richie said through a mouthful of food. His cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk, but rather than being off-putting, it was annoyingly charming.

  “You really shouldn’t be walking on it.” Eddie mentioned.

  “I’ve had worse.” Richie shrugged, as if that was supposed to be comforting to Eddie.

  “Where did you get the food?” Eddie asked, changing the subject once again to avoid the hovering topic. It was well past breakfast time, and Eddie knew the buffets were never open past 9am.

  “I snuck into the kitchen.” Richie shrugged, as if that were a totally normal thing to do.

  “What- Richie! You could have gotten in trouble!”

  “But I didn’t.” Richie smirked triumphantly.

  “Anyone could have caught you! And you could have been sent home, or worse, the staff could have called the police! I mean it is technically stealing, and trespassing, and could probably be charged as breaking and entering, and-”

  Eddie was cut off by a fork full of food being shoveled into his open mouth. A fork that wasn’t his fork. A fork that had been in someone else’s mouth, that should have grossed him out, that should have sounded off the alarm in his head. But instead, the fork sat in his mouth as nothing more than a slight inconvenience; not a trigger for his neuroses or a reason to grab his mouthwash, just a fork. What kind of spell did this boy have over him!?

  “Now chew.” Richie ordered, pulling his fork out and leaving the food to sit inside Eddie’s mouth. He did as he was told, chewing a few times and swallowing the food that, in any other case, would have disgusted him.

  “There. Now, do you hear any sirens outside?”

  “No, but-”

  “Is your body getting ready to violently regurgitate everything?”

  “No-”

  “Then just enjoy the food, spaghetti man.”

  Richie said it like it was so easy… And maybe it was. Eddie could be a bit rebellious, couldn’t he? Richie had gone out of his way to get them breakfast, no matter how irresponsible it had been, and Eddie had done nothing but complain. He hadn’t even thanked Richie. Besides, how was it any different from when Eddie snuck into the school’s kitchen to get Stan his special lunch?

  The difference, Eddie realized with his heart skipping a beat, was that Eddie didn’t care much about his own wellbeing. The wellbeing of Richie, however, was a completely new ballgame, and Eddie suddenly found himself at bat.

  “Sorry, it’s hard for me to keep my anxiety in check sometimes.” Eddie admitted, poking around his plate and eating a few more bites. Admittedly, the food was really good.

  “Hey, no need to apologize, I get it.” Richie assured, shooting Eddie a smile that melted him to the core. “Just know that I’d never put you in any real danger.” Richie added with an honesty that watered something warm and vibrant in Eddie’s chest.

  And somehow, Eddie knew that was true. Richie might be reckless at times, but he wasn’t stupid, and he protected those he cared about.

  Eddie wondered if he was in that category now.

    Before Eddie could dwell on it any longer, there was a knock at their door followed by Mr. Daniels’ voice giving them a half hour before they head out. It seemed that while Eddie had been busy sleeping in, the bus had been repaired and returned to their motel.

    As they filed into the vehicle, Eddie noticed that the teachers had switched buses for the day. Mr. Daniels made no mention of the seating arrangements (to which there had been more changes than just Richie and Stanley). This, of course, resulted in absolute mayhem as everyone that had been assigned to different seats now reverted to their original spots. As a result, the bus soon returned back to its chaos.

  Eddie glanced over at Richie, his fingers twitching as he held himself back from reaching out and clutching Richie’s arm to keep him close. Of course, Eddie wouldn’t mind sitting with Stan again, but he’d grown attached to Richie, and even though he felt like they were treading unfamiliar waters now thanks to last night’s unspoken tryst, he still wanted to be close to him.

    The bus hadn’t started moving yet, so kids were still flying from row to row, taking advantage of their newfound freedom thanks to Mr. Daniels more lax approach at chaperoning. Eddie bit at his fingernail as he watched Richie out of the corner of his eye, too afraid to speak but just as afraid to take his gaze off him.

  Richie, on the other hand, seemed completely unaware as he happily tapped away at something on his phone. His shoulders were hunched forward in poor posture and he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, now wrinkled from sleeping in them, but he was still the picture of beauty as far as Eddie was concerned.

  Eddie got caught staring as Richie’s head turned without warning, but it was only met with a smile and an endeared laugh.

  “Is it cool if I switch with Stanley for a bit? Bill’s been harping on me for not texting him back all night, that clingy son of a bitch.” Richie held up his phone as evidence, even though the screen was black and gave Eddie no hint as to the topic of their conversation.

  He hoped in equal parts that it was and wasn’t about him.

  “Yeah, whatever.” Eddie tried to feign indifference but overshot and ended up sounding rude. He winced at his own tone of voice and swallowed back the urge to apologize immediately.

  “Uhh, okay.” Richie seemed confused, but his face stayed open and inviting despite the quirk in his brow. Liquid lapis eyes training on Eddie for a beat longer than necessary before he was hopping up and heading down the isle.

    As soon as Richie was gone, Eddie let his head fall against the frostbitten window with a thunk, his eyes closing instinctively as he retreated inside his brain.

  He was exhausted, both physically from lack of sleep, and emotionally from all these new unfamiliar emotions. It’s not that Eddie had never had crushes before; there was Steven from summer camp, Harry who worked at the bookstore, and Isaac who’d been their mechanic for six years, and had taken Eddie under his wing after his father died.

  However, of all the infatuations Eddie had had, Richie was the first one that actually made sense. Steven had been too far away, and straight. Harry had been too busy, and straight. Isaac had been too old, and straight. But Richie… well, he lived in the same city, wasn’t bogged down by work, and was the same age as Eddie… and was… possibly not straight?

  Eddie felt the seat dip beside him, but refused to open his eyes. Call it a protest of the outside world for being too confusing, he’d open his eyes again when someone had the answers for him.

  “Hey.”

  Okay, well maybe Stan would have the answers.

  Eddie grumbled his greeting, pulling his body away from the window only to let it slump the other way, right into Stanley’s shoulder. He wavered a bit at the sudden impact but righted himself quickly, supporting Eddie’s weight easily.

  “So, are you the reason Richie’s walking with a limp today?”

  “WHAT?” Eddie’s head shot up, his brain working in overdrive to try and wipe his slate clean, erase any sign of culpability. Did Stan know what they’d done? Did everyone know what they’d done? Oh my god, Richie told someone and now everyone was going to know that they-

  “I mean, I just assumed Richie crossed the line at some point and you had to deliver some swift Kaspbrak karate moves to shut him up.” Stan held his hand up in fists and, with delayed relief, Eddie realized Stan was making a joke.

  Eddie let his head fall back into the cushiness of Stan’s shoulder, his body somehow even more drained than it had been thirty seconds ago. Eddie wasn’t fully certain how he planned on getting through today.

  “He was actually really respectful.” Eddie responded. He didn’t realize it was so out of character until Stan fell quiet, followed by a prodding question.

  “Are you okay?”

  There it was, the question Eddie couldn’t even answer for himself. Was he okay? He didn’t feel okay, but nothing had actually gone wrong, right? In fact, if anything, things had gone in Eddie’s favor. So why did he feel this heavy weight in his chest, baring down on his lungs and slowly squeezing the air out of him?

    When Eddie had returned from the bathroom the previous night, steeled to have the inevitable conversation that came after dry humping a guy you’ve been familiar with for no more than a day, he’d found Richie fast asleep.

  Not knowing what else to do, Eddie has simply crawled into bed beside him.

  But those hours laying awake had left him with too many thoughts, the most prodding being his fear that he’d been used as a prop for Richie’s experimentation. Did he even like guys? He’d never mentioned it, never seemed to show any interest past a couple of jokes. But that was all they were, right? Maybe the jokes had been the first signs Eddie should have noticed, subtle hints Richie was dropping to insinuate that Eddie would be the perfect contender for a round of ‘am I gay or just horny?’. Eddie had practically opened himself up to it after coming out to him.

  His pessimism may have been clouded by past experiences, but after what Eddie had been through, it was no wonder he jumped to conclusions. The only experiences Eddie had to speak for were secret rendezvous with nervous classmates that inevitably ended with Eddie being ignored the next day. It was a pattern, and Eddie was the invariable. He was the small, quiet twink that every questioning athlete and nerd alike seemed to peg as an easy target for their sexual experimentation.

  It wasn’t all bad; it was how Eddie got his first kiss, his first hand job, and so on and so forth. It had, however, left him feeling skeptical of anyone who showed even the barest of interest in him, writing it off as nothing more than curiosity.

  The thought of that being the case with Richie left Eddie’s stomach souring. He’d never gotten attached like this before. Quite honestly, he felt like he was standing on the edge of an avalanche, just waiting for Richie to speak and cause it all to collapse above them.

    “What do you think about people experimenting with… New things.” Eddie braved forward.

  “Uh, I mean that’s a pretty vague question.” Stan pointed out.

  “Okay… say you’ve only ever eaten hamburgers your whole life, right? Through and through you’re a hamburger guy. Until one day you see a hotdog and think, well, maybe I’ll try that today. What if you try it and you don’t like it? Are you just going to throw it away? How is that fair, to just use the hotdog and then discard it like it’s nothing?”

  Eddie hadn’t realized that his voice had become fast-paced and high-pitched until he noticed the look on Stan’s face. Clear confusion was evident in the way he gazed at Eddie with his brows knit in the middle and his mouth slightly agape. Eddie immediately wanted to disappear.

  “Nevermind, it’s stupid.”

  “No! No, sorry, I just…” Stan took a breath and sat up straighter, angling his body towards Eddie. “Okay well, experimenting with new… foods doesn’t always end up in distaste, right? Lots of people end up discovering some of their favorite… foods through exploration.”

  Hearing the metaphor come out of Stan’s mouth made Eddie realize how nonsensical it was. God, he was about two seconds sway from digging himself a hole and hibernating until springtime.

  “But if you’re worried about someone… Not enjoying the hot dog, just talk to them about it. Maybe they didn’t realize how their actions might hurt the… hot dog…”

  Eddie and Stan stared at one another for a long pause until Stan cracked a smile, and it radiated so much warmth and comfort that Eddie couldn’t help but smile back. Soon they were falling into giggles, easing themselves into full-blown laughter at the absurdity of the conversation.

  Stan had to have figured it out by now, but Eddie was thankful that he didn’t push him past what he was ready to talk about. Stan was a quality friend, and Eddie had never appreciated his presence in his life more than he did right now.

  “Thanks Stan.” Eddie said honestly, bumping shoulders with him as the last of his chitters died out.

  “Anytime.”

  “You might want to consider the possibility that this isn’t their first time eating a hot dog though.”

  “What?” Eddie blurted.

  “I just mean, you’re assuming they’ve never had a hot dog before, right? Maybe they tend to lean more towards hamburgers but that doesn’t mean they’ve never been intrigued by hot dogs before. Maybe they just needed to find the right hot dog…”

  Eddie’s face heated up as Stan continued to talk.

  “All I’m saying is if it was truly just some reckless experimentation, they���d probably wait until college like the rest of us.”

  Eddie’s head hurt, the metaphor finally losing its last small thread of sense.

  “Right… wait until college to… eat a hot dog…” Eddie repeated slowly.

  Stan opened his mouth to reply, but the voice that rang out wasn’t his.

  “Who’s got hot dogs?”

  Eddie just about jumped out of his skin, his eyes darting up to connect with Richie’s. Eddie felt like he had just been caught talking about him, which he sort of had, but Richie was none the wiser and, hopefully, neither was Stan. The only one floundering was Eddie, but boy was he in the deep end.

  “NOTHING. NO ONE.” Eddie exclaimed much too loudly for the situation.

  Both Stan and Richie stared back at Eddie, equally puzzled expressions on both their faces. He felt like there was a single ping pong ball bouncing around in his head at light speed, desperately trying to find an appropriate response to save himself. Thankfully, Stan was always one step ahead of him.

  “We were just talking about how Eddie’s mom makes the best hot dogs.”

  Eddie’s nose instinctively scrunched up at the mention of his mom during a metaphor about his sex life, but he quickly schooled his features and nodded along.

  “Mmm, I’m gonna have to fight you on that until I’ve tasted them for myself. Otherwise, the best hotdogs in Derry are undoubtedly the ones from Kelso’s Diner.”

  Eddie short circuited at the insinuation that Richie would indeed one day be trying Eddie’s mom’s cooking. Meaning he foresaw them continuing to be friends past this trip. Meaning, and this made Eddie’s head spin, Richie didn’t seem to have the intention of dropping Eddie the minute he got what he wanted.

  What exactly did he want?

    “So, Stan the man, if you don’t mind, I’m going to kick you back into the strong arms of Bill Denbrough and reclaim my rightful seat here.” Eddie couldn’t help but notice the way Stan’s face flushed just a shade darker. Was there something there that Eddie didn’t know about?

  He didn’t have time to ponder Stan’s reaction to the mention of Bill Denbrough or his strong arms. Stan shot a quick ‘talk to you later’ Eddie’s way and was retreating to his seat as Richie settled into his.

  Eddie’s head was swirling as his senses reacted to Richie’s proximity. He forced himself to speak through the rush of endorphins, even though all his body wanted to do was curl into Richie’s side.

  “What did Bill want to talk to you about?”

  “Relationship drama.” Richie answered, shrugging it off. “There’s always something with that boy.” The way Richie spoke wasn’t annoyed or exhausted, but rather amused by his friend and his ongoing antics.

  “I’m glad you were able to help him.” Eddie responded genuinely.

  “Yeah, me too.” Richie’s smile felt intimate, as if it were just for Eddie, even though they were talking about someone else entirely.

  Eddie began to smile back but was overcome by a yawn, his face distorting as his jaw dropped on its own, too motivated by exhaustion to wait for the queue from his brain.

  “Didn’t get much sleep last night?” Richie pondered.

  “Uhm, yeah, I guess not.” Eddie answered sheepishly, hoping Richie didn’t connect his insomnia to their late-night encounter.

  “Bummer, I slept better than I have in months. You’re a good cuddler.” Richie’s comment was dropped so casually that Eddie almost didn’t catch it, but his ears were awake enough to tinge a bright rose in response.

  “Well, anyways, Mr. Daniels said we have about an hour until we get to the resort so…” Richie tapped his shoulder invitingly, and even though Eddie had been in the exact same position mere minutes ago with Stanley, it felt vastly different when the shoulder was attached to Richie.

  “T-thanks.” Eddie stuttered, dipping his head low into the crook of Richie’s shoulder fast enough that he hopefully didn’t notice how much redder Eddie got.

  He was sure his heart was beating too fast for him to possibly fall asleep, but the closeness to Richie rejuvenated him in another way. He let his eyes slip closed as he slowly relaxed into the comforting presence beside him.

    “-ddie, hey, Eds.”

  “Mmmm ‘s not my name.”

  “Fine. Edward Kaspbrak, king of slumber and bearer of drool, it’s time to wake up.”

  Eddie’s surroundings slowly came into consciousness as he was pulled back into awareness. The first thing he noticed was that he was in a very different orientation than when he’d last been cognizant. The second thing he noticed, and much more dreadful, was that his cheek was indeed covered in drool.

  He brought a hand to his face and wiped away the moisture as quickly as he could, riding himself of any evidence Richie might be able to use against him.

  Who, speaking of, was currently underneath him in a way he very much hadn’t been before.

  At some point, Eddie had ended up with his head in Richie’s lap. Richie’s hand was in Eddie’s hair at the nape of his neck, gently playing with the strands as if it was an absent habit he did all the time. The act was so domestic it made Eddie want to burst into tears; whether they were sad or happy tears, he wasn’t sure.

  He sat up slowly, careful not to have the blood rush to his head too quickly. The last thing he needed was to pass out in front of Richie. Who knows what kind of intimate position he’d wake up in the next time.

  “We’re here, everybody’s already outside.” Richie offered as explanation for Eddie’s disrupted sleep.

  “What? Why did you wait to wake me?” Eddie asked with only a tinge of annoyance. Luckily, Richie seemed to be charmed by it.

  “You’re cute when you sleep, let a man indulge.”

  Before Eddie could form a response, Richie was already standing up. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and made his way towards the front of the bus, leaving Eddie to fumble to catch up.

    When Eddie stepped off the bus, the first thing he noticed was how white everything was. It was to be expected, of course; it’s kind of hard to ski without snow. But it was such a stark difference from where they’d been just an hour ago. The difference a small distance could make was staggering; this didn’t even feel like it belonged in the same universe.

  The view was gorgeous with its tall log cabins, ski lifts moving like carousels, and snow-covered evergreens on every surface. Eddie was half tempted to throw himself down in the snow and make a snow angel.

  But the cold nipping at his nose was a reminder that before he could indulge in any snow activities, he had to actually get equipped for the snow.

  To their left, Mr. Daniels and Eric were unloading everyone’s bags from the storage compartment beneath the bus. Eddie could already spot his small suitcase, a bright pink flamingo covered hand-me-down from his mom, sitting in the snow.

  While they waited, Richie’s friends sauntered over, Stan happily alongside them.

  “I can’t wait to hit the slopes.” Bill greeted them as he bobbed up and down eagerly, his enthusiasm contagious.

  “I’m just excited for the hot chocolate.” Beverly countered, as she wrapped her sweater a little tighter around herself. All their winter coats were stuffed in their suitcases, the cold air taking advantage of their thin jackets and exposed skin.

  “Here Beverly.” Ben had shrugged off his sweater and was offering it to Beverly with a shy little quirk of his lips, but Beverly regarded it for only a moment before shaking her head. She took the sweater and threw it back over Ben’s shoulders before crowding her way into his space and snuggling right up against his chest.

  “Body heat works better.” She teased lowly.

  Richie let out a long, slow whistle, summing up what everyone was thinking; Beverly was sly as hell and Ben was gleefully in way over his head.

  The exchange made Eddie crave Richie’s warmth, yearn to be back in that motel bed, blissfully unaware of how intimate they were being in their sleep.

  There was no more being blissfully unaware, not with how Eddie’s heart beat to a different rhythm every time Richie’s arm would brush up against his.

    “Alright, everyone grab your bags and follow me.” Mr. Daniels announced, finally closing the now empty compartment of the bus.

  The seven of them sauntered over to the pile of suitcases and duffel bags, searching out their own among the many.

  Even though Eddie had already spotted his suitcase, he pretended to search for it for a while longer until Richie found his. Only then did he grab the bright pink monstrosity by the handle and begin lugging it up the hill, Richie wordlessly in tow behind him.

  They managed to reach the top of the hill without Richie stumbling too much, but as soon as Mrs. Harrow came into view there was no hiding Richie’s injury anymore.

  With hawk eyes homing in, Mrs. Harrow walked over to Richie with a displeased expression.

  “What happened here, Richard?”

  She sounded almost exasperated, and it made Eddie want to step in and defend him.

  “Oh, you know, just my bum leg. It acts up every now and then, ever since that terrible kite flying accident…” Richie looked off into the distance as if remembering a tragedy of great proportions.

  Mrs. Harrow rolled her eyes. Eddie’s anger flared once again.

  “Well, we can’t send you home now, so you’ll just have to spend the trip indoors. Absolutely no reckless activity, you got that Tozier?”

  “Aye aye, captain!”

  Mrs. Harrow didn’t acknowledge his response, simply turned her back towards them and began her search for the next student in need of scolding.

  As soon as she was out of ear shot, Eddie began fuming.

  “What the hell, why does Mrs. Harrow have it out for you? Can’t she see you’re hurt? Is she even capable of sympathy?”

  When Eddie looked over to Richie, he saw something soft and sweet in his expression, a contrast to Eddie’s bubbling temper. “You care about me.” Richie mused with a smirk.

  “W-what- no I don’t- I mean I do but- not like- shut up.” Eddie grabbed his suitcase once again and began walking away.

  “You can deny it all you want, Kaspbrak. I see right through you!”

  Eddie flipped Richie off over his shoulder as he disappeared through giant mahogany double doors.

    Their rooms were small, a single bed meant to be shared between the two classmates who signed up to room together. Normally on school trips, the school tried to cram as many students into one room as possible, but they must have known from prior visits to the lodge that these rooms just couldn’t hold more than two at a time.

  However, despite the small quarters, they were undeniably beautiful. Every surface seemed to be made from the same rich darkened wood, and every accent was bronzed. One wall was taken up by giant windows that overlooked the mountain below them, able to be hidden behind heavy curtains that took Eddie’s full force to pull closed.

  Eddie and Stan didn’t spend much time in their room, stopping only briefly to drop off their luggage and get bundled up in preparation for the slopes. Eddie was practically buzzing at the opportunity to teach himself something completely foreign; it’d been a long time since a new sport had been in his reach, and he was planning on taking full advantage of the absence of Sonia.

  “Are you almost ready?” Eddie bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited for Stan by the door, one hand already on the knob in anticipation.

  “Yes, for god sake Eddie, I just need to find my gloves.”

  Eddie’s eyes glazed over as he thought about the adrenaline rush he’d longed for. He still played tons of sports but there was something about learning a new one that left Eddie especially excited. He didn’t care much for the competitiveness of sports, and while he didn’t mind the sportsmanship of it all, it wasn’t why Eddie was motivated to get involved. Quite simply put, Eddie just wanted to play. He wanted to live out the experiences he missed out on, that pure rush that came from scraping your knees while playing soccer or face planting while diving for the volleyball. It may seem uninteresting to those who had already lived it out in childhood, but to Eddie it was nothing short of euphoric.

  “Here they are!” Stan exclaimed, holding his pair of gloves above his head as he tucked everything else back inside his suitcase.

  “Good, now come on, let’s goooooo.”

  Eddie was already out the door before Stan could answer, but he knew he was following by the distinct sound of swishing snow pants.

    They made their way down to the lobby, eagerly chatting about how fun their afternoon was going to be, when they ran straight into a brick wall of a body.

  “Fucking move, queers.” Henry ground out, placing a flat hand on Eddie’s face and pushing him aside with ease.

  “Henry, don’t you have anything better to do than project your internalized homophobia onto others.” Stan replied flatly.

  “What the fuck did you say to me?” Henry hissed, flipping his attention to Stan with a new temper flaring.

  “Stan…” Eddie warned, reaching for Stan’s hand to pull him away from the rising confrontation.

  Stan seemed to pale as he realized his comment wasn’t going to be shrugged off. He tried to keep himself composed but Eddie knew his tells well enough to notice the change.

  Henry’s gaze flicked down to where Eddie was trying to join hands with Stan, and a wicked grin soured his face.

  “Oh, I see…” Henry began, stalking closer to the pair and causing them to stumble back. They didn’t fear Henry like they used to, but he still held some power in those eyes that had never fully ceased to make them tremble.

  “You two fucking fairies together now? I should have seen it coming, pansies aren’t potted too far from one another. So, tell me, who made the first move, huh?”

  Eddie’s throat was thick with fear, his eyes unable to move from where Henry’s gaze pinned them.

  “Wait don’t tell me… It was you, wasn’t it, Uris? Eddie here is too limp wristed to do anything, just a little girl in sheep’s clothing. But then again, I guess if the rumors are true, you’re not completely useless. At least you give good head.”

  Eddie’s face burned as he held back the tears that threatened to give him away. He was fine, Henry’s words were hollow. Eddie had already heard every gay slur Henry had in his vocabulary.

  “Too bad you’re not pretty enough to turn any of them into faggo-”

  Eddie’s fist moved before his brain did, lining up perfectly with Henry’s jaw and landing the punch exactly where it would hurt most. Stan flinched beside him as the sickening crack rang out in the empty hallway, followed by a wail that made snow drop from the treetops outside. Eddie didn’t move, refused to let himself back down even as the tears broke free and streamed down his face.

  “KASPBRAK.”

  Eddie jumped, whipping around in horror as Mrs. Harrow’s voice broke through his resolve.

  “WHAT THE HELL.”

  Eddie stared in shock. He’d never done anything worthy of breaking a teacher’s ‘no cursing’ rule before, though he’d seen many teachers reach their point of profanity with other students before. It sort of felt similar to when you see a teacher outside of school and are reminded that they don’t just exist inside the bubble you’ve put them in. Well, the bubble had popped, and Mrs. Harrow was now stalking towards him with a new air that absolutely paralyzed him. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he didn’t. He just continued staring back at her, watching as she passed him and rushed over to Henry, taking his face in her hand and angling his head to assess the damage. Luckily, there was no visible injury past some reddening (though the same wouldn’t be true once the bruising began to set in).

  “Eddie.” Mrs. Harrow sighed. She released Henry’s face and brought the hand up to her own, pinching the skin between her eyes as if she was fighting back a cresting headache.

  She probably was.

  “I’m sorry Mrs. Harrow, I didn’t-”

  Eddie was interrupted with a single finger, held up intimidatingly as Mrs. Harrow continued to try and gather her patience.

  “No skiing.”

  “What!?”

  “What about that needs clarification, Edward?”

  “But I didn’t do anything!”

  “I watched you punch Mr. Bowers across the face.”

  “Well, yeah, but-”

  “No. Skiing.”

  Eddie fidgeted in place as he desperately grasped at straws in his head that could possibly get him out of this situation. Maybe if he could get Mrs. Harrow alone and just explain to her what Henry was saying-

  With an exasperated sigh, Mrs. Harrow placed a hand on Henry’s shoulder and began leading him back down the hallway from which she’d appeared.

  “Come on Henry, we’ll get you some ice.”

  Eddie couldn’t move, he’d become cemented to the floor at some point during his meltdown.

    “Eddie?” Stan’s soft voice penetrated the space between them, but it sounded distant. Anger bubbled up inside Eddie, anger that he wasn’t at all certain how to process.

  “Hey, Eddie, I’m so sorry. You know none of what Bowers said was true, right?”

  Like a kettle blowing its whistle, Eddie’s top popped.

  “OF COURSE IT’S TRUE.”

  Eddie whipped around to face Stan, his cheeks red hot as he filled with steam.

  “I’M GAY, STANLEY. DON’T YOU KNOW? I’M A FUCKING FRUIT CAKE. AND NOT EVEN A GOOD FRUIT CAKE, I’M ONE OF THOSE CHRISTMAS FRUIT CAKES THAT EVERYONE JUST PUTS IN THEIR FREEZER AND FORGETS ABOUT UNTIL SUMMER. THEN THEY THROW ME OUT, BECAUSE NO ONE EVEN LIKES FRUIT CAKE STANLEY.”

  “Hotdogs like fruitcakes.”

  Eddie sputtered; his mind unable to connect the pieces while he was burning red hot.

  “WHAT?”

  He could probably stop yelling, but if Eddie let himself think too long about how he just came out to his best friend, he might melt the rest of the way into the ground and become nothing more than carpeting.

  “Hotdogs. I hear they go well with fruitcakes.” Stan repeated calmly.

  Eddie felt like he was going to combust.

  “What are you-”

  “Richie is your hotdog, right?”

  At the mention of Richie, Eddie’s anger began to simmer down, exhaustion pulling at his muscles. All he could do was nod.

  “Look, Eddie, if it wasn’t obvious enough already, I don’t care that you’re gay. I’m a Jewish boy scout whose nerd repertoire is more extensive than that of most comic book writers, what space do I have to judge.”

  Eddie’s heart rate was settling down, the reassurance from his friend a comforting constant. This was Stanley, he’d never cared what ‘secrets’ Eddie had kept from him before, and this was no different. Well, this was a little different from the time he stole Stan’s pudding cup and then confessed an hour later out of guilt. But even then, Stan had been nothing but understanding.

  “Yeah, he’s the hot dog.” Eddie’s voice was beginning to level out as well, the heat of the moment passing on.

  “Richie isn’t like all those other hot dogs. He’s sure of himself in a way I’ve never met anyone else to be. The way his friends speak about him leaves no doubt in my mind that he has himself figured out; at least enough not to hurt you. He’s one of the good guys, Eddie.”

  “One of the good hotdogs.” Eddie corrected.

  “Yeah, I’m gonna have to drop that now that we’re being transparent with each other. I don’t like having to think about Richie’s… hotdog every time we tiptoe around your metaphor.”

  Eddie’s cheeks blushed a furious shade of fuchsia as his mind also began to wander towards Richie’s hotdog.

  “Richie’s stuck indoors for the next few days too, right?” Stan prompted.

  “Yeah, Mrs. Harrow was pretty clear about that.” Eddie scowled at the memory. “So, you guys are stuck in lockdown together; seems like the perfect romance scenario to me.”

  The more Eddie thought about it, the more things seemed to fall into place. Eddie had been excited about skiing, but what he was more excited about was this budding energy between him and Richie. Mrs. Harrow had unknowingly set up the perfect circumstance for them to spend as much time together as possible, and if Eddie could muster up the courage, he just might try to take advantage of it.

    Stan and Eddie had parted hours ago, but Eddie was just now beginning to rouse back into existence.

  After the fight with Henry, Eddie’s lack of sleep from the night before finally caught up with him. The nap on the bus had been helpful, but not enough to regenerate all the energy he’d lost to his anxiety the past 24 hours. As soon as he’d returned to his room he hadn’t been able to fight it anymore. He’d barely gotten his shoes off before collapsing into the inviting plush bedding and zonking out for three hours.

  Lucky for Eddie, three hours didn’t put him back that much. It was dinner time, but Eddie knew most of the students were prepared to stay on the slopes until the late hours of the night (or at least until teacher enforced curfew).

  Eddie was overheating, having fallen asleep with his winter coat and snow pants on. He was surprised he hadn’t died in his sleep from a layer induced fever. Could that even happen? Well, Eddie wasn’t keen on finding out today. He promptly stripped off the stifling clothing and did the same with his undergarments. While the suffocating layers may not have killed him, they had certainly left him covered in sweat.

  Eddie trailed into the bathroom, catching a glimpse of his naked form in the mirror and stopping. He turned fully towards his reflection, squinting as if sizing himself up.

  He wasn’t very buff, but he was nicely filled out from years of dabbling in sports. He definitely still had a thinner body, his waist dipping in elegantly before flaring back out into hips that, quite honestly, were pretty generous for a man. Eddie didn’t love his body, but who did? Everyone had issues to point out if they took a magnifying glass to themselves, but overall, Eddie was pleased with his appearance.

  He hoped that Richie would be too, if they ever ended up there.

  Eddie turned to the side, assessing his profile. He wondered what it would look like if Richie was slotted in behind him, arms wrapped tight around Eddie’s thin waist to hold him close. The height difference alone would cause Eddie to look small in comparison; Richie was an absolute tree. The thought shouldn’t have made Eddie feel as hot as it did, but he soon found himself heating up again.

  Eddie leaned over the sink, resting his elbows on the edge so he could lean in close to his figure. His cock brushed up against the cold wood surface of the counter and he gasped in surprise, looking down to find it peering up at him in intrigue.

  Eddie’s wonderings about Richie must have gotten him a little more worked up than he’d anticipated.

  Glancing back up at himself in the mirror, Eddie let one hand trail down to the spot between his legs. He grasped himself as he pictured Richie behind him, staring back at him through their reflections with that enticing grin.

  ‘What, Eds. Don’t think I’ll fuck you right here in the bathroom?’

  Eddie moaned quietly to himself, picturing just how he’d respond to Richie’s teasing.

  ‘I bet you won’t, Tozier. Too afraid of someone walking in on us. You’re all talk but no game.’

  Eddie would dangle the challenge in front of Richie knowing full well that he wouldn’t back down. He’d take Eddie’s hips and thrust himself inside without hesitation, just one single move would be all it took for Richie to fill him up.

  Eddie’s wrist cramped from the awkward angle he held it at, but he refused to move from his spot bent over the sink, too caught up in the fantasy.

  He replayed the moans he’d committed to memory the night before, those sinful sounds that Richie seemed to let slip out like he didn’t know they were poisonous darts striking right through Eddie’s skin.

  ‘Richie…’ Eddie moaned, the sound echoing in the empty bathroom.

  ‘Eddie…’ He could hear Richie say, pounding into him at a relentless pace that would leave bruises on Eddie’s skin from where he slammed into the countertop.

  And then Eddie was releasing into his fist, cum pooling over and dripping into the sink. His body shook with shock and his toes curled, eyes squeezing shut as he milked the last bit out of himself before going completely slack.

  He was grateful that counter was there to hold him up, because if not he would have probably fallen to the floor.

  It took a moment for Eddie to finally open his eyes again, but when he did, he was surprised at how disappointed he was that Richie wasn’t actually there. He knew he’d gotten lost in his mind, but it didn’t ease his despondency.

  Eddie stepped into the shower, committing himself to not think about Richie at least until he returned squeaky clean.

    It didn’t work.

  Eddie had thought about Richie the entire shower.

  Eddie tried to let his worry be soothed by Stan’s words, though it continued to flare at the least opportune times. Eddie accepted that he probably wouldn’t be completely placated until he had Richie do it himself, hopefully through tender hands and soothing touches.

  Eddie redressed himself, this time forgoing the heavy layers in favor of a warm wool sweater and comfortable sweatpants. He didn’t bother styling his hair, too set on hunting down Richie to care whether his locks were combed to the left or to the right.

  He quickly pocketed his cellphone and room key, setting off in search of the only other student in the building.

    Eddie didn’t know Richie’s room number, so he took a gamble and wandered into the lobby. There was a pool table in the center of the room, looking lonely as those around it chose to read a book by the fireplace or chat quietly by the windows. There weren’t many people to speak of, so it was easy to quickly spot that familiar face that made Eddie’s heart skip.

  Richie was laying across one of the couches, arms flung across his chest in protest. He was grumbling lowly to the man sitting a seat away, which Eddie recognized as their bus driver.

  “And so, in walks the other prisoner.” Eric drawled as he noticed Eddie, an easy smile on his face.

  Richie’s head popped up quickly, his curls bouncing as they tried to keep up with the swift change in position. Once Richie saw Eddie, the rest of his body followed enthusiastically as he jumped up from his seat.

  “EDDIE!” Richie cheered loudly, before quickly clearing his throat and lowering his voice to a more lobby-appropriate volume. “What are you doing here?”

  “Uhh, I sort of…” Eddie chanced a glance over Richie’s shoulder, noting that Eric wasn’t paying attention to their conversation. “punched Henry Bowers.” He mumbled lowly.

  “YOU WHAT!?”

  “SHHHHH!” Eddie grabbed Richie by the arm and pulled him back down to the couch, looking around them anxiously to see if Richie had drawn any eyes. “It’s not a big deal, okay?” Eddie added once he was sure no one was listening in.

  “Uhm, I’d say punching the guy who’s made everyone’s life a living hell for the past four years counts as a big deal.” Richie challenged.

  Eddie sighed, letting himself lean back into the leather couch as he chewed on his bottom lip. Richie wasn’t wrong, it wasn’t not a big deal, but Eddie wasn’t the violent type. He hadn’t meant to do what he’d done; he’d just snapped. He didn’t regret it, but he didn’t want to dwell on it either, especially since dwelling on it meant remembering all that lead up to it.

  “Can we talk about something else please?” Eddie asked, his voice small and begging.

  Richie was clearly itching for more details, but he still dropped the subject as he copied Eddie’s position sinking into the couch.

  “So, what are you doing here?” Eddie asked, grateful that Richie had respected his request.

  “Eric’s on babysitting duty.” Richie nodded over to Eric who sent them a thumbs up without looking away from his phone. “Mrs. Harrow doesn’t trust me to stay inside.”

  “I mean, to be fair, neither do I.” Eddie mused, a smirk playing on his face.

  Richie bumped his shoulder into Eddie’s, feigning offence even as laughter spilled from his chest.

  “Fine, but at least leave me with something to do, you know? I’m not a convict, I’m injured!” Richie lifted his leg and pointed to his ankle as if to prove his point.

  “As the convict here, I take offense to that.” Eddie teased.

  “Well, Eddie, how do you feel about reformation?” Eric asked. As Eddie regarded him, he saw that Eric had pocketed his phone and was now leaning towards them in engagement.

  Eddie narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Depends on what sort of reformation.”

  “Why don’t you take over guard duty?” Eric offered, nodding towards Richie. “Personally, I’d have let Richie stay in his room anyway, but I was given my orders. If you make sure he doesn’t leave, then at least the two of you can spend your evening watching TV or something. Just don’t let anyone see you outside your rooms, I don’t want to get in trouble for abandoning post. Mrs. Harrow is scary when she’s mad.”

  Eric mimicked a shiver running down his spine before shaking it off, smiling at the two of them warmly.

  “Eric, as per usual, you are the BEST.” Richie cheered.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Richie and Eddie wasted no time before scrambling to their feet and jetting out of the lobby. They didn’t discuss whose room they were going to, but once Richie pressed his floor number on the elevator keypad it was unspoken.

  Eddie was going to be alone in a room with Richie. Unsupervised. For hours.

  Eddie was going to shit his pants.

[unsettledink]

Gotcha Chapter 6!

(Trying something new and posting the full text here as well as AO3? It feels too long, but I’ve posted longer things here before, Idk.)

Read on AO3

Peter: sorry im on my way!

Peter: iswear im just running late

Peter: i will be there supr fast!!

Peter: sorry!

Quentin stares down at his phone and somehow, manages not to sigh. It’s a full ten minutes past when they were supposed to meet, and he doesn’t even want to be here in the first place.

Quentin: Don’t worry, it’s fine.

Peter: im sosorry

Peter: my alarm got set for tomorroow instead of today

Peter: i dont even know how

Peter: adn i just woke up and i dont even sleep this late like ever

Peter: but i willl bet there soon i promise

Peter: sorry!

Quentin: Really, it’s fine! There’s no hurry.

Quentin: We’re not exactly on a schedule or anything.

Peter: its so rude tho

Peter: for once it wast me losingt rack of time!!

Peter: im still sorry!

Quentin had given himself a little extra time this morning, just to remind himself of all the many, many reasons he is doing this, in this particular way. Had spent that time summoning up every bit of patience he could find to get through this day, because he had a feeling he was going to need it.

It feels like he’s already used half of it.

And of course he won’t be able to comment on Peter’s lateness, not even as a joke.

Peter: im like hafway there already illl just have to chagne and then ill be there!

Peter: seriously i am so sorry

Normally he’d be all for hearing Peter apologize, but it keeps happening every other word, Quentin will lose his mind.

He’s already losing his mind.

Well, he’s not going to just stand here until Peter does show up. He glances around for somewhere to sit; there’s a coffee shop just across the street. Perfect. He’s going to need that.

Quentin: Hey, don’t rush!

Quentin: I’ll just grab a coffee okay?

Quentin: I’ll be over at Kaldi’s, it’s just across the street. Can’t miss it.

Quentin: You want anything?

Peter: you dont haveto!

There’s no stopping the sigh this time. God.

Quentin: Not what I asked, kiddo.

Peter: um

Peter: suure?

Peter: someting with carmel i dont care mych

Peter: ill be there realy soon tho!!

Quentin: Then we can just sit for a bit.

Quentin: You’ll probably need it if you just woke up.

It’s a little funny how… drastically downgraded Peter’s texting is when he’s apparently still half asleep. Or maybe it’s just that he’s in a hurry. Or—

Quentin nearly stops in the middle of the sidewalk. He— surely, Peter isn’t—

Quentin: Are you texting AND webswinging?

Peter: …maybe?

No wonder he goes through phones so fast.

Quentin: You’re going to drop your phone

Peter: hey! imst icky! i wont drop it!

Quentin: Then you’re going to fall from being distracted

Quentin: And I won’t feel sorry for you.

Peter: :(

Quentin: I’ll laugh

Peter: :( :( :(

Quentin: You brought this on yourself.

He spends the time until Peter gets there reviewing Lynn’s newest plans for the miniaturized drones; they actually aren’t too bad.

Of course, they’ve probably had them sitting, waiting, for months, what with how they’ve harped on and on about how this should be a priority.

It won’t do to let them get too full of themselves, so along with the praise he sends back plenty of potential revisions. Even brings up some entirely new bits for them to consider; should keep them busy for a bit.

“Hi!” Peter says, flinging himself down across from Quentin. He’s flushed and still out of breath, his hair sticking up. “I’m here! I’m so sorry!”

Quentin allows himself a slightly amused smile. “Hi,” he says. Pushes Peter’s drink—some sort of ridiculously sweet caramel flavored thing that’s barely coffee at all—across the table to him. “Sit. Drink. Relax a bit, okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, running a hand through his hair and only making things worse. “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry, though. I’m just… it’s really embarrassing to be that late when this was my idea in the first place and—”

“Peter,” Quentin says, cutting him off. “Breathe! It’s fine, I promise.”

For once, Peter listens, and takes a deep breath, holding it in for a moment. Lets it out and relaxes the smallest bit, and grabs his drink. “Oh,” he says. “This is good! Thanks; you were right about me needing it.”

Quentin watches while he unwinds; Peter’s latest idea regarding ‘things they could do together’ was to show Quentin around Queens, so today they’re wandering. Quentin’s thrilled.

It could be worse. Peter had been all set up to take him to the most popular, well known, touristy spots, and Quentin had barely been able to hide his dread at the thought. It’d taken a little work, but he’d manage to convince Peter that Quentin would much rather see Peter’s favorite places. Even if they were nothing fancy or exciting, or little hole in the wall type places, or silly.

Even if they bored Quentin to tears.

Not that he can let Peter see even a hint of that. There’s a special kind of… vulnerability in sharing the smallest things you like, something different than exposing the larger, more damaged pieces of yourself. Something oddly hopeful about showing someone the unexplainable, intimate things you like and waiting for them to enjoy those things as well. Or at the very least, not reject them, in a way that suggests they’re rejecting your tastes as well.

Not rejecting you.

He’s started to prove to Peter he can handle the bigger things, the superhero stuff and the feelings nearly suffocating Peter; time to show that he can be trusted with the little things too. That Peter can come to Quentin with anything at all. Anything. Everything.

“So,” Quentin says. “What’s first?”

He was right; it is pretty boring. Not… awful, surprisingly, but not Quentin’s sort of thing at all. Peter’s apparently decided to try and cover as many miles as he can in one day, dragging Quentin from one end of Queens to the other. And then back; Quentin’s going to take tomorrow off for sure. Peter just has so much energy.

Has so much enthusiasm, Quentin thinks, as they poke through a small used record store that isn’t nearly as hipster as he expected from Astoria. So, so much enthusiasm, for the smallest things. It just bursts out of him once he gets comfortable and isn’t second guessing every single word he says.

Once Quentin has seemed interested in the first few things Peter shows him. Peter’s nervous about it, trying to explain away any shortcomings before Quentin’s even gotten in the door. He’s just desperate for approval, for acceptance. For Quentin to like him.

It’s not that hard to, actually.

It’s never been that Quentin dislikes Peter. Sure, Peter’s causing him grief and can be incredibly annoying, and sure, about half of what he feels for Peter is pity, but those can exist alongside the fact that Quentin kind of likes Peter.

Has liked him, ever since he started compiling research on him, ever since he’d met Peter as Mysterio and shook his hand and watched him get so excited over the existence of multiverse. It’s harder not to like Peter, not even a bit. He’s ridiculously smart, and stupidly good-natured, and—

He throws himself into everything he does; goes full out, with his heart on his sleeve. It’s no wonder he gets anxious as hell, if his first impulse is to practically flaunt all his soft spots, open and eager and expecting the best. It’s going to go poorly more often than not.

Must have, judging by the way Peter pulls himself in and hides, overrides that instinctual reaction so quickly it’s just a flash, a glimpse Quentin keeps catching again and again. He’s been taught to second guess himself somewhere along the way, by someone—probably a lot of someones—who saw those tender spots and couldn’t help poking them, taking advantage of them.

Just like Quentin’s doing; Peter should be better about spotting that sort of thing by now.

It’s almost a shame to fix Peter just to tear him apart completely, to have to use him like this, but… well. In the end, Peter’s nothing but another obstacle scattered in Quentin’s path. There are far more important things to worry about than the fate of one kid.

Peter grins at him when Quentin admits that this dinky little secondhand bookstore in Jamaica was worth a stop, even if it’s just for the most comfortable couch Quentin has ever sat on. Smiles when he points out a mural he loves on the way to the next attraction and admits he’d actually webbed up someone who started to tag it.

Straight up laughs at Quentin’s face when Peter shows him the most supremely creepy things in some huge thrift store, full of weird antiques and vintage crap. God, it’s disturbing that the things Quentin had as a kid, even as a teen, are considered vintage now.

“Jesus, Peter,” Quentin says after he has to look at a one hundred percent haunted taxidermied squirrel. “Why would you make me see that? I’m going to have nightmares.”

“For that exact face,” Peter says. “Oh my god, you look like you think it’s going to bite you!”

“It might,” and it’s unfair that Peter just laughs harder. He glares at Peter, but it might be slightly put on.

He’s allowed to like Peter a little, Quentin decides, watching Peter nearly double over with giggles. It’ll make having to deal with him easier, if nothing else, and it’s not as though liking someone has ever stopped him from using them—even disposing of them—in the past. It sure won’t this time.

They wander some more, Peter chattering on and easily filling the silence as long as Quentin remembers to make the appropriate listening noises occasionally. Every now and then, Peter hesitates, a nervous stumble in his words, something throwing him off, and Quentin reengages fully. He can’t afford to let Peter get too caught up in his thoughts.

But a few questions—carefully designed to make Quentin seem far more interested than he is—are enough to get Peter going again, bouncing from place to place until Quentin suggests they could use something to eat.

“Oh my god, yes,” Peter says. “I’m starving and didn’t even realize it. Ooo, last time we were down here, Ned and I found this awesome truck that does crazy good Korean barbeque, you’d love it.”

“No,” Quentin says without thinking, the sweet tart burnt smell so strong he can nearly taste it, can feel it stinging when he draws in a breath.

He twitches, shrugging it off, and tries to walk back how sharp that had come out. “Uh, I’m not big on sweet sauces and meat?” he says. “Got another recommendation?”

Peter drags him to a place that has the weirdest chimichanga combinations—and normal ones too, thankfully—and once again, attempts to pay.

“You know,” Quentin says as he pokes Peter out of the way, immensely irritated that Peter is still pushing him on this. “I didn’t realize your memory was this bad.”

“Hey!” Peter says. “It’s not! What are you talking about?” like that doesn’t prove Quentin’s point exactly.

“I seem to remember a bet I won,” he says, “relating to this exact situation.”

Peter opens his mouth to protest, and then closes it. “Um,” he says.

“Yeah,” Quentin says,raising his eyebrows.

“Okay,” Peter says, “okay, you can’t blame me for trying!”

“Hmmm,” Quentin says, passing over one of the foam trays. “You’re forgiven. This time. Just don’t do it again.” It’s always a good idea to get Peter into the habit of following Quentin’s rules, of remembering not to challenge Quentin too much.

Of remembering that Quentin will forgive him anything, easily.

“Fine,” Peter says through a mouthful, so mature.

They eat on the way to the next stop on Peter’s little tour; Quentin had been hoping they were approaching the end, but when Peter looks at him and asks, so hesitantly, if Quentin is tired and wants to call it a day—

Well he can’t say no.

Quentin finds himself dragged on to little half hidden shops, with any signage and down stairs that Quentin has to ask how Peter could have found in the first place. To statues Peter likes, to places he feeds pigeons—why he’d want to, Quentin doesn’t know—places with great views of the Hudson.

And, over and over, once Quentin catches on and starts pushing it, places to eat. Because Peter’s metabolism is a thing of wonder.

It’s interesting watching Peter banter back and forth with an older man about his sandwich; Quentin had gotten the impression Peter was uneasy around strangers, all his awkwardness amping up. But the way Peter’s interacted with people today is much more relaxed, much easier. Peter has a sharp sense of humor that Quentin has only started to see, as Peter gets comfortable around him.

Why do all these strangers get it right off the bat?

He watches Peter dart over to help get a stroller over a curb and— they’re not strangers. Not really. It’s not just that everywhere they’ve gone is somewhere Peter has been again and again, to the point where he knows people.

This is Peter’s home ground. His comfort zone, and the people in it— they’re his people. And when he’s helping them, his nerves disappear. His awkwardness becomes a tool of its own, disarming, downplaying the threat Peter could so easily be.

This is what he wants to be when he’s Spider-Man; the guy on the street, helping in a hundred tiny ways.

That’s fine with Quentin. Perfectly fine; now how does he get Peter to stay there, with EDITH looming over his head?

He can practically hear that in William’s voice, ugh. He’s working on it.

They wind up in Kissena late in the afternoon, almost early evening, really. Peter steps off the path once they get into one of the more wooded areas, and there’s a grassy spot past a few bushes, with a truly massive tree near the center, smaller ones scattered around it. It’s well hidden.

“Alright,” Quentin says, as he has with every other place, “what's the story behind this? How’d you find it?”

“So, when I got bit, when everything changed?” Peter settles down at the base of the tree, cross legged. “One of the things that was like, a huge pain, was how all of my senses got crazy amplified. Everything was turned up to eleven, you know?”

Quentin sits across from Peter, stretching his legs out as he leans back. Ugh, grass; he’d better not end up with bug bites. “Okay,” he says. “Sounds like that was pretty overwhelming.”

Peter groans. “You have no idea! It was really hard for a while, because even once I started to get used to everything being too loud and too bright and too smelly and— things tasted weird and my clothes made me feel like my skin was crawling and it was—” He stops, tipping his head back against the tree and looking upward.

“It was a lot,” he says. “Eventually I sorta started being able to deal with all that sort of… feeling stuff? I mean, physical, sensory, not like feeling feelings.”

Coherent; Quentin does not roll eyes through sheer force of will.

“But I was still really struggling with the, um,” Peter frowns, tips his head back further until Quentin can’t really see his face. “The stuff in my head. Actually doing things, thinking about things or even focusing on one thing was all so hard. It was like…”

“It was like what?” Quentin asks, after a few moments have passed.

“Everything was a distraction,” Peter says, slowly. “That’s still not right, because normally, before, I’d get distracted thinking about something else I wanted to do, or I’d be daydreaming, or, um, just, good stuff? Stuff that I’d want to focus on, just not right that second.”

“This wasn’t like this.” Peter looks down and starts to fiddle with a bit of grass, pulling up blades one by one. “This was like so much noise inside my head, like every little detail about every single thing was right there, grabbing my attention. I’d be trying to do one thing and all that would be clamoring at me nonstop.”

He closes his eyes, scrunching his whole face up. “People talk about wanting super sense a lot,” he says, “but it sucked so much at first.”

“People generally don’t think through those kinds of wishes very much,” Quentin says. Honestly, for the most part people don’t think at all.

“I’m pretty much okay now,” Peter says. “I figured out how to filter things most of the time; when there’s a bunch of stuff at once I can get so caught up in trying to ignore it that I ignore everything, and then that’s it’s own problem.”

“I noticed,” Quentin says, dryly. “Makes you pretty jumpy.”

Peter huffs, almost a laugh. “Yeah,” he says, brushing the ripped up grass off his pants. “I’m still working on getting the kinds of focus right?”

Quentin leans further back on his hands, crossing his legs. “You said something about focusing on me that one time,” he says, and Peter goes faintly pink. “That the sort of thing you’re talking about?”

“Something like that,” Peter says. “If I have one thing I can focus on, almost completely, then I can make it into… uh, white noise, I guess? Or it makes everything else into white noise. If that makes any sense at all.”

Not one bit, but whatever. He can press that later. “Sure,” Quentin says, waving his hand. “I’m following.”

It’s actually something to consider— if Peter manages to function better in difficult situations by focusing on one specific thing, what happens when that thing is taken away? Is ripped away from him, in fact. Would there be a moment of disorientation they could take advantage of? Maybe they could set Peter up to focus on what they want; he’s already using Quentin as a focal point, apparently.

He’ll have to watch Peter, Quentin thinks. This fumbling little explanation leaves a lot to be desired, but he doesn’t have much faith Peter actually could explain it better even if he tried.

“That helps,” Peter’s saying, “but it’s still really exhausting after a while. Sometimes I want to just… stop. Just not feel it at all, not have to try not to feel it.”

He glances at Quentin, and Quentin nods. Peter looks oddly shy, so he’d better pay close attention to what he’s showing.

“I’ve found a couple of places like this, but this is probably my favorite,” Peter tells him. “I can come here and actually relax. If I stop trying to block things out, or stop focusing on one thing, it doesn’t matter.” He tips his head back again, looking up at the tree.

“It's quiet here, pretty much all the time,” Peter says; the light through the leaves is diffuse, dappled on his face. “Even the noises that I get are like, soft things. Leaves and wind and things walking on grass. People talking, yeah, but that’s more distant and almost like background noise. It’s still shadowy in here when it’s super bright out, and there aren’t any super gross strong smells either. Just dirt and water and uh, green stuff.”

He darts a glance down at Quentin without moving his head. “Don’t laugh at me!” he says, and it’s right on the edge of plaintive. “I don’t know what else to call it.”

“I’m not,” Quentin says. He understands; it’s not something a city kid would be around that often, would probably even notice without senses like Peter’s. “I wouldn’t. I know what you mean, Peter.”

“Okay,” Peter says. Looks back away from Quentin and then closes his eyes. “It’s nice. And when I have to go back to the real world, it’s not quite as hard to handle.”

Quentin watches him. Watches as he slowly, slowly unwinds. Peter doesn’t move, aside from his head tipping slightly to the side, and Quentin—

He’d thought, earlier, that it was interesting how much Peter loosened up around people he felt comfortable with, places he felt safe. He’d thought it was a large degree of relaxation—and it was—but it was nothing compared to this.

Nothing compared to the way the tension drains from him with each passing second, from every single bit of his body, until he looks calmer than Quentin has ever seen.

Happier.

If this is how he looks when truly relaxed, the level of stress Peter must carry with him every day, everywhere he goes—from the physical tension to the mental, the anxiety, the constant background level of effort that other people don’t have to think about—must be ridiculously high.

He doesn’t want to say anything, do anything, that would break the stillness that seems to have spread over the entire glade. Poor kid. He might be doing a great job at being a pain in Quentin’s ass, but he isn’t cut out for this superhero shit.

Everything Quentin sees just convinced him further that taking EDITH from Peter really is doing him a favor. He’d never intended for that to be true, but— it’s not a terrible byproduct.

Peter sighs eventually, a barely there breath of a thing, opening his eyes halfway. He looks dazed, almost half asleep.

At least, until he notices that Quentin is watching him, and then he flushes. Looks down, the moment dissipating. “Anyway,” Peter says. “It’s— it’s a nice place for me,” like he’s admitting something embarrassing.

“I can tell,” Quentin says, offering him a small smile. “You deal with a lot every day, don’t you.” He shifts against his tree, trying to get more comfortable without Peter noticing and getting all fussy about it.

“I guess,” Peter says.

He picks up a leaf, twirling it through his fingers absently. “It’s getting really frustrating,” he adds. “Because it’s been almost two years, right? So I should have a better handle on this! I shouldn’t still be getting tripped up by such little things. And—” he makes a face, shoulders starting to hunch again.

“So I have this… this sense? Uh, I call it a spidey sense— I know, it’s kind of stupid. It sort of warns me about things? Like someone poking me, or shouting that something bad is about to happen.”

“Mmm, you mentioned that once,” Quentin says. “Sort of like a limited precog?” Honestly, he’d dismissed it— not fully, it wouldn’t do to completely dismiss anything about Peter. But it hadn’t seemed like it did much for Peter in Europe.

And it hadn’t picked up anything about Quentin, so how good could it really be?

“Oh, huh,” Peter says. “I hadn’t really thought of it like that? Maybe, but it’s not very exact. Sometimes it’s super obvious, but others it takes me a while to figure out what’s wrong. And lately, especially, it’s been— it’s gone kinda nuts? I don’t feel like I can trust it anymore.”

“Like, like right now?” he adds. “Right now it’s just going off like something really big and bad is happening, but come on!” He throws his hands up, exaggerated. “We’re just sitting here talking! Nothing, literally nothing bad is happening. It’s freaking out for no reason.”

Fuck.

Maybe he really shouldn’t have dismissed it, Quentin thinks, trying to stay as relaxed as he was a moment ago. Maybe he really fucking shouldn’t have, because some part of Peter knows that Quentin’s not good news. Knows that Quentin is something dangerous, is a threat.

And apparently knows it very, very insistently. Oh, fuck, this is the last thing he needs. Why now? Why is Peter’s sense losing its shit now and not at any time in Europe? What has he done differently to set it off?

God, what if it had been going off then too? Could that be why Peter had backed off at the last second in the bar, EDITH almost in Quentin’s hand? Has Peter been feeling this the entire time?

It’s a good thing he doesn’t seem to be listening to it, but that could stop at any second. At any time, Peter could decide that maybe his stupid ‘spider sense’ isn’t wrong, and that would be— that would be bad. That would be so bad.

Quentin has got to figure out how to make sure Peter keeps dismissing what it’s telling him.

“It’s so annoying,” Peter’s saying. “I wish it would stop, would just shut up already. It’s like this constant thing lately, sort of fading in and out but almost always there, but not a single thing has happened!”

Oh, that’s really, really not great. Almost always? In and out? How long will it take before Peter starts to realize it’s linked to Quentin?

No. No, he can fix this. He can nip this in the bud, before Peter has even a hint of suspicion. Peter’s already trying to ignore it, already annoyed by it. Quentin can use that.

“Maybe it’s just confused?” Quentin brings one knee up and rests his elbow on it, letting his arm dangle oh so casually. “After all,” he adds, “I’m hardly a bad thing, am I?”

Peter smiles, all that irritation gone in a second. “No!” he says. “Of course not! You’re like, the least bad thing that’s happened in a while.”

Quentin grins back at him. Yeah, keep thinking that, kid. “Well that’s a relief!” he says. “How finely tuned is this thing anyway? Could something have… I don’t know, damaged it? Hmm, screwed up its baseline, maybe? How do you even recalibrate it?”

“I have no clue,” Peter says. “I mean, it’s not like I can’t really test it or fix it or whatever. It’s practically useless now.”

Perfect; he wants Peter distrusting this sense. Wants him not thinking about it at all, avoiding the topic entirely— ah.

If he can get Peter thinking his damaged sense has something to do with the fights he’s been in, these bigger battles, that would be ideal. Peter’s already trying hard not to think about those; tie this sense to them as well, and he’ll just have even more reason to avoid both

“Could something have overloaded it?” Quentin asks. “Just completely swamped it, and it hasn’t recovered yet? If it got used to there being danger nonstop, on all sides, maybe it can’t stand down.”

“…maybe?” Peter says. “But I don’t know what would have caused that, or even when. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

What.

Really, Quentin thinks, really? Peter can’t think of anything that would fit? Why wouldn’t he think of that? “Nothing?” he says, quietly.

Peter frowns. Takes a moment, and when he opens his mouth, Quentin is almost sure he’s made the connection; but Peter hesitates. Shrugs. “Not anything that’s like, major or a big deal or anything,” he says.

Does Peter— has he really managed to convince himself that all the fighting he’s done is nothing? Or at least, been trying to, because that hesitation says a lot.

He should have expected this, with the way Peter’s consistently downplayed himself so far. He really should have, but somehow it still annoys him. No wonder Peter isn’t willing to admit how scared and screwed up he is, if he thinks he’s completely overreacting to ‘no big deal’.

“Well,” Quentin says, and he’s watching Peter carefully. He doesn’t know quite how this will hit. “You were at war, on a battlefield. More than once, even. That can really mess you up in all kinds of ways.” Remember, Peter, he thinks. Remember that you were hurt, that there’s a good reason to be scared. To run.

“I— that—” Peter stares at him. “I wasn’t in a war,” he says. Dammit. Looks like downgrading it in his head is exactly what Peter’s been doing, and that is exactly the opposite of what Quentin wants.

“No? What would you call it?” Quentin asks, raising an eyebrow. He pushes himself more upright, uncrossing his legs. “It sounded a lot like war to me.”

Peter shakes his head, fingers crushing the leaf he’s been playing with. “It was just a fight,” he says, strained. “That’s all!”

A fight. Just a fight, like it was nothing more than a little spat, was nothing at all. Has someone been telling him this, reinforcing it? Fury, maybe, or even Tony before that?

He knows Fury wants Peter to think he can handle things, but has he also been trying to convince him that what he’s been through so far was small enough Peter should have been able to handle it? Should be able to handle the aftereffects? That he shouldn’t be upset about it, that he’s overreacting?

That’s not good; Quentin doesn’t need Peter doubting he can handle things. He needs Peter to be certain he can’t, and more, that it’s perfectly normal. Acceptable. Not something horribly selfish at all.

“Peter,” he says, “it wasn’t just a fight.”

“It was! It was just one— it wasn’t a war!”

“It wasn’t— Peter,” Quentin says, and sighs. “It was a lot more than that. You’ve been dragged from fight to fight to fight the past couple of years, without anyone helping you after; from what I hear, you really could have used some after that thing upstate.”

He huffs, too sharp to be a real laugh. “And that’s just what I know of,” he adds. “I’m not stupid enough to assume that’s everything.”

Peter sucks in a sharp breath, his hands fisted on his thighs. Blinks, and then looks at Quentin intently, his brow furrowed. “How do you even know about that? About— about other fights?”

“I spent some time talking with Fury,” Quentin says. “He wasn’t big on details, but I got enough that I can fill them in on my own. I’m willing to bet he doesn’t even know every fight you’ve been in, though I’m sure he’d like me to think so.”

He’d been talking with Janice, more like. God, she’d been such a find; seething about having had Tony himself be an ass to her, more than once, but willing to stay where she was to pass things on. She’d had access to so much confidential information, and every time SI and SHIELD decided to bury another thing, shift the blame and throw money at it until it all went away—for them, at least—she’d gotten a little more resentful.

It’s true that they might not have the finer details—it drives him nuts how sparse the info about whatever it was that crashed SI’s plane into the beach is—but he has enough to know that Peter’s been involved time and time again.

“Oh,” Peter says, looking down, losing some of his ire. “You probably didn’t hear much good, I bet. But— it doesn’t matter if it was more than one fight, cause they were all different. All like, spread out and about other stuff. It’s still not war.”

“What do you think war is, then?” Quentin asks, actually curious.

“I don’t, uh. War is… more?” Peter stumbles along, and he’s being incredibly stubborn about this. “More than that, than any of those. Worse. Way worse. You don’t— you weren’t there, you don’t know what it was really like. It wasn’t like that.”

“I think,” Quentin says dryly, “I have a pretty good idea of what war is.”

Peter looks absolutely horrified. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. “God, I didn’t mean— I’m sorry, I didn’t think— I just, just meant that you were in a war. In a real, horrible, endless one and this…” He shudders. “These were just fights. It’s not the same, it’s not anywhere near as bad.”

“I’m so sorry,” Peter says. Looks at Quentin and then drops his head into his hands, knees coming up as he curls in on himself. “Fuck, I’m so sorry Quentin, I didn’t mean…”

This is really not what he was going for. Shit, he shouldn’t have said it like that; Peter’s too sensitive for him to be even a little sharp.

Quentin sighs, very softly, though he’s sure Peter still catches it. Pushes himself up onto his feet and walks over to Peter, who doesn’t even look up. “I know you didn’t mean it like that,” Quentin says. “It’s okay, Peter.”

Peter just shakes his head a little; Quentin thinks of sighing again but—somehow—manages to restrain himself. He sits down next to Peter, his back against the tree.

“War doesn’t have to go for a long time to be real,” he says, not looking at Peter. “It doesn’t have to drag on and on for it to still be awful, for it to still affect you,” and Jesus, he’s had to hear shit along those lines so many times. Had to sit there and listen to people be told over and over that what happened to them is worth being fucked up over.

Even if it isn’t. There’s a lot of reasons he never opened his mouth at those meetings, and his disgust at everyone else was the biggest. What a waste of time.

Well. Maybe not. It did give him the material to work Peter over.

“It doesn’t have to be some huge, dramatic battle to qualify,” Quentin says. “It still counts. Pretending it doesn’t doesn’t get it out of your head.” Come on, he thinks, let it be bad, be a nightmare. Admit that there’s a good reason, a real reason, for you to be scared, and then you can back down without shame. Come on, Peter.

“It doesn’t feel like it should count,” Peter says, a bit muffled, head still in his hands. “It wasn’t— lots of people have dealt with so much worse. Something like this, it’s not— it’s not an excuse for, for…”

He doesn’t finish that thought, but Quentin doesn’t need him to. An excuse, hmm? He turns his head toward Peter, just a bit. “Why don’t you want to call it a war?”

Peter lifts his head, arms sliding down to cross across his chest. “Why does it matter to you what I call it?” he asks, and there’s a hint of sharpness in there. Maybe even anger. “Why do you even care if I admit— if I think it’s a war?”

Nice little slip there; isn’t that interesting. Peter does know it was more than a few little fights. He knows, he’s just trying as hard as he can to pretend otherwise. Trying to redirect, as usual, turning the question back on Quentin. Why does it matter, Peter wants to know, and there are so many answers Quentin could give.

It matters because you need to see yourself as badly damaged. Because you need to acknowledge that this is something huge and overwhelming and frightening. Because I need you to start accepting what I say as right, start accepting me as an authority. I need you to not question me.

So many reasons, and he can’t tell Peter any of them. Ugh.

He turns further toward Peter. “Because I think you’re doing yourself a disservice,” Quentin says, tightly, irritation rising up in him. “When you sit there and insist that it’s nothing more than a little fight, when you play it off like it’s nothing— you’re devaluing what you did, and that’s wrong.”

“Don’t act like what you went through, what you did, doesn’t count,” Quentin says, and Peter’s looking over at him, startled. “That it wasn’t brave as hell, and terrifying as hell too.”

Peter stares, his eyes very wide. “I— it’s not like I did more than anyone else there. Than, than anyone else would have.”

“It sounds like you did more than enough,” Quentin says. “And— it doesn’t matter, Peter. It still messes you up. War fucks everyone up. Maybe it didn’t go on long enough for it to really warp your thinking, your morals or empathy or capacity to even feel, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t damage you.”

Peter jerks, sitting up straighter. “I’m not damaged!”

For fuck’s sake.

Quentin has to dig deep for a bit more patience. “Sure you are. Hey, Peter— wait,” he says, watching as Peter shuts down all over again, hurt. “That’s not bad, kid. It’s not an insult. It’s just… you gotta admit that before you can get better.”

Or not, if Quentin gets his way; admitting it might lead to Peter actually getting over his fear and stepping up. But with Quentin around, guiding him along? Peter’s never going to take that admission as anything other than a personal failure.

As just another reason he can’t, and someone else should.

“I don’t know,” Peter mutters. “It doesn’t feel like it should count.”

Quentin watches him for a minute. Leans in, his shoulder bumping against Peter’s. “You’d agree that I’ve been in war, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And that I’m able to judge what is and isn’t war. Right?”

Peter can be smart, sometimes. He sees where this is going. Sighs. “Yeah,” he says.

“Will you—” Quentin pauses, waits until Peter is looking at him. “Can you trust me here, and believe that I mean it when I say what you went through was war?”

Peter blinks, his eyes dropping. He’s silent, and Quentin can feel the muscles of his arm moving as Peter fiddles with something out of sight. “I’ll think about it,” Peter says, which is not quite the response Quentin was hoping for. Still, it’s not another denial. Baby steps.

“I’ll— maybe,” Peter says. “I guess you would know, even if you weren’t there.”

“You should listen to me,” Quentin agrees, leaning a little harder against Peter. “I do know!”

You should listen to me, and only me, he thinks. We’ll get you there, kid.

Peter huffs softly, pushing back against Quentin’s shoulder. “Maybe,” but he’s smiling faintly.

Quentin smiles back; he can accept a maybe, for now.

He’ll get a yes soon enough.

[yikesharringrove]

i’m sorry that you’re having a rough time. if you need to talk my ask is always open! 💜 something I haven’t really seen in the harringrove fandom is a bookstore aus. do you have any head cannons for that? or maybe you could write something? i can see billy being a pretentious, flirty sometimes grumpy bookstore owner who is simultaneously annoyed and charmed by clueless steve who is obvi not a reader, but keeps coming in. Billy’s clueless why the pretty keeps coming in. robin is not clueless!

(ao3)

“Fuck.”

Billy shook out his hand, just dropped a large box of books on his fingers.

“Dumbass.” Robin was perched at the counter, leafing lazily through some indie zine her friends made.

“You know you could, like, help.” Billy shot her a glare as she rolled her eyes, leaving him and his smushed little hand to shelve the new stock.

“No point in that, Boss.” Billy just kept sorting maneuvering himself through the narrow shelves to sort the new arrivals.

His bookshop had been open for about a month, and was doing well. He had a little cafe in the back corner, run by Heather and her baked goods. There was a second level to the shop he filled with squashy armchairs, and little tables. It had become a fairly popular spot with the kids from the local university as they studied, or avoided their studies with the books he had on the first level.

He had new and used books, had a trade-in program with book donations. It was warm in the little shop, sweet and cozy.

The bell above the door chimed.

“Hi, I was looking for Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals by Immanuel Kant.”

“You can find Billy, he’s in the stacks over there, and he should be able to help you better than I can.” Billy rolled his eyes, could hear the smile in her voice. He kept shelving, could hear the light footsteps approaching.

“Um, excuse me, I was told you can help?” Billy looked up, his breath hitching when he saw the guy. He was tall and lanky, slouching like he wanted to be small. He had all this messy brown hair, these big dark eyes behind his glasses.

“Kant, right?”

“Yep!”

“This is a good one. Have you read the Critique of Pure Reason? That book was pretty big for me, his thoughts on causation in relationship to time and experience were so new to me first time I read it.”

“Oh, it’s uh, it’s actually for a class. I’m not any good at this philosophy stuff.” Billy just smiled weekly. This guy was almost fucking perfect. He wandered over a few stacks to search.

“You at the university?”

“Yeah, I’m a senior. Just finishing up my generals and everything so I can graduate. I’m studying to be a teacher. Sorry, you probably don’t give a shit.” He had red splotches high on his cheeks.

“No, I always love talkin’ with new folks.” He smiled gently at the guy, reaching up for the book. “Immanuel Kant. Robin up front’ll take care ‘a you.” The guy fidgeted for a second, taking the book slowly.

“Thank you, I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Billy.” Steve waved at him, awkwardly and adorably.

-

Steve began coming in just about every other day.

He would say an awkward hello to Billy, would be all fidgety and weird, and retreat to the comfy second floor with a large iced latte, face red, mumbling to himself.

“He has a crush on you.” Robin was poking him over the counter. Steve had just high-tailed it up to work on his schoolwork after asking Billy how he was and looking so fond when Billy just said not so bad.

“Shut up, Rob.”

“He does. He’s in here almost every day, and gets so fucking nervous when talking to you. He wants to date you and kiss you.” She sang it at him, wiggling around a bit.

“Jesus Christ, Robin, he doesn’t. He’s a paying customer.”

“A paying customer that gets all cute and blushy when you two talk, and who never says more than three words to me.” Billy rolled his eyes, retreating to the back office.

She followed him, stomping loudly.

“At least admit you think he’s cute.”

“He’s fuckin’ adorable, but he said he’s not a big reader, and when I started talkin’ about Kant philosophies, his eyes got all big like that shit went way over his head. I don’t think we’d work out.”

“Just because someone doesn’t read and-slash-or comprehend eighteenth century philosophy, doesn’t make them not worthwhile.”

“It’s kind of a deal breaker for me, Rob.” She glared at him.

“You are so pretentious. He’s cute, and he seems sweet, what does it matter?”

“I just like intellectual types.”

“I fucking hate you.” She huffed, stomping back out into the shop.

-

“What in the hell?” Billy was up on the second floor, cleaning up the discarded coffee mugs and books left behind before closing. He heard muttering from the corner, looking to see Steve, tucked in a large armchair, frowning heavily at the book propped in his lap, something thick and heavy, probably for that philosophy class he’s been trudging through.

“You okay, Pretty Boy.” Steve slammed the book shut.

“Yeah I’m fine.” He began shoving his school work away, stuffing it roughly into his bag.

“Hey, whoa.” Billy plopped down across from him, taking one of Steve’s wrists in his own. “What’s wrong?” Steve whipped off his glasses, digging his thumbs into his eyes.

“It’s just been a long day, and my dyslexia gets so much worse when I’m tired, but this midterm is tomorrow and I need to study.”

“I didn’t know you were dyslexic.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot my button that says I’m dyslexic, ask me how!” Billy sat back, one eyebrow raised. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired. And my brain hurts.”

“You know we have audiobooks. There’s a whole selection in the back downstairs.” Steve looked up at him.

“Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah. We have tapes and CDs. Have a bunch of random stuff. You wanna take a look through it all?” Steve’s eyes were wide. He shoved his glasses back on, following Billy to the display.

They were sitting on the ground, going through the selection Billy had, Steve had found two of the books he needed for his philosophy class.

“Billy I’m heading out-” Robin stopped when she saw the two of them, sitting in a sea of tapes and CDs. “You do know we closed, like half an hour ago.”

“Holy shit. Seriously? Why didn’t you tell me to go! I would’ve gotten outta your hair.”

“Relax, Pretty Boy. I don’t mind stickin’ around. Don’t got much else goin’ on.” Robin was watching them with a smug look on her face, sitting in one hip.

“No I have to, I should go. I’ll, um, I’ll come back for these tomorrow.” He pressed the few he had selected into Billy’s hand, gripping his upper arm. “Thank you, Billy. It really means a lot to me.” He gave him a sweet smile, threw Robin a two-finger salute as he hefted his backpack, leaving the shop with a jingle.

Robin slapped Billy’s arm.

“He’s so hot for you, and you’re practically in love with him too, this is disgusting and gay.”

“Robin no homophobia in my store, please.” She laughed at him as they locked up, Billy cleaning up the mess of audiobooks.

-

“Hi, I brought you this.” Steve was wearing a soft sweater under a pair of overalls. He looked so soft and Billy wanted to cuddle him.

He was currently pushing a plastic container full of chocolate chip cookies over the counter.

“I wanted to say thank you for helping me last night, and I know there’s straight up a cafe that sells these in the back, and you could probably eat as many as you like because you own the whole place, but I thought it’d be nice and I bake when I’m stressed and ramble when I’m nervous, if you couldn’t already tell, but you’re really nice and I just wanted to do something nice for you, and I’m gonna shut the fuck up if you don’t mind.” He was bright red, his eyes darting around the shop, looking everywhere but at Billy.

“Thank you, Sweet Thing.” He took a cookie, taking a big bite out of it. “And I got your audiobooks on hold.” Steve giggled when Billy talked with his mouth full of cookie, rifling through his wallet to get cash for the CDs. “Your midterm was today, right?”

“Oh, yeah. I, you remembered.”

“You told me last night.” Steve shrugged.

“Sometimes people kinda tune me out.” Billy frowned, opened his mouth to say something in rebuttle but Steve plowed on. “I had the test today. I think it was okay, but it always goes either way with me. Sometimes I feel super good about it afterwards, but then I’ll straight up fail and sometimes it goes the other way, so I’m hoping ambivalence is key.”

“I think that sounds like a valid plan. Just keep your mind off it.”

“You read anything good lately.” Billy just gave him a look.

“Take in where we are, then get back to me.”

“I mean, you probably read a lot, but have you read anything good lately?”

“Define good.” Steve shrugged. One of the straps on his overalls fell off his shoulder. It was so cute.

“Like, engaging content.”

“That’s a pretty low bar.”

“Well, I know you probably read like, super smart stuff that goes way over my head. If we were talking about novels I would say, engaging plot, interesting rounded characters, all that shit, but you probably read, like, I don’t even fucking know.”

“I’m gonna let you in on my best kept secret.” He leaned into the counter a little. Steve’s eyes were bright as he leaned over the counter, shoving his nose right into Billy’s space. “I’m a sucker for classics.” Steve had this cute little half smile on his face.

“Like, Moby Dick?”

“Jesus, no. Nobody actually likes that book. I mean like, Pride & Prejudice and Emma and Wuthering Heights and Don Quixote.”

“I think I’ve heard of like, two of those.” He gasped a little, his eyebrows going up. “I have an idea! Would you recommend me audio books? Of all your favorites? I want to be able to like, talk about them with you.” His eyes were shining and bright, so excited to share these books with Billy, these books that mean the world to Billy.

“Sure thing, Pretty Boy. I’ll pick a new one out for you every week or so.” Steve hoped from foot to foot, wiggling and excited.

“I wanna do that! WE can have our own little bookclub. It’ll be so fun, we can like talk about your favorite books, and I’ll actually get it because I won’t have to be, like, translating the fucking wiggly words.” He was crackling with energy over this idea, it was making Billy excited.

And then Steve’s phone started going off in the chest pocket of the overalls. When he took it out Billy caught a glimpse of the name Nance.

“Sorry, this is my ex-girlfriend.” He smiled at Billy who’s heart dropped. “But I’ll be back tomorrow, if you wanna have a book ready for me!” He pushed the cookies closer to Billy with a Look, answering the phone as he awkwardly pushed open the door with his back, and a little hey, Nance!

“How was your boyfriend today?”

“Straight. He’s fucking straight.” Robin furrowed her brows.

“Sorry, there’s no way that boy is completely  straight.”

“He got a call from his ex-girlfriend. He’s fucking straight, and we’re gonna start a stupid bookclub thing because he wants to read my favorite books and he’s fucking straight.” Billy shoved the cookies away from him, taking up on of the heavy boxes of book donations, heaving it to be shelved.

Robin followed him to the stacks.

“Just because he had an ex-girlfriend doesn’t mean he’s straight, Billy. He could be bi, or pan, or fluid, or literally anything.” Billy just ignored he, kept shoving the new arrivals away. She sighed at his back. “Okay, asshole. Give him some queer book, like Orlando and see what he says about it.” Robin tromped away when Billy refused to answer.

-

Steve tripped on the door frame the next day.

He spilled out hard on the floor, smacking his chin and spilling paper. It was so fucking funny, but Billy stifled his laugh, and helped Steve up. His face was red, the flush spreading down his neck.

He took one look at Billy when he stood up, and walked right back out the door.

-

He gathered up the courage to come back in three days later.

“Watch yourself there, Pretty Boy.” Steve’s face went hot again.

“I’m so sorry about that. I was so fucking embarrassed, I had to go have a panic attack for like, six hours after that.” He gave a shaky little laugh. “I believe I was promised an audiobook?” Billy took it out from under the counter.

“Maurice, by E.M. Forster. It’s a gay classic about coming of age, and having to live in the closet, and being in love. It’s excellent.”

“Sounds like my fuckin’ life.” Billy stared as Steve just read the snippet on the back of the box.

“You gay?”

“Pan.” Steve said it easily, didn’t even look up from reading the box. Billy can hear Robin gloating in his head, saying that she’s right.

“Cool.” Steve gave him a weird look.

“You’re being weird.” Billy shrugged. Steve glanced at the large pride flag hanging in the window of the store, looking back at Billy with one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, I’m a big ol’ homo. I’m really not being weird. I just didn’t know.” Steve reached out to push his shoulder.

“I’m kidding, Bill! Quit bein’ so grumpy.” Billy couldn’t help but smile when Steve was looking at him like that, was giggling at him like that.

-

When Steve finished the audiobook, they talked about it over hot tea after closing.

That became their ritual, Steve would get a book recommendation, would finish it in about four days, he’d stay after closing an they’d talk. The next day, he’d get a new one.

They began talking about more than just the books.

Steve was an incredibly easy person to talk to. Something about his big eyes made Billy want to open, to share his past.

He told Steve about his dad, just the tip of the iceberg, just the basic he’s a homophobic asshole. But then Steve told him he’d been kicked out of his house at eighteen, so Billy told him his father was physically abusive, and before he fucking knew it, they were both tearing up and connecting.

“Who’re you texting?” Robin snatched his phone, dancing out of his reach as she scrolled through the texts between him and Steve. “Oh my God, are you sure you two aren’t dating.” He ripped his phone out of her hands.

“Shut up, Robin.” He stormed to the back office, his refuge whenever Robin started bugging him.

“No. You two have been doing this dance for months. You two have your own special bookclub. You need to ask him out.”

“I just don’t wanna assume anything and fuck up this friendship. I don’t have very many friends, and i don’t wanna lose him. Just because he’s into guys doesn’t mean he’s into me.”

“Billy you’re hot. And me, a whole lesbian, telling you that means it’s true. I’ve seen the way he is around you. Remember when he fucking fell and had to leave immediately? He’s so hot for you and nervous rambles all the time. If you asked him out he would say yes.”

But Billy never actually got a chance to ask him out.

The same night Robin was bugging him Steve came slamming roughly into the shop.

“You okay?” Steve was quiet, something Billy had never seen in him.

“Just a bad day.” He sipped at the tea Billy had placed in front of him.

“You wanna talk about it?” Billy said at the exact same moment Steve looked right at Billy as said.

“You wanna go on a date with me?”

“Sorry, what did-” Billy ears were ringing.

“No, I didn’t say anything.” Steve was looking everywhere but Billy.

“No you asked me out.” He took a breath.

“Look, I really like you. Like a whole lot. And today was shit and the whole time I just kept thinking about how I wanted to see you, and talk to you about it, and I knew just walking in here and looking at you would make the whole awful day that much fucking better and I just wanna go on a date. With you.”

Billy’s mouth was open.

“Holy shit.” Steve was steadily going even more red.

“I’m sorry if I just fucked up this whole thing we had goin’ on-”

“No, I wanna go out with you. I really like you too.” Steve was still, and then he started wiggling, that excited little side to side he does.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Steve stood up, shaking and wiggling in the cutest little happy dance Billy has ever fucking seen.

“Oh my God. I’ve wanted to ask you out for like, months. I’m so excited.” He flopped back into his seat. “Okay but first, Animal Farm. I think the pig’s an asshole.”

Billy leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Steve’s cheek.

[dopescotlandwarrior]

The Dancer-Chapter Six

                              A special thanks to @statell​ for all your help

Previous chapters on AO3

Chapter Six

Claire stared out the windshield, straight ahead, and felt a bomb go off in her stomach. Maybe she heard John’s question wrong. Yes, that is what happened. She is so filled with guilt about all this, she is hearing it from others. Take a deep breath, she told herself, and ask the man what he said.

“What? Sorry, I didn’t hear your question, John.”

“For some reason, he doesn’t see it and I wonder why wouldn’t he? Especially when he obviously likes you both.”

“Did he say that? I mean, does he like someone else. Who are you talking about?”

John watched the normally calm, centered Claire almost meltdown right next to him. She could hardly drive at the moment and he obviously chose the most dangerous time to ask her about this. He had not thought this through, especially Claire’s feelings and fears apparently.

“Oh look, my favorite bar. Pull in and let me buy you a nightcap for all the trouble I’ve been lately.”

He did not have to ask twice. Claire turned into the bar like a practiced Nascar driver, jumping out with the motor still running. John reached over and twisted the key feeling worse about how shaken she was.

Claire reached for the shot glass full of whisky before the bartender could set it down in front of her. Her coughing and sputtering did not stop the man from hearing “another” and he promptly added another shot.

John cleared his throat seeing a side of Claire he would never expect. The girl was positively scared shitless and seemed so vulnerable. He signaled to the bartender to stop bringing shots and tried to calm his friend down. He took her hand.

“Jesus Claire! I am holding an ice hand…that vibrates! Please dear, you know I love you and would never hurt you. Not ever. Your life is your business and I’m sure you have the situation well in hand.”

Claire lifted her miserable face to John like he was a babbling idiot. She looked for the bartender who was suddenly speaking with other patrons. She exhaled like the condemned and stared at the floor.

“I wish I could hate him again. What he did to me was just a speed bump in life and I turned into something personal and wanted to hurt him back. As viciously as possible.”

“So you danced for him and saw that he liked it, then you continued dancing for him, do I have that right, Claire?”

“I was so mean to him for months, I’m so ashamed about that.”

John was struggling to understand what she did that she felt shame for.

“What on earth did you do to him?”

Claire looked at John like she would give anything not to tell him because she couldn’t believe it herself. She had put the situation out of her mind when she couldn’t deal with it anymore.

“We are all capable of unspeakable actions against a person or, or a thing that hurts us. But then he tricked me with a fake book club and his sister Jenny helped him. We had a coffee and I didn’t hate him anymore. He explained why he built a huge bookstore on my street and shut my business down. It was too late to tell him because he would hate me then.”

John shook his head like a bug had flown into his ear and raised his hand for the bartender. He rubbed Claire’s hand to warm it up and waited the three seconds for her to enjoy her drink. He tried to think of terrible things this spit of a girl could do to Jamie. Have him beaten up in the parking lot, that would require too many people. Key his truck or spray paint profanity on it, the image of hot pink lettering “you are a bad man!” came to mind and he almost spit his whisky on the bar holding back laughter. He finally looked at her and asked the simple question.

“What pray tell did you do to him?”

“I danced for him, to him, seduced him and then shunned him. Pulled him in with my hips and arms and then turned my back on him and bowed to everyone else in the audience, like he wasn’t there. I never spoke to him or acknowledged him even though he sent tips, large tips, every night he was there.”

She looked at John and straightened her back, holding her head up in defiance to his judgment.

John giggled at her posture, so cute with her nose in the air and all…wait a tick, he thought.

“I dare say I have seen your bow and figured Omar must charge extra for the privilege of seeing it from behind. If I am to undo this evil you have perpetrated on dear Jamie, you must get to the good part so I can assess the damage you have done.”

John gave her an encouraging look to push her along and she stared at him wide-eyed and confused.

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking.”

“Ah…” John stared at her, mouth open to finish his sentence but his brain finally locked onto the horrific truth of what Claire had done to Jamie. She made herself beautiful, seduced him with her amazing body and dance and then shunned him by bowing to everyone in the crowd except him.

“Oh…sweet girl, for what it will cost you, in the end, I sure hope he even noticed. I rather doubt it.”

John prided himself on helping people with their insurmountable problems, he was very good at that, but Claire’s problem would require some dedicated thought. He suggested he drive her home, or they could sleep off the alcohol in her cold vehicle.

Claire promised she was fine to drive when she pulled up at his apartment complex.

“Well, you are certainly too drunk to know you’re too drunk to drive so please go straight home because I do love you dear one.”

Claire was tired of listening, so she pulled away with John jumping from the car and crossing himself. She didn’t remember doing this the next day, but she did remember that John knows about her double life and that was enough to push her back to the blackness for another couple hours.

Pounding on the door brought Claire up to consciousness and she jumped out of bed grabbing her robe. The pounding was ferociously loud making her heart pound. She unlocked the door and Madu pushed it open in a fit of rage. He stopped and looked at the floor taking deep breaths, when he turned around, he handed her his phone. There was a video cued and she could see it was her.

“Play it, Claire.”

She touched the screen to start the video and recognized it was her last dance for Jamie, the night of Omar’s promotion. The video had gone viral and there were already over a million hits. It was a very good quality video and Jamie’s face was clear, as was hers. Jamie blushed when she kissed him, every time, at one point she did rapid hip lifts bending backward and then kissed his cheek, skipping quickly to another section smiling like an angel and batting her eyes. His blush and surprised face along with her angelic facial expressions made everyone laugh. What was so terrible about that?

Madu looked like a snorting bull standing still. He glared at her and asked for an explanation. Claire barely had the energy to keep her eyes open let alone argue with him.

“My second dance on promotion night. That man is a friend, so it was safe to tease him and looks like the crowd loved it. Oh, look at that, it’s gone viral so now gobs of people will feel good watching it.”

Claire was getting crankier by the minute. Her life was in the shitter and an egotistical Egyptian wanted her to kiss his ass and placate him. She wanted to stay in bed and mourn the loss of her secret life. She handed his phone back and pulled her own out of her purse. She snapped a picture of Madu and sent it to Geillis asking for assistance. It was Sunday so she was home, or in a shop, or having coffee with someone, enjoying her uncomplicated life. Claire walked back to her bedroom hearing Madu complain some more.

“I’ve called for a referee Madu. We can fight when she gets here.” Her slamming door gave a more accurate gauge of her anger and it made her jump. She pulled the covers over her head, and closed her eyes, remembering every second of her time with Jamie. She made a mess of things and now she couldn’t see a way out.

She thought about the last time she was with him, how he lost his control with sexual energy and sent her into orbit, nearly cried afterward from his fervor. How long could she keep up this pretense of not speaking English? He is so free, so sexual with the dancer and just the opposite with her.

Claire remembered Jamie reading to her. His amazing voice and authentic burr transported her to the hill outside Lallybroch almost three hundred years ago. The young soldier’s depiction of returning to his loving family had crushed her heart creating a fountain of emotion she hadn’t planned on showing. She saw the change in Jamie’s face when he sat next to her and felt the electric jolt of knowing he intended to kiss her.

That could not happen. Not now, not ever. He would know straight away who she was if he ever got her naked. Her false eyelashes and wigs could not camouflage her hairless body or the moles on her back. She sank into her lavish bedding wanting to run away.

“Claire, wake up lass. It’s time to go to work. I calmed the savage beast in Madu to the point he apologized to ye. The man felt left out of your success is all. He thinks ye don’t appreciate what he’s done for ye and I set him straight on that. What happened to make ye stay in bed all day lass?”

“I’ve made a mess of everything Geillis, and see no way out. Jamie has feelings for me and the dancer. He thinks the dancer can’t speak English and if I let him get close to the real me, he will want to know where I live and what I do for a living.”

Claire exhaled a long sad breath, “I wish we had time for him to choose.”

“Why is that so important to ye. Sounds like he wants ye both and I canna see a flaw in that.”

“I’m not her Geillis. Being loved by a man means he chooses you over all the others, right?”

“That’s one way to see it I suppose, as long as I dinna have to do it. That was a joke, Claire, tryin to cheer ye up is all. Ye look as sad I’ve ever seen ye, even though yer the talk of the internet, and ye just made Omar a rich and happy man.”

Geillis was quiet while Claire showered. She thought about each of her worries and suddenly the answers materialized in her mind while her smile grew. When Claire shivered into her fluffy robe, the look on Geillis’s face had changed dramatically. Claire took a double take and sat down to pull a comb through her hair.

“Out with it Geillis, what are you thinking about?”

“I have a plan to buy ye some time so the handsome Jamie can court ye, fall in love, and choose the fair Claire over all the others, including the dancer. First, where ye live. Ye bring him here because you house sit for people that are away on long trips…and work for a service that places ye with people.” Geillis snapped her fingers in the air as she thought about each new layer, building a fake life for her friend. I dinna know how to explain the mirrors but we’ll think of something.”

Claire was looking bored, but Geillis noticed she was leaning forward. A true sign of interest.

“This next part will take some bravery and yer shirt must stay on for at least a week. Ye need those moles removed anyway, so do it now. And get a tattoo that looks like a birthmark. Somethin to distinguish ye from the dancer Claire.”

“When I change one, I change the other Geillis. Why can’t the dancer leave town on a family emergency? I can just take her out of the equation.”

“Yer star is risin Claire, this isna the time to disappear.”

“Fortunately, I have never aspired to a career in belly dancing. But I have dreamed of a fine man falling in love with me and giving me a family. I do not see a good fit for belly dancing anywhere in that fantasy.”

“Ye know ye’re breakin my heart here Claire. Ye think that button ratio, whatever you call it, is given to just anybody?”

“Button to hip ratio also called an hourglass figure. Mine is really good for belly dancing and it might make other people happy, but not me.”

Claire’s mind was starting to speed up as each of her fears was set aside with their planning. She started thinking she could really pull this off and have a blissful month to herself, to be completely selfish to spend time with Jamie. She knew at the end of this time she would tell him the truth about everything, but for now, she could live her dream if he really wanted her.

The thunder cracked and lightning flashed above the streets of Edinburgh as Claire drove home. The rain was falling in sheets as she ran to her door and tumbled inside shaking the water off her hair and hands. Coming out of the bathroom she pulled a towel on her head and when someone pulled it off, she almost fainted with fear.

“Jesus H. Christ, Madu! Are you trying to kill me with a heart attack? What the hell are you doing here anyway?”

“I would rather be warm in my bed, with my neighbor, but Omar sent me to speak with you about wanting to take a month off. He is very upset Claire.”

Madu was popping grapes in his mouth while he talked and took a bite of a large cheese wedge, looking at Claire for an explanation.

“Are those my grapes Madu?”

“I don’t know I found them in the frig.”

“That means they are mine, just like the key that I accidentally gave you and I want it back please.”

“Omar is afraid he has done something, and you are not coming back.”

Claire looked up at her best friend and mentor and exhaled her frustration.

“Please sit with me a minute Madu. I want to tell you what I’m doing. You deserve to know now that you’ve invested so much time in me.”

Claire dropped into a chair opposite Madu and started talking, starting with her life as an orphan at five years old, living in the jungle for the next eleven years with her uncle Lamb, and stumbling into his cousin's dance studio at sixteen years old. She described being shunned by the girls at school and feeling accepted and gifted by his cousin.

Madu walked into the kitchen to get more grapes and told her to continue while she rolled her eyes.

She told him about Jamie, the bookstore, her crippling anxiety, meeting Geillis, and dancing as if her life depended on it because it did. Her revenge against Jamie, his obsession with her, and how they became friends, and for the dancer, lovers. She had fallen in love with him and wanted this one chance to let someone love her back, as herself.

Madu was shaking his head side to side, looking at her with tears welling up.

“You have mortally wounded him already Claire, he just does not know it yet. He will not be able to forgive your deceit. You know this, right?”

“It’s a possible outcome I suppose.”

“Thank you, Claire, for making me understand. I will help however I can and help Omar relax. If I cannot talk you out of this plan.”

“You can’t and thank you. Come with me, can you help me with this?”

Claire opened the door to the second bedroom and Madu started backing up. There were racks of costumes from one side to the other along with boxes and bags full of wigs, headpieces, hip scarves, armbands, and jewelry.

“If I rent a storage unit tomorrow can you help me move all this?”

Madu shook his head yes and walked to the door. He kissed her cheek and closed the door behind him. Claire smiled with relief that Madu accepted her explanation and would help her get ready.

It was three o’clock in the morning when Claire fell into bed. She would wake up a free woman, to do what she wanted for the next thirty days. She shivered with excitement as the thunder rolled and rain slashed her windows.

Jamie rolled out of Lallybroch the day after Easter and headed back to his project in Glasgow. For this trip, it was mostly Claire who stayed in his mind as he replayed his day with her, all her expressions, and reactions to everything Lallybroch. He had not been to the restaurant over the weekend, nor had it been hard to stay away. He knew the little dancer would be there and he could touch her again once he figured out his current fixation with another woman, her polar opposite.

Monday morning was the start of another brutal week for Jamie and he felt an uncharacteristic reluctance to get out of bed. The project had been problematic from the start and he had grown weary of the constant struggle. On his way to the shower, he glanced at his phone and stopped in his tracks to read a text message from Claire. She was coming to Glasgow for work tomorrow and wondered if she could stop by the job site and see him. He quickly told her to come anytime and stay as long as possible, he would show her around. Getting the rest of the way to the shower was a piece of cake.

Claire spent Monday getting her hair straightened and cut by Joseph who kindly made room in his schedule so he could complain about Geillis, or the lack of Geillis. The poor man had fallen in love with the emerald green eyes and fiery soul of her friend.

When Claire could get away, she ran through a few of her favorite dress shops to add to her woefully sparse warm-weather wardrobe. There were so many pretty colors and gorgeous fabrics for spring and she dropped the bags on her studio floor and started to strip off her clothes just as Madu came out of the kitchen.

“God Damit Madu, you almost saw me naked, and what are you doing here this time?”

Madu was bent at the waist, trying to cough up a piece of chicken he inhaled when she surprised him. Claire beat on his back until he could breathe again and turned angry eyes on him.

“You said take your clothes away today and that is why I am here but where do I take them, Claire?”

She showed him her sorry face and patted his cheek before marching him into the spare room. Thirty minutes later Madu pulled out of her parking lot, buried in veils that caught the wind from his open window and flew in front of his face. Claire exhaled and hoped he could drive blind, then dashed inside to try her clothes on while she had the time.

Claire’s heart was racing as she parked close to the partially erected building with men running around like ants. When she walked to the construction zone she was stopped while someone called Jamie. He walked up behind her and when she saw his face the bottom of her stomach fell out making her feel fabulously queasy and hopelessly in love.

“Everyone is so busy here I feel bad for intruding.”

Jamie gave her a warm hug that lasted a deliciously long time and then looked at her with excited eyes.

“Come Sassenach, let me show ye this cursed project.”

Claire enjoyed the grand tour hearing the daily issues that had plagued Jamie since the beginning. When she would turn her head in the direction he pointed, he feasted on her curves and long legs from behind. Her hair was a bouncy bob that he wanted to lose his fingers in. They climbed into his truck and headed for Cafe Nero for Italian coffee and lunch, outside on the patio.

Jamie stared a lot and Claire blushed a lot, both enjoying their time thoroughly. On the way back Jamie swung onto a side street and parked along the curb, then held his hand out for Claire.

“I’m countin on this to bring me buckets of sympathy for the next several months.”

They walked along an uneven stone path behind a large home that led to the backyard and a small stand-alone house, where Jamie lived. He gave her the tour of his rented home while standing still, Claire laughed at his pitiful face and stuck out lower lip.

“When I was sad as a wee lad my mam would give me a kiss, but she isna here.” He moved next to Claire. “Ye are here Claire,” he whispered.

When she looked up at him, she was hyper-aware of every second it took him to make contact with her lips and felt an explosion of happiness, excitement, and arousal as the kiss deepened. Her arms went around his neck and she leaned into him as he walked her backward to his sofa. She couldn’t stop kissing him and wrapped her arms around him feeling the body she missed so much.

Jamie could feel her deep breathing, he felt her tongue inside his mouth, and when he kissed her neck, he felt her back arch and heard her moan. That means go, he decided and touched her stomach inching his way to her breast. Pieceonearth2020!Claire was so lost in the moment she wasn’t thinking about where this would lead until his warm hand covered her breast and he moaned.

“Oh my God! I am late for an appointment Jamie!” She scrambled out from under him and headed for the door, quite sure he would never invite her again.

He wrapped his arm around her neck pulling her to him and kissed the top of her head while he laughed and walked her to the truck. Claire was mortified and wanted to disappear. She had come perilously close to ending her magic month on the first day. How could she forget who she was with her clothes off, the dancer, who Jamie knew intimately? She needed to fix this quickly and arrange a do-over if he would even bother with her again.

“Ye look like ye want to murder yerself Sassenach,” said through giggles. “Come over here, just slide across the seat so yer right next to me, that’s a good lass.” At the next traffic stop, he put his mouth to her ear and whispered, “I can wait lass, so ye need to smile for me.”

Claire had not stopped blushing since her physical explosion on the couch, but she smiled and felt much better from what he said. There would be a second day of her magical month and this time she would think every step through.

The men were calling Jamie’s name as soon as they pulled in and Claire bid him goodbye so he could get back to work. Halfway home to Edinburgh she stopped shaking and ten minutes from home Jamie sent a text.

“I love kissin ye lass because yer so pretty and sweet. I promise my best behavior next time. Please make it soon.”

Claire smiled so hard her cheeks hurt. She pulled over and called a dermatologist who got her right in. An hour later she got back in the car and called Geillis.

“The moles are gone.”

“What moles? Oh, yer moles are gone! So, ready for a tattoo birthmark then?”

“Where should I put it?”

“I’ll come over tonight and we can decide.”

“Too late, I’m here at the tattoo place.”

“Jesus Claire, what’s got into ye?”

“I have no time to waste. So where do I put it and what should it look like?”

A very large man came to the front and called Claire’s name. He wore leather everything with a long ponytail and long scruffy beard. Claire looked up hoping he didn’t lure people in to eat them and stood on wobbly legs.

She explained she needed a birthmark somewhere easily concealed by her work clothes. He pointed to her calf, her stomach, back, and thigh, finally asking her what she wore to work.

“Not much actually. How about near my hairline on the back of my neck? Small, about an inch at the most.”

The big man looked closely at her and busted out laughing. “I never figured ye for a criminal. Okay, I’ll have ye done in ten minutes.”

Claire found the experience intensely uncomfortable and walked to her car with her back burning and her neck throbbing. When she stumbled into the house Madu was asleep on the couch with cartoons on the television. Claire felt her volcanic ire bubbling up and decided, fuck it, and went to bed.

Geillis told her the skin was healing nicely on her back and neck after inspecting the areas giggling. “A few more days should do it.”

Claire laid in her bed that night, a complete mess after what Jamie started and couldn’t finish. He had sent her one or two text messages each day and invited her to Lallybroch for the weekend to relax and play with puppies. She couldn’t wait.

Claire ran for her phone on Friday afternoon, thrilled to see it was Jamie.

“I’m about to ride through Edinburgh and want to pick ye up. What’s yer address mo chridhe.”

She looked around at Madu on the couch in his cut off shorts, eating something out of her frig.

“Ah, that would be lovely, good timing too.” As she hoisted Madu to a standing position and pushed him toward the door.

When the doorbell rang Claire stood frozen for a moment. Jamie, her love, was on the other side of the door and for once she didn’t have to hesitate or lie, just be Claire. She exhaled and opened the door.

“Wow, I’d say ye landed on yer feet Sassenach, this place is amazing and ye have a room that’s empty?”

“It’s not my empty room, or house actually. I work for a service that places me in homes where the owner will be away and wants someone living there. This place belongs to some guy who travels most of the time.

Jamie stuck his head in the master bedroom. “He has flowers on his bedspread Sassenach.”

“I am so ready, let's go.”

Before they were out the door Jamie stopped her with a serious face. “Sassenach, I have to tell ye that Jenny is away with friends this weekend for a weddin. She willna be there but I promise ye will have a lovely room to sleep in and I will show ye places that will make ye happy. There is so much to see. Please, trust me, I willna make ye uncomfortable, I promise.”

Claire almost cried at the look in his eyes while simultaneously doing summer-salts in her mind.

“We have the whole place to ourselves! Let’s go!”

When the truck rolled out of town Jamie looked at the seat beside him and then at Claire and then back to the seat beside him. Claire slid over and laughed at his boyish charm. Jamie pointed out places along the way that had significance in his life and Claire felt a thrill when Lallybroch came into view.

Jamie carried the bags into the living room hearing Claire squeal happily in the kitchen.

“We have to feed the animals is what the note says.” She started jumping up and down with excitement and Jamie smiled at how cute she was. He held his arm toward the door for her to lead the way. As she passed him things changed in his world, never to be the same again.

“I really love baby animals, it’s the only thing in the world that would push my intention to seduce you to a later time.”

Her perfume wafted in her wake and Jamie followed like a possessed man. For the next hour, Claire was in puppy and kid heaven and Jamie quietly watched with a hungry smile on his face. In his mind he practiced telling her kissing was enough. She needn’t force herself to do anything she wasna ready for. He felt like he was ready for a chaste weekend where they would talk and get to know each other better. He took a deep breath.

“Done!”

Claire held her arms out and her smile was triumphant. “All babies fed and in their beds.”

Jamie pulled her happiness toward him and suggested finding something interesting to eat for supper.

“Supper? Well…alright, I guess I can wait another hour.” When she looked up at Jamie her smoldering eyes told him exactly what she was waiting for before she laughed and sprinted to the house.

Jamie stared after her with a blank look on his face. “Ye mean to kill me with those eyes temptress. What’s gotten into ye lass?”

Jamie noticed Claire was out of sight and there was no one else there. He was alone in his stupor and it was getting dark with a questionable night ahead. His feet started moving.

[surrealsunday]

Hi Jaime, its the bookstore anon that disappeared into thin air! Long time no speak! I’m sorry it took me so long to write this but we went back into lockdown and I’ve been meaning to write to you for a tiny update (we went into lockdown before she even finished the first chapter) but I really struggled with just being online, so I didn’t want to bother you unless I could give you full details. Like I said we went into lockdown and I couldn’t see Faye for what felt like a lifetime. BUT Life was on my side for once because I was able to see her and she dragged me to her house so we could sit outside and talk about Mood Tattoo. She was so excited to talk to me about it. *gets ready to copy paste everything from notes app so sorry if it makes zero sense😩* She read it twice because it took so long to see her. She was able to print it halfway through though so she’s very happy about that because she once again made sure to put notes everywhere and highlight stuff she liked. She said she was pleasantly surprised that it was from Eliotts pov and that at first it threw her off because she got so used of Lucas being an idiot😂 but she said, she really enjoyed the different side of story and to learn about Eliott more and his way of feeling/thinking. She really liked that you put Manon and Idriss together again 😂 and she was very happy that she didn’t have to put up with Charles. She also said “i had a feeling I was going to hte Lucas’ father but my gosh I wish I could smack that bastard” and oh my god she got HEATED because of Moreau, holy crap I thought the neighbors would come out to tell her to shut up. “Oh that fucking old geezer what a waste of space! No wonder him and Lucas’ dad are friends! A moron always befriends a moron!!” It was as funny as concerning because i hd to remind her it was fiction but JAIME I WAS NOT READY FOR THIS WOMAN TO LOOK AT ME AND SAY “well, my love for Lucas is not fiction so i am MAD” she got up, walked inside and came out with a tea and then went “but my god, did I enjoy Eliott! And the way she wrote him! I love him even more now!” 😂😂 she also said she cried when she learned about Lucas’ mom and him reading to the kids, said that Marty thought something terrible happened 😩 (i dont know how this app is still letting me type so out of safety, ill send part 2)

Part 2, i really hope this goes through! So she told me to specifically tell you, that she really enjoy this so much and most importantly that it made this second lockdown way easier to deal with and that she talked about it to Marty like crazy! She really loved the different side of Lucas and how she got to learn more about him through Eliott and with Eliott. She said she enjoyed watching Eliott fall in love and how amazing it made her feel. And now the important part of the notes app “OH MY SWEETS!!! LET ME NOT FORGET! HOW DID YOU LET ME RAMBLE FOR SO LONG BEFORE THE MOST IMPORTANT PART! THE TATTOOS! THE TATTOOS!!!!!!!! SWEET BABY JESUS! I really liked those! (she started laughing really hard and then went) i REALLY liked the tattoos! How did she do that?” And i explained that with a lot of hard work on photoshop and she went “god bless her soul for that!” 😂 she did mention to me to tell you that the ending made her cry as well. And that when she realized they traveled to Japan she had to take a minute because she started crying 🥺 and she said “AND THE PROPOSAL!! I SCREAMED LIKE CRAZY! I BAWLED MY EYES OUT AND COULDNT SEE WHAT I WAS READING SO I HAD TO READ IT AGAIN AND I KEPT CRYING MORE!” She once again told me at the end to tell you “that i really enjoyed myself reading these! It made me feel so happy and carefree during this horrible time we afe having right now. It made me smile and it made me laugh so hard my belly hurt at some points and the tears I cried when I finished it were absolutely crazy. I hope i read something from her again! Tell her I will wait for the day she decides to write again and I already know I’ll love it just as much.” Oh and btw the best part was when we were talking about something else and halfway through she gets this look of horror and goes “see! I completely blocked it out memory! But that punk Jeremy! With his weird threesomes! Every time he came on in the story i went fucking hell jeremy! I hate that kid.” 😂 so yeah, this is all😂 I’m sorry it took long, in my defense we only saw eachother like 2-3 weeks ago? 🥺 i really hope you get all this, i guess tumblt updated the app with character limit 

Bookstore anon!!! I’m sorry for taking a while to get back to you. I didn’t check messages this week because I was stressed. But this was the absolute BEST message to come back to! 

I am 🥺🥺🥺 over you getting together with Faye to talk Mood Tattoo omg. The way I wish I could be there with you both!!! But this is absolutely the next best thing and I ADORE YOU for taking notes and giving me all the details. And she hated Moreau so much because of how much she loves Lucas! How very valid! I love her!!! And she loved the tattoos?!!! YAYYYY!!! hahahahaah. I’m so glad she did. I (obviously) really loved including that detail too! All her thoughts and comments are just ahhhhh so perfect and just what I would want from a reader. I love it. 

I really can’t tell you the joy hearing all of this brings me. Like if you guys think the stories give you a happy spot in the midst of so much real-world shit, these messages are x100 that for me. I’m emotional just reading this. You and Faye are my favourites. I love you both and I love her comments so much omg adfjaskdf. So thank you thank you thank you. It’s been a weird and super stressful week and now I am just grinning from ear to ear. Please give Faye all my love, and take care of yourself during lockdown. I send you all the love and hugs. 

(And bless tumblr for not fucking it up and actually delivering these messages in their entirety!) 

💖💖💖💖

[kilibaggins]

Only Each Other

hiya !! u probably have alot of other request, but i’d really like to see a fluffy murph/bell oneshot. maybe that its christmas and they cuddle with alot of blankets and hot chocolate and stuff ;)

A/N: Love this idea. This literally sprung me to make a whole AU idea lol

Warning: Fluff, nsfw jokes 

“Bellamy, I’m cold! Come here and shut up!” Murphy yells from his little cocoon of blankets. He’s absolutely freezing and he has been all night. He’s been curled up for hours but he still doesn’t have luck warming up. Bellamy bangs a pot loudly, obviously making more noise just to annoy Murphy. “You’re so childish. Who’s the younger one in this relationship again?” Murphy yells out, smirking softly. Bellamy bangs the pot even louder against the counter causing Murphy to laugh. Murphy waits a few minutes hoping maybe Bellamy would change hi smind, and strut in here with his solid body of warmth. But after about 4 minutes of waiting he gets up, whining. He keeps the blankets wrapped around him and he shuffles out their bedroom door and down the cold hallway to the kitchen. He hears Bellamy softly murmuring to himself as he walks into the kitchen. Bellamy grabs chocolate chips and Murphy watches with narrowed eyes as Bellamy pours a bunch in. This peaks Murphy’s interest so he walks closer and tries to look into the pan. Bellamy turns to him and wags a finger. 

“Nope! It’s a surprise! Go sit!” Bellamy says gesturing vaguely over at the table. Murphy pouts again and grumbles as he walks over to the table, sitting in one of the kitchen chairs. He makes sure the blankets are still wrapped around him tightly before he Crosses his arms and lays his head in them. He must have fallen asleep, because he’s being shaken softly awake by Bellamy and when he looks up he sees Bellamy waving around a couple mugs. Murphy narrows his eyes in suspicion. 

“What’s in the cups?” Murphy asks sitting up and glaring at the mugs. Bellamy laughs softly and shakes his head.

“What, do you think I'm poisoning you?” Bellamy asks, still laughing softly. Murphy tries to look inside the mugs, but Bellamy moves them away quickly. He gestures towards the living room and Murphy goes towards it. When Murphy walks in his eyes widen at how beautiful it is. A gran christmas tree is in the corner, and presents are stacked underneath it. He looks around and sees lights strone up and around the room, and his eyes widen. He looks to the center of the room and squeals softly seeing the diy fort made up in the middle. He runs over to it, and opens it, looking inside to see snacks, comic books, Bellamy’s laptop, Huge stacks of pillows, Some of the papers Bellamy needs to grade, a stack of Books near the back, and a bottle of wine. Murphy pulls his head from inside the fort and looks at Bellamy with wide eyes, and his mouth is in an ‘O’ shape as he looks at him. Bellamy chuckles softly and slowly climbs in, Mugs still in hand. He moves himself back until he can lean on the pillows he has stacked up. He smiles softly at Murphy’ childlike face. 

“Come here. Cuddle with me, and watch Supernatural with me.” Bellamy says, putting down the mugs and grabbing his laptop that is also in the mess of goods. Murphy feels his eyes tear up as he looks at everything. He gasps in a breath as Bellamy looks at him in concern. He crawls forward and Grabs Murphy’s hand.

“Baby, are you okay?” Bellamy asks softly. Murphy nods and basically tackles Bellamy down onto the blankets strone on the floor. Bellamy hugs him and rubs his back as Murphy softly cries into Bellamy's shoulder. 

“Nobody has ever done something like this for me before.” He cries, pulling away and looking down at Bellamy’s smiling face. Bellamy reches up and tucks a strand of Murphy’s hair behind his ear. 

“You deserve it. I know you don’t believe in God, and Jesus, and Stuff…. But this is my little christmas Gift to you. To show you i love you, and to show i appreciate you.” Bellamy explains, softly running his hand down Murphy’s chest. Murphy tears up again an dBellamy chuckles softly, bringing his hand up and wiping the tears away. 

“Thank You. This means so much.” Murphy says, his smile widening. He leans down and brings Bellamy into a loving kiss. He pulls back and looks around the blanket fort, he sees the mug of hot chocolate and grabs it, feeling it’s warmth on his hands. He lifts it to his lips then narrows his eyes and looks at Bellamy. 

“If this is poisoned, I’ll haunt you.” He grumbles trying to be threatening, he drops the act quickly and laughs sipping the liquid, his eyes widen and BEllamy smirks as he picks up his own mug. 

“Good, huh?” Bellamy asks, pulling Murphy to his chest. Murphy nods enthusiastically and takes another longdrink. Bellamy chuckles and sips on his. Murphy grabs the laptop and they watch a few show episodes until it’s only 10 minutes before Midnight. 10 Minutes before Christmas starts. Bellamy turns off the show and grabs the bottle of wine and pours him and Murphy a glass while Murphy giggles and grabs all the presents. They both had a rule that they had to have the exact same amount of presents, and not to spend much money on them so the other partner wouldn't feel inadequate. It has worked for them for quite some time. Murphy brings them all in, a total of 12 presents, 6 each. But what Murphy doesn’t know is that there’s a secret 7th gift for him, but more on that later. Bellamy hands Murphy the Wine and Murphy takes a big drink of it, Bellamy laughs at Murphy’s actions and takes a small sip from his own wine.They sit and drink wine until the clock strikes 12. Murphy hands him the smallest present from his pile and Bellamy smiles softly, holding it in his hand. 

“Open it!” Murphy says gesturing his hand wildly towards the package. Bellamy chuckles softly and opens the package, And sees a small bottle and looks inside to see a little pencil inside. There’s a small text on it that says “Trabaja duro, mantente fuerte” Which, since Bellamy can speak spanish makes him smile. It means “Work Hard, Stay Strong.” It’s a motto that Bellamy uses a lot in the classroom to encourage Students. He puts it to the side and leans forward kissing Murphy’s lips softly. Murphy smiles into the kiss and giggles softly. 

“So, I guess you like it? I made it myself.” Murphy confesses, looking down at his hands. Bellamy lifts his chin and looks him in the eyes. 

“I Love it.” He says putting emphasis on the ‘Love’. Murphy smiles brightly and makes grabby hands, obviously telling Bellamy to give him one of his gifts. They spend about a half an hour opening presents, each one making eachother smile and get jittery with joy. 

“What was your favorite?” Murphy asks looking at him, his brand new hoodie wrapped around his body. Bellamy looks at his presents and is obviously thinking, before he picks up a framed photo of a sound wave. It was the last present Murphy gave him, and Bellamy had almost cried when he looked up what song it was. “Don’t Wait” by Joey Graceffa was the first song they listened to together, Bellamy had never heard it until Murphy showed him one night when they visited Bellamy’s hme before they moved in together. The first time he listened he cried so hard Murphy had to hold him. He presents it to Murphy and Murphy smiles softly. 

“I’m glad that was a good choice.” He says softly then he looks around his pile, setting eyes on a new mug Bellamy got him, he thinks it was the ‘crack’ gift of the bunch, but it’s his favorite anyways. It says “I love you for your personality, but that dick is a really nice bonus” and Murphy laughed for a long time after opening it. He holds it up and Bellamy laughs. When he calms down he looks around them and nods. He pours each of them a second glass of wine and stands up leaving the fort. 

“Wait, Where are you going?” Murphy asks softly, disappointment obvious in his voice. Bellamy reassures him he’ll be right back. Bellamy gets back and climbs back into the fort and pulls Murphy forward so they're sitting in front of each other. Bellamy’s legs are crossed and Murphy is sitting on his knees. Bellamy looks up at him and gulps. 

“I know we’re only supposed to have the same amount of gifts each… But I have a confession. I have another one.” He says slowly, brings his hand back to his back pocket. Murphy tilts his head in curiosity and tries to move closer. Bellamy wraps his other arm around Murphy’s body and holds him as he pulls it out. Murphy stares at it in shock, his eyes wide and his mouth open. Bellamy licks his lips and clears his throat. 

“Ever since i met you in that bookstore, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you. If someone told me a year and a half ago that I’d be madly in love with a cute, sweet, slightly violent, high-school dropout, I would say they were insane.” He starts, laughing softly, tears gather at his eyes and he swallows the lump in his throat. “But We’ve been together for a year and 2 months. A year and 2 months of a relationship that’s far from perfect, but is happy. We argue, we cry, we laugh, and we have mind blowing sex.” Bellamy laughs again and so does Murphy as Tears stream down his face. “And I love you. I love you more than I have loved anything. I love you more than I love History. I love you more than anything in this goddamn world.” He continues and he sits back a bit, presenting the ring to him farther. “John Alex Murphy, Will you marry me?” He finishes. 

Murphy sobs and nods, diving forward and kissing him passionately. Bellamy laughs and kisses back, wrapping his arms around the younger man. Murphy pulls back and shows his hand, Allowing Bellamy To slip the ring on. It’s nothing expensive. Nothing too entirely special, at least in how the world looks at these types of things, But Murphy adores it. He loves it, almost a smooch as he loves the man holding him. 

“I love you, so much.” Murphy says leaning back in and kissing him more. Bellamy kisses back deeply, pulling him along as he lay backwards on his back. \Murphy slips next to him and cuddles into his chest, The wine, snacks, and books all forgotten. The only thing that mattered was each other. 

Only Each Other. 

[my-happy-little-bean]

The Day The Sun Fell - Chapter 2

pairing: logan/patton words: 3834 story summary: “The story of Logan and Patton from the day they met, to the day the sun fell.

(aka the story of logan and patton told a bit out of order. also the apocalypse happened, which is weird huh?)

warnings for both chapters: swearing; fighting; sad, apocalyptic vibes in general; sickness; implied death(s)  

a/n - hello! this is a repost of a semi-old fic of mine that is written in like a non-linear format, which is always super fun ~

i will be linking the previous chapter, the masterlist, and the link to the entire work on ao3 below if you’d like it :)

stay rad, u rad rats ✨

< previous chapter

[read on ao3]

[masterlist]

---

Patton couldn’t hear anything. 

His ears were still ringing– he couldn’t even hear his own voice. And– God there’s bodies everywhere. 

Adrenaline, Patton, he thought. He grabbed Logan, swinging his arm around his shoulder and pushing himself to make it back to Logan’s apartment. 

So close… The ringing felt louder, if that was even possible. So close…

(He didn’t even know that he was the one who saved him that day.)

“W-Where…” Logan groaned before he could finish. 

“We’re–” He huffed– ”going back to your place.” 

“P-Patton...y-you don’t–”

“Shut up,” Patton gritted through his teeth as tears slid down his cheeks, “W-We’re going home, and– and there’s nothing you can say that’s going to change my mind, okay? So– to make this e-easier for us–” He huffed again– ” shut up .”

And Logan did.

(Because he loved him.)

---

“What do you mean you don’t know how to say it?” Virgil asked, leaning back on Logan’s couch. Logan shrugged, tossing Virgil a beer on his way back from the kitchen. 

“I don’t know why I can’t,” Logan said, drinking from his third bottle tonight. “It– it’s illogical. ”

“Have you ever said it?” he asked. “To anyone? ”

Logan fell quiet. Virgil’s eyes widened. 

“Oh–” He cracked open his beer bottle– ” God. ”

“Shut up,” Logan groaned, slumping down on the couch beside him. Virgil turned around to face him. 

“Stacey Marron.” 

“Nope.”

“Austin Tanner?”

“Nu-uh.” 

“Elliot?”

“ Obviously not.” 

“Tiffany Ray?”

“Two weeks only. Never got the chance.”

“ No one? ” Virgil asked, a little less teasingly than before. Logan shook his head wordlessly and took another sip. Virgil sighed. 

“Have you told him why?” 

A pause. 

“No,” Logan said, “I haven’t.” 

Virgil sighed.

“I feel like he deserves to know.”

“What do you know.” The beer made the words taste more bitter than intended. Virgil just stared at him. 

“I know more than him, apparently,” Virgil simply said, “which I feel is saying something.” 

“Then what am I going to say, huh Virge?” Logan shot up from the couch, stumbling to the window. “That I’ve never been in a long-term relationship before? That– that I’m just some– some serial fucker who sleeps with people– who breaks their hearts in half and then just leaves?” 

“...when were sober, you have to change your Instagram bio to ‘serial fucker’.” 

“What the fuck am I going to do,” Logan groaned, slamming his beer on the coffee table as he plopped himself on the ground. Virgil sighed, sliding off the couch and crawling beside Logan, who leaned on his shoulder. 

“You’re just going to have to decide whether or not this is someone you’re going to change for,” Virgil said. Logan looked up at him, almost wearily. 

“Change?” His voice sounded too small for his own good. Virgil shook his head, tapping his shoulder again so Logan could lean on it. 

“No, not change,” he mused. “Wrong word. It’s…maybe the word's commit...?”

Virgil trailed off, before looking down at Logan. He sighed.

"Let's just make this easy then," he finally said. “Do you like him?”

“Of course I do.”

“Do you love him?” 

A pause. 

Logan couldn’t help but look at the framed picture of him and Patton on his TV stand. Their smiles were bright enough to fill the whole room, and they looked like they were in...

“I don’t know,” Logan said quietly. 

“Logan, come on, you have to know somewhere deep down in your weird, robo-heart–”

“No,” Logan said again. He didn’t meet Virgil’s glance. “I don’t...I don’t think I know what that is .”

---

“Roman’s resting in your bathtub,” Patton announced, walking back to the living room. Logan was on the couch, with Virgil doing his best to attend to his leg.

“Is he– shit, Virge–” He hissed as Virgil tended his wound. Virgil rolled his eyes, nudging his head towards Patton. Logan sighed. “Is...is he comfortable in there?” 

“Duh,” Patton said softly. He gave him a half-hearted smile. “It’s Roman . He’s comfortable anywhere.” 

“How’s he doing?” Logan asked. 

“I don’t know,” Patton admitted. “He wouldn’t tell me.” 

“Serves him right for running into the scene of the crime,” Virgil mumbled, though there was an edge of worry in his voice. 

“He was trying to help people,” Patton explained. “When he heard that we were there when it happened, he went straight here.”

A beat of silence. 

“...It’s a fucking shit show out there.”

“Virgil! Language!”

“Sorry, sorry.” 

“What did they say?” Logan asked. Patton sighed. 

“There was another one,” he replied, sitting beside Logan on the couch. “I think it was in Japan. There might’ve been one somewhere in Europe too, but they’re investigating it.” 

“Did they say what it was?” 

Patton shrugged. 

“A lot of people are saying a lot of things. People think it’s judgement day, whatever that means. The radio gave out halfway through the interview. I don't know how to fix it.”

“How edgy of them,” Virgil piped up, still focused on Logan’s wounds. "Judgement day."

Logan just nodded, falling quiet again. 

“They say it’s not over,” Patton said, just soft enough for Logan to hear. “They said it was only the beginning.” 

Logan said nothing.

---

Logan watched with a small smile as Patton walked into the living room with a bright smile and a bowl of popcorn. Roman threw some stray strands of tinsel into the air. 

“Huzzah!” he exclaimed. “Food has arrived! We can finally start gift giving!” 

“Can someone tell me who’s idea this was,” Virgil deadpanned. 

“It was mine, My Chemically-Imbalanced Romance ,” Roman huffed. “You always have entertainment popcorn to watch the drama unfold.” 

“What drama?” Logan mumbled.

“The drama when someone doesn’t like the other person’s present.” Roman glared at him as if it were obvious. Virgil rolled his eyes. 

“Everyone’s going to like everyone’s gift.” Patton sat in front of the tree with the popcorn in his lap, cross-legged on the ground. Logan watched as Patton then reached over to the couch and pulled his blanket off of it, spilling a bit of popcorn as he did. He wrapped himself in its warm colours and glanced at Logan. 

He gave him a warm smile.  Logan felt something bubbling in his chest. 

They exchanged gifts, laughing at every silly present Roman gave them. Virgil tried not to cry when Logan gave him a membership to the local museum; and Patton tried not to die when Roman gave him a membership to the gym. 

“We can be workout buddies now!” Roman wiggled his eyebrows. “Build some stamina, you know?” 

“Roman! ” Patton gasped as Logan did his best not to blush. 

It eventually came time for Logan to exchange presents with Patton. 

“Aw, Logan!” Patton pulled out the two concert tickets from the envelope. “Oh, these are fantastic! I’m so excited. And–  awwww there’s a heart beside your name on the envelope!” He kissed Logan’s cheek. “I love you so much. This is so sweet.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Of course,” Logan finally said.

“How about you, Microsoft Nerd ,” Roman cut in. “Are you going to open Pat’s gift or what?”

“ Romannn,” Patton said with a small giggle, though he seemed just as excited. Logan looked at Virgil who just shrugged. 

He took Patton’s gift—a small, square box; tied with a white ribbon—and held it in his hands. He then looked up at Patton, who gestured for him to open it. 

Logan chuckled as he untied the ribbon and opened the box, and–

He froze. 

“Do you like it?” Patton asked, almost as giddy as Roman was. “I had it made this morning. I thought about giving you something else, like maybe a bookstore gift card or something.” He scooted closer to Logan. “ Buuuut, I feel like because we’ve been dating for a while, like we’re almost at the one year mark– I just think we’re there, you know?”

Logan could feel Virgil staring at the key as well. 

“I…” 

Patton’s smile fell. 

“Is...is that okay?” 

Logan cleared his throat. 

“Of course.” He hastily kissed Patton’s hand. “ Thank you. ” 

He closed the box slowly, the key finally disappearing from his sight; and, in the corner of his eye, he saw Roman pop a piece of popcorn in his mouth. 

---

“Patton?”

Patton turned around to see Roman, a bit paler than when he last saw him. He was stumbling towards him. 

“Jesus, Roman,” Patton murmured, going to his side immediately to help him walk. “When did you wake up?” 

“Just a bit ago,” he huffed. “I’m heading to the kitchen. Wanted a snack” 

“Go sit on the couch,” Patton said firmly. Roman just shrugged and did as he was told.

“What do you want?” Patton said as he walked into the kitchen. 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

Patton sighed as he searched the kitchen.

“How long has Logan been gone now?” He heard Roman ask. Patton closed a cupboard quietly. 

“Too long,” he mumbled. He grabbed a plate for the bread he found and went to sit beside Roman on the couch, offering the plate to him. 

“He’s still looking for him, isn’t he?” 

Patton just nodded. 

“It was my dumb fault,” Roman muttered, staring at his plate. “I was the one who told him to get lost.”

“It hasn’t been easy for any of us,” Patton reassured. Roman averted his glance. “We’ve all been pretty...agitated. It’s hard to stay cooped up like this. And...well, we’re all responsible for our own actions nowadays. You know what Logan says; no use in blaming ourselves. It won’t fix anything.” 

Roman said nothing, but was able to finish his bread. Patton took the plate from him when he was done and set it on the coffee table. 

“You actually finished.” He smiled softly. “I’m proud of you.” 

Roman let out a scratchy laugh and shook his head. “It’ll probably come back up tomorrow.” 

Patton’s smile fell as he stared at the table.

“Hey.” Roman scooted a bit closer to Patton. “I...I need to tell you something.” 

“Yeah?”

“I…” Roman sighed. “You have to promise not to get mad.” 

Patton faced him, his leg beginning to bounce. “What’s up?” 

“...I’m leaving.” 

Patton’s heart dropped. 

“Y-You’re...you’re what? ” 

“Patton, this shouldn’t surprise you.” Patton was shocked at how calm Roman’s voice was. “Things are getting worse–  everything is getting worse. Logan may be out there looking for Virgil but he’s looking for other things too. We are barely able to keep up our supply for three people and...well, you know I’ve been sick for a while.”

“That doesn’t mean that–”

“You said it yourself,” Roman said with a small smile. “We’re all responsible for our own actions.” 

Patton fell quiet. They didn’t speak for what seemed like hours before Patton broke the silence. 

“Where are you going to go?” he asked. Roman looked at him, almost surprised. 

“You’re letting me?” 

“You’re going to leave anyway, aren’t you?” His voice was cold. Roman looked down, almost ashamed.

“...I don’t know where I’m gonna end up,” Roman finally said, his voice quiet. “But I’m going to do the most I can to help someone with what I have left.” 

Patton felt tears roll down his cheeks. Roman’s shoulders dropped. He looked like he was looking at a sick puppy.

“Oh, Patton,” he whispered, pulling Patton into a hug. Patton could feel his tears staining Roman’s shirt. “It’s going to be okay.” 

“Y-You’re…” Patton sobbed into his chest. “You’re my best friend.”

Roman patted his head, chuckling. “I know. You’re mine too, padré.”

He coughed a bit, and pushed Patton back gently. Patton stared at him, as if he was talking to a ghost.

“I’ll be gone in the morning,” Roman said hoarsely. Patton numbly nodded. 

“I won’t tell Logan.”

Roman frowned. “...Really?” 

“He doesn’t need to know.” 

Roman just sighed, stroking Patton’s hair gently.

"Are you happy?" 

"You're an asshole." Patton was crying even more now.

“He loves you,” Roman murmured. “You know that, right?”

Patton said nothing, but he heard Roman’s last words before he even said it. 

(He wouldn’t have stayed if he didn’t.)

---

“Hey, Lo.” Virgil’s voice buzzed from his phone on the counter. Logan hummed in response, busy making himself a sandwich before heading to work. “Do you still want to go over to my place tonight? ‘Doctor Who’ is on.”

“Ah, I can’t,” Logan said, taking the phone off speaker and slipping it between his ear and his shoulder. “I am making dinner with Patton tonight.”

“You mean the guy from the library?” “Yes.” Logan went over to the couch and grabbed his brown bag. “His name is Patton.” 

“I know,” Virgil chuckled. “I’m just...surprised, s’all.” 

“Surprised?” Logan echoed. He stopped in front of the mirror in his front entryway, adjusting his tie. 

“I’m just surprised you’re settling down.”

Logan froze. 

“You’re joking, right,” he deadpanned. 

“Obviously.” Logan rolled his eyes. 

“But seriously,” Virgil continued, “I’m happy for you. I really want to meet him.”

“I’m not settling down,” Logan blurted out, almost defensively. 

A beat of silence. 

“Don’t think about it too hard, Lo,” Virgil finally said. He laughed, but it sounded more nervous than anything. “It was just a dumb joke. Sorry.”

Logan sighed. “I’m sorry as well. I did not mean to sound so cross. I’m just–”

“Don’t worry,” Virgil cut in before he could finish. “I get it.”

Logan just nodded as he kneeled down to tie his shoes. He placed his phone beside him.

After a bit of silence, he heard Virgil ask, “Is he pretty?” 

Logan paused, then picked up his phone and stood up. He smiled softly to himself.

“The prettiest,” he replied.

---

Patton coughed until he woke himself up, shooting up from his bed. He winced at how bright it already was outside, noticing the small outline of sweat he left on the pillow. He shuddered. 

“Mmm…” He looked down to see Logan stir beside him. “Are...are you alright?”

“M’fine,” Patton mumbled. Logan sat up with a small sigh. 

“Do you need to throw up?” 

Patton hesitated. “Probably.” 

Logan just nodded and Patton watched, a bit guilty, as he climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom to grab a trash bin. 

Patton flopped back down onto the bed with a small groan. He tried to will his cough– and whatever else was threatening to come up– to stay down, buried in his chest. 

“Sit up, please.” Patton turned his head and saw Logan going over to sit down beside him. He laid a trash can on the floor, closest to where Patton’s head was laying. “We don’t want you to choke on whatever comes out.” 

Patton smiled half-heartedly, sitting up beside Logan. His leg was bouncing. He had been throwing up for the better part of a week now — and Logan had, unfortunately, seen him do it most times. He wasn’t quite sure what made him so insecure. 

Logan offhandedly laid his hand on Patton’s forehead. He winced. 

“You’re warm.” He pulled his hand back slowly. “Too warm.” 

“I know,” Patton mumbled. Logan sighed. 

“You know this means I’m going to have to go find some medicine, right?” 

“ Logan, ” Patton whined. 

“I’ll leave tomorrow at night.”

“Nighttime doesn’t even matter anymore, Logan,” Patton protested. 

“I’ll be back before the morning comes, I promise.” 

“It’s too dangerous to even leave the house.” Patton felt his throat get drier as his voice rose. “Logan, you could get hurt if you go, you know that risks–”

“I’m not going to just sit here,” Logan gritted out, “and just watch you die. ”

Patton froze. 

He snuck a glance at Logan and noticed he was crying. Patton’s eyes widened. 

“You can’t die, okay?” Logan wasn’t even looking at him. He was just staring ahead of him. There was a slight tremble in his hands. He pushed his palms against his knees, as if to keep them glued there. 

“I’m not dying,” Patton muttered, but the words came out too dry for them to sound believable. 

“You just can’t .” Logan talked as if Patton wasn’t even in the room. He suddenly let out a choked sob. 

Patton watched wordlessly as Logan doubled over, burying his face in his hands as he began to cry. He felt like he stared at him for too long– longer than any normal person would.

And suddenly, the feeling to be sick, to cry, to do anything just...disappeared.

Patton leaned against Logan’s shoulder, just listening to his cries grow quieter. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine a world where he and Logan were married; celebrating their love under an arch of flowers, and under a sun that wasn’t dying.

---

“Hey Logan?” 

Logan yawned, then rolled over onto his side to face Patton, who smiled sheepishly. He tucked his arm under his head to get a better, more comfortable look at him.

“Yeah?” he asked. Patton smiled. 

“You’re really great, you know?” 

Logan chuckled. “The drowsiness is hitting you now, hm?” 

“No, seriously.” Patton leaned closer to him, mere inches from his face. Logan swore he felt Patton’s warm breath hit his nose. “I know I’ve only known you for a week now but...gosh, I just can’t help it. You’re...you’re just really great.” 

Logan smiled. 

(Three words sat in his throat)

“You’re really great too,” he whispered, gently laying his arm around Patton, who yawned and curled up into Logan’s bare chest. “ I’m glad I met you.”

---

Patton leaned against Logan, who helped him walk out of the car and towards the edge of the cliff. Just moving in this heat made him regret ever leaving the apartment, but he knew that he had to leave– go as far away from home as he could. He was lucky that Logan’s car still worked. 

Patton shielded his eyes as he looked below at the city from the highest vantage point he knew of. The sun glared at him, as if calling him stupid for even trying. 

He heard Logan sigh as he turned Patton around so that he was facing him. 

(It was illogical– no, stupid to look anywhere else.)

 Patton felt Logan wrap his arms around his waist and it was only then that Patton realized he was shaking and sobbing loudly in Logan’s embrace.

“Shhh,” Logan whispered softly. He pulled Patton closer to him. “It’s going to be okay.” 

“I- I–”

“ It’s okay,” he said again. 

Patton felt like laughing. Or throwing up. Or crying some more– he didn’t even know. It was so warm. 

“I-I’m so scared. ”

Logan paused. 

“I know,” he said quietly. 

“What if one of us lives ?” Patton murmured, his sobs wracking his entire body. He doubled over into Logan’s chest, throwing his arms around Logan as if he was hanging onto the only lifeboat on deck.“W-What if one of us lives and– and you are dead and–” 

“Patton…” 

“I don’t want to be alone.” Patton clung onto him, his face buried in Logan’s chest. It was like that for a while before he felt Logan tilt his chin up to face him. Patton could see glimpses of tears rolling down Logan’s cheeks. 

“You’re not going to be alone,” he said.

The winds roared louder now. Despite now being face-to-face with Logan, Patton was squeezing his eyes shut, shaking at the noise. 

Patton tried to memorize the ba-bump, bump, bump of Logan’s heartbeat. He tried to focus on it, make it the last thing he remembered, tried to remember that he was his–

“ God, I-I hate this.” Patton sounded so broken. He hoped Logan wouldn't notice. “I wish–”

“ No, ” Logan said firmly. Patton opened his eyes and looked at him. 

Logan moved his arms from Patton’s waist to his back, enveloping him into a tight hug. 

It’s all going to be okay, he was with him.

“You didn’t need to wish for anything else,” Logan finally said. “Things went just as they were supposed to, you know?”

He buried his face in the crook of Patton’s neck. “ I’m so happy. ”

Patton froze. The words sounded so far away, yet there they were; so close.

And then, Patton laughed.

It was interspersed with coughs but he was laughing. And eventually, Logan was laughing too. 

And there they were, laughing, as the sun grew closer. 

At some point– Patton wasn't sure when– Logan pulled back slightly. Behind him, Patton could see a blinding flash of white.

(And that’s how he knew they were going to be okay.)

And then, Patton heard it. 

“I love you.” 

Patton’s heart skipped a beat. 

Ba-bump...ba-bump…bump… … …

“Patton Morgan, I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

It was the last thing Patton heard before the sun finally fell. 

---

Logan finished shelving the last of the books in his cart. He stifled a yawn behind his fist as he made his way to the end of the aisle, about to turn the corner when– 

“Ahhh!"

A man collided with the end of his cart, sending the books in his hand tumbling to the ground, as well as a slight jolt throughout Logan’s entire being. His eyes widened. 

“I am terribly sorry,” Logan said, immediately kneeling down to pick up his fallen books. The man, to his surprise, laughed. The noise made Logan’s heart skip a beat. 

“Not a problem!” He kneeled down as well to help Logan pick up the books. 

They made eye contact for a split second. 

Logan never saw eyes filled with so much warmth. 

“My fault for wanting to book it before this place closes, ya know?” He laughed again, and Logan nervously laughed as well. 

“I don’t understand,” Logan said, “but...it’s okay?” 

The man gave him a small smile as they both stood up. Logan felt as if he was staring at him forever — so long that he felt like he needed to introduce himself. 

“My name is Logan Fray.” He outstretched his hand. “And you are?” 

“Patton Morgan!” He shook his hand with a wide smile. It was so bright, it nearly burned right through him. 

They exchanged a small conversation; mostly about the book Patton was taking out, and the books Logan recommended he take out. 

And after a few more seconds of staring at each other,

(God, why was he staring this much ?)

Patton shyly spoke up. 

“I don’t usually do this,” he said, “but...um, would you like to maybe have coffee sometime? Maybe?" 

Logan couldn’t help but smile. 

“I’d enjoy that, actually.” He pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and handed it to Patton; who smiled and took it, taking a silly photo of himself before putting in his number and handing it back to Logan. 

Logan sent him a quick “Hello!” and it wasn't long until he heard a buzz from Patton's back pocket.

“Well, it’s a date then!” Patton scratched the back of his neck, almost flustered at the noise. “I’ll see you soon, Logan!” 

Logan smiled and nodded. “I’ll see you soon.”

-

reblogs would be wonderful <3

[cherryeol04]

Jolly Chaos

Genre: Humor, fluff, stupidity? Pairing: JacksonxOC, ChangbinxAidenxFelix Word Count: 2.9K Summary: While getting presents for Aiden’s boyfriend, Sabrina and Aiden get snowed in at the mall. At least there are some hot guys to occupy her time with. A/N: This is a crappy summary and doesn’t even begin to describe this story. lmao. I’m sorry.

“Stay indoors because a snowstorm is projected to hit the city by 4pm. You do not want to be out when it hits.”

The audio from the TV served as white noise as the two bodies in the house moved in sync within the kitchen. A balancing act of dancing around each other as they worked on their baked goods.  Sabrina had only wanted to make cookies, but Aiden has insisted that they also make cupcakes because “icing them is fun”. What wasn’t fun, however, was the clean up at the end. And if there was one thing Sabrina had learned in her years of babysitting the Park son, it was that he didn’t clean up after himself. Somehow, he always managed to weasel his way out of cleaning duties. Aiden truly was an amazing kid.

“Six minutes until the cookies are done!” Sabrina called out as she dumped the mixing bowls into the sink to be cleaned later. Her gaze turned to Aiden who was hunched over his tray of cupcakes, a look of concentration creasing his brows - tongue poking out of the side of his mouth. It was actually kind of cute, the way he carefully moved his hand in a circle, creating the perfect icing swirl. He was oblivious to what she had just said, lost in his own world of decorating. It was picturesque, so Sabrina pulled out her phone and opened her camera, quickly snapping a few pictures of Aiden for “memories sake (read: blackmail)”.

Despite the camera noises and flash, the younger male remained unbothered. So Sabrina took the time to send the pictures to two different group chats. The first was with Aiden and his parents and she figured that they would appreciate some cute pictures of their son not causing trouble for once. The second group chat was one with a mixture of her friends and Aiden’s friends, which also included Aiden’s two boyfriends. In this chat, she only sent one of the pictures - the decent looking one, after all, she needed to keep at least one picture for blackmailing purposes. Glancing to the clock, Sabrina hummed and made her way back to the over to the oven to check on her cookies. A comfortable silence fell over them once more, broken only when Aiden finished his decorating and Sabrina had plated her 24 count tray of cookies.

“They look burnt.” Aiden complained and his nose scrunched up.

“You look burnt.” Sabrina retorted.

“That doesn’t make sense!” Aiden huffed with a shake of his head. “They smell good though. Good job.” A compliment in a way and it was certainly more than what Sabrina thought she was going to get. Not that Aiden was a rude or misbehaving teen. On the contrary, he was a well mannered and sweet young man. He honestly didn’t need a babysitter at his ripe old age of 17, but Aiden did have a tendency to be a bit dense and clumsy at times. If not for his last attempt of cooking unsupervised that led to the kitchen nearly burnt to the ground, his parents wouldn’t have insisted on having someone to watch him. But it couldn’t be helped and it was better to have someone with better common sense around to make sure Aiden didn’t accidentally burn or destroy something in the house. Sans his friends because they just couldn’t be trusted. Sabrina didn’t mind though, Aiden was like a little brother to her and hey, she also got free food. It was a win-win situation.

“Thanks, Aiden.” It was a soft return of gratitude to the praise she had received, followed with a gentle smile that was returned wholeheartedly and reminded Sabrina of the sun. What a precious guy.

“Hey Bri, do you think we can hit the mall?”

Sabrina raised a brow at the question, shoulders raising too. “I mean we could, but it might hurt.”

Aiden groaned at the poorly made joke, eyes rolling in exasperation. “That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

Sabrina couldn’t suppress the giggle that bubbled up in her chest, one hand raising to cover her mouth as she tried to keep from snorting. After calming herself, she cleared her throat and nodded. “Sure. Let’s clean up-”

“We can clean later.” Aiden whined, a pout on his lips. “I want to get to the mall before it closes.”

“Why?” Sabrina asked.

“I - uh - need to get gifts...for my boyfriends,” Aiden said shyly, head bowed in embarrassment as he fiddled with the hem of his shirt. It was really cute, but everything about Aiden was cute and Sabrina could understand how he managed to get two boyfriends.

“You haven’t gotten them a gift yet? Christmas is next week!”

“I know! I’ve just been so busy with exams and homework. I barely have the time to see them, let alone have time to go Christmas shopping. Doesn’t help they go to a different school.” Aiden pouted, a soft sigh leaving his lips.

“So, what you’re saying is that if I take you to the mall, I would be helping your relationship?” she asked, a smirk playing on her lips.  “Little Aiden will be a good boyfriend then, making his boyfriends happy?” she teased, relishing in the whine that he let out in embarrassment. “Alright, we can go, but on one condition.”

“Name it.” Aiden agreed quickly. A little too quickly, which made Sabrina happy.

“You do all the dishes when we get back, by yourself.” Sabrina laughed as Adien’s mouth dropped and she could see he was getting ready to protest, but never uttered a word. Instead, he simply closed his mouth and nodded, resigned to his fate. The things he did for Felix and Changbin.

“Okay.”

“Perfect! Let’s go then!” Sabrina cheered and headed out of the kitchen and to the front door. Free of cleaning duty, she was more than excited to go shopping now.

~*~*~*~

The relief that came when Sabrina finally parked was more than welcomed with Aiden thanking all the Gods he knew in a rush of muttered praises, surprised that they hadn’t crashed or ran anyone over. Sabrina was actually surprised she managed to keep her road rage in check and didn’t hit anyone. Though she really had wanted to run one woman over in particular. She had just decided to walk out in front of her car, without even checking to make sure the coast was clear.

Stupid Karen.

Aiden practically sprinted to the main entrance of the mall, leaving Sabrina to fumble with her keys to get the car locked. With the click of the doors, Sabrina ran after Aiden, chasing the bratty teenager through the food court and down the leftwing - barely dodging the unsuspecting patrons milling about. “Aiden! Slow down! You’re gonna run into-” The world rushed around her, yet all she could focus on was her heavy breathing and the feeling of arms around her waist. Looking up, her eyes locked with a pair of chocolate brown orbs, brows creased with concern.

“Are you alright?”

Gathering her bearings, Sabrina straightened herself as she slowly left the man’s embrace with a nod. “I’m fine. I’m so sorry about that.” she apologized, bowing to the other. She felt absolutely terrible about running into the man. And she certainly wasn’t being a good role model for Aiden.

“It’s okay. As long as you’re not hurt.”  He was being too kind, which only deepened Sabrina’s guilt. She had expected him to yell and blame her for being careless, which was true. But instead, he was worried about her. A complete stranger! She would be lying if she said that it didn’t make her heart flutter a little.

“No, it’s not. I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing or where I was going. I’m so sorry.” She protested, once more bowing to the man, a little deeper than last time.

“It’s fine, really.” the guy laughed, his whole face a light with a bright smile. It was stunning and took Sabrina’s breath away. “Just be more careful, okay?” he asked and she gave him a tentative nod. It seemed to satisfy him and with one last smile, he walked off.

The encounter was strange, but by the time Sabrina found Aiden again, it had completely escaped her memory. The younger male was in the bookstore, browsing through the shelves stacked with cards and board games. He had three games already in his hands, eyes reading over the back of another game that was sitting on the shelf. “What did you find?” she asked, moving to stand beside him. He jumped, struggling to hold onto the games as he glared at Sabrina.

“You just gave me a heart attack! Jesus!” he whined, trying to keep his voice so he didn’t disturb any of the other shoppers, but that was a struggle for him. Aiden was not at all a quiet boy.

“Sorry.”  She wasn’t at all sorry, giving a shrug before taking one of the card decks from Aiden’s hand. “Cards Against Humanity?”

“Yeah. Normally I play with Felix and Changbin online. It has a larger and better selection of card decks. But there have been times we’ve wanted to play while together, but we didn’t have 3 computers and using our phones sucked.” Aiden explained, pouting at the memories.

“So you’re going to give your boyfriends a card game?” Sabrina raised a brow as she stared at Aiden, watching him squirm under her gaze.

“Yeah, why not?”

“Why not? Because that’s such a sucky gift! You should be getting them something romantic or something.” she huffed out.

“Romantic? Like what?”

“I don’t know, google it. Romantic gifts to give your boyfriend. I mean, you could even give them headphones. Something other than a card game.” she said, taking the games from Aiden’s grasp and placing them back on the shelf. “What do they like? Give them a gift to complement their personalities or something they really have been asking for.”

Silence fell over the two as Aiden stared at the floor, brows knitted together. Sabrina was worried that maybe she had been a little too harsh and critical on Aiden for his gift choices. Honestly, who was she to even protest as she had? They weren’t her boyfriends. But she did remember all the drama and angst Aiden went through to even get to the current point he was at with his boyfriends. She really just wanted to make sure his Christmas with his boyfriends was as sweet and romantic as it could get. He deserved it.

“Aiden-”

“Bri-”

They stared at each other, waiting for the other to talk. When neither of them made a move, Aiden let out a heavy sigh. “Bri, I need help. I don’t know what to do or get them. They’re just so…” Aiden trailed off and let out a frustrated sigh, pushing a hand through his hair. “What do you get someone who is so perfect and has everything they could ever want?” he asked. The sheer desperation that was shining in his eyes had Sabrina’s heartbreaking and she wanted nothing more than to pull Aiden into a hug and protect him from the world. But maybe it was that protection that left him so clueless.

“Maybe they don’t need trivial items?” Sabrina suggested, an idea coming to her.

“What do you mean?”

“Instead of spending your money on a card game or something else they’ve probably received a dozen times, maybe you could make them something?” Sabrina suggested with a gentle smile. “You know? A handmade gift always means more than a store-bought one.”

“Make something? I’m not at all creative, what could I possibly make them?” Aiden pouted, staring off to the side, racking his brain for ideas.

“Aiden, you’re going to school for the performing arts. You make music for your classes. You’re very much creative.” she assured as she reached out and patted his head. “You don’t need to do anything grand like writing them a song or anything. Just something heartfelt.” She felt like she was talking to a child, who didn’t have the cognitive capabilities to understand what she was saying. It really saddened her, but he was managing on his own.

“Like a card? Or a letter?” Aiden asked. Sabrina nodded with a gentle smile.

“Yeah! Come on, let’s go check out the stationery section. We can get some cute paper, colored pens, and washi tape. Maybe we can find some other things we can add.” Taking his hand, Sabrina led him from the games and across the store to browse for the items they needed.

“Thanks, Bri, you’re the best.”

~*~*~*~

It didn’t feel like it was that late in the day, but by the time Sabrina and Aiden finished their shopping, the store was almost completely empty. It was odd, especially considering the fact it was only 3 pm, long before the mall was supposed to close even with the holiday hours. Nonetheless, the two made their way to the front entrance and were greeted by the largest and thickest blanket of snow, falling from the sky.

“Oh, crap.” Sabrina whispered.

“Oh, crap indeed.” A voice from behind her agreed and she turned around, staring at the group of males behind her. One of whom she recognized almost instantly as the handsome stranger she had run into earlier that afternoon. “The news said it wouldn’t hit until later.” he complained.

“Looks like the weatherman might have been drunk again.” Another male spoke up from next to Mr. Handsome. The group was composed of five guys, all very good looking and for a moment, Sabrina questioned what she did in her past life to be surrounded by such handsome men.

“Lix? Binne?” Aiden asked, brows furrowed as he stared at the group. “Jinnie?” All those names sounded familiar from the countless tales Aiden would recount when Sabrina would come over to hang out with him. And suddenly, Sabrina didn’t feel so blessed because at least three of the five good looking guys were a couple of years younger than her.

“Aiden! What a small world.” Hyunjin cheered as he walked over and pulled Aiden into a tight hug. Aiden smiled, returning the hug before pulling back shortly after to move to Felix and Changbin, giving them each a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m here Christmas shopping with my-” He stopped himself, cheeks flushing as he looked to Sabrina who was smirking.

“You’re what?” Felix prompted.

“His babysitter.” Sabrina grinned, winking at the whining boy who was trying to hide behind his two boyfriends. “I’m Sabrina or Bri for short.”

“Nice to meet you, Sabrina. It sure is a small world, we’re babysitting too. I’m Jinyoung and this is Jackson.”

“We’ve met.” Jackson chuckled and Sabrina could feel herself blushing.

“Again, I’m so sorry. I was chasing after that one.” she said as she pointed to Aiden.

“Hey! I was just excited!” Aiden pouted.

“I said it was alright. Stop apologizing.” Jackson assured her with a soft laugh, flashing her such a sweet smile that it only seemed to enhance his handsome features and Sabrina found herself wanting to see more of that smile.

Was there a formation of a crush happening? There sure was.

“Okay.” The reply was soft and she wasn’t sure if they had actually heard her or not. It didn’t matter though and she turned her attention back outside. It honestly shocked her at how quickly the storm had rolled in and covered the ground with such a thick layer of snow. They weren't even at the mall that long! Her eyes scanned the gray sky, slowly darkening further as the clouds slowly moved. It was only going to get worse, she could tell.

“Looks like we’re stuck. At least until the storm passes.” Jinyoung mused.

“Who knows how long that’ll be.” Sabrina commented and turned around. There were a few groups of other people milling about the mall entrance. All stuck just like them. Well, at least they still had power.

They spent the next five hours waiting within the mall. The food court employees that were left fired up the grills and made meals for those stuck there. Sabrina spent her time getting to know Jackson and Jinyoung, swapping stories about Aiden, Felix, and Changbin. Most were absolutely hilarious and Sabrina was very glad that she wasn’t the only one who was witness to Aiden’s stupid moments. It was around 8 pm when rescue workers were finally able to clear a path to the doors of the mall and another hour before roads were cleared enough for everyone to head home. Though Sabrina was ready to go home, she didn’t really want her time with Jackson to end. The older male (as she found out) was very funny and she wanted to get to know him even more. But Aiden was tired and getting cranky, so being the good babysitter she was, she took him home. And as they were warming up and cleaning up the kitchen, Aiden handed her a piece of paper.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Jackson’s number. He said to call him whenever.” Aiden shrugged before disappearing out of the kitchen, leaving Sabrina to clean alone. She couldn’t even bring herself to care either, eager to finish and call Jackson. Maybe this Christmas she won’t be lonely.

Tags: @cuddly-bangchan​ @lordseochangbin​ @channiesmixtape​​ @starryseung​​ @felixsanxchatbot​​ @jisungsjheekies​​

[mymelodyheart]

Starting Over Chapter 10 ~The Severance~

Someone's following me!

Claire first noticed she was being watched when she'd glanced up from browsing a shelf at a bookstore. The man looked to be in his early thirties and was wearing faded jeans and a white shirt that had a logo she couldn't make out. He had thick brown hair and Jamie's height and breadth, and she'd sensed a familiarity about him. When their gaze met, he'd smiled at her, then turned and walked away. She didn't think much more of it after that, other than he was handsome and had a kind face.

Then she'd seen him again in her periphery at the coffee shop where she'd had a quick espresso, and later at the pharmacy while paying for her goods. Trying not to worry and seem paranoid, she put it down to coincidence. The last few days had been quite trying enough attempting to slot in back to work, and she was determined not to let her woes of Frank mar her day-off. But when the stranger took the same turns as her while strolling along the street, panic began to mount. A lot of thoughts tumbled into her mind, but one theory jumped out. The stranger could be someone Frank had sent to intimidate her.

She was about to flag a taxi down when she realised she wasn't far from where Jamie lived. He'd given her his address last night when he'd come over for a visit, in case she was in the vicinity and wanted to pop in. With no time to think, she ran all the way to his apartment building, shopping bags flapping at her side. She was relieved to see someone come out, saving her from waiting to be buzzed in. Swiftly, she slipped through the opening, and when she heard the running footsteps and the stranger calling out to her, she quickly pushed the heavy door shut and ran up the stairs.

In no time, she found Jamie's apartment on the second floor, and after a round of vigorous rapping, his door opened.

"Sassenach!"

Sweet Mother of Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!  He was shirtless, and his grey sweatpants hung low on his lean hips. Like a brazen hussy, her gaze automatically dipped to his beautifully sculpted abs, past his belly button. "I'm being followed," she wheezed, chest heaving, unable to tear her gaze from the trail of dark copper hair that disappeared underneath the waistband of his pants.

"What do ye mean ye're being followed? Frank?" 

She gulped air and shook her head, clutching her middle.  Oh, dear, God!  Her sides hurt from the exertion of running, and the sight of his naked upper body was making it even more challenging to talk. She definitely needed to do more exercise and to learn more restrain when it came to looking at naked bodies, all in that order. "I think he was sent by Frank ...a-a very tall man. He's been watching me all morning." Then she stilled, and her eyes flew to his face when she heard the main entrance door open, and heavy, resounding footsteps on the lobby's floor. "That's him, I think," she whispered. "He was right behind me. Someone probably let him in."

"Are ye sure?" he cocked his head toward the staircase. "It could be a reporter that was following ye. Have ye thought of that?"

Her eyes widened.  No.  She hadn't thought of that. When she'd left her cottage this morning, taking the bus instead of her car, she'd noticed the paparazzi van parked down the street, had disappeared. The saying  out of sight, out of mind  seemed to ring true as she'd forgotten about them. And even out in public view, no one had recognised nor taken notice of her, making her complacent and negligent.

"A reporter? We could get photographed." 

He arched an eyebrow at her dropped jaw. "Wasn't that the plan, Sassenach?" 

"Plan?" she squeaked. She remembered the idea she had proposed to Jamie and how they had agreed on it. But she hadn't been anticipating this to happen so soon. A sudden fluttering-butterfly-wings-feeling tickled her neck, and her attention funnelled down to the steady footsteps climbing up the stairs and the half-naked man before her. No one else was in the corridor of the second floor but them.  Uh-oh!

Caught unaware, he gently pried the shopping bags from her hands and placed them by the entrance. And then with deliberate slowness, he walked her backwards till she hit the wall and lifted his hand to cradle her jaw. "Ye still want to do this?" His sky-blue eyes turned dark as it strayed to her mouth. "It's yer call. We have an advantage ... we can decide what they see. And whatever happens, we're in this together." 

Her biggest worry wasn't the photographer. It was her heart. Claire had been crushing on Jamie for as long as she could remember and she'd accepted long ago, he was just a secret fantasy she'd indulged herself. But that was then and from afar. And this, here and now, was a totally different ball game. She'd seen sides of him she'd never seen before and every day she was beginning to like every discovery of that facet. Would she still be able to maintain that level of objectivity after their fake relationship was over? Standing before Jamie, she couldn't even summon to feel any sadness of her recent lost love, let alone conjure a memory of Frank's face.

The footsteps became louder, and Jamie inched closer, his rapid breathing creating havoc to her senses. "Sassenach?" he whispered, his mouth hovering over hers as he waited for her consent. 

Hesitation warred with need, but this had been her idea, and she wasn't about to let him down after everything he'd done for her. If the price for getting him his dream job was future heartache, she could at least console herself with the fact she didn't end up with Frank. Swallowing her nerves, she placed her hands on his chest and lifted herself on tiptoes. "What are you waiting for? Kiss me then."

Jamie drew slightly back, smiled and then their lips brushed. In an instant, she was swept up mentally and physically by the pulse-pounding sensation. It wasn't a kiss as such but more of a savouring the moment as they breathed each other's partially opened mouth. She felt his heart hammering against her hands, and his thumb caressing the underside of her jaw. It was heavenly, sweet and torturous at the same time as he continued to hold back. And then he moved in, so indecently close ...

"Oops, sorry I'll come back another time." 

Both their heads snapped to the direction of the voice, and she flinched at Jamie's muttered profanity. They had both forgotten the approaching footsteps.

"Willie!"

Giving her an apologetic look, Jamie drew away, but his arm remained around her. "This is my older brother, Sassenach. I wasn't expecting him until later." Then he tugged her hand, urging her to step forward. "Willie, I'd like ye to meet my ..."

"Claire ...my name is Claire," she interrupted, heat and pink fanning out on her face as she shook Willie's hand. She'd sensed Jamie was about to introduce her as his girlfriend, but she wasn't ready for their fake relationship to officially start. Especially not with a member of his family present. And as it turned out, Jamie's brother was the same man she had thought was following her. Up close, she can now see his slight resemblance to Jamie. They had the same intense blue eyes and frame, but that's where their similarities ended. Jamie's russet-coloured locks were a stark contrast to Willie's dark chocolate waves, and whereas Willie looked physically fit, Jamie had a more toned compact body of an elite athlete.

"Please to meet ye, Claire. I'm sorry for scaring ye earlier. Ye looked so familiar, and I couldnae help but stare and wonder." He grinned and then winked at his brother. "Dinnae bother about me. I can come back another time, but I'm glad to finally meet the beautiful runaway bride."

Jamie groaned. "Fuck sake, please don't refer to her like that again. She's getting enough pelters at work."

"Ach, keep yer heid, lad." Willie play-punched his brother on the shoulder before facing her. "Everyone in Lallybroch is dying to meet ye, Claire. We never had a chance the last time because Jamie here was too busy keeping ye to himself and snogging ye in secret."

"Willie ..." Jamie warned, his ears turning a deep shade of red.

"Oh, I guess the whole world knows now," she murmured.

Willie's mouth twitched in amusement. "Not quite but if ye come to ma's Sunday lunch this coming weekend, ye can tell us all about it. What say ye?"

Before she could reply, Jamie butted in. "Do ye mind if ye wait inside?" he asked his brother, jerking his thumb towards his apartment. "I need to speak to Claire in private."

"Ah, yes, of course ...sure." Willie smiled knowingly at them as if they were up to no good. "Think about Sunday lunch, Claire. Ma makes the best lamb roast, and it would be great to have ye there too," he added before disappearing into the apartment.

Once they were alone, Jamie let out a soft sigh and tilted her chin. "I'm so sorry about that, Sassenach. So, where were we before we got rudely interrupted?"

"Jamie!" she jerked her head up. "Are you serious?"

"Do I seem like I'm joking?"

"There's no paparazzi!"

"I'm aware of that."

Attempting to disguise her rioting nerves, she lowered her eyes. Jamie had already warned her last night they were playing a dangerous game. And even though it was against the one single rule, she'd made for herself, her body craved for his touch and his kiss. 

"You want to kiss me even without the paparazzi?"

Jamie gripped her chin. "I do. But fair warning, Sassenach. If ye agree to let me kiss ye, I'm not letting ye leave." His thumb brushed her lower lip. "I'm applying a lot of restraint here, so if ye want to stay, make the next move, otherwise ..."

"... don't allow you to kiss me," she finished off.

He stroked her hair and smiled wistfully. "I couldnae say it out loud ...it's too sad."

She almost laughed. In her current state, it was too easy to succumb to her physical needs, but he was giving her a chance to think it over and make a choice. She'd come to learn that although Jamie may be stubborn in a lot of ways, not once had he ever pressured her to do anything she didn't want. While he was best known for his ways with women, what she saw right now was not cockiness but confidence that came from a place of maturity and respect. And she liked that very much.

"Jamie, I ...umm ..." She frantically searched for words as desire and logic played tug of war.

"You're not staying," he sighed, his hands dropping heavily on her shoulders. Although he smiled, she saw a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. "It's okay, Sassenach. I understand. It's too soon."

It was hard to believe he was affected by a simple kiss as she was when he'd been with so many women. But she reminded herself Jamie wanted a job as a sports presenter and they're only required to be convincing in public, not in private. If she was to keep her head above water, she needed to have that in the forefront of her mind. 

Already regretting her decision to leave, she began to step away from the magnetic pull humming about them and scooped up her shopping bags. 

"I would love to stay, Jamie but I'm not ready. But don't worry, I'm sticking to our little arrangement with the pap walk, and we'll get you that job." 

He let out a humourless laugh, as he planted a hand on the wall and dropped his head forward. "Sounds like a grand plan, Sassenach."

"It's not a plan. It's a promise."

He considered her for a moment, then nodded stiffly.

Not wanting to leave things awkward between them, she reached out to him and touched his face. "I'm busy with errands for the rest of today and tomorrow I have a late shift. How about dinner at my place on Wednesday? I'll cook."

His face softened. "I'd love that. Shall I pick you up from work?"

She shook her head. "No. You can't be anywhere near Frank. There's a restraining order against you, remember? Besides, I'll have my car." Finally giving in to her urge, she leaned in and kissed his chin. "I'll see you at my place?"

"Try and stop me."

Somehow she managed to hide her smile until she left his apartment building.

..........

Claire made her way to her next patient. It had been total chaos for the last couple of days with the shortage of staff and beds. Although it had been an absolute nightmare, the workload was a welcome respite from the silent animosity treatment she'd been receiving from her work colleagues. More than ever, she focused all her energy on getting tasks done with efficiency and extra care, not allowing room for mistakes to give Frank ammunition to destroy her career.

"Dr Beauchamp!" She stiffened and turned around. It was Dr Lionel Brown, head of the A&E and good friend of Frank. "I need bed number five to be vacated. What's the status?"

She squared her shoulders and looked at him in the eyes. "I was just about to reexamine the patient. But I don't think it's advisable to transfer him just yet." The patient, Josiah Beardsley, a young man, had just had oesophagal surgery and was still in critical condition.

Dr Brown frowned at her with disgust. "Give me that," he barked, referring to the chart she had in her hands. He quickly skimmed through the report and shoved it back at her. "The surgery went swimmingly well. He will be fine. Get Mr Beardsley transferred to the recovery unit."

"With all due respect, I know the patient is borderline, and we need the beds, but the anaesthetists in the operating room had had already difficulty placing the breathing tube before the surgery. We need to wait until the inflammation has gone down before transferring him."

Ignoring Claire's words, he signalled the nurse and a doctor-in-training. "Get Mr Beardsley transferred. Now! We have an incoming patient, and we need the bed." And then he faced her. "Are ye seeing things that aren't there, Dr Beauchamp? Is the stress getting too much for ye that I have to continually make sure ye're doing yer job? Please don't waste my time again or else ..." And with that, he turned around, leaving Claire to stare open-mouth at him.

She bit back her frustration and went back to work. Turning her attention back to her patient, she was on time to find the head nurse and the doctor-in-training about to take the breathing tube. "Don't you dare do that if you don't want his life in your conscience. I swear to God, if anything happens to him, I will take this to the board." 

Although seemingly unsure whether to obey her or not, fear of the consequence prevailed, and they eventually followed her orders but with a look of contempt.

With a sigh of relief, she continued her rounds, checking on the other patients and ordering the transfer for those who were in a stable condition. She didn't allow Dr Brown's words to rattle her. Her gut feeling was screaming to keep an eye on this particular patient, and she wasn't about to back down just because she was unpopular with the rest of the staff. She was going to stick to her guns even if it meant facing disciplinary action.

In medical school, there was so much knowledge and learning to absorb, that her brain was perpetually on overload. But she'd always felt she had an innate instinctual response ability when it came to the art of healing. She realised that if she listened and looked beyond textbook facts and thought outside the box, allowing simple common sense to guide her, she discovered things that routine exams or logic didn't. Frank had nearly suppressed that ability when he'd continuously drummed into her to stick to evidence and facts only, citing that following gut instinct could lead to irreversible mistakes and chaos.

"Why is bed number five still not vacated?" Dr Lionel Brown's voice boomed.

She dipped her head and pretended to be going over a patient's chart. "I need to check on a few more things before I release him. But I've vacated three more beds so that will tide us over for the next two hours."

"He should have been transferred half an hour ago. What the hell do ye think are ye doing? Ye think ye're the one running the show here?"

Sweat trickled down her back. "No. I don't think that at all. Mr Beardsley has still severe swelling on the throat and needs to be under observation. Taking off the tube to transfer him could do more damage."

He gritted his teeth, and his voice dropped low. "Of course, there is still swelling. Mr Beardsley just had surgery, for crying out loud. Get him transferred! Now!"

"No! You are making a mistake!"

"Who the hell do ye think ye are?" he growled, his eyes looking like they're about to pop out.

"What's going on here?" Frank intervened.

Claire squeezed her eyes shut.  Oh, sweet Jesus! Just what I need.  She knew she'd overstepped the line but deep down Claire also knew she'd do it all over again, come hell or high water.

Brown narrowed his gaze. "Sort her out, Frank or I will. I cannae tolerate impudence in my A&E." And then he walked away with a snort of disgust.

Frank grabbed her elbow and led her to a corner. His hair was dishevelled, and he looked exhausted. She'd heard in whispered rumours that he'd been doing double shifts to drown his sorrows of losing her, making her out to be the bad guy.

"What's all these about, Claire?"

She kept her calm and her voice professional. "I'm so sorry, but Dr Brown wasn't listening to my concerns regarding a patient. I wanted to keep Mr Beardsley longer for further observation, but he refused."

"He must have a very valid reason to refuse. He's been a doctor way before you started your medical studies. He knows what he's doing."

Stubbornness claimed her. "I do not deny Dr Brown's superiority nor his experience, but we ...us ...doctors are not infallible."

"So you think you are smarter than any of us here and your decision is the way forward?"

She glared at him. "No! I followed my gut feelings. Mr Beardsley is not out of the woods yet, and Dr Brown was too eager to send him to the recovery unit. All I wanted was to do more tests."

"Gut feelings, huh? The same one that you followed when you escaped through the church window. Is that right?"

Claire winced. "Leave us out of this. This is all about work."

"All this has everything to do with us, Claire. You are under my direction. I made you and helped you with your career." Frank cleared his throat and closed the distance. "Have you made your decision about us yet?"

"There is nothing to decide. I've made up my mind a while back. I'm not coming back to you, Frank."

"So, just like that ... you're chucking everything we've hoped and built together away? Based on some insane gut feeling you have."

"If that's how you insist on wording it, then yes, Frank. I'm sick and tired of telling you over and over again, we're done. You're not the only one hurting here. This is difficult for me too. Why can't you just let me be and move on?"

His face remained impassive. "Very well, then. You leave me with no other option other than to start a formal disciplinary report on your file. You've disobeyed a superior, and you were going to go ahead with an unnecessary test that had been refused. I'll have Dr Brown lodge a formal complaint about your instability."

Her breath whooshed out of her lungs, sadness and fury swirling together in one big ball, threatening to explode. "Why are you doing this?" she whispered. "To get back at me? Is this how you treat someone you love?"

"It didn't have to be this way, Claire. You made your choice. You could stay and work here in the hospital if you wish but remember this, you are in my world, and I will not make it easy for you. I made your career, and I can easily shred it to pieces if I want to. And if you lodge a complaint against me, no one will believe you."

Her heart sank as her future unfurled before her. If she fought Frank, there's a possibility she'd not only lose the fight but also every bit of confidence in her abilities and her love for medicine by the time he was done with her. She could take the gossips, snide remarks and hateful stares, and she could also handle Frank's manipulative and controlling ways. But what she wouldn't be able to take was the slow disintegration of her skill and growth as a doctor. Frank was a skilled manipulator, and he could spin the story any way he wished, and people would believe him.

"Dr Beauchamp! Dr Beauchamp ...bed number five, something has gone horribly wrong!" a nurse shouted in her direction.

She cursed under her breath and gave Frank one last look before turning into full doctor mode, aware he was right behind her.

Her worse fear happened. The patient, Josiah Beardsley's endotracheal tube had been removed, and his breathing was speeding up as his oxygen level dropped dangerously. One of the doctors present was trying to reinsert the tube but was having difficulty. 

With utmost calm, she nodded at her colleague and took over. She flashed her penlight into the patient's mouth and saw a swollen mass of dark pink tissue.  Not good!

"Shall we bag him?" one of the doctors asked.

"No. He might vomit. Give him two milligrams of propofol," Claire instructed without looking up. Once he was sedated, she opened his mouth and inserted a laryngoscope to locate the vocal cords. Time was of an essence as she had four minutes before brain damage set in and the enlarged tissue was making it difficult to find the airway. 

When she finally found it, she quickly placed the tube into the mouth and down to the lower portion of the trachea. It seemed like an eternity before the device was properly placed, but she only allowed herself to breath, once Beardsley was connected to the ventilator. 

Stepping away, Claire realised an ashen-faced Dr Brown had been watching the whole scene, along with Frank and a handful of staff. "Well, that's sorted then, Dr Brown. Let's hope our patient here wakes up once the medication wears off." She looked at her watch. "That should be in fifteen minutes. Otherwise, you have some explaining to do to his family," she said calmly without any hint of smugness.

Everyone looked at her with a mixture of remorse and awe, but that didn't do anything for her. Not even when a hand patted her on the shoulder. She was done and spent. She was tired of constantly having to prove herself, and knew this battle with Frank was best left alone for the sake of her peace of mind. 

To the astonishment of the onlookers, she shook her head and let out a hollow laugh, as she lifted her arms and let them fall to her sides. It's done. It's over.

As if Frank had surmised what she was about to do, he took a step forward. "Claire ..."

She raised a hand. "You win, Dr Randall." And she looked at the rest of the staff that came to gather around them. "You all win." Tears threatened to spill, but she refused to give anything more of her. She'd given far too much of herself already for their daily entertainment. Silently, Claire grieved for the career she'd dreamed of since she was young and her love for a man she once believed in. She wanted to retain all that was good she had shared with Frank, but he had crushed all that in one blow. What she was about to do was for the best even if it meant destroying the final fragile thread between them. With a heavy heart, Claire finally spoke. "I am resigning from my residency. I shall hand in my formal resignation in a couple of days. I sincerely hope you'll all be happier without me here. Goodbye." 

And then numbly she walked out of the A&E, unhearing of the voices that were calling after her.

[pondernce]

Behind Closed Doors: Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry this is delayed! I am currently still stranded in Las Vegas... which is not as fun as it sounds. Anyway, I’ll be back on schedule next week!! Happy reading:) 

When she was a little girl, roving the misleading bleak landscape of the Syrian desert, Claire Beauchamp had dreamed of travelling the world forever. At seven she knew scraps of a dozen languages, spoke fluent French alongside her posh English, and delighted in exploring. She thought, at the time, that surely she would follow in the footsteps of her beloved uncles and be an archaeologist.

 But fate had other plans. Fate led a slightly older Claire to local apothecaries in Egypt, Sudan, and Ethiopia, who taught her the magic and science of healing. Fate landed Uncle Lamb’s longtime partner Charles in the hospital, where Claire spent her days an accidental shadow of the doctors there. And when they moved to Paris for the Frenchman’s health, she found solace in sciences. Without a formal education, and years ahead of her peers, Claire was something of an outcast all those years. The time other fifteen year olds spent with their friends, or kissing boys in the gardens, or sneaking out to drink in the streets of Pigalle, she spent at a small herbalists shop, playing doctor and witch and finding that her hands were made to heal, not to excavate.

 She imagined then that someday she would be a doctor. She would bring together medicine and biology with the plants, herbs, and rituals she had grown so fond of in her youth. And so, at 16, Claire returned to England a student of alternative medicine and biology at Cambridge. She’d always been young and bright and brilliant, and strange, so it was no surprise she was not particularly social at Cambridge. The little bookworm who set the curve and kept to herself (and her plants), it wasn’t until she was eighteen that life, and fate, grew more complicated.

 They met in the bookstore, incidentally. Starting her final year of bachelor’s, Claire was picking up her textbooks when Frank Randall entered her life. He was decidedly comfortable, even if he’d never-- now that she thought back on those years--captured her interest completely. He was a graduate student, as she was soon to be, studying history. It hadn’t mattered at the time that he was ten years her senior and ready to complete his phD. She was young, and alone, and her security soon became a man who seemed willing to offer all the guidance and support she’d lacked since leaving Lamb.

 For Frank, she fought with fate. She chose a phD in Alternative Medicine over an MD. Dream-Claire exchanged the white coat for leather-elbowed jumpers, the stethoscope for a microscope.

 Those had been ugly years. Years that ended with her abrupt flight to Lebanon to see her uncles, a visit that stretched over a month, and then a year.

 And a holiday in Cyprus she would never forget.

 ---

 Claire had never truly wanted to be a professor. Her skill had never been in teaching, but in healing. And yet there she was, rushing to her first lecture of her life, 5 minutes late and 5 steps behind her intended schedule. Slightly frantic, she tossed her coat aside carelessly and set down her things, running through the checklist under her breath. “...introduce the course, set up my slides, take attendance…” Speaking on autopilot, it wasn’t until halfway through her introduction that she saw him.

 Russet curls against white sheets, wild with sweat and exertion and salt from the Mediterranean sea. Long, toned limbs with which she found herself entangled, engulfed really. The heat of his body in sharp contrast with the night air, the heat of his mouth even hotter. But nothing compared to the fire he stoked in her…

 “...and what we’ll truly focus on is the important of cul-culture, excuse me,” Claire faltered, lost for a moment in eyes the color of a storming sea. Her face likely gave away every thought in her head. She could feel her cheeks flush slightly, the jumper suddenly much too hot. Christ. He’d have to have found his way here, to her lecture of but a dozen students half a world away from that room. “The importance of culture in treating what we, in the western world, view as disease and injury…” she kept speaking, carrying on with the words she’d practiced in front of Geillis for hours over the weekend, but her mind traversed time and memory.

 His hands in hers, guiding her along the shore at night, boasting about keeping her safe. His hands on her, caressing her skin or spreading her thighs, gentle and demanding by turns. His hands, white knuckled on the khaki canvas handle of a duffle as he left.

 Prior to seeing him, Claire had intended to handout the syllabi and have the class introduce themselves. She wanted to find a way to make ethics personal, and engaging, and perhaps get a handle on her students experiences. You’re a twenty-nine year old professor, not a blushing schoolgirl, she scolded herself, grabbing the stack of print-outs from her back with perhaps a bit too much gusto, pull yourself together, dammit.

 “I’m not going to waste all of our time asking you to read this now. Take a look at it, as I’m sure most of your questions will be answered here.” she smiled at the small class, pointedly glancing over the redhead’s head. “What we’re going to do instead is explore our own sense of ethics and cultural perspective. I want to remind you all that this is entirely voluntary- I’m not going to ask you to disclose anything, particularly proprietary medical information,” she smirked a little, “that would hardly be ethical, would it?”

 She relaxed a little at the smattering of soft chuckles, her steps and tone a little more fluid, easy.

 “So you would tell me your names, your degree, and any experience you have with culture in medicine-- whether that be having been treating by a foreign doctor, having international experience, working in medicine, or even  being from another country,” she paused, stepping back to the front of the room. Claire took a seat on the desk and crossed her legs, long-fingered hands resting over her knees. “Like myself, in fact, although you may be fooled by the accent.”

 She made the mistake of glancing at him then, while he was grinning at her, that strangely roguish half smile that had caught her attention once before. Her eyes locked on his, lost for a moment in stormy blue, and then she blushed. Like a schoolgirl. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, get a hold of yourself!

 With a slight cough, she refocused, crossing and uncrossing her legs as she sat. Why did the room have to be so bloody small? She smiled, nodding to the first student. “Why don’t you start us off, hmm?”

 She listened intently, at least as best she could. Claire was never one to pride herself on her listening skills. It had burdened her in the past, particularly with Frank. The one who wanted her only to listen, to remain as blindly enraptured as she had been at eighteen, her eyes wide and yet covered by the wool of youth. But Claire’s mind always drifted. Presently, she listened to her student’s names and experiences while her thoughts drifted. It was only when he spoke that Claire was able to draw her full attention to the moment.

 “James Fraser,” that Scottish burr slid from his lips and over her skin, a caress. It seeped in and pooled in her belly, the phantom reminder of want and need lost to the years. “I suppose I’ve had more than my share of… cultural experiences with medicine.” He shifted, a slight sign of discomfort, his eyes focused on the old oak of his desk. “I was in the army for the last 5 years, and I’ve been treated by doctors from all over. Did a long stint in recovery in Cyprus…” his voice drifted off and Claire found herself staring back at him, the heat rising in her cheeks again.

 Hot under her jumper, she managed a smile and a nod before moving her focus to the next student.

 Although the class was short that day, as she had no intention of launching right into the full weight of material, Claire felt each minute stretch out. The clock in the back of the room never seemed to move. As she she played the 15 minute video on a particularly dire case of cultural miscommunication in an American hospital (a case she could describe back to front, thankfully), she found herself studying the strong profile of James Fraser in the strange half light of the projector.

 It was incredibly unfortunate, having him before her again. That night had been something she pushed from her mind long ago. A blissful memory that brought questions, confusion, shame even. It wasn’t something Claire talked about.

 She’d never shared so much of herself before, or since. James- Jamie- had opened firmly closed doors in her heart, doors where the wood had swelled to jam them shut. Such a forceful opening had been painful, far worse than ripping the plaster off a wound. In his own way he’d helped her heal.

 But he walked out, closed to the door to her rented room and her heart. Those chambers remained silent and barricaded, unused rooms collecting dust and keeping her safe.

 Claire wasn’t the type to open up to strangers. She’d barely opened up to Frank (That was part of the problem though, wasn’t it? You cold, frigid thing). Nor was she the type to have a one night stand, and yet that night she’d been so drawn to him.

 As the video wrapped up, Claire closed the website and stepped forward out of the shadow. “So I’ll keep today’s class short and sweet, and see you all on Wednesday. Read the case before we meet, and have a good day.” She smiled, turning to erase her name from the board. It wasn’t a move to appear too busy to talk to her students, one in particular at least, or at least she hoped not an obvious one.

 Dusting off her hands and disconnecting her laptop, Claire seriously watched the room empty out. Of course he lingered too, taking far too long to gather up his simple notebook and ballpoint pen. Stacking her things, she watched his Blundstone clad feet step closer to the small podium, and then the slight tap of his left foot, off beat. No rhythm to it, it almost distracted her from hearing his words.

 “This is about the last place I expected to see ye’..” His voice was too low to be overheard, a murmur thick with memory.

 Claire didn’t want to remember.

 She looked up, meeting his eyes finally. Christ, he was tall. Had she really forgotten that. “I could say the same…” Claire smiled without wishing to, that blush still creeping over her fair skin. “I recall you not being terribly fond of London.” It was almost too much to hold his gaze then. Claire stepped back just slightly, enough to run into the podium and jostle the papers she’d stacked upon it. A ream of syllabi fell with an echoing thump, and of course James Fraser had to stoop to get it, just as she did. It brought them face to face, his hand brushing hers.

 “I…” she pulled back before he could speak, folding a bit awkwardly onto her heels, trying to make space between herself and her student. That’s what he was now, after all, her student.

 He stacked the papers, pressed them back into her hands as if he couldn’t sense her discomfort. She waited a moment too long after he rose to stand again.

 “I got accepted here, figured it was better for my plans now, ye ken? I only did one more year after…” he sighed, pushing his hand through his hair. “After. Wasn’t for me, anymore. So I’m studying law and counter terrorism.”

 She nodded, the papers clutched to her chest like a soft of shield. “I see. Well… that would suit you, I think.” As if she knew him at all.

 But she did, didn’t she? They hadn’t shared their full names but their full lives that night, and he had been as vulnerable as she. Jamie had unlocked her heart and Claire had thought she managed to take off the armor he always seemed to wear, even now. He confided in her. And yet here they were, where the proximity felt both thrilling and threatening. A part of her wanted it, craved that feeling of being chased by him, the power that radiated off him. The potential that if that door were closed, he might offer her the touches the heat in his eyes promised. To press her up against the podium, claim her mouth as he had then…

 Get a grip, Beauchamp!

 “James I need to go. There’s another class here shortly…” and she couldn’t be caught flushed, standing too close to her far too attractive student. Claire grabbed for the rest of her things, tossing her coat over her arm before she picked up the pile. “It’s good to see you—“

 He was watching her, and it brought her to a halt. The way he looked at her felt liquid, too hot in her veins. “It is. I hope you’re doing well, Sorcha. I’ll see you Wednesday.” He nodded his head, leaving the room and taking what was left of the oxygen with him. Starved, the flame of need in Claire’s belly died down. She struggled to get her breathing and her blush under control, just in time for the next professor to come through the open door.

 Shocking measured steps carried her out of the maze-like building, her heartbeat outpacing her feet. When Claire made it outside, she leant against the damp stone and gulped in the cool air. James Fraser. His name felt heavy on her tongue, and in her heart, although not entirely unpleasant. And that was just the problem. Despite everything, seeing him again was pleasant. It left her wanting, confused, and reeling.