#tag guide incoming....

[xyl4-4444]

Welcome 2 the Xyl4-4444 Blog!!

*SOCIALS COMING SOON*

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I'm Xyla! (She/They)💜 I'm a queer and autistic artist based in Poland 🇵🇱. I like to draw so expect to see my art of my (mostly) demon Ocs, Fanart of stuff I like and various sketchbook drawings. I'll be using content warnings in tags sometimes when necessary so look out for that.

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Some rules:

Please do not repost my art onto any site unless I give you the permission to do so, always credit me properly if you do. (I'm looking at YOU pinterest users)

I DON'T consent to my art being turned into an NFT or being trained to an AI

You can use my art as pfp/avatar as long as you credit me.

Feel free to draw my Ocs (OC tag: xylas-ocs) or my mascot (tag: xyla-persona). Just mention me, so that I can see it.

BIGOTS (example.: RACIST/SEXIST/ABELIST/TRANSPHOBES/HOMOPHOBES), FASCISTS, PROSHIPPERS, NFT/AI BROS DNI!!!

[hastalavistabyebye]

Don't lose your anchor

Ao3 version

Spiritual sequel of The Keychain story (part 1 and part 2 here). I think it can be read as a stand alone, but only at the same degree as any other ficlet of this universe 😅 it's better to have read some others at least, but can be managed on its own.

Neyo wasn’t one to lose his composure easily. But this campaign was hell warmed over. It had been supposed to be a simple recon mission, two squads, backed up by the rest of the Battalion to take the city, once the path was clear. Of course it went tits up faster than it takes him to change his ammo. 

As any Clone Commander, he hated when someone (generally his jetii) said they had “a bad feeling about it”. For once, he had been the one with a bad feeling at the start of the mission. It was getting worse now. Like a jittery, itchy feeling in his fingers, crawling up his arms and down his back. Admittedly, the blaster fire they were receiving didn't help. 

He ducked under cover at Allie’s side, both of them covered in red dust, making them blend with the surrounding walls of stone that formed the canyons they had retreated in.

“What’s the situation, sir ?” He shouted more than asked, over the loud detonations of the fight around them.

“We’re getting there, Commander. We just need to clear the path a bit more and we’ll be able to blow up those rocks, up there, and close the entryway.”

He barely had the time to think “If they don’t explode it before us” when a loud detonation ringed in the entire gorge. 

“Kriff. Sitrep !” He ordered through the comms. 

“It was us, Commander. No casualties from our side,” was the quick answer he got.

He didn’t have the time to sight in relief when a second explosion made the stone tremble behind them. This one came from the corridor Windu and Ponds had disappeared into with a squad, to secure the path and hopefully acquire them an escape route.

Neyo and his General exchanged a look, before both commed the two officers of Lighting in a single movement. Neither of them got an answer.

It didn’t take long for them to get a report on what happened -Ponds and Windu followed a small group of clankers who ended up blowing up the passage on them. It took them even less time to make sure everything was settled on their end, organize the research for a way out of this labyrinth and run to the second explosion’s site. 

Thankfully, only four people had been trapped under the rubble. Of course, Neyo’s ori’vod and his Jedi were part of those four people. 

The dread growing in him only got worse when he found a small salamander keychain half buried between a few rocks. Bacara was going to kill him, he thought derisively, while carefully freeing the little talisman. It was a bit scratched and the leather rope crooked, but still in good shape. Small mercies. It should still have protective capacities even if a bit banged up. Surely it wasn't supposed to be its owner’s anchor and compass thanks to the straightness of the rope. He stood there, observing the precious object cradle in his palm, when General Allie came at his side. 

“I can still sense Mace, Commander, even if weakly. We’ll find them.”

Neyo nodded once, before turning determined eyes to his general. The visor of his helmet never stopped her from perceiving his gaze.

“Could this help you establish a more precise area of research ?” He said while showing her the little salamander head. The gorge was wide here, and there was too much rubble for them to clean it all up, especially not quickly enough to be of any help. “Ponds always has it on him.”

Neyo knew for a fact that his ori’vod only put it down long enough to shower, and not a second more. And that was only because he didn't want to damage the leather. He always had it with him. That knowledge definitely didn’t help with the icy worry eating at his mind.

“Yes, yes it could !” The Jedi smiled at him, a little less stiff and concerned than it had been seconds ago. 

She thankfully didn’t try to pry it from Neyo’s hand, just placed her fingers delicately on top of the purple stone, eyes closed. A minute later, she was lifting a massive stone out of the way, revealing a small cavity hidden in the middle of the rubble. Neyo and a few of his troops extracted the four rescapies -injured but thankfully alive- in record time. 

Once the medics cleared from Ponds’ side, Neyo lightly threw the keychain into his lap. His ori’vod was in a too pitiful state for him to smack the back of his head, like he would have loved to do. The dikutla would have deserved it, jumping under explosions like a kriffing jetii -that it was to save someone else was irrelevant. 

“Don’t lose your anchor ever again, dikut. Bacara would kill us both.”

The small, warm chuckle that earned him made the last of his worry dissolve.

[aq2003]

tlovm opening x your turn to roll (hd)

[tizzymcwizzy]

doing those requests got me thinking,,

[superconductivebean]

#405

sometimes The Fic attacks me with its estimated size however knowing myself I'll say it's going to be a tightly-packed but still a little lengthy piece, however.

here's the catch: i might start to post it after i'm done with half of the chapters because i will incorporate a structure of sorts, to further empathize on magic in general and Wrights perception of it; and because it's all about Wright…

why does she have such a colourful view on things, writing her is like painting a page in a medieval book and colour the letters altogether.

[poisonf0rest]

𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐜*𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

love and deepspace: zayne x fem!reader

tags: smut, teasing, guided masturbation, fingering, first time (kinda), pwp

word count: 9.3K what the fuck

synopsis: Between being in the midst of your medical residency and being an up-and-coming author, it’s safe to say your personal life has been placed on stand-still. That is, until your editor decided that your next novel needed explicit smut scenes. That is, until your mentor and boss ends up striking a deal for you to help with “inspiration” for said novel. That is, until you fuck Zayne four times and your life changes forever. - partially inspired by manga of the same name by Nae Awaji

original ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57209872/chapters/145519015

art credit: @/kaito_aii

You’re screwed. Fucked. Utterly damned.

Groaning into your desk, you slam your head down upon piles of patient records and old case files. 

You’re only halfway done with your medical residency and somewhere along the way turned your lifelong passion for writing into a successful side gig. So successful in fact, that it was single-handedly providing you with enough money to get by and complete residency.

After anonymously posting online for a decade, you signed with a publisher three years ago, on the exact same day you matched with your first choice cardiothoracic residency program here at Akso Hospital.

Needless to say, you haven't felt that magnitude of happiness in years.

You doubt you ever will again.

In the midst of your wallowing, your phone lights up: Michaela. It’s a follow-up to her previous messages, all with the same damn request. 

Michaela - Boss Man

checking in on my star, how’s that manuscript going?

talked to the director again to try and plead your case but she didn’t budge :( 

she said w current book trends the fans will go crazy for a few explicit spicy scenes

pluuuus she believes in your writing enough to know you’ll make it big! come on, star, you know I’m here if you need any extra help

You - Little Star

Hey Micheala

You cringe for a moment at how formal you sound, but honestly, you’re too burnt out from writer’s block to match your editor’s energy and too tired from today’s shift to push back any further. 

You - Little Star

No I get it, thanks for trying though

I’m almost done with the novel, it's just those scenes that are taking a little more time

And by a “little more time,” you mean you’ve tried writing and rewriting them over a dozen times just to cringe, delete, and scream into your keyboard. Over. And over again. 

It’s not that you’re clueless, you’ve read your fair share of erotica for inspiration and pleasure equally. But actually writing them yourself? That was a whole different story. Pacing, banter, and even making the right word choices without sounding like a repetitive pervert or absolute lunatic were all so much harder to do than you previously gave authors credit for. 

Not to mention, you haven’t actually experienced a lot first-hand.

Beyond a few situationships in high school and undergraduate flings between pre-med classes and internships absolutely kicking your ass, you’re probably half as sexually experienced as most adults your age. And you had absolutely no intention of re-entering the dating scene with residency, until now. 

With Michaela breathing down your neck about how these explicit smut scenes were a marketing goldmine and the combined stress from your jobs, it seems like you’ve been fighting a losing battle. This time, however, your main income was on the line. 

You groan  as another ping lights up your phone, going to silence it when you realize it’s from the hospital Slack and not your editor. 

residency-CS-alerts

Dr. Zayne: Second look needed for a CMR scan. Nonurgent. 

Jumping to your feet, you sprint from the office wing to get to the MRI’s before another resident can take your spot. It’s not that your program lacked opportunities- far from it as you attend the top program– but rather that this particular opportunity was rare indeed.

Doctor Zayne. Akso Hospital's respected chief cardiac surgeon, who has made groundbreaking advances to the treatment of congenital heart abnormalities in neonates. At only twenty-seven he is the youngest recipient of the Starcatcher Award. His dedication to his craft is unparalleled, as he tirelessly devotes more time to surgeries than any other doctor you know, cementing his reputation as an unwavering force in the field.

He’s also impossibly tall, extremely well built for a man who seems to spend most of his time in the hospital, and has a face sculpted like a Roman deity in marble. And gods, his voice.

Safe to say, you admire him just a little.

You’ve bumped into him a handful of times during your first two years here, but the doctor was so engrossed in his work that the occurrence was rare enough. But a chance to perform with him? To consult alongside him on a cardiovascular case? 

You began to fear for your own heart’s safety as you felt it skip in your throat. 

Finally reaching the MRIs, you knock once before sliding the door to the control room open with a bow. And when you stand straight again, Dr. Zayne’s steel-set eyes only glance at you before he points to the readings displayed on the computer. 

“Tell me what you see.”

Your mouth is still hanging open from what was going to be a very enthusiastic self-introduction, but you cut yourself off with a cough and stumble over to the monitor. Dr. Zayne’s eyes follow you with a precision that makes your hands tremble, and you bend over slightly to scan the patient’s readings. 

You’re about ready to make a diagnosis when you realize you haven’t gotten much background on the patient.

 “What’s the patient’s briefing?” You look down, flinching as you see Dr. Zayne already staring at you. “If I can hear it, sir?”

He nods once. “An adolescent female with complaints of shortness of breath and coughing. She had no specific medical history, but grew up in the countryside unable to visit a proper clinic for several years while this issue persisted.”

Countryside… that could mean this was an undiagnosed issue that festered. 

Clearing your throat, you begin to point to the different scans. “Firstly, there’s clearly an enlarged cardiac silhouette.” Squinting, you point at two denser mounds in CMR scans. “Here and here. There are two large cysts along the lateral and inferior walls of the LV pushing and invading the myocardial walls.”

Gods, the cysts were huge. Even if surgery was performed on her now, would she survive?

Dr. Zayne’s low voice pulls you back into the control room. “Then what is your final diagnosis?”

“I–” you stutter, shaking your head. “I would recommend surgery immediately.”

“More detail than that, please.”

A sharp inhale and you scan the readings again. “Maybe a cannulation? The cysts might be causing an SVC compression, which would explain her shortness of breath.” You dare ask. “Will she survive?”

Dr. Zayne stands up this time. “You did well. She was my patient, and underwent surgery over a week ago.” He gently pats you on the shoulder, touch warm. “Our job as surgeons is to act decisively, to learn, and to try. Not to be heroes.”

You can’t manage to say anything back as Dr. Zayne leaves the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

_______

Surprisingly, you’ve been seeing more and more of Dr. Zayne since that day. 

And if that wasn’t enough, the doctor has also been actively acknowledging you, exchanging greetings and simple conversation when you pass in the halls, cafeteria, or shared cardiovascular wing of the hospital.

Not that you haven’t been putting in the effort either. 

Dr. Zayne’s current apprentice is graduating from residency this year, and you have every intention of becoming their successor. Between picking up extra shifts, answering every pager call, and of course paying special attention in case Dr. Zayne specifically requests a second pair of hands, you’ve been climbing up the ranks amongst your peers. 

Luckily, it seems those efforts have not been in vain. 

You’ve been doing so well apparently, that Dr. Zayne wants to meet with you in the hospital’s cafe today. Interviews before officially announcing mentor-mentee pairs was not unusual, but the thought of being one-on-one with Dr. Zayne after your last case together still has your mind reeling. 

Will he pull out old case files? Will he bring you to a patient and test you in real time? You have half a mind that he might pull out a custom-made test and timer. It seems on-brand enough to be a possibility.

Yet when you arrive, the cafe is completely empty, save for the staff and a familiar man in a white lab coat.

Dr. Zayne stands as soon as he sees you and beckons for you to sit, pulling the chair across from him out in the same movement. He clears his throat, a barely-there smile gracing his lips as he watches you settle down. “How have you been, doctor?”

“Good! Good.” The words rush out from you and you flinch, forcing yourself to slow down. Was the cafe always this small? “Discharged a patient today, so all good news.” Holy striped cows, if you say the word good one more time you might lose your mind.

“Well,” Dr. Zayne nods, taking a sip of something that looks like a far-too-sweet cup of coffee practically drenched in whipped cream. “That’s certainly good to hear.”

You die a little inside. 

“I’ll keep things rather brief since I’ve already made my mind up.”

Was this it? Did you ruin your chance at having Linkon’s top doctor as your mentor because of your damn mouth?

Dr. Zayne reaches inside his jacket, and you swear your heart is going to beat itself out of your throat. He pulls out a simple white envelope with your name scrawled across the front, the paper crisp as he slides it across the table. 

His fingers linger on the edges before he speaks. "I wanted to formally offer you the position to shadow me as my apprentice."

"I accept!"

The words fly out before you can stop them and Dr. Zayne looks stunned for a moment before laughing, a smooth and deep sound you didn't expect from him. He looked good when he smiled. Softer, content. 

The ghost of the smile stays, even when Zayne speaks again. "It's not a timed offer, you don't have to agree so quickly."

You flush down to your neck, looking down at the envelope. "Right. Only, it would be an honor to learn from you, sir. I really don’t know anyone in our field who wouldn’t accept it."

Zayne hums, but his brows furrow. “You don’t have to call me sir either. Doctor Zayne is fine while we are at the hospital. Zayne is more than acceptable elsewhere, we’re not that far apart in age and I don’t wish for this to be an overly formal relationship.”

You curse your heart for fluttering, reminding yourself that he only means this in a conductive, professional way. 

After a beat of silence, Zayne looks at the clock and stands, taking his sugar-filled drink with him. You never pegged him to have such a massive sweet tooth. 

"I have a consultation now, but I would like to talk to you more about your residency. We should set up weekly meetings outside of work, check your calendar, and organize it later.”

You nod and thank him as he walks away, leaving you alone to open the envelope. Inside is a simple handwritten note, signed and stamped with Dr. Zayne's official signature alongside Akso Hospital’s. 

A reminder that this was, in fact, not a dream. 

_______

It’s barely been a month since you’ve begun officially shadowing Zayne, yet you swear it feels as though a part of you has known him forever. 

Aside from his virtually frozen demeanor and tendency to make snarky quips at your habit of running your mouth, he’s been nothing but a patient mentor. Brief, direct, unrelenting, but attentive to your work and growth. 

If that were all, then everything would be perfect. 

If that were all, then you would be sticking perfectly to your ten-year plan: graduating early, completing residency under the top doctor in the top program, and then overtaking him as the top cardiovascular surgeon with a breakthrough of your own. 

But of course, the plot has to thicken. 

Sure, the first few weeks have been strictly business, but since then, your conversations with Zayne—Dr. Zayne—have morphed into more casual, more playful meetings. Your weekly check-ins have moved from the hospital cafeteria to a cozy family-run cafe in town that Zayne introduced to you. And the way you’ve begun to think of him was the most damning part of it all. 

But you don’t have the time nor capacity to deal with whatever this was becoming. 

Not when your novel’s deadline was in three weeks, and you still had absolutely nothing to show for it. Without this new novel’s money, you wouldn’t be able to pay for rent or food or transport, and residency sure as hell wasn’t giving you enough to survive off of alone. 

This past week, you’ve gone from stressed to a thundering cloud of misery. Snapping at interns, drinking dangerously over the FDA-recommended caffeine intake, and ignoring the maelstrom your face has become.

And of course, today happens to be your weekly check-in with Zayne.

Dragging yourself to your usual booth, you watch him order at the counter and bring his drink to the table alongside a signature pair of macaroons, a slice of chocolate cake, and an eclair. He sets it all down with a huff and sits, looking over at you with an iron-cold gaze. You can smell the incoming lecture. 

"You're late."

You dip your head, but your patience is running on reserve, and your reply has more bite than you’d dare use otherwise. "I'm sorry, it looks like I’ve lost track of time."

"You're never late." Zayne doesn't sound any angrier at your attitude, but it still doesn't settle the guilt bubbling in your stomach.

"I've just been really stressed. You know," you wave your hand, "wrapping up residency."

"Is that so." Zayne's gaze is sharp as he fights to maintain eye contact. It's not a question. "I've noticed. You've been distracted and irritated recently, and I can't help but wonder why. Is it really the hospital? Am I demanding too much aside from your typical resident duties?” 

You shake your head, and the guilt is back. "No, of course not."

"Then I have to assume it's something else, is it not?"

"It's..." How on earth are you supposed to explain that the reason why you're a mess is because your editor is pressuring you to write a smut scene that you have no interest in, let alone sufficient experience with? And to someone you admire, your mentor, Linkon’s top surgeon, and apparently now someone your heart is deciding to blackmail you with. "I'm sorry, Dr. Zayne. It's nothing work-related, it's not your problem to fix."

Zayne raises his eyebrow, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms. “That’s the first time you addressed me as doctor outside of hospital property in over a month. ”

You really, really, can’t do this right now, or else you might start spewing some things you’ll regret. “Really? That’s fascinating, sir.” You watch him scowl at the title you know he hates. “Still does not entitle you to my personal issues.”

“As your mentor, it becomes entitled to me when your personal issues begin affecting your performance.” He says.

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing your anger down. "It's really not something I can talk about here, nor to you. Can we just have a regular check-in?"

"We are."

“You know what?" You stand, chair falling back with a screech. “I think I need a rain check today, sir. You know. Stress.”

"You’re not leaving until you tell me what is bothering you."

You're about to grab your bag and walk away when you're suddenly reminded of how tall Zayne is when he stands. Practically towering over you, he leans across the table, grabbing you firm enough to prevent you from slipping away, yet never harsh enough to harm you. “Please, we’re making a scene.”

You sit. Zayne follows. 

Seeing just how reactive you’re being, he softens, genuine concern in his tone as he reaches an arm out. “Is it a family issue? Are you alright?”

“No. Yes.” You inhale deeply through your nose, but your mind is still reeling at a mile a minute. “No, it’s not a family issue.”

“So if it’s not about the hospital and not family, then what could possibly be causing you this much stress.” Zayne’s eyes narrow and you see his jaw tick. “Don’t tell me this foolishness is over a boy.”

“No! God,” you want to push yourself off a building. Or him. “No, it’s this fucking–” You’re rambling. You’re rambling, losing control, and you’re going to blurt it out and regret it. “It’s this smut scene!”

You’ve really outdone yourself this time.

Zayne chokes on his drink and slams the cup down, coughing as liquid comes out his nose. You flounder in panic, trying to help but he holds a hand up and turns, still coughing into his arm. You can only manage to pull out a few napkins, handing them over in a pathetic bundle.

“A…” Zayne almost seems to buffer, clearing his throat before looking back at you. “An erotica scene?”

Your face is burning. You can practically feel the heat radiating off of it in waves, and you have to remind yourself that writing is your job. A respectable, decent-paying, well-appreciated job that you do for the sake of womankind everywhere.

“I write for extra income alongside residency, and recently my editor got it into her head that we’ll sell even more with some extra spice.” You scoff, “But it’s been months of looking at a blank doc. Now the deadline is approaching and I still have nothing to show for it.”

Zayne doesn't say anything for a moment, and you have to check if he's breathing, or if the shock has killed him. Finally, he shifts back in his seat, adjusting his tie.

"That sounds like a difficult position to be in, doctor."

You look up, and Zayne has his arms crossed. It's an expression you're familiar with, one that means he's actually thinking about what you've said, but the way he says "doctor" now feels strange, almost as if the term has no place here.

"It's fine, I'll figure it out." This is also why you didn't want to tell him, as if Zayne has any place worrying about this on your behalf. “Besides, I’m as much a writer as a doctor, this is my job after all. I have to figure it out.”

“Of course. I’d expect no less." Zayne nods a little to himself, slightly dazed, and you scramble to find a way to change the subject back into something even remotely work-appropriate.

"Anyway, I've been keeping up with my rounds, and I think I've been able to handle more cases on my own recently, too."

"You have."

Zayne is quiet for a beat too long and you frown, tapping the table.

"Are you alright? I know this is a lot, I shouldn't have burdened you with it."

When Zayne faces you again, you watch as his brows furrow. "But if this is such a pressing issue…” He clears his throat, looking at a spot directly above your head. “Then, what if I helped you?”

You swear your head is spinning, his words ringing over and over and over in your mind. The only thing remotely in focus was Zayne’s face, far too close for comfort now, even across the table. Oh gods, you’re having this conversation in public, too.

"What do you mean by help, exactly?"

"If you’re in need of experience," Zayne's voice is low, but he still manages to keep eye contact, the intensity of it making you smile nervously. "Then I could offer my assistance. Better coming from someone you know and trust, yes?"

There’s no way you heard that right. Your mind blanks, but apparently your smartass mouth hasn’t. 

"Are you offering to be my fuck buddy? Sex consultant? My smut guide, if you will?"

A deadpan, “I would prefer the term sexual partner.”

Even the way Zayne says it makes it sound more like a business proposal than an actual proposition, and it throws you off guard. He leans back, trying to act nonchalant. "You did mention lack of inspiration was your main issue, correct?”

“Well, yes.” That, and your lack of any novel-worthy sexual experiences.

“And you have had—“ There it is again. Not quite embarrassment, and if you weren’t so tuned in to Zayne’s resting expression, you may not have noticed it, but there is a deeper furrow between his brows as his eyes evade yours, and the slightest tint of pink on the tips of his ears. “You have been with partners before, yes?”

The stoic, pragmatic, level-headed Doctor Zayne is embarrassed asking you whether or not you’ve had sex before.

You nearly laugh.

“Yes,” an amused giggle escapes you at the absurdity of this entire conversation. “I’ve been with partners,” you mimic, slightly mocking his word choice, “but it has been a while, and I haven’t really…”

Zayne moves to take another sip of coffee. “You haven’t?”

“I’ve never come. Orgasmed.”

And he chokes. Again.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry!” You jump from your seat to hand him yet another pile of napkins, but this time Zayne stops you halfway there, grabbing your wrist as his coughs subside.

Neither of you speaks as he drinks water and coughs once more, his grip still iron and far colder than you imagined it would feel against your bare skin.

“My apologies,” Zayne releases you immediately, going back to staring at his coffee as his hand flexes once. Twice. “Continue.”

You can only watch him in fascination, sitting back down in your chair. The entire time he avoided eye contact, and he was definitely blushing. You almost wanted to push further, to poke and tease and test his reactions, but you knew that would end with you losing your head. Or worse, you muse, heart fluttering against your chest.

“Ah, I mean, I’ve felt pleasure before. It’s not that my previous partners were unwilling to do stuff for me, I’ve just never gotten over that little plateau.” It’s not resentment that washes over you, and not quite embarrassment either. Just a little bit of dull apathy towards the subject. And yourself. “Biologically speaking of course I know it’s possible, but there are also plenty of women who simply don’t climax during sex. I’m probably just one of them.”

Zayne, who seems to have returned to his usual stoicism, frowns at that, mouth drawn taut as though he wanted to say something.

"And if we were to engage in sexual acts," He's so clinical, even as he says something that could send anyone else running. “Perhaps that is what you need to start writing again. It would make sense. To write a compelling,” he stumbles over the word, “erotica, you’d have to experience pleasure."

The gears in your mind turn, and slowly, it begins to make a twisted sort of sense. You'd have to feel it for yourself, to be able to describe the sensation, the passion, the tension with conviction. Perhaps it really would get you closer to finishing this damn book.

But then you remember who you're talking to. Doctor Zayne. Your coworker. Worse than that, your mentor and direct superior in your field, and someone you happen to admire very much. So then why would he…?

"What do you gain from this, Zayne?"

Zayne stiffens. “I’m a doctor, it’s my duty to help my patients.”

A sly smile cracks against your lips, and you prop your chin against your palm. “I didn’t realize I was your patient now, doctor?”

His eyes snap back to yours and he straightens, his demeanor slipping back to his typical formality. "You have a bright future in front of you. This is an investment in you, and I believe this will help us both. I will draw up a contract tomorrow for us to discuss, you can meet me in my office after your shift.”

“Rather formal,” you say, but Zayne doesn’t take the bait this time.

He simply takes another sip from his coffee, and you swear you catch him smiling behind the porcelain rim. “Then perhaps I could also get a signed copy of your next book?"

You scoff, waving him off as you slouch back in your chair. "Of course, I'll throw one in the mail the day it's out."

"It's a deal then.”

He’s about to push in his chair when you lunge from yours, grabbing his sleeve as his eyes widen slightly, looking down at where your hands meet. "Thank you,” a smile. ”Zayne."

His gaze softens and he smiles a bit, nodding. "Of course, doctor."

And with a wave, he's gone.

_______

You don’t know what you expected. 

Zayne seemed like the type to take his girl out to dinner first, probably somewhere obscenely expensive. He’d show up with a single rose or another simple but romantic gift so seemingly contradictory to his outward appearance. Afterward, maybe he’d take her to a show or somewhere with fancy sweets, knowing his taste. Then, after all that, he’d invite her back to his apartment or allow her to whisk him away to her place.

You’d imagine it would go something like that. But then again, the terms of your relationship are quite different then the one he’d have with this imaginary woman. So when he texts you after your shift that Tuesday asking if you’re free tonight, you’re only moderately panicked. 

To make matters worse, he’s at your house five minutes early.

Two knocks, and you scramble to open the door, Zayne nearly dwarfing the door frame as he lingers outside the hallway. His trenchcoat only adds to his natural tendency to command attention, and you feel more vulnerable than usual in your sleep clothes. 

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger.” 

Zayne adjusts his collar. “Do you mind if I come in?”

You tap your chin, pretending to mull it over in your mind, relishing in the slight nervousness your silence instills in Zayne. “It would be rather bothersome to fuck in the hallway, I suppose…”

Zayne shakes his head at the remark, but you can see amusement dancing in his eyes. With that, you step aside, and he ducks under the doorframe to slip inside. It’s as though something irreversible- something inevitable- shifts as you watch him cross the threshold, and it doesn't get better when you close the door and lock it behind him. 

You'd say he makes himself at home, but his stance is still too stiff, too awkward, even as he’s hanging his coat and slipping out of his shoes. It almost feels domestic.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Zayne shakes his head, "Not this time."

He says it so casually, and yet the notion of a next time has you dizzy. Of course there’s a next time, you’ll need more than one night to get inspiration. It was only a natural assumption, you reason with yourself. 

"You seem tense," he says, and then your back is against the wall.

Zayne leans down, hovering above you as his hand comes up to your waist. A tentative touch, and you give a small nod, feeling his arm relax, palm sliding further into the plush of your hips. He looks so good like this, in a work button-down with a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and his lips parted. Gods, and he’s not even trying- there’s genuine concern written in the way he scans your body with a deep crease between his brows. You hope he doesn’t notice how you squeeze your thighs tighter.

"It's the deadline, is all," you say, trying to brush off the question.

"Ah, of course. How inconsiderate of me. I’m supposed to be helping you and here I am making it worse.”

Zayne's voice is low and smooth. The cadence in his words, the slight drawl, is a sound that makes your heart skip a beat. It's a shame it's so easy to hide your arousal when you're this nervous.

“Well,” You smile, and his gaze flickers down to your mouth. “I suppose I can forgive you if you uphold your end of the deal.”

His stare is heavy, and it feels like the room is closing in. But you understand the man well enough to know that he wouldn’t dare move first, not until you asked for it, not when you have yet to set a precedent. So you loop your arms around his neck, forcing Zayne closer as his forearm slams against the wall to hold himself up against you. 

You nip at the lobe of his ear, smiling to yourself as he shivers with each warm exhale. Zayne’s hand has yet to leave your side while he lets you grind against him, guiding your movements as you groan against his neck. 

But Zayne feels you rush through the movements, a messy sort of impatience less from desire and more from routine. As though you wanted this done. As though you wanted him gone. 

You feel a familiar flutter against your core as Zayne’s knee comes up against your core, but when you move to grind against his thigh, the hand at your waist stops you. 

“I want to do this properly. You deserve—” he cuts himself off. Starts over. “Where would you like to do this?”

You’re about to tell him that right here is fine, not wanting Zayne to feel as though you needed any more special attention, when you realize just how serious he is. “Bedroom," you say.

Zayne hums, and the rumble reverberates throughout his chest. He offers a hand, and you take it.

And with that, you lead him to your room.

Somewhere between the span of your hallway and bed, Zayne seems to have decided how tonight will go. Despite your desperate touches, teasing up his body and luring him closer, Zayne slows his own pace, leaving burning trails traced with agonizing slowness over the curves of your body. Despite your fumbling to strip off your shirt, Zayne grabs your wrist, forcing it behind your back as his other hand teases the exposed skin of your ribs in a way that has you shivering. Despite your hushed complaints for him to just hurry up Zayne merely smiles in amusement, refusing to give you anything more as he scolds you with a click of his tongue. 

Zayne refuses to rush this. He wants to savor every moment, to etch the sight of you into his mind and commit it to memory, to relive it in this life and the next. 

He continues walking forward, each one forcing you to take a step back until your knees hit your bed, buckling as his form looms over you.

“The largest mistake in any relationship- sexual or not- is lack of communication.” He loosens his tie, “So if we are to do this, you have to talk to me. Tell me what you like, what you don’t.”

As he speaks, Zayne continues undressing, unbuttoning the top few buttons on his shirt before rolling up the cuffs so every glorious inch of his forearms is exposed. Your breath catches with each trailing vein, shadowed in the dim lighting up until they disappear under his sleeves.

Maybe you should write a Victorian-era piece next. Clearly, you had a thing for small swaths of exposed skin.

As if hearing your thoughts, Zayne undoes another button before his hands venture south. With a slow, deliberate motion, he unbuckles his expensive leather belt and allows it to slide through the loops of his pants. It drops to the floor, joining all the other articles of clothing as he takes a seat on the mattress, resting his hand on your bare thigh, inching closer and closer to where your sleep shorts have ridden up.

"Tell me what you like and don't like." Zayne repeats, eyes focused on yours, "And remember, you say no, and this stops."

Zayne moves painfully slow, his hands fluttering down your shoulders, breasts, hips, until he plants them behind you, caging you between his broad chest and the mattress. His hand slips under your shirt’s fabric once more, and you feel yourself tense.

You aren’t wearing anything fancy. After all, you were simply writing in bed, nearly falling off when you suddenly got Zayne’s text. Only a pair of shorts and a cami, but gods, when Zayne’s hands begin trailing up your stomach, dragging the thin fabric up with him, you really wished you put something sexier on.

He doesn't stop until his fingertips brush against the underwire of your bra, thick fingers slipping under the band as he practically tugs you toward him. "Can you take this off for me?"

"Don't know how to do it yourself?" You tease.

Before you even finish taunting him, Zayne's hand has already snuck around your back, undoing the clasp and forcing you onto your back. You can feel the heat radiating off of him.

"Now, now, we'll be here all night if we start fighting." He chastises you, tone far too smug. Zayne tugs the undone bra up, his fingers tracing the red marks it left against your skin. You tremble under his touch. "Didn't realize how sensitive you are." 

His tone is even, but you can see the slight curl at the corner of his lips.

"Your hands are cold," you say, voice wavering as Zayne begins taking your shirt off as well. You try not to fidget, knowing that the way your arms are held up only emphasizes the size difference, Zayne being able to completely lift your chest against him as the other binds your wrists. You're not tiny. But next to him? It barely mattered.

"I apologize." But it feels half hearted at best, especially with the way he’s staring at your bare chest, not even bothering to take your shirt all the way off. It almost feels more embarrassing like this, cotton bunched against your collarbones under his palms.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

The way he says it causes a rush of blood to your face. “I’m not some virgin that might break.” You grumble under your breath, but Zayne is as stupidly attentive as always and frowns.

“Do not mistake my care for pity.” 

Something ugly aches in your chest when he looks at you like that.

Zayne’s hand comes up, large enough to encircle the entirety of your cheek as you’re enveloped in the chill of his touch. His body is nearly atop yours, each word breathed into your mouth. “Then, if you have no more snarky remarks, allow me to begin."

Zayne’s gaze drops to where he thumbs at your lips, leaning in as you watch his pupils dilate, flickering with something before he flinches away, kissing the corner of your mouth instead.

His other hand cups the curve of your breast, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You gasp, the sensation heightened by the feeling of his teeth against your collarbone, nipping marks into your skin. 

It takes a moment for all his featherlight touches to register, your eyes fluttering closed as his thumb rubs your chin. You try to ignore the way he avoids your lips, refusing to get too close.

All for the better, you remind yourself.

He kisses lower, down between the valley between your breasts, hot breath the only warning you get before his tongue meets your nipple while his fingers deliver a sharp flick to the other. The contrast of the heat from his mouth to the cold of his fingertips sends you reeling as you muffle your cries into your palm. 

Zayne doesn’t like that. He forces your hand from your mouth, biting your nipple as if in vengeance as you moan, the sound broken and desperate as you claw at his forearm.

Satisfied, his tongue smooths over the bright pink bite mark and swollen bud, the unpredictable pressure fogging up your every thought before he retreats with a wet pop. 

Finally, Zayne moves to fully remove your shirt, but pauses when you flinch.

“Would it make you more comfortable if I undressed as well?” Zayne begins to take off his own shirt, but you lunge for him, stopping his hands as your voice escapes in a whoosh.

“No.”

His collared shirt was utterly ruined, unbuttoned just enough so you could see his flushed chest when he bent over. And now when he sat up straight the bottom rose up just a bit, exposing a stretch of his lean torso, a peak of his abs, and a dark happy trail that dipped into his tailored pants. Every once in a while, you could see his muscles flex and it sent a shameful throbbing down your core.

“You can keep it like that, it’s hot.”

Zayne doesn’t respond, but when he averts his eyes you swear you watch his lips curl into a smirk. It’s gone by the time he looks at you. Not that you have any time to dwell on it, not when Zayne closes the remaining space between you, guiding you against the pillows.

You try not to focus on how out of place he seems in your apartment, mere presence dwarfing everything else as he makes his way between you, forcing your knees apart.

Zayne leans back, his fingers trailing up your leg, edging up the fabric of your shorts up with his touch, but never daring to slip past the self-imposed barrier of the cotton. He coaxes your hips up, and you kick the shorts off in a clumsy movement, Zayne's eyes now focused between your thighs before you snap them shut as best you can around his waist.

“Let me see.”

You gape at him. “I– Doctor–”

“Relax. I can’t guide you if you don’t let me, now open.”

It’s not an order. Not quite. Zayne’s voice is effortlessly assertive, but it falls just short of being a command. You could call this off, he’s told you that much directly, and knowing Zayne if you did so everything would go right back to how it was before. A mentor and student. Coworkers. Strangers.

You force the tremors in your thighs to relax, knees dropping from Zayne’s hips to the sheets below as you move your left leg just enough to feel the inner band of your underwear stretch.

It’s a bearable amount of embarrassment and vulnerability, until you look up at Zayne again, and akin to a deer in headlights, you freeze. He watches with enough intensity for it to be clinical, a vicious sort of attentiveness that sees every twitch, every strain your body responds with, as if committing it all to memory. As if he were to devour you alive. 

You think you’d let him.

Zayne reaches over, and his thick finger trails a line up your inner thigh, immediately followed by goosebumps, knuckles ghosting the inner seam of your panties.

Your body reacts before you do. Before you can even breathe, the air catches in your throat, and your legs squeeze together in a pathetic attempt to hide yourself.

Zayne pins them down immediately, gaze snapping up to you. You expect a reprimand. Maybe a warning or a punishment, and the anticipation makes your stomach twist.

Instead, his brows draw in, as if lost in thought. “You said you never came from touching yourself either?”

You can barely manage a nod.

“Hm. Then you weren’t doing it right.” He says, so bluntly that you can only blink at him. “Show me how you do it.”

Zayne sits back between your thighs, one hand still absent-mindedly caressing your knee, waiting expectantly.

And you feel the flush burn all the way up your ears and down your chest.

Oh, that was not what you expected him to say. You were prepared for him to touch you, or to guide you, but instead he asks for the complete opposite.

And, well, you could only ever try your best for him— ever the people pleaser. 

It's humiliating how easily your fingers slip under the elastic band. Even more so when the pads of your fingers run down your folds, and you feel yourself clench at the mere contact, already slick and wanting. You move to tug your underwear off, but Zayne stops you, grabbing at your wrist.

"Wait," He's panting, eyes blown as he continues to stare at you, at the wet patch accumulating in the center of those damned panties. "Keep them on."

His tone is so serious a part of you wants to laugh. You're about to make a quip when he pulls your hand up, bringing your fingers to his lips and wrapping his tongue around them. The way he teases from the pad of your finger to your knuckle, sucking as he goes, has you lightheaded. Your hips stutter upwards, a pitiful sound escaping from your throat as you try to keep yourself together.

He doesn't stop. Not until your fingers are clean and your thighs have grown unbearably sticky, neglected and throbbing.

When he finally lets go, you're a gasping mess, and Zayne looks downright smug. "Now, you can continue."

The bastard.

You don't know how you manage to move, let alone bring your fingers to your entrance.

Pushing aside the cotton, your first touch is tentative, and you flush at how much easier it is with Zayne’s spit covering them. Your breath catches both from the initial stretch and the way Zayne leans in closer to see, even though the thin elastic prevents him from watching the way your cunt flutters around the new intrusion. 

You shift, but your need has grown nearly uncomfortable, hips beginning to buck up as one finger quickly becomes too little, and you whine as you attempt to push in another, to push in a little deeper.

"Slower. You're going too fast."

You can't help the scowl, your tone sharper than intended. “How would you know?" 

Zayne’s face is a cool mask, the corners of his lips twitching with amusement. "You did ask me for advice, did you not?" Then his voice takes on a sharper edge, demanding again. "Slow down, then you may continue."

As if you needed his permission to continue. But you do as he says, rocking your fingers in and out, pace painfully slow, mere friction sending jolts of heat throughout you. 

Usually, this was the best part, the delicious and tortuous build-up that would ultimately lead to nothing. Not nearly long enough, your fingers hit just below your sweet spot, and you could feel tears of frustration prick against your eyes. Writhing, you tried to plunge further, choking out a moan again and again at the barest brushing against your sweet spot, mindlessly grinding your hips up to meet each cruel thrust of your fingers. 

You cry when you finally hit that spot inside you, head falling against the pillows as you tense, about to move again when something stops your hand, ripping it away from your desperate chase. 

“You–“ Zayne shakes his head, breath ragged as some combination of a frustrated exhale and moan rumbles through his chest, the sound going straight to your cunt. “You’re too impatient. Too rough.”

You try to swallow, try to hide how the sound of his moan and the rough cadence of his voice makes the muscles of your belly and thighs spasm, but Zayne doesn't miss a thing. He doesn't release your hand, not fully, but rather guides both of your digits to trace around your clit instead.

"Again," he says, “This time slower. How does it feel?”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you feel his hand continue to guide yours, entire body jolting when he catches against the hood of your oversensitive clit, tapping as he lets you circle it on your own. 

“Good. It feels really good.”

Zayne hums, but he already knows that. He feels it through the drenched bottoms of your panties, rubbing your poor swollen clit through them, watching as you gush again, the slick coating his palm and dripping down his wrist in sticky strands.

It takes everything within him not to withdraw his hand and lick it all. Or even better, take his mouth to you directly. Not yet. Not yet, he reminds himself. Next time.

You have to bite your lip as you feel Zayne’s hand take over your own, almost greedily pushing and pinching your clothed cunt, the fabric both a delicious friction and a damn barrier you wish was gone so you could finally feel his bare fingers on you, in you. It’s torture, every nerve on fire as Zayne continues to focus on your clit while your fingers return against your folds, teasing your entrance with a light touch before pressing in.

But it's still not enough. It's not what you need.

You look to Zayne for direction, but his expression is unreadable in the darkness. "Deeper. Keep going."

The angle isn't quite right, but you do as he says, trying and failing to muffle your sounds as you fuck yourself on your fingers, desperately chasing the feeling building up once more.

“Again. Deeper.”

It hurts. Your wrist is beginning to ache, and you’re really not sure how much longer you can keep going, crying out again when Zayne forces his hand flat against your clothed core, shoving your own fingers deeper and causing the wet fabric to rub deliciously against your clit. 

You don't even have time to react before he's pulling away, his own hand rubbing the wetness on his fingers together as he watches the strands break and drip down his hand.

His tone is so nonchalant despite the way he keeps his gaze trained between your legs. As if the sight of you, flushed and gasping, with your cunt pathetically leaking and yet still demanding more, wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen. 

“Ask,” Zayne demands, his voice deep enough that you swear you can feel it rumbling through your bones. “Ask for it.”

“Need your help, please, Zayne” you manage, voice airy and heart still racing from unintentionally edging yourself over and over again. “I want your fingers.”

It’s probably impossible to miss the way your eyes have been drawn to his hands all evening, big and corded with veins and muscle and scar tissue. Hands gentle enough to care for patients, steady enough to perform surgeries, cruel enough to tease you this mercilessly, and yet you can’t help but imagine what they’re going to feel like when he starts touching you properly. 

You’ve probably thought about his hands more times than you’d like to admit.

At the hospital, at the cafe, at night in your apartment. Every inch of his body seems to haunt you like a forgotten memory your body had already grown addicted to.

The moan that rumbles out of Zayne’s chest is low and addicting. He sits back for only a moment before your hips are dragged down the bed, a yelp leaving your lips from the sheer force. 

Zayne practically knocks your leg over his shoulder, and when you arch off balance, you press against something that has you inhaling sharply through your nose. Fuck, Zayne’s hard.

He shudders violently at the contact, falling onto his forearms as you roll against him once more, watching his face twist from the painful pleasure you know all too well. You feel his control slipping, both in the way his fingers tighten at your hips and the throbbing heat you feel twitch against your thigh.

And just realizing how much you’ve affected him is enough to send your eyes rolling back into your skull with a violent tremor. 

You attempt to grind up against him again when Zayne roughly pins you back down. You writhe helplessly, hips pinned to the mattress as Zayne curses, adjusting himself in his slacks with a rough squeeze. “No.” A command to both himself and you, “You asked for my fingers, so that’s what you will get.” 

You’re about to open your mouth to make another demand, but Zayne is one step ahead of you yet again. “That’s all you’re getting.” As if to quell your anger, he begins to thumb at your clit again, moving to take off your last remaining piece of clothing. “Next time.”

A promise he has every intention to keep.

Ironically, Zayne is handling you far more gently than you usually touch yourself, and you find yourself flexing your hips in an attempt to get him to touch you with more pressure. He ignores your endeavors, keeping his pace implacably steady and slow. But you’ve been worked up far too long, and as soon as Zayne begins fucking you with two of his much thicker fingers, you already feel the familiar tension building.

“Do you want to tell me what you’re feeling?”

“Not really,” you manage through clenched teeth. 

You feel Zayne pull away and thrust your hips up into nothingness, only making yourself more sensitive when he roughly thumbs at your clit. He slams your hips back down, a cruel pinch to the oversensitive nub forcing you to arch into him as your jaw falls slack.

 “That was not a question.” Zayne is still hovering above you, watching as his fingers slip against your cunt, slick with your arousal. “Use your words.”

His voice takes a dark edge every time he commands you now, and you bite your lip to not whimper at the tremor his voice sends down your skin. It’s not fair, the effect something so simple has on you. But while his demand is still ringing in your ears, Zayne curls his fingers further upwards, rubbing directly against that sweet spot inside you with frustrating ease, and you sob. 

"Please,” you can’t even remember to beg. Zayne nearly abuses the spot, curling into it over and over again until you’re certain you’re drooling all over the silk of your pillow, writhing. "Please, I'm– I need more, and, ah—“

Zayne hums. "More? You're going to have to be more specific if you actually want to orgasm."

You whine, shaking your head as his eyes narrow. He’s only halfway through scolding you when his finger smacks against your clit, the sharp twinge of pain enough to make you cry. "Don't be a child. Words. Tell me what's giving you pleasure so I can help you."

"It's," a huff of air leaves you and you can barely manage to form a coherent sentence, your mind fogging over completely as Zayne continues to talk. "Hah, your voice helps.”

“My voice?”

Your eyes nearly roll back at the sound of Zayne’s chuckle. A deep, cruel thing that you now think may be all you need to come as your eyes screwed shut. “Well, if that’s the case, then I suppose I should just keep talking. Keep your eyes open.”

You obey, and Zayne simultaneously pulls your jaw towards him, forcing you face-to-face with him. “Look at me.”

You do. You do and really wish you hadn’t because the smug smile pulling at the corner of his lips and the freckles of light green you now see in his softened gray eyes might really be all you need to send yourself over the edge.

And, as if listening, Zayne forces his fingers deeper inside, the tips of his digits hitting the same spot that has your mind fogging over, vision blurring with a disorienting mix of hazy and dizzy. You can barely hold on, fingers twitching against the sheets as suddenly it becomes too much, your hands shooting up as you press desperately against Zayne’s chest. 

“Wait–” You’re dizzy. The pressure is consuming you, and you’re losing control. “Please, Zayne.”

He stops immediately, pliant under your touch as he lets you push him away. Even so, his free hand comes up to meet yours, coaxing your fingers against his as he holds it up to his chest, letting you ground yourself with his heartbeat.

The rhythm is comforting.

Zayne isn’t speaking anymore, just looking, waiting for you to give him a sign. He doesn’t dare move, letting his fingers sit still, buried inside of you. You don't know if it's the dizziness lingering in your head or the fact that his fingers are insistently rubbing against a spot inside of you that sends sparks up your spine, but either way, you might be going insane.

“Keep your breathing steady, even when you’re close. Deep breaths.” In, out. In, out. Your chest rises as Zayne’s does, bare skin brushing his. “Good.”

Even as your vision clears, Zayne refuses to let go of your hand, this time pinning it beside your head as he begins to move his other hand too, thumb circling your clit as the others curl against your walls. 

When you begin to shake again, his lips ghost by your neck, dangerously soft and hesitant as he kisses down from your jaw, following each whimper and moan you give to him with loyal intent, sucking gently at a spot near your jugular and collarbone.

"Ah, Zayne. I think–" your breathing hitches as Zayne presses another soft kiss against your skin.

"Are you okay?" The softness of his tone nearly breaks you, and you force yourself to ignore it. Focus on the sensations; focus on what you can use for the novel. Nothing more.

You nod.

"What else, darling? Are you close?"

Your breath hitches. The sudden pet name has you reeling, and you feel Zayne keep his steady rhythm, even through your trembling and whining, his thumb mercilessly circling against your clit in ways you swear never feel the same when you’ve done it. 

"Call me that again," you cry, nearly begging.

"Come. Come for me, darling."

And you do.

Your vision blurs as you come around Zayne’s fingers, a silent scream catching in your throat. All you can manage is a broken moan as you arch into him, gripping his forearm and holding it in place. Your thighs quiver around his arm, and Zayne holds you still, coaxing you through it as wave after wave of pleasure wash over you.

The sensation is overwhelming. You're not even sure how long it lasts, the only thing grounding you is the weight of Zayne's hand laced against your own.

Slowly, he begins to withdraw his fingers, kissing your knuckles softly.

"How are you feeling?"

The room is quiet, and it feels like all the sound has been sucked out of it. Your head is fuzzy and your whole body is tingling, and all you can focus on is Zayne's soft breathing.

Good, you want to tell him. More than that, your body is still shaking from pleasure and desire, and you can’t stop looking at Zayne’s lips or remembering how hot and needy he felt grinding against your thigh. You can’t stop thinking about him, so instead you say, “Fine.”

Zayne stiffens. “Good.” 

He sits up, still scanning your face for something as you watch the fabric of his shirt pull taut across his chest and stomach, and once again you are overwhelmed by the desire to run your hands down his body, to feel his skin against yours. To see more of him.

“I’m going to get you water and a towel.” He says, not moving just yet. “Do you need anything else?”

You shake your head no. Zayne nods, leaning in as his hand goes to your jaw before he pauses halfway and steps out of bed, making his way to your bathroom.

You don’t really remember how much of the night goes by after that, a blur of Zayne attentively guiding you through proper aftercare and you throwing in a few quips here and there at his ceaseless worrying. Before long, he’s saying farewell, and you’re back at your computer screen, empty doc staring right back at you. 

But the words never form. Not when your head is still spinning, replaying everything that happened tonight in vivid flashbacks as an overwhelming rush of mortification and desire runs down your spine. 

You can’t help but feel that perhaps you just made an irreversible mistake.

[money--freedom]

[chysalxsm]

Dragon cocks - Neuvilette/Zhongli - drabble + mini story

Kinktober 2023: Dragon cocks - Zhongli/Neuvilette seperate

Reader is always fem aligned!!!

• Sorry for the delay but I wasn't home yesterday after 10 p.m😭🙏

CW: Zhongli is your partner and Neuvilette your boss, Mating session, Non-human body parts (horns, tail and cocks), breeding (Neuvilette mentioned and Zhongli), sexual daydreams of the reader (Neuvilette),a Manhandling (Neuvilette) Cunningulus (Neuvilette), Rough sex (Zhongli), Blowjob (Zhongli), Hair pulling (Zhongli), Double Penetration (Zhongli)

Neuvilette:

Neuvilette that begs you to let him use you... All he wants to do is to fuck that pretty, tight, little pussy of yours till you're full of his cum. His mind is flooded with images of you whining and begging him to slow down, while he's pounding you till tears starts streaming down your cheeks. All of the daydreams he's having of you because of his incoming rut is making him wild with lust.

Neuvilette that can't get enough of your natural scent, smelling you from far away that no human ever could. His eyes narrow with want when you walk over to his office desk wearing that skimpy A-line skirt, the second dots of your blouse unbottoned that he had the perfect view of your cleavage.

You notice his intense gaze on you and your body, his tail swishing behind him hard and thudding against the floor.

,,Monsieur Neuvilette..? Are you feeling alright?"

Not a long moments later, you're pushed against his wooden desk, his soft lips smashing against yours while his big hands roam desperately over your body.

Neuvilette is so needy for you, wanting to make his dirty daydreams about you come true. Having your consent and seeing the blush on your cheeks is enough for Neuvilette to take control and rip your clothes off your body, kissing his way down your body till he reaches your wet pussy.

,,Mmhm god you smell so good..." Neuvilette groans out, pushing your panty to the side to take a whiff of your scent and not a second wasted his lips wrap around your erected clit, sucking and licking it like his life depends on it. He wants you to cream on his face.

Rounds after rounds where he makes you come over and over again, edging himself he finally sinks into your awaiting and overstimulated pussy and at that moment on, he knew that this wouldn't be the last time.

Zhongli:

Zhongli was completely different when it was dragon mating season. He was ruthless, rough and clearly mean.

You were gagging on one of his cock, the almost spiky tip, hitting the back of your throat over and over again while his other cock was rubbing over your face, smearing it with his pre-cum. Zhongli was so mean, calling you degrading names and praising you. Telling you that you're his good little slut and his to breed whenever he wishes.

His hands are wrapped around your hair, guiding your head like he wants to and thrusting his hips into your mouth just to hear your gag and choke around him.

,,Archons.. Enough." His voice was rough, pushing you off him and looking down at your teary eyes, grinning proudly. He wanted to fuck you, now.

Zhongli pushes you against your shared bed, manhandling so you're laying flat on your stomach while he's spreading your ass cheeks to the side to look at your glistening cunt, spitting on it before tapping his cocks against your entrance.

,,Zhongli..out it in already!! A-Anhh!~" *He couldn't hear your whines anymore. He thought he did a good job about shutting you up to not complain anymore but he was wrong. He doesn't give you time to adjust to his cocks as he thrust in one swift motion into your wet heat. You mewl out, the stretch being so good but also so painful yet you cream around him from that alone.

Zhongli promises himself to breed you throughly, so you won't get away from him until your belly can't take much more cum from him...

Tags: @exodiam @cringeycookies @joohoneybeee

[devotedlystrangewizard]

its so sad to grow up and realize you didnt get the affection you needed from your parents when you were a kid. its even worse when youre aware you will never get it and should find support elsewhere but deep down it still hurts every time youre reminded of how you still wont get it

[jayflrt]

a stoner’s guide to starbucks

PAIRING ▸ lee heeseung x fem!reader (ft. enha, winter from aespa, beomgyu from txt, and dino from svt)

GENRES ▸ social media au (smau), crack, fluff, stoner au, strangers to lovers

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, sexual jokes, zero braincells, limited knowledge of the starbucks corporation, weed consumption, dumb shenanigans, ignore timestamps!

SUMMARY ▸ in which you work at the starbucks where heeseung is a regular at (and considered a public enemy). also he only goes when he’s stoned off his ass.

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ hello !! i am alive (real) also i was so committed to the bit that i got high to make this <3 shoutout @hoonbear for the Extensive Starbucks Knowledge 🫡 i would also like to note that i am NOT doing a tag list for this smau. also please note that this is a fictional setting and to boycott starbucks in real life for firing their workers over their pro palestine speech. remember to do your daily click!

INCOMING MESSAGES !

TEASER

PROFILES ONE | TWO

01. weed guy beomgyu

02. red bitch with the freckles rizz

03. starbucks public enemy #1

04. 50% cut ???

05. lee heeseung: upstanding citizen, NOT murderer

06. clearing up misunderstandings with an aqi under 50

07. chat is this real

08. daddy’s home 2

09. biodegrade ur chance at romance

10. triple filtered reverse osmosis water filtration system

11. losing the idgaf war

12. crazy gets u bitches

13. banned in the name of love

14. riki s worded irl??

15. 8ball brings nations together

16. killing myself postponed tonight repostponed

17. scheming sponsored by crazy bitch 62 and unimportant goon

18. the do-over date to end all first dates

19. seek BetterHelp.com

20. quarterly store meeting (remote)

21. WHAT ARE WE

22. heejake support group for heejake victims

23. bro fumbled the unfumbleable

24. sunghoon is the new Papa John

25. according to penal code 837 🤓☝️

26. jungwon pulls bitches (the duolingo owl) too

27. someone PLEASE take jungwon to see the teenage mutant ninja turtles movie

28. 14th date’s the charm

29. doc mcuggo

30. nothing to write home about

31. LONDON I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL I LOST MY QUEEN TOO

32. starbucks double chocolate brownies

33. having a kid together before dating is next level

34. tweaking out on 5 hour energy

35. 7.83 inches

36. The Milk Makes The Man, And The Man Makes The Milk

37. sunghoon from papa john's from starbucks

38. then who's flying the plane???

39. league of legends quarantine ex girlfriend

40. WELCOME HOME CHEATER 😐

41. unknown evil forces (chaewon)

42. friends to rivaling coffee shop employees au

43. do NOT get the weed frap

44. now on channel 9 news

45. choose your fighter heeseung tit variation

46. kitten i'll be honest, daddy's about to kill himself

47. a fire can be put out but missing a bereal is forever

48. baby's first customer connection score

49. #STARBUCKS_FIRST_WIN

50. epilogue

UNCUTS !

weekly weed check 🗣️

SUNGHOONXJLAW

happy weedsgiving

minjake texts

the Sunghoon Special

goons vs baby shark movie

COMPLETED 12/1/23

[figsnpassionfruits]

Clinginess

rq: "Can I request Logan being clingy with his s/o?" a/n: Thank you for your request!! I was not sure as to what you expected so I decided to go with headcanons for this (I hope that is alright babe) tags: logan howlett x fem!reader warnings: mentions of being threatened? dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive pictures are from pinterest

Logan does not seem to be the type to be clingy by itself.

but there are scenarios where it awakens within him.

one of them being him sensing that you could be in potential danger.

maybe you got threatened, maybe it is just a feeling, maybe it is even nothing but once that man feels like something could go wrong; he will make sure to stick around you to protect you.

in public it is more subtle than you would think.

an arm around your waist, a hand guiding you by your lower back or just holding your hand.

he makes sure that others see that you are with him (possessiveness incoming).

but he more does it to assure not only you but also himself that in this moment- you are safe and he is protecting you,

even with all this, Logan is not too big on pda.

but in private it is different:

anytime you go for an embrace such as a cuddle or a hug he soaks it in like it is the last time he will get to touch you.

he is such a good cuddler.

super warm.

(huge biceps for pillows!!!)

you will get more kisses and cuddles once you are asleep (I cannot explain this it just makes sense in my head).

he gets these waves of urges to cuddle / touch / kiss.

he will do those without even thinking about it. if he feels like he has to cuddle you he will just go for it.

out of nowhere you will feel his arms wrapping around you, the muscles of his body contracting as they tense.

"just felt like it, darlin'." he replies when you ask him where this came from.

all in all he is a bigggg softie (especially in private)- just gotta give him a reason to also be clingy in public.

🍯

[smutoperator]

Luck Inside Her Backdoor

Kim Yoohyeon x Male Reader

Tags: 100% anal, big ass, butt plug, casting couch, facial, gape, glasses, (a lot of) lube, sloppy blowjobs, sugar daddy

Word count: 4223.

Your daughter came with an unusual request. She wanted to attend the concert of a K-pop group. You had never heard of them. Dreamcatcher, apparently. But you decided to be a good father and give her the tickets to the concert. You knew nothing about them but wanted to make your daughter happy, especially following the recent divorce you had with her mother.

At the concert, one of the girls caught your attention. She was quite tall and moved her body perfectly while also performing great interactions with the crowd. "What's her name?" you asked your daughter. "Yoohyeon," she replied.

Indeed, Yoohyeon had hypnotized you, especially her ass. You kinda wanted to impress your daughter and see if you could find a way to meet Dreamcatcher after the concert, but more than this, you wanted to take a closer look at her.

You contacted the managers, who said it wasn't possible; they just weren't going to give you access. But you insisted, using your money and influence to bribe them and get your daughter to have an improvised fan meet with them.

Your daughter was quite happy, taking as many pictures with their idols as she could. But you were even more delighted as you managed to sneak in a message to Yoohyeon. "If you're still in town tomorrow, meet me at this place. Here's my phone number." Yoohyeon was about to throw it out, but she texted you out of curiosity, asking why you would want to meet her in private. "For sex, tell me where your place is, and I'll pick you up," you replied in the next message. "Sure," she agreed.

You left your daughter at school and guided Yoohyeon to your place. It was a cold day, meaning she was wearing a quite long jacket, but her long-sleeved top had all the buttons in place but still showed off her beautiful midriff and elongated navel, while her jeans showcased the great figure of her bottom. She also looked extremely cute with the glasses she had on. Yoohyeon sat on your couch as you approached her, asking her a question. "Are you ready for your audition?"

As soon as Yoohyeon heard those words, she already knew what to do, getting on her knees. She slowly took off her jeans and panties, showcasing her meaty pussy and the butt plug covering her asshole. You already knew her ass was amazing, but it looked even better in full display—truly a packed and stacked bubble butt.

Yoohyeon gave you a little smirk as you started playing with her anal plug using your left hand, removing it, then putting it back in a couple times. Every time her butthole got exposed, you used your tongue to lick it fully. Yoohyeon enjoyed the attention as you focused on her ass before sliding your right hand under her to massage her pussy. "Ah yes," she said in approval.

Having someone willing to be her sugar daddy was something she wasn't expecting. Things looked pretty safe for Yoohyeon as of lately. Her group avoided the seven-year curse, and she had a steady income from sales and touring, but she knew she had to ace today's performance more than any concert to be set for life. She got herself barefoot as you kept playing with the plug in her ass and making her let out some very sexy moans. 

You picked up the pace and fucked her a little faster using the plug while placing your free hand at her massive cheeks. You started giving Yoojyeon some hot kisses without looking at her cute face as both of you closed your eyes to enjoy the touching of both your lips better. Between the kisses, you continued to warm up her asshole, pushing the plug in and out of it.

"Let me see that dick," Yoohyeon interrupted you with a naughty request as her eyes brightened under the glass. "You want it now?" you asked. "Yes," she said with a big smile, truly ready to impress her sugar daddy. But you decided to tease her a little, fingering her pussy while still manuvering the plug in her asshole. "Take it yourself," you told her.

Yoohyeon turned around and placed her hands in your belt, taking it off and then unzipping you as she unveiled your cock. It was still flaccid due to the weather, but it definitely had the size. Nothing like some little work couldn't fix it, as Yoohyeon grabbed it hard and inserted it in her warm mouth, prompting a rush of blood from the rest of your body towards your pole.

You started taking your shirt off as Yoohyeon coughed on your dick while taking it deep in her throat for the first time. She managed to warm your cock up so quickly that it wasn't long before your tip was springing out of the foreskin. "Oh fuck, oh shit, god damn it," you murmured as Yoohyeon started her no-hands blowjob that made her gag on it.

As more spit came out of Yoohyeon's mouth, she started to unbutton her jacket and take it off without ever leaving your cock out of her mouth, even with you making it harder on her by pushing her head against your crotch, as she closed her eyes while her forehead landed on your belly. That only made Yoohyeon try harder, as she had now taken her jacket off to the fullest and started loosening up her top's buttons one by one as soon as she gagged on your prick once again, rolling her eyes as her glasses touched the base of your cock.

Yoohyeon pulled out of your cock as soon as she managed to take her top off, with you moving her face close to yours to kiss her sloppy mouth while caressing her beautiful round boobs. You took Yoohyeon's pantyhose off, the last piece of clothing she was wearing, staring at her now fully naked body from top to bottom. It was freezing cold outside, but her body was so hot that you weren't feeling anything. Quite the contrary, as your cock was now fully erected and throbbing for more heat from Yoohyeon's filthy mouth.

As Yoohyeon dove under your cock to suck you off a little more, you placed your right hand right on top of her big ass, closing your eyes as her mouth sucked the shit out of your dick. You fucked her ass with the plug, dreaming of replacing it with your cock the more she gagged on it. You pushed your shaft a little up, reaching all the way down her throat, to make it harder for her, leading Yoohyeon to gulp and almost throw up as you hit her gag reflexes. You two started it all over again, this time with her lasting much longer with it bulging under her throat as she quickly adjusted to your length while also adding some hot massage to your ballsack. 

She really knew where to hit the right spots, as Yoohyeon's massage ended up being a massive turn-on to you. And she sensed the same, increasing the speed at which her hands moved around your big balls. "Oh my God," it was all you could say once she finally finished it, moving towards fast dives into your cock and a high-paced blowjob that slowly turned her on as well, making her nipples quite hard in the process.

You pushed Yoohyeon's hair a little to the side to have a better view of her pretty face gagging all over your meat. But it didn't take long until you received a request from her. "I want you to shove this dick deep in my ass," she said. You loved hearing those words. Yoohyeon was ready to take it straight up her butthole and not waste any time in her pussy. She knew she had to go big or go home, and her begging voice clearly indicated it. Today, it was anal or bust.

"You do? Then beg me," you tease her. "Please, daddy, shove it up in my big fat ass; I want you to stretch my asshole out and gape it to the size of the moon." Yoohyeon meant business as she turned around and got on her knees on the couch, her butt now facing you as she licked her tongue. You removed the plug off her anus in one go as Yoohyeon held her left hand into the couch's arm, bracing herself for your big cock fully inside her. You added some lube as her butthole quickly started to clench shortly after the plug's removal.

You shoved your tip on Yoohyeon's backdoor, taking advantage of the lube you placed at her anal entrance, leading her to elicit a few moans. "Oh my God, yes," she approved as your shaft slowly disappeared inside her bunghole. You penetrated it slowly, making sure to take your cock deep inside her cavity from the start. Yoohyeon then starts fingering her pussy to increase the stimulation as you grab her slippery tush with just your right hand.

You give Yoohyeon very deep pumps, with the lube helping you slide all the way in with ease. Running your hands on top of her ass, you keep impaling her with your full length for a decent amount, leading her to scream. "FUCK!" she yells as every inch of your cock is already buried inside her butthole. "Want to take it deep again?" you ask. "AHHHHH YESSSS," she says in sync with your cock ripping her hole apart as you pull out of her.

Yoohyeon closes her eyes as you get ready for yet another deep anal insertion. This time, you go a little faster, making her feel much more of the heat. "Ugh, fuck, give me, give me, give me that cock," she says, her body bouncing at each thurst you give her. You pull out to check her already large gape, spitting straight inside her asshole and pounding her big ass with more speed as soon as you go back inside. "Ohhhh, so fucking deep," she says as her voice starts to crack, squealing as your balls start clapping her round cheeks, rolling her eyes at each pump you give her.

You pour some extra lube on her cheeks and your cock. Yoohyeon's ass jiggled as she felt your meat stretching her cornhole out. You kept putting more lube in her ass and using your hand to spread it out as she panted and moaned with your cock deep inside her butthole, enjoying the massage you were giving her butt. "Put it deep in my asshole; oh fuck, make me cum so much," she said as you started pounding her harder with the lube fully settled in and making her ass shine.

Yoohyeon held her hands against the couch's arm as you railed her, groaning and getting out of breath. "YEAH! YEAH!" she screamed at each pump. She put her ass up and enjoyed your balls smashing her cunt, rolling her eyes while doing so. You started spanking her fat cheeks, showing off who her owner truly was, and printing your hands all over her ass before switching to slower thursts to enjoy your shaft disappearing inside her ass to the fullest while she screamed in submission to your cock and groaned more and more.

"Let me taste that dick," Yoohyeon said as she pulled out. That imposing girl you saw the day before had turned into a submissive whore who would do everything to please her sugar daddy's huge cock. As she dove back into your shaft, you surprised her with some thrusts into her mouth. You weren't even going fast, but she was already spitting all over that dick. You grabbed her by the hair, shoving your cock harder in her mouth as you increased the pace. Yoohyeon was gagging and spitting so hard that your cock had turned into a pudding mess of saliva.

Still catching her breath, Yoohyeon sits on your massive meat and starts riding it, giving you a perfect view of her ass bouncing up and down your cock as she gets impaled. Her spit is more effective than any lube, it turns out. She goes slow, trying to adjust to your length as she puts her feet on your thighs while riding. But as soon as she does that, you pump your cock up Yoohyeon's shithole, challenging her to keep her balance as you mercilessly pound her ass.

"FUCK, IT'S SO HUGE!" Yoohyeon screams as she closes her eyes and grips her feet as hard as she can against your thighs, managing to regain control of the bounce as she finally takes it full length inside her asshole. Yoohyeon pants a lot but wants more, gyrating her hips as she takes it deeper in her anus.

Your cock hitting the whole length of Yoohyeon's butthole makes her moan much harder. You sense the opportunity and start fingering her cunt while she bounces on your manhood. Yoohyeon now spreads her legs as you massage her clit, getting even more passionate as you draw her body closer to you, kissing her while she moves up and down your cock and running your hands all over her fit belly and sexy tits.

"GOD, YES, YES," Yoohyeon felt overwhelmed: your mouth in her lips, your hands now deep in her meaty pussy, just like your cock balls deep in her ass, it was too much for her to handle as she closed her legs and her thighs started to jiggle involuntairly. You took advantage, and shortly after, you resumed pounding her hard. Yoohyeon couldn't decide between staring at the ceiling and closing her eyes or staring at your big cock manhandling her. Your high-intensity pounding had flipped a switch on her, as she started bouncing hard on your dick as if she had something to prove. Well, she kind of did, but at this pace, she had passed your test with ease; everything else was just a bonus now.

"OHHHHHH. UGGGGHHHHH," Yoohyeon lets out a massive scream as you tilt her body slightly and start hammering her. But her next reaction would be even more priceless. "Oh shit," is all she can say when you lift her legs up and lock them with your arms, placing her under a full Nelson as you hit deep in her shitter. Yoohyeon is completely imobilized and gets the perfect view of your cock working inside her bunghole.

"Ahhh, oh my fucking God," is all Yoohyeon manages to say when you free her and now tilt her entire body sideways, closing her legs as you kiss her passionately and keep stretching her out, her pussy gushing at each pounding you give her asshole. "Holy fuck, you're making me cream so hard," she says as she gets fucked with her legs fully up in the air and the perfect view for you to look at her face screaming and crying. "Ahhhh, so so good," she says in an almost muffled manner as you get close to her face to kiss her, grabbing her thighs as you give her a sort of spooning with her legs lifted.

Yoohyeon moans a lot, prompting you to tell her to hush. You spread her legs a little for deeper penetration as you increase the speed of your poundings in her butthole. Yoohyeon fingers herself as her left leg rests on your couch while her right leg is fully up in the air. You go harder and get her out of breath before slowing down to take a pair of deep pumps in her ass.

"Now taste it," you say as you pull out of Yoohyeon's dirty hole and she gets on her feet for the first time in a long while. But that doesn't even last a couple seconds. Like a puppy, Yoohyeon crawls back to your big rod on all fours to suck it dry and taste her shithole, gagging on it, slurping it, and massaging your balls as you run your hands all over her big ass.

"Ready to go back?" you ask her. Yoohyeon doesn't need any words to answer, just her eagerness to jump on that pole and ride it like a cowgirl as she lines it up against her anal entrace once more as you add more lube to her shiny cheeks. Yoohyeon sits on it as she tilts her body down and lets your cock fill her ass up to the fullest while you massage her huge tush that carries half her weight. She starts very slowly, enjoying every time your tip touches the depths of her bunghole. You spread her ass a little for easier penetration, grabbing it to push it up and get longer bounces from her.

"Shit!" Yoohyeon exclaims as you start clapping against her ass again and giving it some spanking. She rests her head on the couch, bracing herself for another round of rough pounding. You get so overconfident that your cock slips out of her hole, but you quickly make up for it, making her cheeks make a noise akin to someone's while riding a horse, as all the lube accumulated around it makes it splash at each pump. And indeed, Yoohyeon was getting mauled by a horse hung all the way deep in her ass at an increased speed.

Drops of Yoohyeon's saliva were still glued to your cock as they created a little string between your cock and her buttcheeks, resisting your hard thursts as you now spanked both her cheeks. Yoohyeon decided to take a bit of control and ride it herself, much to your approval. "Just like that," you told her as Yoohyeon smashed her fat ass against your hips and made your cock disappear between her enormous cheeks.

You pulled out and gaped Yoohyeon's asshole as some fluid came out of her asshole. It was the lube that accumulated inside her after so much pounding; although it looked so much like cum, it felt like you had creampied her when it landed on your skin. "Want another gape?" you asked. "Yeah," she answered while moaning as you slowly removed your cock and spread her cheeks. Her butthole was fully red and wide after such a long and rough fucking.

Yoohyeon put your cock back in and bounced a bit, but soon it would be stopped as you gaped her again, this time placing your middle finger at the edges of her anus and spreading it out. But Yoohyeon wanted something different. "Stop teasing me and fuck my ass," she says as you insert your cock back in her and give her a hard pounding while beating her buttcheeks like a drum.

Yoohyeon then decided to place her feet on the couch to give your meat another ride, bouncing her fat ass so hard that your impalment eventually hurt her, leading you to lift her ass up in the air and regain control of the pounding, showing no mercy for her now sore asshole. Yoohyeon tries to stay strong as you tear her ass apart, howling and screaming like a puppy. Her cheeks are fully red, she groans and moans like never before, and the couch trembles at each pounding you give her. "AHHHHHHHHHH,"  she screams hard as you continue to impale her nonstop.

"Yes, baby, I love that dick in my ass. I love it," Yoohyeon says. "Then show it," you tell her, pulling out for her to taste it once more as you dunk her head on your cock. "Gag on it, bitch," you demand as she also spits on it, and you impale her mouth like it's her dirty asshole. Yoohyeon can barely breathe, but you don't care and push her to the limit, giving her a congratulatory kiss shortly after.

"Get on all fours like a good puppy," you tell her. An extra lube and your cock slide inside Yoohyeon's gaped butthole with little resistance, going deep inside her in the first thrust. Her wet cunt taints your couch, but you couldn't care less; you just wanted to admire her stretched hole, taking your cock in and out of it to the fullest multiple times. "Ahhhh, stretch my asshole," Yoohyeon begs as you keep playing with it and watch her cunt drip.

In, out, in, out. You keep doing it, now a little faster, until Yoohyeon spreads her cheeks just enough for you to pound her to the fullest. "AHHHHHHH. AHHHHHH," she screams with her eyes closed as you top her and ram her like a dog. She cries a bit as you spank her ass and clap her cheeks hard. "OHHHHH FUCK FUCK," she keeps begging. Your couch now creaks at each pump you give inside Yoohyeon's used-up asshole as you take her balls deep. "Good puppy," you tell her after you slow down. She can only look at you with begging eyes as you dominate her.

"You're gonna make me fucking cum so hard," Yoohyeon says as Squirt keeps gushing out of her vagina. Her impending orgasm leads to pleasurable pain for her as her already sore anal walls get even more sensitive, and she keeps barking and howling. "Then let me see it," you tell her.

You order Yoohyeon to put her back on the couch and face you, giving her a missionary fucking. Her legs tremble as she starts cumming while you fuck her ass, enjoying an amazing orgasm that only gets better after each thrust. Even your cock now is a little bent over after such long wear and tear up her butthole. "Jeez," Yoohyeon says as she continues to orgasm and you continue to fuck her.

Yoohyeon spreads her anus and shows you her massive gape once more. She's so stretched out now that even your balls can enter her anus while barely forcing them in. She's just your slutty puppy, your begging sugar baby, and your anal gloryhole. "Stretch my ass," she says as you place your thumb in her mouth. One extra layer of lube to grant her wish, and you're back inside her worn-out pooper. You grab her legs to allow you to increase your pace. Yoohyeon feels it as just a couple of faster thrusts have already sent her over the moon. "Oh fuck," is all she can say; her tits now jiggle as you go rougher on her, putting your hands between them. The couch continues to creak, now harder than ever as she can barely say any words now with your cock hammering her like a sex toy. Now her whole body trembles just as you give her a rest and switch to a slow-paced fucking of her lube-filled shitter.

But your mercy only lasts a few seconds as you rub Yoohyeon's dripping cunt, searching for more squirt, sensing she's still aching inside her holes. "D-d-daddy," she says with her grinding teeth, in a way you can barely hear it. She keeps squealing and moaning as she feels weaker than ever and can barely feel her legs. Your dominance over her is almost complete; you just need one item to cross off your sugar baby's checklist.

Yoohyeon closes her eyes and opens her mouth. You keep pumping her deep. She seems to be waiting for something. It doesn't take you long to find out. "May I have your cum, please?" she asks. "You want it? you reply. "I want your cum. I want it so fucking bad; please, please, give me your cum," she continues. You increase the pace of fucking her asshole, getting ready to finish inside it and crown your work of art, pushing Yoohyeon's body hard against the couch's arm, but she has different plans.

"I want your cum all over my fucking face. Hit my face with your fucking cum; cover my glass. Please, please, cum on my face; I want to taste it. Please, I want your cum. Please, please, please," Yoohyeon starts to beg. You answer her as she gets on her knees, and you start jerking your cock off before she takes control and does it herself, sucking it and getting it ready to burst. "You want that cum? Work for it!" you tease her. "Yes, I want your fucking cum," she says. "Oh, keep going," you tell her as she gets you on the edge and close to finishing.

"Oh fuck, I wanna cum." It doesn't take long for you to say those words. After an extra jerkoff from Yoohyeon, you cover her nose and her glasses full of jizz, eratically shooting to a point where some of it lands on her collarbone. A very pleased Yoohyeon sucks your cock, and now your legs are the ones that tremble. Then she takes her glasses off to lick and swallow the cum that got stuck in there, later scooping what was in her face and sending it straight to her needy mouth.

Yoohyeon keeps sucking your cock, still hard, even after she drained your balls. "Can I be your sugar baby now?" she asked. "You didn't even need to ask," you tell her. As she keeps jerking you off and you guys start thinking of your future plans, she hears some noise coming out of the door.

"I think someone is entering the house," Yoohyeon says. "Let's get out of here."

It was your daughter.

[formosusiniquis]

Robin's Guide to the Care and Feeding of Your Newly Adopted Former Mean Girl

Happy @stevieweek everybody! This is Day One: Stobin with none of the bonus prompts, but keep an eye out cause i've got a few more incoming this week.

Robin Buckley & Stevie Harrington; Pre-Stevie Harrington/Eddie Munson WC: 9483 | T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Tags/Themes: transfem!Steve Harrington; Platonic Soulmates Steve & Robin; Robin Buckley is the Stevie Harrington Defense Squad

AO3

On July 4th, 1985, Steven Joseph Harrington died in the Starcourt Mall Fire. 

The story Robin Marie Buckley tells, after two weeks of hospitalization and an additional month in Indianapolis for “personal reasons,” when she returns to her senior year at Hawkins High a full week after the first day of school is one of abject heroism on the part of Steve.

It’s true, even if it isn’t the whole story. Just like it isn’t hard for her to play morose and avoidant, because that’s how she feels. She might know Dustin, but it’s too hard to spend much time with him and she doesn’t want to be the weird friendless senior who only talks to freshmen. She’ll leave that to Eddie Munson, who snatched Steve’s weird little child friends up only a few weeks into the first semester. 

Nancy and Jonathan avoid her as much as she does them, she doesn’t think they know what to do with the new girl in the know. It paints a picture, well she realizes later that it paints a picture, but she doesn’t want to sit at a table and eat her peanut butter and jelly sandwich while Nancy Wheeler’s big beautiful eyes are staring at her like she’s an article that’s half an inch too long and needs to be dissected while Jonathan Byers is also there.

So she drifts through the halls of Hawkins High like a ghost, she’s Cathy on the moors. Avoiding anyone who might try to ask her too many questions about the final days of Steve Harrington and Starcourt Mall.

Until the day she spots a baby blue jeep pulled into the Henderson’s driveway, a tall brunette unloading a single suitcase from the back. She’s got her bike across the road before she can even think of a game plan. A noise that’s almost like a scream erupting from her mouth the entire time she coasts over.

“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here!” It’s an uncharacteristic bit of grace, that lets her drop her bike to the ground and use its momentum to catapult herself into the other girl’s arms. Too excited for a second to remember that she’s in a place where small town gossip exists, and a new neighbor can fuel the mill for days.

But she enjoys her hug for a second before settling into a more appropriate character. She extends a hand, ignoring the laugh it gets her, “Welcome to Hawkins, I’m Robin, occasional Dustin babysitter.”

The girl’s smile pulls lopsided at her mouth, kissed with a bit of irony and undeniably charmed. “It’s nice to meet you Robin,” her voice is soft, and a little unsure. Wavering like Becky Simpson’s tone deaf oboe playing, unsure of what pitch and timbre to land on. “I’m Stephanie Henderson, Dustin’s cousin.”

The bit crumbles immediately between Robin’s fingers.

“Stephanie? You went with Stephanie? Are you kidding? We workshopped so many names!”

“I liked my name! But it’s weird apparently to be a girl named Steve.” She distributes finger quotes randomly throughout the sentence like Robin hadn’t been the one to say she didn’t know any girls named Steve. “Stephanie is pretty!”

Robin looks her best friend dead in the eye, unsurprised that there’s not a hint of humor even underneath the drama. “Never mind that it sure would be strange for Steve Harrington to die just for girl Steve who looks like she could be his cousin to move to town.”

“Affair baby,” Stephanie presents the solution with a flick of her hand. Robin notices that her nails are still chewed short, more noticeable  after they talked about what it would be like for her to grow them out and manicure them.

“Give me the whole name right now,” Robin demands, “I wanna hear how it sounds.”

Steph, cause they’re going to have to figure out nicknames immediately they just aren’t the kind of friends that can go around being Robin and Stephanie, kicks the curb with her scuffed up Nike. Her arms crossed across her middle accentuates the way her body has already started changing, Robin feels like a creep for a second for noticing her friend’s boobs before deciding that they weren’t the kind of friends with those kinds of boundaries.

“Stephanie Marie Henderson.”

“Oh my god!”

“Shut up, don’t even.”

“Oh. My. God.”

“You’re already making a big deal out of it, which it’s not.” Stevie insists.

“You stole my middle name, you’re so obsessed with me.” It’s the best thing she’s ever heard actually, that Stevie might be as into this friendship as she is. She’s always the friend that’s too much.

Stevie’s smile is small, shier than she’s used to seeing it. “Yeah well whatever Stephanie Robin sounds like a straight to VHS Winnie the Pooh movie character or some shit.”

Dustin comes scrambling out of the house before Robin can make another joke. “You were supposed to call before you left! Ma isn’t finished setting up your room, and Tews is stuck under your bed.”

They share a look, and Robin thrills a little that she has a friend that she can share looks with. “Henderson,” Stevie shouts, sounding a little more like she did this summer. “Are you really going to make me carry my own bags in? I'm a fucking lady, dickhead.”

“Sure don't fucking talk like one,” Dustin hollers back from the door, already trudging out of the house.

“Gonna have to work on your feminism,” Robin says. wondering what kind of weird shit a person would have to sort through when they realized they were transsexual. “Just because you're on estrogen doesn't mean your arms are atrophied.”

The butter-wouldn't-melt smile is still the same, even though her face looks softer. She hands off her suitcase, patting Dustin on the head as he visibly stumbles under the weight. “Don't drag it on the sidewalk, it's new,” she directs. 

He can't flip them off when it takes both hands to lift the luggage in his hand, “How are you more of an asshole, oh my god.”

“Is that anyway to talk to your cousin, Dustbunny?”

Dustin doesn't answer directly, but he's muttering under his breath the whole way to the house. 

“My ribs still hurt some when I'm doing heavy lifting,” Stevie says when he's out of earshot. “Better to be a high maintenance girl all of a sudden than someone he doesn't think he can count on.”

“Don't love the way you used girl in that sentence, Dingus.” Robin shoves at her shoulder, “Let's go look at your room, we can plan how you want to decorate.”

“I'm not saying I'm upset we got the job, Rob, just that it's weird the way Keith was acting. He always hated me, you know that. Before all this,” she gestures down her striped top, well Robin supposes she’s actually gesturing down at the way it hugs her figure, “he hated me. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t spit on me if I was on fire.”

“That seems a little dramatic, but welcome to your first workplace sexism.” Robin gives Stevie a comforting pat. Hopeful that it communicates a ‘welcome to the bad parts of everyone knowing you're a girl’ and not how she’d been prepared to work some of that sexism to their advantage. But apparently Keith was charmed by Stevie’s list of favorite films, he’d even laughed when she said her favorite Star Wars movie was the one with the teddy bears. When they’d gone to pick out movies last week she’d heard him lecture a guy for five minutes on how it was Episode VI not ‘the third one.’

Stevie flips her hair, sending Robin a playful glare, “I’ve experienced sexism, thank you, have you already forgotten what I used to look like.”

“I’m sure he’ll go back to hating you once he realizes you working here is going to mean this is one more place that Henderson and the brats are always hanging around.” She went with Stevie to the arcade once and she almost understood why Keith always hid in the back when they walked in. 

“Probably, but at least then I can stop being nice to him. He’s such a-” Robin can hear the way Stevie swallows the rest of the sentence. A frustrated, red blush flooding her cheeks as she bites down on her bottom lip. It’s confusing, the small shake of her head and how upset she suddenly seems to be with herself. “Sorry, sorry, never mind.”

Maybe it’s stupid, but for some reason that’s when Robin realizes that Stevie was about to say something mean. That Stevie stopped herself but she is, Robin supposes, frustrated that the instinct is still there. And it’s not like Robin doesn’t remember that they’ve talked about this before. Stevie with that eyepatch on from where they reattached her retina and Robin laying in the hospital bed next to her still under doctor’s supervision. Neither one of them were high anymore, it had been almost sixteen hours since Everything, they were only in the hospital at all because Robin’s mom had found them both passed out in her bed and panicked. When Mrs. Henderson had seen them both in Hawkins General and did what Stevie said was panicking and had them shipped to the city, her car speeding closely behind.

The only thing they could possibly be high on was the sudden crushing awareness of their own mortality, when Stevie’s one good eye locked with hers and she said, “I don’t want the first thing people think of when they remember me to be how I was a douche or an asshole. Or a bitch, I guess, if they actually let me change like they said they would.

“All the girls I know,” she paused and seemed to consider that, “all the girls that I still like, are good and kind and badass.”

“Including me?” Robin had teased, but she had remembered the way she had given Stevie such a hard time from the second they started working together until the moment they as the ‘adults’ realized they were going to have to protect Dustin and Erica from something that might kill them all.

“Especially you.”

So yeah, of course, when she catches herself about to verbally eviscerate Keith behind his back two weeks after being back in town she shuts down. But Robin isn’t about to let that happen. Stevie is good and kind and definitely a badass, if Keith were in trouble she would absolutely risk her life to save him -- as long as saving him didn’t keep her from saving one of the kids. 

Stevie was a good person who had some mean girl tendencies, Robin wasn’t going to make her feel bad about that. As long as she was using her powers for good, or like Claire in the Breakfast Club she was kind of Mean Girl lite.

“He’s kind of a slimy creep,” Robin admits. The kind of comment she thinks, but couldn’t ever really say with her last group of friends. It would break the loser code.

Stevie’s shoulders drop from around her ears. She’s still idly picking at the nail polish they just painted on her thumb, but she smiles over at Robin. A little sly, a little catty. “He touched my shoulder while we were leaving and I swear to god he left orange cheese puff residue behind.”

“Maybe half of your new clothes shouldn’t be dry clean only.”

“ Maybe he should help cover my dry cleaning bill if he’s going to put his hands on me in the workplace. I could call Family Video HR, probably. You know his dad owns like half of this strip mall, and people gave me shit about having money, I’m pretty sure they own the dry cleaning place too.”

“So why do these polyester nightmares smell like the BO of employees past?”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

With the job and Stevie back, Robin almost forgets that she spent the first three weeks of school sad and miserable. She’s maybe even a little distracted that they have plans tonight, and forgets that there are reasons other than the threat of bacterial infection to avoid the girl’s room in the language hallway. And more than any of that, it’s really hard to think about any of that when she can feel her bladder starting to pickle her brain.

The door to the bathroom swings open before she can exit the stall. Voices she recognizes as Patty Taylor and Molly Smith already mid-conversation filter in. “I mean she’s pretty, like really pretty, but I mean why would you even move to Hawkins.”

It’s definitely too late to leave.

“Carol said that she heard from Heather that she moved in with her aunt, she was from the city or something.”

The squelching sound of a lipgloss wand leaving the tube is punctuated by a bitchy hum, “Well, you know who spent all that time in the city this summer.”

“I mean yeah, but how would they have even met? I’ve heard like six different stories about why she was there.”

Patty’s voice echoes, through the crack in the stall door Robin can see her lean over top of the sink putting her face even closer to the water spotted mirror above it. “Well she was in that mall fire, but I heard she had to stay so long after initial treatment because she…”

There must be some facial expression she’s missing, Patty trails off like she’s dropped some grand secret. Robin isn’t a total loser, she hears gossip. She knows that Mrs. Click is going through a bitter divorce from her husband because he had that affair with the gas station attendant from the Chevron by the highway. She knows that Tim Morris got sent to military school after he put a cherry bomb in Mrs. O’Leary’s mailbox. She knows that Vickie is definitely a shoo-in for clarinet first chair even though Michael Lewis had it last year and he’s a senior this year.

And yeah okay two of those she had heard from Stevie.

But she thinks she should have had some clue that there was some kind of rumor going around about her. Molly wrinkles her forehead, maybe she isn’t the only one who has no clue about this rumor. “Because she what?”

“Because she lost the baby and they put her in the psych ward,” Patty says loud enough that it bounces off the tile walls of the bathroom. A hand covers her mouth and they both look around like they’ve just remembered that they’re in public. Robin pulls her feet up on the toilet seat with her.

“What baby?” Molly asks in a whisper that seems even louder with the way she forces it out.

“Come on, everyone knows the reason she was so upset that Steve died. He knocked her up while they were working together and with the stress she lost the baby. She was such a freak already, the new girl and her must have been in the same padded cell in the loony bin.”

“Really? I mean with Steve Harrington? ”

“I mean Carol said it so I’m pretty sure it has to be true, you know how close she used to be with Steve.” 

The bell rings, sending them both fleeing from the bathroom with muttered curses. Robin stays in the stall too stunned by what she’s heard to move. Stunned and filled with the thought that all she wants right now is to see Stevie.

She bumps into Eddie Munson on the way to the payphone. He gives her an unreadable look, mostly eyebrows that she can’t see beneath his bangs anyway, so she isn’t sure why he even bothers. Is he wondering why she’s skipping class? Or did he see her running from the bathroom and now he’s wondering if maybe the rumors were only partially true, that she’s still pregnant and she hadn’t lost the baby like apparently half the school thinks.

If a wet rat like Munson knows more about her status in the school than she does she really might have to go back and hurl.

She puts in her change and dials the increasingly familiar number for the Henderson place.

“Hen-”

“I need you to come pick me up, now.”

It isn’t hard to convince the school nurse, who’s more worried about when she can slip away to sneak her next cigarette than she is about doing any nursing, that she’s too sick to stay. So she’s waiting out front when Stevie’s new Jeep rockets into the parking lot, the woman of the hour flinging herself out of it before it’s fully in park. 

“What happened? What’s wrong? The kids are fine right?” She’s pressing the back of her hand to Robin’s forehead, the other at her side clenching into fists as she looks over Robin’s head for any creature or person that might need to be put down.

“Everything’s fine,” she lies, “I needed to see you.”

A single eyebrow raises, Robin helped her pluck that eyebrow into that arch and now it’s being used in disbelief at her own blatant lie. “Fine,” she relents, “I’ll tell you when we aren’t standing in the middle of the parking lot, okay?”

The radio is off but so are the doors, so even as Robin refuses to talk the sound of the wind rushing past them fills the silence of the car. With no destination in mind, Stevie seems to be driving a slow meandering circuit of Hawkins.

“I overheard Patty and Molly talking about us in the bathroom today.” She says only after they’ve passed Melvalds twice with no sign of parking.

“They were talking in the bathroom about us or they were talking about us in the bathroom.”

“That’s the same sentence twice.”

“No it’s not. In the bathroom or in the bathroom.” The emphasis is nonsensical, but after a second it clicks.

“They were in the bathroom. I guess I was also in the bathroom but it was definitely not about our bathroom conversation.”

“What were they saying?” Stevie noses out gossip like a search dog noses out missing kids.

Robin sticks her hand out the side of the car, dancing it up and down in the wind like a wave. Letting the force of it glide up and over her like she wishes she could just get over whatever it is that has her so upset. Gossip and rumor that she knows isn’t true.

“Technically you got to be two characters. They think we know each other from the psych ward because boy you got me pregnant and when you died I lost the baby and went crazy.”

Her seatbelt catches her hard against the chest, forcing the air out of her lungs. Stevie’s hit the brakes so hard that the smell of rubber is in the air, uncaring that they’re in the middle of a main road. She’s just looking at Robin with something, disbelief or outrage, maybe a little bit of that rage she gets when her people have been hurt.

“Patty said that? Patty Taylor? Patty with the retainer breath whose lipgloss makes it look like she’s always drooling on herself, Patty?”

A nod is enough answer for Stevie to let out a little humph, setting her eyes back to the road and easing them into drive like they’d just been caught by a stray redlight.

“What?” 

She shakes her head, gazing around the upcoming turn like they don’t both know it’ll be the rundown place that used to be Benny’s. It’s going to be something mean, something she’s worried will make her sound too much like the person she used to be.

As far as Robin is concerned whatever it is won’t be any different than when she swung that phone at that Russian guard. Or crashed that car into Billy’s. It’s all just different ways of helping to protect the people she loves that aren’t as good at protecting themselves.

“Tell me,” she insists, wheedles even. “Whatever it is I won’t tell anyone else. It’s time honored girl code you have to tell me.”

“Girl code?”

“I’ll mimeo you a copy of the handbook, tell me. It’ll make me feel better.”

Stevie’s sigh is audible over the wind rushing past them, her side eye not bad enough that Robin is at all worried about it. “I just think it’s funny that she’s passing judgment on you and your possible pregnancy when everyone knows she’s banned from the U of I campus because she went streaking to impress a guy that wasn’t even interested in her. The only reason she doesn’t have an arrest record for it is because her dad is a former professor or donor or something and threatened funding if the Dean pressed charges.”

“Oh my god, really?”

“Totally, the guy was on the basketball team. He came back and told everyone when he came home for the pre-season kegger.”

She grabs Stevie’s hand off the gearshift, holds it just because she can. Relishes in the closeness the two of them can have now that she’s back and everything is better again. “You are the strongest woman I know, all this knowledge and you just keep it to yourself all the time.”

She snorts, squeezing Robin’s hand, “I literally don’t, I just told you something. Pretty sure that’s like if I had the nuclear launch codes or something and I gave them out to just one person because they’re having a really bad day.”

“Oh! Do you remember doing those stupid duck and cover drills in elementary school?”

“Oh that's really nice of you, Mrs. Buckley, but Aunt Claudia is expecting me home for dinner.” Stevie's voice calls from outside the door, only a surprise because they didn't have plans to hang out today.

She scrambles from her bed, the wire on her headphones tangling around her neck until the weight of her walkman drags them off her. Flinging the door open she's just in time to save her best friend. “Thanks for bringing her up, Mom, we’re just gonna hang out in my room til Steph has to leave, okay?”

Shoving Stevie toward the bed before her Mom has a chance to say anything else, Robin at least smiles before she shuts the door in her mother’s face.

“What happened?”

Stevie is digging through her jewelry box, has a ring Robin picked up at a garage sale because it looked cool and didn’t think about trying on, and doesn’t bother looking ashamed at being caught snooping. “Why does something have to be wrong?”

She slips the ring on her finger, the gold band and mossy green stone looks better on her than it would have Robin. “You can keep it if you admit something happened.” Stevie starts to raise an eyebrow, but it halts half way up her forehead when Robin gives the Family Video vest she’s still wearing a tug.

Her smile goes lopsided, tilts too high on one side before she wanders over to flop down on the bed. “I, maybe, did something stupid.”

Flopping down beside her, Robin swears when she lands on her walkman first. “Stupid like when you put Re-Animator in the romance section or stupid like when you tripped into the Back to the Future cutout and apologized cause you weren't wearing your glasses.”

“Stupid like I don't know, Rob, you know how at first I was pretending that I didn't know anyone when they came in right, cause I'm supposed to be new in town.”

“Like bad witness protection because they put you right back where you left.”

“Right, well I kinda forgot to do that this morning when I was working by myself?”

Looking now she can tell this is something that has had Stevie really worked up. The strands of hair at the front of her face have lost some of their beachy wave from where she's been fussing with it, pushing it back, tugging at it. Waiting for when she saw Robin again.

Sitting up from the bed, she grabs Stevie's hand in a too tight grip. “What happened? You're okay right? They didn't recognize you and do anything shitty, right?”

“Well that's the thing,” she somehow looks even more distressed, it gives Robin another clue. Stevie is afraid she's broken some unspoken rule of girlhood by doing whatever it is she's done. Which means the story will be interesting.

“So Roger came in, you know Roger right? Second stringer on the basketball team, his footwork was too slow to ever actually be any good on the court but he had an amazing three pointer as long as no one was ever anywhere near him. So he'd make a great professional HORSE player but not really going anywhere with the actual game. He came in with his girlfriend-”

“Mindy Peterson.”

“Right, and when did they even get together?” She shakes her head. “Not the point, I was flipping through the Tiger Beat that Cindy left in the drawer after her shift, cause this months Car and Driver was a total waste of money. And he wanders up, surprising me cause the bell over the door still doesn't work and I thought I was alone in there. He starts talking to me like he already knows me.”

“He was flirting with you in front of his girlfriend!”

“That wasn't flirting, he was just being friendly; and I didn't know Mindy was there, she was back in the romance section picking something out.”

“So he's flirting with you while his girlfriend is picking out something for date night.”

Stevie rolls her eyes, shoving not so gently at Robin's shoulder. “He was talking to me like he already knew me, and I do know him so I did the same. I mentioned the last game he played in, well we played in. And then he starts looking at me and I realized what I look like.”

She gestures down at herself, and Robin isn't sure if this is a compliment time or a diffuse the situation time. Stevie really doesn't look that much like she used to. Her face has softened, her hair is longer, and she's leaned into the blonde highlights that she had in the summer.

“He's all ‘Do I know you?’” She continues, and Robin laughs, it's crazy how deep she can still get her voice and even though Roger does not have anything approaching the bass that Stevie has given him. It makes the situation feel even more bizarre. “it's not like I can say, ‘What you don't recognize me from all the times I gave you advice on how to keep yourself open on offense so you could actually get a hand on the ball?’”

Robin reaches for the nail polish on her bedside table, the robin's egg blue Stevie has taken to and the taupe brown that she likes but doesn't clash with Stevie's. They both pick at their nails when they get nervous, and Stevie has definitely been nervous.

“You could have said that,” she says just to be contrary, Stevie hand held in hers it means Robin avoids the smack that would have come.

She puts blue on every finger but one, letting Stevie think as she caps the polish and grabs the taupe to finish the hand. “Hi remember me, I faked my death so I could get boobies without getting murdered in the pumpkin patch I already avoided almost dying in once. Did you know they give you a new social security number for that?”

“So what did you actually do?”

“I lied, obviously.” She blinks twice, opens her eyes wider so she looks doe-eyed and vacant. “Oh gosh, well I guess you wouldn’t remember me. I used to only come to Hawkins during the holidays to babysit my little cousin, and I always try to catch a basketball game when I’m in town. Sometimes I’d sneak out and go to the parties, but I’m shy so...”

“Oh my god, like you’ve ever been shy in your life.”

“I’m going to have to be now!” She throws her hands up, fingers spread wide to avoid accidentally smudging her fresh nails. “It’s not like I can lie my way out of admitting to sharing homeroom with someone next. I’m just lucky Roger’s never took his eyes off the bottom button of my blouse.”

“Do you remember that movie I made you watch a couple months ago, the black and white one?”

“Oh yeah, that really narrows it down.”

“Gaslight, the one with the opera singer’s niece and her new husband tries to make her think she’s crazy. We just lie until everyone is convinced that it’s the truth.”

“The truth being that Stephanie Henderson always existed?”

Eye contact isn’t easy, unless it’s Stevie. They hold each other’s gaze as the excitement bubbles between them. “Exactly,” Robin says, “and that if they think anything else, they’re crazy.”

“You’re ridiculous.” She says, but it sounds like ‘you’re on.’

“Can I be a bitch for a second?” Stevie asks. She doesn’t look up from whatever magazine she was already flipping through when Robin walked through the door. It’s too casual, too calculated.

Progress has been slow but she’s slowly getting Stevie to the point where she doesn’t feel like she has to be nice all the time just because she’s a girl. Where she still acts like the bitchy dingus she'd been before, just a happier version.  

“Obviously, just let me clock in.”

When she gets back Stevie has a stack of returns that she’s working on rewinding. One thumb in her mouth as she chews at the cuticle. “So what’s-?

“If I hear one more word about Eddie the Freak, I’m going to lose it, Rob. I mean what’s he got that’s so great? I could have taken us to the All State Championships if I hadn’t gotten that last concussion saving the twerps. I’ve saved all those twerps’ lives at least two times! I was cool. I am cool! But all I get to hear these days is ‘Oh, Stevie, Eddie just did the coolest thing in the campaign today.’ ‘Thanks for the advice, Stevie, but I’m going to go with what Eddie said instead.’ ‘I know it’s your only day off, Stevie, but could you pick us up late after school? There's Hellfire today.’ ‘Stevie, since Keith actually likes you could you hold Ladyhawke for us. Oh, no we’re going to do a movie night with Eddie.’”

She’s panting slightly when she’s finished, like she’s been holding this in for weeks. With all the quotes she’s racked up she probably has been.

“You know he kicked my tray off the lunch table last week,” she encourages. She snags a box of Sour Patch Kids from the candy counter. Popping one in her mouth before waving the bag under Stevie’s frowning face. She doesn’t even have a movie turned on. Well she does, but it looks like it was one of the weekend returns Stevie wasn’t going to put on Watership Down.

“Well he’s inconsiderate,” Stevie says, digging around in the box until she finds a red one and popping it into her mouth. “Everything is all fuck the man until he’s the man in question and then he’s the only one anyone should listen to about anything. Lucas is going to make the basketball team, he’s been working really hard on it with Jay and some of the other guys on the team.”

She’s basically taken the whole box of candy at this point. Robin doesn’t even care, just watches as Stevie picks out her favorite colors and lines them up on her magazine on the counter like a sweet and sour army. Completely oblivious to the quiet devastation that’s playing out on her face. Her brow furrowed and tight when she talks about Lucas, basketball another thing Robin wonders if she’s being unintentionally left out of.

“I just know Munson’s going to turn it into some us or them thing, like it isn’t possible to like more than one thing.”

“Maybe you-”

“And maybe that’s why they’ve been so cool with all of this,” she shrugs her shoulder in place of gesturing down at herself, too busy tearing apart a lone sourpatch general, “like it was a send off before they moved on to an actual guy who can actually do something for them. That’s probably a better send off than I deserve even right, like I mean, the kind of person I used to be. Maybe I don’t get more than one happy thing.”

Robin flattens the little red and green army underneath the flat of her hand, “Absolutely not. You are not going to let a… a… a dumpster raccoon with Mrs. Goble’s mystery meat on the bottom of his stupid shoes make you think that you don’t deserve the entire world.”

“But-” Stevie tears at the cardboard of the box between her fingers, leaving little pieces of it on the floor between her feet.

“But nothing, your little shithead kids might have latched onto the first giant nerd that looked at them when they crossed through the doors of the high school like freshly hatched ducklings but you’re the coolest person they’ve ever had the chance to meet and it’s their loss if they don’t notice.”

“I mean they’re in high school so-”

“So they’ve decided to get all the stupid decisions out at the start. It’s a bold decision but maybe that will keep them from-”

“From crashing their dad’s truck into half the cars at prom?”

“I wish one of them had been yours,” she steals the last red Sour Patch from between Stevie’s fingers, popping it into her mouth before her best friend can do anything about it.

“You’re never going to pass your driver’s test, I hope you like the bus.”

“You’re going to drive me to work forever because you love me,” she drags love out as she dances away from Stevie’s slapping hands, snagging a stack of tapes to return to the shelves as she goes.

There’s no way Stevie isn’t rolling her eyes, but Robin also knows that she’ll look all soft and pleased. Knows because a yellow candy smacks hard against the copy of The Breakfast Club that’s right beside her head.

“What the hell is going on with that rabbit?”

“Pretty sure it’s proof that you should never be trusted to pick the shift movie.”

“Stevie’s being a total headcase this week, will you tell her to chill out,” Henderson delivers what Robin is going to generously call a request after cornering her between fourth and fifth periods. Cause if it isn’t a request then it’s an order or a demand, and her small friend is not going to be happy with what she has to say in that case.

“Well that depends, Dusty, why are you calling my best friend a headcase?”

He rolls his eyes at her, a trait that Stevie might put up with but Robin is not about to. “Because she’s being one, every time I try to talk to her it’s like…” he trails off. That’s probably for the best.

“It’s like all you can talk about is your new best friend Eddie? It’s like you aren’t interested in her now that you’ve got some new brother that you can hang out with instead? It’s like all she’s good for is a ride to see the boys? It’s like you can’t ask her how to talk to girls anymore or how you should do your hair because she’s not the same anymore.”

“I didn’t say that,” he shrieks, hands waving between them like he can swipe away the thousand bees that are her accusations. She feels stinging mad actually now that she’s started putting words out there for the things that she’s feeling.

“You don’t have to say it, it’s what you’ve been doing.”

“Did she say that?” Robin gently swings her locker door just shy of closed. Dustin looks younger than she thinks she’s seen him since the first time they met. Looks smaller than she’s seen him in her life. Looking up at her with big watery eyes, waiting for her to make it okay.

Stevie’s gonna be pissed if she doesn’t at least try to make it okay.

She picks each word carefully, not wanting him to feel completely off the hook, “She didn’t say it exactly like that.”

Dustin looks at the floor, his hat obscuring his face enough that she can’t tell if he’s followed through on the watery eyes to full crying. The ambiguity makes him easier to talk to for a second, now that she doesn’t have to worry about watching what his expression is doing.

“She’s still the same person who walked down the train tracks with a kid she barely knew looking for his runaway science experiment. She’s still the person who did your hair for the snowball. She’s the person who went hunting for Russian spies with you. She’s the person that would like to keep giving you terrible advice on how to date.”

His next breath is phlegmy and ragged. “It wasn’t terrible advice.”

“Right, right, your Moonchild Empress or whatever.”

Dustin hasn’t been quiet once in the entire time that she’s known him so Robin assumes the quiet means he’s done talking. Swinging her locker back open she goes back to what she was doing before he interrupted, which had, coincidentally been Stevie related. Deciding whether or not she was going to bring her copy Watership Down to work with her so Stevie could see what was up with the rabbits.

“They should meet.”

Robin had also been leaning toward introducing her to Fiver and Hazel, but she doesn't think that’s what Dustin means.

“Who should-”

“Stevie and Eddie,” he looks at her with a wide grin. An expression she recognizes from shortly before she found herself in an elevator to hell. Dustin thinks he's just had a good idea. “Stevie can see that Eddie's super cool, Eddie will stop- And once they know each other we can hang out all the time, why didn't I think of this before!”

It does occur to her that she could remind Dustin that Stevie existed before July of 1985. That she went to school here and definitely already knows Eddie, that's where half the problem comes from even. But then she thinks of how much fun their next sleepover will be, when Stevie has brand new things to hate and make fun of.

“Maybe you're right Dustin, maybe that is the problem.”

He pumps his fist in time with the warning bell. “This is going to be great, I can't believe I didn't already think of this.”

He's still talking to himself as he starts to scamper off to a class he's going to be late to. But she isn’t about to let him leave without making sure he took away the real lesson he was supposed to. “And pass along to your little friends that her new meds didn't lobotomize her brain or amputate her legs. She can still tell you how to talk to girls, she can still shoot a free throw, she can still show you how to change a tire after it's blown out on the interstate.”

Dustin's staying with the Wheelers, Claudia has the night shift which means she and Stevie have the whole house to themselves.

Robin is making herself at home in Stevie's room, moving extra quilts and pillows from the linen closet into a fort she's making on the floor. Because today is going to be the best bitch day in the world, once Stevie makes it home from playing chauffeur. Because today Stevie gave in and went to lunch and a movie with Dustin and his new best friend Eddie.

She keeps trying to imagine what Stevie will say. Maybe Munson dips his fries in syrup or something disgusting. Maybe he showed up to the movie in his nerd brigade shirt. Maybe he showed up thirty minutes late! And the Stevie in her head has devastating things to say about all of those things, but she knows none of them are right. She just can't manage the right amount of even toned bitchery that Stevie can, the clever double entendre that makes the person she's insulting look all the dumber for getting upset at the blatant quips.

“Did you really bike here, you weirdo? You know I would have picked you up.” Stevie's voice carries down the hallway, accented by the sound of her keys hitting the bowl by the door and her shoes getting picked up from the floor and set down in the shoe tree.

“You got that bike rack for the Jeep. I wanted to make sure it actually got some use.”

The answering laugh is the one Robin possessively thinks of as hers, a little ugly, high pitched and snorting. It makes it to the bedroom just a second before Stevies face. A face that's wearing the lipgloss with the glitter in it, the one she saves for when she's trying to impress someone or make them look at her mouth.

“You look nice?”

“Such a charmer, Rob, no wonder you've got so many girls banging down your door.” She eases herself down onto the floor beside Robin, smoothing out a buttery yellow skirt that has to be new. She knows every single item in Stevie's closet, except this skirt.

She isn't going to think about how Stevie went out shopping without her though. She'd rather focus her attention somewhere more entertaining. “How was lunch?”

Stevie fusses with the edge of her skirt, rolling the hem of it between two fingers. Her face pinking though under that she's smiling. “Ugh you wouldn't even believe Henderson was a twerp, as usual. Insisted that he had to have one side of the table to himself, ordered two milkshake flavors so he could mix them together, and of course I'm paying for the whole thing.”

“Dustin being a dweeb is old news, what else happened at lunch.”

“I mean,” she trails off, making a face Robin has never seen before. Which shouldn't be possible, she thinks she is supposed to have seen all of Stevie's faces.  “Munson was a total freak, obviously. Kept calling me ‘My Lady’ and all that nerd shit. You’d think I came in with a cast with the way he opened every door and kept pulling out my chair.” 

It all sounds decidedly unfreakish to Robin, in fact it sounds like Stevie finds the guy charming. She realizes with something close to horror that she does actually recognize the expression on Stevie’s face. Just not on her best friend. It’s the bashful, twitterpated expression of a girl at a sleepover trying not to admit she has a crush. An expression that might as well be a death knell, cause the only time she’s ever seen it is right before date night started beating girl’s night.

“Not that it matters, the guy doesn’t know how to take a joke,” Stevie goes on, her smile still too shy to fully bloom but no less in place. Even as she pretends that whatever this is is supposed to be some dealbreaker. “I asked him what he gets out of playing Halflings and Half-wits with the dweeb squad and I thought he was going to climb on the table right there. Ed-weird went on for like five minutes on how the gremlins are some of the best players he’s ever played with, and they're an endless fount of creativity that keeps him perpetually on his toes.”

Stevie never actually stood a chance. And if Robin had been paying attention she would have realized that. 

There wasn’t anyone who loved passionate, nerdy people as much as Stevie.

Eddie Munson wore his king of the loud mouthed nerds crown with pride. And he was as obsessed with the gremlins as Stevie was 

“Why are we talking about him?” She flops over until her head is in Robin’s lap, flopping one arm outside of the pillow fortress to reach under the bed. She crows, victorious, holding a jar that's pond scum brown like it’s treasure. “Had to hide this after Dust put it in his hair. Put this goop on your face and tell me about what Vickie said in band yesterday again. Cause I'm pretty sure she was dating Dan Summers last year, and he didn't really seem like the type of guy to stay with his high school girlfriend.”

It's coincidence, pure and simple, that puts her right outside O'Donnell's fourth period class. Thompson's study hall, her own fourth period, was technically across the building but everyone knew Mr. Thompson came to work on Mondays too hungover to care about attendance.

And study hall didn't have a certain wannabe friend-dater standing outside it, debating whether or not he was going to go inside.

She is still figuring out her angle of attack when it looks like he's decided he is actually going to class. Considering O’Donnell is the type to write office referral slips to kids who aren’t meant to be in her room for ‘being a distraction’ there isn’t really any time for subtlety. Still, she’s surprised by the tone of her own voice when she shouts, “Munson!”

Heads turn in the hallway, of course they do. Faces she only knows by virtue of twelve years of school watching on with a lust for future violence she recognizes from that concrete bunker. But if Munson is concerned that a girl he's never spoken to is yelling at him, he doesn't look it as he turns on both heels to face her.

He smiles first, benignly pleasant. But Stevie taught her that trick, smiling to diffuse anger or hide how she has no idea how the person talking to her actually knows her. Munson is doing both, they had two classes together last semester and she was in the orchestra for the last school musical.

The blankness eventually clears from his eyes, “Bye Bye Buckley!”

Not about to be distracted by the dumbest reference she's ever heard, and with the eyes of at least two people she can see on her, she drags Munson away from class. It's bound to be all around the school by the dismissal bell, but rumor is less important than the mission.

The girls room by the library is always abandoned. The mirrors are dingy or cracked and it always smells like cat piss for no discernable reason. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” He looks around the bathroom with an inquisitive eye like the grimy bluish tile is somehow more interesting than her. “I'm not actually carrying if you were-”

He doesn't have the decency to stumble when she shoves at his chest, trying to push him back into the stall doors.

“What are your intentions with Stevie?”

“Ah yes, the mysterious cousin Henderson. Who says I have intentions?” His only saving grace is that it takes her too long to get her thoughts in order. A miasma of rants at the tip of her tongue about Stevie and how she was too good for him and any thoughts he might be having about her. 

But in the time it takes to see through her friend based rage, she’s able to watch a transformation take place on Eddie’s face. The smug aloofness that had taken over his face from the moment she cornered him in the hallway washes away. Leaving behind something giddy and young, bright eyes and a flushed face. “Unless she was asking about me. You two are bosom friends, are you not Diana? That would make me Gilbert Blythe, hell of a role.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of people who wish they could break a slate over your head.”

“You’re probably right, doesn’t answer my question though. Was your dear Anne Shirley talking about me?” He scuffs a boot against the floor. Doing an impressive impression of a bashful school boy while standing in front of her in his ratted out, heavy metal glory. There are at least four chains that she can spot on his outfit right now but his face would be just as at home on Opie Taylor.

But she isn’t going to get fooled by some routine. She has something to say and she’s going to make sure she says it.

“She’s really special, Munson. She’s not some cheerleader you fuck in the woods because she wants to get back at her parents that are divorcing and you’re the scariest thing available that isn’t actually dangerous.”

“Tell me how you really feel, Buckley.” The retort seems to drag itself from his mouth on instinct. Cause the aw shucks routine he’d been giving is lying broken on the floor replaced by open mouthed shock.

“I am.” The bell rings, marking them both officially late for class. She glares him down, waiting to see if he’ll leave, effectively flinching first. He glares back. “She’s an athlete, likes sports.”

Maybe it’s wrong to list the things about Stevie that she knows Munson won’t like. But she also isn’t about to let her best friend water herself down for some stupid boy.

“Wayne will be thrilled to have someone who understands what he’s talking about. Go team.”

“She hates fantasy. Dustin loaned her his copy of Fellowship of the Ring and she gave it back when they kept singing.”

“I’m sure she’d like it if I sang them for her.”

“She isn’t going to become some demure, church mouse just because you’re around. She’s snarky and confident and, and…”

He sets a hand on her shoulder in a way that is so patronizing she wishes she were as good at being a bitch as Stevie was. But she suppresses her first instinct to bite him if only because she’s working at keeping up her record of 4578 days without biting a classmate.

“I don’t know what any of that means,” he says, “but it sounds like you and your hot best friend have been talking about me. So thanks for that intel, Bucks.”

People wearing leather and motorcycle boots shouldn’t be able to skip. The stupid hanky in his stupid pocket flaps behind him like a wagging tail as Munson leaves her in the girls room with the smell of ammonia.

Stevie has Breakfast at Tiffany’s playing on the TV when Robin makes it to work. Keith let them have most of their shifts together but drew the line at letting Stevie shut the store down to come pick her up after school. So on days where Stevie works a double, she’s stuck arriving to work sweaty and guessing at whatever movie will have ended up on the big TV.

And today she gets to catch Stevie standing in the middle of the floor, a stack of tapes in her arms, while she watches the party happening in Holly Golightly’s apartment. Audrey Hepburn swaying with her guest in the middle of the floor.

“Someone’s in a mood.” 

From over her shoulder, Stevie sends Robin a look. Something loaded with dry humor and a smugness that usually means something juicy happened in the time before Robin got there.

Usually.

There’s something about the look today that feels personally directed at her.

“Well it was this or Some Like it Hot, and the stay at home moms are weird about black and white movies that aren’t the first few minutes of Wizard of Oz.”

“That’s sepia.”

“Bless you.”

Making sure Stevie can see her rolling her eyes, she heads to the back to clock in. By the time she makes it back, Stevie has the volume turned down on Holly Golightly’s romantic disasters. She’s back behind the counter, head pillowed in her hands and Robin remembers why people used to be a little scared of her popular kid cabaret. Walking up the center aisle, she feels like she’s headed straight toward a tiger with its mouth open and she’s about to put her head in there. 

“So you’ll never believe what happened earlier,” Stevie taps her nail against her cheek.

“Paul Collins came in with his mistress to look at porn again?”

Humming, Stevie doesn’t say anything as Robin comes behind the counter with her. There’s a stack of tapes that need to be rewound and a roll of Be Kind Rewind stickers that need to be stuck to cases.

“Still time for that,” she says right as Robin started to think they were going to drop it. “Sally Tyler called from the payphone.”

“Sally from the basketball team?”

“Yeah,” that smile is even wider. This is almost certainly payback for the You Suck board. “I’m thinking about joining her rec team but we’ve played one-on-one in the park once or twice.”

“And she had a Family Video emergency that only you could solve?”

“Sorta. She was just really concerned, she’d heard a rumor that my best friend was dragging the guy she saw me having lunch with this weekend into the girls room.”

This is definitely payback for the You Suck board. Stevie’s looking a little too pleased with herself as she smiles at what can only be Robin’s slack jawed surprise.

“I get if you're mad,” she says and that’s all she can assume is happening, she isn’t sure how else to read what’s happening on Stevie’s face. “But-”

“Thank you.”

“I was just trying to- What?”

“Come on,” she rolls her eyes, swipes a half hearted smack to Robin’s shoulder. “I’ve been on the other side of that, you know. Well meaning friends pulling me aside to ask what my intentions are.”

“Oh my god, did she follow us in there?”

Delight makes Stevie’s eyes sparkle, “Did you actually? I love you. Did you give him hell?”

“I think he got the upperhand.”

“I think it’s all the playing pretend. The shitheads will run circles around the unprepared too.”

It seems a little too good to be true. “You really aren’t mad?”

Someone abandoned The Breakfast Club at the scene where Ally Sheedy gets the makeover. It had seemed like a stupid scene when she’d seen it in theaters, now it makes something weird pit in the bottom of her stomach. She doesn’t get the chance to hit rewind, to send Allison back in time so she can be strange and herself again, because Stevie is flipping her around and pulling her into a bone crushing hug.

“First of all,” she says into the side of Robin’s hair, “the only thing I’m even a little miffed about is you thinking I couldn’t kick Munson’s ass myself. But no one’s ever done anything like that for me before so I’m cool with letting it slide.”

“But we are acknowledging that you definitely have a thing for the guy with the rattiest hair in the school. Probably even Roane county.” Robin says, face pressed into the meat of Stevie’s shoulder.

Stevie shoves her away with a groan that Robin’s laughter is already drowning out. “Yeah, alright. He’s kind of okay I guess.”

“Such sweet words for the father of your brood.”

“He’s not the father of my anything,” she flips her hair over one shoulder, “anyway I think he gets off on it so I’m gonna keep being mean to him.”

“That was more than I wanted to know about either of you.”

“No it wasn’t, you like that I’m mean too. You get all sad faced when you think I’m trying to bury my impulses.”

For the second time today Robin is left too surprised to say anything. She’s left gaping, not that Stevie is looking at her now; too busy picking at the nail polish left on her pinky. 

“I like it,” she says quietly after a moment. Robin has shut her mouth by the time Stevie looks up at her again, something soft but serious on her face. She reaches across the counter to grab Robin by the hand, melding what’s left of their coordinating manicures by linking their fingers. “You’re my number one. Even if Eddie does anything about anything, he’s going to have to compete with you.”

Neither of them move as the weight of the moment surrounds them like one of Mrs. Henderson’s quilts. Heavy and homey and right. But they are still at work and as the bell beside the door dings, and they break their silence to greet their new customer in tandem, they shrug off the heavy sincerity for something more functional. Stevie’s smile turns sly, and she tugs Robin closer while keeping an eye on the man now browsing the comedies. “You’ll never guess who came in earlier to ask if we had Nine and a Half Weeks yet.”

[angel-of-the-moons]

Small Surprises

Moon Knight System (Marc/Jake/Steven) x Single Mother!Reader

TW/CW: Some mentions of past childhood abuse, cheating partner, mostly fluff

A/N: Like the Symbrock one I did, this one will be one whole fic with a few times skips here and there! This fic will also explore a bit more into the autistic side of Steven as a character, based off my own experiences with my autism, tics, habits etc! Also, once again, featuring snippets of the hobby headcanons done by @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction! (I love those headcanons so much they are canon as far as I'm concerned asdfghjkl)

Taglist: @chrishy973 @katitakenway @queerponcho

EDIT: Part 2 is out now!!! Read it here!

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Another droll day at the museum, the same disinterested customers and more nagging from Donna. Honestly, Steven was lucky he got his job back at the museum--though he only surmised it was due to the fact nobody else wanted to work for Donna--but he was grateful for the extra income.

And it definitely helped provide a distraction from Jake's night activities for Khonshu, as well as Marc's from time to time.

But of course, even though it provided a distraction, it wasn't much of one.

That is... until the day a poofy mop of curls bounced into the gift shop, eagerly looking at the wares within with big sparkling eyes. The child couldn't have been older than four--maybe five--as she happily looked at the myriad of items available.

Contrasting to most of the little girls he's seen come in (which, were admittedly few) she didn't immediately run over to the cheap horse figures with the chariots or even the cat plushies.

She went right for things like the plushie scarabs, the statues...

This of course had Donna proverbially chewing her nails as she watched the unaccompanied minor scamper about the gift shop.

"I'm going back to do inventory," She warned Steven. "If she breaks anything, it's coming out of your pay, Stevie."

Steven ground his teeth when she called him that, and waited for her to walk away before muttering. "What little you do pay me, you bloody old biddy."

Steven fixed his name tag and walked up to the little girl, crouching next to her as her chubby little face scrunched in what appeared to be distaste.

"Hey there, poppet. What's got you upset, eh?" He asked, his big brown eyes meeting hers as she crossed her arms with a huff.

"They don't look right!" She complained.

"Oh? What doesn't look right?" Steven asked patiently, a warm smile on his face.

The child pointed to the small canvases and posters of the various Egyptian gods. Namely the ones of Bastet and Anubis, and in particular of the two, one of the canvases depicting Anubis surrounded by shrieking souls and flames.

He himself had raised a complaint with that depiction, as after his own time in the Egyptian afterlife (alongside Marc, and unbeknownst to them at the time, Jake) he knew the afterlife was not like that. While they hadn't met Anubis himself, they were guided and weighed by Taweret.

But he wholeheartedly agreed that the artwork of Anubis was entirely wrong, and frankly, offensive.

"'Nubis isn't like that." She said, stomping her little foot. "He's nice!"

Steven raised his eyebrows at her, tilting his head as some stray curls fell over his face. "Oh?" He asked. "Then tell me little one, how is Anubis?"

"He's--!" She scoffed, rolling her eyes in the typical fashion a child does when they feel like they're explaining something painfully obvious to an oblivious adult.

"He's a good dog-man." She says to him. "He doesn't mess with skulls n' stuffs! He's nice, he helps people who might get lost when they die."

'That's a hefty subject for a kid.' Marc's voice spoke.

"No kidding." Jake remarked. "Where are her parents?"

Steven meanwhile, was positively thrilled that one so young understood that Anubis, while being the god of death, was not evil. And... naturally this sent him into info-dump mode.

"Why, yes! Anubis is good." He held up a finger as the little girl looked at him, awe on her face that he understood what she was saying and was willing to actually talk about it.

"He guided souls once they left their earthly bodies." He explained, grabbing a small replica of an Egyptian temple front. "Once their hearts were weighed, if they were good, he would help guide them to the afterlife. If they were bad..."

"They got ate by the crocko-lion!" The girl finished with a gasp.

Steven suppressed the urge to laugh at how she described Ammit. Jake and Marc meanwhile, held no such compunction and were laughing their asses off.

"I like this kid." Jake said as his laughter died down.

"Yes! They did. But did you know they also had to be judged? Not just with the scales?" Steven grinned at her as she bounced on her heels, the palms of her hands rubbing on her coveralls as she listened.

"Now that subject is very lengthy...." Steven leaned over on the flats of his shoes and plucked a small book about the Egyptian afterlife and mythos and showed it to the little girl. The cover was emblazoned with raised gold print; with images of sarcophagi, and motifs scattered on the front and back.

"But it's always worth a good read." Steven continued. "Now, if you want to know someone else who sometimes assists those who've passed on?"

The little girl plucked the book out of Steven's arms, nodding, her eyes tracking the way his mouth and hair moved. Not once did she make eye contact, instead settling for staring at other features instead.

Steven could understand, sometimes looking into people's eyes was... oof. It was difficult and frankly sometimes it made him uncomfortable, made his palms itch and the hair on the back of his neck tickle.

He stood up, and walked to another shelf, the little girl trailing behind him, the book looking three sizes too large for her tiny body as her little light up sneakers squeaked on the waxed linoleum.

Steven reached down, then, and grabbed a plaster statuette of a familiar feminine shape sporting a hippo head and kneeled back down, showing it to her.

"This is Taweret." He beamed proudly.

"She's the nice hippo lady." The child peeped, staring at the statue with rapt attention.

"Yes! Yes, she is! Very nice." Steven chuckled. "But she's also the goddess of motherhood and children, did you know? She protects women when they have their babies, and helps them."

The little girl nodded, "Yeah, I read a thingy 'bout her! She's--"

"Victoria! Oh my god." A breathless voice called from the front of the shop.

The moment Steven lifted his gaze, he could feel his heart catch on his throat when he saw you. Even Marc and Jake went quiet as you approached.

You were wearing some faded-out jeans and a t-shirt with a faded band logo that hugged your figure very nicely. You had a backpack slung over your shoulders and the keychains dangling from it tinkled and clacked as you moved, rushing to scoop up your child.

Steven could easily see that Victoria got her looks from you, those gorgeous inquisitive eyes, her nose, hair texture...

Jake had to give him the mental equivalent of a slap to stop his gawking as he stood up awkwardly, wiping the hand not holding the statue on his jeans as he gave you what he hoped was a charming smile, but judging by your wariness, you obviously weren't thrilled at the sight of your daughter talking to a strange man.

Steven was about to speak up, but Victoria did so instead for him, not reading the tenseness in the situation.

"Steven's my friend!" She beamed, holding the book in her pudgy little fingers, showing you. "He knows about 'Gyptian stuff, too!"

Steven blinked, feeling a blush creep up on his cheeks as you looked at him, raised eyebrows. It took him a moment of awkward glancing away to realize Victoria knew his name because she read his name tag. He hadn't once said it to her. Hell, he only knew her name because you said it when you ran in!

"Ah... Yes. I work here, in the gift shop. Egyptology is a major... um." He struggled to find a word.

"Hyperfixation?" You sigh, the tension easing from your shoulders as you smile tiredly.

"Oh! Yes. I s'pose!" He said, blinking his big doe eyes at you.

"Yeah, Victoria is... well." You chuckle, propping the young child on your hip with practiced ease. "She's obsessed with the stuff! I swear, the stuff she can shove into her noggin with how much she knows of ancient Egypt, it feels like she was born in the wrong era, I'm telling you!"

Victoria smiled happily and snuggled into you, rubbing her cheek on the soft fabric of your shirt with a content hum, almost like a happy little cat.

You didn't pay any mind to her as she rubbed her face on you, instead conversing with the man in front of you.

"Ah... A little scholar to be, eh?" Steven laughed awkwardly.

"Hah, more like she already is one. With everything she knows, I swear she outpaces me in the IQ department." You sigh fondly, brushing a stray curl from your daughter's face.

Steven's eyes anxiously tracked your movements, how your fingers curled, the way your eyelashes brushed your cheeks when you blinked, the way your foot tapped on the floor...

"I'm surprised she talked to you. She's normally very introverted." You hum softly, raising those drop dead gorgeous eyes to lock with his before he awkwardly dropped his eyes to your lips whilst you spoke.

"But then again, if you started talking about this stuff with her, it's no surprise. I'm the only person she talks to about it because nobody else understands."

You noticed his Steven was looking anywhere but your eyes, and how he nervously licked at his lips, his fingers wrapped around the statuette in his hands tapping idly.

"Oh! She's a lovely little conversationalist. Rather well-knowledged as well!" Steven replied, looking at Victoria again, who grinned as she once again rubbed her face on your shirt.

"Honestly, she's more learned than half the adults who try to talk to me about Egypt." He huffed out a chuckle.

His eyes dropped to the picture of Anubis that initially offended the child. "We got into a little debate about how inaccurate those pieces of Anubis are."

"Oh, don't get her started on those inaccurate artworks... She despises them!" You laugh softly.

"Oh, I fully understand why! It's so offensive!" Steven gasped. "Especially to a culture! Anubis is not an evil god by any means!"

"Oh yeah, believe me... we watched a movie the other day and she had a meltdown because they made Anubis the bad guy. She was so distraught it took thirty minutes to calm her down." You smile with infinite patience at your little girl.

"Oh, poor little dear! But I can totally understand that." Steven smiled, finally locking eyes with you as he reached some level of professional comfort with you.

"Mommy, can I get em?" Victoria peeped, interrupting you before you could get another word out.

"Hm?" You hummed at her, raising an eyebrow.

"The book and hippo lady!" She replied, holding up the book.

"Hippo Lady?"

"Yeah!" She said, sounding a little exasperated, pointing to the statue Steven clutched in his hands. "Her! Tawar!"

"Taweret." Steven chuckled softly at her mispronunciation.

"Tawww--" Victoria frowned as she tried to get the word out. "Tawweret."

"Close 'nough. I'm sure she wouldn't mind." Steven smiled warmly, holding up the statuette.

"All right, all right." You laughed, following Steven to the counter so you could check out, having another nice chat about what he and Victoria discussed. He even tossed in a little keychain that held a preserved scarab beetle in epoxy, much to Victoria's delight!

What you didn't know as you left the shop, was how positively smitten he was with you already.

That was your first meeting with Steven Grant.

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A few weeks crawled by, and every other day you were at the museum, letting Victoria lead you by the hand as she animatedly discussed what every object or picture meant, and you struggled to keep up, making mental (and a few digital) notes on what she was talking about. Of course, she insisted that after every tour, you stopped to say hi to her new "bestest friend" Steven.

You were thrilled that you found someone who operated on the same wavelength as your daughter, knowing that it was hard for her to make connections with other children, let alone adults. But Steven and Victoria took to each other like ducks to water.

And hey, he seemed harmless enough. Cute, too, beneath that mop of curls. You even started researching more just to be able to tag into the conversations between your daughter and her unlikely friend.

Today, you were at the local grocer and Victoria decided that she wanted to walk with you instead of riding in the trolley on her tablet like she normally did. You were happy, but ensured she kept her noise cancelling headphones over her tiny ears to make sure she stayed comfortable.

You had picked up a pack of steaks to examine the cuts when Victoria slipped your hand free of hers and darted off, squealing, "Steven!"

You almost dropped the steaks when Victoria darted down the aisle and wrapped her arms around the legs of the man she ran towards.

One minute Marc was looking at a box of matzahs, the next, he had a child clinging to his legs.

His whole body froze as he looked down, immediately going rigid as the little girl looked up at him, babbling something he didn't quite understand because of how quickly she was speaking.

He did make out the name "Steven".

"Uh--" He said awkwardly.

"I'm so sorry!" You say, hastily bringing the trolley up to the two. "She just got excited to see you, and..."

Your brows furrowed as you looked at him. He looked like Steven Grant, but he didn't feel like Steven Grant. His normally messy curls were combed back neatly, his flannel hanging open with the sleeves rolled up and T-shirt untucked from his pants. His big brown eyes were wide, looking at you with a face that simply pleaded "Help me".

"Uh..."

"I'm... Marc." He said in an unmistakably American accent.

"Oh. Oh!" You lean down and scoop up Victoria, hastily plopping her in the trolley, willing yourself to ignore her little wobbling lip as you messily search up her favorite video to watch on her tablet to prevent the simmering meltdown you could see just beneath her surface.

"I'm... I'm sorry. You just look like someone we know from the museum, and..." You sigh, rubbing your hands together as you cringed.

"Steven, yeah..." Marc said, giving a stiff smile in return as he dropped the box of what looked like crackers into his basket looped over his elbow.

"You..."

'Play it cool, Marc...' Jake's voice softly warned.

"We're, uh, brothers. Triplets. All identical." He spat out with haste.

"Oh! Well... That's... That explains the looks, huh." You smile, hoping to ease the awkward tension. His explanation didn't sit well with you for some reason, as to why he suddenly blurted it all out. But you chocked it up to him trying to explain to avoid upsetting Victoria.

"But, yeah. Um... Your brother, Steven? He and Victoria are like, best friends now. She looks forward to seeing him whenever we're at the museum." You chuckle softly.

Marc's eyes soften as he smiles, giving Victoria a gentle look. "Yeah, uh, Steven's told me about her. She's a smart kid, huh?"

"Oh, yeah. A real genius." You smile at her as she starts tapping away at her tablet, selecting one of her drawing apps and beginning to scribble.

"Sometimes I can't keep up with her."

"Hey, that's good. She'll go places." Marc replied.

Your smile falters a bit. "Yeah, if people will give her a chance..." You mutter.

Marc was about to ask what she meant, but he kept his mouth shut, watching as Victoria was engrossed with her tablet, her little feet wiggling and tapping on the sides of the trolley as she moved her mouth silently, mouthing words to herself.

"She's... Eh." You rub the back of your neck. "She normally doesn't come to the store with me. She says she can hear the lights buzzing and it upsets her, which is why she has to wear her headphones. I mean I can't hear the lights or anything, but all I need to know is that she can..."

"Yeah, Steven is the same way sometimes. It makes him twitch so he has to wear headphones when we go shopping..." Marc said, frowning.

"Yeah. That's something I'm kind of amazed about. Victoria doesn't really have any friends outside of well, me... and your brother? Steven and her are just... man, they're like two peas in a pod!"

Marc stays quiet as you smile fondly at your child, and he notes the relief in your expression as you recount that your child was able to finally connect with someone. It warmed his heart to know that Steven was able to socialize with someone who shared the same mannerisms, even if she was just a kid.

His eyes flicked down to your hands as you put your hands on your hips, and noted the lack of wedding ring and a ring tan line.

'Focus, cabrón.' Jake snickered.

"She's autistic. It was a pain to get her diagnosed, but we managed. I could tell she was different. Namely how she would act with fabrics." You sigh.

Now that grabbed both Marc and Jake's attention. If Steven were aware and co-fronting, he was sure he would be rapt as well. Steven explained the fabric thing to hime a few times, but being in the same body it was still hard at times to understand that Marc or Jake could feel one thing but Steven could feel another.

"Uh... Fabrics? You'll have to forgive me, but..."

"Oh! It's a sensory thing." You explain, rolling your hand. "With her, it's fleece, or satin-like textures. They irritate her and make her fussy. As a baby I never understood why she flipped out when I would put her little socks on her until the doctor explained it when she was older. But for some people it's cotton, or microfiber... The way Victoria describes it is that it's, uh..."

"Scratchy." Marc murmurs.

"Exactly!" You snap your fingers.

"Yeah, Steven is the same way. Though he's not like that with satin, he usually prefers cotton--the super soft kind? Or silk." Marc nods, shoving one hand in his pocket.

"Yeah... It's thankfully easy to shop for her, she prefers cotton and soft microfiber. It's why she rubs her cheek on my shirts or pants. Some people mistake it for being affectionate--and don't get me wrong sometimes it is--but usually it's a grounding thing." You sigh softly. "It helps her calm down."

"Ah... Sounds hard. What about her dad? He know how to handle it?" Marc asked curiously.

He immediately felt bad when he saw how your expression fell, and you glared at the ground.

"He skipped out on us while I was pregnant. I caught him in our bed with someone I thought was my best friend the day I found out she was a girl." You spit, angry and full of venom.

Marc cringed. "God, your best friend? In your bed? That's a whole extra level of degeneracy..."

"I know! Ugh! I swear, if he wasn't stronger than me I would have stabbed him that day!" You groan.

Marc rocks his head back in shock at the admission. "You were gonna stab him?"

"When you're five months pregnant, hormonal, tired, and sore and walk in on your fiancee doing the deed in your own bed? Yeah, emotions get high." You run a hand through your hair, smirking as you looked back at him.

"Grabbed the knife right outta the block and lunged at him. Chased em both half naked out of my flat."

'Shit, I'd be in love. That sounds sexy as hell.' Marc could just imagine the grin that would be spread across Jake's face at that.

Marc laughed, unable to contain himself, both at the retelling of your story and Jake's remark.

'You got problems, Jake.' Marc shot back mentally.

'Pot, meet kettle...'

'Touché...'

"So it's safe to say, he's out of the picture, huh?" Marc says, his laughter dying down into a soft chuckle.

"Oh yeah. Had his parental rights severed, and kicked his sorry.... well. I tossed him out and told him that my "best friend" could deal with him and his lazy antics, considering I pay for the flat."

"Yikes. Sounds like a real dirt bag."

"Oh yeah, he was. I have no idea what I saw in him, to be honest... And knowing that Victoria isn't "normal" like other kids, I feel like he would treat her badly, or... hurt her." You say, shaking your head.

"Hey, if he shows up and does that just call me." Marc grunted. "I hate it when people do that crap to kids. I'll knock his teeth down his throat."

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and the weight of them almost made them feel oppressive as glimpses of his abusive childhood shone through. The memories of his mother swinging her arm down, the crack of the leather belt, the red, bloody welts in his skin...

'Ay, hermano. Come back, don't think about that.' Jake's voice said gently, urging that door in his mind shut. 'That's not your life, anymore.'

Marc blinked and looked back up at you, his eyes locking with yours. And the concern on your face... he felt so undeserving of it. He wasn't sure why, but...

"Ah... I mean... Let's just say I have experience with that sort of thing. So I'm..." He struggled.

"No, no, I get it. My dad was a piece of shhh..." You cringed as the word almost slipped from you, casting a short glance to Victoria, making sure she couldn't hear you. "Er. He was bad. So yeah, I totally get you."

"Oh... Sorry, people get weirded out when I..." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Disassociate." You finish for him. "I used to do the same thing when it came to my dad. It gets easier once you're free of it, I promise."

The soft, sweet smile you give him was strong enough to make his heart jump into his throat.

'Wow...'

'Ask. Her. Out. Steven won't do it, so you do it!' Jake urged him.

Marc choked suddenly, coughing awkwardly to clear his throat at Jake's further commentary.

"You okay?" You ask him.

"Y-Yeah, I just... Uh..." He cringed again. "It's... allergies! I've been dealing with them since we dusted the flat, and... Yep. Allergies."

You chuckle softly at him as Victoria tugs on your sleeve and whispers in your ear.

"Oop, mama duty calls. It was nice meeting you, Marc." You grin, giving him a short handshake.

"Yeah... You too." Marc replied as you walked off, giving Victoria a wave as she peeked over your shoulder as you push the trolley away.

'Allergies? Smooth, Marc. Really smooth. How the hell did you ever bag Layla with romantic skills like that?' Jake sighed sarcastically.

'I swear Layla probably only married you for your dick, man. You're so BAD at romance.'

Marc knew Layla did love him, at one point but with all the drama of being Moon Knight, it quickly snuffed that relationship... They were still close of course, but they'd never open up to another intimate relationship again. Which was fine, none of them minded particularly.

Especially not now. Not now that there's a cute single mom with and adorably--scarily--smart little girl on her hip to occupy those thoughts.

And that... was your first time meeting Marc Spector.

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Now, meeting Jake was different. Completely different. You technically "met" Jake weeks after you met Marc and built a rapport with him.

One night, Jake was sitting in the window, munching on some saltines he'd spread with sunflower butter as he read some old knitting patterns in a book he'd picked up at a resale shop.

He thought he could knit something for both you and Victoria and have Steven give it to you, it would be a good way to start actually flirting, to hopefully open up that door for all of you.

But of course... well. He knew Steven was way too shy to ask you out on a date, and Marc was too chicken shit and awkward about the subject to bring it up himself.

And so, it fell upon Jake Lockley to find a way to get closer to you, two. He understood that many single mothers found it tricky to date, especially with a child like Victoria. It would require immense levels of trust to get past those walls you would have put up to protect both you and Victoria, especially after you'd told Marc about Victoria's biological father fucking your best friend the day of your ultrasound.

He could just imagine how your poor face fell when you closed your front door, hearing the ridiculously high-pitched, false moans and the squeaking of the mattress as that miserable excuse of a man was having his way with your supposed "best friend"...

All while your hands would have clutched the pictures of your unborn baby girl, tears bubbling up in your eyes as you screamed at them while they scrambled to cover their shame.

And then.... as you told Marc, you would have grabbed the knife and the rest was history; bidding goodbye to that cheating bastard and woman you once trusted.

You were strong, loving and oh so patient with your daughter and her needs. Jake found your whole being attractive, honestly. He hadn't seen you angry, but he just knew you were a badass if you wanted to be.

He chuckled as he picked up his knitting needles, and began to loop the soft, thick yarn through each line. He was sure to pick yarn that wouldn't upset Victoria and her sensory issues, so he picked the softest yarn he possibly could, selecting enough to make the both of you matching jumpers.

Victoria's would be a little big, to allow for comfort and her to grow into it as she wore it. He could just imagine how adorable she'd look with the sleeves hanging over her little hands, squirming and giggling as you two played together--

Jake's hands stopped knitting.

Shit. He had it down bad for you, too.

When he looked down, that's when he noticed the green laser pointed right at him...

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You were there, simply cleaning up the mess from dinner as Victoria happily colored on her dry erase board, drawing the shapes and hieroglyphs she saw in the book Steven selected for her.

She had been quiet and engrossed in her little art project for so long that you jumped and almost dropped a plate on the floor when she squealed loudly.

"Mommy, it's Steven! Or Mister Marc?"

"Huh? What?" You looked around your flat, for some reason your brain told you to look inside instead our our the window where her little finger tapped the glass excitedly.

"No, there!" She insisted. "Over there!"

You walk over to her and lean down, looking out the window.

And sure enough, across the street, in the building across from yours, an apartment had the curtains open with the lights on.

In one of the windows, at a desk, sat a man. The streets were close enough together that you could make out some details. The shadow of a mustache being the first thing you zeroed in on, and then the immaculately slicked-back hair.

He looked like he was... knitting? This man, who looked like Steven and Marc. Marc and Steven both mentioned on different occasions that they had a brother named Jake, maybe this was him?

And wow! So close by, too!

Victoria waved her arms, trying to get her attention, but the man was so absorbed in his task that he didn't notice her try to get his attention. When her little disappointed sniffles could be heard, you snap your fingers.

"I got an idea!" You say, dashing to the end table by the front door and rummaging through the various keychains you'd accumulated. It was a guilty habit of yours, you found.

But then you pluck up the laser toy and run back to the window. It takes shaking it once or twice for the green light to illuminate, but when it does, you shine it directly through the window and at the man's chest.

Then, he looked up.

You break out into a happy grin when he spots the two of you, and Victoria giggles with unabated glee as she waves some more, her whole tiny body moving with every shake of her overly excited hand.

You see the man smile back and he waves at the both of you.

"Hey, baby, why don't we use your board to say hi?" You suggest, rubbing her shoulders.

"Yeah!" She giggles, grabbing the board and erasing her painstakingly re-created drawings from the book, and messily scrawled the word:

Hi :)

The man laughed and looked around until he grabbed a notebook, scribbled something with a marker, and held it up for you two to see.

Hello

You chuckle as Victoria hands you the board, knowing that your writing is neater than hers is, and with how excited she is, she was bound to mess up.

You quickly and clearly write something down and turn the board to face the window.

Steven or Marc?

He smiled at you and scribbled back.

Jake

Marc n Steven told us about you. Hi!

They've told me a lot about you, too.

"That's Jake, honey. Remember what I said? How Steven and Mister Marc look alike? He's the same way." You explain to Victoria.

"Oh." She sighs. Poor little thing seemed dejected that once again, she misidentified someone as her "bestest friend".

You lift your eyes as Jake showed what he put on the notepad next. It was a badly drawn cat with a happy face on it.

You can't help but laugh and grin, nudging Victoria to look at what he drew for her.

"It's a kitty!" She gasps, snatching the board from your hands to draw pictures for him.

You spent much of the evening that night with Victoria and Jake drawing pictures back and forth, writing messages until he ran out of paper.

That's when you put down your phone number and told him to text, to make it easier on Victoria.

Victoria, upon realizing this, dropped her board and snatched your phone, starting a video call with Jake and chattering his ear off. He seemed to take it in stride, engaging with her. Not on the same level as Steven, but something about how he handled it gave you the impression he had experience with kids, or even worked with kids.

He didn't talk down or dumb anything down for her, he spoke to her calmly and clearly like he would anyone else, and the fact he was so sweet was endearing to you.

He was even teaching her little words in Spanish. For some reason, she liked to repeat the word "cat" because she liked how it sounded, and it was "funny".

That was how you met Jake Lockley.

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It was now half a year since you'd indirectly met all three "brothers" and quickly, the pressure was beginning to mount on them to reveal the truth to you as their crush developed more and more into full infatuation with you and your darling girl.

But they still hadn't asked you out, yet. They'd come close a few times, but it was never when Jake was in control so Marc and Steven backed down at the last possible moment. Every time Jake was in control it wasn't a "good moment" for them to propose a date with you. But now?

It was late in the year, the harvest festival being over with and the holidays around the corner with Christmas, as usual, dominating all others. Snow and ice encased everything. It came early this year, and Victoria couldn't be more thrilled. (She could build snowmen with her friends, Steven, Mister Marc and Mister Jake!)

You and Jake would text, and he gave in and told you that he, Marc, and Steven all actually lived together and he would "let" Steven or Marc use his phone so he could video chat with Victoria and you.

You didn't know the boys all shared the same phone regardless.

It was nice having a social life again, even if it was small. Outside work and ensuring a comfortable upbringing for your little girl, you'd forgotten how nice it was to have friends. Even if those friends consisted of three identical, quirky brothers who lived in the flat across the way.

The day was coming soon, for when they would have to confess to you about the true nature of their identities. And the three unanimously agreed that they would tell you about Moon Knight.

For your safety, and Victoria's. They didn't want you to agree to date them (if you ever would) only to find out they snuck out in the dead of night to do the bidding of some creepy ancient bird god who could frankly do with a wardrobe update...

They just didn't anticipate that day to be today. Of course, Steven would rather have broken the news to you over a nice dinner in the corner booth of a quiet restaurant. Or even on a nice walk through the park...

But no. No, it had to come out when you decided to pull out your phone and go through your texts or the day as Victoria sat in Steven's lap on the couch of your living room.

Jake had sent a meme earlier in the day, of a little cat wearing a sombrero and you chuckled. You sent a meme back in reply, of a snail holding some maracas on some drawn-on arms.

That's when Steven twitched when the phone in his back pocket vibrated and chimed with a silly little ringtone.

You blinked at him as he fished it out of his pocket, careful not to knock Victoria off balance as he checked it. He awkwardly cleared his throat and gave you a strained smile as he set it on the coffee table in front of you.

"You okay..." You say, eyeing the very familiar phone. They could just have the same model and case...

"Oh, yes, just an email alert, luv. Don't worry 'bout it!" Steven chirped, quickly shifting his attention back to Victoria as she practiced her reading from the book in her hands.

You squint at him suspiciously. Your finger hovered over the send button when you selected another silly little image...

But you decided to call instead.

That's when a song began to chime. One you recognized very well as Steven's favorite song...

♫"Lonely is a man,

Without looove~"♫

'God damn it, Steven! You forgot to put it on silent again!' Marc's panicked voice shouted inside their headspace.

'Ay, hermanito, not now!' Jake groaned.

Steven began to sweat profusely as Victoria handed the phone innocently to him, urging him to answer it, not making the correlation with the song, or your phone number...

Steven shakily held the phone to his ear and answered.

"H-Hello..."

"Steven." You deadpan, raising an eyebrow and tapping your finger on your arm.

'Shit shit shit shit.' Marc hissed.

'Busted.' Jake almost sang.

You look at Victoria, hesitant to interrupt her time with Steven, but you wanted answers. Why is it that none of the men ever agreed to all meet up in person to hang out? Why did you only ever see one at a time? Yes, work was a convenient excuse, but every single day?

And then there's the phone!

Yeah, you weren't letting Steven wiggle free from this talk, even as Victoria pouted and trudged back into her room to play with her toys.

You almost feel like a cop in a bad movie, the way you lean back with your arms crossed, almost like you were an interrogator in a police precinct.

Would this make you both the bad and good cop?

You felt so bad, knowing that this kind of behavior would only freak Steven out, so you relaxed your jaw and posture, leaning away from him and giving him breathing room as his sweaty hands began to pat nervously in the memorized tune of that specific song that was just playing.

"I'm not blind, and I'm not dumb... So start from the beginning." You sigh. "I don't want anything to come out and upset Victoria, but I have to know who I'm letting around my little girl."

Steven licked at his slightly chapped lips, taking his bottom lip between his teeth briefly.

"Okay..." He peeped.

'Just take it slow, Steven.' Marc urged him gently.

'I can take control, if you want.' Jake offered.

"No, that's too much right now." Steven muttered aloud, without thinking.

You tipped your head to the side. "What's too much?"

Steven jumped and covered his mouth, his big doe eyes wide as can be, like he's a little boy who was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.

He despised awkward situations like this. He could never tell what to say to keep someone happy and to avoid them getting angry with him...

"Steven, I'm not mad. I'm honestly confused. Please... Just... Tell me everything, okay? I just wanna know some things." You say, leaning forward to put your hand on his knee, your ever so patient eyes sweet and understanding.

Yeah, those eyes were his undoing.

"Do you know what Dissociative Identity Disorder is?"

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Whatever you had originally expected to hear from Steven, finding out that he, Marc and Jake all shared the same body was a lot to absorb. Especially after Steven blurted out about their superhero alter ego that apparently did bidding for an Egyptian god?

Steven expected you to be mad, braced himself for it, but instead, he and his two headmates were knocked entirely off center when you made the remark that if Khonshu ever got to be too much for the boys, they should lock him in a room with Victoria and her never-ending questions.

That would shut him up for a little while, surely.

Another thing you weren't expecting was the date proposal from Steven (and of course Marc and Jake).

You hesitated, at first... But...

They were so kind and sweet. They already have shown so much care for you and your daughter... And you were honestly happy to realize that you weren't crushing on different guys, that your feelings were no longer awkward and conflicted.

Or wait, were you crushing on different men? Yes they were completely different identities, but they shared a body, and... oh, this was gonna take time to learn more about.

Your first date was for later that week. Steven informed you it would be Jake, taking you out, as he felt like a "bloody awkward fool" and was afraid of messing it up, and Marc was just as bad at those social situations.

But you agreed, and when the date rolled around, you and Victoria were bundled up, all ready to go to the charming little Italian restaurant somewhere in town where apparently Jake was friendly with the employees there.

Victoria skipped in the snow, struggling to match her pace with yours, making sure her footsteps were measured so her prints mirrored yours exactly as she walked on her little tippy toes.

As you approached where Jake had his car parked, he smiled, his mustache quirking up as he scooped Victoria in his large gloved hands, laughing when she dragged her fingers over his hairy upper lip, comparing the stache to a caterpillar.

You stifled a snort and covered your mouth as you watched Jake buckle Victoria into a booster seat in the back of his car.

"Where did you..." You blinked. You fully intended to run back to your flat and grab the booster seat you owned, but you were surprised to see Jake already had one. A rather expensive-looking one, at that.

"Ay, cariño, you didn't think I'd let the little chiquita ride unprotected, did you?" He smirked at you, his dark eyes glinting mischievously.

"But, I have one. You didn't have to..."

"Hey, if it makes it easier, I'll be happy to foot the bill." Jake hummed, leaning in to check Victoria's buckles as she played on her tablet, snow-caked shoes kicking lazily as she did.

Normally, Jake was insane about his car. He always made sure his fares cleaned their damn feet off before getting inside. But for you two he willingly made the exception.

"Now, c'mon mamacita." Jake grinned at you once more as he enabled the child lock and closed the door on Victoria's side. "We got lunch to get to, right?"

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You couldn't remember the last time you were on a date. Actually wait, you could. The night you got pregnant. One of the only times Victoria's sperm donor was ever romantic with you, and he proposed the next morning after.

Yeah, you knew how that story ended.

But now it looked like a whole new book was being written right in front of you, as cliché as it all sounded.

Jake had treated you both well, engaging happily and drawing with Victoria on the activity mat the restaurant provided as you sipped your glass of red wine, watching; your heart was fluttering in your chest as you watched how happy she was interacting with them.

After a while, he went back out to his car and returned with a sparkly red gift bag for the two of you and you immediately felt your heart lurch up from your chest and into your throat.

He knitted the two of you matching jumpers. A mama cat and her kitten, of course, he managed to do it in an Egyptian style, much to Victoria's glee as she ripped off her regular jumper in favor of the one Jake made, immediately rubbing her face on the sleeve with a happy giggle.

You couldn't help but smile warmly as Jake helped her pop her head through the top, and you decided to slip yours on, yourself.

God, it was almost surreal how Hallmark it all seemed. Not one, but three men interested in you, a lonely single mother. All three men who adored your daughter and treated you both with respect. All three men, who shared the same body and nighttime secret.

And you found yourself falling just as hard, and somewhere in the back of your mind wondered if--if--you had met them first... would they have been Victoria's father(s)? Would they have rejoiced in your pregnancy? Gone to your appointments, held your hand in the delivery room? Would they have helped the doctors weigh and print Victoria for the very first time?

Your mind was knocked out of the what-ifs when your phone jingled, catching Jake's attention.

"Oh, it's Victoria's pediatrician. I have to take this." You sigh sadly, not wanting to step away from the cozy atmosphere in your booth.

Jake smiled at you and winked, "Go ahead and take it. I got her handled."

You smiled back, hoping the flush to your face wasn't as obvious as you feared as you got up and answered the call.

Jake continued to play and draw with Victoria, letting her explain how some of her learning games worked, what apps were her favorite, and who her favorite cartoon characters were.

Honestly, if anyone thought Steven was great with Victoria thanks to their same autistic traits? Jake was good simply because he was a natural with kids. Marc was, too, but he was a bit stiff and nervous. He needed to be eased into it just a bit more.

"Hey.... Psst. Mister Jake." Victoria whispered to him, blinking her big, bright, gorgeous eyes up at him.

"Yeah? What is it, gatita?" Jake hummed at her, grinning.

She waved her hand, urging him closer as she whispered conspiratorially, cupping her hand over his ear, "Look where Mommy's standing."

Jake lifts his gaze to find you among the crowd of people, where you stood on your phone, talking to the doctor about Victoria's upcoming appointment. He tracked where Victoria was pointing, and that's when he saw it: the mistletoe.

He knew immediately what Victoria was hinting at.

"That means you gotta kiss my Mommy." She whispered to him again.

"Oh, I do, huh?" Jake teased, poking her in the side. "And what if I don't?"

"Then Imma make you!" She squeaked and giggled.

"Oh, dear, then in that case I definitely have to do it, eh?" He chuckled.

"C'mon." Jake said, scooping Victoria up and holding her on his hip. "Let's go give another present to your wonderful mamá."

As they got closer to you, he caught the tail-end of your conversation.

"...yeah. Next Wednesday at 3pm. See you, then, Doctor Wilson. ...Of course! Happy holidays." You say cheerily, ending the call.

When you turned around, you saw Jake holding Victoria against him as he walked closer to you.

The sight really shouldn't have taken your breath away the way that it did...

But if you thought your breath was taken before? It was entirely robbed from you as Jake leaned in, wrapping an arm around your waist as he tipped his head down to kiss you, his mustache tickling your nose and upper lip.

You were so taken aback that you didn't hear the whooping and laughing from the workers of the restaurant as the scene unfolded in front of them, congratulating Jake.

Victoria squirmed and squealed and laughed and laughed, rubbing her face on Jake's leather jacket as your lips finally parted and your jaw dropped.

"What's the matter, mamacita? Cat got your tongue?"

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God, dating those men was the best decision you ever made. Even with them being Moon Knight.

They were kind enough to always say goodnight to Victoria before they went about their business, giving you a soft kiss before whichever one was in control of the body departed.

You had only been dating a short while, it was now entering February and you were all spending more and more time together. Marc, Jake, and Steven had all spent the night once or twice in their own time.

Nothing sexual happened, but it was so nice to fall asleep with someone wrapping their arms around you. It was even better to wake up and see Victoria snuggled onto his chest, his arms caged around her protectively, flexing when she made any movements as his unconscious body ensured she wouldn't roll off of him and--god forbid--onto the floor.

It was a few days before Valentine's, and Marc had spent the day with you and Victoria. He had gotten much more comfortable around her, falling into a natural and gentle routine unique to them. Just like she had with Steven, and Jake. And above all, they handled her autism well.

Steven was exceptionally good at helping distract her during her meltdowns, whereas Jake could cradle her, singing little songs in Spanish as he rubbed her back. Marc would start by talking to her in a low, gentle tone, urging her to just breathe, and talk, explaining what was upsetting her and what would work best to help her calm down from it.

But right now, Victoria was in the midst of a battle against sleep.

"Don' wanna sleep." Victoria sniffled into Marc's jumper.

"I know, babydoll, but you'll feel loads better once you do, mkay?" He murmured quietly to her as he padded, barefoot into Victoria's almost obnoxiously canary-yellow bedroom.

"I can make some apple pancakes for you in the morning, hm? How's that sound?"

He dodged the minefield of toys scattered about and chuckled softly at the shelf where her little ancient Egypt memorabilia sat meticulously organized alongside her books and drawings on the subject. A half-finished paper sarcophagus lay on the desk in the corner, a project Steven had started with her two days ago that they intended to finish together.

Marc laid her down and she nodded, rubbing her eye. "Okay..." She mumbled in agreement.

Marc picked up the plushy scarab that Steven bought from the gift shop and handed it to her, tucking her in all nice and warm.

"There you go." He said softly to her, kneeling next to the bed. "Snug as a bug in... well. Blankets, right now, huh?"

He grinned when Victoria giggled groggily at his pun, squeezing the beetle plush she named "Digger" and snuggled under the blankets, her feather lashes brushed her cheeks as she began to drift off.

"See you in the morning, babydoll." Marc said softly, giving her a kiss to her forehead before standing.

His finger had just flipped the switch to turn off the lights in her room, so only the salt lamp dimly illuminated her bedside, when he heard her peep as she rolled over.

"G'night daddy."

He felt like his heart stopped beating as he shakily closed the door, dragging his suddenly very heavy feet through your flat as he made his way to your couch, the weight of that word landing on his shoulders.

He felt like Atlas, carrying the world on his back as he dropped down onto the chocolate brown cushions.

You walk over, having finished dishes from dinner, wiping your hands on a tea towel. Upon seeing his shell-shocked expression, you sit next to him in concern as he covered his face with his hands, his arms shaking and skin pale.

"Marc, sweetie, what's wrong?"

"I..." He said, his voice breaking.

You lean in, reaching out to brush a hand through his mop of curls, letting him take his time. Maybe Steven or Jake was trying to front? You've seen how taxing it could be on them when it happened so suddenly. One time Steven had seized control in the kitchen from Jake and he fell and cracked his head open on the counter! Poor Victoria cried when she saw how much he was bleeding, scared that he was dying.

It took a lot of hugs and kisses to convince her otherwise...

"She... God. Fuck." Marc swore softly, sniffing. "She--she called me daddy."

Your jaw dropped and you gawked at him. Was Victoria already so attached to him? To them? But then again, she's never had a father figure, before, either, and suddenly having not one, but technically three men in her life doing all the things a dad should do? You can understand why she would--hell, why you would...

He dropped his arms and you could see the beginnings of tears clump in his beautiful eyelashes, heavy weights of emotion settling deep in his chest.

He looked up at the ceiling, trying to blink the tears away. God, he didn't deserve all of this. He didn't deserve this... this domesticity. Guys like him just didn't get to have a life like that. Not with everything he's had to do as a soldier, a mercenary... in Khonshu's name.

He didn't deserve such a beautiful woman, or the idolized gaze of her sweet and innocent baby girl.

'You're too hard on yourself, Marc.' Steven said to him in their headspace.

'Yeah, hermano...' Jake murmured.

"Marc, honey..." You say, leaning in and adjusting your position, so your head lay on his chest. You spread your hand over his heart, feeling how it hammered in the muscle of his chest.

"I just... What the hell did I do to get this?" He asked softly, bringing his arms around you to bury his nose in your hair.

"Well, I think it all started the day a certain little girl wiggled free of me and ran into a gift shop..."

Marc chuckled, squeezing you tight.

"Would you want us to?" He whispered. "Would you want us to stay? Would you be okay with that? I know it's soon, and--and I'm not saying we move in or anything like that, but..."

"I think it would crush Victoria if I ever shoo'd you boys away, honey." You assured him, tipping your head up to give him a sweet kiss.

You feel the tension slowly bleed from his body and his expression softens into a heartbreakingly sweet smile, his dark eyes sparkling with a warmth that you haven't seen before as your lips parted.

"Then we'll stay. As long as you both will put up with us." He said to you, his voice so quiet you almost couldn't catch his words.

"How do Steven and Jake feel about her calling you daddy?" You smile slyly.

Marc grins and drops his head back with a laugh, listening to the bickering of his headmates as his anxiety ebbed away.

"Oh... They're arguing over who Vicky is gonna call daddy next."

"We need to think of nicknames for you guys so she doesn't confuse you." You laughed with him.

Your laughter was cut short when you heard Victoria's door click open, and out she waddled, blanket clutched in one arm, Digger firmly squeezed into the crook of her elbow and her thumb was in her mouth. She only sucked her thumb when she was frightened, or severely anxious.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Marc asked, shooting to his feet even before you could, at her side in a split second.

You joined him and put your hands on her shoulders, looking into her drowsy and not-entirely-awake eyes. "Did you have a bad dream?"

She shook her head, mumbling something around her thumb.

"What is it, kiddo?" Marc inquired next.

She pulled her thumb out of her mouth with a pop.

"There's a bird-man in my room."

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

The Golden Ratio - Part One

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Derogatory language, angst, mentions of parental death, mentions of infidelity. Word count: ~4.5k

Chapter summary: Her relationship strains under the pressure of long distance, though she has her classmate, Michael, to help distract from the worst of it. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @assortedseaglass. No tag list. Please follow @ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She is sweaty and exasperated as she drags her suitcase over the cobbles of Holywell Street. One of the already precariously wonky wheels had finally given up the ghost and broken off as she’d dragged it up the stairs of Oxford train station, making the fifteen minute walk to her accommodation more tiring than it needed to be.

But she was here, finally. Oxford University.

Her dad had sold the car to make sure she had money to live on until her student loan and maintenance grant had been paid to her. He didn’t want her taking a part time job to make ends meet, she’d worked hard to earn her place here, her focus should be on her studies. Coming from a low income family meant she had qualified for the maximum amount for both maintenance loan and grant, but her first set of application forms had been misplaced by Student Finance, so she’d had to send in a second set, meaning there would be a delay with her first payment.

An unfortunate consequence of her dad not having a car is that she’d had to get the train to London Victoria, a tube to Paddington, then another train to Oxford. But it is not the fact that she is seemingly the only student whose parents aren’t obstructing the pavements with their cars in order to drop them off that makes her feel like an outcast, there is something deeper, more sinister feeling.

She sees it as she struggles to get her bag across the lawn of the Halls, people grouped in little clusters, as though they’ve been friends forever. They dress in Juicy Couture velour tracksuit bottoms and brand name Ugg Boots, while she wears her mum’s old Dr. Martens and a tartan skirt she’d bought in a charity shop for one pound fifty. She doesn’t fit in. She feels she may as well wear the word “poor” across her forehead like a scarlet letter.

Having checked in at the Porters’ Lodge and been given directions to the accommodation, it’s lonely as she unpacks her things, her room feeling empty and quiet. The only sounds are muffled talking and laughter coming through the closed window from outside. She feels lonelier still when she pulls out the framed photo of her and Rich. They’re both smiling, his arms wrapped around her waist as she leans her head against his. It had felt like their relationship would last forever when that picture was taken. That seemed like much less of a possibility over the last couple of weeks.

She had met Rich at the beginning of sixth form. Having attended Chatham Grammar School for Girls, she had decided to stay on there to do her A levels. The mathematics department was decent, and she had heard Russell Group universities were more likely to consider applications that came from grammar schools. Rich had transferred over from Robert Napier School. Where she was shy, quiet and reserved, he was lively, outgoing and sociable. His zest for life had shone a bright light on an existence that was, for her, otherwise dull and grey.

They were an unlikely pairing. She was logical, analytical and studied maths and physics. Rich was creative, free spirited and guided by emotion. He studied art and music. They had been together for two years and she had thought he was the one. But then it came time for UCAS applications, and where she had applied to Oxford, Cambridge and York, Rich had applied to Leeds, Brighton and Glasgow. It seemed that no matter where they were accepted, they were destined to be apart.

When she had received an unconditional offer from Oxford she had been elated, however, the crushing devastation upon hearing Rich had been accepted into The Glasgow School of Art with a conditional offer had quickly dulled her excitement.

She had never felt like an outsider or a loner when she was with Rich. Basking in his sunny disposition had felt effortless, she never felt alone. He was going to take all of that away, and she was unsure of how to cope with it.

“We’ll make it work long distance, don’t worry,” he’d told her, and she’d believed him.

But then he had actually gone to Glasgow. Fresher’s week in Glasgow started a week earlier than it did in Oxford, so Rich had moved away first. It didn’t take long for the texts and phone calls to dry up into nothing. She had heard from him once in the last few days.

She sighs as she slides up the screen of her beaten up Nokia. Still nothing. She had text to let him know she was leaving for Oxford today and he couldn’t even be bothered to reply. She knows it’s his first week at university and he’s likely busy and having fun, but how was long distance going to work if they never actually spoke to each other?

Despite the loftiness of the dining hall, it feels stuffy as she moves through it later that evening, taking a seat at a long table crowded with other students. She had hoped that the Fresher’s welcome dinner would be an opportunity to make friends, but everyone seems to be deep in conversation already. The chatter hums loudly like white noise, until it comes to a sudden stop.

“FUCKIN’ ASK ME A SUM THEN!”

She turns, mouth agape, to look at the pair of boys sitting a few places up from her. One is darked haired and seems nervous and uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly in his seat. The other is blonde, an angry, intense expression on his face, shadows cast across it from the lamplight on the table, as he stares in wide eyed anticipation. It was him who had shouted, clearly.

“Four hundred and twenty three times seventy eight,” the dark haired boy asks quietly.

Instantly his friend replies, without missing a beat, “thirty two thousand, nine hundred and ninety four.”

Involuntarily her eyes widen in surprise. She sits there and does the calculation in her head, though much more slowly than he had. 

Carry the two, eight times two is sixteen, plus two is eighteen, carry the one…he’s right. How is it possible that he came to that answer so quickly?

When her gaze lifts he is looking at her, observing her doing the working out in her head. He holds her stare, a smirk curving the corners of his mouth. He knows she knows he is right, and it’s clear he feels smug about it.

Quickly looking away, she reaches for her water glass, wanting something, anything, to distract her. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her feel uneasy.

God, I hope I don’t have any classes with him.

She holds her timetable for the week in her hands as she moves her way through the corridors towards the lecture hall the following morning. The first week looks to be fairly light touch, with an introductory lecture for each of the courses; algebra, analysis, probability and statistics, geometry, dynamics and multivariable calculus. Today is the introduction to analysis, and she is excited to study under the tutelage of Professor Helen Byrne. Her research focuses on the development and analysis of mathematical and computational models that describe biomedical systems, with particular application to the growth and treatment of solid tumours, wound healing and tissue engineering. Professor Byrne is someone she has admired within the field for as long as she can remember, and she is very much looking forward to her tutorials with her.

Her excitement fades when she enters the lecture hall and immediately sees the angry guy from the previous evening.

Just my luck.

The only available seat is next to him, so she sits down, dropping her bag to the floor by her feet.

A hand extends out towards her in her peripheral vision, taking her by surprise and she turns in her seat towards it, shrinking back slightly. 

He seems utterly unperturbed by her reaction, keeping his arm extended. “I’m Michael Gavey.”

She blinks, regaining her composure as she leans forward, shaking his hand and introducing herself in return. His palm is clammy against her own, and she can still feel it there even after having let go and wiped her hand on her jeans.

“I saw you last night,” he says matter of factly, pulling his arm back and resting his elbow on the desk in front of him.

“Oh, yeah,” she says with a tight smile, nodding, “so you and your mate…is that like a party trick or something?”

“No, no party trick,” he says with a demure smile. “I’m a genius.”

She forces herself to laugh politely, assuming he’s making a joke, but she stops, her brow furrowing slightly when she sees he doesn’t share in the humour. He’s being serious.

Opening her mouth to ask a follow up question, she’s interrupted as Professor Byrne sweeps into the room. Her and Michael both face forward in their seats as she introduces herself to the class.

Over the next hour they are given an introduction to the course and what to expect in their first year, including an overview of the papers they will need to write and examinations that will be sat. She pays rapt attention, scribbling furious notes, until the lecture begins to wrap up.

“As it’s the first week, I will go easy on assignment setting,” Professor Byrne tells them all, “but there will be an assignment nonetheless.”

A loud, collective groan echoes around the lecture hall. Her and Michael are the only two not to join in.

“Now, now, settle down,” she chastises, “it’ll be fun. I’m sure you’re all aware of the Fibonacci Sequence, a series of numbers where each number is the sum of the two preceding numbers. Mathematically we can describe this as–”

She turns and scrawls xn= xn-1 + xn-2 on the chalkboard, before facing the students again.

“--I’d like you all to find an example of the Fibonacci Sequence in real life and present it back to the class during next week’s lecture. You’re to work in pairs, so buddy up, and see you all next week.”

Professor Byrne places the chalk back on the desk before striding back out of the lecture hall. The room is instantly a buzz with chatter, as people move between seats to find a partner.

She stays rooted in place, suddenly wishing Rich was here. It’s in moments like these that he flourishes, allowing her to take a backseat as he effortlessly navigates them through social interactions. Instead, she is alone and the space around her feels bigger and scarier with every moment that passes.

It’s only when she turns her head that she notices Michael has yet to move too. Gathering all the courage she can muster, she clears her throat and speaks to him.

“So…er…did you wanna partner up for this thing then?”

“I don’t like to work with others,” he says matter of factly, keeping his gaze fixed ahead.

“I’m not exactly thrilled about it either,” she says with a sigh, “but for this assignment we have to.”

“You’ve picked me because I’m a genius. You’ll expect me to do all the work while you get pissed with your mates.”

He fixes her with an accusatory stare, and she feels the heat of anger prickle her skin.

“Haven’t got any mates,” she mutters darkly.

He observes her for a few moments, elbow propped on the desk, jaw resting against his fist, and she fidgets self consciously in her seat. No wonder the other boy from last night had looked so uncomfortable. It feels like he’s studying her.

“Let’s go to the library,” he says simply, standing and picking up his bag.

“So, you’re a genius?” She asks, opening her notebook once they’re seated opposite each other at a table in the library, nervously tapping her pencil against the page.

“Hmm,” Michael nods, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger, “I don’t even like maths, really. I can just…do it. Anything. In my head.”

She’s struck by how blunt he is, sucking in a breath as she considers what to say next. There is something so disarming about him, she gets the sense he’s analysing her every word and action.

“Right,” she begins, “so, er, for this assignment I was thinking about how Leonardo Fibonacci used rabbits to prove his theory. One hundred and forty four pairs of rabbits can be produced from a single pair of rabbits in a year, based on the sequence.”

“That’s fucking stupid,” Michael replies with a sigh.

“What?” She asks irritably, annoyed by his dismissal.

“What are you expecting us to do, go to a pet shop and buy rabbits? We’ve only got a week to do the assignment, we need to be more practical.”

She rolls her eyes. “I was using that as an example, not saying we do that exactly! Come on then, genius, what’s your suggestion?”

“Spirals,” he says with a slight shrug. He leans across, placing the tips of his fingers on her notebook and sliding it towards himself, before picking up her pencil. “There is a special relationship between the Fibonacci numbers and the Golden Ratio, a ration that describes when a line is divided into two parts and the longer part - A - divided by the smaller part - B - is equal to the sum of A + B divided by A, which both equal one point six one eight. This is represented by the Greek letter,” he stops to scribble a φ on the pad. “The ratio of any two successive Fibonacci Numbers approximates the Golden Ratio value.” He stops again, scrawling 1.6180339887 on the page. The bigger the pair of Fibonacci numbers, the closer the approximation. From there, we can calculate what's called the golden spiral, or a logarithmic spiral whose growth factor equals the golden ratio.”

She is stunned into a silence for a moment, a combination of his audacity to simply take her belongings, and awe at the rapidity with which his mind works. Collecting herself, she blinks a few times, looking up into his eyes.

They’re so blue.

“So…er…how do you propose we present this data back to the class?”

“A simple table is sufficient, look–”

His hand moves rapidly over the page, a complete table there on the paper when he drops the pencil into the gutter of the notebook and sits back in his chair.

“We present that,” he tells her, his eyes fixed on the page. “Using the values of the sequence as the edge length of squares arranged in the table, a spiral is generated.”

She leans over, sliding the notebook back to her side of the table, marvelling silently at his work. He is fascinating to watch. He’s right, he can just do maths.

“It’s good,” she says, eye flitting up to meet his, “solid. But it’s fucking boring.”

This time it’s his turn to be annoyed. “What?” He asks, eyes narrowing.

“Everyone is going to present something like this, because it’s easy,” she explains, “Don’t you want to stand out to Professor Byrne? We should do something outside of the box.”

“Hmm. Go on then, what are you thinking?” He rests his cheek against his fist, leaning against the table as he stares at her.

She feels herself grow warm under his scrutiny.

Does he always have to be so bloody intense?

“There are loads of examples of Fibonacci numbers appearing in nature. We could look for some? Flowers, perhaps.”

“I’ve got hayfever,” Michael states simply.

She sighs.

Of course you do.

“Then we’ll get you some Piriton! Come on, there are studies that show seed heads, pinecones, fruits and vegetables all displaying spiral patterns that when counted express Fibonacci numbers. This fits perfectly with the brief of the assignment and will leave a lasting impression.”

He moves his hand away from his face, resting his arm flat on the table and quietly drumming his fingers against it for a few moments. “Alright then,” he finally concedes.

“Great,” she grins excitedly, tearing out a page from her notebook and writing on it hurriedly. “Here’s my number, so we can meet up to work on it, and also my Hotmail address, in case MSN works better for you.”

He huffs through his nose as he takes the paper from her, a soft laugh escaping him. “The countess at hotmail dot co dot uk,” he reads with amusement, “very droll.”

“Shut up,” she grins back, “I made that in secondary school. Thought it was funny.”

Back in her room that evening, she’s excited to see she has a text from Rich, finally.

Hope ur enjoying it. Having so much fun here!

She sighs, throwing her phone down on the bed side table. No kisses, not even an “I love you”. 

Watching out of the window, she sees the giggling groups of students making their way out into town, readying themselves to spend the night drinking, making friends and having fun. Just like Rich is doing, not giving her a second thought, while she stays cooped up in her room without a friend in the world.

Suspicion nags at her, so she turns on her laptop, loading up MySpace. Rich takes number one place on her top eight friends, and she clicks on his profile. It looks much the same as it always does, but she decides to snoop further, clicking into his friends list. She can see he has recently friended a girl named Sophie.

Sophie is pretty, bright pink streaks in her hair, and a nose ring. Exactly Rich’s type. Her most recently uploaded photos are of groups of people, clearly all taken during Fresher’s week. A pit forms in her stomach as she sees that in almost all of them Sophie and Rich have their arms around each other. Worse still, Rich occupies space eight in Sophie’s top friends.

She closes the browser, blinking back tears. Surely, she is just being paranoid. They’re just friends. Friends have photos together, and it was normal that he would make new ones when he went away to uni.

Opening MSN Messenger, she hovers over Rich’s username. Unsurprisingly, he’s offline, he always is these days. She smiles when an add request from mgavey628318@hotmail.co.uk pops up. Of course he’d have Tau, the mathematical constant, in his Hotmail address. She clicks accept and he immediately appears in her online contacts. Looks like he isn’t out tonight either.

Double clicking his username, she chuckles to herself upon seeing his display picture is of Pythagoras. Such a dweeb.

“Want to work on our assignment tomorrow?” She types to him.

Barely a few seconds pass before she sees him typing back. “Yes. When?”

“We could meet at the Water Meadow at lunch time?”

“See you then.”

Straight to the point, no idle chit chat. She shakes her head and closes the messenger window, though finds herself strangely excited by the thought of seeing him tomorrow. She reasons that it’s because Michael is the closest thing she has had to a friend since arriving at Oxford.

She visits the nearby Tesco Express the following day, buying a meal deal for each of them and a packet of hayfever tablets for Michael. She has no idea of what Michael even likes, so plays it safe by buying a bottle of Oasis, a Crunchie bar and a ham and cheese sandwich for them both.

At precisely noon, Michael stands at the entrance to the Water Meadow waiting for her. She smiles as she looks at his t-shirt; maroon with a diagram of a circle on a gradient with a downwards acceleration of 9.81 meters per second, with the slogan “that’s how I roll”. A mechanics pun.

“Like your shirt,” she says as she approaches him.

He grins. “Thought you might, considering your email address.”

She averts her gaze. There is something about the fact that he’d thought of her when he’d chosen what to wear today that makes her tummy flutter.

Stop it. You’ve got Rich. Michael’s weird!

“I got you some hayfever tablets,” she tells him as they start to walk along the pathway that’s flanked by green space on either side. “Do you wanna have lunch first and then start looking for flowers?”

They settle, cross legged on the grass, Michael already having taken one of the tablets, chased with half a bottle of Oasis, and she spreads out the food between them.

She watches in fascination as his eyes widen at the sight of the Crunchie bars, snatching one up and tearing off the wrapper. Her mouth falls open slightly as she sees him hold it sideways, biting into it from the side, before devouring each of the pieces it inevitably breaks into.

“You like Crunchie bars then?” She asks, a little grossed out, but curious nonetheless.

He swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Mother didn’t allow me to have sweets growing up, bad for your teeth, she said.”

She nods, a feeling over pity replacing the disgust that had roiled her stomach just seconds ago.

“So, is it your mum that pushed you into studying maths?” She asks, fiddling with the lid of her drink bottle.

“Sort of,” he says. “Mother never married, but she wanted a child. She used a sperm donor - a physicist, apparently - and was artificially inseminated to have me. She was thrilled when I showed a natural aptitude for maths, and has always encouraged me. It’s why I do it, why I accepted the scholarship, to make her proud. She’s been through so much to have me, it’s the least I owe her.”

Her face falls, a feeling of sadness overwhelming her, making her heart ache for Michael. There is something so tragic about the fact that he has lived his entire life adhering to the expectations of the person who had created him for their own selfish want of a child.

“What about you then?” He asks. “The bank of mummy and daddy paying for you to be here?”

She shakes her head. “I earned my place, just like you did, with straight As, though I don’t have a scholarship. Have had to take out loans to cover the cost. It’s just me and dad since mum passed away.”

“Oh,” Michael says, blinking rapidly, obviously surprised. “Apologies, I’d assumed a pretty girl like you would be the same as the rest of the vapid cunts studying here, if you can call it studying.”

She hums in acknowledgement, considering his words, turning her own Crunchie bar around in her fingers, focusing on the way the foil wrapper slides against her skin. His compliment makes her heart beat more rapidly, even if it is backhanded. “Like I said yesterday, I’ve got no mates. It was always Rich that was better at that sort of thing.”

“Rich?” Michael asks curiously, cocking his head.

“My boyfriend. He’s at uni in Glasgow.”

“Three hundred and sixty two point nine miles,” Michael states simply.

“Pardon?”

“That’s the distance between Oxford and Glasgow,” he explains, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “How are you planning to make a relationship work with that sort of distance?”

“We’re doing long distance,” she argues, feeling herself growing defensive, scowling at him.

“Yeah, I bet that’s gonna work out great,” he scoffs, eyes widening, clearly mocking her.

“The Glasgow School of Art was the best choice for Rich to study what he wants to,” she retorts.

A grin spreads across his face. “Art?! I suppose you should be grateful he’s hundreds of miles away then, he sounds like a moron.”

She huffs, hurriedly shoving her things back into her bag. “Let’s just look for these fucking flowers and get this over with.”

The pair work for the rest of the afternoon in silence, the atmosphere is tense and angry, but they are productive nevertheless, settling on a patch of sunflowers to use for the assignment.

They look at the spirals of seeds in the center of the sunflowers and observe patterns curving left and right. Counting these spirals, their total is a Fibonacci number. They then divide the spirals into those pointed left and right to get two consecutive Fibonacci numbers.

Cutting down a couple of sunflower heads to use as examples, Michael also makes a diagram in his notes for them to present with their findings.

She feels satisfied by the time they part ways, but an uneasy feeling has settled over her that has dread gnawing into her gut as she thinks about Michael’s criticism of her and Rich’s long distance relationship.

Unsurprised to see she has no missed calls or texts from him when she goes back to her room, she opens up her laptop and logs back onto MySpace. This time when she looks at Rich’s profile her blood runs cold as she sees that Sophie now occupies space number three in his top friends. He’d had time to log on and change the position of a girl he’d met a couple of weeks ago, but couldn’t be bothered to send her a single message?

Before she can stop herself, she’s pulling out her phone and calling his number. She doesn’t care if this wastes all of her credit, she needs answers.

It rings for ages, and she anticipates being sent to voicemail, until he eventually answers, sounding breathless and distracted.

“H-hello?”

“Rich, it’s me,” she says quietly.

There’s a pause before he answers. “Oh…how’s my little nerd? Everything okay?”

She ignores the familiarity, keeping her tone neutral. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me.”

Not giving him an opportunity to respond, she pushes on. “Has something happened between you and this Sophie girl I’ve seen you on Myspace with?”

Another pause, except this time she hears him inhale a deep breath. “I was going to tell you when we came home for Christmas break. It felt wrong to break up with you over the phone.”

It feels as though the bottom of her world has been ripped away, her heart twisting painfully as her vision blurs with tears. She swallows thickly, anger bubbling alongside her devastation, so that her tone is venomous when she replies “So, you were just gonna keep stringing me along for two months, so you could look like a good guy?!”

“Babe, no, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I just–”

“You’re a piece of shit,” she cuts him off, “fuck you!”

She hangs up, chucking her phone down onto the bed, and immediately bursts into tears, holding her head in her hands as hot tears stream down her face, her shoulders shaking as her nose grows snotty.

Two years. Two fucking years and he’d chucked it all away for someone he’d known for two weeks.

She walks towards the sink in her room, looking into the mirror and sighing at her reflection. Her eyes are red and puffy, she looks a mess. Splashing cold water onto her face to rid herself of the worst of it, she then flops down onto her bed, opening her laptop.

Immediately she is met with her MSN chat window with Michael from the previous evening. He’s online.

Without thinking, she types out a message to him.

“Do you have any alcohol?”

Within seconds he’s typing a response.

“Would you like me to have alcohol?”

[loganwritesprobably]

Planning a Future With You

This didn't do very well on the poll I posted a while back but this is my blog and I do what I want. Also introducing Niji for the first time on this blog

Content/Warnings: Crocodile, Niji and Law headcanons, GN!Reader, talk of marriage and children (both positive and negative), both canon-compliant and "de-programmed" Niji mentioned

Crocodile has always been a future plans kind of guy

He likes to plan ahead, and know what his next steps are, at all times

When you begin to date, he doesn't factor you in initially, assuming your relationship won't last more than six months

And then it does

He begins to factor you into his plans slowly, over time, until eventually you're irreversibly woven into everything

He tells you none of this of course

But in his mind, his future would be wrong without you

He wants to marry you, eventually, with a grand ceremony, all of the bells and whistles included

Nothing but the best for you

Neither of you have actually asked the other about these sorts of things, but it will happen when you're both ready

Already, Crocodile knows what sort of ring he wants to propose with, and how he wants to propose

Crocodile hasn't thought of children

He had a rough childhood, and he's not the most pleasant man and he knows it

It's hard to raise a child, and whether he's cut out for that is pretty up in the air

He'd consider it, if that was something you wanted

Maybe you could adopt an older child, he thinks that would be more his speed if anything

Niji thinks marriage is a given between you

He's a prince, getting married is a non-negotiable, and he likes you more than most. You're not as irritating as a lot of people he'd considered pursuing in the past

And someone has to continue the Germa bloodline, who better than him?

If you were to date a de-programmed Niji though, things would be different

Kids, for him, would be an absolute no

Even with how much his personality has changed, he still finds kids super grating and he couldn't raise a "snot nosed brat"

If you disagreed on this, it'd be a pretty big issue, it isn't a topic up for discussion

Double income no kids lifestyle for Niji

He's not super sold on weddings either, but that's something he's more willing to discuss

Niji wouldn't want something incredibly extravagant, rather he'd prefer a more intimate ceremony

He doesn't actually want to be a perfect Prince of Germa and having a large elaborate wedding would remind him of that

A smaller ceremony, with his siblings, your family if you want them there, and all your friends is more suited to him

Though he'd absolutely brag about being married to you after the fact if you did get married

Because you're the best thing that's ever happened to him

For Law, pretty much everything is up for discussion

He's far more hesitant about kids than marriage

He's still not convinced the two of you are in it for the long haul - how could you want to be with him for that long?

If you were to get married, he'd absolutely leave all the planning and decisions to you. Tell him when you need him to have an opinion, and when to be there

He'd still get a little teary at the sight of you in your getup, no matter how neutral he is on the entire thing

For him, kids is hard

He had good parents as a young boy, and the thought of providing that is nice, warms his little cold heart

But he's also intimately familiar with how cruel the world can be, and he isn't sure he likes the thought of bringing a child into it

But some children are already in that world, and alone

All that to say, he's unsure, and very unfecided

For him, it would heavily depend on what you wanted, and there would be a lot of lengthy discussions to be had on the topic

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