#yes i know the page is crooked but the image is in line with the spine

[asafarce]

"The Lamb enthroned, surrounded by crowned Elders"

Detail from Apocalypse, folio 6, recto, late 13th century

[brbsoulnomming]

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 23

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | AO3

-----

They're on the front page for about a week.

They run the stories of Hopper and Henry Creel simultaneously - honestly, Eddie kind of thinks the fact that Hopper was presumed dead and is now back makes it easier for people to believe a previously assumed dead guy is the top suspect for the murders.

Eddie gets barely a mention clearing him of all charges. There's a couple of articles about him and Steve fighting off Henry Creel, but the focus is more on Steve than anything else.

Steve bitches about it, about how they did the same thing after Starcourt, but Eddie's kind of glad his name isn't plastered all over the place anymore.

He and Steve are down in the kitchen scrounging up celebratory snacks and beers - Steve has a clean bill of health, and Eddie's stitches are coming out in a few days - when the phone rings.

"Harrington residence, this is Steve speaking," he greets.

Eddie barely has time to decide he's absolutely going to tease him about that later when the response comes - loud enough for him to hear it.

"Steven, my boy!" the voice booms, spirited and affable.

Steve closes his eyes, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "Hi, Dad."

"We just heard the news!" Steve's father says. "Why didn't you call to tell us? Did the earthquake damage anything?"

Part of Eddie thinks he should leave. Or at least back away, so he can't hear everything that's being said - but the other part of him thinks that Steve'd push him away if he didn't want him here, and with how tense Steve's gone next to him, Eddie can't bring himself to pull away.

"The house is fine," Steve says. "Loch Nora didn't get hit at all."

"Good, good," Mr. Harrington says. "Your mother hears you and Rachel have been volunteering with the relief efforts?"

Eddie didn't think it was possible, but Steve goes even stiffer.

"Robin," he corrects, his tone smooth and entirely void of inflection. "Yes, we've been coordinating donations."

"That's what I want to hear!" There's a sound like a loud clap. "I'm glad to see you're taking this seriously. You had a lot of ground to make up for, but it seems giving you a dose of reality has paid off. We'll be able to have some real talks about your future soon. What? Oh, your mother wants to talk to you."

There's a shuffling noise, then a quieter and much less friendly voice greets, "Steven."

"Hey Mom," Steve's posture relaxes a little. "I told Dad we made it out okay."

There's some kind of response, but Steve's mom is too quiet for Eddie to make it out.

"No, of course I didn't file charges. I knew you'd want to handle it if anything else happened." A pause. "Yes, that Carver. Mom, it's not - yeah. Yeah, okay. No, it's just him. I think he's just mad that people listened to me and not him. Yeah, I - all right. Bye."

He hangs up the phone, leaning in with one arm braced against the wall, a long line of tension.

"Steve?" Eddie says quietly.

Steve turns to face him, giving a little crooked smile. "You can ask if you want. I don't mind you and Robin knowing. It's… easier sometimes, if she expects it, and it's probably the same with you."

Eddie aches a little. "What was your dad talking about? What ground to make up for?"

Steve makes a face. "I did a lot of damage to the Harrington image the last bit of high school, you know. Stopped caring about my reputation, didn't get accepted into any of the colleges they wanted me to go to, kept getting into fights."

"But that wasn't - did they even ask you what actually happened?" Eddie asks.

"They don't care what actually happened," Steve replies. "Just what it looked like. Like I said, it's all about appearances with them. My dad's the main reason I worked at Scoops instead of being a lifeguard again last summer - he says it's because I needed a real life experience, learn what it means to work at the bottom, but he was just pissy and trying to humiliate me. He talks a big game about working hard, but all he really cares about is how I make them look. Now that I've gotten good press twice, he's happy again."

Eddie's mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. "He didn't even ask if you were okay."

Steve shrugs. "I looked fine in the papers."

Right.

Appearances.

"Will you be mad at me if I punch your dad if I ever see him?" Eddie asks.

Steve laughs, a surprised little sound like he's startled by it. "No," he says. "But only if I get to punch yours for leaving you."

Oh.

If Eddie was thinking about it, he'd have moved slowly, making sure to telegraph what he was doing so he didn't startle Steve, but he reacts on instinct and pulls Steve into a hug.

Steve doesn't even flinch at the sudden motion. He just melts into it, letting Eddie wrap him up and hold him tightly. His arms come up to cross over Eddie's shoulder blades, the placement automatically mindful of his injuries in the way only someone who's bandaged them multiple times could be.

"Sometimes I wish they just wouldn't call at all," Steve admits, face buried in Eddie's neck. It comes out in a rush, like he hadn't really thought about it before he said it, but he's getting it out anyway. "That they'd just cut me out of their life, instead of stringing me along."

"Fuck them," Eddie says. "I've got you."

He can hear Steve swallow, and Steve hugs him tighter.

They stay like that for a long while, until Eddie finally pulls back.

"Hey," he says softly. "I'll get the food and stuff. Go upstairs and see Robin."

Steve looks uncertain. "You sure?"

Eddie hugs him one more time. "You've got two soulmates," he murmurs. "Let us take care of you a little, okay?"

Steve squeezes him tight, then lets go with a nod before heading upstairs.

Eddie dithers in the kitchen for a bit, taking an extra long time. Whatever his complicated feelings are, it doesn't bother him at all to give Steve and Robin some space like this.

They're talking when he comes back, which isn't a surprise, and he hears his own name as he gets closer to the bedroom. Eddie pauses, even though he shouldn't, listening through the cracked door. He'll feel worse about it later, probably, but right now the masochistic side of him can't resist the urge to know what they're saying about him.

"I want him so much, Robs," he hears Steve saying, low and soft like he's trying to be quiet.

"I know," Robin replies, her tone somehow managing to be both gentle and snarky at the same time. "It's kind of pathetic."

Steve lets out a muffled groan. "Not helping. I don't exactly have the greatest track record at being able to get over people! I thought, with my soulmate-"

He cuts off, and Eddie can't help the bubbling anger that springs up. Steve thought? Has he stopped for one second to think about how Eddie might feel, only ever having a platonic soulmate? Wanting him just as bad and not being able to have him, not being able to have anyone?

"-someone else?" Robin is saying, like she's reading his thoughts, and Eddie has to hold his breath as he makes sure he hadn't accidentally said that outloud.

"I don't want anyone else," Steve says miserably. "Just him. I think - I think it's always going to be him. Fuck, why does this have to be so complicated?"

There's a heavy, thick silence, and Eddie's anger simmers and crackles under his skin, the way it always does when there's a hefty mixing of guilt in it.

"Do you think-" Robin starts, then stops. "Do you wish-" She stops again, voice thick with emotion. "Would it be easier if we-"

"No," Steve says, cutting her off at the same time that Eddie realizes what she's probably trying to bring herself to ask.

There's the muffled sound of shuffling, quiet hitching breaths - probably the motions of Steve trying to reassure one of his soulmates that he wants her, and he imagines him gathering her close, pressing soft kisses anywhere he can reach, cutting off anything she tries to say with a deeper, fiercer kiss.

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes copper to keep himself from making some kind of sound to give himself away. He hates that he doesn't know what he's feeling - hates that he thinks he's jealous of Robin just as much as he doesn't feel jealous of her, not really. He's jealous of the images he conjures when he thinks about them together, but he's never actually jealous when he's with them, when he watches them.

That reminder makes him shift, peeking through the cracked door so he can see them. They're sitting facing each other, legs all tangled together. One of Steve's hands is covering Robin's heart, and the other is curled around one of Robin's hands, pinning it to his chest over his own heart, and their foreheads are pressed together.

Something in Eddie settles in a way he can't explain, all thoughts of jealousy gone.

"There's no me without you," Steve is saying. "You're a part of me, Robs, I can't do this without either of you."

She says something too muffled for Eddie to make out.

"I'm happy. I really am, I promise. I love you, I love us, exactly the way we are. And with Eddie-"

Eddie leans forward, too desperate to know what he's going to say to worry about being caught.

"I don't need anything else other than just him. However I can have him. If it's never romantic, if this is us forever - it doesn't matter, not really. I just need you and him, and the kids, and I'm good."

There's silence, the two of them just completely wrapped up in each other, and fuck, Eddie - he thinks you know what, if this is it, if what he has is Steve and Robin and the kids forever, then he's good, too.

"I love you, Robin Buckley," Steve says. "In a way I never realized was possible, until you and that dumb kid showed up in my life and taught me that you don't have to do anything to earn someone's love. That sometimes, it's just unconditional."

Steve was sixteen when he fought his first demogorgon, Eddie remembers that. Which means he couldn't have been any younger than that when he started really spending any time with Dustin or Robin, which means - the same thing that Eddie went through when he first moved in with Uncle Wayne, the thing that was so impossible for him to believe at twelve, Steve wasn't shown until he was probably seventeen.

Fuck, his heart aches.

"Does Henderson know he was your first true love?" Robin asks, her voice a little wet, but obviously trying to make things a little lighter.

Steve laughs, the sound just a bit thick. "No, and he'd be insufferable if I told him."

There's the faint sting of a new lie being written on the back of his calf, and the second he registers it, he hears Robin's startled laughter. Eddie pulls back from the door, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out, trying to get himself back under control.

"Oh my God, Steve, you did tell him! When?"

He can hear Steve sputtering and deflecting, the sound of Robin smacking him and Steve scrambling - probably trying to avoid them - and if there was ever going to be a good time to announce his return after shamelessly listening in for too long, now is probably it.

Eddie pushes open the door, six pack under one arm and bags of popcorn and chips under the other as he shoots a hopefully only slightly manic grin at them. "What's Steve lying about now?"

"Nothing!" Steve says too quickly.

Sloppy, for him, considering Eddie knows how good Steve usually is at using sarcasm or half truths to avoid telling lies, so Eddie tosses the bag of popcorn at him.

He catches it easily, of course, but it means he's now vulnerable to Robin's attacks, and he has to swerve to avoid another slap to his shoulder.

"Steve's trying to pretend like we both didn't get that lie, too," Robin says.

Steve groans. "Fine, Jesus. It was back when we were waiting at the camper, and Dustin was upset. I told him that he was the first person who was ever just - there, in my life because he wanted to be, even after he didn't need me to fight demodogs. No one could ever replace him."

"You're such a sap, Steve," Eddie teases him as he comes to sit next to him and Robin.

"Shut up," Steve grumbles. "That's it, I'm picking the movie."

—

The next day, Lucas and Max swing by. Steve hauls a basketball stand out of the garage and sets it up in the driveway, and Eddie sits at the kitchen table, eating a bologna sandwich while he watches them play.

It's safer inside, where there's no one to see if he gets affected by Steve's tank top and shorts.

Or at least, he thought it was safer inside.

"Do you love Steve?" Max asks, plopping down beside him.

Eddie chokes on his Coke, and she stares at him unsympathetically until he manages to breathe again.

"He's my soulmate, so." Eddie shrugs.

Max gives him an unimpressed look, and yeah, okay, he figures they both know soulmates aren't a guarantee of anything. Eddie's parents were soulmates, after all, loved each other more than anything else in this world, and that still hadn't been enough.

"I wanted him to be my soulmate before I knew it was him," he admits, because that's a more true answer without actually having to say yes or no. "Nothing's happened since to change that."

She gets this look on her face like she's trying to decide if that's an acceptable response. After a moment, she rests her chin on her knees, staring out the window, and Eddie figures he's in the clear.

"Steve has two soulmates," she says after a while. "You don't. Doesn't that make you feel - I don't know, like you aren't enough?"

"Jesus Christ, Red, you're not pulling any punches today, are you?" Eddie swears.

He doesn't actually want to have this conversation. It's not something he's completely sorted out on his own, yet, even though he's done a lot of thinking on it, and he's tempted to tell her to mind her own business.

But she won't look at him, and he knows why she's asking. She's not talking about him and Steve and Robin, not really.

He thinks about telling her something standard about soulmates, or maybe even the advice that his uncle gave him, but it doesn't feel right.

"It's not what I always imagined," Eddie admits slowly.

Max doesn't say anything, but he watches the way she starts to unwind a little, how she doesn't hold herself so stiff, tilts a little to actually listen to what he's saying.

"You know Steve and I talked to each other when we were younger. We thought the same way about a lot of stuff, and I had this idea in my head that he was some little outcast like me, in another small town somewhere out there, that we'd move to a big city and find each other. But then we stopped talking."

"How come?" Max asks, looking caught up despite herself.

Eddie grins at her, wide and self depreciating. "I found out he was probably some rich, popular jerk, and decided I hated him."

And there's that unimpressed look again.

"Yeah, yeah," Eddie grumbles. "Let's just say there might be some truth to not talking with your soulmate before you actually meet them. Point is, for almost five years, I hated my soulmate. Thought the best I could hope for was that we'd meet when we were thirty and ancient, and maybe then he would have changed. Then a little while ago, I met Steve."

Max's brows furrow. "You met Steve way before that."

"Nah," he says. "I knew of Steve. I had a lot of assumptions about him, knew what I thought he was, but I didn't know the real Steve. That Steve I met when he helped explain all of this to me and didn't make me feel stupid for not picking up some of it right away, even after I held a broken bottle to his throat."

She snorts, but looks like she's considering that. "I met him when he was putting himself between me, Lucas, and Dustin and a hoard of demodogs, a couple of hours after calling them dickheads and me some random girl."

Eddie salutes her with his can of Coke, half in understanding and half to cover the way his heart wants to melt again. "That Steve was nothing like I imagined my soulmate to be, when I was daydreaming about him or hating him. But I knew I didn't want anyone else, and Steve having another soulmate doesn't change that. I don't think it makes what he feels for me any less than what I feel for him, and I don't think it means I'm less important to him than he is to me."

Max frowns. "Really, or are you just saying that?"

"Really," Eddie says, though he hadn't actually been sure it was true until he heard himself say it. "I'm not saying it's not hard sometimes. And sometimes I get in my head about it. But I wouldn't change it. Steve wouldn't be the same without Robin, you know? He wouldn't be the Steve that made me want him to be my soulmate so bad."

There's a long moment of silence. Then, "Would you be saying that if both of his soulmates were romantic?"

Eddie's glad he stopped drinking, because he knows he would have choked again. For a split second, she wonders if she's picked up on - but no, that still isn't what this about. "Are both of yours romantic?"

Her jaw juts forward, arms hugging tighter around her knees. "What if they were?"

Fuck, he doesn't know what to say to that. "It's okay to like both guys and girls," he says, because he feels like that's the most important bit. "I do. I mean, mostly guys, but sometimes girls."

Her grip loosens a little, but she still doesn't say anything.

"It sounds like maybe I'm not the one you should be talking to about that," he says carefully.

She scowls. "I talked to Steve already."

Right, of course she did.

"What did Steve say?"

"Steve said he thinks the line between platonic and romantic soulmates isn't as straightforward as people like to pretend it is. That sometimes what you might think should be romantic is actually platonic, and sometimes what you think should be platonic is romantic, and sometimes there's going to be things that blur the lines and you don't really know which one it is. He said it was okay to have two platonic or two romantic or one of each or, like, any combination." She makes a face here, like she's not entirely sure what he meant by any combination - or like she was sure, and didn't need that much detail. "That as long as everyone was communicating, it was okay to do whatever worked for us."

Eddie swallows. "Steve sounds pretty smart."

Max rolls her eyes. "He has his moments."

"So… are you communicating with Lucas and El?" he asks.

She picks at a rip in her jeans. "I talked to Lucas."

He waits, but it seems like that's all he's going to get. He starts to ask what Lucas said, but… he gets the feeling that it's not necessarily about what he said or not.

"But it's Lucas," Eddie says. "And you wanted to hear how someone else in a familiar situation felt."

Eddie gets that familiar, itchy feeling that he does when he wants to run, and he only barely resists the urge to bounce his leg up and down. It's not that he wants to run from Max, or even from this conversation, it's just - it's starting to make him think about things, and he really, really doesn't want an audience for this. He wants to lock himself in a room and pace, listen to some music, maybe scribble out his thoughts, something to get his hands moving and his brain in some kind of order -

"Even if Steve wanted both of us romantically," he says, knowing it's close enough that it's not a lie. "I would still rather be his soulmate than anyone else."

Max looks at him with narrowed eyes for a long moment. "I'm gonna ask Steve if you lied about that."

Eddie fixes her with an unimpressed look right back. "You think I'd do that to him?"

"You better not." There's an edge of menace in her tone, but she lets it go, so Eddie figures she doesn't really think he'd lie about something like that knowing it would be etched on Steve's skin forever.

Silence stretches between them, and Eddie follows her gaze out the window, watching Steve and Lucas playing basketball.

"I've put him through so much already," Max says, so quietly that he can barely hear it.

Fuck, Eddie is so fucking soft for these kids.

"You have not," Eddie says immediately. "You haven't done a goddamn thing, Red. Both of you have already been through so much, and it's not because of something either of you did. It's fucking Hawkins."

She doesn't look convinced, so Eddie pushes his shoulder against hers.

"Lucas is smart. He's more emotionally intelligent than I am-" Max snorts at him, and he's reasonably sure he hears her mutter something along the lines of like that's hard, but he ignores her. "He knows what he can take and what he can't. All you have to do is believe him when he tells you it."

She's quiet for a moment, looking contemplative. Then she asks, "Does that work for you?"

Right, yeah, okay, he deserved that one. He thinks about deflecting, but -

"I'm trying," he admits quietly. "What do you think, huh, you gonna let me beat you there or are we gonna do this together?"

Max glances out the window again, then turns to look back at him, her chin jutting out. "Steve loves too much, and he gets it thrown back at him too often. I don't think he really believes that we love him as much as he loves us, even though we do."

She says it like a threat, like she's saying if you tell him I said that I will kill you or maybe if you hurt him I will kill you. Either way, he'd be dead.

"I'll talk to Lucas and El, and you make sure you don't disappoint him."

Goddamn if that doesn't stab right to the heart of him, lodging itself beneath his ribcage and sticking right into the parts that'd already made him want to run from this conversation.

"Okay," he manages to get out, because he's not sure he'll survive any other answer.

Max nods. "Good talk," she tells him, and then she pushes herself up and she's gone.

Eddie stays there, mulling all of that over. He doesn't think she'd actually tell Steve anything they just talked about, nor does he think she really has any idea that Steve had asked him to make their bond romantic and he'd turned him down. Honestly, Eddie could probably get away with patting himself on the back for actually managing to give some decent advice and be the person she'd needed him to be for just a little while, then go on being a very devoted platonic soulmate for Steve.

Except even if Max doesn't really know, Eddie does. And now Eddie's thinking about things he doesn't want to, and wondering how much of a hypocrite some of the advice that he gave her makes him, and -

"Hey," Lucas says, and Eddie yelps.

Lucas raises his eyebrows at him.

"Jesus Christ, don't do that," Eddie bitches.

There's a little smirk, but fortunately, Lucas doesn't actually comment on it. "You talk to Max?" he asks instead.

"Yeah," Eddie replies, narrowing his eyes at him.

Lucas lights up, though, his whole face practically beaming with his smile. "Good. I figured it'd help her to hear that your soulmate cares about you no matter what from someone who wasn't me."

Eddie raises one eyebrow. "How do you know that's what I said?"

Lucas rolls his eyes. "Because you're Steve's soulmate. If that wasn't the way you felt, Robin would know, and she'd have already murdered you."

Eddie considers that. "Okay, fair."

Lucas makes his way over to the fridge, yanking it open and standing in front of it as he peers in. "So what did you tell her?"

Eddie sits back, waiting until Lucas turns to look back at him so he can shoot him a wide, smug grin. "If she wants you to know, she'll tell you."

He gets a glare in return, but Lucas doesn't protest that, just leans back in to grab a pair of Gatorades from the fridge. He twists the top off of one, taking a long swallow before he shuts the door and starts back out of the kitchen, giving him a little nod as he passes.

"Hey, Lucas?" Eddie calls before he can leave.

Lucas pauses, looking quizzically at him.

"I'm guessing you talk to Steve like Max does, about all this." Eddie makes an exaggerated gesture between them and out the kitchen window, meant to loop all of them in together. "But, uh. You know. If you ever want a different perspective, from someone in kind of your position."

He motions to himself, then splays his hands out all ta-da.

Lucas hesitates, lingering in the middle of the kitchen before he seems to make a decision.

"I was kind of upset about it when I first found out Max's other soulmate was El," he admits. "It was right after Billy died, and their soulmate bond was new, and Max kept letting El in while she was shutting me out. And I was angry, and jealous, and then when El had to leave and Max kept pushing me away, I just kept thinking that if El was here Max wouldn't be by herself so much, that the wrong soulmate got to stay in Hawkins."

Lucas pauses, twisting the Gatorades in his hand, but Eddie gets the feeling it's a gathering his thoughts pause more than a waiting for Eddie to say something pause.

"Eventually I realized that El could help Max in a way that I couldn't, and that maybe that was the point. I started calling El a little, too, when the phone wasn't busy, and just - El was grieving, too. I didn't want to feel jealous over something that helped them both anymore. It's been good with El back, really good. I don't know if I like El like that, but if Max does-" he shrugs. "I guess I kind of already got over the jealousy bit. It doesn't really matter to me if they kiss while they're having sleepovers or not, as long as they don't exclude me."

Now it seems like a waiting for Eddie to say something pause, so he gives a soft little hum. "What do you do if you end up feeling excluded?"

Lucas blinks, like he wasn't expecting that question. "Uh. Well, before, I talked to my parents and sometimes to Steve or Robin or Dustin. It's hard talking to Mike or Will about it because they're not all that objective about El stuff. I don't… really know if I want to tell my parents about Max and El like that yet, so I guess… talk to Steve or Robin or Dustin." He pauses, then, more tentatively, "Or you?"

Fuck, these kids keep getting to him. "Or me," he agrees easily. "But you should probably also add talk to Max and El to that list."

Lucas makes a face, but doesn't disagree. "I don't think a lot of the others know about Max," he says instead. "Just me and Steve and Robin, and now you."

There's an edge to his voice, like he's pretty sure Eddie must be safe if Max told him, but he's ready to fight him about it anyway.

"Max knows about me, now, so we're even," Eddie replies, pleased that the effort he puts into making sure his voice sounds steady pays off.

"Yeah?" Lucas asks. "Who else knows?"

"Steve and Robin. And now Max and you," Eddie replies.

Lucas lights up a little. "Cool."

"Cool," Eddie echoes, even though he feels a little shaky from the fact that he's now said it twice today, which is double the amount of times he's ever said it before at all.

There's a comfortable silence for a moment.

"It's complicated, being in our position," Eddie says after a bit. "I think it's always going to be complicated. But if we let it - I think it could be really great, too. Most people only end up in pairs, but us? We get a whole damn party of interconnected soulmates."

"A party of soulmates," Lucas says thoughtfully, then grins. "Yeah, I like that."

"You're a good kid, Lucas," Eddie tells him, not sure if he really needs to hear it, but he still remembers the way it made him feel when Uncle Wayne said it.

Lucas ducks his head, looking a little pleased, even though he follows it up with a sidelong look. "Even though I'm kind of a jock?"

Eddie shrugs. "My soulmate is a whole jock. I guess that means I've got a little jock in me, too."

Lucas's expression shifts, turning mischievous, and suddenly he looks like the fifteen year old boy he is, and not a world-weary adult. It's nice, it's wonderful, Eddie loves to see it, except it makes him realize what he just said far, far too late to do anything about it.

In his defense, they were having a serious discussion, and -

Yeah, he's got nothing.

Maybe it'll be fine? Lucas is probably the most mature out of all of the boys, maybe -

"I don't know, man," Lucas says, slowly, like he's actually considering that. "We've all heard the rumors about Steve. I don't think it's something little you're gonna be dealing with."

Eddie gapes at him.

"I said you were mature," he bemoans, flinging his upper body over the top of the kitchen table just to make Lucas laugh harder. "I told Max you were emotionally intelligent! Begone from my sight!"

Lucas takes his Gatorades and leaves, still laughing at him.

—

"Max cornered me in the kitchen to threaten me today," Eddie says.

Steve snorts. "Of course she did. What about?"

Eddie shrugs, waiting for Steve to look at him so he can waggle his eyebrows at him. "She also threatened to kill me if I told you."

Steve shoves him, and Eddie falls back dramatically, sprawling out on the couch. He props himself up on his elbows to look at Steve, but he doesn't seem inclined to actually push him to reveal what he and Max talked about. Instead, Steve goes about shutting down for the night, checking to make sure all the windows and the sliding glass door are locked.

"Soulmate stuff," Eddie says. Or more like blurts out, before he can change his mind, to force himself to have to keep going. "She told me what you said about the line between platonic and romantic soulmates. Made me think about some things."

"Yeah?" Steve asks, stopping by the couch to look at him.

"Do you still want me, Steve?" Eddie asks, his heart in his throat.

He isn't prepared for Steve to shut down, for the way his face goes cold and hard and blank.

"Not cool, Eddie," Steve says, turning away and going back to the windows in the living room.

Eddie pushes himself up off the couch, then immediately doubts himself and sits back down. "Steve, what?"

Steve won't look at him, and he can hear the window locks rattling with the force that Steve's using to check them. "You're being a dick, man, come on. You can't ask me stuff like that."

"I-" he starts, then stops, his mind scrambling a little. Is he too late? Did Steve move on already, even though he told Robin that he wasn't going to? Is Eddie so easy to get over that even his fucking soulmate couldn't keep him? "What happened to it's always going to be him, huh?"

"Jesus Christ," Steve says, incredulous, and Eddie kind of wants to cry a little because he knows that Steve has started saying that more because of all the time they've spent together. "You were listening to me and Robin? What the fuck, man, you still think it's fair to throw that at me?"

"Fuck you, Steve, I know it wasn't a lie when you said that. Am I so fucking easy to just stop wanting, or are you that fucking fickle?"

"Eddie, goddamn, is this - were you testing me? Is this you lashing out at me again? Because I can't, okay, not about this, I can't-" he cuts off, one hand scrubbing over his face. "I told you, I can't."

Oh.

Oh fuck.

"Steve, no, I wasn't teasing, I - it was a real question."

Steve stills, pausing right by a window. The light of the moon catches on him, highlighting parts of him in pale silver while the rest of him is warmed from the soft yellow of the living room lamp. "Seriously?"

"Come on, Steve. I just picked a fight with you instead of asking what you meant, and you're surprised I'm not sure you still want me anymore?"

Eddie can hear Steve breathing out, then in, then back out again, watches as he lets some of the tension bleed out of his body. "I think I picked some of that fight right back. I'm sorry, I just - all right, let's go back, and I'll listen without making assumptions, okay?"

Yeah, okay, Eddie can do that.

"Max told me what you said," Eddie starts again. "And it made me think about how smart you are." He wishes Steve were closer, so he could see his face better, at the same time as he wishes he couldn't see it at all. "How brave you are. How when you know what you want, you go for it, how you fight to keep it, how you own up when you make a mistake, how you work so hard to make all this work."

This is Eddie trying to be brave, he thinks. Trying to go for what he wants, to accept that they're going to have to work at this, that he's probably going to get hurt, that he has to trust that Steve will be willing to work past whatever it is that springs up.

It takes him a little too long, though, because after a few moments, Steve gently prompts, "Eddie?"

"Do you still want me?" he asks again. He didn't mean to, but it comes out anyway, all small and tentative.

"Eds," Steve breathes out. "I'm always going to want you."

He loves too much, and he gets it thrown back at him too often, Max had said, and Eddie swallows down the urge to ask him if he means it, if he'll still mean it the next time Eddie picks a fight, or every time he's an ass.

"I'm always going to want you, too," Eddie says.

Steve's hands twitch, and he looks like he's waiting for something - for a lie to show up on his skin, Eddie realizes, and Eddie knows he's going to have to do better than that.

"I want you," he says again. "Steve, I want you. I'll take you any way I can get you, but I just - this is stupid, I'm stupid. I'm making us both miserable because I was scared."

He's not surprised that's what gets Steve moving, and he comes over to sit by him on the couch.

"You're not stupid," Steve replies. "Not for being scared."

Eddie shakes his head. "No, but I am for giving into it. So I might get hurt, so what? I'm already hurting, wanting you so bad and not getting to have you, knowing you'd probably let me kiss you and not letting myself go for it."

Steve's looking at him, eyes all sharp and intense, like he's really listening to Eddie's every word, and hell if it doesn't make him feel just a little bit drunk on it.

"Talking with Max made me realize that I trust you. I trust you, with my life, with - fucking everything. I trust you to work through this with me, to figure out what works for us."

Steve runs a hand over his jaw, going up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Yeah?" he asks after a moment. "You really - you want to do this?"

"So fucking much," Eddie says.

Steve's whole face lights up in a smile, and he leans in, one hand resting on Eddie's knee. "That mean I can kiss you now?"

Eddie barely manages to get out a please before Steve's other hand is sliding over his jaw, slipping back to push his fingers into his hair and cup the side of his face. Steve holds him there as he kisses him, and it's-

It's not Eddie's first kiss. But it's his first kiss that's ever really meant anything, and the soft brush of Steve's lips against his makes his heart stutter in his chest.

Steve gives a little hum, low in his throat, and then he's tilting his head to get a better angle, and holy shit.

Eddie pushes forward eagerly, deepening the kiss until they're both panting for breath, and even then they don't pull away. Their foreheads press together, lips parted and just barely touching as they share the same air. His eyes have closed at some point, but now he opens them to find Steve looking back at him, and Eddie smiles.

"How long do you think until Robin notices we haven't come up?" he asks.

"I'm okay with figuring that out," Steve replies, closing the tiny bit of distance between them to kiss him again.

I've got a pretty good handle on the outline for the rest of this now, so I'd say we've got about four more parts left!

-----

Part 24

Tag list (always happy to add more): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

[daintyduck99]

B may fall asleep on call (or A thinks they fell asleep) and A starts cooing about how cute they are for Bobby/Julie because I'm never letting go of that pairing you made me ship

Julie doesn't expect Bobby to answer when she calls him that evening, no matter how much he had insisted that she still could. 

But he does answer, too quick for her to even think about hanging up.

She exhales shakily. "Bobby?" 

This is met with cheerful babbling that has her smiling in spite of herself. 

"Hi, Carrie. Where's your daddy?" 

Carrie giggles and babbles in Julie's ear for a little longer before Bobby's voice cuts through, a stern baby, don't do that that Julie valiantly suppresses a snort at. 

There's some shifting on the other end of the line, a rearranging of the phone and the baby, if Julie had to guess, and she hugs her pillow to her chest as Bobby's voice finally comes through clearly. 

"Hey, Julie. Sorry about that." 

"Don't be." 

She hates how breathless she sounds. 

Get a grip, Julie. 

She hurries to add, "She's pretty cute." 

It's true. Aside from this, she's seen the multitude of pictures Reggie has already plastered to their personal Instagrams.

"Thanks." There's a lot packed in that one word, but pride is the top note. "Who knows, maybe I have a—" 

He interrupts himself with a yawn, and yeah. She'd have to be an idiot to miss how utterly exhausted he is. 

"A personal assistant in the making," he finishes, and she does snort, this time.

"Nah, that's not your style. What's next, you're going to go solo?" 

Bobby huffs a laugh back at her. 

"Haven't I, already?" 

"O-oh—you know that's not what I—" 

"I know," he soothes, "I'm sorry." 

Well, asking him how he's doing just seems extra stupid, now. 

Maybe she should've taken a page from Tia's book and brought him a casserole. She could've left it on the mat with a note. 

She's saved from responding, though, as he starts to murmur to Carrie, who's gone from babbling to making fussy sounds. 

"Shh, baby, I know—I'll rock you in a second, the handle on this stupid chair always sticks—there, see? How's that?"

Carrie coos, and Julie nearly melts. 

"Is she an easy baby?" 

Bobby hums. "Yes and no? She's definitely vocal about her likes and dislikes." 

"Well, it sounds like she likes you a lot." 

"Yeah," he says softly. "Yeah, there's that."

They make small talk as Carrie quiets, mostly about little things in Julie's life that Bobby's missed in the week since some old fling dropped a baby on his doorstep. 

And Julie doesn't doubt that Carrie is his. Even in the pictures, they have the same brown eyes, the same set to their mouths. 

They both have an I'm ready to take on the world and win aura about them that Julie has always admired more than she should. 

They are also, Julie marvels as snores start to float down the line, both asleep. 

"Oh, my god," she murmurs delightedly.

She can picture the two of them in Bobby's beat-up brown recliner, Carrie curled in the crook of his arm and the phone on his shoulder or his chest as they snuffle, the lines of their mouths eased by sleep. 

"Oh my gosh, this is too stinking cute." 

Julie wonders if he's been going shirtless for the skin-to-skin contact. Babies need it, after all, and she can't lie. It adds even more appeal to the entire mental image. 

She allows herself a wistful little sigh. 

"Whoever abandoned you two…she's really missing out. I know I haven't met Carrie yet, not properly, but…I love her, already. I…”

Julie bites her lip. She hugs her pillow even tighter. 

She whispers, “I love you, Bobby.” 

And she hangs up, blinking back tears, heart a little lighter...

Blissfully unaware as Bobby gasps.

[beauty-and-passion]

Hey how’s your fanfictions doing? ;)

Anon. Anon, tell me. How the fuck did you know that I wasn't working on a new analysis, but on a new fanfiction. Are you hacking my computer? Are you behind me? How did you know that?

Well, congrats, Anon. I have no idea how you guessed it right, but yes, I'm working on a fanfiction. And by "I'm working on it" it means that when you sent me this ask I was writing it, while now I'm translating it.

So I think you deserved a tiny little sneak peek, because why the heck not:

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

“Roman rummaged through clouds and stems, looking for a memory in which Remus created something beautiful: endless images of Remus at fifteen, seventeen, twenty-one, twenty-three. Remus pointing to his mustache. I have it and you do-oon't! Remus who paid him a visit, always accompanied by that black figure with hints of gold, always holding out his arm so that Deceit could put his hand in the crook of Remus' elbow.

Remus met his gaze and his eyes shone of a green spark. Remus ran towards him free rein. Many, too many words that were just junk and garbage. Remus cracking his fingers and bending them backwards, giggling. The way he wrapped multiple strands of creation around a single finger, then joined them into a twisted braid.

Roman had grabbed it, snorting, and removed the excess threads: only in that way, it became something decent to work on.

"Mh." Deceit's sound broke the thread of memories. Remus' green disappeared, replaced by bright yellow. The black remained, a cutout in the green and blue, a smudge on an untouched page, ink spilled on perfect lines.

Deceit was not looking at him, but at something on the ground. Roman followed the direction of his gaze and saw a daisy, delicate stem and pure white petals flickering, threads of creation waving like frayed ropes.

"You missed a flower," Deceit commented.”

[tomthesoftie]

her hidden crystal tears

❧ synopsis: keeping a relationship under covers isn’t an easy feat. when a popular, successful jock of a college, who has many obsessive fans, dates an average student, they decide that it’s better to keep their relationship secret due to safety reasons, but when the jock starts to become more ignorant of how their s/o is feeling, what might happen to their barely stable relationship?

❧ pairing: jock!tom x fem!reader

❧ genre: angst

❧ warnings: lots of angst (?), petty girl fights technically harassment, crying, pent-up emotions, unhealthy coping

❧ a/n: this is an unedited fic, as always and I didn’t know how to end it because I had two endings in mind. I might write both endings (angst and fluff) or maybe I’ll let you guys suffer lmao I’m kidding I originally was writing a blurb about the reader hiding their emotions/hiding their tears by feigning happiness, but I ended up writing like a 2500+ word fic lmao. also if some shit seems wack, it’s because I posted this on my phone.

alternate fluff ending here: let them flow

masterlist                     prompt list                     add yourself on my taglist!

Swerving through the large crowd, you found yourself a seat on the filled bleachers, squeezing to fit in the front rows to spot your boyfriend. Looking about, you located your brunette partner jogging into the field arms raised in the air, pointing towards the crowd you were hidden in. He waved his hand mindlessly, eyes scanning the ocean of screaming schoolmates and “fangirls.” His gaze finally fell on you, and his face lit up, bringing a pink haze to your cheeks as he blew a kiss in your direction. The girls sat beside you screamed out, pretending to catch his kiss and sending one back. 

You and Tom decided to keep your relationship under covers, due to the overly obsessive “fangirls.” Both of you knew it would be the best option to keep you safe. If you were ever injured or threatened by one of his “fangirls,” Tom wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. 

Tom held the leather ball in the crook of his arm, with the other pushing his way through the attacking team. Calculating his success, he dove into a touchdown, scoring him and his team the winning point. 

The anticipating crowd jumped up, cheering loudly and hugging one another, whereas the visitor team’s crowd let out a loud, mutual sigh of disappointment. 

You jumped out of your seat, screaming out your lungs as you stared, wide-eyed, at your beaming boyfriend. His teammates had lifted him into the air, tossing him about. You giggled as he caught your eye, slyly winking at you. 

Lost in your own world, you almost ran down to where Tom was before you saw a hoard of girls jumping and reaching their arms out to grab at him. Frowning, you walked away from the crowd to retreat to the warmth of Tom’s car. 

You scrolled through the collection of images you and Tom had had together, warmly smiling at the memories. You let out a breathy laugh, selecting on one specific memory: Tom’s head laid on your lap, eyes shut, and lips puckered lightly as he let out even breaths. 

The car door beside you opened, shaking you out of your train of thought. 

“Hey,” your eyes were met with the blue pupils you weren’t expecting. 

“Haz?” You looked behind him, hoping to find your beloved boyfriend. 

“Tom — um — he told me to drive you back to the dorms, said he would be heading to the celebratory party,” Harrison explained, eyes shaking with concern and sympathy. 

“Oh, I understand,” your smile not quite making it to your eyes.

“He was being hoarded by his,” Haz hesitates, “fangirls. He didn’t want you to get involved.”

“It’s all good, Hazzy. No need to worry about me,” you let out a feigned laugh. 

You stepped into the warm building, waving Harrison goodbye. Another football victory, same schedule. 

You go to Tom’s game to support and cheer him on, Tom wins, you avoid him, Tom’s “fangirls” hoard him, you wait in Tom’s car, Harrison comes instead of Tom, Harrison brings you back to your dorm while Tom goes to his party, you fall asleep in your own arms: the ‘Tom’s football victory’ schedule, named and created by you. 

To say the least, you weren’t fond of the last half of the schedule. You always were left alone to celebrate Tom’s victory on your own, while Tom was doing who-knows-what at the afterparty. 

In full honesty, you were slowly growing tired of hiding your affection for one another. You didn’t know how much longer you could hold onto this style of dating. If the pair of you were going to date, you would date publicly and however you wanted, whether it meant risking your safety or not. Besides, you weren’t some helpless girl that doesn’t and can’t protect herself.

The next day, you woke up with an aching head and puffy eyes. Groaning, you looked into your mirror located at the corner of your room. You flinched at the sight of your pink, tear-stained cheeks and tangled, mop hair. Pushing yourself off the soft mattress, you stumbled into your bathroom, prepping a warm shower to start your day off fresh.

With your laptop and notebook resting in your arms, against your chest, you made your way to your next lecture. You walked sluggishly across the large campus, occasionally catching a glimpse of passing football team members. 

A specific group you walked past caught your attention. You saw the familiar brunette curls in your peripheral vision, immediately making you turn your gaze towards it. You saw his warm smile as he chuckled with his group of friends, some of his “fangirls” giggling along with the group. 

There Tom stood, laughing and joking about with his peers, radiating happiness. He was basking in the attention he received from his friends and “fans.” 

You tried to catch his eye, and you swore you did for a split second, but he only walked past you as if you weren’t even there. Not even a hidden smile or wink of acknowledgment was sent your way. 

Your walking came to a stop as you frowned at your boyfriend’s back. You wanted to shout out his name, call for his attention. You wanted to nuzzle into his chest, breathing in his scent. You wanted to look into his chocolate-pooled eyes, see the twinkle of adoration as he stared at you. Nevertheless, you couldn’t. You couldn’t do anything with Tom in public, for you were just another girl on campus, trying to get by, and Tom was the successful jock with a bright future ahead.

You walked into the large room, taking a seat, conveniently, in front of Tom. This time, you were the one to not spare him a single glance, albeit he probably wasn’t expecting or looking for one. 

You tried your best to listen and focus on the lecture, but the consistent whispers behind your back began to nag at your patience. You leaned your down further into your notes, as if it could fix the slowly kindling fire in you. Checking the clock, you saw that only five minutes of the lecture had passed, and your professor had barely said anything. 

“Five minutes? I swear it felt like half of the lecture had gone by. And the professor. I swear he had just said like tons of important information,” you muttered to yourself under your breath, catching a few students’ gazes. 

You gently pounded a fist into your temple, forcing your attention onto the lined sheets of paper on your desk. You expected to see notes, not illegible scribbles. You silently groaned, switching the sheet for a new, clean page. You took a deep breath and began jotting down the key points of the presentation that was being projected onto the large whiteboard. 

A feminine voice cleared their throat beside you, “Excuse me.”

You looked up from your work, a glare on your face as you were pulled out of your focus once again.

“Can I help you?” You asked, irritated. 

“Uh, yes, you can. You can help me by moving yourself to that seat over there,” she pointed at an empty seat across the room, “and giving this,” she placed her hand on the desk, atop you notes, “seat to me.”

You scoffed, “And why should I?”

“Oh, honey,” you cringed at the nickname, “Tommy, here,” she nodded towards Tom, “shouldn’t have to suffer by looking at your terrible hair. Like, honestly, do you even care for your looks?”

You were practically fuming in your seat, but to avoid trouble, you responded with a monotonous voice, “I’m sure “Tommy” can take care of himself. Spare us both the inconvenience, and go sit yourself on that empty seat because if you couldn’t tell, I’m occupying this spot.”

“Who do you think you are?” She shouted, hand crumpling your notes.

Furrowing your brows, you grabbed at your notes, hoping to spare them.

“Move your ugly ass before I kick you off this seat,” she threatened, pulling you by your hair.

The professor stopped talking, glaring at the pair of you. You took it as a sign to shut up and not fight back.

Fist clenching, nails creating red crescents in your palm, you stood up, pushing the girl off of you, ignoring her gasp. You grabbed your notes and laptop, turning to see if Tom would defend you, but when you saw his passive expression, you let out a quiet laugh of disappointment, carrying yourself to the back of the room. 

For the rest of the class, you stood in the back, writing your notes with blurry, tear-filled vision. Although you were still in shock due to the event that had unfolded minutes into the lecture, you wouldn’t let it falter how you were doing in school. 

As soon as you were dismissed, you bolted out of the room, heading to your safe haven on campus. 

Not many people, if any, knew about the hidden garden located within the campus’s vast park. You had only discovered it by accident when you were a freshman looking for your way around campus. 

The first thought you had when you walked in was that you were transported into a different dimension. Thinking back on it, you were naive to think that, but you were still justified. Anyone would think such a beautiful place couldn’t belong to the aggressivity and rashness of this world. The variant shades of light green and pastel pink flowers growing between the weeds of grass gave the place a heavenly feeling, followed by the mist that sparkled under the sunlight. 

You dropped yourself at the thick tree’s stump, letting your notes and laptop slip out of your grasp. You cried into your knees, pouring out all of your stresses. Your breaths were short and heaved, occasional hiccups bubbling from your lips. Your sobs slowly lulled you closer to sleep, emotional and physical fatigue catching up to you. That is, until you heard the recognizable clang of the door handle hitting against the wooden door.

“Darling,” the accented voice you longed to hear spoke up.

Quickly wiping away your tears and sniffling away any evidence of your sorrow, you stood up, “Tommy!” A feigned smile lay on your supple skin as you ran over to your boyfriend, embracing him in your arms, “What’s up?”

“Are you alright? I’m sorry I didn’t speak up for you during class. I should’ve told that girl to get her hands off you,” he stroked your hair, “She didn’t hurt you, did she?” 

Letting a pained giggle out, you shook your head, “Nope, I’m fine. You know how strong I am.”

“I really, really did want to speak up, but you know that we should keep our relationship under covers, for your sake,” he spoke gently, placing a kiss on your head.

You scowled into his shirt but kept up your cheerful facade, chirping, “Mhm, safety.”

“I knew you’d understand,” he sighed. His hold on you weakened, “I should get going, though. The group will start to wonder where I’ve gone.”

You frowned, pulling away from him.

“Don’t be like that, darling,” he cooed, “I’ll come over tonight. Don’t worry.”

You let out a sarcastic laugh, “Of course, as you always do.”

His brows furrowed at your sudden mood shift, “What are you on, darling?”

“Oh, nothing,” you chirp, hopping back to the tree, collecting your notes and laptop. “Go ahead, meet with your friends. Leave me behind like you always do,” you murmur the last half.

“Love?” His voice neared you, and you barely registered the stray tears betraying you, rolling down your peachy cheeks. 

Quickly bringing up a hand to wipe the wetness away, you keep your back facing Tom.

“Shouldn’t you be going? Don’t want your friends to worry,” you laughed, lightly. A hand placed itself on your shoulder, the sudden contact startling you. “You scared me, Tommy. You shouldn’t do that,” you giggle, hiding your true emotions, “You know how easily scared I am.”

“Darling, can you look at me?” He asked, quietly, concern lacing his tone. 

“What for, Tommy?” You inquired, nervously laughing.

“You’re acting quite… strange,” he explained.

“No need to worry about me, bubs. I’m as peachy as always,” you quipped, shoulders bouncing in emphasis.

“I’m giving you one more chance to turn, or I will do it for you,” he said, sternly. 

You stayed, unmoving, forcing Tom to turn you with his raw strength. At first, you tried to fight it, but you came to the revelation that there was no way you could overpower him.

When you met his warm, liquid eyes, you felt your own tear up, and suddenly, your shoes were an intriguing sight. 

“Baby, please look at me,” he whispered, hands rubbing up and down your arms.

You shook your head in denial, trying to keep your weakness hidden.

“It breaks me to see you this way,” he lifted your face with a finger to your chin. His thumb moved to wipe away your crystal tears.

“Then leave,” you hissed, weakly.

“W-What?” Tom stuttered at the unforeseen reply.

“I’m tired, Tom. I’m tired of hiding, of you ignoring me and me, you. How long are we going to do this? It’s so stupid, all of it,” you dropped your head again, this time of fatigue.

“B-But, you know why we’re doing this-” you cut him off.

“I know, and I can’t help but think that this was a stupid choice,” you motioned between the two of you, “You’re barely around me, and on campus, you don’t even acknowledge me. On the slim chance I do have you to myself, it can only last for so long. At this point, it feels like we’re not even together.”

“I-I don’t understand. What are you trying to say?” Fear filled his eyes as the pit in his stomach became more and more noticeable.

“I think it would be better if-” you stuttered in a breath, “if we took a break.”

“Why? Just because we’re hiding our relationship? You know why I- we chose to keep it secret,” he rushed out his words, hands gripping yours.

“Do I? Do I really? Today was display enough that even though we act like we don’t know each other, I’ll still get harassed by those “fans” of yours. Not to mention, you saw it all unravel, and what did you do? Nothing. There’s no practicality to keeping our relationship hidden because either way, some “fans” will go overboard no matter who the person. Also, I think I showed that I can defend myself from crazy people when I pushed that girl off of me today,” you spoke, ferocity and resentment spurring you on.

“I know I messed up when I didn’t help you, but I thought about our relationship-” you scoffed.

“So what? Even if we weren’t in a relationship, you should’ve helped a girl out. Especially when she’s getting harassed because of you,” you jabbed a finger into his chest.

“Tell me how to make it better. I want to make it better. Don’t end us, please,” he begged, gripping your hand tighter.

“Stop, Tom. I told you that I want to take a break. Besides, it won’t be any different to how our normal relationship is,” you laughed. Pulling your arm out of his grasp, you walked away, “Now, I won’t have to waste any tears on you anymore.”

[lavendermin]

if all stars fell at once (4) | xiao

pairing | xiao/reader

word count | 3.1k

genre | fluff, light angst, developing relationship, overall domestic

warnings | light smut, eventual smut

Routine.

Defined as habitual tasks you partake in on a regular basis. These monotonous daily routines are what provided a grasp of control amid the uncontrollable and brought you order in a time of uncertainty.

The dawn of a new day started with the bittersweet greeting of the mourning doves’ songs. It gently tugged your consciousness forward, your weary limbs stretching out beneath warm covers. Your eyes would peek open and be greeted by the same dull room, bed tucked in a far corner. The sheets over old furniture still haunted you, the house inherited by past ghosts of memories.

It was a husk you resided in, perhaps a tomb you inherited. And as with every morning, you push the thought away.

A quick wash-up and breakfast helps kickstart your day before you’re off to run any errands listed off in your mind already. Fresh morning dew still glistens on the grass when you leave.

Days where errands would carry you to the harbor would have their own side routine you knew fairly well. Checking Bubu Pharmacy for any medicine pickups for the village elders, a quick chat with Ganyu as you passed her during one of her duties, a passing stop to the markets by the docks for supplies, and the occasional prolonged stay for lunch per the invitation of Zhongli and his courteous acquaintance. Every week, just like clockwork.

The busy day would wind down near the docks, watching the waves as they crashed upon rocks and taking in the scent of the sea spray that swept by you with it’s breeze. If you closed your eyes, the sounds of the sea and bustling voices of the harbor would meld together into one— a comforting cacophony of background noise to keep you grounded before the harbor’s relentless energy swept you away.

The city was a little much for you. It made you miss the tranquility of the small place you resided in tucked far back in the village.

And so everyday your heels pointed back towards home, ending with a meal in between more work you buried yourself in until odd hours of the night.

This was the routine you came to know with seldom any out-of-the-ordinary variation.

And then, curiously, slowly, the yaksha you came to befriend incorporated himself into the routine— first embedded into your routines and soon enough ever-present in your heart. Perhaps you could say that he altered your habits for the better.

Nowadays, leaving the harbor after errands is pleasant. No longer does the road back to Qingce isolate you into your thoughts. The sun that casts mesmerizing hues upon the sky as it sets leaves a pleasant warmth on your face. You look forward to his name on your tongue.

‘Xiao.’

The summon rings out clearly amidst his tumultuous headspace, bringing brief peace with the familiarity of the voice. In an instant he’s at your side, the ominous mist that enveloped him subsiding. There's a wordless question in his eyes as he shyly laces his fingers with yours.

With a light squeeze of his hand, you reply, “Let’s go home.”

There’s a pleasant silence that accompanies these walks, his hand firmly holding yours as if you might slip through his grasp at any given moment. On occasion, he would ask how your day went just to hear your voice. Though he wasn’t fond of the crowded hustle and bustle of the harbor, hearing your little enthusiastic retelling was enough to leave him with vivid imagery. Your voice was his comfort.

Arriving home has also taken on a newfound normalcy. With Xiao around, the once-empty house you inherited no longer feels foreign. Finally, with sure conviction, you can say it feels like your own.

Shelves that were once scarce with items and decor were now neatly arranged with ornaments and small handcrafts that Xiao has given you. The bookshelf that was once littered with dust and cobwebs is now rich with rows of books of all sorts. Even tables and bedside stands that were once empty are now always adorned with flowers that you and Xiao pick while out stargazing. These items are glimpses into the new pastimes you treasure to make time for.

Today was one such day where the breeze was pleasant as the sun tucked away for the night. However instead of being outside, you chose to take up comfort reading indoors. There on a pile of blankets and pillows you sat comfortably, Xiao resting his head on your lap to intently listen to you read aloud.

The adeptus reminded you of a cat that’s getting comfortable with a stranger they keep meeting. The spots he chose to rest on were getting much closer in proximity, but never directly on you. That is, until you boldly asked if he would like to rest on your lap and he settled there gratefully with your permission.

You closed the book, running your hand through his hair to get the yaksha to open one eye. “Are you sure you want to hear me read this poem book again? I’m sure you know it by heart at this point,” you pointed out with a laugh. “Why don’t you choose a book this time?”

There was a moment of contemplation before Xiao relented and went to search through the many book spines readily available. A glistening stone caught his attention again—his hand visibly hesitating for a moment.

You leaned your body over a bit from your comfortable pillow haven, curious as to what book he would select. Part of you expected him to select a random one off the bookcase, and was surprised to have a quaint little red book placed in your hands.

“I’ve been meaning to ask… about this one,” Xiao started, his face neutral but betrayed by the twinge of pink that was hidden by the dimness of the lamplight.

“This is…?”

He shrugged. “The subject of this book— is this something you like?”

Confused, you opened the cover. Inscribed on the inside in unmistakable cursive was a message from a certain librarian— a friend. Your brows creased, mouth pressed in a thin line as your eyes skimmed over the note the particular librarian left. A subtle feeling of dread crept over you.

‘Hey cutie, sent you a few goodies that were offloaded from our catalogue this season. Thought you might enjoy this one to spice things up a bit. I know how curious you were about the forbidden section, so here’s a little glimpse for you.’

Oh no… You quickly skimmed through some pages of the book that felt hot in your grip. Or perhaps it was your entire body flushed with embarrassment at the lewd imagery the story portrayed

“I–I didn’t… I d–didn’t know Lisa sent this along with the other books. This book— I haven’t read before so… um…” You anxiously bit your lip, voice growing quieter the more you went on. “I–It was a gift. I didn’t know.”

Xiao hummed, hand grazing your reddened cheeks curiously as you fanned your face. There was practically steam rolling off you.

“So,” Xiao started cautiously, “The things the book spoke of— it’s not something you like?”

If you were red before, you couldn’t possibly imagine how you looked now.

“N–No! I mean— Yes. I mean—!” You fumbled over your words, flustered over such an erotic novel unknowingly being in your possession.

“So, it makes you… happy?”

“Xiao— Stop, please— I’m going to die of embarrassment,” you squeaked into your hands.

His persistent curiosity would be the death of you at this rate. You buried your face under a pillow, too overwhelmed by the suggestive images still swirling in your head.

A little dumbfounded by your reaction, Xiao could only watch your huddled form hide away as he awkwardly rubbed your back in an attempt at reassurance.

The adeptus finally gained a bit of your attention, quietly inquiring, “Do you not wish to talk about that type of subject?”

The grip on your pillow slowly eased up, partially uncovering your face to meet his gaze. There wasn’t an ounce of discomfort on his face, and it was reassuring save for the fact that you were the one needing to explain.

“It’s not… that I don’t want to. Intimacy like— that—“ You pointed accusingly at the book now in his hands. “Is something, uhm, highly emotional— in a good way! Ah, what am I saying… It’s an act of love and bonding with a significant other, so to speak. Usually. Ah— it’s a little complicated.”

As you fumbled with your train of thought, his hand slowly placed itself over yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles. It drew your little state of panic to a close, feeling him press his lips to your forehead in a moment of soft distraction. It quickly brought a small thankful smile to your lips.

Kisses made you happy. This was a fact Xiao had learned.

“Let’s talk about it another time. Do not stress yourself over it.”

You nod timidly, choosing to hide your face in the crook of his neck. “...Okay.”

Xiao leaves not too long after, disappearing into the shadows to diligently tend to his duties. Sleep finds you quicker when he’s not around, though your mind is still tumultuous.

You had half a mind to go straight to Mondstadt and give Lisa a stern reprimand, not that she would care. If anything, it would fuel her amusement and her teasing would become more unbearable especially when your heart could barely handle Xiao boldly initiating displays of affection. That librarian was more perceptive than her languid facade let on.

For the time being you buried the cursed erotic book within cluttered closet boxes and called it a night.

Out of sight, out of mind.

—

A bead of sweat rolling down his temple caught a glimmer of the pale moon watching over him. Beasts that were affected by his karmic debt laid strewn across the battlefield. It weighed heavy on his mind, a distasteful reminder of increasing demonic activity with the Lantern Rite a few weeks away.

There was a light burning sensation that twinged Xiao’s calves and arms, and he rolled his shoulders to relieve his muscles from the fatigue of ceaseless combat. His tired muscles were just about ready to turn in for the night and make his way to Wangshu Inn.

But he paused. The voice tugged at his mind.

‘Xiao…’

There was no mistaking it. It was your voice.

The ache in his muscles was an issue for later. There was strain in your voice, evident discomfort. The reason was uncertain but as much as Xiao wanted to deny it, he was alarmed ever so slightly.

A blur of black mist was all it took and he was gone under the serene moonlight. When he found you, his guard was high with lingering confusion. An intruder was his first thought.

A quick walk around the house, footsteps lighter than the breeze that accompanied him. Nothing. No other presences detected either.

‘You called me, but why?’ Xiao questioned.

The bed gently dipped with quiet creaks where he sat next to you, brushing his thumb over your cheek. Your peaceful sleep was broken as your brows slightly furrowed, breathing slightly labored with small whimpers you let out.

“...X–Xiao,” you quietly whimpered amidst your sleep.

Ah, you had summoned him in your sleep then. How odd. It was a first, to say the least, but he couldn’t be upset with you.

‘Another nightmare…?’

Just how bad could a nightmare be that you would desperately call his name in your sleep, he wondered? But a promise was a promise. He was determined to rid you of your ailments if it was within his power.

The yaksha took in a deep breath, focusing himself fully before slowly exhaling a puff of dark mist. The aches in his body went ignored.

Dearest dream eater, won’t you save her?

—

The sound of his footsteps pacing a dark corridor— humid, stuffy as he pressed forward following the muffled sound of your voice. It’s something he will never forget though he feels he should.

To feel haunted by a dream’s fragments that refuse to vanish is something he should laugh at. It’s not real.

Then why?

Bits and pieces are burned into his memory. Perhaps in a torturously pleasant way he never really imagined. Blame it on him never finding someone he considered such private feelings with.

Xiao did not stay that night after consuming the dream, nor did he come back to check on you come morning as he usually did. On the tiled roof of Wangshu Inn he lays, brows furrowed and a strange warmth pooling throughout his lower torso.

The memory is unlike others that plague him, though it causes him inner turmoil with the increased bodily frustration.

Those eyes… haunt him. The smugness on the face that stared back at him then was enough to piss him off. The reasons festering in his tightened chest he couldn’t quite explain. The fragments would rewind and play, rewind and play, over and over since that night.

‘So,’ the familiar red stranger began with an amused smirk. ‘Looks like the yaksha really will answer any call of his name.’

They made it a point to maintain eye contact as they pressed their lips to your temple, arms holding your back flush against his chest.

Those piercing jade eyes— a mockingly similar exterior. It was like Xiao stared at a twisted reflection of himself conjured by your dream, the red accents in his hair and clothes a fiery scarlet akin to the bubbling anger he felt upon seeing the illusion lay its hands on you. The fact that they spoke in his same voice was enough to raise a rumbling growl within Xiao’s chest.

Quiet huffs left your parted lips as your chest heaved, a scarlet sash tied over your eyes like a blindfold.

‘Xiao, I–‘ Your body shivered at the feeling of his hands gliding over the inside of your thighs. It made you let out an involuntary whimper, cheeks aflame with arousal.

‘That’s enough,’ Xiao commanded the dream illusion of himself through gritted teeth.

The scarlet-hued Xiao shifted you in his lap, his lips set in a mocking smirk as his hand slipped between your legs to elicit sweet mewls from your parted lips. What Xiao wouldn’t give to conjure his spear then and there to wipe that irksome grin off his own face.

The illusion hummed, making it a point to place a kiss to the swell of your exposed chest. ‘Surely you don’t mean to ignore our person’s feelings? Or our own, for that matter. How crude of you, adeptus, to try and stop something she begged me for— something our body clearly begs for, as well.’

‘Quiet.’

The silence was deafening, though the illusion only seemed to stop momentarily out of amusement in seeing how long the real Xiao could uphold such a serious facade. Internally, he battles with two new emotions he hadn’t experienced before— jealousy and arousal. Somehow, because he could channel a warrior's rage through jealousy, the other warm feeling seemed to be drowned out. For now.

‘Silence me all you’d like. Deny your desires until you grow numb, for all I care. But for your human, these desires are your bond,’ the illusion persuaded, unbothered by the icy daggers Xiao glared through him. ‘Isn’t that right, my love?’

His fingers slowly working at the sweet, throbbing ache between your legs left you unable to form any coherent thoughts. Perhaps it was deliberate so your mind was elsewhere, drowning in a hazy pleasure. The gasps and mewls leaving your shaking body were slowly getting to the adeptus. Ironic, just how similar to that stupid book this was.

Xiao scoffed, and prepared himself to finish what he had sought out to do. ‘I don’t concern myself with desires. I’ve had enough of you.’

As Xiao unraveled and crumbled the dreamscape around him, the illusion remained smiling with sly intention.

‘Dishonesty will get you nowhere, Adeptus Xiao. She will be forced to forget this dream, but these feelings you both harbor cannot be erased so easily.’ The illusion lifted the ribbon from your eyes, leaving Xiao momentarily frozen.

Eyes are the windows to the soul, and what he saw in those misty eyes left his body aflame— confused. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and he swallows thickly.

Once you get a taste, a dormant desire will begin to flourish.

The sly illusion holds their hand out invitingly, jade eyes unreadable as they scrutinize Xiao’s movements. It’s hesitant— the small step forward he takes.

‘What are you waiting for, adeptus?’

—

There’s a harsh gust of wind that blows through, the skies of Liyue harbor a dull grey with the rolling storm. The crashing sounds of waves upon the rocks below the docks resonate with your tempestuous heart. Weary eyes scan the horizon of the uneven sea, looking past the peaks of Guyun Stone Forest in the distance. You cling onto the hope of catching a glimpse of something— something to ease your worrisome heart.

“It’s been a few weeks,” you note quietly, the door of the balcony clicking shut as you walk back into the warm home office.

Yanfei answers without looking up, her hands still furiously scribbling on the parchments that have slowly accumulated into a towering pile. “He’s probably busy. With what exactly, I wouldn’t know— but I’m sure you have a better idea.” She sighs, regretting the coldness of her blunt tone. She adds in a softer tone, finally looking up, “Sorry, I’m not much help if it’s not consultation involving the law.”

The legal adviser can only watch helplessly as your eyes drift back to the window to gaze out beyond the sea’s horizon.

“He’s going to the Lantern Rite festivities with you, right?”

You turn back enough to meet her hopeful gaze with a sad smile. The silence is all the answer she needs.

“Was that a stupid question to ask?”

You shake your head, and turn your face back to the window so she can’t look further into the feelings you try to conceal.

The Lantern Rite was in a few days, and Xiao was nowhere to be seen. Though there've been occasions where you hardly saw him, this… this time was different. It was a feeling you couldn’t shake off and it filled you with uneasiness.

The thought of calling his name and receiving no answer terrified you. Doubt was quick to grip your mind in a vice.

“I think I’m the stupid one.”

[momolady]

Goblin Girlfriend: Blair

A nice fluff piece. Something I’m sure you’ll all find nice and comforting.

Female Main Character x Female Monster

The accident, as everyone around me calls it, keeps getting talked about like a monster in the shadows. ‘The accident took your hand,’ they say. ‘The accident is to blame for this, don’t blame yourself.’ They aren’t the ones missing a hand, are they? Yes, the accident did take my hand, but that isn’t what concerns me. I don’t blame the entity known as ‘accident’, because accidents happen. Actually, I don’t know who or what to blame for this.

The hospital offered to grow me a new hand in their lab, but that felt too gruesome for my taste. It also would have taken too long and cost far too much. Instead I was given a list of people who could build me a new hand. It would still be expensive, but it would be cheaper than anything the hospital offered.

Most of the people listed are located in the ‘circuit district’, a section of town where most of the robot repairers, mechanics, and their like have set up shop over the years. After I’m able to leave my house without being mildly panicked, that’s where I head. The list is quite long and I’m not sure where to start. The circuit district is quite a maze, with shops down narrow alleyways and shacks built on rooftops. There’s an electric hum to everything, punctuated by sparks and sizzles. As I navigate the blue glow of the maze, suddenly there is a cat in my path.

“Oh, hello kitty.” I’m quite surprised to see a cat in such a place. I notice the cat’s left paw is mechanical, a shiny chrome sort of color. The cat scratches itself, then looks up at me with sweet, wide eyes. It meows and trots over, weaving between my legs. I kneel down to pet it and rub behind its ears.

“Nice to meet you, uh...” Taking the collar, I see a small tag with the cat’s name. “Hello, Georgie.”

The cat sits upright, and with a wiggle Georgie leaps up. With some slight panic I manage to hold him in my right arm. “Easy there! I only have one hand now.”

Georgie purrs. I sigh and double-check the address on the tag. To my surprise, the very same address is on the list I was given. “Well, then, perhaps you helped me make up my mind, Georgie.” I adjust my arm so Georgie is happily nestled against the crook of my neck. I walk with him in that position until we reach his home.

The building is on the corner, so two of the walls are massive garage doors, one red, one silver. The red one is open, so I just walk inside. The ceiling is way up, and there are hydraulic lifts above. One has a car on it, and the other has some sort of mech suit. To one side of the shop there are three other mech suits in a line, yellow, pink, and blue. Beside them is a wall of tiny drawers. The next wall is covered in monitors, each showing a different wall of text or image.

“Who goes there?” a voice booms.

I jump in surprise, but Georgie bolts down from my arms and runs towards the back just as someone slides down from a pole above. The person is quite short, wearing a large headpiece with goggles, grease-smudged coveralls and heavy black boots.

“Georgie!” They stoop over to pick up the cat. “You bolted this morning. What the hell was so damn important? You got a lover out there?” The mechanic turns in my direction and points at me. “This them?”

“No. Um, hello there.” I start to wave my left hand, but quickly stop myself and use my right. “I found Georgie - well, technically, Georgie found me.”

“He does that.” The mechanic sets Georgie on the desktop under the monitors and takes off the headpiece. Her hair fluffs out, and she runs a metal hand through it, looks at me with big green eyes and smirks. “Thanks for bringing the asshole back.”

“Actually...” I hold up the list. “It could be a moment of kismet. Are you...” I try to read the name on the page.

The mechanic turns to the monitors and starts clicking on a keyboard. “Call me Bleh. That's the best most people can pronounce. Some are nice and say Blair, but I really don’t give a shit. What are you here for?” She takes off the coveralls and I see a petite, slender figure in a tank top and bra underneath. Her full arm is mechanical.

“My hand,” I say quietly. “Um, it’s...”

Blair turns and sees the arm I’m holding at my side. “Prosthetic, eh? Didn't like what they could grow at the hospital?” she laughs.

I grimace. “It was too creepy. It felt… wrong.”

“What’cha got there, a lefty?” She double-checks then looks back at the screen. “Nicole, bring up schematics of left hands.”

“Yes, Bleh. Bringing up left-hand schematics, years 5 through 9.” The screens blink, then flash with different hand models.

Blair wags her hand for me to come closer. “I ain’t gonna lie to ya, even mech hands can be extremely pricy. Not hospital-pricey, but still pricey.”

“I’m fully prepared for that. Without this hand, I can’t work, and if I can’t work, I can’t pay you back.”

“What do you do?” Blaire asks.

“Book repair.” I place my left arm in her hand.

Blair whistles. “You work for rich people, don’t you?”

I shrug. “I suppose. But I do sometimes volunteer my time to museums and preservationists when I get the chance.”

Blair takes a pair of goggles from the table and flips down a row of magnifying glasses before her right eye. “What happened here? Amputation? Saw mill accident?”

“Accident,” I say. “But not at a saw mill.”

Blair huffs and sits back. “I can make up a mock-up of what I can do, but I’ll need to take some extensive photos of your right hand to get the size and shit right.”

“That’s fine.” I pull back my left arm. “I’m free right now, if that works.”

Blair smirks up at me.  “You sure you wanna start working with me?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Do you have a reputation? I know sometimes fairy folk are...”

Blair snickers. “I’m not a fairy, I’m a goblin. And yeah, I have a reputation as being a bit of an asshole to work with.”

Blair shows me the estimate, as well as prices with certain materials and colors used. It is quite expensive, but it would be worth it in the long run. I need this hand. “Now, as for payment,” Blair sighs. “I could use some help around here. I get busy and forget about things. Nicole can only do so much for me. I need someone to help me with the life admin of my, well, life.”

I’m a bit surprised. “You want an assistant?”

Blair nods. “I’ve forgotten to eat and stuff like that, and it’s starting to not be okay. Never was, but… I also need help with laundry. And my apartment upstairs is...” She grimaces. “Well, it’s something you can work on to pay off the price until you can work on books again.”

“I don’t know how much help I can be. But this would be a huge load off my mind. Not being able to work right now is driving me batty,” I chuckle nervously. “This could help me get on my feet again.”

“Then why not start today? I can start getting things laid out and prepped. Maybe by next month I’ll have something that can be temporarily fitted.”

She motions to a door in the back and leads me through it and up the stairs to her apartment.  “I’m so used to tech I sometimes forget about real life, you know?” She turns the lights on, and while it isn’t too bad, it’s still pretty chaotic. Clothes everywhere, machine parts propped up, tools scattered among wrappers and cat toys.

“I used to have a hamster. I sent Georgie to find it but, eh...” Blair shrugs. “Georgie was the wrong cat for the job. So if you come across a hamster…”

“I get it,” I murmur. “Where do you keep your cleaning supplies?”

“I have window cleaner somewhere,” Blair murmurs.

I try not to react to that. “Window cleaner isn’t what I need.”

Blair glances back up at me. “That’s all I ever use.”

“Oh, boy,” I whisper to myself. “Well, where would you like me to start?” I look around, trying to make a map in my mind of how to go through this place.

“The floor, I guess?” Blair grumbles. “I’m not picky. Whatever you want to work on, you work on. If you need anything, just ask Nicole. She’ll be able to answer your questions.”

I nod, still formulating a plan. “Have you had lunch yet?”

“I haven’t even had breakfast,” Blair laughs. “One of those things I forgot.”

It takes me a few days to get into the groove of things. I show up early, but usually Blair is still working. She’ll go to bed once I arrive, and sleep a couple of hours while I clean or work on the planner I’m putting together. After she wakes up I help her get breakfast in order, then clean with a vacuum as she goes to work. Once finished with the apartment, I work with her in the shop. I keep it clean, dusting and sweeping, usually with Georgie hanging off the broom.

I’m enjoying my time with her. More than that, I’ve found myself being more and more drawn to Blair. In fact, there are times when my heart flutters when I think about her. I’m nervous to ask her if she feels the same, so I’ve kept my mouth shut.

Finally, the day comes for the first fitting. I sit with Blair in a brightly-lit room as she puts a socket over my wrist. She adjusts the hand, puts it through a few tests, then attaches it to the bracelet.

“How does it feel?” Blair asks softly.

“It itches a little,” I reply. “Tingles too, sort of like when it falls asleep.”

“Good.” Blair smiles. “Try moving the fingers, then.”

The fingers flex, albeit slowly. Blair giggles excitedly. “Okay then, turn your wrist.”

I do so.

“Perfect!” She takes my hand and starts poking at it. I can feel her warmth through the new hand, or perhaps that’s just wishful thinking.

“After this is done, what then?” I ask.

“You can go back to the things you used to. Go back to work, your home, whatever you want. It’s your hand.” Blair says.

“But...” My voice catches in my throat. “What about you?”

Her long ears twitch. “Me? What about me?” She looks up and her cheeks darken. “I’ll be fine.”

My fingers fidget and twitch, and she looks back down. “Maybe I could check in on you from time to time,” I say softly. “Make sure you’re eating. Maybe even take you out now and again.”

Blair sniffs and nods. “Sure, maybe,” she says dismissively.

“I’m free tonight,” I say unsurely. My nerves are rising, but I need to ask. “Maybe we could get something to eat, then maybe snuggle with Georgie, on the couch.”

“Not anywhere near here with good food,” she murmurs.

I frown and look away. “Oh.”

Blair stops, turning her green eyes up to me. “Wait.” She furrows her brow. “Snuggle on the couch?”

My cheeks feel like they are on fire. “Yeah.”

Blair’s face darkens to a deep emerald color. “Oh.” She sits back a second. “I don’t know about dinner.”

I’m trying not to smile too big, so I bite my cheek. “I can figure that out if you’d like.”

“Okay,” Blair begins to smile. “I would like that. But...” she clears her throat. “Let's focus on your hand here. Okay, trying holding something.”

I pick up a screwdriver nearby and hold it, twitching my wrist around and flexing my fingers.

“This is just a temporary make, mind you, so it won’t have all the features, but this does give me something to build off of. I’ll be able to make the permanent model now, and you can use the temporary one.”

I sigh with relief and clutch the hand to my chest. I could just about cry. “Thank you so much! You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Blair smiles softly. “I do, actually. I had an old friend do the same for me when I was much younger.” She pulls up her sleeve to show me her arm. “It made me fall in love with the craft.” She motions to the blue, yellow, and pink mech suits behind her. “My old friends. That’s why I wanted to work so hard for you, Sig.”

I smile brightly back at her, wishing I could kiss her, but I’ll have to wait for that. “You deserve more than I can give. You really are an artist.”

Her cheeks darken. “Yeah well, I don’t really care. I’m happy with this here.”

When I come back that evening, I’ve got takeout with me. Georgie greets me at the door, and I let myself up the stairs. When I enter the apartment, I see something strange. It’s still quite clean, and there are candles lit. It looks like Blair tried cleaning up herself.

“I’m here!” Blair comes running out. Her hair is wet and she’s wearing clean clothes. I’ve never seen her in shorts, so for the first time I realize her leg is a prosthetic, just like her arm. She pushes her hair away from her face. “Hi,” she says breathlessly.

I smile back. “Hi.”

She sits close to me as we eat, and when we’re done she takes my hand as we walk to the couch. She cuddles up close to me, but I can tell she’s still nervous, and I know I am too. “Is this okay?” Blair asks.

I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Yeah. of course.”

Blair clears her throat and nods. “Would it be too much if I asked for a kiss?”

I bite my lip as I smile. “No.” I bend down a bit. Her hand touches my cheek, and I close my eyes. The kiss starts out soft and sweet, but then Blair starts to pull back. I chase after her, deepening the kiss. Blair presses closer, putting her arms around me as I slip mine against her back.

Blair breathes softly as we part. “I was hoping something like this would happen,” she whispers. “I just felt silly all this time.”

“So, you like me?”

She nods.

“I like you too.” I cuddle up beside her again. “I’d like to get to know you more in this way.”

“I still have a lot of work to do on your hand. This is just a temporary fit for now.” She smiles awkwardly. “But, that doesn’t mean I’m trying to trap you or anything.”

“I know.” I kiss her again and I feel her shiver.

“You’re good at that,” she squeaks. “I’m not good at a lot of real-world stuff. So just... yell at me if I forget something.”

“I’ll remind you. I won’t yell.” I kiss her cheek and she leans into it, turning her head this way and that to accept more kisses. Her smile grows larger and hard to ignore. She looks so happy and cute, I can’t stop myself.

Soon we’re laid out on the sofa, with Blair snuggled on top of me and Georgie purring on her back. We’re watching a movie, but we haven’t really paid attention. We’ve kissed and talked a lot, and now, because of Georgie, we’re sort of stuck. “I blame Georgie for this,” Blair says.

“What do you mean?”

Blair looks up at me with those perfect green eyes. “Well you said so yourself. It was sort of like kismet that Georgie found you. Maybe it’s more than that. Not just a hand, but maybe a friend… a girlfriend?”

I kiss her again. “Yeah, I guess this is all Georgie’s fault,” I giggle.

[shxnnxnchxmbxrs]

A Ruined Surprise

This was originally part of my domestic Katniss and Peeta post, but I just had to write it!

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

‘Hey, Babe, can you come here a second?’

‘Yeah, sure.’

Katniss flicked the yellowing page, coming to the end of the chapter. She grabbed the bookmark from her thigh, the one Peeta had bought her on his business trip to Austria, and placed it snugly into the spine. She closed the book gently, setting it on the coffee table beside her.

‘What’s up?’

He was stood at the island, recipe book in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. There was a dusting of flour blossoming across his left cheek and a splattering of batter on his white t-shirt.

‘Here, taste this,’ he lifted the spoon up to her mouth.

‘Peeta, this is incredible!’

‘You think?’ He smiled earnestly when she nodded enthusiastically, casting the recipe book aside and running a hand through his hair. ‘I was trying a new glaze for the cheese buns, so I wanted your opinion seen as though you’re the one who eats them all.’

She watched the veins in his hand flex as his fingers shook his blond curls, his pale arm hair catching the light from the kitchen window. His eyelashes were long as he blinked, and his smile was slightly crooked, but it was the most beautiful smile she had ever seen. She was transfixed by the vibrancy of his eyes, the same hue as the bluest ocean or the dreamiest sky. As Katniss looked at Peeta, she realised there was nothing else she wanted more.

And she happened to be feeling particularly brazen.

‘Marry me.’

‘W- What?’

‘You heard me.’ He stared blankly at her, so she decided to try again. ‘Peeta Mellark, will you marry me?’

‘Kat, are you being serious? You sure this isn’t because of my cheese buns?’ His brown was quirked, and he looked somewhat amused.

‘Yes, I’m serious! I love you and I want to marry you!’ she answered with a deadpan expression. His jaunty smile fell into a thin, straight line and his eyebrows seemed to knit themselves together. Her own grin was falling and she could feel her skin turn to goosebumps.

‘I can’t believe you.’

His tone was flat and even, with no hint of expression as he stalked from the room, gliding past her without so much of a glance. She heard his heavy footsteps on the staircase, and the closing of their bedroom door.

She placed her elbows on the counter and buried her face in her hands, the warmth of her blush becoming overwhelming. Her eyes pricked with tears and her throat felt like it was on fire. She traced her eyelashes with her index finger, trying to keep her hand steady and even. She’d gone too far and scared him away.

Her ears spiked at the sound of a door opening, followed by much quieter footsteps this time. Then the kitchen door opened with a deafening creak. She didn’t dare look up, scared of the image she might find in front of her.

She felt him behind her, his soft breath warm against her neck, her hairs standing on edge. He was close enough to hear how loud her heart was thumping in her chest, but yet she still refused to look at him. His hand wound gently around her side, resting on the countertop. She shuddered as he spoke in her ear, the tingling sensation travelling down her back.

‘Open your eyes, sweetheart.’

Katniss was hesitant, but he spoke so gently and so kindly that she dared to peek. In front of her on the granite worktop was a black velvet box. She tried to turn around, but Peeta’s gentle hand on her hip kept her in place.

‘Not yet. Open it.’ His voice was low as he buried his face into the crook of her neck, placing a chaste kiss to her shoulder.

And so she opened it, gingerly and shakily, gasping in awe at the ring she found inside. The central pearl was encompassed by a simple silver band that glinted against the navy velvet cushion.

The box snapped shut and she yelped with surprise, but Peeta’s grip on her waist had loosened, allowing her to turn around. They were so close their noses bumped, and she was almost devastated when he took a slight step away. They looked at each other for a moment before Katniss let out a choked sob, tears finally escaping her grey eyes. Peeta too was wiping tears from his own eyes, before turning his attention to her, gently wiping away a tear and stroking her cheek with his thumb.

His thumb roamed to her jaw, and he pulled her forward for a soft kiss, just barely brushing their lips together before pulling away. He knelt on one knee, stumbling and uneven, which caused Katniss to chuckle despite her throat feeling like it could close up at any given second. He laughed too, taking her left hand and carefully kissing the back of it, before reaching for the velvet box.

‘This isn’t quite how I wanted to do this, you know, Kat. We’d have been at a fancy dinner all dressed up, and we’d have ordered champagne and fancy chocolates and you’d have been polite and said they had nothing on my baking. And then, once you’d complimented me for being the most amazing man in the world and that you could never have anybody better, I’d have proposed.’ She laughed at his jokes through yet another sob, ‘But, you’re notorious for spoiling surprises, so I apologise if this isn’t as perfect as I am.’.

‘Peeta, this is perfect.’

‘It’s actually perfect because it’s you, Katniss. It’s always been you. I have loved you since I was 5 years old, and that love has only grown. I cannot wait for it to grow even further with you as my wife, if you’ll allow it?’

‘I’ll allow it.’

‘Formalities, my dear Katniss.’ She smiled as he feigned a posh accent, before his face dropped again into something completely more serious.

‘Katniss Everdeen, will you marry me?’

‘Yes.’

As he reached to pull out the ring she dropped to his level, pulling him into a hurried and passionate kiss. She felt as if her mouth was on fire and that his was the only water that could quell the heat. He quickly began to kiss her back, hands flat on her back, the ring box discarded; they both knew that the ring didn’t matter in this instance anyway.

Peeta instead reached for the box when they broke apart. He slid the ring onto her finger, and allowed her to admire it for a moment before he kissed the back of her hand. They sat on the kitchen floor for some time afterwards, both staring at Katniss’ left hand.

‘I’m sorry I ruined the surprise.’

‘It’s fine,’ he said, ‘this was probably a lot better anyway, we couldn’t have kissed like that in a restaurant.’

She laughed. ‘No, that’s true. But, seriously, I think that may have been perfect.’

‘It was far from it, sweetheart. I’m covered in flour and some kind of batter for a start, and not to mention that I nearly fell over. There’s only one thing about it that was perfect, and it was the girl who I was proposing too.’

‘Whilst that’s all well and sweet, Peeta, you weren’t the one to propose.’ She smirked at the dumbfounded expression on his face.

‘Yes I totally was, I got down on one knee and everything!’ She tutted as he became exasperated.

‘I asked you to marry me. I proposed.’ She looked at him and smirked, pecking his cheek as he just blinked at her.

‘If that’s the case, then you owe me a ring and a do over because you didn’t even get down on one knee.’

‘Deal.’

[oingo233]

Rapture is a Boy (5)

Summary: Remus and you have always had a playful, loving relationship but his behavior around the full moon leads you to assume the worst. A huge fight ends with the two of you heartbroken. Will Remus reveal the truth behind his behavior?  And will you still love him afterwards or has he truly lost you forever?

Young Remus Lupin x Reader (Neutral)

Warning: angst, cuss words, self-doubt and self-hate, mention of cheating, lotsss of angst in this one, maybe even more than before. 

Authors Note: Now, this chapter is a bit on the longer side but it is my favorite one so far.  We get POV’s from Remus, you, and Sirius(excuse how much there is of Sirius, it’s not entirely intentional he just owns my heart), each filled with ANGST.  And the lack of communication and the full throttle of angst is almost painful, but oh so juicy.  I hope you all enjoy it, only a couple parts left, or one, until the end yall!  I love you so much!  Sirius POV in italics. 

Word Count: 3k

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight

                                                  Part Five

                                        ****Letters To My Love****

Remus POV

Breakfast was over by the time Remus made it back to his dorm, but he didn’t leave to go to 1st period.  Because on the endless and lonely walk back, his mind began to spin.  He knew he wasn’t a cheat, but he was a liar.  He lied to you about his being a werewolf for years because he was petrified of what you’d think of him when you found out.  That you’d stop seeing his scars as beautiful stories but rather the makings of a monster. 

 He was more of a beast than he was a man, and for one night each month, a beast was all he became.  How could you love him knowing that? Remus had yet to stop pacing the length of the boys dorm, ignoring the way little sticky notes on the walls with prank ideas came twirling down with every gust of wind Remus’s sharp turns created. He was a storm.

He repeated this thought for the better part of 1st period.  How could you love him?  You won’t love him, he tells himself, you never will, Lucy said it herself, he was just a disturbing truth. The thoughts made his stomach lurch.  You will never love him again.  These horrible, tantalizing thoughts were accompanied by beautiful moving pictures on his wall, which his eyes darted to every second despite how miserable they made him.  

One picture was a large polaroid of the two of you laying on the common room floor, while your friends are all laughing around you, your arm was wrapped securely around his shoulders and he is laying his head on your chest.  He was fast asleep, but a ghost of a smile was painted on his lips, your head was leaned back in laughter.  While the picture moves, you only seem to laugh harder and Remus shook, his smile growing ever larger as he awoke to the sound of pure joy.

You will never love him again. With that heavy thought, and another glance at the picture he rushes to the bathroom, just in time to find the toilet, as he vomits into it.  Utterly sick and riddled with anxiety and self-hate, but so much anger filled him.  Why did Lucy have to ruin everything?  Why did you have to leave him?  Why did he have to be such a fucking monster? Why’d he have such god awful luck!

Sirius finds him in the bathroom, sobbing for not the first time that morning nor the last. Sirius rushed over to him, patting his back as he choked up extra pieces of last nights dinner. Sirius forgetting to retrieve his class book he forgot this morning, and was excused from class to quickly get.  Herbology can wait, Sirius wasn’t going to spend his future with plants anyway.

“Remus, what’s wrong?  What can I do?” Sirius knew it was about you, but why was he so sick?  Little did Sirius know, that love and heartbreak is both the enlighting of the heart, and the sickness that plagues so many.  

Remus was not immune to such poison, his strength lies elsewhere, it lies in the mornings after full moons and the steadiness of his hands before.  It lies in his courage, in his determination and empathy.  It lies in his silver tongue, but his strength does not belong to his heart because he gave his heart to you so long ago.  And perhaps you gave him the greatest strength of all, love. Love, love, love, you gave it all to him and more.  Now he was left empty and he felt it now in his stomach as much as he did in his heart.

“I am alone Sirius.  I was alone in the room, then I saw our picture, (y/n) was laughing.” His voice cracked, fighting a sob. “They are the most lovely thing I’ve ever seen Pads...Pads do you think I told em’ that enough?  That I love them?” Remus then turned to Sirius with the most gut dropping look of remorse, with a breath to match.  Sirius nodded fervently, not sure how else to comfort a person in such a state. He rubbed circles on his back and reached for a tissue. 

“Yes Moony, we all heard you say it a million times.  But...Moony it isn’t over.  Lucy lied to them, if you are honest -and I mean fully honest about everything- you two will be one again. Practically married again.  So, gather yourself Moony.  I will wait with you till the bell rings, yeah?” Sirius hands Remus the tissue and smiles down at him, trying his best to be encouraging Remus knew, it was the same smile Sirius gives him after hard full moons and the whole lot of them want to stay in bed.  

But it did not work, Remus’s whole body sank into the floor as he wiped at his mouth.  Sighing at the mess he was, flushing the toilet he stands.  

“No. I can’t tell them-”

“Remus-”

“No!  Leave it alone Sirius, you don’t understand.  (y/n) deserves better than...than this this thing that I am, and will always be.  This monster.” Remus throws the tissue down and storms out of the bathroom, back into the expanse of their room and now flouncing his arms around as he speaks.  Voice thick with emotions.  “Do you think they’ll still love me after they know the truth?” He sneers, almost laughing humorlessly to himself.  Sirius stared at him in horror, still in the doorway of the bathroom.

“They’ll leave me Sirius, I would lose them twice.  Twice!  No,” Remus shakes his head, “Better I let them go now, I’d rather not go through this whole ordeal twice.” He motions to his vomit lined collar and messy locks.  “Better (y/n) hates me for a lie, than the truth.”  And that was the end of it.  Remus turned his back on Sirius and began to pull clothes from his drawers, deciding that it would be best to go to second period.  If he was to get over you, he must start soon.

Sirius was left speechless.  Remus was angry, that was clear to see but he was often the only one who could get himself out of these ruts of self-hate.  Him and you of course.  So Sirius got his almost twice forgotten book and left.  Before he left the room completely he turned in the doorway to say something to Remus, but he only watched as Remus softly tore the photos of you off of his wall, Sirius shut his mouth and left.

Your POV

The bell to second period rang through loud and clear, yet it wasn’t until the movements of the students around me, rushing to be free from History of Magic, that I began to move myself.  Even then my movements were slow, sluggish and reflected the droopy feeling of my heart hanging loose in my chest.  Like a portrait hanging sideways on one of the hallways, knocked loose by a groping couple, but my heart was knocked loose my the image of Lucy and Remus I’ve spun up in my head.  Oh, I can just picture them together, so clearly.  

His large hands roaming the plains of her back after making love, tracing words mindlessly as he has once done to me.  His lips glued sleepily into the crook of her neck, as they cuddled after a long school day...just as he once did to me.  It’s only been a day but my fingers are twitching to cling onto his and never let go.  To hug and grip him, and my lips...well they tingle at just the thought of his kiss.  My whole body abuzz with the idea of Remus, it has not yet caught up with my head, it does not yet seem to realize that Remus is no longer ours to hold and feel.  He is no longer mine.

I finish packing all of my belongings into my satchel and hug it to myself instead of around my shoulder and waist like I usually have it. I thought this class would be much harder than it was, considering it is the only one I have with Remus today, but he never even showed.  Coward, the bitter side of me thought, fucking coward.  But I nonetheless picked out double the pages of parchment, and never once raised my head from the block of wood that is my desk.  I was too focused on taking double the notes, both just copies of one another.

Now, as I walk out the door, not missing the way our professor seemed to pity the sullen look on my usual bright face, my only thought is on finding Sirius.  Things have been tense between me and all The Marauders, but I like to think Sirius and I, though on very tense terms since our fight, are more amiable than James or Peter and I.  

I was knocked off focus, and quite literally, by a blushing first year girl. “M’ sorry,” She mumbles, looking up at me like a scared mouse.  I quickly glance up just in time to catch the retreating figure of a running Lucy, knocking even more people along the way. 

 “S’ alright, wasn’t you,” I smile sweetly at her and that seems to calm her nerves, she walks off with a little smile.  But I was left with a rather large frown, was Lucy off to see her boyfriend, Remus? Is that what they are now?  The thought made me sick, and the words made me even sicker.  But there was little time to dwell when in the dwindling crowd I caught sight of a tall man with the messiest bun I have ever seen.  Yet, Sirius pulled it off, I almost wanted to roll my eyes, he can pull many hairstyles off (many of which, I myself can not).

“Sirius!”  I call, flapping a stack of paper in the air while trying to make my way through the crowd and towards him.  He tells some friends of his from 1st period to go ahead, and waits for me with a tight smile.

“(y/n),” He greets, rather stiff.  As if this whole thing was my fault, and we didn’t just have our whole friendship break through last night.

Sirius was staring down at you, soaking in the sadness of your eyes and the exhaustion shown through crinkles on your forehead.  He took quick notice of the wrinkles in your outfit, and the totally clashing colors of the clothes underneath your robes.  He wanted to frown, usually your outfits are well put together.  But then again, Remus stormed off in his pajamas this morning, guess heartbreak makes you do even crazier things than love itself. But either way, Sirius felt awful after your argument last night and was having a rather difficult time expressing his emotions, so instead of apologizing like he knew he should, your presence just made him feel uncomfortable.  A reminder of how he failed both his mates when it came to this whole breaking up thing.  He regard the stack of papers with a raised brow.

I shove the papers into his chest, he cups them stiffly with one hand, peering down at them quickly and titling his head down at me in a frown.

“(y/n)...” He starts, but I cut him off.

“Before you start Sirius, you should know that Remus missed a very important class this morning,” I say, rocking on my heels and oddly nervous.  A person can only take so much rejection and emotion in one day.

“But...why?  If you think he cheated on you, I mean,” Sirius uncomfortably held the papers, waiting for me to respond.  But I drew up blanks, why did I write him notes?  Why did I go through the trouble of writing till my hand ached and protested?  Was it because I still loved him? Yes, but also it was the way I dreamt last night of our first kiss and then the way he stumbled up the stairs with James, crying.  It was guilt.  But then I was angry, fuck this, I think, he doesn’t deserve to pass History, prat should re-take the whole boring class ten-fold!

“Nevermind Pads, just give them back,” I growl, tearing the papers from his hands and nearly ripping them.  But then the wind seemed to remind me of how it is the season of the N.E.W.T.S and Remus so long ago said that maybe History of Magic will aide him in his test.  I growl again and shove the papers back into a surprised, and quite frankly annoyed Sirius.  His chest was really starting to hurt.

“No, you must take them.  Give them to him...” I can’t bring myself to look at Sirius, oh what he must think of me.  Such a silly girl to tend to Remus after all that he has done to me.

Sirius glanced down at the papers, your handwriting clear as day and neat.  You clearly tried to make it easy to read, and the notes were well taken, informative.  He looked between you and the papers and fought a smile.  Even a blind fool could see how much you still adored Remus, but then he thought back to the conversation he had with Remus this morning. His heart overcame with something that felt all too much like real, physical pain.  Sirius hands began to shake, how could Remus let you go. You’re one of the best things that happened him. Then another thought occurred to him, how was Remus to get out of the dorm again, or even smile again after reading your notes?  It would break his heart all over again.

Sirius shook his head at me, placing the papers into my hand and ignoring the dumbfounded look on my face. “Merlin (y/n), are you trying to bloody kill him?” He says, addressing my notes and the sweetness behind the gesture.  Perhaps it was too soon.  But I was prepared.

“Oh, shove off it Sirius.  My name isn’t even on the parchment, he won’t know it’s from me.  Just say ya got a friend to take ‘em for him, yeah?” Sirius still looked uncomfortable by the matter.  I cut him off before he even began, I could see him thinking.  “Don’t want him failing N.E.W.T.S do ya?”  Sirius takes a deep breath and tucks his lips in a disapproving frown wordlessly taking the papers and stuffing them in his bag.

“ave’ a good one!”  He calls over his shoulder, almost wincing as he spoke, it was second nature to call such a thing in parting with a friend, but he was unsure of your friendship at the moment, and it was quite clear you weren’t going to have a good day.  He turned to you with a tight smile, and loosened up at your own large smile.  You finding the situation with an almost bitter sense of humor but humor nonetheless, he thinks to himself “good lad.”

The both of you part ways, reminiscing on easier times and missing them dearly.

Remus POV

Remus sat in his bed to study, which none of the boys do because they’ll fall asleep, and they usually did it together on the floor in a heap of papers, books, and spilled ink.  But tonight Remus grew rather somber as Sirius handed him a collection of notes from 1st period.  “aye, a friend wrote em’ for you.  N.E.W.T.S comin’ up n all.” Sirius muttered, slowly placing them atop Remus’s chest, not looking him in the eye. Remus sat up in his bed to examine the papers, his hands shaking and crinkly the edge.  He knew.

He quickly grabbed his parchment, and book, quill and ink before closing his bed curtains.  He then proceeded to cuss and scream(more of a groan) under his breath.  Of course he knew the notes were from you, it was silly of you to assume he wouldn’t.  He long ago memorized every curve and line in your handwriting.  Why did you have to care about him still? Why did you have to be so sweet and perfect?  His heart wanted to run away to you, but he tried to focus on other things.  But his mind went back to you once again, like a broken record.  He remembers all the letters you’d write him, all the things you’d say.

He first memorized your handwriting over the summer after first year.  He got several letters from James and Sirius, one or two from Peter, and one every 2 weeks from you.  You adored hand written letters, and so he came to love them too.  Then again 2nd year, then 3rd and 4th your owl came to his window time and time again, always sent off with a letter of his own writing.  But 5th year, the year you two started dating, your friendly letters changed to love letters and it was those ones he clipped to his wall or kept in a special drawer, never throwing out one.

On particularly difficult nights, like ones before and after a full moon, when his body was drained and he was desperate for the warmth of friends and the dull ache to leave his body, he would pull out the letters his friends wrote him and read them.  Then he’d pull out every love later you sent him and read it.  He’d walk over to his bed and re-read them a million times, relaxing into his comforter and sighing with the memories of you that overcame him with each word like tidal waves. He’d hug them to his chest, then pull the next one out to read, all with the softest smile.

His pain long forgotten, he’d fall into a peaceful slumber with parchment and letter sprawled all around him.  All greeted with...

My love,

And all signed with...

All my love to you,

(y/n)

Remus traced over your handwriting and hugged the notes under his chin and deep into his chest.  As if they would become apart of him, and in that way you will always be with him.  But you were, you were everything to him. I won’t part from my love, he thinks, my love is apart of me. 

He decided then, that he would do anything in this world to win your affection back.  He would bare his soul naked to you, just for the word “love” to slip from your lips and into his being.  He was no longer afraid of your rejection, he just craved the chance to see what you would do, of what good could come from his truth unfolding itself before you. He craved your acceptance of all that he was, and above all he craved for you to love him once again.

Taglist:

@crazylokonugget     @beyondprincess     @1975weasley    @nicodoesntexist  @goto-hi-this-is-my-brain    @yoyoitsbella    @ftwert   @sognatrice-as-a-hobby   @dontjudgemyobsessionpls   @blackpinkdolan​    @holdenviolet​  @katie-lupin05

[readingtherooms]

Vanilla

Summary: After a long day, you just want to lay down on the couch. Unfortunately, our resident genius got there first. 

Pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader

Requested: nope!! just me being in love w baby spence

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff. 

Word Count: 1568

A/N: hey guys! sorry this is a little all over the place, but i thought it was cute. I wrote this with season 1 in mind, but it’s really up for interpretation. I don't currently have a taglist but I think i'm going to start one so let me know if you want to me on it! The moodboard below was made by me however the images are not mine!

It’s almost midnight, and the team is flying back to DC from Seattle. The case had ended well. (Y/n) should be relieved. She wasn’t. She had fought with her brother right before she left, and going home means she’s going to have to talk about it.

 “I’ve never been good at that. Talking. I much rather just hug it out, I've always been tactile”, she explains to JJ as she gets out of the car. 

Boarding the jet, everyone is welcomed by fluorescent lighting and the overwhelming essence of day old coffee. Spencer quickly makes himself at home on the couch, as Hotch and Gideon settle into a game of cards. (Y/n) tries to read, but after twenty minutes of staring at the same page, lost in her own head, she debates giving sleep a shot. She glances over at Spencer. He’s awake. 

“Is there any hope of me convincing you to give up the couch”, she mumbles as she sits down across from her best friend

“Is there any hope of me convincing you to come to the Jacques Delille convention with me on Saturday?” He quickly responded. (Y/n) sighed - her and Spencer had been friends at CalTech, long before she got the job with the BAU. Over the years, she grew quite fond of the eclectic conventions he would drag her to. She loved listening to Spencer go on his signature tangents, it gave her a chance to just listen. Not worry about being awkward or saying the wrong thing, like she did around most people. With Spencer, all she had to do was listen, and she loved it. Unfortunately, she was going to be spending her Saturday in a much less pleasant manner. 

“I already told you, I have to go to brunch with my brother” she groaned. 

He chuckled, “Well then I’m not moving”. 

“You know what, screw it” she thought to herself. She was tired, she kept getting caught up in her thoughts, and if she was being completely honest with herself, she was in desperate need of physical affection. 

“You don’t need to move” she stated bluntly.

“Wait, what?” Spencer responded, not even attempting to hide the surprise in his voice. He didn’t know (y/n) to go down without a fight.

“But you can’t stop me from laying on the couch” she countered. He responded only with a slight tilt of his head, and a look of confusion. (Y/n) stood up and walked over to where he had propped himself up. 

“Can I lay on you?” she half-whispered, her confidence starting to falter. 

“W-What?” he looked up at her with bewilderment in his eyes.

“Nevermind, it was a stupid idea.” She said, barely loud enough for him to hear. The fleeting confidence she had only moments ago, had completely drained out of her. She turned to walk towards the bathroom, attempting to escape the situation.

“Wait” he stopped her, despite still being perplexed by what she had just asked. “You can, uh, lay on me - if that's, uh, what you want.”  He clears his throat. 

“Are you sure?” (Y/n) responds, equally as flustered. He nods in response. 

After an uncomfortably long pause, she begins to lower herself onto the tan leather, leaning back as she does so. 

The next three minutes were chaotic to say the least, with neither of them not knowing exactly what to do. However, after those three, awkward, giggle filled minutes, (y/n) found herself lying between Spencer's legs, her head gently resting on his chest. She knew he wasn't always great with physical affection, she kept asking him if he was comfortable. He, in return, continued to reaffirm that he was, in fact, comfortable. 

A few more minutes went by, and soon (y/n) felt herself drift asleep, lulled by the soft fabric of his cardigan, and the gentle movements of his breath. 

Spencer, in contrast, was anything but peaceful. 

This just isn't the kind of thing that happened to him. Pretty girls don't just want to lay on him. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. He had just about convinced himself that this was a dream, when (y/n) shifted slightly, snapping him back into reality. 

He was suddenly very conscious of his arms. He had them resting lightly over her shoulder blades, in a position which he originally thought to feel natural. Doubt started to wash over him, he had never really done this before. Despite Derek's mocking, he wasn't actually a virgin, but it was in that moment that he realized he had never actually cuddled before. What if his arms were in the wrong place? What if (y/n) is judging him? Wishing she had never asked to lay on him? 

He lifted his right arm off of (y/n), and managed to pull his cell phone out of his pocket without too much movement. He really didn't want to do this, but he honestly couldn't think of a better alternative. He cursed himself internally, and reluctantly opened his phone, tapping on his second contact - “Derek Morgan”

Spencer : Derek, please turn around. Do not make a scene. 

Spencer sees Derek's head whip around as he reads the message, eyes widening when he notices (y/n). Despite being fairly certain that she was asleep, Spencer shifts his arm so that his phone was out of her line of sight. 

Derek : MY MAN!!!!!

Spencer : Don’t be dramatic, I need help. 

Derek : Dramatic?! Help?! Man you’ve liked this girl since COLLEGE 

Spencer : Trust me, I know. However, what I don't know is how to do this.

Derek : Do what? Cuddle?

Spencer : Yes, where do I put my arms?

Derek : Dude, you just gotta be natural

Spencer : That is completely unhelpful. Are you aware who you are talking to? Yesterday you watched me walk into a door. 

Derek : Yes, and I got it on video. Alright I guess I’m going to have to coach you through this. 

Spencer : Yes please. 

Derek : You owe me

Derek : Okay, take your right hand, and set it right above her waist

Spencer : My right or your right?

Derek : The hand with your phone in it

Derek : Now, your left hand, set it parallel to your right hand

Spencer : Does this look right? 

Derek : You’re doing great loverboy, are you finally gonna ask her out? 

Spencer : Maybe. 

Derek leaned over the back of his seat, clearly taking a photo. Spencer furrowed his brow. 

Spencer : Why did you take a photo of us?

Derek : Penelope. 

Spencer chuckled to himself lightly. He felt much more at ease than he had five minutes ago. Scanning the jet, he noticed that Derek had gone back to staring out the window. Everything seemed at ease. Hotch was facing away from Spencer, with a passed out Gideon across from him. JJ and Elle were both sleeping across from Derek, JJ lying on the brunette’s shoulder. 

Then there was (y/n). She was so peaceful as she slept, Spencer found himself entranced by her. He tucked back a strand of hair that fell onto her nose, and he felt her hum lightly with contentment. She smelt like vanilla, she always has. It was more than just perfume though, she must use vanilla body wash, shampoo as well. Is it possible she’s been using the same body wash since college? 

That is how Spencer Reid fell asleep that night, with (y/n) in his arms, thinking about the smell of vanilla.

-

Two hours later, Spencer’s eyes slowly started to crack open. (Y/n) was awake, nestled into the crook of his neck. 

“Hey sleepyhead” she teased. She received only an incomprehensible mumble in return. She looked at her watch, 4 AM. 

“We’re going to land in about a half hour, so I’m going to untangle myself and hopefully avoid a disapproving look from Hotch” she whispered in his ear. She placed a kiss on his forehead, before leaving the couch and returning to her original chair. 

The kiss was so soft, so light, that Spencer wasn’t even sure that it was real. The morning light was just beginning to spill through the small jet windows, and he waited for his eyes to adjust, before escaping to the bathroom. He was desperately trying to process what had occured in the past few hours. His mind was flooded with questions. 

Does this mean she likes me like I like her? 

Did she just need the comfort of a friend?

Is Derek going to make a big deal out of this?

IS THIS a big deal?

Hotch was awake, was he watching us? Does he care?

How does she always smell like Vanilla?

He finally realized that he would never find answers to all these questions standing in the jet bathroom. He fixes his hair, and steps back outside. 

“Hey (y/n)?”

“What’s up Spence?” 

“How do you always smell like vanilla?”

(Y/n)'s face lit up, giggling at his question. Suddenly, all the questions in Spencer’s brain felt like they were melting away. 

“Everything’s going to be okay” he thought to himself.

Everything is going to be okay because (y/n) is sitting in front of me

She’s smiling 

That smile could grow roses in the desert. 

Everything is going to be okay because she’s sitting in front of me

She’s smiling 

She’s smiling and she smells like vanilla

Oh, how I love vanilla. 

[hale-13]

The Trouble with Tabloids

By Hale13 for @jenniboo311

“Oh look at this, this is a good one: ‘Some suggest that Parker’s powers include the male spider’s ability to hypnotize females.”

“Stop, c’mon,” Peter says back, slightly irritated at her teasing.

“Yes my Spider-Lord,” MJ says, dropping her voice in pitch and, against his will he starts chuckling. It makes him feel lighter and calmer and warm.

“Can we just like sit up here all day? It is so crazy down there.”

MJ hums and flicks over to the next page, still skimming. “I mean we could,” she says, neutral. “But would it really help anything?”

Or

MJ reads the Daily Bugle and Peter is an nervous mess about returning to school after his identity is reveled to the world.

Words: 5313, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandom: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Relationships: Peter Parker/Michelle Jones, Peter & May, Peter & Ned

Read on AO3 or below line break

“Does any part of you feel relieved about all this?” Michelle is curled up on her side, the half priced Christmas twinkle lights she picked up off a dusty shelf when they went thrift shopping a few months ago hung up haphazardly behind her. They make the edges of her hair glow red and throw strange and beautiful shadows across her face. Peter is almost too distracted looking at her to register her question.

“What do you mean?” His voice quiet and questioning. His living room is completely dark – his face lit only by his phone screen where he holds is just above his chest.

MJ’s face scrunches a little and she readjusts her head on the pillow, a few stray fractals of light bouncing off the broken black dahlia necklace and painting rainbows onto the wall and ceiling. “Now that everybody knows you don’t really have to hide or lie to people.”

Peter feels his hackles rise just a little at that comment but he’s too tired and burnt out to really be upset. He feels like he’s been fighting for years even though its only been a few weeks since Beck outed him to the world. His head pulsates with the starts of a headache and he just sighs. “For the record,” despite his desire to sound neutral his voice has a bit of an edge, “I never wanted to lie to you. But how do you tell someone that you’re Spider-Man?”

MJ hums noncommittally, it’s the sound she makes when she disagrees or has strong feelings about something in particular but doesn’t feel like arguing – he’s sure it will come up later and that her opinion will probably be correct. It makes him feel thankful and pissed simultaneously but he takes a deep breath and tries to let it go. Anger seems to be his default emotion these days. Anger and frustration and a dash of hopelessness. “Are you ready for tomorrow?” MJ asks, changing the subject abruptly and Peter settles a little more firmly into the ancient couch that May picked up from one of their neighbors. It groans under him.

“Sure,” he replies with a bit of a crooked smile that he can tell doesn’t reach his eyes – the little image in the bottom of his screen that shows his reflection makes him look pale and washed out and so so tired. No wonder May had been hovering so much recently. “I’ve always wanted to try and balance being a well known vigilante while going to high school.”

MJ chuckles and gives him a fond smile. The school year technically started a few weeks ago but Peter has been on unofficial home arrest while the NYPD and FBI and the freaking UN sorted out what to do with him. The unaltered footage from EDITH along with the character witness statements and testimonials from Happy and the newly returned to Earth Nick Fury (shape-shifting aliens what the fuck?) made it clear quickly that he was innocent but just opened the door for a whole host of other problems.

Like a large portion of conspiracy theorists still saying he killed Beck and that the government was covering it up. Or the fact that his address had gotten leaked and people had camped outside with signs or support or hatred and he and May had needed to move somewhere new. Or how Ned had been accosted by a crazy Fox News journalist on his way home from school one day.

That had made Peter see red and it was only May and Happy taking his web-shooters and phone and nearly restraining him that kept him from leaving to do something he would probably (maybe) regret later.

Jimmy Woo, the FBI agent over his case, had advised him to just lay low while the local and worldwide organizations hashed everything out. Peter was still too young to sign the Sokovia Accords but they couldn’t have him running around and ‘causing untold destruction’ in other countries. And, well, the NYPD still wasn’t his biggest fan when it came to the low-to-the-ground and neighborhood problems he liked to deal with.

As it was, he was now allowed to continue being Spider-Man in New York City but he would need special permission from local governments to act anywhere else. This suited Peter just fine; he would rather not leave home anytime soon after his last ‘vacation’ and Spider-Man was a Queens hero anyway. The clock on his phone ticked over to one in the morning just as his battery bar turned red.

“Hey,” Michelle said, pulling his attention back to her. She gave him a tired smile and pulled her blanket up higher on her shoulder. “We’ll be there with you the whole time.”

“I know,” Peter whispered, fingering the stitching of the t-shirt he had stolen from his girlfriend and was wearing. It still had just a bit of her scent that he could probably only pick up due to his enhanced senses and it made his chest feel a little full. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You will,” MJ said, ending the call and leaving Peter alone. The shadows that stretched across the walls from his dim phone light looked foreboding and he stared at them until his screen went dim. He really should get up and go to bed. He should pack his book bag. He should definitely charge his phone.

Instead, Peter creeps to his room and shimmies into his suit, jumping out his window into the cool night. ———————————————

Peter crawled back through his window just before his alarm goes off at six, tired and sweaty and still freaking out a little but feeling marginally better now that some of his nervous energy was gone. May is sitting at their little kitchen table nursing a cup of coffee in her robe and looking just as exhausted as he feels. He can tell she knows that he’s been out all night but he’s thankful she chooses not to say anything as he makes his walk of shame to their cramped single bathroom to shower.

When he emerges about twenty minutes later with damp hair and layered up in his favorite flannel shirt and a plain white t-shirt May has brewed another pot of coffee and has a stack of toast and jam on the table and his heart clenches. Toast and jam has always been his go-to for mornings where his anxiety is at an all time high and his stomach is twisting and he wraps his arms around May’s shoulders from behind in a fierce hug and tucks his face into her neck like he’s a little kid again. May gives him a kiss on the temple and lets him soak in some comfort from her before she shoos him over to his seat to eat.

They both sit in silence; Peter munching on his toast and drinking black coffee full of sugar to perk him up and May nursing her own cup and staring at the wall. May’s knee bumps against his when she scoots a little closer and he can feel a little bit more of the tension leak out of him – as long as he still has her he’s okay. No matter what happens with school and Spider-Man and the Avengers he has May.

“I’m so proud of you,” May tells him a few minutes later as he’s chewing on his last piece of toast and Peter can feel the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes but he refuses to cry. He sniffs and coughs, choking on emotion and May scoots her chair over more to pull him into a hug and he just lets himself be held for a minute.

“I love you,” he tells her, leaning into the hug for just another second before pulling away. May smiles, her own eyes watery and she fidgets with his hair, smoothing out the wild curls and fixing his collar. He knows she hears everything else he’s trying to say: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t want this.

“I love you too,” she says; It’s okay, its not your fault. “I have the next week off so if you need me for anything – and I mean anything – I want you to call me okay? I’ll come get you.”

Peter nods even though he would never call her to come bail him out and goes to the sink to rinse his cup and brush the crumbs off his plate. “I know May and I will, I promise.” Liar. The knock at the door interrupts them and Peter glances at the clock; its later than he thought. May bites her lip like she’s waffling on saying more but relents and goes to answer it. He can hear her greeting MJ and Ned, can hear the brushing of clothes as she hugs them both and Peter takes just a moment for himself. He closes his eyes and takes a fortifying breath – in through his nose and out through his mouth – and straightens his spine, squares his shoulders.

He can do this.

And he’s does. He’s fine as he slinks out of his building (the first time leaving as Peter Parker since his arrest and meeting with multiple government organizations and moving) and down the steps to slide into Happy’s car with Ned and MJ on either side of him. Ned is wearing the ridiculous letterman jacket from Acadec that he spent way too much money on and MJ is wearing a dark blazer he’s never seen before but instantly loves. He would probably love everything she wore to be honest.

“Hey kid,” Happy says. He looks completely unruffled in his usual dark suit and tie but Peter can hear his heart beating faster than usual as he double and triple checks his mirrors before pulling away from the curb. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Peter says but his voice is all wrong and he clears his throat to try to get rid of the lump that’s formed there unsuccessfully. Michelle slips her hand in his and squeezes tightly and Ned presses their sides together in a quick moment of support on his other side.

Ned’s phone buzzes against Peter’s leg and he fishes it out, unlocking it and reading through the message before typing a short reply. “Flash is meeting us out front,” he says. And that, probably, had been the biggest surprise from this whole identity reveal mess but it probably shouldn’t have been. When they had come back from the blip, fifteen kids out of their class of forty-three, they had come to an understanding.

The apology and forgiveness had gone unsaid between them but, suddenly, Flash wasn’t as terrible to be around. There was still some ribbing and snarky commentary but nothing to the intensity of before. No more ‘Penis Parker’ no tripping him in the halls or pushing him into lockers like before.

If the Blip had done one thing it was reset everyone’s preconceived notions and priorities.

After Beck had released his heavily doctored video, Flash had practically beat down Ned’s door and asked how he could help. With his large Twitter, Instagram and TikTok following, he had been able to help get the word out about local protests and had been the person behind #NY❤️sSpidey and #PeterParkerisInnocent trending on twitter for multiple days.

Peter had uninstalled all social media from his phone weeks ago to protect his sanity and had basically only been texting May, MJ, Ned and Happy but he really appreciated the sentiment and had dropped in on Flash when he was in the park the other day as Spider-Man to say a quick ‘thank you’ as he patrolled. Flash had looked stunned and excited in equal measure but had offered a scoff and a fist bump that Peter gladly returned before swinging off.

“Well shit,” Happy muttered as he turned into Midtown drawing Peter out of his thoughts.

The school was a madhouse – news trucks were lining the perimeter, their cameras and newscasters being careful to not step onto school property and under close watch from the scattering of NYPD and SRO on the scene. That was fine, they had expected that.

What Peter had not expected, what no one had prepared for, was the literal mob of protestors with signs and banners and t-shirts screaming and chanting behind a series of guardrails that fringed the path up to the school. His classmates were walking up the path mostly unmolested and filming and taking pictures, some of them lingering around the front entrance or on the steps or surrounding lawn as they watched in fascination. A couple were enthusiastically talking to a cluster of cameras and reporters near the subway entrance.

“How did they know I was coming back to school today?” Peter asks, mouth and throat dry and making his voice croak.

“Someone must have slipped it,” MJ says, not sounding surprised. There had been a school wide assembly the Friday before where Principal Morita had announced Peter’s imminent return and had put some ground rules in place – don’t treat him like a zoo animal, no crowding the halls, no harassment – but Peter didn’t really expect anyone to listen. He’d had his own meeting with May and Morita via Zoom a couple weeks before to hammer out the details of his continued education at Midtown and his tardy and absence policy. The man has assured him that he would do everything he could to keep Peter’s school experience as normal as possible which had bolstered May’s confidence but Peter had known it was more of an empty promise than anything else.

“It’s fine Pete,” Ned said. “They can’t do anything to us.”

Happy met his eyes in the rear view mirror and raised a questioning brow and Peter gave a shake of his head. He wasn’t going to back out now, besides, the car had been spotted and multiple cameras were pointed in his direction and the mob was screaming and waving their signs even more aggressively now.

Happy pulled to a slow stop in front of the path and put the car in park. “I can have them removed if you want,” he offered. “Or find a back entrance? You don’t have to deal with them Pete.”

Peter looked at the crowd again and gnawed at his already ragged lip. “It’s okay. It’ll just make it worse if I try to avoid them.”

Happy muttered something about self-flagellation under his breath with a fond eye roll but didn’t fight him. “Just don’t say anything,” he advises. “Don’t look at them and don’t say anything. Just keep walking until you’re in the school okay? I’ll be here right at four-thirty to pick you up after decathlon.”

“Thanks Happy,” Peter says, trading seats with Michelle so that he’ll be the first to emerge from the car and tightening his backpack straps. He wishes he had his red and black suit with him instead of the Iron Spider in its housing units on his wrists – the weight, minuscule as it is, is always comforting on his back. He wishes he was wearing his mask. He wishes he could just be plain Peter Parker again. He takes a deep, fortifying breath and opens the door.

The angry roar of the crowd when they see him nearly deafens him and he fights the urge to cover his ears and protect his sensitive hearing. Flash materializes out of nowhere to stand staunchly at his side as MJ slips out of the car, clearly nervous but ignoring the mass of people and grabbing his hand. “Nice hair Eugene,” she teases as Ned joins them and closes the door. Flash rolls his eyes at her and pushes his shockingly blonde fringe out of his eyes.

“You wish you could pull this off,” he offers in response and her smile becomes more genuine at the ribbing.

“Maybe red,” she muses, adjusting her own bag on her shoulder before she starts to walk up the sidewalk.

The path is only wide enough for them to walk two by two and MJ pulls him closer and holds his hand tighter as they face the school. Peter tries to ignore the signs and screams as he walks resolutely toward the door but he can’t completely block them out, especially after seeing a blown up copy of his year book photo with devil horns calling him a murderer. The woman holding it, wearing a t-shirt with a similar message and a button with Mysterio’s helmet on it, spews even more vitriol when she sees him look her direction. Her face is red and angry and Peter redirects his attention back to the school.

His classmates crowd the stairs and most of them have their phones out to livestream him coming to school. He feels like a bug pinned under glass and he can feel his breath speed up in his chest but he tries not to show it. Ben had always told him that he was an open book and that anyone could read his every thought on his face. It had been funny back then but now Peter just wishes that it was anything but true.

It, unfortunately, doesn’t get any better inside. The halls are lined with curious teenagers and teachers alike who all watch him walk down the hall and film him and get way too close for comfort. Morita had told him that he can’t, technically, enforce the no phone rule before school officially starts for the day and after it ends so Peter will have to deal with it.

His locker is also, unfortunately, down a completely different hall than Ned, MJ and Flash’s so they have to separate if they plan on being on time for home room. He’ll meet Ned there but he won’t see the other two until second period and he has first period, APUSH, completely alone. It’s almost enough to send him over the edge.

“I can walk with you,” Ned offers, adjusting his bag but Peter just shakes his head. He can do this. He has to do this.

The heckling gets worse once the others leave and his classmates get bolder – pushing into his space and taking selfies with him and asking invasive questions. He’s never been popular and he’s always been ignored and its just getting to be too much but at least he understands why some celebrities go off the deep end and straight up punch paparazzi now.

He makes quick work of getting his locker open and stowing his extra notebooks and gym bag before hassling in the direction of his home room. Ned meets up with him halfway there, a little out of breath from clearly rushing to meet him and pushing through the crowd, and the groupies back off a little once he’s around and forming a barrier between them and Peter. Ms. Warren glances at them from her desk when they enter and her eyes linger on Peter a little longer than normal but she otherwise ignores them and Peter feels honestly faint in relief.

“Dude,” Ned tells him as he slips into the seat to Peter’s right at the scratched up black lab table. Peter groans and drops his head onto his crossed arms, not really knowing how to respond. “At least you have Dell for APUSH – he won’t put up with any shit in his class.”

“Yeah,” Peter responds. “Lucky.”

Ned winces and goes to say something else but the bell rings and the school morning newscast starts playing on the TV. Ms. Warren turns it up just as Betty Brant says “This morning our very own Midtown Avenger joined us back in classes. In case you missed it, Jason and I were live on the scene for his-,”

Peter crammed his headphones in and turned on the white noise to drown out the sound of the newscast and pointedly ignored Ned’s sympathetic looks and Ms. Warren who looked at his headphones in blatant disapproval but didn’t ask him to take them out. Thank God.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he peeked at the message coming through – a single eye rolling emoji from MJ followed by Must be a slow news day. He smiled despite himself and tucked the phone back away just as the bell rang.

His first class alone was a nightmare – Mr. Dell had assigned them all seats and had put Peter front and center in what was, probably, an effort to keep his classmates for hassling him too much and keep everyone’s attention on what he was teaching and not on Peter. It didn’t really work since people kept taking sneaky Snapchat pictures and videos of him under their desks when Mr. Dell’s back was turned. Peter set his jaw and tried to ignore it but he knew he would have to borrow Ned’s notes if he even hoped at passing the class.

His AP English class was a little better since he had both Ned and MJ with him but Mr. Harrington who was, arguably, his favorite teacher and one that had, apparently, really gone to bat for him against the PTO and school board so that he could keep his scholarship and go to school, was a little oblivious. His classmates were even more bold and blatant and he was clenching his jaw so much he thought his teeth might break.

“Come with me,” MJ said, pulling him out of his desk right as the bell rang and rushing out the door.

“Where are we going?” Peter asked, stumbling after her as she pulled him toward one of the stock rooms, pushing him in and closing and locking the door behind them.

“To the roof,” she answered, standing on an overturned bucket to open up the small window. Peter blinked in surprise.

“But you have art this hour.”

“And you have a free period,” MJ said like it was obvious, hopping off the bucket and herding him to the window. “Ms. Goode loves me anyway so she won’t care if I miss a class. Hurry up and get sticky.”

Peter let out a bark of a laugh and climbed up the wall, pulling Michelle through the window after him and carefully avoiding the classrooms and front of the building until they reached the roof. The sun was bright and warm on his skin and he laid on his back just reveling in the silence. “This is nice,” he said, catching the book MJ dropped before it hit his stomach without opening his eyes and positioning it behind his head as a pillow. She settled in next to him, rustling with some paper and he cracked open one eye to glance at her. “What is that?”

“The Daily Bugle,” she answered, flicking through a couple pages and skimming the words, ignoring as Peter choked on his own saliva and fell into a coughing fit.

“You’re actually reading that garbage? You know what they’re saying about me right? Jameson keeps calling me a ‘Spider-Menace like that even makes sense-.”

“It’s actually pretty hilarious,” she said interrupting his tirade and stopping her flicking to read through a page. “Oh look at this, this is a good one: ‘Some suggest that Parker’s powers include the male spider’s ability to hypnotize females.”

“Stop, c’mon,” Peter says back, slightly irritated at her teasing.

“Yes my Spider-Lord,” MJ says, dropping her voice in pitch and, against his will he starts chuckling. It makes him feel lighter and calmer and warm.

“Can we just like sit up here all day? It is so crazy down there.”

MJ hums and flicks over to the next page, still skimming. “I mean we could,” she says, neutral. “But would it really help anything?”

Peter sighs and flops over on his stomach to beat his head gently into the book. “Probably not.” His stomach growls and he sighs – at least lunch is next. MJ’s hand skims down his neck to sit in the small of his back.

“I can think of something that could take your mind off it,” she says lightly and Peter feels his cheeks heat just a little but rolls his head over to smirk at her.

“Do tell.”

She gives him a little smile of her own before poking him until he moves enough for her to perch on his lap. He curls block out the sun and she’s at just the perfect height for him to lean forward and pull her into kiss.

They slip back into the window of the stock room just before the bell rings to end third period with their lips swollen and their hair a little more messy than it was before but with bright smiles and less tense muscles. Peter keeps his ear to the door and waits for the hallway to clear before they slip out and make their way to the lunch room.

Both of them had brought lunch so it was easier to creep in unnoticed through the side door and join Ned and Flash in the back corner of the cafeteria. It didn’t take too long before their classmates started murmuring and pointing and, despite the numerous warnings from various administrators and the fact that five of the sophomore level teachers were seated at their own table near the front of the room, many of the students took notice of their sudden appearance and were attempting to take surreptitious pictures and videos of them on phones hidden under tables and halfway in hoodie pockets. Peter felt his ears turn red as he ducked his head closer to the table and nearly into his sandwich. MJ glared at the table closest to them and the few girls seated there at least had the decency to look ashamed though they didn’t tuck their phones away.

“So this is fun,” Flash muttered as he picked at the flavorless and congealed school spaghetti on his tray. His normal table of friends and groupies were seated a few tables away and looking at him with jealously. Awkward silence followed his deadpan grumbling and Peter shifted uncomfortably.

Michelle rolled her eyes and snorted indelicately before glancing at Peter with clear mischief in her eyes and slapping her copy of the Daily Bugle on the table before flipping it open to a page she had earmarked. Peter groaned and dropped his head to thunk on the table dramatically as MJ said “ Did you know that Peter can hypnotize females with his spider powers?”

Ned snorted so abruptly some of the water he was drinking dribbled out his nose causing him to cough and gag and Flash to thump him on the back. “Oh my God,” Ned said reverently, touching the gossip rag and cradling it like it was special as his eyes darted across the page. “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen. I need to get this framed!”

Peter whined and thumped his head on the table a few more times. “Yo Parker, this says you lay eggs,” Flash pointed out, skimming the edge of the page where a bullet pointed lists of ‘Fun Facts!’ were.

“I don’t lay eggs!” Peter groaned out in dismay, giving MJ his best betrayed look. She ignored his misery as she gleefully looked at the paper upside down to read the other inaccurate facts listed about him. “This is abuse,” he muttered, trying to pull the paper away from Ned but failing as his friend dodged and Flash batted his hands away.

“Does your ability to hypnotize only work on females? What exactly is the process?” Ned teased, voice shaking in mirth. “Wait! Wait what do you make them call you? Master of the Spiders? Arachnid King?”

“Spider Lord,” MJ provided with a shit-eating grin that had Flash and Ned sputtering with laughter and drawing even more attention their way.

“Oh come on,” Peter begged. “Don’t let anyone hear you or they’ll believe it!”

“Of course Spider Lord,” Flash intoned with barely concealed glee causing Ned and MJ to cackle more.

“You’re all the worst,” Peter told them without heat. To be honest this was the best he had felt all day – he hardly noticed the extra stares and muttering anymore. The bell announcing the end of their lunch rang and he hurried to cram the rest of his sandwich in his mouth as quickly as possible; they all had to hurry since they had gym and had to change before the tardy bell rang in ten minutes.

The heckling continued up until they split off to enter different locker rooms and Peter abruptly clenched his jaw as he realized the majority of his class was not only early to class to change but also waiting in the locker room and looking busy while they waited for him. Ned shot him a wince as he ducked into one of the stalls to change. Peter could feel the eyes following him as he did the same.

“Come on Parker,” he told himself as he took a few moments to center himself. “It’s just gym. You’ve done it a hundred times. This time’s no different.” He took as much time as possible to change, only sneaking out just before the bell rang and the majority of the room emptied.

MJ had saved them seats a bit away from the rest of the class and Peter squeezed between her and Ned, taking her hand and giving it a soft squeeze. Coach Wilson, looking particularly bored, was lugging a couple bags of foam balls from the locked equipment closet and Peter felt his stomach turn with dread. He detested dodgeball.

“You know the drill,” Coach Wilson drowned from the middle of the court. “Split in half, game starts on my whistle. Not you Parker,” he called over the din of talking and scuffing tennis shoes. “New PTA rules – you can watch and do individual work but no more team or contact sports.”

Peter felt his face flush again as he lowered himself back into his seat as the class broke out into louder conversations around him. Ned clapped him on the shoulder and said “Don’t worry about it man,” and Peter opened his mouth with the intent to thank or reassure his friend that he was okay but Ned, taking advantage and wearing a smirk, loudly went directly for the kill. “Besides, its unbecoming of a Spider Lord to comport himself like one of us mere plebes.”

Flash promptly tripped down the stairs and barely caught himself from falling on his face and breaking his nose on the floor, MJ had to sit back down to get herself under control as the rest of their class just stared at them with confused looks on their faces.

“I can’t believe you’ve done this,” Peter told Ned seriously causing his friends to break out into laughter again. If you can’t beat ‘em right?

“You’ve been an awfully good sport about this,” MJ told him later, leaning against a neighboring locker as he packed his bag and grabbed his decathlon binder. He shot her a questioning glance as he zipped up his bag. “The Spider Lord thing. It doesn’t actually bother you right? Because Ned already changed your name in the group chat and I’d hate to hurt his feelings by changing it again.”

“No its fine,” Peter reassured her. “It’s a little funny.” He slammed his locker shut and took her hand, “We’re going to be late Captain,” he told her, walking in the direction of the library. And maybe it didn’t bother him but it didn’t stop the wheels from turning. The attention rankled and he just wanted to go back to being Peter Parker again, to be completely anonymous.

He may know a guy who could help with that – it would only take a quick trip to Bleeker Street.

[tinyyoungblood]

blurry-eyed | peter parker

summary: you were once best friends, lovers and now strangers who are forced to do a chemistry project together. a lot of unspoken issues and heart-wrenching tears spilled on a friday night

pairing: peter parker x reader

trope: friends to lovers to nothing

warnings: language, ANGST but ends in fluff, i promise

song/based on: 21 by Gracie Abrams (acoustic version)

masterlist

* * *

You gripped the edge of the sink and methodically tucked pieces of hair behind your ear. Continuing to stare into the mirror, the white in your eyes was gone and the faintest shade of red stung in your lips from all the lip biting, forcing you to quickly avert your gaze to the ground. They were marble tiles, pristine, perfect, almost glistening. Slowly you walked to the door, hand placed on the handle and you straightened.

You took your time, didn’t hurry, but deep down you were worried that he would be annoyed, because you were gone so long. You were worried that he would ask what took so long and you would have to explain. But in fact, Peter was just putting away his phone and didn’t ask anything, and that wasn’t any better.

Silently, you crossed the room and knelt next to him on the soft carpet. Your right hand hit something and before you could register what it was, Peter pulled back his hand and placed it on his lap. You muttered a low “sorry” and retracted your gaze to the book in front of you. Wrenching it open, you flipped to the needed page, saw a polaroid picture tucked in between, and blinked. A pool of cold sweat formed on your forehead. He was staring at you as you retrieved it with careful fingers.

The soft and comforting rug beneath you suddenly seemed too warm, burning through your jeans. I have to get up, you thought, and quickly, you put your hand down on the ground, pushing yourself up, and gripping onto the picture like it was a cursed image. You placed it on the drawer next to the other many picture frames that were faced down, not daring to peek at it again with Peter staring at you. When you sat back on the carpet, his eyes lingered on the frames.

The room felt smaller with each passing second that you were cramped in it with him, still so distant, and slipping right through your trembling fingers. The silence added to the tear-jerking tension.

It had been 20 minutes now, and all you had done was sit with your legs to your chest, gripping them tightly. Familiar curls were facing you, almost slapping you with shame, as his head was bowed, desperately trying to feign interest in his chemistry book. You knew he could hear your heartbeat, so there was no point in taking long deep breaths. But every time you moved to grab a marker or another sheet of paper and had to reach over, closer in proximity to him, you were gentle and careful, almost invisible, to not scare him away. Peter was so close but, at the same time, so far away. It was like the lights were on, but it was black and white, and you knew he couldn’t stay forever.

He was nibbling on his bottom lip, tapping his pencil repeatedly against his thigh, and with one sharp inhale, he tore his gaze upward to meet yours. His eyes softened immediately at the sight of you, sitting so far away—scared of him when you really weren’t. A glistening glaze washed over his eyes and he immediately glanced up to the ceiling, eyes closed.

Your own eyes swam with regret just for having accidentally met his gaze. You closed them and waited for the moment to pass. Then you let the marker in your hand fall in between the pages and closed the book.

“I haven’t heard from May in a while.”

You peaked at him through your lashes. That wasn’t your voice speaking, it was too weak, too fragile, and you knew something shattered in him by the way his brows drew together. He didn’t respond, letting the crack in your voice linger in the room and vanish into thin air. You had nothing left to lose.

“Thought you said your aunt always loved me,” you mumbled weakly, a sad smile gracing your lips as you shook your head.

You saw the look in Peter’s eyes and bit your tongue.

He picked up your book and pulled out the marker, holding it carefully in his hand, before fiddling with it. “MJ said she saw you out on 72nd when it was already past twelve.” With the cap still on, he drew invisible lines on the white carpet, slowly and almost beautifully, before resting his hand on the red spot. The spot where you two had spilled cherry juice once when you laid there for hours, talked for days, and laughed for years. It was also the spot where he had told you that he wanted to end things with you.

The faintest image of two children play wrestling emerged from thin air, only to vanish in front of your eyes and this time, you didn’t fight back the tears. The blissful laughter of two best friends taking on the world was still lingering in your ear. But you knew not even the echo would remain.

“How is May?”

He looked at you with a pained expression. “What are you doing?”

You shrugged, and your eyes flickered to the ground. “Small talk.”

“Small talk?” He was on his feet now, hands threading through his hair. When he faced you again, glossy eyes were boring into yours, and a helpless tone slipped through his lips. “How can you call that small talk when you’re practically telling me you’re on fire.”

This time, you only lifted your shoulder in a meek half-shrug. “I guess I don’t know how to make small talk with you anymore.”

You stood up too, reluctantly, and almost slumped back to your knees, but you stood up. “I don’t know a lot of things anymore.” Your arms were hanging limbless by your sides and you craved to reach out and wrap them around his torso where they once belonged.

“I’m sorry if you blame me,” he said blandly, “If I were you I would.”

You shook your head and the damn tears wouldn’t stop welling up. “I couldn’t care less about that blaming game. Don’t you understand?”

He saw the look in your eyes and bit his tongue.

“It’s been 8 months.”

You almost laughed.

“You think I don’t know that? Every single day spent by myself? I was there, you know...” You did let out a bitter laugh. “And you weren’t.”

You took his silence as a cue to continue. “Sometimes, I get just a little bit alone and I miss you again. When I got an A on my Physics paper yesterday, I almost tried to call you. But I didn’t know if I should.”

You stepped forward, though your feet were still planted on the same spot.

“You were the love of my life even when I was young, Peter.” He winced when his name rolled off your tongue. He stared at the wall, giving you only the side of his face, but you could still see his red nose, the pink in his cheeks and the tears hanging onto his lashes. You pushed your foot off the ground, and cautiously, with effort, each step pierced through your heart, but you reached out, broke boundaries, and took his hands in yours as they were fiddling with the zipper of his jacket.

”And I was the love of your life inside your head,” you said softly and with the simple touch of his wrist, you felt his pulse quicken. Meeting your eyes for a fleeting second, he pulled back, leaving your hands cold and hollow again.

“Just because you’re hurting, doesn’t mean I’m not,” he snapped, and you kept quiet.

“When I told you...” He jammed his hands into his pockets and squeezed his eyes shut, a single, glistening tear rolled down his cheek. “When I told you I was Spider-Man, I said I didn’t want you to be a part in any of it for a good reason. The look on your face when I would climb through that window, covered in injuries, killed me. I thought you saw it coming, but you never could.”

“I wasn’t the one killing you, Peter.” His name stung in your throat. “You said our love was bigger than we could ever fathom. We could take on the world with it, remember? You said you would love me until the end of our days—you said forever, and I almost bought it, and you know why? Because I always believed you, I believed you would never hurt me.”

“Well, clearly things change.”

“Do they?”

“Yes.”

You shook your head.

“That night, you told me if it doesn’t go away by the time we turn thirty, you would realize you made a mistake and tell me you’re sorry. But why wait until we’re thirty? Why do we have to go through any pain at all? Why? Tell me why, Peter.” You raised your voice, despair pulling at the cord around your throat, and you narrowed your eyes, vision blurring even more until it was distorted. You repeatedly shoved his shoulder and he let you. The same way, he walked away and you let him.

The rage disappeared as fast as it shot up your spine and you halted, fists glued to his shoulders.

You slumped back to your knees with a sob and he caught you, cradling your head into his chest while his hands held your wrists in a tight grip. He was quick to wrap his arms around you, pulling you close, no hesitation, before nestling your head into the crook of his neck. Another sob escaped your mouth and he held onto your shaking body.

“We could’ve made it work. It was us, for Pete’s sake! Why did you give up on us?” You pulled back and stared at him with blurred eyes.

“Why did you stop loving us?”

There were tear stains on his shirt, and you didn’t know whom they belonged to. Reaching out, his thumb traced over your cheeks to wipe away any sign of sadness, desperately trying to hide the pain with a trembling hand.

“I never stopped loving us.” His voice was frail, almost empty, and he pulled up the rim of his shirt to wipe away your tears. “I could never. I want us so bad, Y/n, but you know that’s not meant to happen.”

“No,” you pushed yourself off him and pointed at him with a shaky finger. “We are not doing this again. Listen to me.” With his face in your hands, it was your turn to wipe away the tears. Staring into his eyes, they were raw and vulnerable, both knowing all too well that this might be your last chance with each other, so you pushed past the trembling and the voice cracks. You were not about to do the same mistakes as last time.

“Yes, I hate it when you come back bleeding and covered in wounds, and it frustrates me and scares me, but that’s part of dating a hero, and to my luck, Spider-Man asked me out over a half-eaten churro and some cherry juice.” He cracked a smile and used the back of his hand to run it over your cheek. “I’d rather not sound like Hedwig right now, but Peter, you’re a hero. You put on ridiculously tight spandex, look scandalously good in them, and then risk your life to help others for no reason other than that it’s the right thing to do. And I’m in love with that guy. So deeply, utterly, unabashedly in love. Peter, part of us, is you, and nothing in this world could ever make me want to change you.”

His eyes glowed with something you thought you would never get to see again, love and gratitude, and you knew you had him back even when he whispered, “I just don’t want you to worry.” You shook your head.

“I will always worry. It comes with loving somebody. Not just loving Spider-Man, but loving Peter Parker. Pete, you could get a minor paper cut and I would go absolutely ballistic. That’s just a part of me that you need to accept if you want us to happen.”

He let out a sigh, sparked eyes staring into yours, while pain was laced with his words.

“God, I missed you so much, Y/n. So fucking much.” He rested his forehead against yours, nose touching, while his hands were cupping your cheeks. “I wish we could get back those past months. I’m an idiot, a complete jackass for letting you go, and nothing could ever make up for the pain I caused. I’m so sorry, baby. I’m sorry.” He hugged you closer and closer, pressing your heartbeats together.

“I’ll move planets for you, wrap myself in bubble wrap, do all of your Physics assignments, and clean that stain in your carpet, just so you could one day find it in yourself to forgive me. I’ll do anything, baby.”

A small smile graced your lips as you shook your head, and with a voice that was rich with wild happiness, you replied, “Just don’t push me away, idiot.”

* * *

* * *

god, i’ve never written proper angst before so pls let me know if you felt anything. literally anything, if you farted, i’d love to take credit for that too. thank you for reading nonetheless! love you guys ♡

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taglist:  @honeypie-holland @nerdyandproudofitsstuff @himarisolace @duskholland @insidiousslut @totallyfangirling7177 @siriuslyslyslytherin

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[magebastard]

nate x detective dana burke (pre-relationship)

day 3 of @wayhavenmonthly prompts: date

Nate has never known Dana to wear anything other than neat, straight, symmetrical lines. A subtle, jeweled pair of stud earrings, if she has to have an accessory—but her sense of style is business-like and no-nonsense, all the way down to the cleanly filed crescents of her short nails.

She’s sharp and neat. She’s beautiful.

Today, however, the detective has decided to steal the wind right out of his sails. In a number of ways. Unannounced and unprompted as Unit Bravo’s morning meeting concluded, she’d curled a hand in the crook of his elbow and whispered so quietly he might have missed it were it not for his heightened senses;

“Plans tonight?”

Nate tries to do right by her in his responses—he always has. He always will. This time having been no different; he’d waited an appropriate beat, regarded her tone, turning it over with care. The question had been served in a pointed way that said more, without saying very much at all. It’s a tone he’s intimately familiar with.

He doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable, but he does have to ask when these questions between them arise. After the carnival, and the Maa-alused debacle, Dana asked that they take things slow. Nate has his own insecurities on the best of days, but he’d stamp down any doubts for the sake of preserving her comfort.

It scares him that he thinks he’d wait forever.

Swallowing past his hesitance, his lips had quirked into a warm—trying for charming—smile as he’d asked;

“Are you asking me on a date?”

It sounded juvenile and he’d wanted to wince as soon as he’d said it. But she smiled back—hitting charming with gusto—and it was fine. Better still when she’d said ‘yes’ with an assuredness that’d not been entirely expected, given their circumstances.

Nate’s own smile only grew (threatening to blind her, in radiance).

“Then I would most assuredly say that I have plans tonight, Detective Burke.”

The day, beyond her then quick—too quick—departure feels like it took place in a haze. He remembers ironing and gently pulling on a pair of fitted slacks and a fine, carefully pressed button up. He remembers showering, exfoliating, intricate skin care and careful, close shaving. He remembers pointed looks from Adam and smirking from Felix. He remembers an uncomfortable pep talk to himself in the mirror. “This is weird. It is weird, isn’t it? Remarkably weird.”

And he remembers air being forced right out of his lungs.

Dana’s wearing a sundress. The end of it floats around her ankles and there’s a high slit up her right thigh. Nate’s never seen so much of her leg before. He wants to capture it in memory. He suddenly wishes he were a painter—someone who could render an image to the page again and again. He’d commit himself to a single effigy; the slip of a single, soft expanse of skin.

Nate tries not to visibly shake himself.

It’s a second date.

Still.

Dana is authoritative and sharp and this is the softest she has ever looked to him.

Her brown eyes are wide and while he wouldn’t assume, Nate suspects she’s drinking him in, similarly.

“You look beautiful,” She says on a breath. He lets out a shocked, punched laugh.

“I was about to say just the same,” He replies softly. They’re stood in the middle of a public park. The sun began to set some time ago, and parents have taken to the usual evening method of exhausting their raucous children in the summertime; catching fireflies. There’s plenty of noise between the shouting and chatting of lower, more exasperated voices.

Still there seems to be a quiet hanging between them that neither feels inclined to break.

Eventually, with a nod, she gestures him to follow her. He does, and they walk.

There’s a less than comfortable quiet where neither of them quite know what to say. It cracks as he asks about her day and she launches into an impassioned recounting of her latest, frustratingly mundane case. Nate’s happy to respond in kind with some theories of his own. They then, of course, descend into outlandish ideas that could rival Felix’s own imagination.

It’s natural. They drift together with gravity. Dana reaches to loop her arm up through his and Nate’s smile brims over with gentle affection. He just barely wrestles his desire to kiss her temple.

She’s planned a lovely evening. A walk in the park—catching a firefly or two of their own, if they feel so moved to—making their way to the docks, where they’ll sit and watch the waves touch the shore. She’d been nervous, what with his aversion to sailing and the sea, but Nate’s just fine letting the salt water lap lazily at his ankles where they sit side by side on a low pier.

Dana pulls a bottle of the cheapest wine Nate’s ever laid eyes on out of a tote bag, along with a book of crosswords and book light. It’s delightful, and he tells her as much. She smiles and twists off the cap.

“I’ll decline, for now,” Nate chuckles. Her smile stretches into a lazy smirk as she tips the whole bottle back, long fingers clutching tight to the neck for a pull. Nate swallows.

They set to work, passing the book back and forth between them until any distance feels foolish and Dana has leaned heavily into his space so they both can see and utilize his markedly neater handwriting.

The evening is a dream. Conversation flows easily between them, banter and flirtation in equal measure. He can hear her heart stutter when he catches her with a bold compliment, and thud each time she shifts and re-registers their proximity. It doesn’t feel simple as Nate finds himself absorbed in a way that he’s terrifyingly unfamiliar with. But she cracks a joke and sips her wine and smiles at him and it feels like the easiest thing in the world.

“This is my favorite spot,” Dana speaks, quietly. She sounds cautious, and Nate tries to not to linger on her hesitance. He understands it. He lives with it, buried deep in his own chest. The fear of saying too much is a constant and clawing worry. The fear of not saying enough is an aching pit trapped behind his ribs.

He says nothing and politely, if not anxiously, waits for her to continue.

“I don’t know. Growing up here, if you were running away from anything,” She gestures vaguely with the arm she isn’t resting on. Her gaze stays fixed ahead of her. “You ran here.”

Nate attempts to wait out the pause that follows. He counts the seconds, making it to twenty-seven before breaking. “The view makes for pleasant company,” He supplies.

“I ran a lot.” Dana looks up at him. He meets her even stare. He holds his breath.

“Sometimes this feels too big not to run from,” She continues, as her eyes rake over his face, lingering for a hairs breadth of a second longer on his lips. Nate doesn’t need to ask what ‘this’ she means. All at once, he wants to trip over himself in agreement and hide his heart and the way it feels heavily rent open by and before her.

Dana sighs. Nate lets out his own sharp breath as she settles her weight fully against him.

“So, I wanted to take you with me,” She says, finitely, in that very matter-of-fact way that’s as precious and comforting to Nate as the rest of her.

He thinks she’s giving him permission to want more.

She’s wine-loose, however, so he chooses to want quietly for now.

Nate maneuvers himself to settle his arm around her, letting her back rest partially against his chest.

“Nine letter word for a steep rock face?”

Dana’s shoulders jump with a short laugh.

“Precipice.”

She tilts her head back to rest on his shoulder. Nate leans his cheek against her temple. He listens for a moment to the rhythm of her breath, pacing his own to match. It’s enough.

[madyxtothemax]

The Pit Stop - Part One with @MyArrowBends

Atticus: 

-After a few days, the roads and sights began to blur together. Each truck stop was the same. The coffee all tasted the same and the bathrooms were all equally disgusting. I had enjoyed the solitude at first, but was now beginning to get a little stir crazy, and despite having bought a thicker foam for the bed, it still wasn’t the greatest sleep I’d ever had. 

As I crossed into California, I found myself craving human interaction, and more important than that, I had decided one way or another I would be sleeping in an actual bed tonight. As I gassed up at another same looking, shitty coffee making gas station, I didn’t bother checking google for any nearby hotels, figuring I’d stop when I grew tired and see what was close at that point. 

The hours passed and the sun was inching down toward the horizon with a speed that my van couldn’t seem to match. Dusk had settled and on the horizon I could see a cluster of lights that belonged to a city. I wasn’t sure which one it was, it didn’t matter. I had stopped paying attention to the names at this point since I didn’t really have a destination in mind. I would know when I was ready to stop and until I felt that feeling, I’d keep driving west. 

As the city lights grew closer, that same feeling of from earlier in the day returned. I was ready to find a motel for the night, maybe even somewhere I could grab a drink and a greasy burger. The potential for brief human interaction had a grin pulling the corners of my lips up. 

Still, I avoided searching something out on my phone, wanting to see what I could find on my own. Exiting off the freeway, and making my way toward the city, my eyes searched the buildings as I passed them by. Disappointingly, nothing much seemed to be open...at least nothing that grabbed my attention or sparked any interest. I wanted to find something local, I wasn’t interested in any kind of franchise. Those places were not geared toward any kind of interaction, speed and efficiency was their purpose. 

Finally after a few turns bringing me deeper into the city, I spotted a neon sign. The bright OPEN flashing in the door was the only invitation I needed. Admittedly, I wasn’t paying proper attention because I was still needing to keep an eye on the road, but as I pulled my van over to the sidewalk and looked up at the sign to fully read it, I couldn’t stop my laughter as it filled the quiet around me. 

A tattoo shop. 

I was not a collector of skin art, even though I liked it, I had never really felt a desire or pull to permanently mark my body with any sort of image. But I could see people inside, and I could go in and look around. I could get that human interaction I was craving even if I had zero intentions of getting a tattoo. Yeah. I could do that. 

Twisting the key in the ignition to turn off the engine, I unbuckled my seatbelt and made my way toward the door, noting the time on the door before opening it. I paused to check the time on my phone...they weren’t too far from closing. Perfect. Just enough time to have myself a casual conversation with someone about something I’d never follow through on before finding myself some food and a bed to sleep on.-

Madyx:

<I’d woken with it, the unshakable intuition alerting me that something was on the way. Something for me to attend to. Something significant. Someone to benefit from my unique abilities. Something to shake up the doldrums of a monotonous wave of months. 

As the hours in the day had passed like any other with a few window shoppers, bookings and not much more, whatever I had been anticipating hadn’t materialized. My intuition wasn’t normally so off, in fact I momentarily wondered if I’d pissed off the wrong people and lost my privileges. But, nah, I couldn’t shake it, even as the hours ticked down to less than fifteen minutes before the neon went dark. 

Having just finished with the people who’d shown up to book a session with Jordan, I was relegated to the idea I’d served as a glorified personal assistant for the day. Hell, I hadn’t even done a single piercing, let alone expressed anything in ink. At least Jordan would be pleased with what I’d lined up for her; a lot of people looking to lose their memories and oh-so-many willing to accept whatever consequences came with those choices.

I had my back turned as the group of three left, the bell chiming their exit. Oddly, the shop didn’t feel empty; I wasn’t alone after all. 

Turning, I was unsurprised to see a guy had wandered in just as the others had left. First impression was strong: he looked road weary, like he’d been places, but he wasn’t weighted by fatigue - nope. He wore whatever travels he’d been on with an earnestness. He wasn’t unkempt, but it looked like he hadn’t had a shave in a few days, and there was nothing that could have been done to conceal that he was damn gorgeous. I’d need to see more skin to know if there was any ink hidden under the clothes, and there were no visible piercings… visible being the operative word… 

Right.

I detoured my thoughts from veering in the direction of the gutter and noted the feeling that surfaced during the day had morphed into something more tangible. 

Well then.

I walked his way, which conveniently enough, was in the direction of the sign that was about to go dark. He, whoever he was, already had an unspoken invitation to stay as long as he liked.> 

Hey man, anything I can help you with? 

Atticus: 

-As I stood at the door, hand gripping the handle while sliding my phone into my back pocket, I looked up in time to see three people headed my way. I swung the door open and held it for them, offering an easy smile as they passed and spoke with an excitement I suddenly realized I wanted to feel. Seeing it on others left me no choice but to notice that I was heavily lacking that type of emotion in my own life. Sure, I had bought my van and felt the excitement and when I hit the road, it was there. But it was surface level excitement. 

I wanted to feel the rush of doing something impactful in my life. I still wanted to have some kind of human contact, and while my opinion and lack of desire to ink my skin hadn’t changed in the thirty seconds it took for me to hold a door open and walk inside the shop, I was definitely more open to suggestions. 

The guy who was working had his back to me. That was fine, he was busy and I had all the time in the world to wait to be noticed. Rather than doing something obnoxious like clearing my throat, I turned and began to look at the flash on the walls. Each page was neatly framed and hung with obvious care. Not a single one was off kilter. It made me smile. Anyone who paid this much attention to detail truly cared about what they did. I was envious of their passion.

I didn’t even have artwork that had hung on the walls in my office back in New York. Maybe if I had, my attitude toward being stuck behind a desk all day would have improved. Likely not. 

As I scanned a page filled with anchors, ships and pinup girls, a voice was directed at me. I had been so lost in my head, I forgot my entire reason for stepping into a shop I had no business being in. Turning my attention on the guy, I paused at his question. Shit. Instant attraction. I couldn’t remember the last time that had ever happened. My dick twitched as if to say, SURPRISE I still work! I felt completely disarmed. A fraud. An imposter. I couldn’t help the laugh that was two parts guilt and one part eagerness. 

“...anything I can help you with…”

Was there anything he could help me with? ...yes there certainly was, but I really didn’t want to admit that or what my initial reaction to him had been. My eyes searched his face first and then his gaze as it remained on me. His eyes were warm and welcoming the way my beloved hoodie felt each time I put it on. 

I was taking too long to answer but he didn’t seem to mind considering I was one of those assholes who showed up 15 minutes before closing. Remembering my entire reason for coming in here, to have a conversation with someone, I lifted my hand to the frame on the wall I had been looking at and grinned lazily at him, one side slightly higher than the other as I answered his question with one of my own.- Do you know who drew these? 

Madyx:

<The closer I got, the better my last call was looking. He appeared to be admiring what he saw on the wall which was a lift to my confidence after a day of nada. I was starting to pick up on the energy he was throwing off, and it was coming through strong. He was rife with a quiet excitement, like he was flirting with epiphanies and on the edge of taking chances. I was feeling it on a vibration much higher than my norm. Instant clarity. I relaxed into myself after his arrival helped me shake that unrequited anticipation I’d battled all day.  

When his eyes flicked off the art on the wall to me, I was ill prepared. His steel-blue irises were rimmed in navy, and subtly backlit; his gaze flecked with mischief. The cut of his jaw was a visual temptation outfitted with an infuriatingly attractive amount of scruff. His laugh broke me out of my preoccupation. It was telling, but only thanks to my extra sensory skills. 

His grin though… that was what slayed me where I stood. Crooked and slow, even stretched his lips were full and fetching.  Literally, I couldn’t have hand-picked the features of my non-type type more perfectly. He was exactly what I liked in a guy, at least physically. 

The lift of his hand to indicate the frame on the wall brought up my stare. A confident grin preceded my answer.>  

That would be me. But those are some of my more generic samples. I’ve got a book you can check if you’re in the market. Unless you’ve already got something specific in mind? 

<My eyes raked shamelessly up and down his body, taking stock of the canvas, before heading home to his eyes. I didn’t have to wonder if the charge I was feeling between us was legit. I knew it. If he had come for some ink and a fuck, I’d be happy to indulge his pleasure, even if it wasn’t in store for me… there’s no way I wouldn’t enjoy it.> 

Atticus: 

-The weight of this guy’s stare left me feeling some kind of way. At first, I thought I might be getting one of those he’s into you vibes, but then he answered my question and doubt began to creep back in. Maybe he was one of those people who were far too perceptive and he could smell the scent of wannabe all over me. 

No, I didn’t have anything in mind. I wasn’t interested in getting a tattoo, which was how I felt before I opened the door. I just wanted to have a conversation. Seemed the only way for me to do that without him getting annoyed that I was wasting his time so close to the end of the day was to keep looking at his work. I could do that, wanted to, actually. 

I shook my head, answering as honestly and non-committal as possible as his gaze hit me with a pointed once over. All right. I knew that look. I had given it out a time or two myself. I felt more confident as I found my voice again.- 

No. I don’t have anything specific in mind. I’m not exactly the type to just fill my skin with ink. -I paused and considered how my words sounded then quickly added to it so as not to insult the guy who clearly had no problem filling his own skin with ink which I suddenly wanted to check out every bit of.- I mean, not without research, that is. I’d love to see your book. 

-As he guided me to where a few different books sat on top of the glass countertop, I noticed each one had a different name on the spine. The one he gave me said Madyx. I grinned at him again and flipped open the cover. There were pages of photos of tattoos done on people. Some pages had drawings, too, and I took my time looking at each one. The silence between us was comfortable and easy. When my eyes landed on a particularly colourful image that took up someone’s entire back I paused to study it.- Wow. This one must have taken quite a while. Your work is incredible, Madyx. 

-I chanced a glance his way as I said his name so he knew I wasn’t just blowing smoke up his ass, before looking back down and flipping another page. I was beginning to feel like I was leading him on knowing I wasn’t going to be in town long enough to commit any kind of time like that, even if I did want ink. Which in the three minutes since I last asked myself, still hadn’t changed. I couldn’t pull the trigger on something that permanent. Plus, a tattoo that large would have taken more than one session, I knew that much. As I shifted from foot to foot, trying to figure out how to let him know I was sorry to have wasted his time, the light caught something below the glass counter. It was a showcase of sorts filled with what I assumed was body jewelry. My stomach lurched and adrenaline surged through my veins. I’d always been interested in getting a piercing, maybe...it was far less permanent than ink and wouldn’t take even a fraction of time.- 

Do you only do tattoos? -Sliding the book to the side a little, I checked out the display of hardware with more than the curious interest I had previously given to his artwork.- 

Madyx:

<Gorgeous seemed to be stalling. I sensed a reluctance I couldn’t quite define. I was starting to think it was definitely his first time, or maybe he was just feeling out the idea. BULLSEYE. He admitted as much by answering that he wasn’t the type to fill his skin with ink, but I wasn’t offended, nope. His eyes seemed to reflexively land on my own collection of pieces, and I wanted to invite him to gawk with those blues all he wanted. 

I didn’t care if he didn’t want any work only that it might end up in him leaving sooner rather than later. I was not down with that. I almost missed when he caught his self-perceived fuck up, but was nearly punch-drunk when he took me up on the offer to check out my book. Normally I wouldn’t waste someone’s time if they weren’t actually intent on letting me scratch my artistic itch, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to leave and, duh, same page. 

I handed off the book and he seemed to be truly checking it out. There was an excitement for me, one I hadn’t quite tasted. It was a thousand flavors, custom made...meant for me. Yeah, this was hitting way below the epidermis, into the bone, and below the belt, too. When he stopped on the page he did, my gut twisted in the best way, he just so happened to land on the favorite piece I’d ever laid down in ink. It had been inspired by Klimt’s “The Kiss” per the patron’s request, but with several liberties worked into the artistic elements. Instead of an obscure male and female, it was clearly two males. It had morphed from a symbolist piece to something more sci-fi and steampunk.  There were three dimensional aspects and an inordinate amount of intricate details, like any provoking piece, it begged look after look. In total it had taken 36 hours in six sessions. I would have got lost thinking about it if something else hadn’t caught my attention - my name. The intention in his tone was unmistakable. Now we were getting somewhere.

I didn’t even care that we didn’t discuss that tatt he’d stopped on, it was logged into the distant past when his attention shifted to the display of body jewelry. I walked to the opposite side of the counter, light shining up from the backlit case, we were closer to face to face and hell-to-the-yes; I saw the change in his posture. We were REALLY getting somewhere. 

I handle the piercings, too. <clearing the space of the books for the full view> But before we get to that, we need to level the playing field. Got a name or should I just call you gorgeous? 

Atticus:

-Generally speaking, I was not always very quick to pick up the cues when someone was flirting with me. It usually took a couple of are they or aren’t they moments before I caught on and then properly joined in on the exchange of the flirting game. Tonight it only took me two of those moments. First when I caught sight of him looking me over and then again, just now when he called me gorgeous. 

My grin at Madyx was instant and interested as I answered, holding out my hand to him for a shake, as proper dudes do.- Atticus. 

-When his hand slid into mine, I gave it a solid squeeze, and chanced a light brush of my thumb over the back of his before releasing it. His hand was warm and slightly rough on the palm, not at all unpleasant, the kind of hand that knew how to do hard work and wasn’t afraid of it. Not at all like my paper-pushing, then couch lazing hands. The most work mine had been doing lately had been flicking a signal indicator for left and right. 

As I returned my attention back to the display of body jewelry, I briefly thought about the other places I might enjoy the rough grip of his hands and damn near groaned. My dick was more than on board and before I could pitch any kind of tents of embarrassment, I considered piercing the damn thing just to get it to go back down. As far as ideas one might think about to initiate a cooling down effect on their body, this one should have worked for bringing my semi back to completely flaccid. Should have. 

It didn’t. 

The more I imagined Madyx jamming a needle through my most sensitive flesh, the more my pulse quickened and the more I discovered that I liked the idea. Fuck. Guess my body had decided for me. I now only needed to man up and tell the guy what I wanted. Vocalization time. If I couldn’t ask for the damn piercing, I did not deserve to have his hands on me, and that, judging by the sinking pit my stomach had just become was not at all what I wanted. 

Given how everything else I had done since rolling into this town has been on impulse decision making, I let my mouth run without much consultation with my brain, and hoped for the best.-

I’d like to be handled. -Welp. That was a wide open innuendo of his own words that couldn’t be taken back now. Guess I wasn’t going with my usual subtle approach, then again, nothing about this encounter was close to my usual.- A piercing, maybe two? Do you have time tonight? I noticed the sign said you were closing right away. I can always come back tomorrow if you need to close up and get out of here... 

-I wouldn’t keep him if he had somewhere else to be, but I really didn’t want to wait until tomorrow, I was too afraid of losing my nerve or even worse, waking up having decided I suddenly wanted an entire back piece devoted to body piercings. I shuddered at that particular thought before shaking my head, waiting to see if he was game for some over time before I even broached the topic of where I wanted him to pierce me.-     

Madyx:

<There was the grin again, but this one drew me in like it was baited with something addictive. I wanted a taste. I also wanted to hear him say my name again, that was until he told me his. 

 Atticus. 

As if I wasn’t already in deep shit with the grin, he had to go and share a name with one of my favorite literary characters. I wanted to roll it around in my brain on a loop, then say it out loud so I could see how it would feel in the slide off my tongue.  I swallowed thickly and dropped my hand into the one he offered for a shake, setting off a chain reaction I had in no way expected. 

Our hands fit like they belonged to each other, his warmth matched mine but his skin was smoother, more pliant. My eyes hit his just as I felt the subtle stroke of his thumb on mine. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and an electrifying buzz scaled my spine, then split and radiated north, east, south and west. My heart started to race in an erratic beat against my rib cage. When heat balled in my gut and prickled along the underside of my dick, it finally registered what was going on. Pleasure had always been my gift, but I had only played delivery boy and spectator so I hadn’t immediately recognized my receptivity. And it was specifically something about him…. I could feel his desire commingling with mine, the energy and tension between us behaving like a magnet...SNAP. 

Shit. For the first time in my life I was on the other side of the glass I’d always looked through. He was human, it shouldn’t be possible, but his singular, innocent touch had been undeniably thrill inducing. My mind and body were both fully engaged. If it wasn’t for the loss of his hand and his next words, I probably would have stood there in silence like a mooning asshat…. Lost in his eyes and all that.

But, HELLO, he wanted to be handled. I crossed my arms casually over my chest and couldn’t suppress the sideways smirk that came on quick. I’d handle him all he wanted, and with curiosity layering on top of the attraction to him, I wasn’t going to be shy. 

I kept getting hit with solid signals from him, they were unlike anything I’d ever felt, and somehow I knew he was also outside of his norm, but completely natural.  My attention perked when he brought up piercings and something about coming back tomorrow. 

Time to perish that thought. 

Shaking my head, I dropped my hands in a wide sprawl on the display case, leaning towards him.> 

I’ve got the time and my place is just upstairs. So what do you want, Atticus? <The question was meant to be overt and open ended. And if I loved learning his name… saying it packed a thousand times the punch.>  And for the record, I’d love to handle you. <It was shameless and I was not at all sorry.>

Atticus:

-He lived upstairs...I laughed at the immediate thoughts that came to mind then shook my head slowly, speaking quickly before he could get any kind of insulted.- 

Seems for the moment we are neighbours, Madyx. -The hand that had just held his, because of course I would now be differentiating my hands by whether or not they had touched him, lifted and I thumbed over my shoulder to my van parked out front. As his eyes moved to where I had indicated, I stared at the way his lips curved up at the corners and my fingers twitched at my sides wanting nothing more than to touch him again. 

Since it was generally frowned upon to yank a guy I’d just met over the counter and kiss him without giving him any kind of forewarning or chance to stop me, I cleared my throat and attempted to redirect my wayward thoughts back to what we had been talking about. He’d asked me a question and the proper thing to do was answer it. What did I want? 

I knew what I wanted… HIM. But that wasn’t what he’d been asking no matter HOW suggestive his voice had sounded to my ears.

In my early twenties I had looked into piercings, researched all the types and varieties a guy could get as a means of using the knowledge to impress this one chick I had liked when I overheard her talking about how hot guys who had them were. It even worked, up to a point. Turned out, simply knowing about piercings was much different than actually having them, and when she discovered I didn’t actually have any, her interest in me wavered and she quickly moved on. At that point, I didn’t see the need to get anything done since I had started out wanting to impress her, my intentions had been shallow, and lacked the intent to follow through. But now...now, my intentions were less fueled with wanting to impress someone I was attracted to and more about self-discovery. 

Tonight, the idea of getting a piercing made me feel more alive than I had in years. It was the right reason to pull the trigger on this. The gut churning excitement was the same I felt when I had called the number on the FOR SALE sign that had been hanging on the window the day I decided to buy my van. I was immediately grateful to the chick of my early twenties for having inspired me to do all that research, even if her rejection had been a blow to my fragile, immature ego. 

Was I being impulsive now? Absolutely. But I already knew I wouldn’t regret this which was why without any uncertainty colouring my voice, my gaze found Madyx’s and I grinned confidently as I told him exactly what I wanted.-

I’d like the first two rungs of Jacob’s Ladder. 

-I knew what I was asking for, and I hoped like hell the nickname for frenum piercings hadn’t changed in the years since I had done all that research. If it had, I fully expected him to laugh in my face and tell me to get my wannabe ass the hell out. I held my breath, and counted the thuds of my pulse as they wooshed in my ears feeling less and less confident in my answer as the seconds passed by that it took him to speak.- 

Madyx:

<There were several impulsive words trying to fly off my tongue, but I was biding my time. I glanced past him when he indicated he was my neighbor, noting the tell tale silhouette of his VW bus. Currently nomadic, likely sleeping on a less than comfy mattress in the name of experience.  The mentality someone must possess to live on impulse was a turn on, and it worked in my favor. Without knowing it, he was feeding me information and arming my artillery with all kinds of weapons to extend the night…because without explanation, I just wanted more with him. More time. More touch. MORE. 

Atticus was setting off signals like flares in a moonless night, the attraction was undeniably mutual. I knew it, but did he? He would, I wasn’t letting him out of my company without shooting my shot. . My sensory grid was lighting up in a bright spectrum of greens, this was something fae only experienced in the rarest of circumstances. I knew what it meant but couldn’t delve into all that mythology on the spot. 

Fuck that. I was just going to go with it. 

And then he said it. What he wanted. 

I knew there was more by the way his eyes flicked over my lips and the unequivocal energy that told me he was using restraint. 

My brows shot up in reaction. My grin stretched a little wider. My dick bucked in my jeans clearly in support of this development. I toed the line of professionalism in my day to day operations, but this was beyond that. I couldn’t stop thinking about getting his cock out of his pants. With a casual swipe of my tongue between my lips, I opened the case, pulling out the options so we could get down to business. I knew he wasn’t going to run. I’d bet on it.>

You have piercings I can’t see? Or do I get first honors? 

<fingering a few of the barbells to draw his eyes down, even though I loved the heat of them on me> Are you thinking the same size for each? Or a descending size?  Grooved balls? <I smirked, couldn’t help it>  Smooth? 

We’ll get to gauge when I see what we’re working with, Atticus. 

<I loved his name too fucking much and still wanted to say it a thousand different ways just to know how it felt on my tongue, lips and in every incarnation. And yeah, I wanted him to know I had his dick on my mind, front and center. With every tick of the second hand, the tension was on the rise, and I was thriving in anticipation of reaching the breaking point.>

Atticus:

-Just as my lungs were beginning to burn for fresh oxygen, he spoke, and I exhaled slowly, controlling myself from letting out a sigh of relief so as not to let on how unsure of myself I had been feeling. There was no laughter or smirking from him that told me I had used an outdated slang. Excellent. I was starting to feel less and less like a poser with each follow up question he asked. He was very clearly taking my request seriously though I was not blind to the less than subtle moments of flirtation he was allowing to slip out with each exchange between us. And I was about to let him see my dick. I almost laughed. I held it in. Barely. 

It was my turn to speak. Right, he needed answers. I could give those. With a grin and a rub of my hands together I chuckled as I got the first question squared away.- No. I don’t have any other piercings. You’re my first, Mad. 

-My eyes dropped down to the tray of hardware he removed from the display case, ears working overtime to hear each of his rapid fire queries that I was delayed in noticing I had already shortened his name from Madyx to Mad. Both suited him, but if he was about to get face up in my junk without it being sexual I figured it was all right for me to shorten his name without expressed permission, that was how nicknames were supposed to happen anyway.- 

Size. I hadn’t really considered that when I went and got overzealous with my request for two piercings. -Laughing low, my eyes moved between the various sizes of barbells he was showing me before making up my mind with ease.- 

I want them to be the same. As far as accessories go, I’m a bit of a minimalist and the idea of gradually increasing seems a bit pompous if not arrogant to me. I can only imagine the size needed at the base if I went and got the great idea to complete the ladder. FUCK. -A shudder of regret for future me shot down my spine then ricocheted straight into the tip of my dick. All previous arousal swifty vacated my body and in a hurry. Decision made.- Yeah. definitely the same size. And smooth. 

I also know enough from my research ages ago to know I won’t be looking to stretch out the gauge, either. No matter how fast these particular piercings tend to heal, I don’t want my dick to become a branch of a Christmas tree, sagging under the weight of a too heavy ornament. God, can you even imagine?! -The mental images that began to fill my mind had me laughing again.- Otherwise, any other decisions needing made, I will heed to your expert opinion. 

Madyx:

<I caught his exhale and something about it felt like he was relieved, as if he’d just confessed a long held desire for the first time, and maybe I wasn’t so off the mark as he answered that I was his first. I didn’t have time for a smart ass remark about popping his cherry because of what he said right after. 

Mad. He called me Mad. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, as if a hand had ghosted upwards, calling it to attention. The sensation carried up into my scalp, and even to the tips of my ears. How was it that something so damn simple was so affecting with him? It wasn’t the first time since he walked in my shop, and the longer he stayed, the more I was convinced there was more of it in store.

I took him in as he weighed his options out loud, none of his choices surprising me. I figured he’d want something understated,  but I didn’t want to assume out loud and then have him reveal his elaborate plans for a rainbow ladder with alternating barbells down the back of his cock. That would have been a grave mistake! 

I laughed my ass off when he referenced a Christmas tree sagging under the weight of a heavy ornament from sizing up the gauges, unable to stop myself.>

If the piercings look like too heavy ornaments and your dick a limp tree after piercings, then someone doesn’t know shit about shit when it comes to proper technique. 

You’re in good hands, Atticus. I promise you that. <I flicked my eyes up to hopefully catch his, and thankfully I didn’t miss my target.> First, proper frenum piercings need to hit at the right depth to avoid that unfortunate look. Second, and counterintuitively, because of the skin, we’ll want to use a heavier gauge. With a lighter weight, during the healing process, it would push towards the surface, also resulting in the wrong appearance and a damn inconvenient dangling effect that could lead to unfortunate zipping incidents. 

<Laughing, it was a feat to drop my eyes from his as I started selecting options to suit his taste>

You’ll want to consider width dependent on your head. Sight unseen, I think this brushed steel goes with your vibe. 

You also have options when it comes to the size of the balls. <smirking, I laid a few out> You don’t have to decide standing here, we’ll bring them over to my station and you can see what looks right to you. 

You ready? Need a beer? Something stronger?  <My mouth on your cock to ease any nerves? I kept that last one on lockdown, lifting a brow, as I anxiously waited for his reply>

Atticus:

-My previously lost arousal was swiftly returning, and reaching tenting trouble territory when Madyx promised I’d be in good hands. Wouldn’t I just love to be in his hands. I stared at them while he sorted through the barbells, selecting some he thought would work. Long fingers, nimble and sure in their movements. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Now was not the time to learn I had a kink for hands, I’d never felt that way before, maybe they were just his hands I was lusting after, particularly when paired with this whole conversation that felt heavy with an undercurrent of attraction. I couldn’t deny it was flowing in both directions. He was making it pretty obvious, where I would have normally brushed it off as him being friendly in the beginning, I’d have to be blind to not see it now. I was damn sure seeing it. 

Things were about to get very awkward if I didn’t get control over my body. I was a magnet drawn to a piece of metal, desperate to move closer, to obtain that satisfying click when the connection was finally made. 

What was my life right now? 

How could, of all the places I decided to stop on a whim have this guy right here, and have this kind of mutual attraction happen so effortlessly. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt that way toward someone and have them return it. Years, for sure. Many years. My eye was not exactly particular, it checked out chicks and dudes equally, but it took a lot to make me want a second glance.  

Then he had to go and talk about ball sizing while smirking at me. I was starting to suspect he was playing with me. Cat toying with a mouse. Taunting my dick with his innuendo, coaxing it to come out of hiding and play his game. Did I want to? DUH. There was no denying how much I wanted to do just that. 

But how does one go from piercing consultation to...Hey, you give me a boner, wanna hook up? Yeah…..no. He was hot, and there was no doubt in my mind that he was hit on all the time. Likely every day. I was certain of it. I didn’t want to be just some lame customer who was looking for an after hours special with the good looking tattoo shop guy. 

Could I be any more of a cliche. I prided myself on being nothing of the sort...well I kind of was with my current on trend living in a van and travelling lifestyle. The only points working in my favour there was that I hadn’t documented a single moment of it outside of the memories in my mind. I wasn’t the next Van Guy with the Instagram worthy morning shots overlooking the ocean while holding a cup of coffee and casually displaying my abs for more likes. A thirst trap, I was not. I had higher standards than that. 

Questions were being sent my way. Was I ready? What a loaded thing to ask, I laughed and hoped it didn’t sound as choked off to him as it did to my ears.- Yes. I’m ready. I’m good on the beer, for now. I think. 

-I laughed again, this time it felt a little looser passing over my lips and I looked down at the tray of jewelry once more then looked back up at him, eyes finding his. Before I could stop myself, words tumbled out without much control over the content or how they’d be received, now was not the time to have shame or embarrassment, I needed to know if the situation in my jeans could be salvaged.- I once read that when getting dick tattoos, you had to be hard the whole time. Is the same true for piercings? 

Madyx:

<The energy smacking me around was nothing I’d ever come across. Fuck. It was inexplicably intense, like we were plugged into each other and exchanging a charge. I was still mind-blown by what he was putting out. His subconscious and deep-seated pleasures were stimulating mine, as if they were dependent on one another. When I caught moments of him looking at me, my body reacted and my heart was thumping, driven by the physical and not so physical. I shut-up the internal analysis as much as I could and focused on what was in front of me. 

Atticus was definitely anticipating, his excitement laced with nervousness inciting my extra fae receptors into overdrive. He covered pretty well, but his flustered laugh made me want to drop my jeans on the spot. I was stoked he’d declined the drink, especially since he’d slipped with the “for now.” Bingo. That was enough to confirm he wasn’t looking to bolt after I got up and personal with his cock. 

The jewelry out, I let my attention land squarely back on him while he entertained what I’d displayed. It gave me a chance to scope the strong, lithe line of his back, and the sharp cut of his scruffed jaw. Hell, with every fresh recognition of his attributes, his hotness was intensifying right along with my craving for a thorough taste. While I had this fuck-me revelation, he was quiet, probably thinking about the dual-punctures I was about to put through his cock.  I knew something was coming but the smirk that happened when he asked his question could not be helped.>

I’d like to see someone keep it hard through an entire inking. It only needs to be up for the stencil portion of the tattoo, after that there are creative ways to stretch a dick for the shading. As for you… <pursing my lips then rubbing them together> I’ll get the job done either way, as long as I can pinch the skin, I can pierce it. Generally, there’s more to work with when it’s not at attention. Chew on that and follow me.

 <My smirk widened just before I broke eye contact and grabbed the tray of jewelry.  Cocking my head in the direction of my station and the chair that would have him slightly reclined when he planted ass in it. I set the tray down and waited for him to get situated while I snapped on my gloves. When I turned around,shit, my eyes went straight south where it was hard to miss what was happening behind his zipper and before I could blow it, my eyes shot back to his. I couldn’t seem to stop doing that. I also couldn’t repress the urge to set him at ease and give him something to grab onto during this prelude to a pierce. 

Playing it cool, casual, intent on finessing my approach, I took a seat on my stool, which kept us at eye level with one another. I knew he wanted this in my bones, but I was feeling the nerves from the risk of it. I stepped over the edge and took the cliff dive, the words passing over my lips as I felt a rush from the free fall.> How about you don’t leave after we’re done with business. <It was a question, but the way it came out sounded more like a statement. Unintentional. Organic. Assured. I dropped my eyes to his cock before they raked back up his body...to his suckable throat...his full lips...and back home to his grey-blue eyes.>

Atticus: 

-“Chew on that and follow me.” Shit. He knew. He had to. There was no way he couldn’t tell I was already sporting wood. When he turned his back to me and headed to his station, I tried to chill myself the fuck out. Naturally my eyes landed on his ass and the fire that was in my veins ignited to an inferno and I knew there would be no way to get the blood to vacate my cock. This was going to be embarrassing for at least one of us in a couple of moments. 

Did it matter though? I was just passing through town, at least that had been the plan when I entered the shop. I came in here looking for a conversation with another person and now I was about to leave with some metal accessories. I shook my head as I took a seat on the chair he wanted me in and took a few deeper breaths trying to slow the thundering of my heart. 

I wasn’t shy about my body, never had been, but damn if I wasn’t worried about how he’d react when he took notice that I was more than eager to have his hands on me. Could I explain it away with a joke about being a masochist? Maybe, but it wasn’t true, not by the definition of the word. 

As I spent precious time fretting in my mind he had turned around from setting down the tray and...YEP. I watched as Mad got himself an eyeful and like the professional I already figured he was, his gaze moved right past my crotch and straight up to my face. 

He didn’t laugh. Or smile or even make a comment. The flirting that had been so natural halted. I didn’t know what to do with that. I was suddenly feeling overheated in my hoodie while worry about insulting him began to cycle through my mind, of course that was when things started to chill out for me in trouser tent town. I reconsidered the whole masochist angle again just to try and break the silence but shook my head to myself. It wouldn’t matter in a day or two or a week. I’d carry on with my drive and he’d have a story to tell his coworkers tomorrow. I was fine being a laughable story. 

Before I could find something casual to say, he sucker punched me with that line of staying after he was done and I briefly wondered if he was trying to throw me a bone because he felt sorry for me. I didn’t think so. The tension between us had been palpable from the start. I nodded at his non-question.- Yeah. I’d like that. Though we both know you already know that I would. 

-I laughed low as his eyes did another sweep and the previously cooling jets fired right back up again. Jesus. When did I become a thirteen year old boy seeing his first dirty magazine. I reached up behind my neck as I sat forward in the chair and pulled my hoodie off over my head, draping it on the arm of my chair, leaving me in my well worn white tee that was underneath. 

There was no point in trying to hide shit, the elephant in the room had been noticed, spoken about and well acknowledged, not to mention Mad was about to shake hands with the trunk. I blew out a breath, feeling all embarrassment sliding away as easily as I had taken off my hoodie, and grinned at him.- Let’s get to you shoving some needles through my family jewels so we can have that beer you mentioned.

[joezworld]

Money (1/2)

Merchandising! 

April, 1997

One morning, Bear was sunning himself in the yard when a group of men in dark suits approached him. 

“Excuse me,” One of them said. “Would you happen to be D7101?”

Bear cracked open an eye. “I haven’t been D7101 in thirty years. Why do you ask?”

“We are from the law offices of Goodman, McGill, and Associates.” The man said quickly, causing Bear to open both of his eyes. “And we represent the Learning Curve Corporation. They would like to license your image for use in their new toy line.” 

As if by magic, one of the other men produced a thick sheaf of papers, which he presented to Bear, who viewed them quizzically. “If you could just sign here.”

“License my image?” Bear didn’t know any of the words that the man was using, but he did know one word that described who these men were: Lawyers.

One of his previous drivers had gone through a very messy ‘divorce’, and had informed Bear that ‘the only good lawyer is your lawyer. All the rest are crooks!’

These men very clearly weren’t his lawyers, so that meant that they were crooks. He viewed the stack of papers that were being held out to him - judging from their predatory smiles and London accents, it was likely that they didn’t believe he could read, and even if they did, he doubted they were going to let him take the time to read every page of that document, especially considering that he didn’t have any hands to hold it with!

“Gentlemen, I do not believe that now is the best time for this,” he said while looking over at the door to the yard offices as though his driver was about to come out of it. “Perhaps we could meet again in a few days? Seven tomorrow night at the big station?”

The men agreed, and left. 

When Bear’s driver eventually did show up several hours later, he found his engine unusually eager to go, especially considering their destination. 

-

Wellsworth

“Good afternoon Mister Growls!” Said Ben cheekily as he shunted Bear’s clay trucks. 

“Same to you.” Bear said. “Listen, Ben-”

“I’m Bill.”

“Whichever one you are - you seem like the kind of engine who knows how to get a lawyer. Would I be correct in that assumption?”

“You might be...” Ben said slowly. “But why does such a fine upstanding engine like you need a lawyer?”

After Bear finished explaining, Ben looked unusually upset, and had dropped the playful attitude he usually had. “Those berks are tying to swindle you! Don’t worry - I do know someone. He’ll meet you tonight.”

-

 That night, Ben’s lawyer, who was actually called a solicitor, met with Bear in the sheds. He was a peculiar man, with an American accent, white hair, and a simply ridiculous combination of clothing - red pants, a blue tie, and a checked coat - that somehow worked quite well on him. Bear was suspicious, but Ben had assured him that for all his peculiarities, he was excellent at what he did. 

After listening to what Bear had been told, he agreed with what Ben had said. 

“How are they swindling me?” Bear asked, puzzled. 

“Well, this company makes toys based on the Thin Clergyman’s books, and the television series that is based off of the books.” The man explained. 

“When they make the toys, they’re basing them off of the drawings of you in the books or the models in the tv series. So they wouldn’t have to pay anyone, because the artists were paid by the publishers, so they own the rights to those drawings, and then the publishers hired the toy company, so they can use the drawings from the books.” 

“Now, I don’t know why they would try to buy the license to your image, but you have only appeared in a few books, so it might be possible that the artist doesn’t have the drawings anymore, or there’s another reason why. International copyright law is very difficult.”

 Bear, who felt very overwhelmed, had to agree!

-

The Next Day

Bear arrived at the big station with the 18:45 Limited. Once the shunter took away his train, Bear had his driver park him on the siding closest to the platforms. 

The lawyers showed up at 7:00 on the dot, an enormous pile of papers in their hands. 

“Mister 7101!” The leader said, smiling like a predatory animal. “A pleasure to see you again! Have you given any thought to our proposal?”

Bear smiled. Unlike yesterday, he was prepared, and his smile was much sharper than it would ordinarily be. From the platform, Oliver shivered - he’d seen smiles like that before - on diesels in the 60′s.

“I have, and I believe that my solicitor would like to discuss the particulars of this contract with you.”

Bear’s solicitor, who had been standing behind a pillar wearing an absurd white jacket, stepped into view. “Hello gentlemen. I understand that you wish to use my client’s image?”

The lawyer’s faces fell as they turned to face Bear’s lawyer, who was beaming broadly. 

“Thomas Perfect, attorney at law. Here’s my card.”

The other men frowned deeply as he swiped the papers from them and began perusing them. After a moment, his smile fell, and he glared at the men as though they’d insulted him. “You lot have a lot of nerve trying to approach my client with this.” He said, gesturing to the papers. “He will sign absolutely nothing until you come back with a real contract - now get out of here before I report you to The Law Society!” 

The men fled in the most dignified manner they could, leaving Bear and Mr. Perfect alone. 

“I am so glad that I was here - that was one of the most offensive offers I have ever been presented with!” He ranted to Bear. “Honestly, the nerve of those people!”

“What did it say?”

“Oh nothing much - except that they wanted to take your image and make toys from it without paying you! If you’d signed this, they’d have been well within their rights to do whatever they wanted and not pay you a penny - Priddy or otherwise!” 

Bear was offended, even if he still didn’t know what any of that meant. 

He asked Mr. Perfect this, and he laughed. 

“So basically what these swindlers are trying to do is buy from you, the rights to use your image - and by image I mean what you look like specifically, because you own that - so they can make products from it. These people want to make toys, so they want to buy your image so they can make little models of you and sell them.” 

He paused. “What’s really offensive here is that they didn’t want to license your image - which means that you own it still but are letting them use it for a fee; they wanted to buy your image outright for a pittance! I think this said a few hundred pounds, which is absolutely ludicrous. If I were a good man I’d report them to the Law Society, but I’m a lawyer, so I’m going to rake them over the coals and take every pound they have instead.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yes! Yes it is!”

----

Several weeks went by, and the men never returned - Mr. Perfect had apparently been negotiating with their employers directly, and it was not necessary for them to come to Sodor.

Bear had been kept appraised of the ‘negotiations’ that had been ongoing - apparently his lawyer was very good at his job, or the other lawyers were very bad at theirs - and he was now getting an extremely generous offer for ‘the nonexclusive licensing of his image specifically in regards to wooden railway-compatible models’, whatever that meant - it had been explained to him several times, but he still didn’t quite understand it. His lawyer assured him that this was on purpose, but he shouldn’t worry about it. 

Finally, two months later, a balding man with a severe gray suit arrived at the big station with Bear’s lawyer, who was quite naturally dressed in the most flamboyant outfit Bear had ever seen. 

“Mister Bear,” He said after a moment, looking like he had swallowed a lemon. “I feel that we have gotten off on the wrong foot with our meeting, and I would like to apologize. After careful consultation with Mister Perfect, I believe that this contract is more than acceptable. Forty percent gross retail sales, an annual license fee of fifteen thousand pounds per year for at least five years, beginning when sales begin at Christmas, and final veto power over any future products. I trust that this is all acceptable?”

Bear’s lawyer nodded, so Bear accepted. It took some doing, but with a pen jammed between his teeth, Bear managed to sign the papers. 

-

-

“So Mister Toy-Train,” Bill teased. “Where are they?”

“Where’s what?” Bear asked warily.

“The models! I heard that you were the hottest toy of the year.” 

“Oh, that.” Bear had heard all about the trouble his model had caused. “I’d imagine that they’re still stuck in transit. I don’t know much about toy-making, but I would assume that it’s not normal for there to not be enough toys at Christmas!”

“Actually, that’s a sign that its popular! It means that everybody wants one, and when nobody can get one, people’ll go mad to get their hands on one.” 

“I hope nobody went mad over a model of me!” 

“Oh you should my large Bear-y friend! That means that more people are buying the models, which means that you’re getting more money from that company!”

“Hmm. I suppose I should look into that.” Bear’s eyes widened as he remembered something. “Oh right - I was supposed to ask you if you knew any ‘money managers?’ Mister Perfect said that you knew someone who was trustworthy.”

“Oh I do, but it might not be worth it if its only a few thousand pounds. My brother and I invest our own money because we started out that way.”

“You have money?”

“Oh yeah! We own a racehorse - he does really well.”

"No they don’t!” Shouted BoCo from the other end of the yard. 

“Ignore him.” Bill said. “How much money is it?”

Bear told him how much money it was.

“I’ll put you in touch with her.” Bill gasped, his eyes wide.