#and now its the busiest season at work where i have to be on my feet for 8 hours at a time which is the worst thing for my pain

[havecourage-darling]

Lucky Number Seven

blue-serendipity asked: Hello you :) To say i fell in love with the way you write Eddie is a total understatement! Idk if you have your requests open but i thought to just try my luck. Was thinking of Eddie X Reader where the reader has similar powers to Eleven and knows the whole Hawkins gang from before Season 4 ? She (or GN Reader) is also quite Eddie's age, maybe 1-2 y older. If you ever have time for this, you would make a tiny fan from far away mega happy! Anyhow, lots of love and can'T wait for more stories^^

A/N: You might have been looking for something a little more romantic lol but I already had most of this written and on the backburner while finishing the Firsts series. It's barely proof read so excuse any inconsistencies or typos. Additionally, I had a POC reader in mind when writing this, but should read easily. Hope you like it! xo

(also, if anyone has any burning requests...I'm happy to try my hand at any!)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Adopted!Hopper Reader

wc: ~6.8k

warnings: cursing, S4 V1 spoilers

Masterlist || AO3 link

You knew you should’ve gone to California with your sister.

Hawkins was never going to let you out of its grip. Eleven knew that, Joyce knew that, that’s why they left this haunted town. But now it was too late. You were here and you were the only thing left that could help your friends. Your family. You were a Hopper now. Hoppers didn’t run from danger.

“I’m setting up base of operations here,” Dustin said, and you glared at him.

“I spent all morning organizing those tapes,” you said. Dustin waved a hand, your usually affective glare never worked on him. From the moment you’d met him when he’d found you and Eleven in the woods, he’d never been afraid.

“I need to find Eddie’s friends phone numbers,” Dustin said to Steve.

You glanced at Robin who shrugged and sighed as she picked up the tapes he’d knocked over. Eddie? Who was Eddie?

“Your new best friend who you think is cooler because he plays your nerdy game?” Steve asked, his tone betraying his jealousy.

Hiding a smile, Robin bumped her elbow with yours as she handed you the tapes.

“I never said that!” Dustin argued. “Besides, Sev is the coolest out of all of you.”

Steve shot him an indignant look and you punched Steve in the shoulder. “I am cooler than all of you,” you said.

Max nodded. “That’s true, Lucky is above you all.”

“What, just because she has superpowers?” Steve hissed. “Not all of us can be that cool.”

“So, you admit, I’m cool?” You said, smiling when he shot you a look.

You don’t remember when everyone had started calling you Lucky but you think it was around the time Eleven had been shortened to El. She still called you Seven and you still called her Eleven. The ink on your wrists made sure you’d never escape it, so why bother trying?

“Saturday is our busiest day,” Robin snapped, organizing the paperwork that had gone flying.

“This cannot wait!” Dustin half shouted and you hid your grin. You would deny it, but Dustin had always been your favorite. Well, and Will – you’d already been out to visit once and the two of you had been attached at the hip. He never thought you spoke too little and he never minded when he needed to explain things you didn’t understand to you.

“Do you want to strangle him or should I?” Steve asked.

“Lucky could dangle him in the air maybe?” Robin said. “That would teach them.”

You grinned at that, imagining Dustin’s outraged expression as you lifted him into the air.

“Don’t you dare,” Dustin said, not looking away from the computer. “You shouldn’t waste energy like that.”

And like that, the smile dropped from your expression.

“Dude,” Steve hissed. “Too far.”

Max’s expression turned sympathetic and you whirled away from them. You should’ve made peace with it already – Eleven seemed to and she’d completely lost her powers. After Starcourt, and the Mind Flayer, your powers had weakened and dwindled to a fraction of what they had once been.

You’d been practicing over the winter and had gotten better. Slowly. Painfully slowly. Dustin, Mike, and Lucas had taken to holding practice in the woods by your cabin after school. Steve and Robin showed up half the time, to supervise they’d say. You knew Steve was just worried you’d be pushing yourself too far.

“Sorry,” Dustin said, finally breaking his gaze with the screen and offering up his fist. “Too far.”

Bumping his fist, you accepted his apology. “What are you two doing here anyway?”

Max and Dustin exchanged looks. Oh no. The knot in your chest tightened even further.

As you watched Dustin lead you all towards the boat house behind this stranger’s house, you felt Steve tug at your wrist.

“Are you okay?” He asked, eyes darting around the dark woods.

“I’m fine,” you said, smiling at him. Steve, Robin, and you had become a lot closer after working together at Scoops Ahoy. It was your dad that had suggested you get a job and make friends that summer. When he’d adopted you and Eleven – his ‘nieces’ – you knew the town had a harder time with you. You didn’t look like they did. You didn’t blend as easily. You didn’t fit in as well as Eleven did, which was saying something. Your friends knew it, everyone did really, and without Jim or Eleven…your friends made you feel a little less alone.

“Don’t worry, it might be nothing,” Robin said, coming up to your other side.

“Or he might be just a regular murderer!” Steve said.

Dustin whirled around and glared at you three. “He’s not a killer!”

“I don’t know him,” you clarified, and you didn’t. You had managed to take to school a lot better than Eleven and were able to graduate within two years. You hoped she was having a good time with Mike’s visit. She had been hoping that you’d visit but, you didn’t want to spend too much of the money Hopper had left you both. You wanted Eleven to go to college, to have a normal life. You could wait until she was set.

The door creaked open and you pushed Dustin and Max behind you. “Stay close,” you said to them, voice not leaving room for arguments.

“He’s not a killer,” Dustin insisted.

“I don’t care if he’s goddamn Mother Theresa, listen to her,” Steve hissed at them. Max stayed close to your side, her eyes darting across the smaller room.

You watched Steve grab an oar and begin stabbing at the boats. Dustin and Steve started squabbling and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

“I know you think it’s funny but considering that everyone in this room has nearly died a hundred times,” Steve said, hand on his hip, “personally, I think it’s just good sense. Besides, we’re trying to conserve her energy, remember?”

Crossing your arms, you nodded. Steve was right, in Hawkins, caution was always best.

Dustin opened his mouth when the tarp flew off the boat and a man with a broken bottle in his hand jumped towards Steve. Instinctively, you shoved Max and Robin behind you. A hand grabbed the back of your jacket tightly in their fists and your hand was already reaching for Dustin.

“Eddie! Eddie! Stop!” Dustin screamed, his hands up. “It’s me! It’s Dustin! This is Steve!”

When there was no recognition in his eyes, you lifted your hand. Eddie’s eyes went to you and Dustin’s panic elevated.

“Wait, wait, Luck – don’t. Give me a second!”

His words fell away at the sight of the glass pressed against Steve’s throat. His eyes were lit with fear and the need to protect the last of your family surged within you.

“Dustin,” you said, words pried from your throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, everyone calm the fuck down!” Dustin shouted. “This is Steve, he’s not going to hurt you, right Steve?”

“Right, right,” Steve said, voice strangled.

“Steve, why don’t you drop the oar?”

At the loud sound of the oar dropping, Eddie pressed the bottle more firmly to Steve’s throat and you had had enough.

“No more,” you said, and Eddie’s eyes darted back to you. Reaching within, you grasped at the smaller, but still powerful, embers in your chest. They lit up, responsive, and you concentrated on removing the threat.

“Luck – wait – no, shit! Robin!”

Before anyone could touch you, you lifted Eddie into the air and tossed him to the other side of the room. He landed with a thud and you ran to Steve. Planting yourself in front of him, Steve’s hand came up to your back.

“Hey, I’m okay, I’m okay,” Steve murmured, squeezing your shoulder. “It’s okay. Dustin, go check on Eddie.”

Dustin scampered over to Eddie and you watched as the man in question bounced up to his feet. “What. The. Fuck. Was. That!”

“That was…um, that was,” Dustin scrambled, looking a little panicked, “I – she’s-”

You watched Eddie tremble and a faint bell rang in the back of your head. You’d seen him before – you recognized him. He sat at the loud table at school – Nancy had pointed him out to you a few times when he was shouting in the cafeteria. His usual smug look was gone and he looked…scared, of you. You didn’t like that.

“I’m Lucky,” you said, stepping forward slowly, hands up. “I’m Chief Hopper’s daughter.”

Eddie’s brown eyes darted to you and he took a step back, stumbling into Dustin.

“She’s cool, Eddie, I swear she’s cool,” Dustin rambled, “you just scared her. She’s a little…protective.”

“She just lifted me into the fucking air man,” Eddie’s voice shook.

Chewing on your cheek, you knew there was no way to talk yourselves out of that one.

“How about we all explain what we know…you first…” Robin said, walking slowly to them, “we just want to know what happened.”

“You won’t believe me,” Eddie said, eyes still on you. Tilting your head, you realized he looked panicked but not scared of you, not anymore. That was new. Everyone always looked a little scared of you – both of you – at first.

“Try us,” Max said.

“You’re gonna scare him,” you said to Dustin, tone unapproving.

“Why would I scare him?” Dustin asked, forging ahead with the bags in his hands. You narrowed your eyes and Robin huffed a laugh.

“Scaring people is not nice,” you said to Steve who nodded solemnly. You elbowed him and he cracked a smile.

“It’s fun,” Robin said, watching as Dustin kicked the door open and Eddie’s loud Jesus Christ made Steve laugh.

Walking in after them, you felt a little apologetic when handing Eddie the cereal you’d picked out. Instead of mistrust, you saw his eyes light up as he reached for it eagerly. Your hands brushed as he took it from you, both of you freezing at the contact. His eyes met yours and you furrowed your brows. What was that? Why did that feel like you’d been shocked?

Trying to look normal, like always, you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and moved towards Steve. You watched his face fall as Dustin explained to him what you’d all figured out.

“Hunt the freak right?” Eddie said, voice angry.

“You’re not a freak,” you said, despite not really knowing much about him. You didn’t like that word. Everyone looked over at you, surprised, and you shied away into Steve’s shoulder. Eddie’s mouth curved up before turning back to Dustin.

“We are down a few members,” Steve admitted, scratching at his face, his other arm coming around you. “We usually rely on El and Luck, to be fair.”

Dustin nodded.

“Who’s El?” Eddie asked, eyes darting between you all.

“My sister,” you said, your fingers dancing across the numbers on your wrist. “She’s my sister.”

Eddie’s brows raised. “And does she have the force also?”

“I don’t get that one,” you whispered to Steve who smiled almost instantly. You turned to Dustin who sighed.

“Star Wars, remember, I showed you the movies?”

You shook your head and turned to Eddie. “I don’t know a lot of things,” you said, clarifying. Eleven always felt embarrassed by both of your lack of knowledge – she had thrown herself into magazines and Max had helped her along the way. You, however, didn’t mind so much. Usually someone was happy to explain it to you.

“What she means is, she doesn’t know pop culture,” Steve said, looking a little defensive at Eddie’s snort. “She’s not dumb. She graduated with a 3.5 GPA,” he said, looking proud and you smiled. Nancy had practically lived at your house – tutoring you.

Dustin sighed. “The point is, yes, they both have the force.”

“That’s cool,” Eddie said, eyes still on you. Usually, it made you uncomfortable when people stared – and they always did. His was okay. It felt…nice? “Where exactly did they get the force from?”

“We went over this yesterday,” Robin reminded him.

“They were experimented on, in the lab, remember?” Dustin said quietly.

You didn’t know why everyone felt so weird about it. Whether bad or good, it was still the truth. Eleven and you had come to the conclusion that it made people uncomfortable to think of what you’d both gone through. They weren’t necessarily bad memories, not all of them.

Eddie’s eyes traveled up to yours and you smiled, trying to seem less intimidating. His returning grin was wide, and made your stomach flip.

You all heard the sirens at the same time and whirled into action.

“Tarp, tarp!”

Darting to the window, you saw the patrol cars zoom past Rick’s house.

“They’re going somewhere in a hurry,” Steve said, already reaching for his keys.

“Let’s follow them,” Max said, grabbing her backpack. You walked back to the boat, slowly peeling back the tarp and nodded down at Eddie.

“They’re not coming here,” you said quietly, giving him room to sit up. “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

His eyes darkened, his hands clutching at the cereal box. “Thanks, Hopper.”

You smiled at the sound of your last name. It still never ceased to bring you a bittersweet feeling. If you lived long enough, you wanted to do something good with your life. So his name would still live on. Lucas once said you’d make a good lawyer.

“Luck, let’s go,” Max said, beckoning your forward. You glanced at Eddie before shaking your head.

“You guys go check it out and come back for me, okay? I’ll stay here with Eddie.” Robin and Max nodded, both of them already heading out for the car. Dustin hesitated at the door, eyes tracking you both.

Steve, however, protested. “Absolutely not, what if someone comes by?” Steve said, hands on his hips.

“That’s why I’ll be here,” you said, looking up at him. “To keep him safe.”

“I meant for you,” Steve said, hand coming up to your shoulder, “you don’t have as much juice anymore. What if someone sees you with him? You’ll be added onto their list. It’s too risky – no offense Munson.”

“None taken!”

Steve’s worry felt familiar, he always worried for you. Dustin usually did too – a little more subtly than Steve.

“I killed a demogorgon,” you reminded him, “I helped close the gate. No one is scarier than the Mind Flayer. I’ll be okay. I’ll have the radio. You can call me if you’re worried.”

“Luck-”

“Steve, she’s decided. Besides, it’ll probably be safter for both of them here. Come on,” Dustin said, shooting you a look before jogging out the door.

“I’ll be back, okay? If you need me, come find me. Seriously.”

You hugged Steve tightly and shook your head. “If you need me, let me know. I’m still the strongest one.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, squeezing you. With one last glance, Steve disappeared out the door.

“You two are sweet,” Eddie’s voice was teasing. You turned around to look at him and felt confused. Steve could be sweet but he could also be annoying.

“I guess?” You said, not sure what the right answer was.

“I didn’t know you two were dating,” Eddie said, kicking his feet up onto the edge of the boat. “Didn’t keep up with Harrington when we were in school.”

“I’m not dating Steve,” you said, disgust in your voice evident. “He’s like…he’s like…” you tried to search for the right word.

“Was on the varsity basketball team? On the swim team? Everyone’s type?”

“…my brother,” you said, grinning when you found the right word, “he’s like my brother.”

Eddie’s expression stilled before laughing. “Okay, that’s not what I was expecting,” Eddie said, shaking his head.

“It’s like Jonathan and El,” you said, nodding as the words came to you. “Jonathan Byers?”

“Yeah, I know him,” Eddie said.

“Jonathan and El are like Steve and me,” you said, proud of yourself. “You know?”

“Not really,” Eddie laughed lightly again, he had a nice laugh, you thought, “but I get the gist of it.”

Smiling, you sat onto the floor, with your back against the door. “I don’t think anyone wants to date a freak,” you said, pointing at yourself.

Eddie’s brows rose. “A freak?”

“Did you think you were the only one?” You asked. “This town doesn’t like me either.”

Something flashed across Eddie’s face, too quick for you to read.

“Then they’re idiots because I already like you and you’ve thrown me across the room with your mind. I’ve only known you for like, a day.”

Flustered, you didn’t know where to look and settled on your hands. “Thanks.”

“Why did you stay?” He asked.

“What?”

“Your sister, El, she left with the Byers, right?”

You nodded.

“Why did you stay if this town is cursed?”

Robin had asked you that the day after El had left. She’d found you crying in your cabin, alone.

“Because it is cursed. This is where I was born,” you said, “this is where my dad lived. I don’t know anywhere else. El…needed to leave. The bad memories stayed with her. I don’t want to run from them, I have spent too much time running.”

“That is…incredibly insightful and sad.”

You laughed. “I’ll leave one day. Maybe New York City?”

“I’ve heard it’s pretty cool there, great music scene,” he said, coming over to sit by you. At your look, he grinned. “I can hear you better from here.”

His shoulder pressed into yours and you suppressed the smile building at the contact.

“Alright then, Hopper, let’s play twenty questions.”

“Is that…what happened to Chrissy?” You asked quietly. Your mind replayed the sound of Patrick’s bones snapping.

Your emotions were all over the place. The adrenaline was wearing off and you felt exhausted.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Eddie muttered, trying to start the engine.

“Eddie!” You screamed.

“I’m trying!”

You watched Patrick and Jason’s bodies getting closer and closer. Suddenly, Patrick disappeared.

“Wait,” you said, “where’d he go? Where’d the other one go?”

Eddie turned to glance at the water and he stilled. “Oh no.”

The lights from the boathouse flickered and Eddie groaned.

“It’s happening again,” he mumbled, hand coming to your leg. Your eyes stayed on the water, ready to act, when his body was flung into the air. Surprised, you stumbled back, landing hard on your hip.

“What’s happening? Eddie, what is that!”

“Fuck it, come on,” he said, pulling you into the water. You swallowed a mouthful of water, not ready, and felt Eddie pull you towards the shore.

“I can help him!” You said, looking around for what was hurting him. “I don’t see anyone!”

“There isn’t anyone,” Eddie reminded you, “he’s in the upside down!”

Once you felt dirt beneath your feet you whirled around at the sound of breaking bones. “Eddie!”

“Don’t look, don’t look,” he insisted, pulling you to him.

Your heart broke as you heard his body hit the water.

“We have to go, Hopper – come on.”

“Hey,” Eddie said, “you’re shivering.”

You were. Your entire body was soaking wet and the night air had cooled off enough to make you feel like you were inside a freezer.

“Here,” he said, pulling his jacket over your shoulders. Eddie’s scent immediately filled your sense, the jacket chasing the chill away.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

“Is that…what you’d dealt with before?”

Shaking your head, you closed your eyes, trying to forget the sight. “No…I could always fight something before. This time…it was invisible. I’ve never been helpless like that.”

“Hey, you couldn’t have helped,” Eddie said, sitting down next to you, “nothing could’ve helped him.”

You frowned, shaking your head, and feeling despair in every atom of your body. Leaning into his warmth, you couldn’t help but tuck your face into his chest. His arms came around you, one hand rubbing your back.

“You did everything you could,” he said, stern. “This is not your fault. You’re not fucking invincible. You’re not a superhero.”

Shoulders dropping a little, Eddie pulled you into the space between his legs. You glanced up at him, surprised, and he smiled. “Trust me?”

You nodded without hesitation and he huffed a laugh.

“Lean back,” he instructed. You pressed your back to his chest and he laid his head against the rock behind him. “I’ll take the first watch, try to sleep.”

“I can’t sleep,” you protested, “what if someone finds us?”

“Then I’ll wake you up,” he promised, “look, it’s almost – shit, my watch broke. Well, it’s probably one in the morning at this point. We’ll try to find the others the second the sun is up and we’re not fumbling blindly in the dark. You look ready to fall over. You said you trust me.”

You narrowed your gaze. “Friends don’t lie,” you told him.

“Friends don’t lie,” he echoed, pulling you back into his chest.

“Thank you,” you said, after a beat, “for pulling me to shore.”

“I wasn’t going to leave you there, you were freaking out,” he said, his breath fanned over your ear, making you shiver. “Still cold?”

“No,” you said, burrowing into the collar of his jacket. “I’m good.”

“Luck?” Steve shouted. You sat up, excited to hear your friends. You’d both barely slept as the sun rose. You’d both managed to steal a walkie from a nearby policeman and notify the others of where you were.

“Steve!” You shouted back.

Despite your eagerness, Eddie planted himself between you and the direction of the footsteps.

“It’s them,” you told him, placing a hand on his arm.

“I know,” he said, still suspicious. His expression caused your stomach to flip. You could break someone’s arm without much strain and he was worried about you.

Within seconds, you saw Dustin’s relieved face. “Here they are!”

“Holy shit, I was fucking worried,” Steve said, running towards you and all but swinging you in the air. “What happened?”

Eddie launched into the explanation, words frantic and fast.  

“When we got to shore, we tried to call you guys but the walkie was dead man,” Eddie took the water canister from Dustin and opened it. Handing it to you gently, you felt his eyes on you as you drank from it. With shaking hands, you handed it back to him. He eyed you a bit before taking a sip.

Pulling Eddie’s leather jacket around you tightly, you shivered. You’d never seen anything like that…the way his body had snapped. Eleven mentioned it once, a long, long time ago when you were both a lot younger. You’d been taken out the lab for a test in a town over after…after Eight had escaped Papa wanted to test your powers – to see if he could control them easier.

When you’d come back, everyone was gone. Everyone except Eleven. Papa told you not to ask any questions and that it was important you stayed safe. He kept you and Eleven closer after that.

“That wasn’t normal,” you said to them, “what happened to that boy…that was…that-”

Eddie pulled you into his arms and you fought off the memories that flooded your mind. You weren’t in the lab anymore. Papa was dead. He couldn’t hurt you. El was safe. You were safe. It was okay.

“We’re good, okay?” Eddie said quietly. “We’re okay.”

Taking a deep breath, the way Hopper had taught you, you counted up to ten.

One, two, three, four…

After a few deep breaths, you stood up again. Shaking your arms out you nodded to your worried friends. “I’m okay – I’m okay now.”

You half-heartedly listened to them talk about how to kill Vecna and what your next move should be while you kept an eye on the trees around you.

“Wait, maybe…we sneak into his lair and she can end him, right?” Lucas said, motioning to you.

Wanting to feel useful, you nodded. “I can help, when do we go? How do I get to him? Maybe the house?” You wanted this threat gone. Nothing could come over to this world – not after it had threatened Max. If it got Hawkins and El found out – she’d come home. If she came home, she’d be in danger. You couldn’t risk her. Not any one of your friends.

“No!” Steve and Eddie said at the same time.

Everyone looked to the two of them with varying degrees of surprise.

“Why not?” You asked, crossing your arms. “I’m the best option.”

“Well, for one, you and El never fought separately. You usually used both your powers,” Steve said.

“And it’s too dangerous,” Eddie added.

“Your powers aren’t what they used to be,” Max said.

You frowned and motioned to where you were standing. “Look around, there’s nothing else coming to help us. We don’t have any other options. It has to be me.”

“No,” Eddie said again, standing up and crossing over to you. “You haven’t slept in days, you barely ate anything, and you swallowed like a liter of lake water when we swam out the lake. It’s too risky.”

Exasperated, you turned to Steve who shook his head. “I’m with Munson on this.”

“Dustin!” You shouted, wanting back up. He ignored your cry and raised his arm.

“Boom! Bada, bada, boom. I was right!”

“No way,” you said, stepping forward to keep Dustin from getting on. “You stay with Max and Lucas. Keep them safe.”

“What! That’s not fair, it’s my goddamn theory,” Dustin complained.

“You heard her,” Robin said, hand reaching for his compass.

“Who put her in charge?” Dustin said.

“I did,” Robin said.

You crossed your arms. “Plus, I’m the strongest,” you said again, “do I need to remind you guys how many times I’ve saved your asses?”

Eddie snorted, sitting down and grabbing an oar.

Steve pushed the boat off into the water and climbed in at the last second. “Hey!” Dustin screeched.

“Holy shit, can he get any louder?” Robin groaned as she pulled the oar.

Eddie smiled at you, brows raised and you rolled your eyes – hiding your smile as you turned around. How had you spent the last twenty-four hours with a practical stranger and now you felt connected to him in a way you’d never felt before. The way his eyes stayed on you made you wonder if he felt it too.

The boat reached the middle of the lake quickly and Robin pulled you all to a stop. Glancing at the compass, you realized you must be on top of it now. Without a word, Steve started to pull at his shoes and you straightened.

“Steve, what are you doing?”

“It has to be me,” he said.

“Absolutely not,” you said, standing up, “I’ll go.”

“You barely know how to swim,” Steve said.

“You taught me!”

“Yeah, barely,” he snorted, “you almost drowned us both at the pool last summer. Remember?”

“I did not,” you huffed, “what if there’s something down there?”

“Luck, Steve’s got this,” Robin said, tugging you.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, dragging out the word, “I vote for Harrington.”

“Of course, you do,” Steve said, snorting. “At least I know you’ll try to keep her safe.”

Confused, you tried to argue when you realized Eddie was turning red. Annoyed, you crossed your arms and sat with your back to Steve until he tossed his shirt at your head.

“I’ll be fine, I’ll be right back,” Steve said, hand squeezing your bicep as you scowled. Without another word, he bent his knees and dove into the water.

Eddie’s hands came up to you as the boat wobbled precariously. “He’ll be fine,” he said, plucking a cigarette into his mouth.

“Gross,” Robin said, grabbing it from his mouth and snapping in half.

“Hey!”

“She hates it,” Robin said, nodding at you. You had. Hopper had quit a few months into you living with him. The smell always reminded you of the bad man with the electric stick. Eddie immediately dropped the pack onto the boat. Eyes on the water, you tried to ignore them both.

“Nancy,” you said, practically ready to dive in after him.

“One minute,” she said, peering over the edge with you.

“Everyone calm the hell down, he’s fine,” Eddie said, hand gripping your – his – jacket so you wouldn’t fall in.

A second later, Steve gasped and splashed water on the other side. Almost tipping the boat in your rush, you placed your hand over his. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I found it, I found the gate,” he said, gulping air down. “It’s more a snack size gate than a mama gate but still, it’s pretty damn big.”

Your chest tightened. Not again. You’d closed the gate, hadn’t you? You and El? And Hopper. After Starcourt this was all suppose to be over. That was the reward after the price you paid. This was over.

Pulled from your memory, you watched Steve get pulled under again. Your grip on his hand had him surge up. Confused, you both looked at each other before he was ripped from your grasp.

“Steve!” You screamed, panicking.

“What the hell was that?” Eddie shouted.

Robin and Nancy shifted, rocking the boat precariously. Your mind was running a million miles a minute and you knew Steve didn’t have much. Whatever pulled him under was probably pulling him through the gate.

Without thinking twice, you stood and felt a hand wrap tighter around your jacket. “No, you can’t – you can’t go in there.”

“Stay here,” you said, slipping out the jacket - and his grasp - and dove into the cold water. Kicking hard, you found yourself slipping through the gate quickly. Gravity quickly took hold of you and slammed you into a rough floor.

Blubbering, you tried to cough out the water from your chest when you heard Steve screaming. “Steve!” You shouted, trying to find him. The ground was cracking, the sky dark and ominous. Every hair on your body stood and you ignored it all until you saw Steve fall to the floor.

“I’m coming!” You screamed, running towards him. As you ran, you reached for the energy inside you, bending it to your will. Before, you would’ve been able to dispatch all three of them but you could only barely control two. Aiming for the one wrapped around his neck you pulled at the thread you could see in your mind.

Seconds later, it exploded. The blood splattered and Steve gasped for air. The ones on his side screeched, aiming for you and you panicked. Closing your eyes, you frantically aimed for the closest and it split in half. The other slammed into your chest and you went down.

Arms flailing, you felt like you were underwater, hitting whatever you could reach. Its claws sank into your skin and you screamed.

“Get the fuck off her!” A third voice joined you, slamming it into the air and it’s loud screeching abruptly cut off.

You blinked, dizzy, and saw Eddie peer down at you. “Why the fuck did you jump? You stupid brave hobbit!”

“Incoming!” Nancy screamed, oar flying in her hand.

“Get me up,” you said, “help me up!”

Eddie’s arms darted under yours and he hauled you to your feet. Swaying, you closed your eyes and tried to concentrate.

“What are you doing?” Eddie said, voice panicky and high pitched.

You ignored him and tried to remember what you were fighting for. You needed to get out of here alive, you needed to keep your friends alive, and your sister safe.

Pulling from what felt like the depths of your soul, you imagined Papa, staring at you and wanting results. With your arms up, you let out a scream as the creatures burst, all at once, carcasses dropping onto the ground with a disgusting sound.

Going limp, you felt Eddie catch you, sinking to the floor with you.

“What did you do?” Steve screamed, blood dripping from his face. His hands darted around your body, looking for wounds he could take care of but you knew he wouldn’t find any.

“Is she okay?” Robin asked anxiously, her hand gripping Nancy’s shoulder. You blinked, gaze going to the wide-eyed boy who’s lap you were in.

“Hi,” you said, voice a little slurred.

“Hey,” he answered back, his tone a little shocked. “Has anyone told you that you’re kind of amazing?”

“Yeah,” you said, honestly, liking the laugh he barked out after.

“Okay, lets go back through the gate before she passes out and can’t hold her breath. I can push her up to the surface with me if one of you helps me,” Steve said to your left.

“Look, there’s more,” Nancy whispered.

“I can get them,” you struggled to stand.

“Yeah, and lose whatever you have left? I don’t think so,” Steve said, tone leaving no room for argument. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I can do it,” you insisted.

“Hey, we got it, okay?” Eddie said softly.

You stopped struggling against his hold and slumped back down. “Okay,” you said as another wave of nausea hit you.

“We can take them,” Steve said, voice trailing off as all your heads turned up to watch a flock come your way.

“Let’s go into the woods!” Nancy said, grabbing your arm and hauling you onto your feet. She wrapped an arm around your stomach and yours around her shoulders. “Munson! Look alive!”

Eddie came to your other side and they pulled you forward into the trees.

“Steve, Robin, I’m fine,” you assured them for the tenth time in five minutes.

“You didn’t wake up for a few minutes,” Robin said.

“But I’m awake and fine now,” you said. Mostly. The nausea still rolled through you every so often. You were almost at Nancy’s house – it wasn’t too much further.

“In their defense, it did look a little worrisome for a while there,” Eddie jumped in, his hand still in yours. Nancy had fallen away once you’d woken up by Skull Rock, all of them leaning over you. Eddie had given you a relieved smile and threaded his fingers through yours. Just in case, he’d said.

Robin had shot you a look but you hadn’t minded. His hand felt…nice.

“I’m fine!” You said, the eleventh time.

“Okay, okay,” Steve said, backing up a few steps and turning to Eddie. “Make sure she stays awake and don’t let her use her powers.”

“I think I couldn’t stop her even if I wanted to dude,” Eddie said, saluting Steve as they jogged up to Nancy.

You shivered and Eddie pulled you to a stop. He pulled his jacket back over your shoulders and you glanced at him. “It looks better on you anyway,” he said, cheeks pink.

Ducking your head, you smiled and reached for his hand. “Just in case,” you echoed his earlier statement.

With a wide, beaming grin, he intertwined your fingers and pulled you closer to him. “Obviously.”

“We never finished twenty questions,” he said, after a beat of silence.

“I think we asked more than that,” you replied, stepping over a vine.

“The number is a suggestion, the game only ends when both parties agree to it,” Eddie said, matter of fact.

“Alright,” you said, smiling at him, “it was your turn then.”

“Why Lucky?”

You shrugged. “I don’t have a name and I think it made people uncomfortable,” you said, not really remembering who had suggested Lucky so long ago. You thought it was Will.

“What about Luck? Lucky?” Will asked, cheeks red.

“That sounds like a dog,” Lucas said, rolling his eyes.

“Lucky,” Eleven breathed, her shoulders wrapped in your arms. “I like it.”

At everyone’s blank looks, Will shrugged. “She’s like Lucky number Seven. We’ll always win as long as she’s here.”

“I am Seven.”

“I think you should pick a name you like,” Eddie said, “something badass like you.”

Flustered, you almost tripped over a vine. “Badass?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, keeping you steady, “you just fucking leapt into the water after Harrington without looking back. I saw you basically destroy half the bats with your fucking mind. That’s metal. Badass.”

“Badass,” you repeated, nodding. “Bitchin’?”

Eddie laughed and you realized it was the first time you’d really heard it. You liked the sound.

“Yeah, bitchin’.”

Nancy’s eyes caught yours, hers widening and pointedly looking at Eddie. Her knowing smile made you even more flustered, like you were doing something you shouldn’t be.

“I haven’t thought of another name,” you admitted. You hadn’t found your mother yet, or if you ever would. You didn’t know if you ever had a name – not the way Eleven had. Hopper had been the first person to ask you if you had wanted to switch yours. All your documents connecting you to him said Lucky. “My dad…called me sweetheart?”

Something in Eddie’s eyes changed, they became soft and like he only saw you.  

“I think you should come up with a name you like,” he said, “not one assigned to you by anyone else. Sweetheart is a good one though.”

What name did you like? You liked Eddie’s name. Or maybe you just liked him?

“I like Hopper,” you said slowly, “I don’t want to change my name. It was my dad’s name.”

“That’s fair,” he said, “what do you want me to call you for now?”

You considered the question. “Seven,” you said firmly. It may make everyone shift a little, their eyes never quite meeting yours, but that’s what you were used to. For now. Until you found something badass.

“Okay, Seven Hopper,” Eddie said, bowing dramatically, “I’m Eddie Munson. Pleasure to meet you.”

You let him take your hand and press a kiss to the back of it. Warmth surged through your body and you felt the need to hide. Without thinking too much, you surged forward and kissed Eddie’s cheek. “Nice to meet you too, Eddie Munson.”

His face turned pink and you smiled at him. Despite where you were now, and what you had to accomplish, you were glad to have met him.

“Munson! Stop flirting and keep up!” Steve shouted, shooting you the same smile as Nancy had.

Eddie winked at you, not denying it, and pulled you forward with him.

The portal broke open, pieces of flesh and vines dropping onto the floor. Eddie’s hand shot out to yours and he pulled you behind him. You blinked, surprised. Why did he seem determined to shield you from everything? You smiled when he glanced back at you, relief evident when he saw your expression.

Most people you knew pushed you to the front of the line, you were after all the best defense they had. But…not Eddie. He didn’t treat you like a weapon or something to be used. The weird flutter in your stomach woke, the sensation making you feel weightless. Eddie’s shoulders blocked most of your line of vision but Robin’s knowing smirk showed she’d seen your expression.

“Okay, Seven first,” Eddie said, ushering you towards the makeshift rope.

Steve’s eyes got a familiar teasing glint in them and Nancy shot you a knowing look.

“I’ll stay last,” you said quietly, ignoring their looks, “if anything happens, I can fight the best.”

“I don’t know,” Steve started.

“No,” Eddie said, frowning.

You nodded. Everyone knew it. Even if your powers had weakened and you felt a little drained you were the best bet. You might not be able to do the same damage you once had, but you were better equipped than the others.

Robin started to climb and Eddie looked ready to argue. “Munson, I’ll stay with her – just go,” Steve said.

With a disgruntled look on his face, he climbed. You kept your eyes around the trailer, watching for anything that felt wrong. Glancing up, you were caught by Eddie’s worried gaze. His eyes didn’t move from yours, tracking your movement as Nancy climbed.

“Okay, no arguing Hopper, you go,” Steve said.

Rolling your eyes, you focused on the current inside you – weak, but ready to answer. Steve yelped as he flung through the air and landed hard on the mattress on the other side.

“I hate it when you do that,” Steve moaned, clutching his stomach. You smirked.

“Lucky!” Dustin shouted. “You shouldn’t use up your energy like that! Hurry!”

Without much thought, you climbed the rope, feeling gravity shift as you landed on your back.

“Her name is Seven,” Eddie’s voice echoed in the small trailer. His warm hand enveloped yours and he pulled you up. His warm eyes ran over you, as if assessing you, and he sighed when you reached to hug him. Eddie’s arms wrapped around you instantly and tightly pulling you into his chest.

“I’m okay,” you promised, not used to anyone besides Steve worrying this often. You didn’t know what to say, what to do.  

His answering smile was blinding and his thumb came up to wipe the blood from your nose. Everyone around you started discussing what you’d seen, what they’d been through, but you couldn’t help but keep your eyes on Eddie despite the chaos. He’d glance at you every few minutes, smiling when he saw your stare. He squeezed your still clasped hands and you felt something within you shift.

Maybe staying behind in Hawkins wasn’t so bad after all.

#eddie munson x reader

[cozyfoxy]

Mystical Paths Chapter 5

Summary: The Howells have been the proud owners of a small but famous bookstore since the 1800s. They are known for being the only shop that collects original copies of magic writings. Dan works as the bookkeeper of the shop. As the busiest season approaches, one of the most renowned magic families reaches out to the shop and offers to gift them an original Spellbook of sorts. Little did Dan know that these offers would change his life forever.

Warnings: Panic attack

Read on AO3

Chapter One

Dan grimaced at the soft buzzing in his ear. No, not buzzing, humming maybe? It was soothing for the most part, but his head was hurting, a dull rumbling ache. He sighed and moved a bit in his bed, not bothering to open his eyes to find the source of the sound. Sleep was the only thing in his mind, he wanted to sleep longer. The humming paused for only a moment before picking back up again, sounding a bit louder than before. Dan’s senses seemed to become stronger as he became more conscious. There was something cool on his forehead, it felt nice against the ache in his head. He could also smell something fruity and floral, it smelled warm and made his mouth water. He licked his dry lips quickly before willing his eyes to open.

After blinking a couple of times, everything came into focus. He was in his bed, tucked underneath his duvet like a child. Dan huffed to himself and looked out his window, the sky shrouded in grey clouds. His window was cracked, letting the cool autumn air wash away the stale air in his room. He grunted in pain as he sat up, holding the back of his head in annoyance. What happened to him? “Oh, good you’re awake.” A voice said, sounding close. Dan quickly looked around himself, feeling a bit disorientated. He didn’t see anyone. Was Phil talking to him in his head again?

“What’s happening?” the brunette asked the empty room, his voice sounding strained. “You fainted. I’m assuming you dreamed of Arthur, yes?” Phil asked calmly, walking carefully into Dan’s room. Dan blinked and shivered despite not feeling cold. He bit his lip and tried to focus his eyes on where he heard Phil’s voice, but he still saw no one. “I… how did you know that?” he heard himself whisper, whimpering at the pain in his throat. It felt like he was coming down with something. Suddenly, a hot mug of tea was in his hands. The steam floated up in his nose, helping him relax. Without overthinking it, he took a careful sip of the drink, sighing happily as its warmth coated his tender throat. It tasted heavenly, like the sweetest berries and honey.

“That tea will heal your mind, body, and soul. It’s my grandmother’s recipe, it’s always been my favorite.” Phil mumbled, watching happily as Dan’s body relaxed. “But to answer your question, I had the same reaction when I first had the dream. On the seventh of October, after my twenty-second birthday, I dreamed of James from Arthur’s viewpoint. It was terrifyingly real, and when I woke up… I realized I had a birthmark that looked a little too much like a mark that Arthur gave himself in my dream.”

Dan scowled in confusion, trying to focus on the mug of tea in his hand without any luck. Phil knew what had happened to him. Phil had to have caused this, magic wielders couldn’t be trusted after all. He quickly searched his room, still seeing no one. He was alone, talking to no one tangible. His mind was a mess of what-ifs and fear. Before Dan could fully realize what was happening to him, he began gasping for breath. His vision blurred slightly as tears burned in his eyes and his body began to ache just as much as his head. His heart pounded in his chest, sending rumbling, painful pulses through his ears. Dan shook from the inside, unable to control his tears. The mug that was clamped in his hands was suddenly gone, allowing him to wrap his arms around his knees. He remembered that he had fainted right before he was going to take a shower, he had passed out without clothes on. Yet, now he was wearing his favorite pair of sweatpants and fuzzy socks. He hadn’t done that.

“You… you saw me naked. Why ar-are you he-here?” Dan stammered through the rough sobs that tremored through his body. Phil bit his lip nervously, slowly fading into Dan’s bedroom. His heart pounded in fear, but he kneeled beside Dan’s bed anyway.

“Dan I didn’t see any part of you that I can’t see right now. I dressed you, yes, but I used my magic. I didn’t want to overstep.” Phil explained gently, “I… felt that you had fainted. Your mind just went black for a bit, it scared the hell out of me.” Dan swallowed thickly, looking to where he had heard Phil’s voice. For the first time, he saw the man behind the voice; and he couldn’t look away. It felt like time had frozen, like he and Phil were the only two people in the world. When their eyes met, it was like the sun rising over the line of the ocean, something that happened daily and would happen until the end of time.

“I…” Dan didn’t even know what he was going to say, his mind wouldn’t calm. His mouth wouldn’t cooperate with him. So, he just stared, open mouthed at the man beside him. Phil tilted his head to one side, raising an eyebrow, “I know you’re a little all over the place. You can ask me anything. I’m here to answer your questions.” he explained.

Dan swallowed thickly, nodding at Phil’s words, “Um… so, why did I dream about Arthur?”

A soft chuckle left Phil’s lips, “getting right down to business I see. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. To put it simply, we have met before, many times before actually.” “We’ve met like twice, and both times you were a fox… I sound like an idiot saying that outloud.” Dan whispered, shaking his head himself. He still couldn’t look away from Phil, no matter how hard he tried. It was like he was under a spell.

Phil smiled sheepishly and ran his fingers through his black fringe, “Well, yeah. But I’m talking about meeting in past lives Daniel. In your dream, Arthur promised to find you in another life, yes? Well… here we are.” Dan blinked slowly, his heart sinking down into his stomach. No, that couldn’t be true, could it? Past lives weren’t real. You got one life to fuck up, not multiple.

He laughed humorlessly, shooting a glare in Phil’s direction. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play here Lester, but it’s not funny. If anything, it’s just pissing me off. I hate when people try to mess with my head, I do that enough on my own. And I fucking hate magic! It does nothing but cause issues and hurt people, especially in the wrong hands. I know your family is a big deal and all, especially in the magical world, but that gives you no right to come into my life and try to manipulate me! Just get out… leave me the fuck alone.” Dan whimpered, tears burning in his eyes.

For less than a second, Phil’s blue eyes flickered to a complete yellow. It was so quick, that Dan wasn’t sure if it had been his imagination. Instead of moving away from Dan’s bed, he lifted a shaky hand to cup the younger man’s cheek, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. He watched Dan’s shaking form wordlessly, digging through his mind for an answer to this reaction. He hadn’t expected this. “Shhh, it’s okay little dove. Please… just…” Phil sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the tip of his nose, “you may not believe me. But it’s true. The book, my journal, it can explain it better than I can. When you work again, you can read it and see.”

Dan shook his head jerkily, falling further onto his bed as sobs clawed through his chest, “I… I don’t want to go back to work! I don’t want to deal with that stupid fucking book and all of the rude customers! They look at me like I’m a fraud, they tell me my family isn’t worthy to have such a blessing from your family! I want things to go back to how they were Phil! Back when the shop was peaceful. I hate dreading going to work, when I used to look forward to it… I don’t want to go back.”

Phil froze, the realization of Dan’s feelings sending a tremor of pain through his own heart. Even the strongest people could only hold so much pressure. Dan had been holding a boulder over his head, and his arms finally snapped. How had he not realized? He thought he had prepared to save Dan from the fear, from the worry, but he failed. He had made it worse. “Oh Danny… I’m so sorry. I should've realized, but I didn’t. Look, this is an easy fix.” He explained, waving his hand in the air and mumbling a few words.

The journal appeared onto Dan’s bedside table with a small thub, making hims jump anxiously. He quickly looked into Phil’s eyes again, confusion clear on his face. His brows twisted together in a silent question. “The book has made your family plenty of money, yes? So, now it’s yours. And don’t worry, no one will remember it besides you and myself. You don’t have to dread work anymore.” Phil whispered, biting his lip tightly, a glare on his face.

“I… what? You can do that?” Dan whispered, wiping the last of his tears with the palm of his hand, “but, why? You went through all that trouble for nothing…”

Phil hummed and shook his head, “no, no. I did what I did for you. For your family. For myself. It was the best way that I could contact you, without scaring you away immediately. I know how you feel about magic, so I couldn’t exactly just appear on your doorstep and explain things to you.”

Suddenly, Phil stood up and looked towards Dan’s bedroom door, “I have to get going. I will come back if you want me to, but I really need you to read the book. Please, I just need you to understand. I need you to believe me. I… I need you.” he whispered, unable to keep his voice from breaking. “Let me know if you want me to come back.”

Dan moved to speak, but before he could, Phil had disappeared into thin air, leaving only a folded up piece of paper behind. Dan stood up on shaky legs, his mind running a million miles a minute, and he couldn’t keep up, he felt sick. He shook his head quickly and picked up the paper, unfolding it with nervous fingers.

“Dan, I was going to ask this of you while I was with you, but I couldn’t bring myself to. Until Tuesday morning, please, do not leave your home under any circumstance. I went ahead and stocked up your kitchen, so you will not need to leave for food. If you do need to leave, please, PLEASE call me. I know you might not understand, but it is for your safety and for my sanity. I wrote my number down for you so that you can text me if need be, I know you don’t like using magic for anything. The world around you will be perilous for the next few days, so stay inside. My family is keeping a lookout on your parents, they will be safe. Oh, and if anyone knocks on your door, or calls for you from outside, stay where you are and call me. Please. If nothing else, please listen to me now. I just want to protect you. I know you don’t believe what is happening, nor do you believe who we are, who I am, but I love you and I will NOT lose you again. Not this time. Much Love, Phil.

Dan closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, before adding the phone number from the paper to his phone begrudgingly. He might not trust Phil, but he didn’t trust magic even more. If Phil was warning him, then it definitely had something to do with magic. A sudden fluttering sound made Dan jump, bringing his attention to the now open journal on his bedside table. He groaned and walked over to the book weakly, looking at the title at the top of the page, “The Three Days of Darkness. Day 1, the dead come walking.”

#phan #phandom #amazingphil #dan and phil #phan fic #phanfiction #phan au #phan art #dan howell #dnpg #dnp #dnpgames #dnp art #dnp crafts #daniel howell #dip and pip #dan and phil gaming #youtuber

[idontevenknowwhatislife]

i don't read flower shop au's because i'm pretty sure people don't actually know what working in one is like. even then, i'm writing a flower shop au right now from the perspective of the florist, and i've been consuming any info about flower shop happenings like a starved man at a buffet. can you expand more on the crazy shit you've been through as a florist and/or what you and other employees do on a typical workday? tysm

I am. So happy. To be asked this question. Yes, yes I absolutely can expand.

SO the happenings of a flower shop are different based on the volume of people it serves, so just a disclaimer I can only speak to my own experience, which is mostly in large, high volume city areas. I am also located in the USA so this is all US based.

Here’s some important things to know:

In a full service shop (one that does every day flowers and event flowers) anyone who does event work has special training for it that other employees might not have. This is because while mistakes happen everywhere, it is extra important to be careful with large and expensive orders that can’t be rescheduled or remade. It also involves a lot of coordination with the client and any other businesses they’re working with, which is its own beast.

Wire-out services are a thing. This is when people order flowers from you that have to go somewhere really far away, so you take the order and then push it off onto another florist. They are an absolute bitch and a half and (in my and many others opinions) have no place in the digital age where you can just call or order online from a florist in the delivery area. The issue with them is that there’s no way to guarantee that your customer is going to get what they want from a florist half way across the country, and there is an extreme lack of accountability there. Because now if that other florist fucks up, it’s still your problem to deal with.

Always verify funeral orders (time, address, etc.) against an obituary. You’d be shocked how many people get it wrong.

In most shops, flowers are bought either from wholesalers or growers. Regardless, they come in at least twice a week, sometimes more.

It is a common misconception that roses are expensive flowers. They are actually very affordable (about $2.00/stem where I’m located) compared to tropicals, peonies, and anything out of season

We do get material shortages, especially when a particular crop gets a new growing season. It can happen with anything, but is especially common with greenery and bulb plants, which are more likely to be field grown (where the weather can cause problems). Many others are grown in greenhouses, which are much more stable

The busiest seasons are the days leading up to Mothers Day and Valentines Day (we’re talking 10-12 hour shifts even in the most well managed fully staffed shops). December and anything with local school dances are also notable

Flower coolers are specialized refrigerators that are between 33-35°F, and have a relative humidity of at least 80%. Anything colder and you’re looking at freeze damage, anything warmer and your flowers open up too fast. This temp/humidity works because it basically slows down/pauses the flower life cycle

Lots of shops also sell little trinkets or giftware. Some sell plants instead, or a combination. Either way, most are not 100% flower, more like 80%

Everyone smokes weed here

Customers to worry about

LOTS of people come in thinking that they know how flowers work. They do not. Many of those people really like asking me to make “fresh” versions of the premade arrangements already in my cooler, not knowing that any extra flowers I have are probably older than the arrangements themselves.

There are lots of people who come in and are either retired florists or had some minuscule experience in a shop growing up. They think they know everything. They are wrong. Floristry has very distinct trends that are important for shops to catch up on and adjust to from time to time. Someone who designed a fashion show in 2005 would struggle now. Someone who last worked in a flower shop in 2005 would struggle just the same.

In weddings, 9 times out of 10 the mother is far worse than the bride

There’s always that one customer that comes in for peonies in August (their season ends the first week of July) or some other thing like that who just. Cannot fathom that flowers are seasonal.

In my shop specifically, first shift gets in a 6:30am. We don’t open that early, we just need to unpack the flower shipment that came in the night before and process it (rehydrating, proper water levels, preservative, etc.). There’s always that one customer who thinks they can come and shop just because the lights are on. No.

Many hospitals and funeral homes have accounts with us. This is fine, but the danger of doing close business with someone for so long is that they can start to get bold/demanding. We have a funeral home right now that keeps ordering casket sprays for the same day. This is very difficult in a high volume shop, because they are large and sometimes difficult to make. Big stressor for everyone involved

People like to share their whole life story at the register. That’s true of a lot of retail work, but it’s extra true when they’re buying flowers to give to the woman who stopped them from committing suicide (real interaction I had this summer)

Prom moms are some of the worst people. Imagine the worst Karen you’ve ever met, except this one thinks you can change nature for her.

I once had a man come in and ask me to make a huge arrangement for him that very second, because he wanted to save his marriage. He was going to sign divorce papers THAT DAY

Important vocabulary

A bouquet is wrapped in ribbon, paper, plastic, or another material. No vase or container

An arrangement is in a vase or container of some sort (or are otherwise held by something)

All of these are designs

Generally, flowers will be designed either loose in water (like you’ll see in a glass vase) or in a special type of foam, called floral foam or Oasis (brand name). Typically, we just call it foam, though some use Oasis (regardless of the brand. Like Kleenex for tissues). A full block of foam holds up to 2 liters of water

Flowers that go on caskets are called couch or casket sprays. The most common form is a “half couch” which covers half of the casket lid

Corsages can be for the wrist or pinned to the shoulder and are generally associated with women

Boutonnières are pinned to the left lapel of a jacket (or left side of a shirt) and are generally associated with men

Both of the above are sprayed with anti-transpiration spray (often called Crowning Glory, brand name again) to keep them from losing water

And just like any job that deals with the general public, we are tired all the time, but we really like to have fun.

This definitely covers the basics and some of my own personal experiences, but I’ve been doing this long enough to have a lot more to say if you ever have any specific questions. I also have a special POV as I have a degree in this field, which is not very common in the US, so I have some extra in depth knowledge to share if you are interested.

#flowers #flower shop au

[imagineteamfreewill]

Partnering With You

Title: Partnering With You

Pairing: Costumer!Sam x Ballerina!Reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: Fluff

Square Filled: Ballet AU

Summary: Y/N and Sam are the dream team of the Kansas City Ballet, but only one of them has dreams to take their partnership even farther.

A/N: This is a submission for the 2021-2022 SPN AU Bingo (@spnaubingo​)! While this story is about ballet, it is entirely fictional and is not meant to be an accurate depiction of the ballet world. As always, thank you for reading and supporting me. I hope you enjoy! Dividers are by @firefly-graphics​

Sam’s studio is one of your most favorite places in the entire world. It’s where you’d gotten the call from the ballet asking you to become part of their corps, and it was there you’d gotten the call to become a soloist. You and Sam have dreamed up some of your best costumes on the cozy gray couch near the windows. Some of those costumes have yet to come to fruition, but you enjoy watching him sketch, sew, and piece them together during your free time.

Today is your busiest day of the week, which leaves you with very little time to visit your childhood friend. Sam welcomes you with open arms whenever you’re able to come see him, and the smile he sends your way as he paces the length of the studio is a welcome sight. His phone is pressed between his ear and his shoulder in a position that looks entirely uncomfortable and you make a face before dumping your bag and roller on the floor beside the elevator doors. He’s got his sketchbook in hand and he’s scribbling notes and sketching long lines across the paper as he listens to whoever is on the other end of the call.

“Who’s on the phone?” you ask, mouthing the words the next time Sam looks your way. His eye roll is enough to tell you that it’s a higher-up at the company and you grin before digging out your lunch. Sam’s probably already eaten, so you plop down on the couch and open up the plastic container without offering to share. 

Finally, Sam ends the call and sighs. He dumps the phone and his sketchbook on his desk and heads in your direction, giving you just enough warning to pull your feet out of the way before he collapses onto the opposite side of the couch from you.

“Long morning?” you ask in between bites.

He nods and pulls your feet back onto his lap. He doesn’t mind your shoes on his jeans, which you appreciate. Your other friends, the ones you spend much less time with, always insist you take your shoes off in their spaces. You oblige, but you’d much rather keep your feet hidden outside the comfort of your own home. The beauty of your feet is one of the prices you pay to keep doing what you love. 

“Brenda wants all the costumes redone with sequins instead of beads,” he sighs, and you groan around another bite of food.

“Brenda! You’re killing us!”

Sam laughs at your dramatics, his hand resting on your calves, and you grin at him after swallowing. You tuck the fork back into the container and click it shut, then tuck it back into your lunchbag.

“I’ve got another class today, and then we’ve got a dress rehearsal,” you tell him.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Another one?”

“Another one,” you confirm. “Apparently some of the corps learned different choreo, though I’m not sure how. We think it’s because Rowena broke her contract and left midseason for Romania.”

“You think she taught them the wrong routines on purpose?” Sam asks.

You shrug and crack open the lid on your shake, sniffing it and scrunching your nose. The vegetable shakes weren’t something you’d opted for voluntarily, but your doctor had insisted on changing some things in your diet now that you’re working harder and trying for principal next season. Sam is drinking the shakes in solidarity, but you know he likes them more than you did.

“You wanna see my new designs?”

That’s enough to perk you up, and you quickly nod, sitting up against the back of the couch. Sam grins and gets up to grab his tablet from its charging dock. He takes a second to open the file he wants, then hands it over.

You take your time on each design, carefully looking them over as you sip your shake. Sam is a master at the details, which is why you had insisted that the company hire him shortly after you’d first joined. After seeing his work, they’d agreed with you wholeheartedly and hired him on the spot. Now they keep him so busy he doesn’t have time to do any other designs, not that he minds.

“These are beautiful,” you finally say, looking up at him.

Sam sits quietly, taking in every part of your expression before giving you a small, relieved smile. “You like them?”

You nod and hand back the tablet, smiling back. “I think they’re your best yet. Is that for next season?”

He shrugs and locks the tablet again, then reaches over to set it on the small table off to the side of the couch. If Sam hadn’t been so dead set on going into costume design, you would’ve nagged him harder to train with you. His height is a bit above average for the men in your company, but he moves gracefully and controls his body with more ease than some of the most advanced dancers in the corps. You attribute it to genetics in addition to the few years of ballet training you’d had together as kids, but Sam always brushes you off. If you didn’t know him as well as you do, you would assume that he’d kept dancing, but you know that he only works with a personal trainer a few times a week.

“I’ve just been toying around with ideas for different shows. They haven’t contacted me about next season yet.”

“Don’t they normally give you the schedule around this time?” you ask. You pull your legs up close, wrapping your arms around them and resting your chin on your knees. He shrugs again and you frown. “Sam, is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.” He smiles, but you can tell it's forced.

Before you can push the issue any further, the timer on your phone goes off and you unfold yourself from the couch.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta go. Are we still on for dinner this weekend?” you ask as you collect your lunchbag and head over to the pile of stuff you’d left by the elevator.

Sam stands as well, but he doesn’t move away from the couch as he watches you get ready to leave. “As long as your rehearsal doesn’t go late. I’ve got an early morning on Sunday.”

“You’re going home for your mom’s birthday after training, right?” When you glance over at him, he nods, and you smile. “Tell Mary I said Happy Birthday?”

“I’ll do that,” he says, and you straighten up with your belongings piled against your chest. “Be safe in class.”

“I always am!”

You jab the elevator button with the only finger you can wiggle without dropping everything, and the doors open right away. Sam is still watching you when you turn around inside to press the ground floor button. His smile has faded into melancholy as he pulls one hand from his pockets to wave goodbye. Your heart sinks with the elevator and you make a mental note to text Dean to check up on him this weekend, knowing that whatever’s going on is obviously something he can’t talk to you about. He already would have if he could, which worries you more than you’d like to admit. There are very few things Sam can’t tell you, and that thought hangs over you like a black cloud for the rest of the day.

You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment sewing up a new pair of shoes when someone knocks. Frowning, you look up at the door and squint. You hadn’t invited anyone over, nor had you ordered food, and you’re really not in the mood for someone trying to sell you something. You’d hung a “no soliciting” placard on the door last week. So far it hasn't done you any good.

Whoever it is knocks again and you sigh, climbing to your feet and crossing the living room. You peek through the peephole and your frown gets deeper when you see a rain-soaked Sam standing in the hallway..

“Oh my gosh, Sam!” You usher him inside, taking the two hanging garment bags from his hands and setting them aside before hurrying off to get him a set of towels. He’s soaked to the bone and dripping onto the carpet but you could care less.

He shivers as he peels off his jacket and trades it for the towels. “I should’ve called before I left, sorry.”

You shake your head and carry his coat to hang over the shower curtain rod in the bathroom. “It’s okay,” you call through the open doorway. “Why didn’t you take an Uber? It’s pouring outside!”

“I left my phone at the studio,” he shouts back, immediately lowering his voice when you step back into the main part of your apartment. “Sorry. I left my phone at the studio, but I didn’t have time to grab it in between my meeting and coming here. Are you busy?”

Gathering up your sewing supplies and the shoes, you shake your head again. You start tucking everything back where it belongs inside your bag.

“Not really, just prepping for the week. What was your meeting about? Did you show them those designs?”

“It wasn’t with the company,” Sam says, and you pause with a pointe shoe in each hand. “Do you still have some of my clothes here?”

Sam had lived with you for a few weeks earlier in the year when his building was getting fumigated, and you’re still finding things he left behind. You nod and gesture down the short hallway towards your room. He tugs off his socks before heading to search for dry clothes, the towels still in hand.

“So who was your meeting with?” you ask when he comes back a few minutes later. He’s found a pair of sweatpants but no shirt and you’re careful not to stare. Sam’s a beautiful man and you’d be stupid not to realize it, but he’s extremely conscious of his appearance after spending so many years working with male dancers.

You can sense Sam’s hesitation when he answers, “It was with someone from New York.”

Heart sinking, you zip up your bag and grab your water bottle from where you’d left it on the floor. You take a sip, leaning against the awkward pillar in your living room as you wait to see if he will elaborate.

Your building is an old house that's been converted into a few apartments, which means for some oddities. The pillar in the living room, the strange closet in the kitchen no wider than an ironing board, and the square green window at the top of your bathroom ceiling are the most notable.

Sam leans against the other side of the pillar, peering down at you. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything.” You take another sip of your water bottle.

“Yeah, but you’re thinking it.”

You shrug and he raises an eyebrow. “Fine,” you huff. “Why are you meeting with other people now, Sam, and in New York of all places? That’s so far away! Aren’t you happy designing for the company? Are they not giving you enough work?”

He searches your face for a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, Sam asks, “Where did you put those bags I had?”

Looking around, you spot them draped haphazardly over the arm of your couch. You push off the pillar to grab them, setting your water bottle aside so you can hold one in each hand. The rainwater rolls down the slick outer covers of the bags and drips onto the carpet. The leather of the couch where they’d been laying is covered with droplets and a thin sheen of water.

Sam takes one of the hangers and lifts it to hang on the hook you’d put high up on the pillar for this exact purpose. He’d brought over enough costumes for you to need it. Carefully, he unzips the bag to reveal the bodice of a costume you’d never seen before.

“Sam, what’s—”

“Just wait,” he says, cutting you off as he takes the other bag from you. He lays this one out on the floor and unzips it, then pulls out the matching tutu. It’s a romantic style, with crystals that pack together at the waist and gradually scatter as you get farther down the skirt. The bodice has the same crystals gathered around the deep neckline.

“What is this for? Is this for me?”

You can’t bear to tear your eyes away from the silky fabric, but you manage to look between him and the hanging garment bag all the same. Sam’s watching you with a wide smile on his face.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

The fabric is the same color as the pointe shoes you’d been looking at weeks ago during your monthly off-season movie night. You’d never be able to wear them as part of the company, they had strict restrictions for your appearance on stage, but you’d marveled at them and bookmarked the page all the same. Sam had noted that the color would look good on you and that had been the end of the conversation.

“I love it, but why? Sam, there’s no show for this!”

He simply smiles and gathers up the tutu, standing. “Try it on.”

“Sam, I—”

“Try it on,” he repeats. The tutu is shoved into your arms and the bodice is suddenly there too, and he’s pushing you towards your bedroom before you can argue. Sam shuts the door behind you and you stand there, too flabbergasted to even begin to strip out of your day clothes.

In the living room, your warm-up playlist begins over your bluetooth speaker and you blink, jolted back into reality by the familiar music. Most likely Sam knew it would get your brain working again. You’d joked once that you had a Pavlovian response to the first song.

You look down at the costume in your arms and then very gently lay it on the bed. It’s one of Sam’s most beautiful creations, even if it is a bit understated compared to some of the others. The knowledge that it’s meant only for you and not for a show is enough to make it the best. Tears prick at your eyes and you quickly wipe them away before they can spill over onto your cheeks.

Sam is waiting for you when you come out of the bedroom. He’s perched on the arm of the sofa, tapping the cracked leather with one hand while the other fidgets with the case on your phone. He stands as soon as he sees you standing on the edge of the living room.

You fold your hands in front of you and give him a nervous smile. The costume fits like a glove; Sam always has your most updated measurements on hand, and you know he keeps careful track of the small fixes he has to make for different shows and costumes. As the years have passed, there are very few things he has to fix in your costumes just because he knows you and what you need so well. You try hard not to smooth your hands over the tutu or play with the beautiful embellishments as you wait for him to speak up.

“Does it look okay?” you finally ask. The music is still playing through your speaker, but it fades away in your mind as you meet Sam’s gaze.

“Do you like it?”

“I already told you I love it! Does it look okay on me?”

“You’re stunning, Y/N, but I always think that, no matter what you’re wearing.” He slips your phone in his pocket, his shoulders relaxing as he crosses your tiny apartment to take your hands in his. “I have one more surprise for you, but it won’t be ready until tomorrow, okay?”

You shake your head at him. “Sam, this is too much. What’s all this even for? I don’t— Are you okay? Did something happen with the company? Does this have to do with the meeting you had today?”

Though you know he won’t answer any of the questions, you ask them anyway. Sam simply squeezes your hands in response and pulls your phone back out of the pocket of the sweatpants. He taps a few times on the screen, typing something out before locking it again.

“There’s a pickup code in the notes on here, so you should be able to get your package tomorrow after class. It’s at the normal locker location where you get your stuff. Come over as soon as you’re ready to dance in this, okay?”

“Package? What? Sam, I don’t understand…”

He smiles and leans in, pressing a chaste kiss on your cheek. “I promise everything will make sense tomorrow, okay? Do you trust me?”

“I always trust you,” you reply. You lean into his kiss, your heart skipping a beat at the contact. Sam may have been your best friend, but you’d always wished for a little more than he’d allowed you to have.

He seems satisfied with your answer because he moves away, handing your phone to you before heading into the bathroom to get his clothes. They’ve only had a chance to drip dry a little.

“Wait, Sam, at least let me call you an Uber!”

He’s dressed in his wet clothes again when he comes back out, and you scramble to order him a car. Sam doesn’t wait, though, and you have to chase him down the steps of your apartment in the costume.

You grab onto his arm before he can walk out into the rain. “What is going on with you?” Before he can pull away, you reach up and take his face in your hands. “Did you get hit on the head or something? Do I need to call Dean? Or Mary?”

The smile on his face doesn’t falter as he places his hands over yours for a moment, then gently pulls them from his cheeks. “I’m fine, Y/N. I promise. I just… I have a surprise for you and I’m excited. That’s all, I swear.”

Sam’s voice is warm and his words are steady, but you only feel slightly reassured. It’s so unlike him to surprise you with such a grand gesture, especially for no reason at all. The costume is more than enough to make you feel treasured, but after he threw in the package and then told you to come to his studio, you don’t know what to think.

Your phone chimes in your hand and you look away. The Uber you’d ordered is only a minute away. Sam sees it on the screen as well and he steps away, holding your hands for a moment longer before heading to the door. You stand there in the costume, your bare feet sticking to the dirty apartment tile as he steps back out into the rain, still smiling.

The next day, you’re distracted for the entirety of your warm-up, class, and rehearsal. It doesn’t go unnoticed by the ballet master and the scolding you get after the first break dampens your mood. The other dancers notice you're distracted as well, and it takes your partner pulling you aside to make sure you’re feeling okay to snap you back into your professional persona.

You get through the rest of your day with little trouble from the other dancers. By the time you’re able to go pick up the package Sam had ordered for you, you’re exhausted. The lockers are closer to your apartment than to his studio, but you trudge through the damp, semi-crowded streets and tug open the door to the grocery store that houses them as your heart skips every other beat, speeding up with the promise of surprise.

After punching in the code, a locker in the bottom row pops open and you bend down to pull out the box. It’s nothing special and just has Sam’s name and the locker address on the top. There’s nothing to tell you where or who it’s from, so you pull out your phone and give him a call.

“Do I get to open this box now or do I have to wait until I’m at the studio?” you ask as soon as he answers.

Sam laughs and through the usual background noise of his workspace, you hear other voices, and you frown. He preferred to keep guests out of the studio while he was working. It would only take one hand to count the number of times other people had been there the same time as you.

“Wait till you get here. Please?” 

The polite manners make you smile. Sam was a Kansas boy, born and raised, and his upbringing always found a way to shine through, even if he was being crafty. 

“Fine,” you groan. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he replies, and you end the call as you’re walking out the door of the shop.

You make it to Sam’s studio in seventeen minutes. You’d had to stop at your place and pick up the two garment bags containing the bodice and the tutu he’d left with you last night. Sam is waiting outside for the building when you arrive, and you slow as you near the front door.

“Hey, how was class?” he asks, more casually than you would have liked.

Giving him a nervous, but excited, smile, you shrug. “Fine. The pas de deux is coming along. Is this part of the surprise?” You pointedly flick your eyes up and down his body. Now that you’re closer, you can see he’s wearing sweatpants and a black t-shirt, a drastic change from his usual work attire. Sam is a firm believer in dressing professionally, even if that just means nice jeans and even if he’s the only one at the studio that day.

“You trust me, right?” he asks in response.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Sam…”

“Let’s go inside.” He turns and opens the front door for you, gesturing for you to enter first. You comply and head to the elevator, then jab your thumb against the call button. Sam stops beside you and holds out his hand for the garment bags, but you shake your head.

The two of you ride the elevator up to the top floor, and when the doors slide open to reveal the studio, it’s bustling with activity. There are more people in the space than there are permanent staff at the company and you stall in the doorway, heart pumping in your chest. It takes Sam’s gentle hand on the small of your back to spur your forward.

“Sam…”

He smiles down at you and takes the garment bags in one hand, then leads you over to the couch. A plump woman with a kind smile pats the seat beside her.

“You must be Miss Y/L/N. We’ve heard a lot about you,” she says, and you give her a wavering, confused smile.

“I… can’t say I’ve heard a lot about you, unfortunately.” You cast a slightly pointed glance in Sam’s direction, but he’s busied himself with hanging the bags in the changing area of the studio. “You are?”

“My name is Eloise Vernon. I’m with the American Ballet Theatre.” She holds out her hands to shake and your stomach drops as you force a more confident, polite smile on your face. 

Reaching out a hand, you shake hers and set the package on the couch. “It’s so nice to meet you. Please, forgive me for being so rude, I—”

“No apology necessary.” Eloise waves one hand dismissively. Her smile is knowing as she continues, “Mr. Winchester explained that our presence here would be a surprise to you. I expected a bit of confusion on your part, though maybe not this much.”

You glance over at Sam. He’s gathered with a group of men in the corner of the studio. The dance space there is normally used for dancers—mainly you, since you’re always Sam’s first guinea pig—to try out their costumes while moving. Now, however, there are women arranging various costumes on a rack nearby. A white photo backdrop has been set up along the edge of the dance floor. Another man, probably younger than Sam, is standing behind a camera. He peers into the lens and adjusts the position of the tripod, pointing it towards the backdrop.

“May I ask why you’re here?” you finally reply, looking back at Eloise.

“To see you, Miss Y/L/N.”

You blink at her, shocked. You’ve never reached out to the theatre, and the ABT is so prestigious that you have to be invited to audition for their company.  “I’m sorry, what?”

“Like I said earlier, we’ve heard a lot about you. It was Mr. Winchester who initially pointed us in your direction, but since then we’ve seen videos and live performances. You’re an excellent dancer, and we decided it was time to connect face-to-face with you. These circumstances are a bit unusual, of course. We don’t normally recruit dancers with so much fanfare.” She gestures around the studio that’s teeming with energy despite the setting sun.

Sam’s suddenly at your side, a hand on your shoulder, and you look up at him from your spot on the couch. He reaches down with his free hand to move the box into your lap.

“Open it,” he urges.

Eloise rises and gives you another kind smile before moving off towards the other people that you can only assume are part of the ABT as well. You’re distracted by the ongoing commotion in the room, and after a second, Sam crouches down to block your view of them. 

“Hey,” he says, and you blink to try and focus on him. “You okay?”

“It’s just… This is a lot, Sam. ABT? How did you get in contact with them? Why did you get in contact with them, and why are they here now? Is this an audition? I’m not prepared for an audition, and if I’d known, then I’d—”

“Y/N. Just open the box, will you?”

You inhale sharply, a bit irritated that Sam’s avoiding your questions, but he’s never steered you in the wrong direction. His calm reassurance is enough to soothe your nerves just a little bit. You trust him, and you love him, and you’d follow him anywhere. So, you open the box.

Inside is another box, and this time it’s a familiar sight. The brand of shoe you wear is emblazoned across the top and you swallow thickly.

“Sam, these are expensive!” you hiss, leaning to the side to peek at Eloise. She’s still talking with the others on the far side of the studio. “You didn’t have to buy me another pair of pointe shoes, the company helps pay for them.”

He smiles. “Open it.”

You glance at him and then obey, prying open the shoebox. The shoes inside are pointe shoes, but they’re not your usual. They’re the shoes you’d seen online, the ones that match the costume Sam has made for you, and you gasp. Instantly, you’re blinking away tears at the gesture.

“I—”

“I know that you haven’t prepped them, but they should be the exact kind you get, just a different color. You can get them ready in what, twenty minutes?” he asks, and you nod dumbly at him. “Change into the costume when you’re done, okay?”

You swallow thickly, staring at him with teary eyes for a long moment, and then you’re throwing your arms around Sam’s neck to pull him into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” you whisper into his ear. “I love them. I love you so much, Sam.”

He hugs you back. When the two of you separate, you sniffle and wipe at your eyes to try and compose yourself. The little bit of makeup you’d put on that morning won’t budge with a few tears, but you don’t want to be a mess in front of Eloise and the others. You still have no idea why they’re there, which means leaving them with a good impression of you is more important than most things.

It takes you exactly twenty minutes to prep the shoes. Just like Sam had said, the specifications were the exact same as the others you wear, which means that he either snuck a peek at the boxes and your receipts or he knew you better than you thought he did. Sure, you were best friends, but knowing shoe specs wasn’t even part of his job as the company costumer.

Eloise and Sam are standing at his design table, pouring over stacks of papers, sketchbooks, and his tablet. You slip into the changing area while they’re still busy, and by the time you’re dressed in the costume and finished tying up your shoes, they’re waiting for you on the edge of the dancefloor.

Sam smiles wide as soon as he sees you, and you shy away from his intent gaze.

“What do you want me to do now?” you ask, unsure if you should be asking him or Eloise.

“Do you know the Act II pas de deux from Swan Lake, Miss Y/L/N?” Eloise asks, and you nod. She gestures towards a small group that has gathered on the far side of the dancefloor, and a man only slightly older than you steps out. He’s dressed in a costume similar to yours and he smiles warmly.

“You want me to dance for you?” you ask, though the question feels like a stupid one as soon as you ask.

Eloise only smiles, and Sam grins beside her. “Yes. We realize that your shoes are new, but we’ve seen you perform before. This is more of a formality than anything. Do you need some time to warm up?”

Her words are spinning in your brain and your breath catches in your throat. You want to ask if she means what you think she does—that you’ll be invited to be a part of the ABT—but you can’t bear to ask the question in case you’re wrong. 

Slowly, you shake your head and step onto the floor. The man introduces himself in a soft voice as soon as you’re close enough to hear and you take a deep breath, smiling and doing the same. Once the pleasantries are out of the way, you take your positions and silently try to calm the swell of anxiety. Your heart is beating much quicker than you would like and you take another deep breath. The music starts on your exhale and you begin.

It’s easy to lose yourself in the dance. The pas de deux is one you’ve danced many times before, mainly last season, and though it’s been awhile since you’ve partnered with someone new, the man makes it easy. Sam, Eloise, and the others fade from your view as you dance. Your nerves are no longer at the forefront of your mind and all you can focus on is what comes next. Finally, you realize that the music has ended, and you carefully move back to a neutral position.

Sam watches you with utter awe on his face, while Eloise is simply smiling. Your partner shakes your hand with a smile of his own and you watch from the center of the floor as he retreats to his spot along the edge.

“That was lovely, Miss Y/L/N, thank you,” Eloise says. You bow accordingly, and she gestures to the photo backdrop when you rise. “We’d like some photos of you in this costume, if that’s alright with you?”

You nod and let her guide you over. Sam trails behind and stands at the edge of the group as you’re asked to pose, leap, pirouette, and move in front of the camera. You’re sweating by the time the photographer says he’s satisfied, and you finally relax as Eloise stands with him and looks through the photos on a nearby laptop.

“You doing okay?” Sam’s snuck up behind you with a water bottle and you jump. He laughs as you take the bottle and drink half of it in one go.

“This is crazy,” you hiss at him, turning your back on Eloise and the photographer. You’re smiling, though, and you know that Sam can tell you’ve been enjoying yourself. “The pas de deux? A photoshoot? Is this really what I think it is, Sam?”

He smiles, shrugging a little. “The world needs to see you dance, Y/N. You’re good enough to go all the way to the top, if that’s what you want.”

“What if… that’s not what I want?”

You hesitate to ask knowing how hard Sam must have worked to get the people from ABT here and to keep it a secret from you, but it’s important. Years ago, you would have done anything for a spot in their company. Now you love your life. Yes, you’d still love to move to New York and dance for them, but it wouldn’t be the same, not without Sam.

“What?” His face falls and he glances back at Eloise, then takes your arm to guide you to the corner of the backdrop where there are no people within earshot. “Y/N, what are you talking about? You’re always watching their videos and talking about how fun it would be to dance with them! Is this seriously not what you want?”

You search his face, then set the bottle down on the floor. Taking Sam’s hands, you tell him, “Dancing with the American Ballet Theatre would be a dream come true, Sam, but it’s not the only dream I have. I love living here and dancing with the company. I love getting to spend my free time with you and wearing your costumes every season. I love our movie nights and our day trips to see your family. I don’t want to give up those things. I don’t… I don’t want to chase something that’s only been a pipedream for so long and give up a really good thing that I already have.”

Sam’s arms are suddenly around you, crushing the tutu against your legs as he holds you tight. You cough out a laugh in surprise but quickly wrap your arms around his waist and close your eyes. He kisses the top of your head and you breathe in deep, pulling away just enough to look up at him.

“They offered me a job, Y/N,” he says, his voice soft under all the noise in the studio. “If you go, I go.”

Tears flood your eyes for the second time that day and you have to take another deep breath to steady yourself. “What?”

He nods, smiling wide. “They offered me a position in their costume shop as a designer. I told them I’d take it if they were willing to consider you, and…”

You laugh and hug him hard again. “Sam, that’s amazing!”

Sam laughs and you have to pull away to wipe your nose on the back of your hand as it runs. Some of the tears have escaped down your cheeks and you wipe them away as Sam turns to dry his own tears.

“Is that why you’ve been acting so weird?” you ask, and he laughs, nodding in response.

“Well, that and—”

Eloise’s voice makes you step further away from Sam and look in her direction. “Miss Y/L/N, are you up for one more thing?” she asks.

You nod, smiling politely and trying to contain the excitement as Sam’s job offer before it bubbles over into unprofessionalism. “Yes, ma’am. Where would you like me?”

Gesturing to the couch where you’d first sat together, Eloise starts walking. You trail behind. She sits in her spot from before with her phone in hand, and you note the voice memo app open on the screen as you sit.

“We just have a few questions for you before we make a final decision. You are aware that this is considered an official interview for a spot in the American Ballet Theatre, correct?” she asks. You nod. “Good. And that is something you’d be interested in?”

You glance at Sam, who’s smiling as he glances in between a man in a suit and the tablet in his hands, then nod again. “Yes. I would be very interested in dancing with ABT.”

Eloise smiles. “Very well. I’m going to be recording this, but only a few people will be privy to the recording. Is that alright?”

After you give your consent, Eloise starts recording and begins to ask you questions. She has them memorized, and you think to yourself that she must have asked them dozens of times to know them all by heart, just as you know your dances. She asks about your training, your performances, and your qualifications. She asks about injuries and preferences, hobbies, and likes and dislikes. She asks you about things that don’t even seem relevant to a job with the company, though you know better. When you dance with a company as big as ABT, anything and everything can impact your spot and your job. It’s part of why you’ve been so hesitant to even consider pursuing New York. Sam’s confidence in you is the only thing getting you through those doubts as you answered Eloise’s unending questions.

Finally, she stops the recording with a smile. “I have to say that I’m very impressed with you, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Thank you,” you say, smiling with relief. The nerves have all gone now. Whatever happens will happen.

“I cannot speak for the others involved with the invitation process,” Eloise continues, “but I think it’s safe to say that you should expect an invitation soon. You’re clearly a very talented, diligent dancer, and I think that you would be a great asset to the ABT.”

Your heart swells. You smile even wider at her, then find Sam’s eyes across the room. His expression no doubt mirrors your own.

“Thank you, Ms. Vernon. That’s really great news.”

You and Eloise finish your conversation, and then her and her crew begin to clear out. It’s easiest for you and Sam to stay out of the way, so you sit together on the couch, watching as they pack up equipment and costumes that you never changed into. They pack into the elevator in groups, filling every square inch and otherwise disregarding the weight limit. If you hadn’t been so stunned, you’d probably warn them that the building was old and that some of them should wait. The photographer is the last one out, and he waves as he steps into the otherwise empty elevator with his gear.

You heave a heavy sigh as soon as the doors close. Sam looks over at you, smiling a little, and he leans back against the couch.

“You okay?” he asks, his fingers intertwined with yours.

“I think so,” you reply with a nod. “I’m still processing, I think.”

“An offer to dance with the ABT is a big deal.”

“A potential offer,” you correct.

Sam only shrugs. When you stand to change out of your shoes and costume, however, he doesn’t let go of your hand. You look down at him, raising an eyebrow.

“You gonna let me change so I can go home? I’m starving, you know. I’d rather not make any innocent bystanders on the street have to deal with hangry Y/N.”

“Will you dance again for me before you change?” he asks.

You nod without giving it a second thought. It’s common for Sam to watch and take notes while you dance in a new costume. You’ve already danced once today, but you didn’t remember him with his notebook, so you assume that he wants to make some notes on the fit and style.

“Is there something specific you want?”

He stands. “The pas de deux would be fine.”

Frowning, you turn your back on him and head to the dance floor, then start to stretch a little, knowing that your muscles would be aching soon if you didn’t. “I guess I can do parts of it, but that requires a partner, Sam. You know that, or did that rain last night wash away all your knowledge of ballet?” you tease.

“I could partner.”

“What?”

He starts to stretch beside you and you automatically track his movements without truly looking at him, noticing that he’s doing all the same stretches the male dancers in the company do. Sam doesn’t even bat an eye at the ones that would be challenging or painful for people who aren’t used to them. 

Finally, you stop what you’re doing, stand, and put your hands on your hips. “Sam Winchester, you’ve been hiding something from me, haven’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies, but he’s staring up at you from the floor with such a wide grin on his face that you can’t even try to believe him.

“What are you not telling me?” you huff. He doesn’t respond and you narrow your eyes as he twists and grabs one of the foam rollers from beside the mirrors to roll out his muscles. He’s too comfortable with the action for someone who doesn’t do it often, and it’s then that you realize he’s taken off his sweats to reveal a pair of black ballet tights and slippers. “Sam, have you been dancing?”

Sam laughs. “I told you I’d been training, why is this such a surprise?”

You blink, a bit taken aback. You’d thrown the idea out there thinking he’d shoot you down and say that he’d just gotten into yoga or something, not actually confirm your suspicions.

“This is insane. You realize that this is actually insane, right? First the costume, then the shoes and ABT, and now you tell me that you’ve been dancing and I never even noticed?” You scoff and rest your hands on top of your head, turning to look around the studio for cameras just in case you’re being punked by some of the other dancers in your company. Sure, you play tricks on each other, but never anything this involved.

He stands and touches your waist, just above the tutu and just enough to get your attention. You turn back to him, swallowing hard at the tender expression on his face.

“I missed dancing with you,” Sam explains. “And I… I was a little self-conscious about it at first. I didn’t want you to ask why I’d suddenly gotten back into dancing after all this time.”

“Why did you?” you ask.

“Isn’t it obvious?” When it’s clear that you still haven’t caught on to whatever he’s trying to say, Sam steps closer and continues, “It’s because of you, Y/N. You’re my best friend, and I love you, and dance is something that you love. I want to be able to dance with you, and even though I can’t even remotely match your skills, I want to be a good partner on and off the floor.”

You stare at him for a second, and then you’re smiling. “Really?”

He nods. Sam still seems uncertain despite your wide smile, and you look down to grip his hands in yours. You lead them to your waist, and then you push up onto your toes. Immediately, Sam is supporting you just like any good partner should.

“You’ve really been training just to dance with me?” you ask, meeting his eyes. It’s easier now that you’re up on pointe and he chuckles. 

“I have.”

“For how long?”

“Since we moved here,” he admits. “I learned a bunch of partner dances, including the pas de deux, just in case it ever came up. I convinced Eloise to have you dance the Swan Lake one today.”

You snort. “You convinced an ABT staff member to have me dance that specific pas de deux just so you could flirt with me later?”

Sam’s face and neck flush pink and you can’t help but laugh. You wobble a little and you adjust your stance, but Sam continues to help you keep your balance in his arms like he’s been your partner for years. You suppose, in a way, he has been.

“I can’t believe you hid it this long from me.”

“You got really close to finding out a few times. I’ll have to tell you about them tomorrow.”

Slowly, you lower yourself back down to the floor. Sam keeps his hands on your waist. “Why not now?”

He smiles wide. “Because right now I want to dance with you, Y/N. I’ve waited a long time for this and I don’t think I can wait another day.”

It’s your turn to shy away from his gaze, but Sam squeezes your waist and then lets go, moving to where he should be for the beginning of the dance. You watch him move, then carefully shift to where you should be as well. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and then when the music starts, you dance.

Thank you for reading! <3

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[pub-lius]

John and Henry Laurens for @thereallvrb0y

i hope you don't have trauma bc this is gonna be an emotional rollercoaster

tw: sewerslidal ideation, childhood neglect, shitty parenting, and like really blatant racism, oh and also discussion of homophobia and shit so be prepared

my sources for this are mainly the US National Park Service, but also Gregory D. Massey's John Laurens and the American Revolution. other good resources available online are the South Carolina archives, American Battlefield Trust, Britannica, George Washington's Mount Vernon, and this john laurens blog here on tumblr. now this isn't EVERYTHING i know about laurens, because like ive been fixating on him for a while and i can't put massey's whole book in here, but you'll definitely get a good understanding of him because this is a long one.

Henry Laurens

getting the boring one out the way. Herny Lauren (i don't like him having the same name as me) was born in Charleston (i will occasionally be calling it Charles Town in the names of shit) in 1724. His grandparents were French Huguenot immigrants. They were members of the Reformed Church, and fled to England and then Ireland after the Treaty of Nantes was revoked. Then they went to NYC then Charleston when they got rich as fuck.

Hreny was the first son, and was educated in Charleston, and later in England. He worked in a local counting house and worked under a prominent British merchant.

He returned to South Carolina in 1747. Charleston was really sick bc you could ship directly to Spain from there, and it was the busiest port in America for a little while. So, obviously, Homophobic Laureli had to get in on this and opened an import-export business (aka a mercantile) called Austin and Laurens. They imported rum and British mercantile goods like beans on toast, also trading in Carolina Gold rice, indigo, deerskins, tar, pitch, silver, and gold. They exported Colonial merchandise to England on returning ships.

Here's the slavery party. Huckleberry Laugens entered the slave trade with Grant, Oswald & Company, another mercantile that controlled the slave outpost Bunce Castle located in Sierra Leone. The company was contracted to receive, catalog, and market human cargo by conducting public auctions in Charleston. They handled the sale of over 8,000 people, receiving a 10% commission. Expenses incurred during the transportation of people were the responsibility of Austin and Ally (Laurens).

Now Laurens had some hot takes on slavery. He was an "abolitionist", which at the time usually meant a rich, white, slaveowner who made excuses. For example, this is how Fugly Laurens described to another business, Smith & Clifton, what slaveowners looked for in slaves.

“very likely healthy People, Two thirds at least Men from 18-25 Years old, the other young Women from 14-18 the cost not to exceed Twenty five Pounds Sterling per head… There must not be a Callabar (sic) amongst them. Gold Coast and Gambias are best, next to them the Winward Coast are prefer’d to Angolas. We would not choose them sent in the Hurricane Season but rather to come in the months of October or November. Pray observe that our people like tall Slaves best for our business and strong withall. Such as small, meager or other ways ordinary won’t sell better here than with you. The difference in price between Men and Women is never less than £3 per head, sometimes £6.” -Henry Laurens 1755

How disgusting is that. I fucking.

But its okay. Here's his list of excuses for why he can own slaves.

“I told you in my last that I was going to Georgia… My negroes there, are all to a man, are strongly attached to me – so are all of mine in this country [SC]; hitherto not one of them has attempted to desert; on the contrary, those who are more exposed hold themselves always ready to fly from the enemy in case of a sudden descent… You know, my dear son, I abhor slavery. I was born in a country where slavery had been established by British kings and parliaments, as well as by the laws of that country ages before my existence. I found the Christian religion and slavery growing under the same authority and cultivation. I nevertheless disliked it… I am not the man who enslaved them; they are indebted to English for that favour (sic); nevertheless I am devising means for manumitting many of them, and for cutting off the entail of slavery. Great powers oppose me – the laws and customs of my country, my own and the avarice of my countrymen.” -Henry Laurens to John Laurens 1776

Okay, let's break this down. 1.) all of the people I enslave are so happy because I'm such a good slaveowner that they don't want to leave! 2.) other people's slaves are sad, so I'm better than them 3.) its the British government's fault that I HAVE to own slaves 4.) I'm a Christian 5.) I'm gonna free them eventually but like I don't want people to be mad at me 6.) I'm saying I hate it, but I'm doing nothing to stop the spread of the institution, but that's not important because I SAY i hate it. 99% of people who owned slaves at this time used at least one of these excuses.

Henry Laurens never publicly spoke out against slavery.

Dumbass married Eleanor Ball on June 24, 1750. She was pregnant a total of twelve times, but only four children lived to adulthood.

Hairless Laurens became a member of the Commons of House of Assembly in 1757. He was a member of every session until the American Revolution, so that's... something ig. The Assembly was the dominant institution in Colonial South Carolina, like the Virginia House of Burgesses or however you spell it.

Heterochromia held the rank of Lieutenant Colonel in the South Carolina Militia from 1757-1761, and engaged in many campaigns against the Cherokee natives and also in the French and Indian War, so don't worry, he wasn't just racist to black people. His business contributed £7,000 towards the war against the Cherokee. He kept a diary which is in the South Carolina Archives (cited above).

Hypnotizability Laurens was appointed to oversee Charleston's defenses in 1758 as "Commissioner of Fortification." I don't know why that's in quotes, that was his title.

Then, Hypopharynxes was designated to accompany the Cherokee to the capital for a peace treaty in 1761, which was probably a scam bc yk. Europeans be Europeaning.

Uh oh. Austin and Laurens dissolved in 1762. But it wasn't really a big deal.

Hamburger Laurens purchased a big ass plantation called Mepkin in 1762. It was 3,000 acres, 30 miles from Charleston, and cost £8,000, which was, to put it in modern financial terms, a shit ton. Mepkin housed fifty enslaved people, and generated corn, indigo, and wheat. Then, Habitual Laurens got like addicted to buying rice and indigo plantations, and ended up having around 20,000 acres. By 1766, he owned 227 enslaved people, yk, because he hates slavery.

He was offered appointments to the King's Council in Carolina in 1764 and in 1768, and denied both of them, because he was starting to separate himself from British politics.

He didn't do that fast enough bc in 1765, the Stamp Act happened. The Act was opposed by colonists, obviously, because it sucked. The stamps that arrived in Charleston were deposited at Fort Johnson and people were like rampaging the city looking for them.

Now, Hemorrhoid wasn't exactly known for his revolutionary thinking. He urged peaceful compliance until the law could be repealed, and viewed the Sons of Liberty as illegal, extreme, and likely to encourage harsher measures from Parliament. So, a rumor spread that the stamps were hidden in his house and a fucking mob stormed their house on October 25. There was no damage to the house, and Henry was really happy with that so. It traumatized his wife and kids but like. at least the house wasn't damaged lol.

where am i. oh okay. So after that, since he wasn't one of the family members traumatized, he was critical of British involvement in the Colonial economy, but that was mostly because he was a merchant and he had a lot of beef with customs agents.

Oh and then his wife died in spring of 1770. We'll talk more about that with John (foreshadowing)

HHHHHHG was appointed to the Safety Council, where he acted as president. Then he became Chairman of the Charles Town General Committee and President of Provincial Congress. He was also in SC's mini constitutional convention. He was elected VP after SC adopted their new constitution on March 26, 1776.

Then, Hyperthyroidism represented South Carolina in the Continental Congress from July 1777 until 1779. He replaced John Handcock as president in 1777. He served on the Commerce Committee and the Treasury Board. He also had really bad gout had to work from bed at one point in time. He tried to retire but they didn't let him.

He was elected on November 1, 1779 to negotiate a treaty of amity and bullshit with the Netherlands, but he got caught by British narks and was charged with suspicion of high treason and got locked up in the Tower of London. He was the only American held prisoner there, and it sucked ass. Family could only visit every ten days to two weeks and he wasn't allowed to leave his room for a while. He was imprisoned for two weeks, writing articles for a rebel newspaper secretly, until he was exchanged for Burgoyne, and fully released on April 27, 1782.

He went back to America and was like "fuck my 16 year old daughter is trying to marry this 29 year old asshole that I have beef with" and he didn't let them get married for two years, which like, why'd you give up bitch, don't let that creep near her!!!!

Hexylresorcinol served on the SC ratification committee and was the Presidential Elector for SC in the first election, and voted for Washington, bc obviously.

He retired officially from all politics and spent the rest of his life at Mepkin concentrating on agriculture.

He was really sick, and was also scared of being buried alive so when he died on December 8, 1792 because of heart problems, he was cremated bc he was definitely dead. This was the first cremation of a major political figure in the US bc he just HAS to be the first for everything. His ashes were buried next to John. Speaking of.

John Laurens

alright this is gonna get long, and there's a lot of quotes, but i don't feel like making separate posts bc this is what you signed up for, richie. everyone point and laugh at richie (jk ily bro)

John was born on October 28, 1754 in Charleston, South Carolina.

His mom died when he was sixteen. This was right before he and Da Boys were supposed to leave for England, and John was really upset that the trip would be delayed, more so than that his mom had died. Now, this is probably because he was in the denial stage of grief, but because he wasn't mourning his mother's death as openly as the rest of his family, he developed an insecurity that he was selfish and a bad person. This comes up later.

He, his father, and two brothers, Harry and Jemmy, went to England and John attended prestigious ass schools.

He wasn't really sure which course of study he wanted to pursue, stuck between ministry, medicine, and law.

“For my own part, I find it exceedingly difficult, even at this time, to determine, in which of the learned Profesesions I shall list myself… Thus I am agitated. ‘Tis beond far beyond the Power of one Man to shine conspicuous in all these Characters. One must be determined upon, and I am almost persuaded that it would be that of the Divine [clergy], if this did not preclude me from bearing Arms in Defence of my Country… No particular Profession is in itself disagreeable to me; each promises some Share of Fame.”

What he did know, was that he DID NOT want to be a merchant, which is what his dad wanted him to do. He thought it sucked absolute ass. Eventually, he chose law, because that was his dad's second choice.

"I have weighed the matter very seriously & considering that my Dear Papa & the majority of our judicious friends give a preference to my studying Law... I ought not abandon myself wholly to my own inclinations, but persue (sic)... which it is generally thought will render me most useful. I leave my favorite Physick, grieved to the Heart, that it is not to embrace that which I know would give my Dear Papa the most pleasure."

Also they moved to Geneva, Switzerland for a little while, bc it was cool, and his dad left John and Harry unattended, which turned out to be a bad idea, because John was gay! and he got a boyfriend

This boyfriend's name was Francis Kinloch. Now the whole gay thing is disputed bc historians are homophobic (*cough* massey *cough*), but like. if you think gay people are real, John was gay.

So Francis and John were in similar courses, with John studying French, Latin, Greek, and drawing along with the classics bc this is the 1700s, and Francis would be studying similar things. John and Francis exchanged letters that have a lot of romantic undertones, similar to John's letters to Hamilton.

John also might have had a relationship with a Frenchman named L. de Vegobre, who he tutored in English. The two of them bonded over studying law despite their passions for science.

"I can think of nothing more sadly insipid than to live without any affections of the heart." -Vegobre to John Laurens

Anyway, back to Laurloch. Tensions rose between the two of them later on (after John returned to London) with the developing American Revolution. Kinloch was a bitchass pussy Tory and Laurens was normal (kidding, Kinloch thought independence was dangerous for all the reasonable reasons, and John thought independence was necessary for all the reasonable reasons).

"My Ambition Kinloch is to live under a Republican Government. I hate the Name of King."

Also, Kinloch started pre-courting a girl, and John was really upset (foreshadowing).

This led to a messy break up, and, combined with John's religious and filial guilt, this could have led to John's one-night-stand with Martha Manning. If you don't know the story to that, John and Martha banged once, Martha got pregnant, and they got married out of necessity. Their daughter was named Frances, which. is awkward.

Okay, back to Geneva (sorry my timeline is messed up but these things kinda extend through different points in John's life). So Geneva was a pretty secular place, meaning there wasn't a really large religious population as much as there was in other parts of Europe at the time. John never really seemed to be more religious than the average dude in Geneva, and barely mentioned religion in his writing, but he did have some thoughts on Voltaire's takes on religion.

"...with respect to the Christian Religion, I believe Voltaire has done more Injury to it, than any modern Author; for I believe it is greatly owing to him that Deism has crept in even among the younger Branches of the Clergy here... but happily Instances of this are rare... [when such beliefs prevail] each Man supposes the existence of such a God as best suits his Purpose."

Now, you've probably heard some things about Henry Laurens being an abusive parent in fics or just people talking shit about him. I think this should be clarified as emotionally neglectful, which is still abuse, but not the definition that usually comes to mind.

So, in Geneva, John not only had to take care of his younger brother, he also had to take care of two other dudes, Jacky Petrie and Billy Smith. He said a few things about suicide in his letters to his father. John was also the eldest son, had already lost his mother, and was already showing he had a very low self esteem. So, not a great starting point for what I'm about to add onto that.

Henry Laurens had several parenting techniques, so I'm going to go through some of those.

He often used other people's sins as examples of what not to do, and honestly he seemed unnecessarily judgmental. He especially focused on sexual deviancy, and taught John that sexual deviancy was a sign of poor self control, which was unacceptable. John had a duty to his family and to society, which required him to have control of himself, and his natural urges. "A life of Indolence," Henry said, was, "the Source of all Evil."

A big theme with him is the concept of conditional love. It's clear Henry loved his kids unconditionally, but the things he said to them seemed like his love WAS conditional. For example, Henry said things to John like, "...you know how to please your Papa & at the same time... you love to please him," or "I shall recieve vast Pleasure if you continue to live in Temperance & Regularity, an example worthy the Imitation of your Father."

John's feelings about this are made clear in his letters to his Uncle James. (tw for discussions of suicide and self harm)

"My Father repeats to me his Commands relative to my Studies, and adds some such Expressions as make my Heart bleed. My good and Dear Uncle what shall I do. Is it not dishonour (sic) to stay [in London and not join the war]; and how can I disobey such good a Father[?]"

"I am ashamed to own that I am an American. Young and free from bodily Infirmities, in England, as a dear Father's Command[s] oblige me to remain in the humiliating Situation being pointed at others, and almost think[ing m]eanly of myself."

I have several concerns with these quotes. First of all, "adds some such Expressions as make my Heart bleed." There's several instances where John says his father's letters have severely distressed him to the point of despair (definitely more on that later), so this phrase sounds like a milder instance of that. Then there's him "almost thinking meanly" of himself, which, given the previous expressions in that quote, imply demeaning thoughts about himself and his abilities. Also, the "free from bodily Infirmities" being a specific thing he notes appears to me like thoughts of self harm. A lot of the time, people with suicidal tendencies will have self destructive thoughts indirectly or in ways that don't immediately stand out as "I want to hurt myself" or "I feel like I deserve pain". I believe this is an example of that.

John had an active social life, and ended up spending a lot of money, and was scared it would make Henry angry. John freaked out about this because Henry really drilled in that over-spending and wastefulness was really bad.

"An Industrious Man may gain near 12 Months in a Year over the bulk of his contemporaries. How much Time is lost in what is commonly stiled Pleasure, but deserves no better peithet than barbarous dissipation. Sleep & Indulgence unites in stealing another large Portion of Time from the Sons & Voltaires of Pleasure." -Henry Laurens

Henry also added on the weight of other people's expectations.

"Your friends on both Sides of the Water will expect to See in Jack Laurens the Man of Honour, Modesty, & prudence, the Scholar, the Christian, the Gentleman. Surely no endeavors on your part will be wanting to answer their utmost wishes & expectations." -Henry Laurens to John Laurens

John eventually returned to England, and there was. an incident. Basically, there was a party at Cambridge that a bunch of John's friends want to, and Henry really didn't like John's friends, and he really didn't want John to go to the party.

John said he didn't go to the party, but Henry didn't believe him. He basically tore into him for having bad friends, that he told John that John didn't really like his own friends, and asked if he immediately started being a slut (my word, not his) after Henry returned to the states. He told him, "...the Eyes of your friends & of your Country are upon you, they are in expectation & think themselves in view of a valuable Casket, for your own sake, for theirs & for the sake of posterity disappoint them not by becoming a bundle of Carolina Rushes."

Now, John's response letters is one of the most heartbreaking letters I've ever read, up there with Lafayette finding out his daughter died across the Atlantic and Hamilton's final letters to Eliza (spoilers lol), so I feel like paraphrasing it won't really get the full picture of just how emotionally destroyed John was by this.

"I feel my Mind a little eased, tho’ it will not be free from Pain and Anxiety, ‘till it receive some words of Comfort from you. And I am persuaded that however greatly I have offended, you would pity me, could you conceive the Tort[ur]e of Mind that I have undergone this day. I have experienced the same distressful Sensation in putting Pen to Paper to address you, that an offender does in lifting his Eyes, which Shame had cast down; to meet those of his injured Friend. Oh such a Letter from you my Father, and I, distracting Thought, to have given occasion for it. But your Words are a Seasonable, tho’ most severe, and trying Medicine. Yes you have shewn me myself. I was very well satisfied, before your terrible Letter gave the Alarm and call’d me home to Self-examination. You have shewn me such a Man as I almost hate. The more I look into my past Conduct, the more I despise what I was, the more I wish that a long Series of such Deportmant, as I now, dares such an irresolute man, say, resolve upon, were already past, and had regained your Confidence. The Remorse I have felt is known to none, but myself, and can only be conceived by one, who has been so unhappy, as to sink in his own, and the Esteem of his best Friend. I supplicate Your Pardon, and Pity, how dare I ask to restore your Esteem, Your Unworthy, tho much afflicted and pentient Son John Laurens.” -JL to HL, 29 March 1775

So, to summarize all of this, Henry taught his children to avoid being arrogant, hedonistic, selfish, atheist, dishonorable, degenerates, and that his definition of that was someone who overindulged in pleasures, who did not care what people thought of them, and did not control themself. In John's mind, he fit this description. He wasn't very religious, he was attracted to men, he had a child out of wedlock, and he had no real desire to study law. This would only get worse with time.

Now that was a lot of really sad things, so I will follow it up with something just as bad because John didn't get a break, so neither will we.

John moved back to London to get his law education but also to look after his younger brothers. His younger brother, Jemmy, he placed in a school in Greenwich. After he made the decision, he rushed home to inform his father and William Manning, his future wife's father. There, he ran into Manning's clerk, who informed him that Jemmy had suffered a critical injury. He had attempted to do parkour, but he was not hardcore, so he fell and hit his head. Doctors determined the injuries were too severe. John stayed by Jemmy's bedside until he die the following night. John described the situation in the following quotes to his uncle and his father.

"At some Intervals he had his Senses, so far as to be able to answer single Questions, to beckon to me, and to form his Lips to kiss me, but for the most part he was delirious, and frequently unable to articulate. Puking, Convulsions never very violent, an latterly so gentle as scarcely to be perceived, or deserve the Name, ensued, and Nature yielded." -JL to James Laurens

"what unexpected Cruel Misfortunes await us, of what can we promise ourselves any lasting possession[?]" -JL to JL

"What is there most dear to us in this world, that we are not liable at every moment to lose by some unforeseen Accident?" -JL to JL

"Suffer not one moment to be spent in useless moans for the Dead, which might be employed to the Service of the Living. You have great and important Duties to perform upon the Earth. Your Family your Country looks to you with Confidence." -JL to HL

So, add that to the list of shit John went through. His younger brother died under his care, and while it wasn't his fault, you know he thought that it was.

Anyway! John returned to America in 1777 and joined Washington's office as an extra aide-de-camp, then as as official one, because he finally snapped after he had to marry a girl he accidentally got pregnant, and his dad made him get an administration job instead of enlisting. He was present at all of Washington's major battles during his time in his office. His personal bravery/rashness was noted by his bros.

"It was not his fault that he was not killed or wounded; he did everything that was necessary to procure one or t'other." -Marquis de Lafayette after the Battle of Brandywine

That quote is really concerning considering what we just discussed but im too tired to unpack that.

Oh, and then there was the Lee Scandal. Laurens testified against Lee at his court martial after Monmouth, and absolutely fucking roasted him. Afterwards, Lee insulted Hamilton and Laurens- "those dirty earwigs who will forever insinuate themselves near persons in high office." Which like. he was right but he was rude about it.

So yeah Laurens challenged him to a duel on December 23, 1778. Lee proposed a deviation from the standard practice, where instead of being normal they would stand at a "proper distance" (roughly six paces), face each other, and shoot simultaneously. Lee's shot was errant, but Laurens shot him in the side. Contrary to what Lin Manuel Miranda wants you to believe, Laurens was not satisfied, and he and Lee wanted another round, but their seconds (Evan Edwards and Hamilton, respectively) wouldn't let them.

John returned to South Carolina in early 1779 to defend his state when the British turned their attention to the Southern states. He also went there to gain support for his manumission plan.

In March 1779, the Continental Congress authorized a payment up to $1,000 to the slaveholders of Georgia and South Carolina for each slave who enlisted in the army, and promised emancipation for those slaves who served until the end of the war. These "black battalions" should be raised and led by white officers. This plan found little support at the time in the southern American army (similar plans were put in place in the British armies and also in Rhode Island), but would have a development during the Civil War. John would continue trying to get this to work until his death.

Oh, oops, John was captured during the fall of Charleston in May 1780. He was transferred back to the Americans as part of a prisoner exchange in November of that year.

Then, he was selected to serve as a special envoy to King Louis XVI of France. He was almost crushed by an iceberg on the way there, and also Thomas Paine went with him. He appealed for supplies for the relief of the American armies. The active cooperation of the French fleets in Virginia that led to Yorktown was one result of his mission. It was technically a failure because he trusted some guy to transfer the goods and everything went to shit but like he technically did it. He wasn't known for his diplomatic skills I don't know why they picked him.

John rejoined the army and was at the head of the American storming party (along with Hamilton) of Redoubt 10 at Yorktown. Then, Washington designated him along with Louis-Marie, Viscount de Noailles to arrange the terms of surrender, and John was petty as shit about it.

John Laurens was killed in a skirmish on August 27, 1782 on the Combahee River in South Carolina before peace was formally concluded. He was shot multiple times off his horse after he ordered his men to attack despite orders not too. His men left and later returned to retrieve his body, leaving a gap in time in which Laurens likely bled to death, alone.

John was known to attack despite orders not too, being rash on the battlefield. It is possible that these were attempts at third-party suicide, so that he would die an honorable death, but die nevertheless.

This is really long, so I'm not going to go into lams and other things like that. If you have any further questions, absolutely feel free to ask! I personally feel like these are the most important things to understand about John's motivations and behaviors. Also I didn't think I would go into that much detail about Henry, but the National Park Service really is holding up the weight of the entire US government.

Anyway I hope that was helpful, even if it was very emotional. I thoroughly believe that mental health really needs to be a big discussion when it comes to John, even if it means putting myself through the ringer. anyway, love ya, @thereallvrb0y

#john laurens #historical john laurens #henry laurens #history #amrev #american revolution #american history #american revolutionary war #im so tired

[bookishtheaterlover7]

Hi all one of bookies friends here.

Everyone needs to calm down

Look at the facts.

Video- showed her without ANY ring a lot

Video-could he be anymore obvious with his left

hand.

Everytime he does or has something come out she does something. This time she shot herself in the hand twice.

And no I no longer find Chris attractive. If your team real i dont care. I just dont like seeing my friends on here who are team or get all worked up bwcause its nothing. It is for nothing we've, proven its fake.

How many holes can you put into a hot air balloon before it can't fly anymore?

To the GP (genaral public) they are married so right after all it was exposed the rings are fake. teams are gunna have to do or try and do clean up for a while. We knew this was going to happen. I expect to see shit about one flying here or the other flying there or they both fly to meet each other. I mean how many roumers in 2 days can start about who is where? It just

makes it look worse and more comical. A real couple wouldnt do damage control at all. Just because a website publishes an article doesn't mean it's a website that reports news or the truth. Remember People mag, US weekly etc is are still mags they use click bait. Don't freak out everytime you hear a rumor that she flew here or did this or that . The fact is its been de bunked disproven if they choose to continue on with the PR BS thats on them a lot of fans are not playing along any more. Im.not playjng along anymore im done with it. I saw a post in instagram that sums everything us well it said

"I am on team PR. But if he wants people

to believe he's with her, then we should

just leave him to it. It's true he owes

us nothing but we also don't owe him

our support anymore."

What point is there to get upset or nervous or anxious over something just because there a rumor about a plane ride. If you wanna believe theres a plane ride maybe its to sign a new contract that this shit is over.

You know its fake i know its fake. And you know what they showed they were gifts from cartier. Maybe her team would shse poney up the money to get cz versions. Frankly it would be even funnier.

We dont owe chris anything.

If you feel silly or stupid or being duped by thibking he was a better man than he is dont be, everyone was. It only goes to show the man could've had awards by now if he picked better scripts

Clean up is gunna happen. WE HAVE SEEN IT. the less you play into it the faster itll be over with.

But dont let this distract you or upset you from a joyus holiday season or take away any happiness you're experiencing or could be experiencing. Focus on something positive and happy. At the very least i saw a blog with a debate about who qas hotter Sam or Castiel. Now THAT is some shit worth arguing about. Not an airheaded Nazi

Thank you, my dear An🫶n.

Honestly, this is a serious wakeup call to a lot. That ring debacle/exposure is something to note, and it could be the sign to many of being done.

And if they aren't, well, I'm happy to partially become the blog that becomes a nostalgic stop for old Chris, Chris Evans before he was a shit person in a shit relationship with a shit person, and Chris Evans Characters Appreciation and absolute SIMPING!!! Oh, and the occasional Albitch hate post, because I still hate her 😆

I'm even thinking it's time to add more Fandoms to my roster. Marvel characters are high on that list. So are book discussions, because I am enjoying that as well 😁

We'll see. The world is my oyster now, especially with that big bomb that fell into our laps, as well as the fact I'm on break and about to undergo the busiest month of my life!!!

It's going to be filled with holiday cheer, family love, Christmas shopping, reconnecting with everyone, and focusing on improving the one love that came back a few months ago, after years... Writing 😊

So, my beautiful weirdos, can we PLEASE take steps towards something new? I think we could use some respite after months, maybe even years of PR Debunking Hell... 🫶

Also, there are certain topics that I don't want to be discussed on here. Because I don't feel comfortable being in the middle of any debate whatsoever (you can ask my dearest friends on here, they know I hate politics and avoid discussing, and eventually debating it, as much as possible). Until my next post, Beloveds 🤗

#An🫶n asks #thank you! #booky reacts #chris evans #chris evans fandom #still a place to hate Albitch. #booky answers #on to new horizons #Happy 25 Days Before Christmas to those who celebrate it Bitchez!!!! #Happy Hanukkah as well... don't know when but figured #I should embrace different cultures on here 😁 #DON'T AT ME ABOUT THE WAR EITHER

[juniaships]

Amani's Die-ary (day 1)

September 4

I can't believe it's been two months since I started working here. To celebrate Tanya gave me a diary. She said that keeping diaries helps with the stress of working here. LORD let me tell you something the stress is worth actual health benefits. It wasn't as bad as when I worked at Plow's, the people may dress weird here but at least they weren't racist. Except for the boss's eldest, she gave me the stank eye the other day when I told her her daddy was in a meeting and can't talk to her that moment. I do not like that girl at all. In fact I don't think anyways around here does her very name sets off literal alarms.

Since I already had a bunch of journals at home I was worried about the extra clutter. My dreams were getting more frequent, and I often wrote them down to try to understand them. But I accepted the gift anyways. It won't hurt to have one just more book and I didn't want to be rude. Tanya's only known me for a short while and yet she's been more friendly to me than some of my ex coworkers from Plow's whom I knew for years. Even if she had a head of a bull and bright pink suits.

The cover was a gorgeous shade of green with gold glittery patterns and a face of a skull. It looked rather cute like Hello Kitty, even had a bow on its head. The pen she gave me was also the same color. "Thank you, where you get it from?" I asked.

"I got it on sale at Moles! I think you might like it seeing you like to write," Tanya said.

I have never heard of Moles before. Must be where everyone gets their silly outfits from. But it was true I did like to write in fact I write everything down because as useful technology is there's just something so pleasing about handwriting. Plus it helped to remember things when the systems shut down unexpectedly. Which were also repeat occurrences. After I thanked Tanya we went our separate ways and I got into my cubicle to start on my work.

Work was boring. You have to sit through a bunch of documents of potential clients, their personal tastes and rooms and all that good stuff that hurt my mind trying to list it all. There were times we almost got scammed us out of the more expensive items but they never go through with it. As well as securing orders, analyzing each item to make sure they weren't fake. Meeting clients were a special sort of hell as half of them couldn't even tell a kimono from a basic bathrobe. So sad and so racist.

As I stared at the screen I began to tap my new pen on the desk. Perhaps I should try out my new journal to pass the time. The first page had instructions to fill out the blanks. They were fairly simple:

Parents: Malik and Kiara Nesar

Age: 40

Killer Style: whatever fits me (and my budget) but soft materials, bright yet not gaudy

Freaky Flaw: OVERWHELMED and not really allowing myself to rest

Pet: None but I want a pitbull or doberman just to spite some ppl

Favorite activity: Journaling, but also knitting

Biggest Pet Peeve: I hate it when you do something for someone and they act so ungrateful also I don't like

Favorite Subject: History it's so fun reading how people devised so many ways to kill each other :)

Least Favorite Subject: Physical exercise I am 40 years old and can't even make it up a flight of stairs

Favorite Color: Green, it's what the younguns called "aesthetically pleasing"

BFFs: Hmmm too early to say but Tanya since she's been so nice to me since I started.

After filling it out I skimmed through the pages. Most of them were blank but they had some extra stuff. Even a coloring section. Neat!

Well.. That's kinda it really. I don't have much to write into. Maybe later tonight if something interesting happens I can write it down. For now I must direct all my focus on work. Halloween was coming up and somehow that season was one of the busiest for sales so I had to make sure to prepare.

September 5 3:05

Nothing interesting happened. Just the same old same old. As soon as I got back home I cracked open the white grape and immediately sunk into the couch to sleep. Shit's been draining and I did not feel like - oh no. I left my diary on my desk!! >:(

#amani nesar #mh oc #Amani's Diary #oc fanfiction

[steamishot]

july pay confirm

yesterday marked the end of all HR/payroll deadlines for the month and busiest season of the year. now i’ll have time during the workday to study again. there were so many last minute things/reports/calculations/corrections that i had to process for housestaff and faculty this past week. felecia had sent a step progression report to review basically 15 minutes before the deadline. she sent a report over, i sent over another with the corrections, and then she had to transfer the information to a different sheet but made mistakes along the way that i didn’t catch, and now there’s more clean up to do. i’ll have about 4 trainees who be slightly underpaid and a couple more that will be overpaid. 

i finally was able to access my UC retirement information today, after getting locked out of my account for forgetting the password and no one answering my phone calls in the past months when i called in. i’m currently at 4.99 service credit, so i’m almost almost vested.

i downloaded an app called maxrewards recently, which consolidates all my credit card information into one space. i can easily track my expenditures across all cards, and it’s supposed to be helpful in determining which credit card to use for which purpose. matt recently downloaded thepointsguy app which consolidates the information for all his airline miles. 

we used to consciously split our purchases (rent, food, household items) from when we moved in to about january of this year, but now we’ve been much more relaxed and basically have combined incomes and shared expenses. we maximize all our credit card bonuses, so, whoever has a higher cash back or if we’re trying to reach a spending amount to receive a bonus, will pay. so far this has been working fine. however, we do need to get more organized and keep better records of: where exactly our money is going to/budgeting and total balance of money/credit card points/airline miles, and investments. will be looking into YNAB and other budgeting apps and continue learning about personal finance.

this will be important to do to prepare for the income increase from matt’s job in the fall. to add to the list of purchases we’ve made, i was convinced by my brother recently to purchase a fancy coffee grinder, which was about $650. i realized that i’m constantly feeling guilty whenever i make big purchases, or any purchase that is outside of what’s “necessary” due to the fact that we haven’t been budgeting or keeping track of our expenditures. i have no clue whether we can actually “afford” it because we don’t have our financial goals explicitly laid out yet. that’ll be a personal project. 

on a separate note, it’s been about a week since we started eating healthier. my previous definition of “healthy” used to be: low in fat, low in sodium, quality ingredients, and not processed. but i realize it wasn’t healthy in that i tended to be very picky about what i ate and not eat a lot of nutritious things in general. now, i’m trying to “eat the rainbow” and am incorporating much more veggies in our diets than ever before. i’m now looking at food more practically (what will my body benefit from eating this) vs. hedonically (how happy will my taste buds be) LOL. we still eat tastefully, but i’ve been adding a salad to supplement our dinners and have been making green/veggie smoothies every day. i’m still playing around with recipes; sometimes its not as tasty because i add a lot of greens but i force myself to drink it anyway and remind myself it’s good for me haha. however, i *feel* better/more energetic these days, and i notice matt’s skin looks better already. 30′s = aggressively fighting aging. 

to also document my hair health: i started using a hair serum i picked up from TJ. i also got unrefined coconut oil to do masks and got some hair caps. my hair reacted well to the serum, and after one mask, my hair already felt much stronger. this was another “why so stupid” moment as i used to do hair masks when i was in my early 20s. i have been obsessed with touching my hair and seeing how much healthier its already looking. 

[nelson-et-murdock]

Comfort - Matt Murdock x Reader

A mainly self-indulgent one-shot about coming home to Matt after a rough day at work

Warnings: Slight Age Gap - I envisioned Season 1 Matt and the reader is finishing the last year of Grad School so they’re about 30 and 23 respectively. Mentions of minor injuries that can come with working in a restaurant. Mentions of self-doubt in a burnt-out gifted kid way.

Not beta-read as I wanted to post it after writing it mainly for myself

Word Count: 1148

*not my gif*

Working on top of going to graduate school was no joke. Working at your specific cafe was even worse. Between customers and management, you were beginning to dread the days you had to be there. Your saving grace as you clocked out and made your way home was that you knew Matt would be waiting for you when you arrived at the apartment you shared, well his apartment that he insisted that you move into about 6 months into your relationship with him due to you complaining about how you barely got time with him between work and classes.

As soon as you stepped through the door you dropped your bags and made your way to the couch where Matt was sitting talking on the phone, basically collapsing on top of him, the day having taken its toll on you. Almost as if he could see what you were planning to do, Matt ended the conversation he was having with Foggy and prepared for you to land on him.

“Rough day?” he asked, adjusting how he was sitting so you could get more comfortable.

“How did you know?” you responded jokingly as you laid on your side with your head on Matt’s lap, grabbing one of his hands and placing it at the nape of your neck, a silent way for you to tell him to play with your hair as you spoke.

Matt stroked your hair as he spoke, “Well for starters, you never set your purse by the door and always shower immediately after you get home unless it was a bad day. Secondly, I’m your boyfriend that you have lived with for about 6 months now it’s my job to be able to tell when you’re having a bad day.” You smiled slightly as Matt spoke, his words a reminder that even on the worst days he was there to remind you how much he cared about you. “Do you want to talk about it love?” Matt asked as he played with your hair and adjusted his free hand to be resting on your ribs where he could feel your breathing.

“So many rude customers came in today and my manager was no help,” you started out rather quietly, not sure how to explain the day in its entirety without getting worked up about it again. “I had so many people yell at me today over things that weren’t my fault and then when I was making a drink during the busiest time today I burned my hand.” By the time you had finished your last sentence, your heart rate and breathing had begun to change ever so slightly.

Matt picked up on the slight change and began to softly run his fingers up and down your side. After being with Matt for nearly a year, he knew that soft touches were what worked and that physical touch was your love language. This was especially helpful with him being blind and using touch to make sure you were near. “How bad was the burn? Did you get it taken care of?” Matt asked you, wanting to make sure that your hand wasn’t too bad.

“Yeah, I mean I managed to wrap it after like 30 minutes, but it’s not right. I burned my dominant hand and everyone was extremely busy so I had to attempt to wrap it myself tight enough that it wouldn’t fall off but loose enough to where I would still be able to use it,” you responded, flustered with the entire situation.

As you finished talking, Matt took your hand in his and carefully felt the poorly done bandages covering the burn. “Sit here I’ll be right back,” he said, patting your thigh. “I’m going to grab stuff to rewrap your hand.” You sat up and watched him head to the bathroom before returning with the first aid kit, turning to face him as he returned to his place on the couch. “Tell me more about what's going on love,” he said quietly as he undid the original wrapping, knowing you likely had more to say and that talking would distract you from the pain in your hand.

You let out a sharp inhale as the dry bandage tugged on the already peeling skin from the burn, earning you a worried look from Matt. “I feel burnt out. I feel like I am constantly working or in school and my work isn’t even somewhere that is going to help much post grad school, I mean it barely helps now aside from me not needing you to pay for everything. Not to mention the fact that I didn’t actually intern anywhere,” you start to ramble while trying to control your emotions. “Overall, I think my mom was right and that I should have stayed closer to home for school and not spent 2 years in the wrong major. Maybe then I wouldn’t be working at a cafe and I’d be an actual accountant by now. I just feel like I should have done more by now,” you finished, your voice quivering by the end as tears began to fall.

After having finished rewrapping your hand, Matt shifted how he was sitting, inviting you to sit sideways on his lap while he rubbed your back as he spoke. “I know you don’t feel it, but you’re doing more than enough. You moved away from your family with little support at 22. Your mom wasn’t right because had you stayed closer to home or not spent 2 years in a major before you realized you didn’t want to do it we wouldn’t have met. I wouldn’t be in love with you right now, we wouldn’t be living together, you wouldn’t be my favorite person.”

You smiled as you turned your head to look at Matt. You tried to find words to respond but couldn’t. Instead, you laid your head on his shoulder, nestling into the crook of his neck while you took in his familiar scent that reminded you of comfort and home.

“Quit your job and come ‘intern’ for Nelson and Murdock,” he said as he placed a soft kiss atop your head. “I know there isn’t much accounting work to be done for us but it’ll be something on your resume for when you finish grad school. You can do your work for classes in my office and when we do occasionally need an accountant you’ll get some experience.”

“Thank you for putting up with me,” you responded, barely above a whisper. “I love you.”

“I love you too sweetheart,” Matt said with a smile, “but I don’t ‘put up with you,’ I said before you’re my favorite person,” he finished before kissing your cheek. The two of you spent the rest of the evening basking in each other’s presence and the comfort you provided to one another before heading to bed.

#matt murdock #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock fic #marvel #daredevil #marvel daredevil #netflix daredevil #marvel imagine #marvel x you #marvel x reader #marvel fanfiction #matt murdock x you #daredevil x reader #daredevil imagine #daredevil fic #charlie cox #matthew murdock #matt murdock my beloved #matthew murdock fic #jj writes #matt murdock fluff

[mercy-burning]

Petite Etoile

Pairing: Spencer Reid x femReader Summary: BAU!Reader used to be a stripper, and when people where she used to work are being murdered, the team is called in to investigate. Category: Fluff, Smut 18+ (oral sex- male and female receiving, penetrative sex, Reader also does a stripping performance) Warnings: Sex, language, mentions of murder/violence and all the things you’d normally find in an episode of Criminal Minds. (As always, if there’s anything I missed, let me know what I should include in warnings! I want to be as mindful as I can about what I post. Thank you!) Word Count: 7.8k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: This is going up way later than I said it would, so I’m sorry if you were looking forward to this, I just haven’t been motivated lately. But  I really have to get out of my writing slump, and I’m hoping I can do that soon. Anyway, I hope you like it! Thanks for reading 🥰 Also, I know that Don’t Blame Me by Taylor Swift doesn’t exist at the time of early season 2, which is when I imagine this taking place, but for the sake of the story let’s pretend it does, because that’s the song I had in mind when I wrote the performance scene 😉😂

***

When Y/N walked into work Thursday morning, everything was as normal as it could be. She chatted with Elle on her way up the elevator, handed JJ her coffee as she made her way to Hotch's office, and ruffled Reid's hair when she passed him, smiling at the way he blushed at her affectionate gesture.

But when the team was called into the round-table room, and she watched as JJ presented their next case, Y/N felt a little sick to her stomach.

Over the past week, three strippers from the town she'd lived in for years before moving to Virginia had been found stabbed in various parts of the block surrounding Starsight. She knew the place well. Not only did she used to work there as a stripper after she graduated, but her best friend, Irene, owned the establishment, and she'd practically become the sister Y/N never had. She helped her through college and pushed her to go into the Bureau. If people, Irene's people, were dying, why hadn't she called or said anything?

Thankfully Y/N didn't recognize any of the dancers who'd been killed, because if she had, she'd feel a lot worse. But even still, she wanted to find who was behind it, and she would. The BAU always did. And with her background knowledge of the scene and the town, Y/N figured she might be able to lend an extra helping hand.

But first she had to tell the team about her past.

It wasn't a secret that she used to be a stripper. In fact, it wasn't really something she was able to hide. With someone as curious as Penelope Garcia in her life, Y/N wouldn't have been able to hide it even if she wanted to. Thankfully though, besides the occasional teasing comment from Morgan, and sometimes Elle, the team didn't treat her any differently. She wasn't Y/N The Former Stripper, she was just Y/N. She was good at her job, and everyone respected and liked her just the way she was.

While debriefing on the jet, she was about to bring it up when Morgan did it first, seemingly sly like he'd discovered some big secret. "Hey, Y/N, didn't you used to live near this place?"

She nodded, clearing her throat. "Uh, yeah, that's actually what I was going to bring up. Starsight is where I used to work before I moved here. I know the owner of the place, she's one of my best friends."

She could tell Morgan wanted to tease her some more about her previous work, but before he could get a word in Gideon spoke from behind her. "Irene Whitcomb?"

"Yeah."

"Good, when we land I want you, Morgan, and Reid to go talk to her. See if you can find anything out."

Y/N nodded, and in front of her, she noticed Reid was a little flushed. It didn't surprise her considering when everyone found out her previous job, he almost choked on his coffee, and Morgan laughed hysterically while he had a coughing fit. It was obvious to Y/N from the beginning that Spencer had had a little crush on her, and it didn't bother her at all. Every once in a while she'd pat his knee before she got up from her seat next to him or wink at him as they saw each other briefly in passing, just to see how he'd react, and by now it was a staple of their relationship. It never did go any further than that though, Y/N afraid she might make him too uncomfortable.

But even still, she couldn't help but give him a flirty smile as he blinked rapidly in front of her, still seeming to process what was going to happen when they landed. When he excused himself to go to the bathroom, she gave him one more wink and a small bite of her lip as he passed.

Morgan laughed softly beside her. "You're gonna ruin the poor kid if you keep that up, girlie."

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," she responded, even though the smile on her face suggested otherwise.

***

A strip club being almost at full capacity in the middle of the day was more common than one might think. It had surprised Y/N when she first started working at Starsight, and even now she still didn't really understand why. Regardless it was almost 3pm, and if things had stayed the same over the years, which by the looks of things seemed to be the case, Irene should have been behind the bar.

It must have been a sight to behold, Y/N mused as she and her colleagues navigated through the club in search of its owner, and it sounded like the beginning to a bad joke— a former stripper turned FBI agent, a guy who looks like he just walked straight out of a procedural cop show, and an adorably and obviously nervous skinny kid with glasses and trembling hands walk into a strip club at 3pm... The thought made Y/N laugh to herself, right before Irene spotted her.

"Y/N!"

It was obvious that she wanted to jump over the bar and give her old friend a hug, but given the circumstances, Irene settled for dropping a shot glass, spilling the drink on the counter, and clapping her hands quickly a few times in succession. A wide smile and kind eyes greeted the three agents as they approached.

"Irene, hi," Y/N greeted with a large smile of her own. "I wish I could have came to visit under better circumstances."

"Right, me too..." The blonde woman's smile faded for a second, just long enough that the recognizable signs of grief came and go quickly before replacing themselves with bittersweet niceties. "Anyway, you wanna introduce me to your friends?"

"Yeah, Irene, these are my colleagues, Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid."

Irene reached out to shake their hands, eyeing up Morgan with only the slightest bit of shame, and laughing softly at Reid's polite avoidance of the gesture as he settled on a wave and a shy smile.

"We were hoping to ask you a few questions about the past week," Morgan said.

"Yeah, anything. Just give me a minute to clean this up and we can sit down."

***

"So, you used to work here?"

Y/N laughed, kicking Derek under the table. "Yep. Looks exactly the same as when I left, too. Only difference is that I'm not here to bring everyone in on Friday nights."

As Derek laughed, Spencer tensed up beside Y/N, and he started to play with his hands under the table they all sat at.

"She's not joking," Irene said as she approached the table with a smile. She took the seat next to Morgan and gave him a wink. "Petite Etoile over here was the main attraction."

Y/N groaned a little. "Oh, c'mon Irene, don't use my nickname here, that's not who I am anymore."

"Don't tell me you've lost your shine, Little Star." From the tone in her voice to the look on her face, it was clear to Y/N that Irene was just as devious as she'd been since the day they first met. "You know it would just break this town's heart."

"I highly doubt that... Besides, this little star shines just as brightly as it used to, thank you very much."

At that statement, Y/N felt Reid's knee hit the table with a loud thud. As Morgan questioned whether he was okay, she wondered what was running through his head. It didn't last long though, because shortly afterwards Morgan started asking questions about the case.

"Was it particularly crowded on the nights the dancers were killed?"

Irene hugged her arms to her stomach, her eyes drooping a little at the mention. "It gets pretty crowded every night to tell you the truth. But Friday nights are busiest. The nights Carrie, Lola, and Evelyn disappeared were just like any other night here."

"I know how hard it is to keep track of everyone, but is there anyone you might have noticed that seemed a little too lurk-y?" Even as she asked the question, Y/N felt like she already knew the answer.

And Irene really did seem to try to recall something, anything that could help, but she was visibly frustrated, tears welling in her eyes. "No, Y/N, I'm so sorry. After Carrie... the first time... we heightened security and everything, but it just wasn't enough, I... I don't know what to do."

Y/N reached across the table to grab her friend's hand. "It's okay, 'Rene. We're gonna figure this out, alright? I promise you."

Through tears, the blonde smiled and squeezed Y/N's hand. "I know you will, Little Star."

"Would it be possible for us to look at your surveillance tapes?" Reid asked quietly.

Irene looked up at him and nodded, still squeezing Y/N's hand. "Anything you need."

***

"So... Little Star, huh?"

Y/N rolled her eyes with a smile as she, Morgan, and Reid got into the car. When she got in the passenger seat, she waited for Morgan to be in the car before responding. "Oh, don't start. I swear to God, Derek, if you start calling me that I might just have to kick your ass."

"Well, you gotta at least tell me how you got the name?" he laughed, putting on his seatbelt while Reid climbed in the back.

"Well, how do you think? The place is called Starsight after all... So, Petite Etoile just made sense."

It was obvious that she was lying to get him to drop it, so Morgan kept pushing. "Okay, sure, but that's not the whole truth. Carrie, Lola, and Evelyn didn't have star names."

"Ugh, okay, fine, if I tell you will you shut up about it?"

"Promise."

Y/N caught a glimpse of Reid in the back through the rearview mirror. As expected, he was fidgety and just a little red.

She sighed and waited until Morgan pulled out of the parking lot to talk. "Okay. Once every month Starsight does a 'Midnight Sky' theme night. They light the place up in deep blue lights and everyone wears... space-themed outfits. Every dancer does their own special routine with songs and outfits that they pick on their own. My first time working a theme night, everyone seemed to really like what I did; I ended up doing an encore later in the night before we closed. Another dancer who worked with us at the time, Jenny, was learning French, so after my performance she called me Petite Etoile, and it just stuck."

"Okay, but why did you get the nickname and no one else?" Morgan asked with a smug smile. He knew she was still holding something back.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes, Y/N, I really want to know."

She sighed. "Let's... just say my outfit was... well, it barely covered me, and what it did manage to cover was covered by fabric in the shape of stars."

While Morgan laughed, Y/N looked in the mirror to see Reid with his head low, even more red than he was before. He was biting his bottom lip and fiddling the the seatbelt strap, and when his eyes briefly met hers in the mirror he was quick to avoid eye contact once again. If Y/N didn't find it completely adorable she would have felt more badly about it. But just to make sure, she called out to him.

"Reid, you okay back there?"

He looked up to meet her eyes again through the mirror, but only briefly before trying to ook anywhere else. "O-oh, yeah, I'm... I'm good."

Morgan laughed. "Yeah, I bet you are."

Y/N punched him in the arm and met Reid's eyes once more. "Sorry."

"Oh, you don't have anything to be sorry about, it's... it's okay, really, I-I'm not... it's..."

"Hey, don't worry about it," Y/N said calmly, giving him a reassuring smile. "We're all good here, right?"

"Right," Morgan and Reid said one after the other.

"Good. Now let's catch this creep."

***

Unfortunately no one had gotten much of anywhere in the next few hours. The security footage showed a man following each of the girls out of Starsight but there wasn't anything distinctive about him. Somehow he'd avoided all the cameras face to face, so he knew where they all were. And as for how he chose which dancers to target they weren't sure.

Until Irene walked into the station, that is.

"Y/N, I completely forgot something! I can't believe I missed it."

She stood before the team in the office that the station had given them for the time being, everyone else sitting down. Y/N stood up and nodded. "What is it?"

"Carrie, Lola, and Evelyn were all Spotlight Performers."

"What does that mean?" Elle asked from behind them.

Y/N turned to the group, her arms crossed. "Every other night Starsight spotlights a different dancer for a large performance at the end of the night, sort of like a grand finale before the club closes."

"So you're saying each of the girls was the Spotlight Performer on the nights they went missing?" Hotch asked, more like a clarification than a question.

"Yeah, Carrie on Saturday, Lola on Monday, and Evelyn on Wednesday," Irene said frantically.

Y/N reached out to grab her hand. "Well, it's Thursday. So, if he sticks to pattern, he's going after tomorrow's Spotlight Performer. Who do you have lined up?"

"Well, no one yet. After the murders the girls have been hesitant to schedule, and I don't blame them... So what should I do?"

Before Y/N could answer, Hotch did. "Y/L/N, you haven't gone undercover before, but I think it would be a good idea. You used to work at Starsight, you could lure him out."

She turned around sharply. "Oh, I... I don't know, Hotch, I haven't danced in so long, I'm not sure I—"

"He's right," Gideon interrupted. "It's the best chance we have at catching him."

Between Hotch and Gideon's opinions on the matter, Y/N knew she didn't have a say anymore.

"You still know your routine, Petite Etoile?" Irene asked, only slightly amused.

"Petite Etoile?" Elle wondered aloud.

Y/N heard Morgan laugh and she sighed.

***

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you were nervous," Irene said as she straightened another piece of Y/N's hair.

She played with the hem of the sheer robe she was wearing. "Well, I'm about to go undercover for the first time, stripping for the first time in years in front of all my colleagues so I can lure out a serial killer, so I guess you could say I'm a little nervous."

"Well... When you put it like that..."

Y/N looked up at her friend. "I'm sorry, Irene. Really, I'm okay, and we will get him, I promise."

"No, I know you will. I'm not worried. So... Who do they have watching you tonight?"

"Gideon and Hotch are outside, but Elle, Morgan, and Reid are in here with me. There are some extra officers all around the block, too, just in case."

"Hmm," Irene mused, and Y/N could tell she wanted to say something.

"What?"

"I don't know, it just surprises me they'd send Reid in here of all people. He seems almost more nervous than you."

Y/N laughed. "Well, when it comes to girls he gets a little nervous, but... he's good at his job."

"I'll take your word for it. But I also wouldn't be surprised if he short circuits when he sees you up there."

The thought made her smile a little, though she wondered how badly Morgan would tease him about the whole situation. Things between them all would no doubt be a little awkward for a while, but in no time they'd go back to normal like it never happened. At least that's what she told herself, because she wasn't sure what she'd do if her friendship with Reid was permanently damaged and awkward because of her past. The thought worried her just a little, but before she could get too psyched out, a knock at the door brought her back to reality.

"Y/N, it's Elle."

"Come on in!"

Y/N got up from the chair and turned around to meet Elle in the doorway. Her eyes wandered for a moment before nodding with a smirk. "Damn. Petite Etoile indeed."

Despite the nerves, Y/N smiled. "You here to give me an earpiece?"

Elle nodded and closed the door behind her. As she turned on the device and handed it to Y/N, she spoke. "You nervous?"

"A little, but it's just because I haven't done this in a while. Not to mention I'm doing it in front of everyone, and I'm luring out the unsub."

"No pressure, right?"

Y/N laughed, adjusting the earpiece and taking a deep breath. "It'll be fine. How long until I go on?"

"Five minutes. I'll be near the front with Reid. Morgan is in the back with a few officers, and everyone else is outside. We all have communication with you, so if we see him we'll let you know what to look out for."

"Got it."

"Y/L/N, can you hear me?" It was Hotch's voice through the earpiece.

"Yeah, loud and clear."

"Good. We're all in position. Whenever you're ready."

***

Elle met him near the front of the stage. To say he was nervous would be an understatement. Spencer didn't have a problem with strip clubs in the least, but it was bad enough that he'd thought about Y/N on multiple occasions in his dreams, now he was going to have to see her stripping just like he'd imagined many times over. The whole situation spelled out disaster, and if she didn't already know he had a crush on her, she most certainly would when the night was over.

As Elle approached him, he took a deep breath and stretched out his hands to calm his nerves. "She okay?"

Elle nodded. "Ready to go. I'm gonna stand on the other side of the stage, keep a look out for anyone who seems like he could be our guy."

"Right."

Before she left, Elle patted him on the shoulder and smiled knowingly. "Oh, and Reid... Try not to get distracted."

Yeah. He was fucked.

When the music that was playing stopped and the lights started to shift, Spencer took another deep breath. Irene's familiar voice came through the speakers.

"Thank you for coming to Starsight. Tonight's Spotlight Performer is a special one. Returning to the stage for the first time in years, shining brighter and better than ever before, give it up for our very own little star, Petite Etoile!"

A deep, seductive song that Spencer didn't recognize replaced Irene's voice as the lights shifted again, and the crowd around him applauded. It was just as crowded as it had been when he, Morgan, and Y/N met Irene the day before, but with a serial killer no doubt present and Y/N about to come on stage, everything felt heavier.

A dark silhouette broke through fog on the stage, and even though Spencer knew it was Y/N, it didn't feel real. He'd only ever seen her at work, in work clothes, and sometimes in casual clothes when they all went out for drinks on occasion.

So when she finally came into view, her hair tumbling down her back and shoulders rather than in a ponytail, and wearing almost nothing at all, he wasn't even sure it was her for a split second. But the way she looked, her magnetic presence and the way she carried herself across the stage was so remarkably her it was hard to miss. Everything about her confidence was elevated in that moment, and his own confidence—in his job and ability to function as a human being—was completely shattered when she caught his eye. It was just a split second, but that was all it took.

She must have noticed, because she gave him a small smile and a wink before turning her attention to the rest of the crowd as the music built. Spencer cleared his throat softly before glancing around, trying his best to scan everyone for anything suspicious. When he was sure there was nothing around him to be concerned about, he reluctantly let his eyes wander back to the stage.

By now Y/N had rid herself of the sheer robe that was on her, leaving her in a deep blue one-piece... contraption was the only word he could come up with. It was all connected by thin straps of fabric that weaved around every curve of her body, crisscrossing and leaving little to the imagination. Just like she'd described back in the car yesterday, small patches of fabric shaped like stars covered the front of her breasts and...

The second he looked down, she squatted, spreading her legs open and rolling her hips, exposing almost the entire front three rows of people to her barely-clothed pussy.

Spencer felt his cheeks grow warm as he quickly averted his gaze and pretended to survey the crowd again. To his credit, he did really search for anyone who could be the unsub, but the whole time he heard the song and the cheering crowd, and in turn Y/N occupied almost every corner of his brain.

When he finally had the courage to look at the stage again, she was making her way to a chair in the middle. Every step was on beat to the music and purposeful. She danced around the chair for a bit before another big beat drop in the song happened, and she squatted in front of it quickly, rolling her hips as she slowly got up.

Her eyes found his once more as she mouthed along to the words of the song, almost like she was singing directly to him. He wouldn't have thought anything of it, but she held his gaze for much longer than he'd been able to handle, and she knew exactly what she was doing. Which was made evident when she bit her bottom lip and ran her hands down her body, stopping at her knees before she sat in the chair and spread her legs, her hands finally dragging along the insides of her thigh.

Her eyes remained on him the entire time.

Butterflies immediately erupted in his stomach at her intensity, stronger than they'd ever been before. He'd always felt it when she affectionately ruffled his hair or patted his knee in passing, but now? She wasn't even touching him and he was about to crumble to the ground.

Thankfully something in his ear saved him from that. "I've got a visual." It was Morgan. "He's in the back, black long sleeve and jeans. Buzzcut. Y/N, look up at me and blink three times when you see him."

Reid looked up and and noticed her doing it. To anyone else it wouldn't have seemed out of pace, but he could tell she was a little rattled. In any case, she broke contact with Morgan and continued on with her performance as if nothing happened.

Though it meant there was most definitely a serial killer in the room and he would follow Y/N out of the club later, Spencer was glad for the past minute, because he wasn't sure how much more of the performance he could take. Suddenly there was a job to focus on again, and he was thankful for that.

***

"You're sure you're okay?"

Y/N laughed as she approached her motel room, phone in hand. "Yeah, Irene, I'm okay. Promise. He got a hold on me but my team was there to stop him before he did anything. No nicks or bruises or anything."

"Okay... You were great out there by the way. If you weren't such a kick-ass FBI agent now, I'd ask you to come back."

Laughing, she turned her head and noticed Reid at the end of the hall, walking to his room. He caught her eye and gave a shy smile before disappearing behind the door and closing himself off from her. She contemplated a moment before starting her journey to his room. "Well, I'm glad we could help. Maybe if I find myself in town again, I'll stop by."

"Yeah, you better. Though I'd prefer if a serial killer wasn't involved."

"You and me both. I'll come see you before we leave tomorrow morning, yeah?"

"Yeah. Goodnight, Petite Etoile."

With an affectionate roll of her eyes, Y/N nodded though her friend wouldn't be able to see. "Night."

She hung up and put the phone in her bag, taking a deep breath before knocking on Reid's door.

The answer was almost immediate. He stood before her, and it looked like he'd just gotten undressed, wearing grey pajama bottoms and a white tee shirt. "Oh, Y/N, h-hi," he stammered, pushing his glasses up his nose a little. "What's up?"

"Do you... mind if I come in? I know it might sound a little weird but I don't really want to be alone right now..." It was true. Though she was okay after catching the unsub, the idea of being alone after everything that happened was sure to leave a small ache that wouldn't let her sleep, and having company would make a good cure.

"Oh, no, that isn't weird at all. Uh, sure, come on in." He stepped aside and opened the door wider to let her through. She smiled gratefully as she passed him, careful to notice the faint color that adorned his cheeks.

When he closed the door behind them, she set her bag down on the floor and turned to meet him, playing with the sleeve of the FBI jacket she was wearing. Before leaving Starsight, she'd changed into underwear, leggings, and a thin tee shirt. She debated taking the jacket off, but knowing how much of her body her colleague and friend had no doubt seen that night, she figured for his sake she'd leave it on. At least for now.

"I know it's late and we should probably get to bed, but... Truthfully I don't know how well I'll be able to sleep."

Spencer seemed concerned. "You're... you're okay? He didn't hurt you badly, did he?"

"Oh! No, he didn't, I'm just... rattled, that's all. I'll be okay, really. It's just that I haven't... performed in a long time, and all of that added on to being serial killer bait was just... eventful. That's all."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, you were great."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing at her lips. "Oh?"

"Oh, I mean at handling the unsub. Not that you weren't great at the other thing, of course! I just... I just meant that... I didn't mean... Um..."

"Hey, it's okay, I'm... I'm not mad or anything, I'm... flattered."

The redness on Spencer's face became more vivid under the dim glow of the room. "I- Really?"

Y/N smiled and took a step closer. "Mhmm. Y'know... Truthfully it was really hard for me not to look at you the whole time. Out of everyone in that whole room, I wanted to see only you."

His gaze wandered up and down her body briefly before meeting her eyes. "You did?"

"Mhmm," she said again. Her hand reached out to graze his bare arm, and he shivered under her light touch. "You can stop me if this is too weird, but... I really like you, Spence... Like, a lot. And, I think it's pretty obvious that you like me, too. Am I wrong?"

He swallowed. "Um... No. You're not wrong."

She was only inches away from him now, her hands gently caressing his shoulders and chest. She looked up at him through her eyelashes and smiled. "Do you want to kiss me as badly as I want to kiss you right now?"

"Um... T-truthfully I think I might want... to kiss you more..."

Y/N laughed and balled his shirt in one hand, the other snaking up to the back of his head and running through his hair. "Okay, then... You gonna prove it, or what?"

He bit his lip softly before leaning down and capturing her lips in a kiss that made her dizzy. Her hands tightened their grip on him, and the second her lips parted, he wasted no time gently swiping his tongue across her bottom lip, his confidence growing with every second. She groaned into him, pulling her body flush against his and forcing him to wrap his arms around her waist to keep steady.

They pulled away for air eventually, and by the gleam in his eyes when she looked at him, she knew exactly what she had to do.

"No one is rooming with you, right?"

"N-no. It's just me."

"Good." She whispered it seductively as she removed her hands from him and slowly unzipped her jacket, keeping eye contact with Spencer the whole time. Except, of course, when his eyes glanced down to see the progress the zipper was making. Once she slid it off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor, he took her in, his tongue dancing behind his lips.

She let him have a few more seconds before taking a step forward and kissing him again, both of her hands cradling his face and bringing her thumbs to gently rub his cheeks. He melted into her completely, wrapping his arms around her again in no time. While their kisses were slow and passionate for a minute, eventually they grew hungrier, and Y/N hadn't even realized they'd been moving until they were toppling onto the bed, Spencer falling back and her landing on top of him.

They broke apart only for a moment to adjust themselves, but went right back to each other once Y/N straddled his legs and he leaned back on his hands to keep himself upright.

Her hands played in his hair as she kissed him, each brush of her tongue against his sending him into a downward spiral. He'd only ever dreamed of this, and even then, this was better than any dream. Y/N herself was better than any dream.

She ground her hips against him, causing him to groan into her mouth, and he pushed himself forward to be closer, needing to be completely wrapped up in her for as long as he could. When she pulled her mouth from his and settled her hands on his shoulders to keep him from moving, he whined a little, the sound completely taking the both of them aback.

She smiled and cocked her head to the side. "I've thought about this for so long... You have no idea how many times I've wanted to kiss you since we met."

"Really?"

With a nod, Y/N toyed with the collar of his shirt, tugging it and slowly grinding her hips against him again. "Have you ever thought about it?"

It was a question they both obviously knew the answer to, but she wanted to have some fun. She loved seeing how shy he got, it made her want him even more.

"Yes... I... I think about you a lot," he breathed, blinking at her as she slid her hands down his chest and found the bottom of his shirt. She smiled and raised it up, her touch sending shivers all over his body.

"What have you thought about? Any specifics?" she asked once his shirt was all the way off. Her fingers found their way to his neck again as she pulled herself closer.

"Oh, I... Um... I-I've thought about... kissing you on the jet in front of everyone."

Y/N smiled and pushed his glasses up his nose, then traced her finger down over his lips and hooked it under his chin to tilt his head up, exposing his neck. "I've thought about that, too... You know what else?"

Spencer blinked at her, urging her to continue.

She leaned forward and kissed the underside of his jaw, then his neck, leaving small kisses in between every soft word. "I've thought about how good your hands would feel on me." Her hand grabbed one of his and brought it to rest on her side, slipping under her shirt. "Have you ever thought about touching me?"

"Yes," he breathed as she moved her mouth back up his jaw and to the corner of his mouth.

She brought her lips just inches from his, and he could feel them just barely as she spoke. "Do it. Please."

And then she let go of him, bringing both her hands to his face as she kissed him again. Her legs wrapped around him tighter as he used both of his hands to grip her sides. As soon as they knew they were stable enough not to fall backwards, Spencer slid his hands slowly up her torso and barely ghosted over her breasts. She could tell he was a little hesitant, so she pushed further into him, practically trapping his hands in between their chests. Her kisses grew deeper and more desperate as he palmed her breasts, letting a moan or two slip out to encourage him further.

Thankfully it worked, because with every passing second he got more confident with his touches. When Y/N moved her hips against his again, he sighed into her mouth and brought one of his hands out from under her shirt and to her head, running his fingers through her hair.

At this point he was noticeably hard beneath her, and she was desperate to feel more of him. So Y/N peeled herself away from Spencer and snuck her hand down to play with the waistband of his pants. "You wouldn't happen to have a condom on you, would you?"

"Oh, uh, a-actually Morgan gave me one as a joke last week. It's, uh, in my wallet. In my bag."

Y/N laughed. "Sounds like him. Why don't you go grab it."

He nodded as she got up off of him. While he walked over to his bag, Y/N quickly removed her shirt and leggings, leaving her only in a pair of thin black panties that were almost too small. Before he turned around, she sat back on the edge of the bed and spread her legs wide, leaning back on her elbows as she waited.

If she didn't know any better she would have thought that when he turned around, his eyes were going to fall out of his head. He took small steps towards the bed, and she made the 'come here' motion with her finger. "Take your pants off for me?"

He all but scrambled to get them off, and Y/N smiled affectionately at him as she watched, hoping to calm his nerves by letting him know that he had nothing to be nervous about.

But just to be sure, she told him as much anyway. "You've got nothing to worry about, Spence. Trust me, I... I want this."

Once his pants were off, he met her at the edge of the bed, standing in between her legs. "I do too, I just... It's just that I've only ever... done this before once, and... I'm not very experienced, and I don't want to disappoint you."

Y/N sat up and grabbed his hips, leaning forward to press small, soft kisses to his stomach as she looked up at him. "You could never disappoint me. Promise."

Once she was sure he was a little more relaxed, she moved her kisses lower, until they reached the waistband of his underwear. She hooked her fingers under it and slid them down slowly, keeping eye contact with him until they dropped to the floor. Only then did she look down at his dick, and it was even better than she imagined.

Giving a satisfied hum, she pressed a soft kiss to the tip and fluttered her eyes up to meet his, the look on his face completely awe-struck. She took the tip of his dick in between her lips and sucked gently, swirling her tongue around it as she watched his mouth fall open, a sigh escaping. She could tell he was holding back a little, so she traced her finger along the length of him and kept sucking lightly at the tip, hoping to get some noise out of him.

Y/N took him in her mouth completely, bobbing her head up and down just a few times to get him wet before removing her lips with a pop. When she gripped him firmly with one hand and steadily began to stroke him, he finally gave her what she hoped for.

"Y/N," he groaned, just above a whisper. His eyes were closed, but he opened them when she stopped.

"You wanna put it on or should I?" she asked.

"Spencer turned the small packet over in his hand before nodding. "I can do it."

Y/N scooted farther onto the bed and slid off her panties as he got to work, and thankfully he wasn't as nervous anymore. He moved to take off his glasses, but she stopped him. "Keep them on?"

The devious grin on her face made him blush, and he nodded, crawling over the top of her and pressing tentative kisses to her stomach, only he travelled downward instead of up to her mouth.

"You don't have t—"

"I want to," he reassured, kissing her inner thighs. "Truth be told, Y/N, I've thought about doing this, too. Is that okay?"

"Yes," she responded clearly, extremely turned on by the needy tone in his voice.

Almost immediately after she answered, his tongue darted out to taste her, swiping gently over her clit and sending her into a state of speechlessness. She leaned up on her elbows to watch as Spencer took his time, exploring and savoring every inch of her. She knew now why he'd wanted to take his glasses off, but if anything the sight of them riding up his face as he ate her out made the whole thing even hotter.

"Fuck, Spence, that... that feels so fucking good," she breathed, trying to keep her eyes open to look at him but ultimately failing.

Her words emboldened him, and he slipped a finger slowly inside her, his tongue paying special attention to her clit. He worked them together in a slow, sensual rhythm that eventually drove her to the edge. And she told him so.

"You're gonna make me cum," she breathed, willing herself to open her eyes. She found him staring up at her as best as he could in his position, the hungry sparkle in his eye pushing her further. What finally pushed her over the edge was when he sucked gently on her clit and groaned against her as she called out his name. Everything blinded her for a moment as she rocked her hips against his face, needing to hang on to every last second of her orgasm.

When she finally came down, Spencer pulled away and adjusted his glasses, to which Y/N bit her lip and moaned once more. "You're sure you've only ever done this once?"

He laughed a little, sucking his fingers clean with a shrug before answering. "Yeah, but I'm a quick-study."

Y/N smiled and reached one of her arms out to him. "Come here, quick-study."

The two of them smiled as their lips found one another, her hands flying to his hair once again. His hands gripped her waist, and his dick pressed up against her lower stomach, making her groan against him.

Without another word, Y/N hooked her legs around his waist and shifted their weight, rolling them over so she was straddling him now. Spencer reached up to move her hair to one side of her face, and then soon after she sat up, placing her hands on his chest.

"I'll tell you something else I've thought about," she said lowly, scratching down his chest just lightly enough to give him goosebumps. She then used one of her hands to grip his dick and lifted her hips up, running the head of him through her wetness as she looked down at him. "I've thought about how good you would look while I ride you. More than once, actually."

She sank down onto him, just a little, and his face sure enough twitched in pleasure, making Y/N smile to herself. "What about you? You ever imagine me riding this pretty cock?"

"Fuck, Y/N, yes, I— Oh my god..."

She sat down completely, rocking her hips forward a little and pressing her hands harder into his chest. "Fuck, you feel so good..."

She set a slow pace, making sure to pay extra attention to Spencer's face as she worked him. Just like she'd done before, he seemed to have a hard time keeping his eyes open, but his hands gripped her hips so tightly she was sure they'd leave bruises. The thought of that spurred her on, and she picked up the pace, bouncing steadily on his cock.

"Ohhh, fuck," she groaned, her hands leaving his torso to grab her breasts. He opened his eyes and watched her, letting out a soft moan of his own. His hands slid up her sides and under hers, replacing them with his own firm grip. She leaned forward a little so he wouldn't have to reach up that far, placing both of her hands on either side of his waist.

"Tell me," she managed to say as she continued riding him. "You ever think about fucking me at work? In the round-table room or over my desk? I know I have..."

He continued to pinch and pull at her nipples while barely being able to keep his eyes open. "Y-yes... Fuck, Y/N, I think about you all the time..."

"Feeling's mutual. Sit up for me?"

Spencer opened his eyes and she helped him sit up. They adjusted for a second before she wrapped her arms around his neck and started moving again, rocking her hips into his and giving him a better angle to hit inside her deeper.

"Fuck, baby, you feel so good," she breathed against his lips before she kissed him, missing the feel of his lips on hers. Their bodies clung together perfectly, every movement feeling better than the last, until they were both obviously close to coming undone.

Sure enough, the moment she squeezed her legs together and clenched herself around him, he groaned into her mouth and bucked his hips forward. "Y/N... I..."

She pressed her forehead to his and tugged at his hair, quickening her pace just a little and feeling herself geting close as well. Any moment now and she would feel it.

"Me, too," she breathed, brushing her nose against his. Within a matter of seconds, they were both unraveling, sighing out each others' names and holding on to each other for dear life as they rode out their highs.

Eventually Y/N slowed her hips to a stop, and she slumped against him, pressing one final kiss to his lips before she got off his lap and pulled him down to lay beside her, immediately snuggling into his side and burying her face in the crook of his neck.

"So, was that better than you imagined?" she murmured against his neck, pressing kisses along collarbone.

Spencer laughed and pulled her even closer. "Even better. No dream could ever do you justice."

She smiled, feeling herself growing sleepy. "You sap... But, for the record, I could say the same thing about you."

"Really?" He seemed genuinely curious.

Y/N looked up at him and smiled, tracing patterns on his chest with her fingertips. "Really. I wasn't kidding, Spence, I think about you... probably more often than I should. You're distracting."

"I'm distracting?" he mused. "You're... you. Seriously, it's a surprise I haven't completely made a fool of myself around you since we met. Especially after we all found out about your other job."

"Right... That doesn't... weird you out, does it?"

"That you used to be a stripper?"

She nodded, truthfully a little worried. She wasn't sure why, but it had always been a problem in her previous relationships, and she'd gotten used to that.

"No, of course that doesn't weird me out. I mean, I was definitely more intimidated around you, and I figured you were completely out of my league... Truthfully, I think you still might be."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short, Doctor. You're perfect, and really, if anyone was out of anyone's league here, it would be me. I'd be lucky to have you in any capacity, you know that, right?"

He blushed, bringing his forehead to rest against hers again. "Well... In any case, I really do like you, and... If it's not too weird, maybe you'd want to go out sometime?"

Warmth bloomed in her chest as she reached out and grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together. "Of course. I would love to."

***

"Make it stop," Y/N whined, covering her ears with the pillow.

Spencer stirred beside her, barely awake himself. The knocking at the door wasn't stopping, and in a huff of annoyance, Y/N decided she'd had enough.

"We're getting up!"

She only realized what she did after the door opened and Elle walked in, a shit-eating grin on her face. "Oh my God, you were in here last night! I came by your room and tried calling..."

Y/N and Spencer both froze, completely awake and now well aware of the fact that someone else knew about their... sleeping arrangement.

"Uh, yeah... Yeah, I was here. Sorry if I worried you," Y/N stammered, trying to keep her cool. "I-I promised Irene I'd stop by this morning for breakfast before we left, so I should probably do that. Do, um... Do you mind?"

Elle laughed, giving the two of her friends a once-over before nodding. "Sure thing, Little Star. Oh, and uh... Good for you, Reid, proud of you."

"Elle," Y/N groaned, clutching the covers tighter around her bare torso.

"Right. Don't be too late."

After she left, Y/N leaned over to Spencer and rubbed his arm. "I'm sorry. I probably should have—"

He stopped her by pressing his lips to hers in a soft kiss. When he pulled away, his hand brushed the hair from her face and he smiled. "It's fine. I don't care who knows. I mean, as long as you don't, Petite Etoile..."

He said it with a grin reminiscent of the one Elle had just adorned, and it made Y/N laugh. She kissed him again and ruffled his hair. "I'm gonna get you for that."

"What? It suits you."

"You are not calling me by my stripper name. It's bad enough Elle and Morgan are probably gonna call me that for the rest of my life, I don't need it from you, too." She smiled as she said it, hoping that he knew she was only joking.

Either way, Spencer looked at her adoringly and took her hand in his. "Well, then... how about I just call you mine?"

"I like the sound of that."

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut

[cozyfoxy]

Mystical Paths Chapter 2

Summary: The Howells have been the proud owners of a small but famous bookstore since the 1800s. They are known for being the only shop that collects original copies of magic writings. Dan works as the bookkeeper of the shop. As the busiest season approaches, one of the most renowned magic families reaches out to the shop and offers to gift them an original Spellbook of sorts. Little did Dan know that these offers would change his life forever.

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Read Chapter 1

Genre: AU

Warnings: None

Only a week had passed since the Lesters had given a handwritten book to Dan and his family, and Dan had never felt more stressed. The news of the book had traveled quicker than he ever thought possible. Monday morning when he went to open the shop with his parents, there was already a long line at the door. He felt his cheeks heat up like fire as the people stared at him expectantly. Though he was much taller than his parents, he wanted nothing more than to hide behind them.

Once they had gotten into the shop, Dan had excused himself to the back room where all of the original works stayed, so he could prepare. He knew that it was human nature to be curious, but he truly didn’t want to deal with people asking him questions he couldn’t answer. No one could know that he could read the book, not even his parents. He knew that he would be heckled, maybe even threatened, if people knew that he could read the charmed writings and wouldn't share the information.

Dan ran a hand through his curls with a sigh, shaking his head. He should be excited about the gift, but he didn’t completely understand why the Lesters would give it to the Howells. There had been many years that Dan’s family had actively asked for some of their works, but the answer had always been a stern no. The Howells had given up on the Lesters, they didn’t seek them out or anything anymore. So, why now? Even more important, why was the letter addressed to Dan, and why could he read the book? He didn’t have a magical bone in his body.

“Let’s get this over with” Dan mumbled to no one, before walking to the clear glass case he had stored the newest book in.

When he looked at the case, he jumped back in shock. The fox logo had moved from its place on the ribbon. It was now stowed in the upper left corner, a glossy silver over the rusty brown cover. It wasn’t even in the same position as before; instead of a crescent moon shape, it was curled up in a ball, as if it were sleeping; its eyes closed.

Dan shook his head at himself, chuckling under his breath. Sometimes it was as if he forgot that magic was very real, not something from fairytales. He walked back over to the book and caressed the insignia, raising an eyebrow at the warmth of it. He had seen plenty of magic at this point in his life, but nothing quite like this.

Without thinking too hard about the motions, Dan opened the glass case, gently pulling the book out as if it were a fragile bird; or a bomb, he wasn’t sure which. He looked at the clock and sighed, seeing that it was only ten minutes until they would open. If he was lucky, he would have time to read a few pages.

“I wish I had more time to look through the book,” Dan mumbled to himself, taking a seat on the floor.

The book was sitting in his lap when he looked back down at the cover and saw the fox insignia seemed to be staring at him with glowing blue eyes. Dan gasped nervously and swallowed the air. He watched in awe as the tiny fox ran down to the other end of the book, reaching a singular paw from the leather it was etched into, and touching Dan’s watch.

Even through the leather band of his watch, he could feel the warmth of the tiny paw. It didn’t burn or anything, it reminded him of climbing into a hot shower after a day outside in the cold. It was a heavy sensation, but oddly pleasant.

“You have thirty minutes, enjoy my writing. You may not understand all of it, feel free to ask questions. “

Dan froze, it was the same voice from the morning that a silver fox had delivered the new book. He jerked his head to stare at the clock on the wall. It had stopped moving entirely. Dan rubbed his eyes with his hands and looked again, seeing nothing had changed.

“You know what I am capable of, little dove. I will warn you when the magic will wear off.”

The brunette huffed out a sigh, “Okay… I have one question. Why can I read the book? I’m not a magic wielder.”

“You don’t have to be a magic user to read charmed writings. You just have to be deemed worthy by the author. I deemed you worthy before the book was even delivered to you.”

Dan hummed, opening the book to the first page without responding to the voice. He had more questions, of course, he did, but he wanted an opportunity to look at the writing before his time was up. He ran his fingers gently over the inked page, feeling the indentations of the words.

“Today is my seventeenth birthday, so my grandmother gifted me this journal so that I can make my spell book, or whatever else I decide to do. I plan on writing my original spells, dreams, and studies here. I’m a little nervous since Gram and my parents have always compared me to my great, great grandfather; Arthur Philip Lester. He was the most powerful witch in my entire family and the man I was named after.

I don’t really understand why I was named after him. My mum says it was because of how similar our eyes are, apparently, he had the same flicks of gold and green in his blue eyes. My dad was married into the family and doesn’t completely understand how the Lester dynamic works, so he’s not much help. Gram says she’ll explain to me once I turn 23, since it’s apparently quite complicated, I don’t understand why she can’t tell me now that I’m nearly a full-fledged witch. But I know not to press the subject, Grandma Evanora always does things with reason before emotion.

I still haven’t discovered my individual ability, the thing I will focus on the most with my magic, but I have a feeling that it will have to do with animals. Animals have always been drawn to me, which is typical when it comes to witches, but it’s always been more noticeable with me. My parents love to talk about when I was a baby and would cry, birds would fly into the room to sing to me, to calm me. When I was a toddler and learning to walk outside, deer would walk out of the forest and walk next to me on both sides and help me up when I’d stumble. When I would walk to school, dogs would walk me there and back home without fail. Even now, when I walk through town or the forest, foxes will find me and walk beside me, like they’re protecting me or I’m protecting them. I’m not sure, but they do always make me feel safe.”

Dan blinked after reading for a while, smiling to himself despite his confusion. So far, nothing seemed too strange in the book, it seemed almost like a diary. He couldn’t help but wonder what the author of the journal was like. He only knew the name; Philip Michael Lester, and he couldn’t do too much with that. Finding a specific Lester was nearly impossible. He sighed and closed the book, rubbing his tired eyes with the palms of his hands.

“So, you’re the author, right?” Dan asked cautiously, still holding the book in his hands.

“Yes, I am. Why do you ask?” the voice asked him, sounding very patient.

Dan hummed, “I’m just confused. So your name is Philip, right? Why are you talking to me, and how?”

The voice chuckled in his head, “You can call me Phil. I’m talking to you because I want to and because I need to help you understand me and my story, so that I may understand yours. I am talking to you with magic obviously. Also, I do want to tell you that you don’t have to talk to me out loud if you don’t want to, just speak to me in your mind. I won’t invade your privacy, so if you need to get my attention, think of my name as if you were calling for me.”

“I’m glad I know magic is real, otherwise I would think I was going crazy. I think I prefer talking out loud, at least for now. So, what’s up with the little fox on your book? I’ve never seen magic like it before.” Dan asked, focusing his eyes on the little silver fox that was once again asleep on the leather cover of the journal.

“Oh, well she is one of my charms. She protects the book from thieves and those with bad intentions. She is also linked directly to me, meaning I can see what’s going on around her through her eyes if needed. She will protect you today from people's anger when they can’t read my writing. I will protect you too if needed, but I don’t see that being necessary. I know you’re nervous and dreading today, but it won't be as bad as you think. You have so much support. Okay little dove, the time spell is about to wear off. Remember, you’re safe and I’m reachable whenever you need me.” the voice- Phil, trailed off. Leaving Dan alone with his thoughts.

Dan took a steadying breath and stood up from the ground, moving the book from hand to hand so that he could brush the dust from his jeans. He lifted the journal in front of his face and bit back a chuckle when he saw the tiny fox was staring at him with an almost confused expression; like she was wondering what his problem was.

“Alright, I know that it will be okay. Just don’t judge me if I cry at the end of the day, okay?” he asked the fox, smiling when she seemed to nod at him.

#phan #phandom #amazingphil #dan and phil #phan fic #phanfiction #phan au #phan art #youtuber #dan howell #dip and pip #dnp art

[bluejayblueskies]

agape

n. selfless, sacrificial, and unconditional love; love that motivates action, often for the sake or care of others 

Words: 2.3k Relationship: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood Tags: AU - Tea Shop/Bookstore, Fluff, Asexual Jonathan Sims Warnings: internalized acephobia/biphobia (minor,), fear of homo/ace/transphobia (brief, unfounded)

|| Ao3 ||

.

Martin remembers, with crystal clarity, the first time that he saw Jonathan Sims. Martin’s tea shop opens at seven in the morning to accommodate the morning commuter crowd, but they’re really busiest in the afternoon, which is when most people deign to take a break from whatever work they’ve got for the day.

 Jonathan Sims is not most people. At promptly seven, the jingle of the little bell that Tim had hung over the door once as a joke but that had lingered out of sheer practicality had cut through the gentle humming of the kettle, the small one that Martin preferred in the morning as it took no time at all to heat and the small volume of customers generally didn’t warrant the larger, stainless steel water heaters that sat along the back wall. Martin had had a box of loose-leaf English breakfast in his hand as he turned; he remembers the way the bitter smell of the leaves had mingled with the cool blast of winter air that swept through the door, carrying with it the scent of something acrid and ashy.

 Cigarette smoke, his mind helpfully supplied. Then, Martin’s eyes found the man who had entered the shop, his mouth forming the automatic greeting the bell always elicited from him, a well-trained habit that made him feel not dissimilar to Pavlov’s dog.

 “Welcome to Blackwood Blends! What can I get started for you?”

The man—and the likely source of the burnt smell still lingering in the air—startled slightly at the sound of Martin’s voice, like he hadn’t been expecting to be addressed directly. He was wrapped in a comically large scarf, knit from chunky yarn and laced with warm yellow and midnight black, and he looked like the kind of person who might blow away in the wind if he wasn’t careful. His hair, long and brown, was streaked through with grey and seemed to be fighting a losing battle with the hat that was currently struggling to keep it contained. There were at least two jumpers of startlingly different colors peeking out from underneath a heavy black pea coat that was missing a button near the bottom.

 He was also quite possibly the most beautiful person Martin had ever seen.

 He was there and gone before Martin quite knew what was happening, cradling a steaming travel mug of Ceylon close to his chest like it alone could drive away the January chill, and Martin found himself watching him through the café window as he crossed the street with barely more than a cursory glance in each direction, fumbled with something in his pockets for a moment, and finally vanished into the building across the street.

 Beholding Books & Antiquities, the sign above the door said in curling calligraphy, barely visible from this distance.

 Martin wondered, briefly, if they had poetry.

 Martin knows now that they do, but that the man—whose name, he’d learned on the man’s next visit to the tea shop, is Jon—wrinkles his nose when people purchase them like they’ve caused him some great offense. He knows that Jon never gets the same tea twice in a row, and though he’s cycled through every possible blend that Martin’s shop carries, he’s not a fan of herbals and finds himself returning to earthy greens and floral blacks. (Which, unfortunately, includes oolong, which may be the only kind of tea that Martin can’t stand.) He knows that the bookshop opens at ten in the morning (but that Jon never arrives later than eight) and that unlike the surge of afternoon customers Martin’s shop gets, the bookshop receives a steady trickle of local customers and curious tourists throughout the day.

 He knows that Jon smiles like it’s a secret he can’t quite decide if he wants to share and that Jon’s fingers are warm and soft when they brush against Martin’s as he hands Martin his new purchase and that he might be just a little bit in love with Jon.

 He spends quite a lot of time browsing for books nowadays, to Tim and Sasha’s eternal amusement. But he can’t bring himself to mind.

 Now, the nip of winter air is far behind them, and the lovely warmth of June seeps in through the cracks in the windows and in bursts as the door opens and closes. He always gets more business in winter, when the promised warmth of a cup of tea lures customers in from the cold, but it’s steady enough in the summer. And though Martin’s always been a lover of bulky jumpers and drinks that warm you from the inside out and breath that fogs in winter air, he can’t help but love the onset of summer, because it brings with it June and his favorite yearly tradition: Pride month tea blends.

 Martin finishes scrawling the various specialty drinks onto the chalkboard he keeps propped up on the counter, feeling a little burst of pride at the new tea blends he’s selected for this year. He creates them all himself, making little changes from year to year and brewing cup after cup for Tim and Sasha to try until he thinks they must be sick of tasting ten different versions of fruity Earl Greys. It just feels nice, to put a piece of himself into each cup he makes, and beyond that, the shyly excited looks some customers get when they order a certain blend fills him with a warmth that tingles in his veins for hours after.

 It feels nice, to take care of people this way. To let people find themselves in his tea and to share a bit of himself in kind.

 So when the bell jingles and Martin glances up from the blackboard to see Jon standing just inside the doorway, blinking as his eyes adjust to the dimness of the café, the thrum of affection that always overtakes him when he sees Jon is magnified tenfold, accompanied in equal part by a bite of nervousness. Because, he realizes, for all that he and Jon have talked about their jobs and favorites and hobbies and everything in between, they’ve never talked about this.

 Martin’s never been shy about it. His jacket is plastered with rainbow-striped patches, his bag adorned with enamel pins in purple-black-white-greys and in blue-pink-whites. He knows Jon’s seen them. Jon has to have seen them. He’s just… never mentioned it. And Martin gets the brief, terrifying, and completely unfounded worry that it’s because Jon is bothered by it.

 He shakes the thought off as quickly as it had come. No, he knows Jon. He knows that behind the prickly exterior, Jon is kind—so, so kind, and that he cares more about other people than he lets on. With a small, anxious laugh that Martin barely keeps contained beyond a brief exhalation, Martin realizes that he also knows that Jon is possibly also the most oblivious person Martin knows. It’s infinitely more likely that Jon hasn’t noticed—or has noticed and has decided not to say anything—than that Jon is somehow a completely different person than the one Martin’s gotten to know over the past five months.

 “Are you all right?”

 Martin startles so badly that he drops the chalk. It rolls dangerously close to the edge of the counter before a thin-fingered hand captures it mid-motion and holds it out toward Martin, the dusty white stark against his brown skin. Martin takes the chalk with a sheepish smile and says, “Ah, sorry—got a bit, er. Distracted.” Then, in a quasi-professional voice, because he is at work: “What can I get for you, Jon?”

 Jon doesn’t even glance at the menu; Martin’s almost certain that he has it memorized by now. He taps a finger on the counter, and as he thinks, his eyes wander downward, landing on the chalkboard that’s still laid flat against the counter, the bottom left corner slightly smudged. “Are these new blends?” Jon asks, eyes bright and curious. He tilts his head, trying to see the words better, and Martin quickly stands the chalkboard up on its wooden feet and returns it to its spot on the counter so that it’s easier to read.

 Well, no time like the present, I suppose.

 “They’re, ah, my seasonal blends!” Martin says with a smile he hopes doesn’t look as nervous as it feels. “I always do them in June.” He lets out a little, disarming laugh. “My own way of celebrating Pride month, you know?”

 Jon’s eyes are scanning the chalkboard with an intensity that makes Martin shift from one foot to the other at a pace far too quick to be casual, his hands finding the edge of the counter and gripping it like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. He can’t read Jon’s face; there’s something there, just below the surface, but he can’t get a handle on it. It keeps slipping away like wet bar soap when he tries too hard to get a grip on it, and eventually, he just gives up, waiting for Jon to finish with his heartbeat sitting high in his throat.

 Finally, after a period of time that feels just shy of an eternity and certainly too long to have been simply considering the merits of one tea blend over another, Jon looks at Martin with an expression that feels strangely vulnerable. “I… I can’t decide,” he says quietly, like this decision carries the weight of the entire world. He points a thin finger at the middle of the board, where bisexual berry is scrawled in spiraling letters that constitute Martin’s attempt at calligraphy. It’s an herbal blend, with bits of freeze-dried blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries. “I like most of this blend,” he says, “but er. Not on its own?” His finger moves down, nearly smudging the words asexual almond as it comes to rest atop the ingredients below them—Assam tea, almond flavoring, cinnamon sticks, and little white blossoms that Martin includes purely for the visual effect. “Some people think that black tea wouldn’t go well with herbal,” Jon says, studying the board like it has the secret to life itself scrawled upon the dusty black, “but they’re really not that different at all. It’s all tea, and- and liking one kind of tea doesn’t preclude you from liking another kind, right? So asking me to- to decide between one kind of tea and another is—well, it’s just ridiculous. There’s tea that I like and tea that I don’t and I don’t have to pick just one.”

 Jon’s still staring at the blackboard, his forehead creased in what could be concentration but could also be irritation. It’s still early enough that the tea shop is empty save for them; Tim and Sasha don’t come in until after noon as usually, Martin can handle the morning crowds by himself. And Martin is really quite sure that this isn’t about his tea at all. So, in the gentlest tone he can muster, Martin says, “You can order more than one kind of tea, you know.”

 Jon jerks his hand back, almost like he’d forgotten Martin was there. “I—what?”

 Feeling significantly less nervous than before, Martin adjusts the sign so that he can see it better and says, “These are all just suggestions, Jon. Blends that I like and ones that I’ve found that other people like too, but they’re not set in stone—people have all kinds of preferences, and when it comes down to it, it- it’s all just tea.” Then, because apparently he’s feeling bold today: “I- I can make a new blend if you’d like? One that, er.” Just say it, Martin. “One that’s for you, specifically. Whatever you’d like.”

 Jon’s eyes are as wide as saucers as he stares up at Martin, and Martin can’t help but shift nervously under his gaze. Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that, that was weird, what a weird thing to say when someone’s coming out to you with bad tea metaphors, fuck fuck—

 “If- if you’d like,” Jon says quietly, slamming Martin’s thought spiral headfirst into a brick wall and nearly knocking him off his feet as he registers that Jon just said yes. “I’d like that. Though I- I do enjoy the flavors of berries and almonds together.” He smiles then, a wry thing that sends Martin’s pulse into the stratosphere and his stomach aflutter with butterflies whose wings gleam an iridescent rainbow against the backs of his eyes. (Not his best bit of poetic imagery, to be true, but he’s a little too busy being utterly in love with Jonathan Sims to think about much else.)

 Martin makes the tea, choosing the black over the herbal because elaborate metaphor or not, Jon really isn’t a fan of herbal teas. Blueberry is a strong enough taste to pair with the bitterness of the black tea and it couples well with almond and cinnamon, creating a flavor profile not unlike that of a blueberry muffin. And because Martin can’t help but think of Jon every time he smells it, he switches out the Assam for a Lapsang Souchong and Earl Grey blend—smoky and floral, smooth enough that it won’t overbalance the other flavors but robust enough to stand out.

 When Jon accepts the mug and takes his first hesitant sip, his face lights up in a way that Martin wants to see all day, every day for the rest of his life. And when Jon smiles at him, says, achingly soft, “Thank you, Martin. I love it,” and cautiously, gently places his hand over Martin’s where it sits on the counter, Martin thinks, for the first time, that maybe he can.

 Wouldn’t that be nice, he thinks. And the smile he gives Jon in return feels like a blank-paged book, waiting to be filled.

#tma #tma fic #the magnus archives #aspecarchives #jonmartin #asexual jonathan sims #asexual martin blackwood #(among other identities) #my fic #my writing #i'm trying out a new fic posting format to see if people are more likely to read it! #now that i'm actually posting the body of the fics themselves on tumblr and not just the ao3 links #let me know if yall like it :)

[hyucks-archive]

september 19.

word count: 7,342

genre: fluff

member(s): the one and only lee donghyuck

warning(s): it’s a sort of feel good fic, so unrealism™

author’s note: @haeloce has spoken - ask & you shall be given! this post is dedicated to you my love, thank you for always supporting my works

September 19, 2017.

You look up at the azure sky, the gentle autumn breeze causing your baby hairs to tickle at your face. You close your eyes, breathing in the fresh scent of what you imagine to be of wilting leaves and fresh pumpkins. You shove your hands into the pockets of your block-coloured cardigan; while most prefer to stick to the monochromatic nude colour scheme in the autumn, you like to do the exact opposite. Summer is your season for monochromes, while autumn is your season for colour. There’s just something about contrasting the seasons that you’ve always loved to do.

Pulling out the ticket from your jean pocket, you hold it up against the backdrop – you smile, tilting your head to the side, eyes going back and forth between the photograph printed on the ticket, and the actual, three-dimensional scene in front of you.

“Looks even better than in the picture,” you murmur to yourself, shoulders dropping in satisfaction. You bring your hand down, allowing yourself to really take in the entirety of the one place you’ve hoped to visit for more than half of your life – the Nami Island. It first became popular because it was the filming site for Winter Sonata, but that’s not the reason you’ve always wanted to come. It’s the actual view that you’ve always been drawn to; the tree-lined roads, and the maple and gingko trees that would turn golden red and bright yellow in the fall. Autumn has always been your favourite season, but you’ve never really been able to really drown yourself in the things that are said to define autumn as a season.

You’ve always wanted to visit. But you’ve always only wanted to visit on a September 19th.

Why?

Because you first discovered the existence of Nami Island back in 2008, on September 19. You’re usually not one to care for such things, but when you have close to nothing to really look forward to in life, visiting Nami Island on a future September 19 became the only thing you looked forward to. Yet, it took you a good nine years to get here, because every September 19, you were never able to take an off day from your job at the café.

This year, however, you finally managed to. Granted, you only managed to, because you decided to stop being a beta, and start being an alpha. In other words, you submitted your application for an off day back in January, at the start of the year. It’s only because autumn is the busiest season for the café though. Autumn is the time where everyone rushes in for the pumpkin-flavoured drinks and treats. Autumn is also somehow the season that’s the most associated with coffee.

Placing the ticket in your wallet, you slide your wallet back into your bag, finally ready to begin your exploration of the beautiful island.

As you walk, you’re warmed by the site of numerous families and lovers, who scramble about, trying to get the most scenic shots of the island. There are two toddlers who are fascinated by the squirrel that dashed across the pathway, and another three toddlers who are busy picking at the fallen, dead leaves, while their parents attempt to buy steamed buns as a treat. Further in, there’s a waft of coffee, a scent that is all too familiar to you. You look towards the somewhat populated, hanok-looking café.

The atmosphere is so different from the café you work at. Here, it’s tranquil, there’s beautiful scenery to motivate you, and there’s zero signs of the hustle and bustle of city life (which is something you seriously detest). There aren’t business people who rush in for an americano before zooming out of the door, and there aren’t students who hog the seats to mug for their exams (although, you’ve been guilty of that at some point in your life). It’s just people who are here to really take in the flavour of the coffee, and to appreciate everything about the island.

You decide to buy a cup of tea to-go, just to support the business.

With the warm beverage in hand, you continue to venture further into the island, eventually arriving at a water body at the end of the trail. You look around, scanning the area. It’s even more peaceful here than it was back at the heart of the island; there’s barely anyone here.

You spot a boulder under the tree, so you decide that it’s a sign for you to take a seat, to enjoy your off day, sipping on your cup of tea, while listening to the soft, gentle sounds from the water. You really like this. For more than half of your life, you’ve spent it being overwhelmed by crowds, working ‘till your arms and legs go sore, trying to “get ahead” of everyone else. You’ve always quite liked the feeling of sinking in work, especially labour work, because it takes your mind off of every other thing that went on in your life.

Now that you’re older, and your body isn’t as lively and healthy as it used to be, you’re beginning to learn the importance of taking breaks. Sadly, it’s a little too late. The reputation that you’ve established in the café that you’ve been working at all along, is one of the ‘perfect-worker-who-never-ever-takes-a-day-off-even-when-sick”. You have this whole thing about not disappointing people that’s going on as well.

Sometimes you really hate yourself for it. You scoff – who are you kidding? You always hate yourself for it.

Even the thought of it makes your nose sting and your lips quiver. You blink fast; it’s a technique you’ve come to master, and it works absolutely amazingly when you’re trying to hold back your tears. Not everybody can do this, so you consider it a pretty big talent.

You hear the sound of dead leaves cracking, so you turn your head to the side, where the sound had come from, only to be greeted by a gigantic brown bear, that’s holding a tray of tiny cups, that you assume to be samples from whatever store this bear’s a mascot of. You notice the sunflower that’s pinned to the bear’s chest, reading the text out loud, “Smile! It’s a beary sunny day!”

You break out into a smile, murmuring, “Not the first time I’ve heard that one.”

The bear holds out a tiny cup, allowing you to take a peek at the brown liquid that fills it. “Is this coffee?” you ask, looking up at the face of the bear. It shakes its head, pulling out a card that he had hidden beneath the tray. He passes it to you.

“Try our brand new bear liquid! Contains everything bear-friendly.” You raise a brow, looking back up at the bear, “You know that doesn’t sound very appetising, right? No one’s going to want to drink,” you hold up both hands, gesturing inverted commas as you say, “bear liquid.”

There’s a hint of a shrug from the bear, before it reaches behind itself, bringing out a mini sunflower badge. It holds the sunflower badge out in front of you, gesturing for you to take it. “You guys give sunflower badges for free?” you ask, bringing the badge up close to inspect it. “That’s kind of a good marketing idea, actually,” you say, spotting the name of the café printed at the bottom of the badge. “But it doesn’t seem very cost-efficient,” you continue, poking the needle of the pin through your cardigan, hooking it back in, securing the pin on your left chest.

“Thank you,” you say, patting the bear on its shoulder, “You’re doing a beary good job.”

The bear holds out a thumbs up, turning around to take its leave.

You watch the retreating figure of the bear, wondering how tiring it must be for the person that’s inside the gigantic bear suit. Luckily, it’s autumn, which means cool weather, but it also makes you think about how tiring it must be for the bear in the summer. Getting up onto your two feet, you smile to yourself, “Well, I have nothing to do,” you whisper, allowing the curiosity to take over you as you leap forward, taking hurried footsteps until you spot the bear a short distance ahead of you. “I guess you’ll be my entertainment for the day,” you conclude, grinning widely.

You continue to follow behind the bear, taking cover behind trees whenever it gets stopped by a bunch of kids and their parents who wants a photo with it. It continues to give out the bear liquid, but you also notice that even though it has interacted with more than 50 different people, it hasn’t given out another sunflower badge. You wonder if it’s because it isn’t allowed to give out too many of those, which, obviously, would make sense. Then again, what makes you legible for the sunflower badge, and not the rest?

The thought swims around in your head as you continue to trail behind the brown mascot, the tiny cups of bear liquid slowly reducing in quantity.

You stare at the teddy bear sunflowers that decorate the exterior of the café. “Oh, that makes sense,” you think aloud, finally understanding why the mascot of the café is a big brown bear, along with the sunflower. You take a seat on a wooden bench, crossing a leg over the other, sipping on the tea that’s now cold.

Finally, the bear finishes giving out the samples of bear liquid. You watch as it poses with different children who are so amazed by the big, live-sized, animate bear. You take another big gulp of tea; it must be tiring, not only does it have to wear that heavy, stuffy bear suit, it also has to continuously entertain the tourists that come by every day. Because you’re so engrossed in your own thoughts, you fail to notice that the bear has spotted you. It wonders why you’re here.

“Oh, gosh,” you gasp, body tensing up for a split second. The bear is now suddenly in front of you.

“Hello,” you greet, smiling. The bear bows its head. There’s a pause, then you decide to break the silence with, “Do you talk?”

The bear gestures at its wrist, before folding an arm, resting its chin in its paw, tilting its head to the side questioningly. “You want to know the time?” you gather from its gestures. It nods its head, so you check your watch. “It’s seven thirty-two PM,” you inform. The bear claps its paws excitedly, and you react with a confused smile.

“I can talk now,” he speaks, sitting himself down beside you. “Don’t you have to work?” you ask.

“It’s two minutes past my shift,” he replies.

“Cool,” you say. You lick your lips, pursing them, then deciding that you should ask the question that would get you the answer you’ve been wanting to know. “Hey, can I ask you something?” you start. The bear turns to look at you, “You followed me all the way here just to ask me something?”

“Well, kind of,” you say, “Technically, I derived the question after following you.”

“So you admit you were following me?”

“I didn’t deny it to begin with,” you state nonchalantly. You can hear the bear smirk under his bear head. “You’re honest, I like that,” he says.

“Thanks,” you reply.

“Go ahead,” he cues.

“Why’d you give me a sunflower badge, but not anyone else? I thought this was part of your café’s marketing.” You point at the sunflower that’s still pinned to your cardigan. You hear the bear chuckle under its mask, its body folding forwards as he does so, a sign of amusement. “I gave it to you because I thought you might need it,” he explains, almost matter-of-factly.

You’re slightly stunned by his reply. You think back to the situation earlier – you were busy dwelling in the thoughts that make you feel sad, that by the end of it, you were blinking away tears. Just how much of that did the bear see? You’re uncomfortable just by the thought of it; it doesn’t feel right at all knowing that someone might’ve caught a glimpse of your weakness. You don’t want that. You don’t think you can live knowing that someone potentially saw you struggling.

“But don’t worry,” he begins, as though reading your mind, “I’ve already forgotten everything.”

“That doesn’t really reassure me,” you say, eyeline falling to the ground. The bear leans his body forward, mirroring your position. “It’s human,” he says. Your eyes travel up to look at his bear face. “I get really frustrated sometimes, too. But I don’t go all the way to an offshore island to release the stress,” he pokes, eliciting a small smile from you.

“I didn’t come here specifically to destress,” you share, “I came because I’ve been meaning to come for nine years already. I just only found the chance to now,” you finish.

The bear looks at you through its mesh eyes. When he first spotted you back by the water body, he saw the way your brows knitted, the way your lips quivered, and the way you were quick to blink away your tears. He felt bad for imposing on a moment that seemed so private, but he would feel twice as bad if he had just walked away, pretending like he didn’t see what happened. So he decided to build up the courage to go up to you – it worked out really well that he’s in the bear suit. In fact, it’s working out even better now, because he can stare at you, and you wouldn’t even know. He can sit beside you, talk to you like it’s nothing to him, because all you see, is a big, brown bear.

Still, he can’t deny the slight fluttering in his heart. It’s cliché, and it’s definitely not right. But he can’t deny, that he’s attracted to you. It’s superficial, he knows. But he’s also only going to be able to see you today, and today only. After which, you’d return to the mainland, while he’d remain here, continuing his job as a mascot of the café.

He likes the way you’re smiling fondly, just at the thought of being able to finally visit the island you’ve been longing to visit.

“Do you like the island?” he asks, mentally slapping himself for not being able to come up with a better question.

“Of course,” you say, beaming. “It’s everything I imagined. And,” you pause, “I got to meet a really friendly bear, too.”

His heart does another thing at your declaration. It’s foolish, he’s well aware. But again, tonight’s his only chance to experience this. Then, you’d be gone, and he’d be back to his regular daily routine.

“Do you live on Nami island?” you ask.

“I don’t. I take the first ferry here every morning, and the last ferry back every night. The pay is good, so I don’t mind the tedious travelling,” he shares. “Wouldn’t you rather just live on this island?” you question. “Do you know how expensive that is?” he replies.

You shrug, “Wouldn’t your total expenses spent on travelling equate to renting a place here?”

“I travel for free,” he says, “The boss pays for that. I bring in customers by wagging my bear butt, so it’s a fair exchange.”

You laugh, amused by the way the bear phrases its words.

“Must be nice,” you say.

“What about you? You look like a student, so I’m assuming you work part-time?”

The bear notes the smile you force out. He can see the slight bitterness peeking from your eyes. He mentally slaps himself a second time – he must’ve said something wrong.

“I’m actually taking a gap year right now,” you share, “So I’m working full time, to save up for school.”

He understands now. It’s odd, to say the least. He feels a form of connection with you, even though he knows this’ll never come to fruition. Still, even if it’s just for tonight, he’d like to be able to just talk about what he’s been bottling up for the last few years with someone. Even better, that this someone is someone he mildly feels attracted to, and whom will go back to being a stranger after the conversation.

“Somehow, you’ll feel that whatever you make, it’s never enough,” he begins, turning his bear face away. You wait for him to continue.

“No matter how much I earn, it’s not enough. I was once naïve enough to think that I’d be able to eventually fund myself to do the things I want to do, but as I’m ageing, I’m starting to understand that that’s not possible. It’s all fiction. Fantasy. It’s all what I conjure up in my head.”

Your shoulders sink upon hearing what he has to say. Why does it seem to hit the exact points? Why do you seem to be able to relate to his plight? In other words, there are other people out there, dealing with the exact same things as you?

“Don’t say that,” you manage out, trying to think as positively as possible for the both of you. “Money doesn’t buy happiness.”

The bear turns to face you, tone serious as he says, “Yeah, money doesn’t buy happiness. But money buys you the things that make you happy.”

You feel a sting in your heart. You’ve always tried to psycho yourself into believing that what you’re going through isn’t so bad. That you’d still be able to be happy, because money doesn’t buy anyone happiness. Because of that, you’d always feel guilty for not being able to find contentment in your situation. You thought it just meant you’re greedy.

You realise now, it doesn’t.

You try your best to paint on a smile. But the bear knows well enough that it’s all pretence. He wishes you didn’t have to try so hard to be okay. At least, not in front of him.

“Who knows where we’d be a year from now? We might even be doing the things we like,” you say, feigning a tone of excitement.

“We wouldn’t know where each other is a year from now,” the bear says.

“Will you still be working here, a year from now?” you ask.

“I’ve been here for six years now.”

“It must’ve been cute, to be able to see a bear mascot getting taller every year,” you comment, lightening the mood. You can hear the bear smile, which makes you smile in return. The bear’s heart does another flip.

“Anyway,” you say, “How about I see you, a year from now, right here?”

The bear’s breath stops for a moment – are you for real?

“Really?” he asks. You nod your head. “Really.”

“Okay,” he agrees, though you can’t see the goofy grin on his face.

“What’s your name?” you ask, only realising now that you’ve basically revealed just about everything about yourself to him, excluding your name, yet you don’t even know what he looks like under that bear mask.

“Donghyuck. Lee Donghyuck.”

“Donghyuck,” you repeat after him, smiling, “Nice name,” you say, telling him your name in exchange. “So Donghyuck,” you say, getting up from the bench. “A year from now, I hope I can walk away with my memory of you, not being a bear.”

Donghyuck chuckles, agreeing.

“See you in a year, y/n.”

September 19, 2018.

You hold the bag of carp bread to your chest, your heart filled with excitement. You’ve practically anticipated for the entire of 2018, for the 19th of September to come. It’s interesting how just one conversation, of course, filled with mutual understanding and relatability, had created such a connection between you and Donghyuck.

There hasn’t been a day where you didn’t find yourself thinking about Donghyuck. You’d wonder if he had earned enough to do something he likes. You’d wonder if he’s staying adequately hydrated despite the scorching sun. You’d even wonder, if he still remembers his promise with you. A part of you is obviously afraid that after making a trip down to Nami island, that the boy in the bear suit would’ve completely forgotten about you. A part of you is afraid that when you greet him with a smile, he’d look at you with confused eyes, questioning how you know of him.

Then again, an even bigger part of you is simply hopping around in absolute joy at the mere thought of being able to reunite with a friend. You’ve never been able to meet anyone that could relate to you, the way Donghyuck can.

Upon arrival on the island, you rush off the ferry, immediately heading towards the café he works at. It’s close to 5PM in the evening. You were held up at work, because your boss had insisted that you at least take the morning shift, which made you jittery the whole day because you weren’t sure if you’d be able to make it. Luckily, it wasn’t that busy today, so you were even let off ten minutes prior to the end of your shift.

Just as the café comes into view, you spot the giant bear hobbling about, playing around with the group of kids. You immediately break out into a bright smile, a sense of relief washing over you. At the very least, he’s still here, like he said he’d be.

You bring up the bag of carp bread – will Donghyuck like this?

Donghyuck smiles at the adorable children who are rushing to cuddle him. He isn’t sure of the exact time, but he can tell that more than half of the day has gone by, and there is still no sign of you. He’s beginning to think that maybe he shouldn’t have been so naïve in the first place, gullible enough to think that a random stranger would actually come all the way back to the island just to meet with him again.

Heck, he’s in a bear suit. Nobody’s ever going to like a person that’s in a bear suit.

“Look here,” a mother coos, holding up her camera. Donghyuck bends down beside the child, holding him close as the mother begins to snap numerous shots of her baby son. “Thank you,” the mother says, reaching for her child as she presses a loving kiss to his forehead, gushing as she whispers praises to her little boy. Donghyuck has a pursed smile on his face; must be nice for that kid.

Donghyuck isn’t given the chance to dwell on the topic because a rush of kids come by, screaming and yelling excitedly at the sight of the bear. He joins in, chasing the kids around, and that is when he spots the one person he’s been waiting for (a whole year).

You’re standing there, a bag in hand. He isn’t even able to control the smile that spreads across his face.

“Hey!” a child shouts, tugging at Donghyuck’s bear leg.

You bring the bag of carp bread back to your side, smiling widely as you make your way towards the bear. As though working in your favour, the kids begin to clear just as you approach your friend. You give a small wave, your heartbeat picking pace in fear that he might not remember you. Just as quickly, though, your heartbeat slows when he returns the wave. He points at the wooden bench that you were seated on a year ago, and you get what he’s trying to say immediately.

You head over to the bench first, taking a seat as Donghyuck poses for a few more pictures with different children.

Once he’s done, he jogs over, stopping a small distance in front of you.

“Look what I brought!” you say excitedly, waving the bag in the air. “It’s carp bread, because bears eat fish,” you giggle. You thought you were really witty to have thought of such an idea.

Donghyuck chuckles. Now it’s his turn to feel nervous, because he’s going to have to remove his bear suit to reveal himself, like he promised.

“Are you going to change out of that?” you ask, looking on with anticipation.

“I’ll be right back,” he says.

You wait patiently for the boy to return. He does, within five minutes. He tries to soothe his hair down as he approaches you, moistening his lips with his saliva, tugging at the end of his hoodie to make sure he looks decently presentable.

You look up, meeting eyes with a tanned skin, lean-looking boy, who is making his way towards you. You raise both brows – is that Donghyuck?

Sure enough, the boy stops just in front of you, scratching the back of his head in an attempt to let out his nerves. He smiles shyly, formally introducing, “Hi. I’m the boy in the bear suit.”

Your encouraging smile calms Donghyuck’s active nerves. He looks at you in the eyes, the same feeling of attraction he had felt a year ago, still evidently present a year later. He wonders if you feel it too.

“You know, you kind of look like a bear,” you comment, eyeing Donghyuck up and down. He rolls his eyes in response, scrunching his nose, “I don’t.”

“Here,” you say, holding out the bag of carp bread. “Eat your fish.”

Donghyuck scoffs, feigning offence, before taking the bag from you, and taking a seat on the bench, gesturing for you to sit beside him. He brings out a carp bread, splitting it down the middle. He hands you a half, and you take it graciously, biting a chunk off. “So how has your year been?” you start off, still in a little bit of disbelief that this is how Lee Donghyuck looks like.

For a whole year, the only image you’ve had of him, was the brown bear suit, with the sunflower badge. Even when you tried to imagine what he looks like under the mask; you’ve never came to the visual image of the being before you. He’s good looking, obviously, and by that, you mean that he’s way better looking than you had imagined him to be. There’s something that’s just really cute about his small little button nose, his doe eyes, and his round face.

“What you said was true,” he says, swallowing. “2017-me would’ve never been able to guess where I’d be a year later,” he continues, “I’m learning how to dance.”

You smile in pleasure, “I’m so happy to hear that.”

Donghyuck returns the smile. “What did you do for the past year?”

“I saved,” you say, smiling proudly. “I saved enough for now, so if I keep the momentum going, I’d have enough for university, too.”

“Then I guess it’s mandatory for me to tell you that you’re doing a great job,” he commends.

You feel something stirring in your heart. You’ve never been told that before. It feels funny, now that you’ve heard it. Donghyuck notices the change in your expression, and somehow, he knows the reason why.

“You can always come to me to brag and show off,” he says, tone gentle and encouraging. “I’ll always tell you how you’re doing a good job.”

You look at Donghyuck, meeting his eyes. He’s sending you signals of comfort through his gaze, and you’re receiving them well. Somehow, it’s only the second time you’re having a conversation with him, and it’s the first where you’re looking at the actual him. Yet, it feels as though he’s impacted your life even more than the people who’ve been in it for way more than he has.

“Want to know a secret?” you ask. Donghyuck nods his head.

“Back when I was younger, I was walking beside a classmate in school. We were about to go down the stairs, but she tripped on her own shoelace. She rolled down the stairs, and laid unconscious,” you recall, letting out a deep sigh at the end. Donghyuck looks at you with a brow raised, “And?” he prompts, urging you to continue.

“You’d think my first reaction would be pure concern for that classmate,” you say, focusing on the dead leaves that decorate the ground. You kick at a maple leaf, “But it wasn’t. When I saw the way everyone rushed forward, all attention on her, I thought to myself, ‘why wasn’t I the one who rolled down the stairs?’,” you take a pause, turning to read Donghyuck’s expression. He doesn’t seem to have any real thoughts about what you said.

“Twisted, right?” you end off with a pursed smile.

“No,” he states, taking another bite of his carp bread, completely unfazed.

“No?” you repeat.

“No,” he reiterates.

“Why not?” you question.

“Because,” he says, “It’s not abnormal to think that way.”

“You don’t have to side with me just because we are friends, you know?”

“I’m not. I just think that it isn’t crazy weird why you thought that way.” He says, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s kind of like how it is in my dance class. There’s this guy, his name is Jisung. He’s younger by two years, but his talent is more than double of mine. He gets a lot of love and attention for being the youngest of the team, and for being the talent that he is. Sometimes, when I see the way he gets praised for executing a move really well, I’d think to myself, ‘why wasn’t I the one being praised? I thought I did the move pretty well’.”

You chuckle at his kind attempt to try to make it seem as though what you had thought at the time was normal, though the circumstances are obviously far from being similar. Donghyuck is sweet, to say the least.

“I’m sure you dance well,” you say, eyeing his long legs, “You look like you’d dance well,” you correct.

“I’m serious about what I said though,” he says, reverting the topic, referring to how he’d be willing to listen to you brag any time.

“I might just take you up on the offer,” you reply, “As long as it remains valid, for a long, long time.”

“Are you trying to tell me to stay in contact with you?” he questions.

“You mean you didn’t intend to?” you raise a brow.

“You’d know where to find me when you need me, but I can’t say the same for myself for when I want to see you,” Donghyuck says, looking at you expectantly. Can you take that as a confession? Did he just say that he wants to see you?

Then again, so what if it is a confession?

You’re well aware of how you feel about the boy. You know that there’s a connection. You know that sparks are flying. You know. You know it all too well. But how can you be sure that Donghyuck is meant to be something more? You met him under circumstances that most wouldn’t even consider normal, and it’s barely the second time you’re talking to him. How can you be so sure, that he’s supposed to mean something more to you? How can you be sure that you’re only feeling this way, that you’re only feeling the butterflies and the somersaults inside you, because you’re truly attracted to him, and not because of how he makes you feel?

He makes you feel understood. That’s unfamiliar to you.

“Please,” you begin, in an attempt to try to brush off what he had said. “I kind of like that we see each other once a year.”

Donghyuck feels a light sting in his heart. “Why?” he asks.

“It makes our friendship special. How many people can say that they know of someone, who becomes their friend, on only one day out of the entire year?”

Donghyuck fakes a smile, “So you’ll be back in a year?”

“Yes.”

Donghyuck nods his head. Maybe he should just be happy that this means he’ll get to see you, at least another time, a year from now.

He shouldn’t be too greedy, right?

September 19, 2019.

It’s the third time that you’re going to be meeting Donghyuck. You’re starting to kind of understand what people mean by ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’. Oddly enough, in the past year, Donghyuck wasn’t just a passing thought like he was in 2018. This year, he was quite a prominent thought. Sometimes, you’d even have sleepless nights, spent tossing and turning, just thinking about him. You’ve even gotten the urge to just go online to search for him, but there are so many Lee Donghyucks in the world, that you weren’t sure if you’d be able to find the exact one. It would also be a breach of your friendship terms, since the both of you are supposed to only rekindle every September 19th.

Today, you managed to take the full day off. You check your watch – it’s 10:47AM. Why have you arrived at Nami island at such an early hour? Knowing fully well that Donghyuck has a shift to fulfil?

Simple.

You miss him. A lot more than you’d like to admit.

Sounds silly, you’re obviously aware. How can you develop feelings for someone that you only see once a year, and that you barely know?

You’d like to think it’s just because of how curious you are as a person, which results in constantly being curious about Donghyuck. But again, that’s just you trying to talk yourself into denial. No matter what you say, you can’t deny that you’ve debated over fifty times about coming to Nami island before the 19th of September, knowing fully well, that he’d be here.

But every time you were about to purchase the ferry ticket, you’d stop yourself.

A year may have gone by, but the same worry still remains.

How can you be sure, that his presence in your life, is meant to be something more?

“Hey!”

Your attention snaps up to the familiar voice, the voice you’ve only been able to think of for the past year.

“Donghyuck?” you murmur. He isn’t in his bear suit today.

He dons a bright smile, jogging over towards you. “We must have more telepathy than we’re aware of,” he comments, chuckling to himself. You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as you ask, “You’re not working today?”

“I took the day off,” he says. “I didn’t think you’d actually come this early, though.”

“And what if I didn’t?”

“I would’ve sat at that wooden bench until you showed up.”

His non-hesitance as he said that elicits a feeling of warmth to spread through your entire body. Donghyuck really makes you feel things, huh?

“You’d do that?” you ask, just so you can hear it loud and clear. Donghyuck smiles, nodding his head. “You would’ve done the same. Otherwise, what did you intend to do while waiting for me to end my shift if I were working today?”

Your smile only widens.

“What do you have planned for the day?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he replies.

“Shall we find somewhere to sit and eat then?” you suggest.

So five hours later, you’re seated opposite Donghyuck, empty plates and half-empty cups between the both of you. He has his arms propped on the table, listening intently to whatever you had to say. Conversation is easy when it comes to Donghyuck. He shows you that he’s listening. He makes sure to pay attention to what you say.

You feel the connection growing by the minute.

“That doesn’t justify why you’ve never dated anyone before,” he says, shaking his head disapprovingly as he takes a sip of his drink.

“Says you,” you retort, “But I’m sure if I showed my co-worker a picture of you, she’d go crazy.”

Donghyuck chuckles, “You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not!” you defend, trying to put on the most serious expression you can possibly make. “She’s cute too. Come to think of it, she’s totally your type.”

Donghyuck furrows his brows. “What makes you think I’m into cute?”

You smile, rolling your eyes. “Okay, then what is your type?”

“Shouldn’t you know best?”

Silence.

Donghyuck’s just staring into your eyes.

Your heart is thumping so hard, so fast, you’re starting to lose feeling in your hands and legs.

You let out an awkward laugh – there’s no denying it this time. It’s definitely a confession.

“Very funny,” you say, trying to change the topic. “I have to leave already, I’m working a full-day shift tomorrow and I’m in charge of opening,” you say, getting up from your seat. Donghyuck follows after, allowing you to lead the way out of the eatery.

“Hey,” Donghyuck calls, taking your wrist in his warm hold, turning you around to face him. “Don’t you think it’s about time to tell me where you work? Or where I can locate you? Or your number, at the very least?”

You’re looking into Donghyuck’s eyes, and you can see the sincerity. Like him, you want this to be something more. But you can’t just turn a blind eye and rid the fact that you’re just not sure of what might happen in the future, and that’s what scares you. You don’t want to commit to something, at the expense of knowing all too well, that you might get hurt. What if Donghyuck was never meant to be a part of your life? You’ve seen it in the movies – when you let someone in, and they weren’t supposed to be in to begin with, it only ends in tears and sorrow.

“Look, Donghyuck,” you begin, trying your best to think of a way to get your point across accurately.

“What makes you so sure that we’re meant to be something more?” you ask.

Donghyuck’s brow twitches, a sign that he’s taken aback by your question.

“See? You don’t know it yourself. What if we commit, and it just bites us in the back?”

Donghyuck runs a hand through his hair, “How would you know that?” he counters, “What if it doesn’t?”

The both of you just stand there, looking into each other’s eyes, trying to find the answer you’re both looking for.

“I believe in fate,” you say, breaking the eye contact. “On September 19, a year from now, I’ll be working at the café,” you continue, eyes finding its way to meet Donghyuck’s once more. “It’s located in Seoul. If, on that day, on the 19th of September, 2020, you’re able to somehow find me, I’ll take it as the sign that you and I are meant to be something more.”

Donghyuck furrows his brows at your proposition, “But Seoul is so big, how am I supposed to-”

“If you can’t find me, it just means that’s the end of our connection,” you cut in. “And you can’t cheat. You can only start looking on September 19.”

Donghyuck thinks it’s the end. He doesn’t think it’s possible. But if he wants this enough, he’s going to have to try.

“Promise?” you ask, putting out your pinkie finger.

“I promise,” he says, hooking his finger with yours, pressing your thumbs together.

What’s going to happen a year from now?

September 19, 2020.

“Here you go, enjoy your drink,” you greet, passing the iced americano to the man in the suit. He tilts his head in gratitude, before scurrying out the door. You take a moment to stare at the door, it’s going to be afternoon soon, and there’s still no sign of Donghyuck. You wonder if he’s even taken up the challenge, and is actually going about Seoul right now.

“Why do you keep staring at the door today? Are you waiting for someone?” Eunha, your co-worker, asks. You shake your head, shrugging, “I just can’t wait to knock off, that’s all,” you lie. Eunha furrows her brows teasingly, leaning in close as she says, “Please, I’ve worked with you for years now. That isn’t your ‘I-can’t-wait-to-knock-off’ look,” she says, pulling back.

You roll your eyes, hitting her on the arm lightly, before re-busying yourself with preparing the orders of the customers.

Another few hours go by, and now, the sun is beginning to set.

“You’re staring at the door again,” Eunha lilts, a teasing smile on her face as she sips at her coffee. “Stop, I’m really just excited to knock off soon,” you say.

“If you want to knock off so bad, you can knock off now,” she says, placing her coffee down on the counter. “I’m cool with closing on my own tonight.” She blinks her big eyes a few times, smiling teasingly, knowing that you’d deny her offer.

“I can’t do that to you,” you say, laughing awkwardly, “Think about all the times you sacrificed your nights staying with me for closing. I ought to return the favour.”

“Ought?” Eunha repeats, giggling to herself. “You’re definitely hiding something.”

You roll your eyes, moving on to do the dishes to avoid slipping up any further.

Donghyuck sighs, coming out of the eighth café he’s looked into today. As expected, this is basically mission impossible. How is he supposed to be able to find you, when you didn’t even bother with giving him any clue aside from that it’s located in Seoul?

He looks around, trying to spot any other cafés that might be in the area, before he’d move on to the next.

There’s still a good few hours before the end of September 19.

He might still have a chance.

You bite down on your lip. It’s five minutes to closing.

“I guess we weren’t meant to be,” you murmur, eyes refusing to leave the doors.

“Whoever it is you’re waiting for, they’ll show up,” Eunha chimes in, continuing to wipe down the counter.

“What makes you so sure?” you ask.

“Because it’s my first time seeing you anticipate something like that,” she says. Eunha might not be someone you contact outside of work, so it’s easy to forget how well she knows you. But Eunha is right. You've never anticipated anything this much.

“I hope you’re right,” you say, pursing your lips.

You didn’t know it a year ago when you made the proposition, but you know it now.

You really want to see Lee Donghyuck walking through those doors.

But as the time slowly dwindles away, you can’t be sure that it isn’t just your own wishful thinking.

Donghyuck kicks at the pavement, running a hand through his hair. The day is almost over, and still, no luck. He has been to eighteen different cafés already, and there’s just no sign of you.

If only he didn’t have to work the morning shift, then he’d have more time to actually look in more cafés.

He stops a short distance in front of the nineteenth café. He isn’t usually one to believe in anything like fate, but he’s desperate at this point. He looks to the sky, clasping his hands together, “Please. Make 19 our special number. Please let y/n be in this café.”

Taking in a deep breath, Donghyuck walks forward, towards the café.

Eunha checks the time, then looks over at you. You're sitting there, dazed, expression blank. She purses her lips in sympathy, calling out, “Do you want me to lock the doors or wait another f-”

Eunha is cut off when the bell chimes. You immediately turn towards the entrance of the café.

It's Donghyuck.

Oh gosh, it's actually Donghyuck.

Donghyuck makes eye contact with you. A sense of accomplishment and warmth overwhelms him. You feel your nose stinging, and your heart swelling.

“Sorry, we’re cl-”

You don’t know what comes over you, but you run forward. You throw yourself into Donghyuck’s arms, hugging him tight.

“Okay then, I’ll be over there,” Eunha says, excusing herself.

You pull away.

“You found me,” you sniff, grinning wide.

“I promised I would,” Donghyuck replies, reflecting your expression.

“I guess we are really meant for something more,” you mumble, taking in the moment.

“So,” Donghyuck says, holding out his phone. “Can I finally have your number?”

#nct scenarios #haechan scenarios #haechan fluff #haechan #nct fluff #nct imagines #haechan imagines #nct #nct dream #nct 127 #nct haechan #fic #fic: september 19

[fizzingwizard]

of course I had a two and a half week vacation in march, right when moominvalley season release was allegedly gonna happen... and it never did...

then on the VERY LAST DAY of my break, "hey guys! guess what show releases tomorrow!" like WHAT x'D

it's april 1st and the season's out and it was my first day back at wooooork aaaaaahhh x'D

being an adult sucks hahahahaha

but its not like i can watch it anyway lol im not in the uk. gotta wait till i find it somewhere >_>;

and being back at work was pretty good, random stuff under the cut

got my new class list and i do indeed have the student i was dreading... fingers crossed there but the rest of the group is already so cute and i cant wait to teach them. who knows, maybe the difficult kid will have matured a lot over the last month...

also met new coworker who is cool. and the atmosphere was a lot lighter than it usually is on first term days. we even got new computers which i am suuuuper excited about, the old ones were so. crappy. just the worst computers you can imagine. took ten min just to turn on and another ten to load a single webpage. if you had a fifteen minute break you were screwed. even if you had thirty min you could accomplish next to nothing. it was such a pain because we generally only get breaks (by which I mean prep time) in 15 or 30 min blocks and we have an INORDINATE amount of paperwork. my dude we teach pre-k! why this endless slog through paperwork xD the struggle is real

but now we got shiny new computers and it comes as a total shock! but a pleasant one. less pleasant was the company trying to stick me with our electric piano. we have one but it broke because of being wheeled around to different classrooms, and apparently the only solution anyone can come up with is "keep it in fizz's classroom instead of in the hall." one: how on EARTH does that stop it getting broken since it will still need to be wheeled around from room to room?? and two: where in my teeny tiny classroom do you want me to put a whole ass piano with wires and breakable bits?? first of all every corner of our room is being used, we already do not have enough storage space or enough space for the number of 1-3 year old kids which is upwards of 30. my room stores all the nap cots for two classes. then even if we figure somethign out, there is no way the kids are not going to accidentally break that piano no matter how hard we try to steer them away. i mean even if the kids are good, the pianos gonna get paint on it from crafts. i swear that it will even if we cover it. i am always finding paint and stickers in the most random of places. and last but not least, my classroom is also a nap room (hence the cots). we aren't allowed to even have water bottles on the shelves in case there's an earthquake and the things on shelves fall and hit the sleeping kids. but you want us to put a piano in there? a piano is less dangerous in an earthquake than a water bottle????

lit i told my coteachers "i will fight this." lol i was boiling over. i am not having that piano in my room. if there is no place to put it where it won't break, then either the company needs to pay for repairs when they happen (which so far is not even once a year, yet they actually rejected the maintenance application the first time we sent it -__-), or they need to not have a piano at all. "but the music teacher needs it" yes im sure she does but thats got nothing to do with me! i didnt decide my 2s need to take music lessons! thats the companies choice! that they knowingly made for their busiest school with the largest class size and teeny tiny rooms with absolutely no storage space at all! the company knows all that and yet they're just like "You guys figure it out." Well ok, im figuring it out. the piano can stay where it was last year and get moved around like usual. there is zero benefit to putting it in my room, it only makes HO feel better about spending money on the maintenance (for now - just wait till next time it breaks 9_9). on top of that it would adversely affect my class which is the number one thing i care about here. im fortunate in that our team leader agreed with me and actually went to bat over this even harder than i did. still not sure whats gonna happen but i do intend to block that piano coming in my room unless someone comes up with a reeeeally good idea for how we're gonna fit it in tetris-style without causing problems.

but otherwise a good day, lol

#fizz's life

[angryschnauzer]

Superior Specimen - Chapter 6

Summary: One night when you are following the Archaeology tag on instagram you stumbled across a fun looking dig… and an even more interesting Paleontologist who soon follows you back. Over the following weeks you start chatting and a friendship soon grows.

Relationship: AU Henry Cavill x Female Reader (No race or body shape mentioned)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Warnings: Slow Burn, NSFW, 18+, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Drunken Piggy Back Rides, Oral Sex (Female Recieving), Drama, Theft, Amateur Heroics, Hospital Visit, Shower Sex, Oral Sex (Male Receiving), Blow Job, Fingering, Lavish lifestyle, Henry is loaded, The Shard, Expensive Gifts, Sixty nine, Unprotected Sex

I do not operate a tag list, but please follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, as you will then be notified whenever i post something new.

I don’t have a masterlist, but all my works are on AO3, link here. Usually i post oneshots to Tumblr and AO3, and multichapters exclusively to AO3, but as this is my first henry story and its going to be a short series, i’ll post to both places.

Chapter 6

 Henry left soon after, grabbing a slice of toast as you’d stood in the kitchen in just your dressing gown, apologising for not being able to spend the day with you but he had meetings for work and for future dig’s planned for the southern hemisphere in the winter. You’d stood in the kitchen sipping your coffee for a long while after he’d left, thinking over what he’d casually dropped into conversation; was this a fling?, Was the fact that he would spend months at a time out of the country the reason why such a catch was still single? Or was this something he did; find a girl, romance them, and then leave them on ‘business’ once things got boring? You shook your head to rid yourself of those thought and immediately regretted it, your head hurting from your wound. You gingerly touched it and brought your fingers in front of your face, letting out a sigh of relief when you saw there was no blood, but you realised you’d need to be careful for the next couple of days. 

 As you continued to sip your coffee you read over your emails again, re-reading the one from your boss and frowning; it seemed very short and curt, but he was probably just annoyed that one of his staff was due time off in their busiest season due to what was essentially a workplace injury.

 You decided you were going to head to yoga, even without the joke earlier about needing to limber up, it would help you focus and recharge your mind as well as your body.

 -

 By the time Friday afternoon had arrived your week off was surprisingly busy; finally finding time to do all those small chores that you had put off for weeks, but also you’d taken the chance to go shopping for a dress for your date.

 Rather than hit the chaos of Oxford Street or Westfield, instead you’d sought out a couple of vintage and secondhand dress agencies. Your morning had been fun, searching through unique pieces until you’d found it, the dress that was perfect. The woman that ran the vintage shop had guessed it had been a custom piece made in the 80’s, the midnight blue velvet piece fitting you like a glove. It had a thigh high split on one side and was patterned with silver sequins hand sewn on sporadically to make it resemble the night sky. It was strapless but had little hooks along the scalloped bust line that could hook over the cups of a strapless bra for extra security. You had a pair of silver heels in your wardrobe at home that would work perfectly with it, and with a bargain clutch from Primark you were sorted. 

 As you primped and preened that afternoon, fixing your hair and makeup, you smiled at your reflection as you pulled the dress on just a few minutes before Henry was due to pick you up. You were checking the contents of your clutch when the doorbell rang, frowning as you answered it and saw Henry on the small intercom screen;

 “Henry? You know the code”

 He grinned at the camera;

 “Yes, but I’m being gentlemanly… this time I don’t already have you drunk or drugged in my arms…”

 You pressed the buzzer to let him in, flicking the latch on the door as you went to fasten the straps on your heels, looking up just as he peered around the open doorway and stopped dead on his feet;

 “Wow…”

 He looked you up and down, his eyes wide as he took in your curves in the vintage dress, his gaze pausing at your chest on his way down and then on his way back up again. 

 You had a similar reaction when you saw how he was dressed; navy suit and kingfisher blue shirt, the top few buttons undone where it fitted his chest like a glove. He crossed the room slowly, like a predator stalking his prey, resting his hands on your hips and ducking his head to kiss you before pulling back to admire your cleavage close up;

 “I must say, I am a big fan of this dress” He ran a fingernail over the top of your breast, your skin prickling in Goosebumps at his touch before he opened his jacket and pulled a flat velvet box from the inside pocket and handed it to you; 

 “You remember when we first started talking properly, that I said I’d brought you something back from Siberia?”

 Your eyes went wide;

 “Henry… what is this?”

 “Open it and see”

 In disbelief you pulled the box open and let out a small gasp; nestled within the box was a delicate necklace, a raw amethyst gemstone set into a delicate silver chain. As you held the box he lifted the chain, walking behind you so he could bring it over your head, his fingers nimbly fastening it before he traced his fingertips over your bare shoulders and pressed a kiss to your neck;

 “You look stunning… the platinum looks beautiful on you”

 You spun around, your hand resting on the necklace;

 “Platinum?! I thought it was silver! Henry, this is too much… I can’t take this, not when it’s only our first date…”

 He brought his hands to yours and gently clasped them, pressing a kiss to your fingers before he smiled kindly;

 “It’s not really our first date though, is it? We’ve had drinks, I’ve spent the night… And please, let me give you this…”

 “But it’s too expensive!”

 “Not to me it isn’t… I’m lucky enough to me more than comfortable financially, let me share it with you” He closed his hands gently around yours as they held the necklace, pressing a kiss to your knuckles; “It suits you… and I can’t exactly keep it, the chain would get caught on my chest hair”

 You laughed and pressed a kiss to his lips;

 “Thank you”

 -

 Henry had driven you through the early evening London streets with ease, confident and calm even when cabs would cut in front of him or Uber Eats bicycles would whizz past your door at traffic lights. As much as you’d asked him where you were going, he just smiled and replied ‘you’ll see’ before returning his attention back to the road. 

 Finally you recognised some familiar sights as you passed the entrance to Borough Market, before he swung a left and your eyes went wide;

 “We’re going to The Shard?”

 He grinned as he steered the car into the space outside the entrance, the valet opening your door was Henry strode around the car and took your hand whilst handing his keys to the valet. The ride up through the building in the silent elevator gave you butterflies, before he took your hand as the doors chimed. Henry offered you his arm and you tucked your own through it, your stomach flipping nervously as he walked with confidence up to the maitre’d;

 “Good Evening Dr Cavill”

 You had to try and keep your face neutral that the staff knew who he was, and Henry greeted him in return as if he was an old friend;

 “How are you Michael? Family good?”

 “Yes, thank you Sir. My daughter will be starting Oxford university in September, thank you for your letter of endorsement”

 “Wonderful, great to hear. Are we ok to have some drinks and take in the view before we sit down for dinner?”

 “Of course, Sir. I can prepare your table for whenever you need it. You’re booked into the Westminster Suite tonight?”

 “Yes, that’s the one”

 The man smiled as he led you and Henry to a small bar table near the window, and as soon as you’d rested your small clutch bag on it a waiter appeared;

 “Can I get you some drinks tonight?”

 Henry glanced at you;

 “Champers?” You nodded as he continued; “We’ll have a bottle of the Krug 1996”

 The waiter nodded once and walked away, and it was only when Henry lightly touched your arm and made you jump did you realise you’d zoned out a little;

 “Princess?”

 “Sorry, just trying to process this is all real” you laughed quietly

 “Very real” he took your hand and was about to say something when the waiter returned, setting the small tray with two champagne flutes and a small bowl of strawberries onto the table, before quietly opening the expensive bottle in front of you. Pouring two glasses he set the bottle onto the table and left without another word, letting you return your attention to Henry;

 “What’s on your mind? You were quiet in the car the whole way over. Is this too much?”

 You smiled;

 “No, it’s wonderful. Obviously it’s not a standard night out for me, but you know…”

 “What else is bothering you?”

 You took a deep breath and smiled, pointing to your glass of champagne;

 “Ok firstly, this; I’m not taking a sip until I tell you that I one hundred percent want to sleep with you”

 “Ok, that’s good to hear” he grinned

 “You are so kind and caring, specifically waiting until I was sober before we would sleep together, and now obviously you have thought tonight through, you’ve got a suite here - that was a bit of a surprise I’ll add, but a pleasant one - so I want to get this completely agreed to before you waste all this money and then not asking for consent…”

 He nodded and sipped his glass, smiling and a kind look on his face as you continued;

 “Also, my safe word is Nerd”

 “Nerd?”

 “Yes. In case of later…”

 “Gotcha” he paused for a moment before nodding to your glass; “Do you want a drink now?”

 “God yes” You tipped the glass and sipped at the bubbles, feeling them burst over your tongue, and as you were setting the glass down and reaching for a strawberry Henry rested a hand on your hip;

 “Is there anything else?”

 “You said you were organising digs in the Southern Hemisphere for the winter… where would that leave us, you and me? Would this between us just be a summer fling? I just kind of want to know where I stand before you break my heart”

 “So firstly, I do not see this as just a summer fling. I feel like I’ve known you for years, and remember we were talking on Instagram for months before I finally worked up enough courage to say more than just asking if your day was ok… But the winter digs, it’s what I do. Obviously I’m attached to the museum, but I’m also linked to several others all around the world. I can be away for a month or six months at a time, it’s all dependant on the weather and permits, local politics, but I’d fly back whenever I could, and fly you out when you could take time off work”

 “You would do that? You would wait for me?”

 He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you gently to his chest as he ran a finger gently down your cheek;

 “Of course I’d wait for you. I have always waited… I have found people don’t wait for me”

 “What?! But… but you’re a catch! You’re kind and caring… you know how to treat a partner in every way!”

 He shrugged, looking a little pensive;

 “I don’t know what to say… but the last couple of girlfriends presumed I would cheat so ended things ‘before I broke their heart’... which I would never do…”

 He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips before a quiet cough sounded behind you, the pair of you turning to see the waiter;

 “Would you like your table now or would you like to continue with drinks here?”

 Henry smiled at you;

 “I could eat, you?”

 “Yes, please”

 The waiter nodded and loading your drinks onto a tray before you followed him, Henry leaning to whisper in your ear;

 “I look forward to eating you later too”

 -

 Dinner was fabulous, each dish seemingly better than the last, flavours dancing on your tongue and you had to struggle not to make obscene moaning sounds, but when the occasional one did escape Henry’s smile would spread further across his face until you laughed as well. By the time the dessert menu was brought over you declined;

 “Are you sure?” Henry pushed; “Really, you can have anything you like, this whole night is on me”

 You laughed quietly;

 “I’m not looking at the prices…” you leant back and rested a hand on your stomach; “But I am *just* the right amount of full at the moment to be happy to do any other activities tonight… if I eat dessert I wouldn’t”

 Henry nodded and gave a nod to the waiter, quietly speaking to him before turning his attention back to you;

 “Princess, shall we retire back to our suite? A nightcap whilst we take in the view; there’s a telescope in the room”

 Nodding you sipped on the last of your drink as Henry signed the bill, slipping a stack of notes into the clip before closing the small black file and handing it back. He stood and quickly circled the table, helping to pull your chair out before offering you his arm. 

 The ride in the lift to the luxury suites was quiet, the atmosphere almost sparking with the energy the pair of you were giving off from the sexual tension. Henry walked you to the door and you were ready to rip his clothing from his body, but as he pushed the door open he smiled and pressed a finger to his lips before speaking, and not to you;

 “Michael, thank you, but we won’t be requiring the butler service tonight”

 The man you recognised from the restaurant emerged from what you could see what the small kitchenette area, wiping his hands on a pristine tea towel;

 “Understood Dr Cavill. I hope you have an enjoyable stay. Your request from the restaurant has been stored safely in the refrigerator”

 “Thank you, Michael,”

 As the man passed you saw Henry slip him a £50 note as he quickly shook his hand, before taking the Do Not Disturb sign and slipping it over the gold hook on the outside of the door and quietly closing it.

 You watched as he shrugged his jacket off and slowly stalked across the room, wrapping his arm around your back, his other hand gently tilting your chin towards his lips as he kissed you, the press of his hot hard body against your own. The kiss was soft, yet he managed to completely dominate you, his tongue pushing against your own and you could taste the whiskey he’d finished his meal with just a few moments before. Your fingers clawed at his shirt, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, and yet as you managed to get one unfastened he pulled away, slipping his hand into yours;

 “Come on, let me show you the view”

 The noise that escaped your lips was a cross between a laugh and a toddlers disgruntled moan;

 “Henry…” you whined; “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but please, I’m so fucking horny right now, I need you to fuck me into the mattress”

 He turned and walked backwards, tugging you to the panoramic windows and the telescope that sat on the full-length tripod, a quiet laugh filling the void between the two of you;

 “Princess, I promise you will get that… we have all night, all weekend! I just have one thing I want to show you…”

 He peered through the telescope before stepping back and nodding to you, gently guiding you until he was standing behind you, his hands on your hips. You looked through the  eyepiece and let out a gasp; on the roof of a building in Canary Wharf was a light display… and yet it wasn’t just lasers, there was light patterns of dinosaurs; Diplodocus reaching for high leaves, T-rex stalking in the bushes, a group of Raptors running across the building.

 “Oh Henry… how did you?”

 “I have some friends in the city… and some more friends that run outdoor events… just called in a couple of favours”

 You watched through the scope and smiled as you felt Henry wrap his arms around your waist, pressing his hard body flush with your own and started to caress your neck with soft kisses. One hand slipped to your thigh and gently started to tug your dress up until it was high enough for him to slip his hand into the thigh high slit and curl around to seek out your pussy. He was still firmly holding you in place, letting you watch the light show in the relative darkness of the luxury suite, but as his fingers dipped beneath the thin elastic of your lacy thong he let out an appreciative groan as he found you already dripping wet;

 “You really are horny, aren’t you?”

 He found your clit and started to tease it with tight circles, at the same time grinding into the crease of your ass with the hardness still confined to his smart trousers. Under his expert ministrations you soon found yourself swaying your hips, working between pushing harder against his hand then pushing back to feel that delicious friction from behind. Your head fell back against his shoulder and he let out a feral growl against your neck, his teeth grazing against your smooth flesh before gently biting, causing a shudder to run the length of your spine;

 “Ok, Dinosaurs are great, but I need a different bone…” 

 Your words were breathless and were greeted with a low chuckle. Henry withdrew his fingers and you watched as he brought them to his mouth, tasting your juices from the glistening digits, before he moved them to the zip of your dress and slowly started to unzip you. The dress fell to the floor and he let out an appreciative moan;

 “No bra?”

 “You complaining?”

 “Absolutely not”

 Your fingers started quick work of his shirt buttons, unfastening them all before pushing the fabric over his massive shoulders. As he cast the garment aside you unbuttoned his trousers, lowering the zip and palming the massive bulge his boxers could barely contain, Henry’s hips pushing against your palm involuntarily as you felt the heat of his skin though the fabric. Your tongue painted patterns against his chest and his voice stuttered;

 “I want you to sit on my face, ride my tongue Princess, let me make you cum”

 He dropped to his knees and pulled your lace thong down your legs, before unfastening the tiny straps of your heels, running the tips of his fingers up the length of your body as he stood and rid himself of his own clothing, pulling you to the bed.

 He lay on the soft covers, pulling you up his body until your knees were either side of his head, his strong hands gripping onto your thighs as his tongue darted out and parted your folds. His eyes glinted with mischief and you could feel yourself shaking with anticipation as he spoke;

 “Turn around”

 Taking a couple of moments to shift 180º, you rested your hands on his broad chest as he pulled you down to his mouth. At the first touch of his tongue swiping through your folds again you groaned and curled your fingers through the coarse hair on his chest, shuddering at his expert touch. With each pass of the strong muscle you could feel your body rapidly heading towards orgasm already, but when you felt a wide hand flat on your back, pushing you forwards it was heaven as his lips latched onto your clit and he slid two fingers of his other hand into your soaked channel.

 Resting your chest against his abdomen you were face to face with his dick, hard and thick as it rested against his stomach, reaching up to his navel where it wept precum. Wrapping your hand around it you smoothed your thumb over the clear liquid, wishing you could reach it with your mouth, but instead spitting on your other hand to work the hot hard flesh. The groan that was muffled from between your thighs told you he was enjoying it, and in return he slid a finger into you, stretching you, and you knew you were done for. 

 Your attention waived from him as he worked you closer and closer towards your orgasm, before he managed to curl his fingers just right and you were cumming over his face, his strong arm holding you to his mouth as you shook with pleasure. 

 Finally he carefully withdrew his fingers from you, lifting you so he could lay you head to foot on the bed beside him before resting one massive hand on your soft stomach as your breath came out in rapid pants, your heart racing. You felt the bed shift and the welcome touch of his warm hands parting your legs so he could crawl up your body, pressing open mouthed kisses to every spot he crossed. Eventually he reached your own lips, kissing you deeply, his tongue wide and strong and you could taste yourself as your own tongue danced with his. You could feel his hardness nestled against your folds, slipping against you as your bodies writhed together before he finally pushed himself up on his powerful arms;

 “Are you ready?”

 “Yes… please Henry…”

 Reaching down he took hold of himself and slid the tip up and down through your folds until you felt that delicious notch of his swollen crown resting at your entrance, he looked back to you;

 “I’ll go slow… just relax…”

 He started to push forwards, your velvet walls slowly parting as he filled you inch by delicious inch, your eyes going wider with each push. He tilted his hips and immediately found your g-spot, your eyes rolling back in their sockets and you let out a groan that would have rattled the glass in the windows had the building not been fitted with hurricane proof panes. You felt Henry’s soft lips press a kiss to your neck, his mouth moving gently over your skin as he spoke;

 “You feel like heaven Princess, taking me so well”

 “H-Henry… please…”

 “What Princess? Is it too much?”

 “NO! No, oh my god, please… please move… fuck me… fuck me like you mean it…”

 “Princess…” he warned

 “I can take it… I want it…”

 You looked into his eyes and saw a glint of concern, before a wide smile spread across his face;

 “You can, you’re a good girl…”

Pulling his hips back he pushed back in, parting your walls further and the feeling of being so full was almost indescribable. Sure, you’d had partners with big dicks in the past. Some with small dicks. But no-one that had ever been both long and as wide as Henry was. He wasn’t obscenely long, so there wasn’t the uncomfortable stabbing in the cervix, but every inch of his was thick and meaty, and you could feel him completely. Each thrust was becoming harder and faster, and soon he was wrapping one arm around your thigh to pull your legs open wider, tilting his hips so he could change the angle as he fucking railed you into the mattress, your fingers clawing at his back as you begged him for more and more. 

 The room faded around you, it was just you and Henry, the pleasure each other’s bodies were sharing with the other, feral grunts and moans as you felt pleasure like never before. You fitted together like two pristine pieces of a jigsaw, working together in unity. The rough brush of his chest hair against your hypersensitive nipples was yet another added stimulation, and with each rapid push and thrust your bodies rubbed together to bring you closer to your peak. You were trembling around him, your legs shaking where you were so close to orgasm. 

 He let go of your leg, now resting both hands either side of your body as he moved quicker, each thrust more powerful than the last, and with each push you had slid a little more along the bed, your head now hanging over the end and resting on the chaise lounge that sat there, the blood rushing to your brain giving you a head rush. You wrapped your legs around Henry’s waist, hooking one foot over another as you pressed them against his ripe ass. Your bodies were slick with sweat, and when you felt that tell-tale sign that your orgasm was starting a guttural moan emerged slowly through your throat.

 Your body shook with intense pleasure, you could feel for the very first time your internal muscles squeezing and massaging Henry’s massive girth within you, realising that you had never felt so complete.

As you rode out your orgasm Henry evened his thrusts out, and as your own pleasure was starting to ebb away it set off his own, his thick seed filling you as you felt him twitch and buck within you. You watched as he threw his head back and moaned your name, the smooth expanse of his neck aching for you to touch, and with the last ounce of strength you had you did just that and pressed an open mouthed kiss to his Adams Apple.

 With one final grunt you felt him twitch for the last time before his body relaxed, and those steel blue eyes met yours in the twilight of the room, your bodies only illuminated by the bright lights of the London night skyline. He shifted, moving one hand behind your head to support and cup it in his massive palm, the other resting on his elbow so your bodies were pressed together yet he wasn’t resting his entire weight atop of you. There were no words, the smiles on your faces told the other all the words your mouths couldn’t articulate. 

 The passing of time didn’t register in your mind, and it was only when Henry’s entire body did an involuntary shudder did you both come back to reality. Steadying himself on his arms he slowly pulled out of you, letting out a string of gentle ‘hoo-ha’s as the pull of your body against his over sensitive flesh was almost overwhelming for him. Kneeling on the bed he ran his hands over your thighs, warm against the now goose bumped skin and he pulled your legs apart slightly;

 “Wanna watch my cum drip out of you Princess”

 His hands rested on your inner thighs at the apex, his thumbs pulling apart your lips and you watched as he watched his thick seed slowly pool at your entrance. With one thumb he swiped it through the cum before spreading it over your swollen folds. He let out a grunt and moved, sliding an arm behind your back and helped you sit up, pressing his thumb to your lips which you eagerly took into your mouth, sucking on the thick pad as you tasted your combined essence on his salty skin. 

 “Let’s rest for a while before the next round” he muttered before kissing your cheek. 

 You nodded, muttering about needing to pee, and on wobbly legs you staggered to the bathroom like a new-born fawn.

Chapter 7 >>>

Chapter 6 notes:

In case you wanted to be nosey and see just how much Henry spent on their date:

Champagne:

https://thechampagnecompany.com/krug-1996-vintage-champagne-75cl-gift-box Restaurant at the Shard: https://www.the-shard.com/restaurants/aquashard/ Room at the Shard: https://www.shangri-la.com/london/shangrila/rooms-suites/suites/westminster-suite/

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x you #au henry cavill

[bubonickitten]

Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: Jon and Basira make their way to Ny-Ålesund; Daisy and Martin have a long-overdue conversation.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 26: panic/anxiety symptoms; brief descriptions of Flesh-domain-typical imagery; discussion of police violence, intimidation tactics, & abuse of authority (re: Daisy’s past actions); mentions of canonical character deaths & murder; reference to a canonical instance of a character being outed (re: Jon’s coworkers gossiping about him being ace); allusions to childhood emotional neglect; a bit of internalized ableism re: ADHD symptoms; discussions of strict religious indoctrination; a physical altercation, including being restrained with a hold; swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 26: Remains To Be Seen

The journey to Tromsø is… uneventful, comparatively speaking.

Almost worryingly so, Jon observes at one point.

You’re fretting because something hasn’t gone horribly wrong? Basira asks.

Aren’t you?

The tension in Basira’s shoulders is answer enough. They’re both on tenterhooks, all too aware of the dreadful species of things that lurk in the margins of the world, any number of which could be waiting in the wings for them.

That’s not to say there are no complications at all. There’s a learning curve to navigating the world blindfolded, but the two of them settle into something of a routine: Basira guiding Jon with a hand on his arm, talking him around obstacles, across gaps, and up and down stairs. An improvised system of nudges and taps develops organically over the course of their travels, starting when Basira realizes that Jon has trouble parsing her words over the noise of a crowd. It becomes their go-to mode of communication with surprising ease.

It’s an exercise in trust oddly refreshing in its mundanity.

Jon finds the blindfold comforting, in its own way: surreal, but somehow not as surreal as the evidence of normalcy all around him. Consistent, straightforward geography is disorientating enough after so long traversing a world knitted together by nightmare logic and allegory. Even more bewildering are the people. Throngs of them go about their day-to-day routines, each preoccupied with their own affairs, taking for granted their relative anonymity against the vast backdrop of the bustling world around them, secure in the privacy of their own thoughts – and blissfully unaware of the alternative.

This is how it should be, he admonishes himself in a weary refrain. People deserve ownership over their own minds, their stories, their secrets. The Archivist in him vehemently disagrees, of course. It’s exhausting, how relentlessly Jon has to challenge that instinctual voyeurism.

Prone to sensory overload, he’s always hated crowds: the noise, the flurry of movement, the press of bodies, the constant threat of unwanted touches, the lack of freedom to move at his own pace. Becoming the Archivist made the experience infinitely worse. The combination of the blindfold and Daisy’s noise-cancelling headphones does little to stem the tide of intrusive knowledge: random scraps of disconcerting trivia, a steady stream of morbid statistics, insights into the deep-seated anxieties of passersby – and, on a few occasions, the whisper of a story to be chronicled. At least the blindfold prevents him from inadvertently locking eyes with anyone.

They try to avoid traveling during peak commuting hours, but not every crowd can be evaded. The first time he wanders into the path of a potential statement giver, Jon nearly causes a pile-up in a congested station, stopping so abruptly in his tracks that the person in the queue behind him crashes headlong into him. Basira manages to catch him before he’s knocked off his feet, keeping a firm grasp on his arm when the panicked urge to flee overtakes him and nearly sends him careening blindly in the opposite direction. When a nearby stranger snipes at him for the nuisance, Jon is surprised at how immediately Basira leaps to his defense.

Back off, she says, the hint of a threat in her tone, before steering Jon out of the crowd and off to the side, where he can lean against the wall and catch his breath. She stands firm between him and the masses, diverting traffic and warding off anyone else who might seek a confrontation, giving him the sorely-needed time to compose himself. He’s certain that she’ll be cross with him after, but… she isn’t.

Tense, certainly. Concerned even. But criticism is bafflingly, mercifully absent.

There are a few more incidents after that, but none quite so dramatic. The instant he senses the Archivist in him stirring, he chokes out a warning to Basira, who turns out to be preternaturally adept at finding (or creating) spaces for him to recoup. With both of them on guard and communicating freely, they manage to avoid being in close quarters with anyone who might have a story to tell.

Tromsø offers a temporary reprieve from all of that. There are people, of course – it’s the busiest fishing port in Norway, the Eye interposes for the fourth time this hour. Jon takes an aggravated swipe at the empty air beside him, once again momentarily forgetting that there’s no pesky swarm of Watchers tagging along for this particular journey. Not visibly, at least.

Still, the open-air piers of a busy fishing port are a far cry from a densely-packed train. There’s a cargo ship scheduled to leave for Ny-Ålesund within the next hour, and Basira is further down the docks meeting with its captain to (hopefully) arrange for passage. Apparently Jon has earned some trust over the course of their travels, because she didn’t object when he requested to stay back and take a breather.

Although the docks of Tromsø bear little resemblance to the beaches of Bournemouth, the calls of seabirds are familiar enough to be meditative. Nostalgic, albeit in an uneasy, bittersweet way. His childhood was riddled enough with nightmares and alienation that thoughts of the place where he grew up are always laced with remembered horror and punctuated by a nebulous sense of grief for what could have been. If he never caught the Spider’s eye; if he never opened the book; if he wasn’t quite so demanding and easily bored and difficult to manage; if his eccentric reading habits were just a bit less finicky, even…

Left to his own devices, Jon could drown himself in what ifs.

A frigid gust of wind whips his hair about. When he reaches up to smooth it down, he finds it coarse from the brine-saturated breeze. Rubbing his fingertips together and grimacing at the faint gritty residue, Jon pulls Georgie’s scarf up over his nose to fend against the nip in the air and he turns his sight to the sky. It’s a stark, pallid grey, the kind of overcast that manages to be blinding-bright despite the sun’s concealment. The sight stings his eyes, but still he does not blink.

It should be exhilarating to look up and see nothing staring back. Instead, the sight fills him with… well, it’s difficult for him to define succinctly. Some peculiar species of dread, mingled with a disquieting, ill-defined sense of longing. Perhaps he’s simply becoming adrift in time again: remembering how it felt to look up at a Watching sky and hopelessly wish for a return to the world as it was, to clouds and stars and void. But he can’t shake the suspicion that it’s at least partly a monstrous yearning for the ruined future from which he came.

He doesn’t know what that says about him. Nothing good, probably.

You miss it, a gloating, sinister little voice concurs from one of the murky, thorny corners of Jon’s mind. You don’t belong here. You Know where you–

Jon’s phone dings several times, yanking him away from that ill-fated train of thought. Grateful for the interruption, he digs it out of his pocket, instantly brightening when Naomi’s name greets him and eagerly opening their text thread.

Jon is too busy smiling to himself to notice Basira’s approach.

“What’s – oh, sorry,” she says when he starts. “Keep expecting you to just sort of… Know I’m here.”

“The Eye doesn’t seem inclined to help me out on that front, unfortunately,” Jon says with an embarrassed chuckle. “If anything, my being jumpy probably feeds it.”

Basira glances down at his phone, then back up at him. “Everything alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Naomi.” Jon’s grin returns. “All her texts from the last couple days just came through at once. She wants to know whether Krampus is real.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“Haven’t replied just yet.”

“Oh.” Basira opens her mouth to say more, then promptly closes it.

A delighted smirk twitches into being at the corner of Jon’s mouth. “Now you want to know as well, don’t you?”

Basira rolls her eyes, but doesn’t deny it. “Later. We have a boat to catch.”

When Jon reaches into his pocket to retrieve his blindfold, Basira shakes her head.

“Best not,” she says. “The captain agreed to take us, but she was leery about the whole thing. I don’t want to give her a reason to reconsider. The less suspicious we seem, the better.”

“Still getting odd stares, then?”

“Getting used to people looking at me like I’m transporting a hostage,” she replies with a tired, beleaguered smile. It fades into a frown as she looks him up and down, taking stock of his shaking hands and the way he leans heavily on his cane. “Alright?”

“A bit sore,” Jon admits, glancing down at his leg. “Probably just been putting weight on it for too long a stretch.”

“We should be able to sit soon. Until then, try not to fall.”

“Or freeze,” Jon says distractedly, glancing warily upwards again.

“Daisy says the cold always gets to her,” Basira says, quietly enough that Jon suspects it wasn’t meant for him. “Seriously, though – you alright? You keep staring at the sky like it’s going to crack open.”

“I’m fine.” Jon shuts his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath. “Just… apprehensive.”

“Sense anything?” Despite her carefully bland tone, the crux of the question is clear.

“Nothing concrete.” No statement givers, he does not say – but Basira nods, understanding his meaning. “I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“Come on, then.” She starts off down the dock – at a brisk pace at first, but slowing when she looks back to ensure that Jon is following and observes his stiffer, more deliberate gait.

He grimaces apologetically. Up until Jane Prentiss and her worms, he was inclined towards speed walking as much as Basira is. Always in a hurry to get nowhere at all, Georgie used to say, simultaneously lamenting and teasing. Not everyone is a power walker, Jon, Martin would gripe from time to time during the apocalypse.

Maybe some of us want to slow down and take in the scenery, he grumbled on one occasion, as they traipsed through a predictably grisly Flesh domain.

The forest of pulsating meat sculptures, you mean? Jon replied primly.

Oh, you’re telling me you don’t feel the overwhelming urge to stop and take notes on the ecology of flesh spiders?

Not as much as I want to get to a place where the ground isn’t a spongy skin trampoline.

Flesh domains always had a tendency to bring out the worst (best?) of their morbid humor, Jon notes upon reflection.

In any case, Jon has always had a tendency to hurry, too impatient to reach his destination to appreciate the journey. Internally, that impulse is still there. On good days, he can almost satisfy that restlessness. Today is not a good day.

Basira stops and waits. It’s a practice that has become second nature to her ever since Daisy emerged from the Buried: learning all the unspoken signals and warning signs of a bad pain day, from barely-suppressed winces and cold sweat to waspishness and stifled, winded breaths; gauging all the fickle fluctuations in mobility in real time through careful, constant observation; and discreetly adjusting her own walking pace to accommodate without question or complaint.

“You know, I haven’t spent much time on boats,” Basira says, apropos of nothing – probably to break the silence as she waits for Jon to catch up. “I’m hoping motion sickness during long car rides isn’t correlated with seasickness. Does the Eye have any statistics handy? Seems like it would qualify as terrible knowledge.”

“Let’s just say you should keep the Dramamine at the ready,” Jon says wryly as he reaches her position.

“Wonderful,” Basira sighs, and she resumes walking, this time matching Jon’s stride.

Martin will be the first to admit that, between the two of them, Jon doesn’t have a monopoly on obsessiveness.

Case in point: Jon and Basira have been gone for five days now, and – in between bouts of worrying over their safety and mounting apprehension about Peter’s inexplicable, persistent hiatus – Martin is still replaying everything he said and did in the moments leading up to Jon’s departure.

Or, more precisely, what he didn’t say.

Nearly two months have passed since Jon returned from the Buried. It’s been nice, it really has, spending time with him. He’s changed – How could he not have? – but he’s still Jon. Even more wounded and jaded than he was before – How much abuse can one person take? – but it hasn’t made him cruel or cold. Harder in some respects, to be sure – namely on himself.

Which is saying something, Martin thinks with a pang. In all the time that Martin has known him, Jon has never been kind to himself. It’s always been a struggle to convince him to take care of himself in the most basic of ways, let alone spare a thought for comfort.

But in other respects, Jon has grown softer. More open, more communicative – more trusting, somehow, despite this world and the next piling on reason after reason for him to detach and withdraw. Martin thinks about that every time the Lonely starts to whisper in his ear. The fog is still there, firmly planted in his mind, choking out his thoughts from time to time like an invasive weed. It won’t be easily uprooted. Seeing Jon alive and trying, reaching out, grasping at warmth, clinging to humanity with all his trademark stubbornness… it makes Martin want to try, too. It makes him want to hope, to look forward and see – to fight for – a future where things are better.

So, yes, Jon has changed. They both have.

I’m not the person you remember, Martin said the first time they spoke after Jon came back. I’m not the person you fell in love with.

Jon had locked eyes with him then, and Martin found that he could not look away.

Martin has spent the majority of his life walking a tightrope, striking an uneasy balance between competing instincts. The part of him that excels in flying under the radar takes comfort in being inconspicuous. There are people out there who see kindness as naivety and trust as a weakness to be exploited. The best way to avoid their notice is to avoid being seen at all, and Martin learned early on that to be unremarkable has its own advantages. All too often, to go unnoticed is to survive.

It isn’t enough to just survive, though, is it? Barely hidden underneath all the abysmal self-esteem and the carefully constructed mask of agreeability, there is a spark of indignation and outrage and want. To be seen is fundamentally terrifying; to demand acknowledgment is to welcome exposure. But Martin has always had a rebellious streak, carving out a space for itself amongst all the loneliness and fear and self-deprecation.

Look at me, it seethes. See me.

And when Jon did look at him – Saw him – an unmistakably pleased little voice jostled its way to the forefront to triumphantly declare, Finally.

Martin, I fell in love with this version of you, Jon said. With every version of you.

It was difficult to believe. Martin didn’t want to believe it. He was afraid to believe it. But he did, and he does, and he feels the same way, and he has for so, so long, and that defiant chip on his shoulder never truly let him forget it, even when isolation had him by the throat–

So why can’t you say it?

Since that day, it hasn’t come up again. Jon is affectionate, far more than Martin would have expected. Sure, Jon has always seemed more natural at expressing his feelings through actions rather than words, but Martin never imagined he would be so… well, cuddly. Jon always struck Martin as averse to touch, keeping people at arm’s length both figuratively and literally. He still is, sometimes. But more often than not, Martin gets the impression that Jon would cling like a limpet if given explicit permission. Martin doesn’t know whether that’s a new development, or whether it’s just that he now numbers among Jon’s rare exceptions.

Maybe I should ask Georgie, Martin thinks, only partly in jest.

There’s still a lingering hesitancy there, though. Yes, when Martin invites contact, Jon jumps at the opportunity to be close. Initiating, though… Jon doesn’t quite walk on eggshells per se, but he moves with a gentleness perhaps too gentle at times. Excessively tentative – but not subtle.

Martin long ago perfected the art of stealing furtive glances at Jon. It’s not difficult. Jon is prone to tunnel vision, predisposed to lose himself in his work or a book or his own mind until the rest of the world outside his narrow focus dissolves around him. If he ever noticed Martin’s eyes on him, Jon never called attention to it.

Jon’s staring doesn’t have the same finesse. His gaze is heavy. Concentrated, unwavering, penetrating – and Jon is painfully self-conscious about that. Prompt to stammer apologies whenever he’s caught watching, quick to avert his eyes. According to him, most people find the Archivist’s attention unnerving. Martin supposes it can be at times, but he’s long since become acclimated to it. Endeared to it, even. It’s grounding, despite how ruthlessly being Seen clashes with the Lonely aspects of Martin’s existence.

Maybe that disharmony is precisely why it’s grounding.

So Jon’s eyes flit to Martin whenever he thinks Martin isn’t looking, and cautious glimpses stretch into riveted, unconscious watching, and Martin graciously pretends not to notice. This has been the status quo for weeks now: faltering not-quite-touches and longing, not-so-surreptitious gazes, interspersed with understated handholding and a few sporadic sessions of what Martin can only call cuddling. All of it has been underscored by three simple words dangling in the scant expanse of empty space between them, waiting for acknowledgment.

Jon is waiting – waiting for Martin – and Jon… Jon has never been good at waiting, has he? Not like Martin. Jon’s directionless fidgeting and bitten-short declarations and absentminded stares betray his buzzing impatience despite his best efforts, but still he’s waiting, with as much valiant restraint as he can muster.

I love you. It’s a truth so obvious that speaking it aloud would hardly qualify as a confession. I love you, Martin thinks, and he feels it down to his bones, woven into the very atoms of him.

It’s difficult to pinpoint when it began. Early on, Martin only wanted to appear qualified to his new supervisor, then to impress him, then to prove him wrong – and then, eventually, to genuinely take care of him. Jon was in need of care, and resistant to receiving it, and that was familiar, wasn’t it? Maybe some desperate, stubborn part of Martin just wanted to be useful for once. To be seen. To succeed with Jon where he had failed with his mother.

Then Prentiss happened. Martin had been certain that Jon would dismiss Martin’s story, reprimand him for his prolonged absence, and snap at him to get back to work. And then… he didn’t.

Your safety is my responsibility, Jon said curtly, showing Martin to his new, hopefully temporary lodgings. I failed you, Jon’s contrite grimace read. I won’t fail you again. Then he immediately strode off to meet with Elias, leaving Martin loitering idly in Document Storage, speechless and bemused.

Maybe that’s where it started: Jon barging unannounced and uninvited into Elias’ office with brazen, unapologetic demands for safe haven and fire extinguishers and heightened security. He even went so far as to persistently badger Elias for customizations to the building’s sprinkler system. That tenacity may have been partly driven by guilt and obligation, but Martin swore he caught glimpses of something more from time to time. Something deeper and more personal, sympathetic and kind.

It started, as so many significant shifts do, with the small things.

Martin retired to Document Storage one night that first week to find extra blankets folded neatly at the end of his cot. I thought you might be cold, Jon admitted upon questioning. It can get chilly in here at night. The pressing question of exactly how many times Jon must have slept here overnight in order to know that was promptly crowded out by a vivid mental image of Jon wrestling a heavy quilt onto the Tube during the morning commuter rush. The thought brought a smile to Martin’s face. He said as much, and Jon immediately fabricated a clumsy excuse to exit the conversation.

On another occasion, Martin opened the break room cabinet to find his favorite tea restocked. He’d been putting off shopping, too anxious to leave the relative safety of the Institute’s walls. I noticed you were running low, Jon mumbled. And I was already at the store anyway, he added almost defensively, eyes narrowing in a stern glare to discourage comment – as if drawing attention to Jon’s random acts of kindness would destroy his curmudgeonly reputation.

Those circumspect displays of consideration were touching in their awkwardness. Jon was gruff and reticent, to be sure, but he cared, in his own unpracticed, idiosyncratic way. And one day, when Martin looked at him, he thought, I’d like to kiss him, and then: Oh no. Oh, fuck.

Jon never seemed to pick up on Martin’s feelings back then. But he knows now – not Knows, just knows – and, impossible as still seems, he returns those feelings. Jon said the words in no uncertain terms, left them in Martin’s care – and now he’s waiting for Martin to make the next move.

So why haven’t you? What are you waiting for?

“Want some tea?”

Martin jumps at the sound of Daisy’s voice.

“Sorry,” she snorts. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I –” Martin clears his throat, recovering. “Tea. Right. Uh, I can get it–”

“Let me. I need to stretch my legs anyway. And I wouldn’t want to interrupt your pining.”

“Wh-what?” Martin sputters.

“You haven’t turned the page in at least twenty minutes,” Daisy informs him, nodding at the statement resting on the table in front of him. “Liable to burn yourself on the kettle while you’re spacing out, fantasizing about snogging Jon or whatever.”

“Wh– I – you – I’m – why would–”

“Don’t know why you’re being so coy about it.” Her blasé shrug is offset by the devious grin on her face. “Not like it’s a secret you’re on kissing terms.”

“We… we haven’t,” Martin blurts out, heat rising in his cheeks. Immediately, he kicks himself. Given what he knows of Daisy, there’s no avoiding an interrogation now.

“You – wait, really?” Daisy raises her eyebrows. “Why not?”

“It just hasn’t – I – it’s really none of your–” Martin huffs, flustered. “I don’t even know if he does that.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“B-because, he…”

Because Martin has a tendency to fade into the background, and people will say a lot of things when they assume no one else is in earshot.

Do you know if he and Jon ever…

No clue, and not interested! Although… according to Georgie, Jon doesn’t.

Like, at all?

Yeah.

Martin cringes at the memory. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. He still wishes he hadn’t overheard. Jon was always so tight-lipped about his personal life back then. It felt like a violation of his privacy, knowing something that he would in all likelihood have preferred to keep to himself and share only at his own discretion. Martin tried to put it out of his head, to avoid thinking too hard on the specifics of what Jon “doesn’t” – and, conversely, what he maybe, possibly does – but, well…

Martin shakes his head to clear his thoughts before they can meander any further into the realm of imagination. In any case, he certainly isn’t about to repeat that piece of gossip to Daisy now.

“I – I just don’t want to assume,” he says instead.

Daisy tilts her head, considering. “Well, have you asked him?”

“W-well, no.”

“Why not? Sure, some people aren’t into kissing, I guess, but I doubt he’d mind you asking. Even if the answer is ‘no,’ I guarantee he wants to be close in other ways.” At Martin’s lack of response, Daisy heaves an exaggerated sigh. “He reaches for you every time you’re not looking, you know. Always fidgeting with his hands, like he wants to touch but he doesn’t know how to ask. He’s as bad as you are, pining face and all.”

“I do not have a ‘pining face,’” Martin says. “If you must know, I was worrying just now.”

“You definitely have a pining face, and it’s different from your worried face. When you’re worried, you get all scowly and you chew your lip bloody. You’re focused, intense. When you’re pining, you get this faraway look to you, like you’re not taking anything in. And you touch your fingers to your lips a lot – yeah, like that.”

Martin yanks his fingers away from his mouth as if scalded, glowering indignantly at an increasingly smug Daisy. “What are you, a mentalist?”

“I’ve gotten used to reading people – picking up on openings, weak spots, stress signals, you know. Don’t know whether that’s a Hunt thing or a me thing. Both, maybe.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, you went from worried to pining about ten minutes ago now. And Jon, he’s even easier to read than you are. He’s so far gone for you, I can tease him mercilessly about it and never get a rise out of him. Even when I can get him to bat an eye, he never does that… that flustered denial thing he usually does when you hit a nerve. He just goes all… soft and wistful. Retreats into his own head, gets that smitten little smile – you know the one?”

“Yes.” Martin is blushing furiously now, he’s certain. Daisy flashes him another knowing, unabashedly victorious smirk.

“Point is, our lives are messed up, water is wet, and Jon Sims loves cats and Martin Blackwood, but he’s terrified of crossing some invisible line, so instead he’s just openly pining and it isn’t even fun to tease him about it because he’s too lovestruck to be properly embarrassed about it.” Daisy pauses for a breath. “So, if you want to kiss Jon, you should ask him, because I doubt he’s going to make the first move anytime soon, and it’s getting ridiculous watching the two of you tiptoe around the elephant in the room. So what are you waiting for?”

“How is any of this your business, anyway?” Martin snaps.

“Well, seeing as Jon’s my friend–”

That strikes a nerve, and Martin is reacting before he can properly evaluate the feeling.

“Okay, yeah, about that,” he says sharply. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Well, all you wanted to do before was hunt him down and hurt him.” Instantaneously, Daisy’s playful demeanor evaporates. “Even after Elias blackmailed you into working for him, you still looked at Jon like he wasn’t human. Not even a monster, either, just – just something you wanted to tear apart, just because you wanted to see him afraid. And now all of a sudden you’re friends? I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Jon’s willing to overlook a murder attempt. He… he has so little respect for himself, his standards are so…” Martin captures his lower lip between his teeth and bites down until it aches. “He’s so used to being treated badly, the bar is six feet below ground.”

“Yeah,” Daisy whispers.

“But – but what I can’t figure out is what your angle is. You wanted to hurt him, you did hurt him – he still has a scar from where you held a knife to his throat. You would’ve killed him if Basira didn’t stop you.”

“I–”

“He was so afraid of disappearing without a trace, did you know that?” Martin interjects, his face growing hotter as over a year’s worth of pent-up fury boils to the surface.

Martin has read enough statements to know that even one of the encounters representative of the Institute’s collection is one traumatic experience too many. Even so, it’s only a small fraction of the horror stories that have plagued humanity throughout history – that continue to unfold in the present day. How many people suffer something horrible and don’t live long enough to tell the story? The Archive, chock-full of terror though it may be, is an ongoing study in survivorship bias.

“When Prentiss attacked the Institute,” Martin fumes, “Jon was more afraid of that – of leaving nothing behind – than he was of dying. You were going to bury him where no one would ever find him, and no one would ever know what happened to him, and now… now you say you want to be his friend, like nothing ever happened? And I’m supposed to just trust you?”

For a long minute, the only sound is Martin’s rapid, heavy breathing. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Combativeness, maybe. For Daisy to get her hackles up, to defend herself against Martin’s implications, to take offense to his accusatory tone. Instead, her entire posture wilts and her shoulders curl inward. It’s as if an invisible weight is pressing against her on all sides, crushing her into something small and taut.

“I guess we’re doing this now, then,” she mumbles.

“Guess we are,” Martin says stiffly, one foot tapping frenetically against the floor as his agitation continues creeping ever upward.

Daisy nods and releases a heavy exhale. “This isn’t just about Jon, is it?”

“I…” Martin trails off as he considers the question. “No. I guess it’s not.”

“Well.” Daisy rubs at her upper arms, eyes fixed on the floor. “Go on.”

“When you questioned all of us – when you interrogated me, you didn’t – you didn’t actually want to find out the truth. You just wanted to get to Jon, because you assumed he was guilty, and…” Martin huffs. “No, it wasn’t even about guilt, was it? You didn’t care about solving Leitner’s murder, you didn’t care about finding Sasha – she could’ve still been alive for all we knew at the time, but you didn’t care whether she was in danger, whether she could be saved. And – and even if we did have proof that she was dead, we deserved to know what happened to her. She deserved better than to be a mystery.”

“You’re right.” Daisy’s soft agreement does nothing to temper Martin’s burgeoning wrath.

“She was my friend, you know that? She was my friend, and you just – dismissed her, like she wasn’t worth remembering, like her life was some – some trivial detail. I didn’t know whether to be afraid for her or – or – or to mourn for her, and all you had to offer was, ‘Jon probably killed her, tell me where he is or else.’ You were a detective, you were supposed to help, but all you cared about was getting to Jon, and you – you – you threatened me because you thought I could tell you where to find him. That you could use me to hurt him.” Martin breathes a bitter chuckle. “I guess Jon was right not to trust the police to figure out what happened to Gertrude.”

Daisy doesn’t deny it.

“So… yeah.” Martin shrugs as his rant tapers off. “That’s where I am, I guess. I know you’ve changed – haven’t we all – but… every time I see you near Jon, there’s a part of me that panics. Maybe I’m not being fair, but I – I can’t forget. I don’t know how to feel.”

Daisy is quiet for a long minute, fingers digging into her arms now, a pained expression lingering on her face.

“I’ve done… a lot of things I’m not proud of,” she says slowly. “Hurt a lot of people. Most more than they deserved. Many who didn’t deserve it at all. Can’t even make apologies to most of them, let alone make amends. I don’t even know if I could make amends. Some things are unforgivable.”

It doesn’t undo what I did, Jon’s voice plays in Martin’s mind. I can’t erase it.

“You should know,” Daisy says, “complete lack of self-respect aside, Jon doesn’t… he doesn’t overlook what I did.”

“What?”

“He knows what I am. What I’ve done. He doesn’t pretend I’m something I’m not, he doesn’t lie to me about what I could become, he doesn’t offer me forgiveness that I don’t deserve, but he still… he still doesn’t expect the worst from me, either. He expects me to make the right choice, even though I gave him every reason not to trust me.”

“He’s still too forgiving,” Martin mutters.

“That’s another thing. I… I don’t think he does. Forgive me, that is.”

“Have you asked him?”

“No.”

“Because you’re afraid to know the answer?” Maybe that’s uncharitable, but Martin never claimed to be an easily forgiving soul. Most people wouldn’t assume it at first glance, but he’s always had a tendency to nurse a grudge.

Daisy hunches even further, her shoulders drawing in tighter.

“Because if he did forgive me, he would tell me,” she says, her throat bobbing as she struggles to swallow. “But he doesn’t. I know he doesn’t, and he shouldn’t, and I’m not going to put him in a position where he has to justify himself, or sugarcoat it, or comfort me for what I did to him.”

Martin doesn’t know what to say to that.

“And the same goes for you.” Daisy steals a quick glimpse at Martin before lowering her head again. “I won’t ask you to forgive me. Ever. But I am sorry – for how I treated you, for what I did to Jon. I’ll never stop being sorry. That doesn’t make it better, I know. But I want to do better. I’m trying to be better. Too little too late, maybe, but I won’t go back to how I was before. I can’t take it all back, but I can at least make sure I don’t hurt anyone else.”

“You sound like Jon.”

“First and second place for guiltiest conscience, us,” Daisy says with a tired chuckle. “And I don’t know which of us is in first.” She sighs. “Look, I know you have no reason to trust me, but I do see Jon as a friend. Not just because I’m sorry, or because he saved me, or because I owe him, but because he… well, he sees me as I am, and he sees me for who I want to be, and he doesn’t see those as mutually exclusive, but he also doesn’t deny the contradiction.”

“Wish he could apply the same logic to himself.”

“Yeah. He’s an absolute mess of double standards. Best we can do is call him on it at every opportunity. Maybe eventually he’ll get it through his head.”

“Yeah,” Martin scoffs. “Maybe.”

“Anyway,” she says, “I care about him, and he cares about you, so…”

“So you thought you’d appoint yourself his wingman?”

“Maybe a little.” Daisy gives him a hesitant, sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Martin sighs. The resentment is still there, but he does feel a bit lighter after getting it all out in the open. Besides, he's so emotionally drained from his outburst, he can’t quite work up the energy for mild annoyance right this moment.

“Well, in that case – if you want to kiss him, you should ask. That’s all I’m saying,” Daisy says hurriedly, holding up her palms in a placating gesture when Martin gives her a tired glare. “I’ll drop it now. I meant it when I said I wanted tea.”

Daisy winces as she rises to her feet.

“And I meant it when I said I can get it,” Martin says.

“I’ve got it.”

“Then at least let me come along and–”

“Uh, no.” Daisy gives him a quelling look. “Jon warned me about how you are with tea.”

“What?”

“Says you’re a micromanager.”

“He what?” Martin demands.

“Okay, he didn’t say it like that. Actually, I think the word he used was persnickety.”

“Oh, as if he has room to talk,” Martin mutters. “He’s just miffed that I caught him microwaving tea once and I refuse to let him live it down.”

“What’s wrong with microwaving tea?” Martin recoils, affronted – and then Daisy snorts. “Settle down. I’m just messing with you.” She starts to leave, pausing only briefly to glance over her shoulder. “I won’t be long. Yell if Peter decides to finally show his face.”

“Will do,” Martin groans, reluctantly returning to the statement in front of him. Yet another alleged Extinction sighting, courtesy of Peter, for Martin to dutifully pretend to research.

Stringing Peter along is the best way Martin knows to keep in check. In that sense, it’s an important job – one only Martin can do. Nonetheless, it’s reminiscent of how it felt to be left behind when the others went to stop the Unknowing. Distracting Elias was important, sure, and dangerous in its own way, but it wasn’t exactly on the same level as storming the Circus to stop the apocalypse. Comparatively, Martin felt useless.

Now, with Basira and Jon off on their mission, Martin is beset by a similar sense of futility. There’s certainly enough work to keep him busy, given that Peter delegates most of his job responsibilities to Martin. (Martin is fairly certain that, fraudulent CV or not, he’s more qualified to run the Institute at this point than Peter is.) Performing routine administrative duties can be a boring and demoralizing enough endeavor in the context of a mundane underpaid office job; doing so in service to an unfathomable cosmic evil is, to put it mildly, soul-destroying. Perhaps in a literal sense, as far as Martin knows.

That’s not to mention the customary gloom that comes with reading account after dreadful account of senseless, indiscriminate suffering.

Martin wishes there was something practical he could do, is his point. Patient though he may be, indefinite waiting is less tolerable when what he’s waiting for is the other shoe to drop, so to speak. He has no desire to interact with Peter in any capacity, but the longer he remains scarce, the more Martin’s trepidation soars.

There’s no way Peter has conceded his bet with Jonah, but there’s no telling whether he’s simply biding his time and observing how events unfold, actively plotting his next moves, or already enacting an revised scheme from the shadows. Regardless, he’s a clear and present danger for as long as he’s around. He may not be hasty, but he’s still a wildcard. Jon told Martin about the last time: how Peter released the NotThem to rampage through the Institute, solely for the sake of causing a distraction. As long as he has The Seven Lamps of Architecture in his possession, he–

Oh.

Martin smiles to himself. Maybe there is something more he can do.

The warehouse is, unsurprisingly, dark. Even with the door propped open, the daylight filtering through illuminates a radius of only a few yards before it’s swallowed by unnatural gloom. As Jon and Basira move further into the cavernous space, the beams of their torches barely penetrate the velvety murk.

“Any idea where she is?” Basira whispers from Jon’s left.

“Waiting in ambush, I assume. I can’t See much of anything.”

“See or See?”

“Either. Both.”

“And you’re certain that applies to Elias as well? He won’t be able to See us here?”

“Positive,” Jon says. “The Dark has–”

An enraged bellow sounds out from behind them. Basira’s torch clatters to the concrete floor, its light promptly extinguished as the casing cracks and the batteries come loose. In a flash, Basira is on the ground, locked in a furious scuffle with–

“Manuela Dominguez!” Jon says. Manuela looks up reflexively, surprised to hear her name. It’s all the opening Basira needs to gain the upper hand, grappling Manuela into a prone position on the floor and pinning her in place with a wristlock. Manuela cries out in pain, but her wild thrashing continues unabated.

“Jon,” Basira grunts, increasingly winded as Manuela attempts to break the hold. “A little help?”

“Manuela, listen, we – we’re just here to talk–”

Manuela briefly pauses in her struggling to spit at Jon’s feet. Funny, how some details remain the same. A second later, she’s resisting again, now attempting to twist around and bite at whatever exposed skin she can find.

“Stop.”

The command crackles up Jon’s throat and sparks off the tip of his tongue like a static shock, hundreds of iterations of the word coinciding. The air itself seems to quake with the force of it, and Jon is left shivering in its wake.

So, it seems, is Manuela: her voice shudders out of her when she speaks.

“Who are you?” she hisses. “What do you want?”

“To make a deal,” Jon says, the words slightly slurred.

“Why would I deal with you?” In the flickering glow of his torchlight, Jon can see the baleful glint in Manuela’s eyes. “You’re of the Eye, aren’t you? What could you even possibly want? You’ve already taken everything – you lot and your Archivist. Where is she, anyway?” Manuela makes a show of scanning the room as best she can, pinioned as she is. “Too much of a coward to witness the wreckage she’s wrought?”

“Gertrude is dead,” Basira says.

“Stopping us took everything she had, then.” Manuela smirks. “Serves her right.”

“You wish,” Basira scoffs. “She was murdered. Completely unrelated.”

“That’s –” Manuela’s smug expression vanishes. “Who–?”

“Elias,” Jon says. “She was too much of a thorn in his side. Too much of a force to be reckoned with.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I told you,” Jon says. “We want to make a deal. A temporary alliance.”

“An alliance?” Manuela repeats. What starts as a weak, dismissive laugh dissolves into a wheeze.

“We have a mutual enemy.” Manuela’s eyes narrow in something more like curiosity now. “I take it I’ve piqued your interest. Will you hear us out?”

Manuela deliberates for a protracted moment, torn between rebellion and intrigue. “Let me up.”

“What, so you can throw more punches?” Basira says.

“It’s fine, Basira,” Jon says. Manuela is still seething with defiance. The more powerless she feels, the less open she’ll be to negotiation. Better to make a few concessions and let her feel some control over the situation.

Judging from her furrowed brow, Basira is running through the same calculations. She hesitates a moment longer before sighing, releasing her hold, and standing. Manuela staggers to her feet and backs away several steps, brushing herself off and panting shallowly as she catches her breath.

“Did you come here alone?” she asks, massaging her abused wrist as her suspicious gaze flits back and forth between Basira and Jon. “Just the two of you?”

“Yes,” Jon answers. Basira shakes her head with an impatient tsk – which Jon interprets as something like stop volunteering free information to every Avatar you parley with, Jon. “Like I said, we’re just here to talk. And to offer you the opportunity for revenge.”

“What revenge? Gertrude is dead,” Manuela spits out. “Who else is there? Her replacement?”

“I’m her replacement.”

With that, Manuela lunges in Jon’s direction. Basira swiftly moves to intercept her, but Manuela stops in her tracks before Basira can grab her. A tension-filled standoff ensues, the two of them eyeing each other warily. After nearly a full minute, Basira seems satisfied enough that the situation has been defused to take her eyes off Manuela and treat Jon to an exasperated glare.

“Do you have to antagonize every single person who wants to kill you?” she scolds.

Jon ignores her grievance in favor of addressing Manuela directly: “You wouldn’t have any luck killing me.”

Basira dips her head down and plants the heel of her hand on her forehead, grumbling under her breath. It’s mostly unintelligible, but Jon thinks he can make out the words fuck’s sake somewhere in there.

“I could try,” Manuela snarls. Her hands ball into tighter fists, trembling with rage at her sides, but she continues to stand her ground.

“You could,” Jon says mildly. “And you would fail.”

“You’ll just compel me, you mean.”

“I could.” He would rather avoid it if possible, but Manuela doesn’t need to know that. He can only hope she can’t tell just how much he’s only pretending at nerve. “Or, you can listen to what we have to say. Gertrude is dead, and lashing out at me isn’t going to satisfy your thirst for revenge. We can offer up a more satisfying target.”

“Unless you have a way for me to unmake the Power your Archivist served.” When Jon doesn’t deny it, Manuela lets out another harsh, scornful laugh. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Well – arguably, Gertrude didn’t serve the Eye. She followed her own path.” Manuela breathes a derisive huff. “Like her or not, she did. Formidable as she was, none of that was due to the Beholding’s favor. That was all her. She never embraced the power it promised – not like most Archivists do. Striking a blow against the Eye wouldn’t be an insult to Gertrude’s memory. If anything, it would do her proud.”

“Killing it with the sales pitch,” Basira carps.

“But the head of the Institute does serve the Eye,” Jon presses on, “and he’s the one responsible for appointing Gertrude the Archivist in the first place. Hurt the Eye, and you hurt him.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Manuela says, bristling. “Your patron may pale in comparison to my god, but I’m not arrogant enough to believe that I would stand a chance of vanquishing it.”

“We can’t vanquish it, no. But we could destroy the Institute that serves it. Same as happened to the Dark’s faithful.”

“An eye for an eye,” Basira adds.

“Well, you’ve wasted your time coming all this way.” Manuela’s disparaging chuckle gets caught in her throat. “I’m the only one here. An abandoned disciple, guarding a lost cause. There’s nothing left of our former power.”

“The Dark Sun,” Basira says.

Manuela tenses. Then her shoulders slump, weighed down by dawning, solemn resignation.

“Of course,” she says bitterly. “It isn’t enough to decimate our numbers. You need to steal the only remnant of our crusade.”

“We’re giving you the opportunity to reclaim its purpose,” Jon says. “Or would you rather it rot away here, diminishing until it collapses in on itself?”

Manuela is silent for a long minute, a shrewd look in her eye. “Why would you want to betray your god?”

“The Beholding isn’t my god,” Jon says. “I’m not a willing convert. I was drafted into someone else’s crusade without my consent – and you know what that’s like, don’t you?”

Manuela just scowls.

“I Know your story.” Jon’s voice turns sibilant with power as the Archive rears its head. “Indoctrinated into a faith that never spoke to you –”

“– brought up to believe in the light of God, his radiant, illuminating presence –”

“Shut up,” Manuela says in a low growl.

“– deep down they were vicious, spiteful people who used their faith to hurt others, and I fondly imagined them discovering themselves in an afterlife other than the one they had assumed was their destination – I broke with them as soon as I could –”

“Jon,” Basira interrupts. The firm squeeze of her hand on his shoulder is enough to snap him out of his shallow trance. She jerks her head at Manuela, who looks about ready to charge him again. “Maybe not the time?”

“S-sorry,” he gasps. He shakes his head to clear the residual static clouding his thoughts before looking back to Manuela with genuine contrition. “Didn’t mean to do that, I swear. I only meant to say that I – I read the statement you gave to Gertrude. I know that your parents were zealots. They envisioned a perfect world that seemed to you like hell on earth, and you did everything you could to rebel against their arrogance. To spite the god they worshiped. We have some common ground there, you and I.”

Granted, Jon didn’t grow up in a religious household. His grandmother was content to let him explore – and he did.

Even as a child, he had an inclination for research. A topic would catch his attention and he would voraciously seek out as much information as he could. His grandmother didn’t take much interest in the content of those fixations, but she did encourage them as a general principle. Not with overt praise, necessarily, but by facilitating his endeavors: procuring reading material on the obsession of the month, escorting him to the library every so often and allowing him to max out his card. He suspects now that she was simply grateful for some way to occupy his attention. If his nose was in a book, he was keeping out of trouble.

He never told her how wrong she turned out to be.

In any case, one of his many early “phases,” as she liked to call them, was comparative religion. Part of it was simple curiosity. Part of it was a genuine desire to find something to believe: some conception of the afterlife that would resonate with him, some straightforward framework for understanding the world, some sort of certainty to assuage his fear of the unknown. His grandmother never seemed to care whether he found what he was looking for. She never really asked.

It was for the best. He never liked admitting defeat. Not back then.

They returned all the books to the library on the day they were due, and Jon brought home a new haul, this one centered around the field of oceanography. The seas were brimming with mystery, but at least there was a very real possibility of turning those unknowns into knowns. New discoveries were being made every day, newer and newer technology being developed to push the boundaries of that knowledge. There were sure answers, and they could be grasped, so long as humanity could invent the right tools for the job.

Still, Jon found himself envying people of faith from time to time. Sometimes he wished he had someone to point him in some sort of direction, like many other children seemed to have. But hearing of Manuela’s upbringing… well, if Jon was forced to choose between extremes, he has to admit that he prefers the complete lack of guidance he received as opposed to strict proselytization. His grandmother may not have shown interest in his opinions, but at least she gave him the freedom to come to his own conclusions. She may not have had reassurances to offer, but at least she didn’t foist upon him a worldview that made no place for him in it.

“It’s not the same thing as childhood indoctrination,” he tells Manuela, “but… becoming the Archivist – it was like being drafted into the service of a god that I never would have chosen for myself. Had Elias told me the terms, I never would have signed the contract.”

“I take it he didn’t tell you beforehand that he murdered your predecessor?”

“That I had to find out the hard way, unfortunately.”

“So you’re saying you’re not so much a traitor to your faith as you are a disgruntled employee.”

“Elias is my boss. Is that a trick question?” Jon is surprised to hear Manuela give an amused snort. “But yes. I’d like to… tender my resignation, so to speak.”

Manuela scrutinizes him intently, as if trying to solve a riddle. “You would give up your power?”

“I don’t want it,” Jon says truthfully.

If he’s perfectly honest with himself, there was a time that at least some aspects of that power were alluring. There was something intoxicating and liberating about being able to ask a question and not only receive a guaranteed answer, but be certain he wasn’t being presented with an outright lie – especially after spending so many months beholden to unchecked paranoia, distrust, and frantic, futile investigation.

But there was never anything benign or inconsequential about invading a victim’s privacy or compelling someone to surrender a secret, no matter how he tried to justify it to himself. Even if there was, even if it wasn’t both reprehensible in principle and harmful in practice, it still wouldn’t be worth the irrevocable costs.

“I want out,” he says, “and if getting out isn’t an option, then I at least want Elias to know what it is to be offered up to a god inimical to every atom of his existence. I thought you might be able to assist with that.”

“How?”

“The Institute is a seat of power for the Beholding,” Basira says. “If we introduce it to your Dark Sun…”

“A mote in the Eye,” Manuela says, intrigued. Her attention swivels back to Jon. “Do you Know what would happen?”

“No,” he says. “But I imagine it will hurt.”

“And then what? What happens after? You let me pack up my relic and walk away?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“I don’t believe you,” Manuela says.

“You don’t pose an existential threat,” Jon says with a shrug. “I have no doubt that the Dark will attempt another Ritual someday, but it won’t happen in our lifetimes. We have no qualms letting you walk away after our alliance is finished.”

“And the Dark Sun?” Manuela presses.

“I don’t know what condition it will be in after exposure to the Eye,” Jon admits. “But you’re free to do as you wish with it after. We won’t stop you.”

So she can hurt more people, Jon’s battered conscience chimes in.

“And if I say no?”

“Then I walk in there right now, Behold it, and destroy it entirely.” It comes out sounding more menacing than Jon had initially intended, but maybe that’s not a bad thing, given the way Manuela freezes up.

“You wouldn’t survive.” Manuela sounds far from certain.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But your Sun certainly wouldn’t.” Jon pauses for a moment to let that sink in. “Do you want to see its potential wasted here and now, or do you want to make all that sacrifice worth something?”

“If you’re so certain you have the upper hand, what’s stopping you from just taking it, then?”

“I’m not its engineer or its keeper. I wouldn’t even Know how to safely transport it. Too many unknown variables.”

“So you need me.”

“Yes. Beneath the Institute, there’s a… a sanctum of the Eye. A place of power, like Ny-Ålesund is for your patron. If you can bring the Dark Sun there, I… well, I’m hoping it will sever the Eye’s connection to that place. Destroy the Institute.”

“How would that work?”

“I’m… not certain,” Jon confesses. “Call it a… a hunch.”

“There’s precedent,” Basira says. “We found a statement that hinted at worshipers of the Dark destroying a temple to the Eye in 4th century Alexandria.”

Manuela’s eyes light up with interest. “How?”

“We don’t know,” Jon says.

“Oh, right. Foolish of me to ask,” Manuela says pertly. “Why would I expect you to know things? It’s only the entire point of you.”

“I never claimed to be good at my job,” Jon retorts. “Look, maybe I don’t Know exactly what will happen, but a focus of the Dark should hurt the Eye in some capacity, I think.”

“You think,” Manuela mutters under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear the derision in her tone.

“Whatever happens, it’ll be more satisfying than anything you’ve got going on here,” Basira points out.

Manuela barks out a contemptuous laugh. “You don’t even have the shadow of a plan!”

“We… haven’t ironed out the details, no.” Jon rubs the back of his neck, chagrinned. “We figured that if you did agree to an alliance, you would want to be part of the actual planning process.”

“And if you don’t cooperate, it’s a moot point,” Basira says.

“Also, I was… I suppose I was hoping you could offer insight,” Jon says. “The Dark is something of a blind spot for me, shockingly.” Manuela shoots him a withering look. “So even if I had any clue how to wield the Dark Sun, I wouldn’t be able to channel its full potential. Not like you could.”

“That much is obvious,” Manuela sneers, teeth gleaming in the torchlight as her lips stretch in a taut, wolfish grin. “You Beholding types always assume that knowledge is synonymous with control. Putting yourselves on the level of Powers greater than any mortal, assuming insight into things you could not possibly understand… you fly too close to the sun and then have the gall to indulge in outrage when you burn.”

We didn’t come here for a sermon, Jon almost says, but he bites his tongue.

“But I accept that I am a supplicant, not a god,” Manuela says, reverence seeping into her tone to supplant the reproach. “It’s pure hubris to assume that you could wield the Black Sun like a tool. It’s a communion, and only those with true and dutiful faith could ever hope to win its favor. Approach it with anything less than respect and devotion, and it will devour you.”

“If you’re done pontificating?” Basira says. She doesn’t give Manuela an opening to respond. “We’re well aware that we stand no chance of wielding–” Manuela looks up sharply, and Basira hastily corrects herself. “Fine – communing with the Dark Sun ourselves. That’s why we’re looking for an alliance rather than just taking it.”

“Do you think you could–” Jon pauses as he searches for a way to phrase his question that won’t unleash another tirade. “Would you be able to arrange for the Dark Sun to be brought into the Eye’s stronghold? Expose them to one another, let them… I don’t know – have it out with each other?”

“I’m capable of bringing it to London, if that’s what you’re asking,” Manuela says primly. “But it would be at a disadvantage on the Beholding’s home turf. If – if – I were willing to test this hypothesis, I would only do so on the condition that I could level the playing field as much as possible. Wait for ideal circumstances, as it were.”

“Which would be…?” Basira asks.

“The winter solstice. The Dark Sun will be the strongest on the night of the winter solstice.”

“That’s months from now,” Basira protests. “Can’t you just –”

“Ideally, I would insist on a total solar eclipse,” Manuela snaps, “but it will be quite some time before London witnesses another. Not until 2090.”

“Looking ahead, are you?” Basira asks.

“It is likely the soonest opportunity for another attempt at a Ritual.” Manuela pretends at nonchalance with a shrug, but she can’t quite conceal her profound disappointment as her voice grows measurably more subdued. “It gives me ample time to study our failure. To discover what went wrong.”

“To refine your Ritual, you mean.”

“There will always be faithful to take up the mantle,” Manuela says, her chin lifting marginally in defiance as she stares Basira down.

“But you won’t be around to see it.” Basira meets Manuela’s eyes with equal nerve. Jon remains silent, looking from one to the other as they face off against one another.

“No,” Manuela replies evenly. “I’ll have to settle for passing on my findings to those who come after. Leave behind a legacy to guide their steps.”

“In the meantime, the Dark Sun will stagnate,” Jon chimes in. It’s a bluff, of course: he has no idea whether or not it’s true. Judging from the unsettled look on Manuela’s face, neither does she. Jon latches onto that uncertainty, carefully twisting the knife just a little further: “Or, you could let it serve a purpose.”

“Its purpose was to usher in a world of true and holy Darkness,” Manuela says acidly. “You’re proposing I give it scraps.”

“Like it or not, you can’t give it the apocalypse it was promised,” Jon says.

Manuela’s fingers flex and clench back into fists. Jon suspects she would love nothing more than to wring his neck. She’s a truth seeker at heart, though. Ambitious, rebellious – idealistic even, albeit in a twisted sort of way, harboring an aspiration that most would rightfully find horrific. Adept at detecting and exploiting the more malleable aspects of material reality where possible, infusing the scientific method with just enough magical thinking to bend natural laws.

However, there are some truths that even she cannot deny, and she isn’t the type to ignore a certainty when it’s right in front of her face. And so, despite the unconcealed vitriol in her eyes and the contrariness sitting at the tip of her tongue, she does not deny his assertion.

“But it can still pay tribute to your god,” Jon coaxes, striving to stop short of needling. It’s a razor’s edge he’s always struggled to walk, but Manuela is still right there with him, toeing the line. “It’s better than nothing at all.”

Manuela directs a venomous glower towards the floor as she vacillates between summary dismissal and the temptation of vengeance. Basira side-eyes Jon as the standstill stretches from seconds into minutes, but all Jon can offer her is an awkward shrug. The ball is in Manuela’s court, and it seems she has no qualms leaving them in indefinite suspense as she painstakingly examines all the variables and weighs her options. The best they can do is wait and hope that tangible revenge will prove more enticing than spiteful noncooperation.

Eventually, she lets out a sharp exhale, raises her head, and breaks her silence.

“The winter solstice,” she repeats, her voice teeming with tension and lingering aversion. “Barring an eclipse, I would have to settle for the winter solstice. The longest, darkest night of the year… it’s second best, but it should suffice. Shame about the light pollution, of course,” she adds, wrinkling her nose with disdain, “but the power is in the symbolism.”

“Jon?” Basira prompts.

“Dream logic,” he says, massaging his forehead wearily. “It tracks.”

“Fine,” Basira sighs. She looks back to Manuela. “So does this mean you’ll do it?”

“I’m tired of haunting this place like a ghost.” There’s a sharp, predatory look in Manuela’s eyes now. “The Dark has lost its crusaders. The Watcher should have a taste of loss.”

Just then, a loud, metallic thunk interrupts the negotiations, reverberating through the space and drawing everyone’s attention to warehouse entrance. The light that had been percolating through from outside had been preternaturally dimmed before, but now it’s been snuffed out entirely.

Jon glances anxiously at Basira. “The wind, maybe?”

“There was no wind.” Basira is already drawing her gun. Like a switch has been flipped at the prospect of danger, her voice goes steely with manufactured composure. “Not strong enough to blow the door shut. I propped it open very securely.”

“We’re near the water, though,” Jon murmurs. “Strong gusts sometimes blow in off the sea–”

Jon’s mouth snaps shut at Basira’s quelling look. Manuela’s posture is defensive again, eyes darting suspiciously between Jon and Basira in the muted torchlight.

“I thought you said you came here alone,” she says accusingly.

“We – we did,” Jon says. “We–”

“Oh, Archivist,” a new voice sings out, oozing with an exultant malice. “Long time no see!”

It’s been ages since Jon last heard that cadence, but it’s horrifyingly, heart-stoppingly familiar even after all this time. It pierces Jon like a knife in the dark. He takes a frantic step back, nearly tripping over his own feet as his panic skyrockets and a tidal wave of adrenaline crashes over him.

“We just want to talk,” croons a different voice, rougher and more ragged-sounding. It’s difficult to gauge the newcomers’ positions through the impermeable gloom, but judging from the sounds of their voices, they’re drawing ever nearer. “Won’t you come out?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Jon breathes an incredulous laugh, distraught enough to border on a whimper. “Now?”

“Who are they?” Basira asks urgently. Jon is still frozen in place, eyes straining against the darkness. Any answer he could make is bogged down with terror, snagging in his throat and forestalling coherence. “Jon!”

Jon swallows hard and finally looks at Basira, his eyes wide with dread.

“Hunters.”

End Notes:

naomi: hey jon. jon. consider: surveillance state kink jon: shut the hell your mouth

____

Both instances of Archive-speak are from MAG 135. A few pieces of dialogue from the beginning of the conversation with Manuela are taken/reworked from MAG 143. The Melanie and Basira gossip is from MAG 106.

Once again, had way too much fun with the text convo btwn Naomi and Jon. Cannot resist those chatfic shenanigans vibes.

In other news, Daisy WILL point at Jon and loudly exclaim, “Is anyone gonna volunteer as wingman for this lovesick disaster or do I have to do everything myself?” and not even wait for an answer. (Jon made the mistake of confirming that he doesn’t mind her lovingly dunking on him about this sort of thing and now she’s a menace. Listen, playful ribbing is basically her platonic love language.)  

Sorry for the cliffhanger!! But hey, I think we all knew that there’s no way things would go entirely smoothly for Jon and Basira. And now I finally get to add some new character tags.

I’m very behind on replying to comments. (Tbh, spent most of the last month grappling with this chapter. I was stuck on a scene that REALLY didn’t want to cooperate.) I’m gonna try to catch up this weekend, though. <3 As always, thank you for reading!

#the magnus archives #magpod #tma #tma fic #tma spoilers #long post