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#I mean come on! sure. look for the guy behind the curtain why don't you?

eddiernunson · 28 days

Text

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | 18+

Summary: You and Eddie have both had crap luck on dates lately, nothing that can't be fixed with a strawberry milkshake. However, he gets asked out on a date and it goes well...until it turns your life on its head and he forgets how to pick up the phone. You don't even care that he's dating someone else you just want your best friend back.

Warnings: idiots in love, best friends to lovers, ANGST, brief EddiexChrissy, ooc Chrissy, attempted SA, bestfriend!Steve, and needy, desperate smut that makes it all worth it.

Thanks to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you for editing bestie

I’m astounded at the response to the preview I posted last week. Thank you so much for the love, I hope you enjoy all 40k (20k wtf did my brain go)

As you pull up to the little house at the end of the street, you look over to the sweet boy with blonde hair and green eyes nervously, curtaining a strand of hair behind one ear. He shoots you a smirk, white pearly teeth peeking from behind pretty pink lips. The date has gone phenomenally well, the conversation over dinner was easy and your date even easier on the eyes. You smooth your hands over the dress you’re wearing, picking at imaginary lint as you’re entirely unsure of what to say next.

Daniel, your date, leans onto the center console, the scent of his minty breath roping you in. “So, dinner was like, forty dollars.”

Your brows pinch together, the topic of conversation coming from left field.

“And the flowers were about twenty.” He says, his voice hinting at a subtext lost on you.

You think back to the flowers, a cascade of spring colours that drenched you in their floral scent. They sit on your dresser in a vase, waiting eagerly for you to come home.

“Okay…?” You ask, unsure of what he’s getting at.

Daniel sighs, suddenly the frustration you didn’t see before is clear on his face. “Well, I think I deserve some compensation for the princess treatment, don’t you think?”

He’s raising his brow suggestively, and the atmosphere in the car turns thick as you realize what he’s referring to. You feel so stupid. Suddenly the smirk on his face isn’t sweet, it’s sleazy. The cologne he’s wearing isn’t earthy, it’s gross. He’s not a good guy, and you feel foolish for thinking otherwise.

You think fast, lowering your eyelashes in a feigned blush. “Actually, I think it deserves just a little more than that. Be right back, I’m going to grab a condom.” You wink as you get out, the cherry on top.

Daniel lights right up, apparently not expecting his ridiculous method to work. The sound of him undoing his belt makes you nearly gag as you run in the front door.

Your dad, the sweetheart of a single father he is, welcomes you with a kind smile until he sees your crestfallen face. “You okay?”

“No,” you choke back, tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. “He’s demanding I repay him for dinner.”

“Repay?” You tilt your head, inferring what it means. “Oh. Fucking twerp. You need me to–”

“Can I have 60 bucks?” You interrupt him, avoiding his angry eyes.

He melts. “Sure.”

You walk back out the door, head held high right to the little corvette that sits at the end with the cheeky asshole sitting contently, waiting for his treat. The window is still open from earlier in the night, which works right in your favor.

“Here,” you toss the bills at him, allowing a small smile to grace your face at his confusion. “Since you’re so worried about being paid.”

As soon as he understands what you’re telling him, his face curves into a scowl, embarrassed, but too proud to say so. “Like I wanted to do it with Eddie Munson’s slut anyway!”

Halfway back up to the house, you turn back to the car as the engine growls into the night. How does that make sense? you wonder. Why am I being called a slut when I refused to put out?

The front door to your house slams shut again, and your dad receives the message that you would not like to talk about it. “Ed called just now, by the way,” he mentions as you reach the top of the stairs. Your pause in gait tells him you heard him, but you don’t respond because you can hear the smirk he wears, as much as you repeatedly tell him that Eddie is just a friend.

The flowers you thought so fondly of now have a looming presence in your room, like a dark shadow menacingly waiting in the corner. You ignore them as you lift the pastel phone to your ear, dialing the number you know by heart.

He picks up on the first ring. “Hi, sweetheart.” Relief washes over you, instant and comforting.

“Hey, Eds. How was your date?” You and he had the same plans tonight, you just hope it turned out better for him.

“It sucked,” he sighs, sounding like he’s rummaging through his messy chest of drawers. “She didn’t want a date, I guess.”

“Well what did she want?” You ask, going through your own drawers for something comfier to wear.

“Uh, to be shown a good time,” he answers dryly, the sound of rummaging coming to a sudden stop. “Heard the rumors of Munson’s magic fingers and apparently only wanted that.”

Yikes, you think. Eddie’s had many hook ups in the back of his van, but as of late he’s finding himself defeated when they don’t want him, just what he can do for them. Your heart hurt for him last week when he admitted they rarely, if ever, reciprocated.

You didn’t think it’d be an appropriate moment to tell him you would happily reciprocate for him.

“That’s extremely shitty. Guess it’s not all that different from my date though, who expected payback from spending a lousy sixty bucks.”

“Payback?”

“Asked me to suck his dick and pointed to it,” you say, a million times more bluntly than you could to your dad.

“I knew that Daniel guy was an asshole,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “I think our shitty dates deserve each other.”

You laugh, holding the PJs you plan on wearing as you sit cross legged on your bed. “To be honest, I don’t think Daniel would’ve been all that great in bed anyway.”

“I could’ve told you that. He looks like he would call thirty seconds a long time,” Eddie laughs. “Sit tight, princess, I think we’ve earned pancake night at Benny’s.”

“C’mon, I was just about to get comfy!” You whine.

“Nah, wear the pretty dress. It deserves to see a strawberry milkshake, don’t you agree?”

Honestly, a milkshake night with your best friend is exactly what you need. “Sure. See you in twenty?”

“Eh, ten.”

You throw out the flowers, tossing the vase full of water into the kitchen sink, shrugging when your dad gives you an apologetic look. You certainly are already over it, just another asshole in Hawkins, who would’ve thought? When the loud music from Eddie’s stereo pulls up, your dad nods in understanding, telling you to have fun as you leave through the front door.

The date night dress you wear is a summer dress that sits just above your knees, held together by spaghetti straps decorated with pretty blue florals. It's a dress you go to for formal events, and even saw a dance or two back in high school. Of course, you had to dust it off for the cute boy in your Psych class who ended up being a complete dickwad.

The fabric of Eddie’s beat up van is familiar. So familiar that you could argue his passenger seat has a permanent indent from your ass. Eddie has, in fact, pointed it out from one night stoned in the back with him, giggling as you vehemently denied it. At your sudden quiet shut down stature, he patted your ass gently, claiming that he didn’t want any other person’s ass planted on his seat except yours.

That conversation, as hazy as it was, stayed in your mind for days after the fact.

Eddie’s dressed in his own version of a date night outfit, tight jeans exposing his knees with jagged rips under a leather jacket and plain black t-shirt. He’s gorgeous, tauntingly so. It’s not much different from an ordinary outfit, but the faint smell of fresh laundry detergent and his best cologne is the best evidence he’s all dressed up.

The loud music speaks for him, loudly, pulling off before your seatbelt is even clicked into place.

The path from your house to Benny’s is well trekked by you and Eddie on late nights when you should’ve been doing homework but ended up goofing off instead. Martha, a waitress that’s been working there well over twenty years, smiles with smeared red lipstick and too much blue eyeshadow.

You walk in stride with each other, straight to the corner booth as the husk of 20 years of chain smoking barks over the gentle music, “Hey, you two! Eddie, are you finally taking this girl of yours on a date?”

Shut up, you silently beg her, avoiding either of their eyes as you stare at your lap, seemingly fixated on a loose thread at the hem of your dress.

“Oh, I’m not that lucky,” Eddie winks, throwing his arm behind you on the back of the booth. “We’re just recovering after shitty dates.”

“One day, you two,” she muses, tapping her pen rhythmically on her little notepad. It’s never been the same notepad twice, always decorated with a little cartoon sticker on the front. You’re tempted to run to the dollar store and grab her a larger one, but a part of you thinks she thrives on her many little notepads. “Alright, a large strawberry milkshake with two straws, pancakes with extra strawberry sauce and fresh strawberries on top, and waffles loaded with whipped cream and sprinkles. Correct?”

You nod in unison, both aware that she insists you will collectively rot the teeth out from your gums if you insist on overdosing with sugar every damn time you waltz in late at night. She’s given up offering other menu items, having ordered extra strawberries just to make up for your love of the fruit.

Less than five minutes later, following the blissful sound of a blender, the milkshake is wordlessly dropped off at the table, closer to you as even Martha knows you will be drinking 75% of it. The sweet, pinky taste flows easily down your throat, humming softly as you dip into the whipped cream with a finger. “Best milkshake in town,” You assert.

“I wouldn’t know,” Eddie answers, smirking, “you never let us get a milkshake from anywhere else!”

You giggle, licking some of the whipped cream that found a home in the corner of your mouth. “I could never! It would be like cheating! This milkshake would just know,” you drop your voice to a whisper, “it would smell the other milkshakes on me!”

“We couldn’t have that,” Eddie grins, grabbing the large glass to take a sip. “Sorry your date was such a jerk.”

You shrug, already having gotten over it. You’ll just need to sit on the other side of the lecture hall from now on. “He seemed so nice.”

“No offense, sweetheart, but I could’ve told you that Daniel Moore was a shitty person,” Eddie finishes another sip of the milkshake, making a large dip in the glass as the pink slush is pulled up the straw. “He likes to instigate.”

You rest your chin on your elbow, sad the milkshake is already nearly gone. “I had just hoped he would’ve matured by now…”

“In seven months?” Eddie asks you incredulously, raising his brows past his curly bangs. His expression quickly turns curious, tilting his head at you.

“What?”

“So, you’re willing to bet that Daniel Moore has improved just based on personal speculation alone but you’re not willing to believe me when I say Steve Harrington is no longer a douche?”

You roll your eyes. God, you should’ve seen this one coming. “That’s different! I only heard about Daniel. Steve Harrington actually sat back and laughed when Tommy asked–”

“You out as a joke, yeah, I know, I’ve heard it before,” Eddie mumbles, grinning at your shocked expression. “Well, that was like what, three years ago?”

“I still can’t believe you’re friends with Steve Harrington now, of all people! Listen, I know he’s also Dustin’s friend, but I find it hard to believe that you guys even have something in common,” You shrug.

“I still can’t believe you refuse to give him another chance!” Eddie playfully retorts, licking some of the whipped cream that still sits on the rim of the glass. “He’s in your Sociology class, isn’t he?”

Yeah, and he seems to insist on forcing his friendship on you, too, no matter how much you resist it. If you found friendship in Eddie, it seems reasonable to find friendship with Steve, too. Yet, there’s a little part that remembers the cruel laughter, his carelessness with others’ lives, and it ripples down your spine in a violent shudder.

You haven’t gotten rid of the notion of being his friend completely, but it’s just not the right time for you, yet.

You shrug. The topic has too much nuance for a nice dinner with your best friend. Just in time, Martha wordlessly drops off the two plates, the smile that spreads across your face is effortless. Zachary, the night chef must’ve heard about the shitty night and added extra for you, because the mountain of strawberries on the table is huge, even for your standards.

Eddie smirks, reading your mind. “You gonna finish all those?”

“Absolutely!”

Eddie sits on one side of the open courtyard, flicking off ashes from his cigarette as he waits for you to get out of class. He mentally reflects on his crazy afternoon, taking another long, much needed drag. The car with the million symptoms was one thing, but the proposition he got right before, he couldn’t wrap his head around it.

It’s been 13 days since Daniel, four awkward classes of avoiding his glare, and you’ve decided to give up on boys completely. The one you want doesn’t want you, and the dates you’re going on don’t seem to do well no matter who you say yes to. The two offers you’ve gotten in the last week were therefore denied, realizing that even if they are cute, you don’t want to lead anyone on when your heart belongs to someone else.

Before the aforementioned date, you were practically begging for someone to ask you out, but for some inexplicable reason, now you’re getting offers left and right. Somehow people just know when you’re playing hard to get.

At least Eddie’s dates seem to be going terribly for him, as well. That’s one thing you can thankfully count on.

The puff of smoke that leaves his lips as you approach him should not be as gorgeous as it is. It’s practically unfair. “Hey, Eds.”

He flicks the filter, killing it on the cement table he sits at as he blows out one more puff. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Just from that particular look in his eye, you can tell something is on his mind. “You okay, there, Munson?”

He smirks, effortlessly standing up. “I suppose. I’m not sure how to react. Or how you’ll react.”

Your brows meet your hairline, watching his mind move at a million miles per hour. “Ok, Eddie, this better be about a new class of creatures in DnD, or something, because you’re scaring me.”

He smiles, nodding his head over to the halls that lead toward the front door of the campus. “Someone asked me out on a date, earlier, today.”

Your brows furrow, biting back the jealousy that eats at your chest. Every little part of you holds back the monster that threatens to claw its way out, to snarl and hiss at every girl that even so much as looks at him wrong. It’s hard to bite it back, to choke on it purposely, but if you must, you will.

It tastes like venom as you swallow it back down. “Oh, who?”

A faint pink spreads across Eddie’s cheeks, much to your dismay. Not once, in your fuck, what, seven, eight years, of friendship have you ever managed to see Eddie blush. (Just once but it was when you nearly walked in on him jerking himself off a few short years ago.) “Who?”

“Um Chrissy. Chrissy Cunningham?”

Your jaw drops, but your gut falls through the floor. You swear you hear it smash through the tiled floors and fall into the depths of hell.

“She asked you out?”

“Hey! Don’t act so surprised! A cheerleader could like me!”

That was the last thing on your mind. Of course a cheerleader could like Eddie, they’d be stupid not to. No. Every other girl that Eddie has either slept with, or gone on a date with brought no worry to your head, competition, per se. But a girl like Chrissy, one with pretty blonde curls, adorable smile and a sweet disposition, it’s like your worst nightmare come true.

Thanks to living in such a small town, you can recall 99% of the names that Eddie had told you, whether they be hookups or a date. Most of them didn’t intimidate you, only because, selfishly, you could nitpick at things you think wouldn’t work out with Eddie. Whether they were too vapid, too shallow, had none of the same interests as him, only shallowly liked him for his looks, or was a bully…you had something to give great comfort to you to prevent that little jealousy monster from clawing its way out.

This time, your brain wracked itself for some sort of answer. Some sort of flaw in the Queen of Hawkins High that could settle this uneasiness that has taken over your mind. Nothing. Nothing.

“I’m not surprised a cheerleader could like you, I’m surprised that Chrissy Cunningham asked you out,” you answer candidly, walking in step with him to where you supposed was his van. “I’m guessing you said yes?”

“I’d be crazy not to!” Eddie answered sheepishly, tugging at the sleeves of his leather jacket. “I’m taking her out on Friday night.”

“Ah, you’ll tell Steve to take Creeper off hold for us, then?” You try to keep your tone nonchalant, but bitter jealousy coats your tongue.

Eddie stops mid stride, faltering, his brows pinched as he gives you those big brown eyes. “Shit. It totally slipped my mind.”

This is also new. Even as his dates would happen, any previously made plans with him were always a priority. You just hope this doesn’t become a new habit of his.

“We’ll do it on Saturday, yeah?”

You nod, giving him the comfort you suddenly find yourself craving. From the pep in his step, the rosiness of his cheeks, the warm glint in his eyes, you can tell that he’s truly excited. As a best friend, you try to be happy for him, however hard it is to make the smile on your face even remotely convincing.

Eddie curls his arm around your shoulder, tugging you along with him for what will probably be another afternoon in his room, clouded by a haze of weed.

You smoke more than usual, if anything to allow his excitement and plans for his big date in two days to buzz into the background, the bong hit rippling through your lungs as a punishment for yourself.

A weight on your bed suddenly dips down and you sit up quickly to face Eddie sitting on the corner of your mattress with a small smile on his face. Your headphones, still playing the obnoxiously loud music that drowned out his knocks, fall off your head as you sit up. You press the STOP button, clicking loudly in the silence as you stare at your best friend.

The anxiety of his date has eaten you all night long, the only thing strong enough to distract it being music loud enough to hurt your eardrums. You always feel some sort of anxiety, but tonight was even worse, eating at your brain in fear of how painful it might be to be third wheeling with him after being his #1 for so long.

For once, you can’t tell how it went. A slimy, selfish part of you is hoping he shares bad news. His smile breaks. Into a bigger, much brighter beam. Damn.

“How did it go?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

Eddie slams himself onto the bed next to you, hiding his eyes with his hands with his dimples deep, his pearly whites exposed. “Fuck, it was the best date I’ve ever had.”

Your heart shatters. “That good?”

“God, she’s– much better than I thought she could’ve been,” Eddie answers, peeking out from behind his hands. “It’s fucking crazy.”

Of course Chrissy Cunningham, a known sweetheart, is everything he’s ever dreamed of. Of course she lived up to his expectations. Just your luck. “I’m just jealous of your remarkable turn in luck, I guess.”

Eddie chuckles, turning onto his stomach to face you as he kicks his feet. “You’ll have your turn, baby.”

The pet name stings in the worst way. Instead, you raise your brow at him. “Look at you lookin’ like a schoolgirl with a crush. Pretty boy doesn’t even need makeup with all that blush.”

He rolls his eyes, pinching you on the shin. “You’re such a shithead.”

“Yeah, well you still choose to hang out with me anyway, so, that’s on you.” It takes everything in you to ask the following question, “So, tell me about your date, will ya?”

He does. He rattles on and on about how pretty she is, how easy the conversation was, how much she surprised him, how the night ended with a kiss that had Eddie giggling. He lays next to you, leather jacket put aside on the corner chair and boots next to your bunny slippers at the end of your bed. Your small twin mattress has you close in proximity, your side in direct contact with him as he rests his head on his hands.

“She’s such a cool girl, you know?”

You’re half asleep by now, allowing the exhaustion to overwhelm the slight ache in your chest. It zaps through your heart, overwhelms your senses and makes you dizzy. Your eyes flutter shut, but Eddie keeps talking softly next to you.

“Why were you blasting your 8-track, anyway?”

The question harshly yanks you out of the haze, failing to think of something that doesn’t seem completely false. You wish you were a better liar. “Just stressed out about your date.”

He gives you a strange look, eyebrows tilted. “Hmm?”

“We both haven’t had a very good track record, lately, and if things won’t turn around for me, then at least they should do one of us a favor.” Not, not the truth, but definitely an over exaggerated version of it.

“You’re so good to me, you know?” Eddie asks, intertwining his hand with yours. “Wasting your anxiety on me.”

The rings are harsh against your skin, squeezing your fingers tightly. The physical hurt is almost comforting in direct contrast to your emotional hurt.

His scent is comforting, as it lures you like the pied piper into the land of sleep. It’s about another twenty minutes until he realizes there are soft snores coming from you. He doesn’t care to drive all the way home, despite it only being a five minute drive away.

He falls asleep to your comforting breaths, allowing your hand to remain engulfed in his.

The loud ringing of your phone jerks you awake, quickly crawling to the side of your bed as you grab it from the dock housed on the floor.

“Hello?” Sleep sits deep in your voice, spelling out clearly to your caller that you just woke up.

It just occurs to you that you could’ve just allowed your dad to answer it.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Eddie’s voice is chipper, alarmingly so since you’re not even awake yet.

“You sound way too awake for someone that didn’t believe in waking up before 1pm,” you quip, rubbing your eyes sleepily.

“Ha,” he deadpans, yet it's clear he’s smiling. “Chris wants to meet you. I mean, I know you’ve already met her, but you know, as my girlfriend?”

Ugh. It’s been a harrowing three weeks. “Yeah, sure. What did you want to do with her?”

“I thought we could introduce her to pancake night,” Eddie sheepishly answers, like he knows you would be hesitant to invite someone into your holy ritual.

Yeah. You don’t want to invite her. But…you asked for patience last month and it seemed that the universe has answered with a lovesick Eddie Munson.

“I don’t see why not,” you lie, finding it rolls off the tongue much easier than it used to.

“You’re the best! I’ll see after you study in the library, yeah?” He knows your schedule. On Thursdays after the morning Sociology class, you opt to crawl up into a small corner and hermit yourself with snacks and a pile of books to get the work that needs to be done finished.

In high school, you could get away with doing minimum work and passing, but with your dad paying and barely able to afford it even with his second job, it sent the need to do your work to the best of your ability for once. You owed him at least that much from all the calls of missed classes for four years straight.

“Sure.”

As you stretch while hanging up the phone, you glance over to the alarm clock to see the time and it lurches you forward in bed to scramble for clothes, textbooks, and scattered papers as your lecture starts in less than twenty minutes. You’re usually already sitting in the seat by then.

On your way out the door, your dad is surprised you’re still home, offering to drive you. You don’t want to burden him even more than you already have, so you insist you can ride your bike and still get there on time. Well, at least you hope you can.

The bike rack is nearly full when you get to the college, six or seven locks messily put around the poles, most bikes already fallen over. You jam your bike in between two of them, hurriedly wrangling the annoying coil of sturdy cable between what you’re sure is entangled in someone else’s lock, too. Whatever, they should’ve been more organized.

The clock on the wall tells you class started three minutes ago and your heart falls to your stomach, knowing the professor is a stickler for punctuality. His words falter as soon as you enter the hall, the heavy door echoing its creak against the walls. He graciously allows you to sit and get situated before he continues. He makes examples of every late student, and you figured you would never be in his laser eyed focus. Well, before your alarm decided not to go off.

The last chair available is the corner chair in the front row, the one spot in class you love to avoid. It’s too close for comfort, a place he often chooses for students to answer his questions even if they don’t raise their hand.

That, and it’s right beside Steve Harrington.

His fingers raise from the desk as a greeting, sharing a sweet smile as you start to collect your textbook and notes. You awkwardly smile back at him, your attention snapped back to the professor as he pointedly talks right at your desk in his lecture. Fuck, this’ll be annoying.

By the time the three hour lecture ends, your hand hurts from the amount of notes you wrote down, one side covered in graphite from smudging the paper. Your stomach grumbles, asking loudly for lunch after neglecting to eat breakfast as usual.

Unbeknownst to you, Steve follows a step behind. “That lecture was brutal,” You hear from behind you. You toss your head over your shoulder to glance back at him before turning back around.

“I guess.” You say awkwardly. Here we go again.

“Out of curiosity, how are Eddie and his new girlfriend doing? Chrissy Cunningham, huh? I cannot say I saw that coming.”

Neither did you. “They’re doing great, from what I hear. Haven’t really met her, yet,” you answer, heading straight to the small cafe that has a home in the heart of the campus. “Listen, Steve, I really don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“Why not? You don’t think he’s happy with her, or something?”

You stop midstep, turning to face him. “It’s not that. I just don’t have the capacity for it, ok?”

“You like him,” Steve accuses, his brows meeting his hairline.

Your jaw drops, stuttering through an empty sentence. “I do not like him!”

“Really?” Steve laughs, crossing his arms as he watches you build a brick wall around yourself. “So you not wanting to talk about his new girlfriend has nothing to do with the way your face fell when I asked about it?”

How the hell did Steve Harrington pick up on it so fast, of all people?

“Even if I did, why the hell would I want to talk about it with someone I don’t even know?” You sigh, looking wistfully over to the cafe. “Besides, I’m not even caffeinated yet.”

Steve rolls his eyes, nodding towards the said cafe. “Here, if I treat you to some coffee will you talk to me about it?”

“If you add a wrap to the deal, then I’ll think about it,” You say dryly, pulling a laugh from him.

The barista, a student who you’ve gotten to know is somehow managing to do pre-law and work part time smiles nicely.

“I’ll get a vanilla latte with nonfat milk and an extra pump of vanilla, please.”

Steve raises his brow at you before making his own order, “I’ll get a medium black coffee with room for creamer, please, and whatever this lady wants from the menu.”

You scan until you reach the egg omelet wrap with mushroom, bell peppers, and tomatoes. “The loaded omelet wrap.”

After Steve pays he meets you on the handout counter. “Why nonfat milk and the extra pump of vanilla?”

“If I get nonfat then I can replace the sugar with the extra vanilla.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how that works.”

You pick up the cup as it lands on the counter, wincing at the temperature on your tongue. “It works.”

Steve grabs his, shaking his head as he makes his way over to pour some creamer in.

The wrap is soon presented as well, steaming in its cardboard sleeve as the scent alone pools on your tongue with saliva. The only thing that got you through that lecture was just the thought of lunch.

Steve meets you at a two-top by the window, setting his own bag down as he sits right across from you.

The omelet, much too hot to eat, sits waiting for you on the chestnut brown table as you sip on the latte. The latte is much too hot as well, but you’ve never had enough patience to wait for that caffeine kick. If you weren’t so afraid of your professor’s wrath you would’ve shown up another ten minutes late with a coffee cup in hand.

Steve allows you and himself a few minutes of quiet before he speaks. “So, why don’t you tell him?”

You cough mid sip, mentally apologizing to your lungs for allowing non-oxygen to make its way in. “I’m sorry?”

“Stop pretending. Eddie was dead on when he said you were a bad liar,” Steve says, grinning with stupid smirk on his face.

“Why have you and Eddie talked about me?” You ask, narrowing your glance towards him.

“Are you kidding? You’re all he talks about,” Steve shrugs, so nonchalant that you have no choice but to believe him. “Kind of annoying, actually.”

“Why?”

“I have to hear about how great of a friend this girl is but also how she can’t stand me.”

You huff in laughter at how distraught he genuinely seems by it, his face contorted into someone who definitely isn’t used to rejection. You cock an eyebrow at him. “Can you exactly blame me?”

“Yes! I can! Everybody loves me!” Steve rolls his eyes playfully, and damn it if you can’t help but find it mildly amusing.

“Hate to break it to you, there, sweetheart, but the people who were picked on by you don’t exactly crave to be around your oh-so-wonderful presence.”

He squints, crossing his arms as he leans forward. “Picked on? I mean that’s a little harsh, considering–”

“Fine, yes, you didn’t exactly jeer, or outright bully even, but you watched and laughed along and sometimes that feels even worse,” you admit, feeling suddenly small under his gaze. “Tommy and Carol said shit, that’s just what they did… But sitting back and watching sometimes is just as bad. You were nice, sometimes, I guess. But the fact that you had that capacity for kindness and chose against it just spoke volumes.”

“I met them in seventh grade. They weren’t as bad back then, mostly just somewhat belligerent. They got worse over time, but we all had terrible home lives, it was like we were the only ones that got what that was like…and somewhere along the way, I forgot that just because we had an excuse didn’t mean they had the right.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you answer, glancing at the omelet, debating taking your first steaming bite. “I mean, I’m not condoning it, but sometimes loyalty can be blinding.”

“I’m not that douche, anymore. I got that knocked out of me when I was seventeen. Literally. Now I spend most of my free time with a high school junior,” he laughs, taking another large sip of his coffee.

“Aah, Dustin,” you hum, thinking of the many instances where he had tried to convince you of what Steve had just told you. What made you so insistent on denying believing in either of your friends seems to dissipate, however, just in the friendliness that Steve radiates alone. Damn his charisma. “Would you believe me if I said he vouched for you many times?”

“The kid loves me, what can I say?” He shrugs, not hiding his laughter. “Now. Back to you. Why not tell him?”

No use in hiding it. If Steve can bare his soul in the middle of the day at a damn cafe just to get you to trust him, you suppose you owed him the same. “‘Cause he doesn’t feel the same,” you answer, starting to peel open the snack from the hunger pang. “Why make it weird when there’s nothing that could come from it?” You shrug, looking down sheepishly as the weight of your words sink into your heart like a stone.

“Doesn’t like you. Are you sure about that?” Steve asks, licking his lips.

You hesitate. “Is this a trick question?”

“Nope. I just wonder if you truly believe it, or if you’re too scared to let yourself have something you’ve wanted for so long.”

“Where do you get off on acting like you’re some sort of expert on this?” You ask, folding your arms across your chest. The question rings out from the mere fact that he is dead on the nose. He couldn’t be any more right. The very idea that Eddie had even an inkling of what you had for him scares you to death. You would rather keep him as a friend and lie in wait than lose him from a great love and not have him at all.

“I’m more observant than most people give me credit for,” he admits, twirling his almost empty coffee cup. “I’ve heard countless hours of Eddie talking about you, yet I haven’t heard him speak once about Chrissy. That says a lot, don’t you think?”

“Well, me neither, and I’m his best friend. Don’t get down on your luck.”

“You are both idiots. Just tell him. Seriously. I’m sick of you both acting like a pair of love sick fools.”

“You seem to be very convinced of something that is not real,” you tell him, garbled from the bite of omelet you’re in the middle of swallowing. “If you keep this energy up when you’re studying, you would probably do pretty well for yourself.”

“Fine. Remain in denial. I don’t care. You can destroy yourself from the inside. Who cares? Just, let me in. I need someone to help me with these assignments. They are mind numbingly dull.” He throws his hands up like he’s admitting defeat.

“You need a study buddy?” You laugh, hiding the food that sits in between bites. “I suppose that could be arranged.”

“Sweet. Now are you gonna treat me to a coffee every now and then, or?”

“I have a single father, not an unlimited credit card from Daddy’s big business, Steve Harrington.” You say matter-of-factly, jabbing your finger towards him accusingly.

“Oh, so I have to provide the newly released movies and buy the coffee, I see how it is.”

“Privilege breeds responsibility, Stevie. I don’t make the rules.” You give him a half smirk. As you look at him, you’re finally seeing the person you thought could see all those years ago behind the mask of his terrible friends. Steve’s ambush would be the best thing to come out of the next few weeks.

Because it turned into hell.

As your hair runs wild behind you, there’s a grand attempt to allow yourself to let the wind distract you from the sinking feeling in your gut. It grows bigger and bigger, until it becomes unbearable as you reach the gravel lining the trailer park. You allow your bike to fall heavily on the trailer, taking a moment to collect your courage before knocking on Eddie’s front door.

It feels weird knocking. You can’t even recall the last time you did. But, you refuse to overstep any boundaries that might not be communicated yet. Being on Chrissy’s good side will make your life a lot easier.

Eddie answers the door, out of breath and sweating with wild eyes and even crazier hair. “Hey!”

“Hey,” you greet, stepping in right behind him. You blink, taking in the pristine surroundings. It’s like stepping into an alternate dimension, one where Eddie and Wayne regularly cleaned their trailer and preferred the smell of lavender over stale beer and greasy pizza boxes. The kitchen is spotless, the living room has a lit candle sitting on the coffee table, and the shelves containing the million mugs were dusted. “Who are you and what the hell did you do with my best friend?” You laugh.

He chuckles sheepishly, crossing his arms in front of his chest as protection. “Uh, is it too much?”

“Better warn her now so she doesn’t get used to cleanliness,” you answer, watching as the surfaces around you sparkle and shine.

“Ha, ha. I have to get dressed. I have some snacks on the kitchen counter. You mind starting the popcorn?” Eddie doesn’t bother waiting for you to answer, already walking to his room.

You get a glimpse of his bedroom as he shuts the door behind him, smirking at the clothes still scattered on his floor. At least one part of this little haven of yours remains normal.

The popcorn shakes in your hold as you continually stir it on the stove to prevent it from sticking to the bottom of the thin aluminum bottom and burning. Just as the first batch of kernels reach their limit, a knock from the front door hits, each one feeling like a crack in any normalcy you’ve ever had.

Things will never feel the same ever again. Not after tonight. On your way to open the door you try to tell yourself that it can be a good thing.

Right?

The door opens to the once head cheerleader of Hawkins High, wearing a pink dress that fits her tiny frame nicely with blonde curls and bangs that beautifully frame her face. Her hands are folded behind her back, standing meekly in white sneakers and long lashes and blue eyeshadow. It’s hard not to be envious of how pretty she is.

It’s clear she’s not expecting you to open the door. “Hey! Sorry, Eddie’s just in his room. He should be out any minute.”

“Oh. Ok,” she enters as you back up, wringing her hands together, probably out of anxiety. “What movie did he rent?”

“You know, I was so busy making fun of him for cleaning up for once I didn’t bother to ask,” you admit, hoping to make the atmosphere just a little bit lighter.

She looks around the place, seemingly taking it in. “Hmm,” she hums, walking over to the couch. “It’s cute when they try so hard.”

“Sure,” you answer, walking back to the kitchen, hoping the popcorn isn’t irredeemably burnt. “Do you want butter on the popcorn?”

“Yes please!”

You’re in the middle of mentally begging Eddie to come out already while the butter melts in the microwave, the hum of the microwave loud in the silence.

“Okay! I’m ready!” Eddie announces, opening the bedroom door with a flourish. “Sorry for the wait!”

As he gets to the couch behind Chrissy, he wraps her in a big hug and plants kisses all over her neck. “How you doin’, sweetheart?”

You hold back the nausea as you pour the hot butter all over the popcorn in the large plastic bowl. You find it ironic that this is the same bowl you’ve held back Eddie’s hair over as he hurled into it. You just hope Wayne thoroughly cleaned it.

“Popcorn is ready, can y’all help me bring the chips and candy?” You ask, shaking the bowl to coat the butter over each kernel.

“We can do that,” Eddie answers, grabbing Chrissy’s hand as they walk to the kitchen.

“How can I help?” Chrissy asks, arms open as she looks around a kitchen she has no familiarity with.

“Um there’s some soda in the fridge, grab me and Ed a Coke, and you can grab yourself whatever you want,” you answer, pointing to the twenty year old fridge in the corner.

“Hand me some,” you command, holding a single hand for one of the many bags of snacks Eddie juggles.

The popcorn and a couple dozen little bags land on the coffee table in front of a blank tv screen. Chrissy sits with a soft grunt in between the two of you, cradling the cans of coke and sprite in her tiny arms.

She distributes the cans, handing them over to you and him. Eddie squats in front of the TV, pressing play on the tape which he apparently already prepared to watch. His plaid boxers peek out of his jeans, sitting above the studded belt as he adjusts volume and picture.

You share a smile with the blonde, opening your can and wincing at the loud hiss. You keep thinking about the days you and Chrissy will look back on how awkward this was. How the first days of this trio were so weird, and off putting, and how she thought you were a bitch when she met you.

Where she’s a friend.

You have to try.

“What are we watching?”

Eddie turns around slowly, that over exaggerated smile on his face that tells you he’s up to nothing but trouble. “Oh just a little somethin’”

“Oh god,” you wince, knowing that look on his face. You lean into her, whispering, “Hope you like horror.”

Chrissy turns to you with wide eyes and a queasy smile. “Not really.”

“Oh, this one is a classic,” Eddie promises, animatedly using his hands as he crouch-walks back next to her. “If any movie can turn someone into a horror fan, it’s this one.”

As soon as the music starts playing you recognize it. It’s a tune you’ve heard many times in his living room, subjected to it too many times if you had anything to say about it. Of course, you’ll watch it with him every time, regardless.

“Halloween? Seriously? The serial killer stalking the babysitter? You couldn’t think of anything else?” You roll your eyes. He could probably do a whole reenactment of the movie word for word if he tried.

“It’s a classic for a reason, sweetheart,” Eddie tells you, grabbing the bowl straight away. Of course, he will rip through the popcorn, he always does.

You feel Chrissy tense up, not that you can blame her. You suppose a talk about proper pet names will be necessary.

Each bag of snacks is eventually opened because you can’t stick to one bag long enough to finish it even if you tried. You get bored of the same taste too often. You have your favorite few, fuzzy peaches, M&Ms, Reese's Pieces, Swedish fish, and last and most controversially, at least where Eddie’s concerned, salt and vinegar chips.

He always has his own snacks at his disposal from nights of having the munchies, always on a dollar store run for said snacks. At each movie night he restocks, both yours and his alike, and suddenly you realize you will need to remember Chrissy’s too, if you’re going to be cordial.

With each bloody death that splatters the walls on screen, Chrissy grows closer and closer to Eddie. There’s a part of you that has considered using scary movies to cuddle up to him, but you’re just not genuinely scared of them enough to consider it. The ruse would’ve faded eventually. You try not to let the jealousy eat you up from the inside, no matter how much it burns your skin.

His arm wraps around her, petting her shoulder gently as she whimpers at the slash of his knife. “It’s corn syrup. Totally fake. You can tell by the color, it’s way too bright.”

Towards the end, the loud, chirpy, nauseating sound of kissing fills your ears. Your eyes can’t help it, they move towards the noise and immediately regret it. Oh god, they’re kissing. If you can even call that kissing. He’s practically engulfed her mouth.

Surely, with the company they have, they’ll stop, right? Their heads will remember and sheepishly get the fuck off each other? Right?

Two scenes and what feels like forever, later, you realize how wrong you are. “I’m glad you two are crazy for each other, really I am, but can we please wait until I’m gone?” You give an awkward laugh to try to stifle the discomfort coursing through your veins.

Eddie makes a surprised sound, almost like he completely forgot you were there. “Shit–sorry.”

Chrissy doesn’t make any apologies, in fact, you miss the way she rolls her eyes against his chest. She wanted to keep going, hoping you would take her hint to get lost.

Before long, the end of the movie finally arrives, the end credits rolling with that famous piano tune. Chrissy has practically stitched herself to Eddie’s side, her arms wrapped around his waist. The popcorn bowl is nearly full. All that work on it for nothing.

You sigh, about to claim that it’s your cue to leave when–

“I’m thinking we should show Chrissy one of our pancake nights, don’t ya think?”

No. You don’t want that. From the way Chrissy completely tenses up, neither does she. But for his sake, you both reluctantly agree.

Hawkins looks a lot different from Eddie’s backseat.

As the ring of the bell against the glass door announces your arrival, Martha’s head snapping up from the magazine she’s buried her nose in. “Hey you two, I was wondering when I would see you again!”

You and Eddie walk directly to the corner booth, as per usual, Chrissy trailing a half step behind him with her left hand intertwined with his right. Before Martha walks up to the booth, she starts the blender, the sound oddly comforting for how uneasy you feel.

“Well, looks like we got ourselves a little straggler! What’s your name darlin’?” She asks, the notebook she now holds a dark purple instead of the red she had last time.

Chrissy stares blankly at her, curling back into him. You don’t remember her being this shy in High School.

“This is Chrissy,” Eddie introduces her, giving her a fond look. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Martha’s penciled brows raise straight to her ruby red hair, the chewing gum loud in her silence. Her surprise only lasts two seconds, shifting into hospitality for the new member. “Welcome to these two’s many, many nights spent here at Benny’s. In fact, could you make them come a little less often. We’re starting to get annoyed at them.” She jokes, throwing a wink at you.

You laugh with Eddie, taking note of the fact that Chrissy is still silent.

“Alright, well I already know what these two want, did you need a second to look over the menu?”

She nods.

“Alright, well, I’ll be right back with your milkshake.”

“Can you make it one medium, one large with two straws?” You ask Martha, sure it would get more awkward if she brought one for you and Eddie to share.

“Oh, sure,” she answers, her voice unusually soft.

Less than five minutes later she returns with two milkshakes and a menu.

“Oh,” Chrissy comments, looking curiously at the pink ice cream drink in front of her. “I don’t really like strawberry. Can I get vanilla instead?”

Your forehead meets the table, punishing yourself. “Shit. I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think to ask.” Eddie apologizes.

“It’s fine.” Chrissy smiles sweetly at him.

“Oh, you gotta eat breakfast, it’s tradition,” Eddie mutters, switching her page to the all day breakfast menu.

“Hmm,” she responds, pointing to one of the menu options. “I think I’ll get the poached egg with the avocado toast.”

“Alright. Should be out quickly,” Martha answers, grabbing the milkshake from them.

“How often do you guys come here?” Chrissy asks, turning her face to Eddie.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Probably more often than we should. Like when shit goes sideways, or we need a hit of sugar, or when we just feel like bugging Miss Martha, over there.”

“When did you start coming?”

“My junior year,” you answer, smiling at the memory, “his second attempt at senior year, we both didn’t want to go to the stupid school dance, so we decided to get dressed up and come here, instead.”

“Why didn’t you want to go?”

Eddie shrugs, petting her shoulder with his thumb. “We thought it was dumb. Then, we ened up coming back when both of us failed this one really important bio test. Then, by the third time she remembered our orders and had the blender going by the time we sat down.”

Eddie asks how your day was, so you inform him you managed to have a civilized conversation with Steve Harrington. You have an audience for the conversation, one member animatedly interested, the other politely listening.

Polite is definitely the way to describe it, no spark in her eye. At least, not the one she wears when she listens to her boyfriend speak. In fact, you can practically see them glaze over.

Just as you nearly avoid explaining the main topic of the awkward conversation, Martha comes back over with two plates, one for you, one for Chrissy. It’s only half a moment until she’s back with the new milkshake and third plate.

The mountain of strawberries is bigger than average this time, this larger size becoming something you might get used to if the staff continues to spoil you like this. You take another flick of whipped cream from the top of the milkshake, suddenly realizing you’ve barely taken a sip the entire time. Damn, it’s usually half gone by the time you get your food.

“Do you guys order the same thing everytime?” Chrissy asks, looking at both of your plates.

“Yup!” You exclaim, spreading the strawberry sauce around your plate.

Her blonde brows furrow. “Maybe it’s not good to eat this much sugar every time you guys come here,” she comments, cutting at her squishy green toast. It doesn’t look appetizing to you in the least.

“It’s not like we come here every night,” Eddie laughs, spreading his sprinkled whip around the fluffy waffle. “It’s fine to indulge every now and then, you know?”

“Maybe you guys should try something a little healthier?” Chrissy asks, her voice having what you think is a little bit of a bite in it.

“People don’t exactly come here to eat healthy, Chrissy,” you laugh, thinking of the menu item called Heart Attack Jack, which is a burger doused in American Cheese with layers of bacon and a bucket of grease. It’s not going to be a soccer mom’s number one choice for health.

“You don’t have to bite my head off, it was just a suggestion,” Chrissy mutters, curling into herself.

“I-I didn’t,” you reply, very surprised at her knee jerk reaction. “I’m just saying, if we wanted to go somewhere to eat healthy, we probably wouldn’t pick a greasy diner in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Honestly, I’m not sure anywhere in Hawkins really has the healthiest choice.”

“Chris, what she’s trying to say is that eating a crap load of sugar is just tradition at this point,” Eddie says, intertwining her hand with his. “It’s a part of our ritual. You don’t have to eat like us if you don’t want to, we just thought you’d want to be included.”

“It’s just a lot of sugar, is all.” She’s barely taken a chunk out of her food, resembling a bunny in the very small, very tiny bites she continues to take. “Maybe I won’t join you guys next time. I don’t really understand the point.” She says sheepishly.

In the depths of your soul, you feel at that moment you would probably never get along with her, have given up hope on her completely. It wouldn’t be for a handful of weeks until you acknowledge that you had sound reasoning.

The bill is paid, money hitting the table on your and Eddie’s parts, the vanilla milkshake just barely touched. If you knew she wasn’t gonna drink it you would’ve doubled down on the strawberry, Eddie hates vanilla.

As you walk out to the van, trailing behind them as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, you find yourself at an impasse. “Eddie, can you give me a ride home?” Chrissy asks. She moves on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Maybe I can ride you before you drop me off?”

The pancakes you wolfed down churn back up your throat, threatening to make their second appearance for the night.

Eddie’s cheeks flush, his eyes wide as he tugs her in. Guess that answers that question. “Um, do you need a ride?” He asks you, almost avoiding your eyes.

Chrissy’s death stare is plain as day, silently warning you not to take it. Fine, you didn’t want to sit in the van with these two, anyway.

“No, it’s fine. I can grab my bike from the back.”

Chrissy beams, her curls bouncing as she jogs to the passenger seat. You hope your ass imprint is uncomfortable for her.

Eddie returns with the bike, putting it gently down in front of you. “Hey, Ed?”

“Hmm?”

“Might want to teach your girlfriend how to whisper,” you tell him, grabbing the handles from him. “It’s not considered a whisper when everyone in a ten foot radius can hear!” It comes out harsher than you intend it, but with how horribly tonight has gone, you can’t bring yourself to want to apologize.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie swears, the pink in his cheeks now from embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t mention it,” you insist, dismissing it. You had a feeling she said it loud enough for you to hear on purpose, anyway. “Just use protection, ok? We don’t need any more Munsons in this world running around, creating chaos.”

If you got Chrissy pregnant I would actually be sick, is what you mean.

“Shut up,” Eddie laughs, wrapping you in a hug over the bike. “See you next time, slugger.”

That was when you changed from sweetheart to slugger.

There’s no whiplash like discovering your best friend is a completely different person when he’s in a relationship. On one hand, phone calls with him are as ordinary as always, teasing and jeering and flush with the familiarity of a best friend.

On the other hand, when you meet with him and his girlfriend, he seems to dampen his wild personality and slice it into ribbons for her sake. It kills you.

Reruns play on the small tv, old cartoons Wayne recorded for a rambunctious little kid in his mix. You’ve watched them enough to know some of them by heart, especially your favorite gags.

Eddie sits in the corner of the couch, curled up with Chrissy on his lap as they talk quietly. They’re low enough you can barely make out what they’re saying, but from the giggles alone, you have no interest in the nausea it would give you.

She was already in his lap when you got there, a sarcastic comment choked back having something to do with maybe getting off, opting to sit on the other end.

“Oh, Ed, the movie is next Friday,” you remind him, taking another sip of the ice cold coke in front of you.

“Remind me what that was?” Eddie asks you, peering his chin over Chrissy’s head.

You narrow your eyes, scoffing in incredulousness. “Uh, hello? I did not wait in line for hours for the Princess Bride just for you to forget!”

“OH, fuck I didn’t realize that was coming up so quickly!” Eddie exclaims, a wild look in his eyes. “Well, shit I’ll make sure to free my oh-so-busy schedule!”

“Sweet.”

“Oh, I totally wanted to see that movie!” Chrissy chirps, sitting up in Eddie’s lap. “Are there any more tickets for the night you guys are going for?”

“It’s been sold out for weeks,” you shrug, chomping on a potato chip. “I stood in line for like six hours that morning.”

“Oh,” she mutters, curling into him.

You wish you could say it doesn’t give you great pleasure to know she won’t be able to crash your movie night.

“You think, uh,” she starts, turning around to face you. “You think I could have your ticket and Eddie could take me?”

You scoff, bewildered that this even crossed her mind. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, I really wanted to see it and it doesn’t really make sense for you two to go out for a date, now that he’s dating me…”

“I think you forgot the part where I stood in line for six hours to get these tickets,” you reply, trying to catch Eddie’s eyes. He’s avoiding you.

“And I’m sure we’ll all go next time!” She offers as an almost smug smile plays at her lips.

She can’t be serious. After watching her face, you realize she is fully expecting you to give up your ticket so she can go with him. Guess that Iron Maiden concert coming up this summer is off the table, too, you think, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

You look at him, waiting for him to say something to indicate how ridiculous his girlfriend is being, to stand up for you.

Oh. He’s not going to.

“I really don’t see the big deal.” Chrissy scoffs.

Of course you don’t. “I’m sorry, but I’m not giving you my damn ticket!” you snap. “If you really don’t want Eddie to come with me that badly then I can get Steve to take me.”

Which is ridiculous, Eddie was the one who wanted to see this movie in the first place. It looked like it was about adventure, something Eddie loves in movies. You decided then sure, since his birthday is right after the movie comes out, you’ll stand in line for the tickets then treat him to a fun movie night.

If Chrissy is uncomfortable with that, then that’s her prerogative, but she can choose something else to do with her boyfriend since she wants to so badly. You won’t let her walk all over you.

Chrissy doesn’t answer, but she’s clearly upset by yours. “It’s alright, babe,” Eddie hums, tugging her up against his chest so she curls into him. “I can wait until it comes out. We’ll just rent it, yeah?”

You’re not sure which makes you more nauseous, the fact that he just made a plan with her that won’t come to fruition for six months, or that he had nothing to say in the conversation.

You’ve never felt so unwelcome on his couch. “I’m gonna head home. I’ll see you later.”

Whatever comes out of Eddie’s mouth then falls on deaf ears as you fight the tears that irrationally threaten to spill over your water line. They’re stupid, your emotions are stupid, the movie is stupid.

Steve sits on the other side of the light brown table in the library, hunched over some notes as you explain the concept to him once more.

“Ugh, this is ridiculous, I’m going to forget this as soon as we learn it,” Steve whines, rubbing his eyes.

“Well you’re only taking Sociology because you haven’t claimed a major yet and sociology is required in most degrees.”

“That’s true,” he smirks, stretching his arms. “This still is all starting to look like gibberish. I get it, we live in a society in which the rules are not in our favor, why does that have to be studied to this intent?”

You shrug. “It’s fascinating.”

“To who?”

You roll your eyes, wondering how he grew on you like a weed. “Alright, we’ll take a break, then.”

“Any plans upcoming for next Wednesday?”

“Uh, no, at least not that I’m aware of,” you answer, putting your highlighter down. “We were supposed to see the movie for it, but, well you know how that turned out.”

“I’m sure there’s something he’s planning,” Steve assures, tapping his pencil rhythmically. “It’s not like him to not make a spectacle of his birthday.”

That, you agree with.

“Dustin said he hasn’t heard anything about it, either. He almost planned a surprise party for him. You think he’s just taking it easy this year?”

You doubt it, he’s turning 21, after all. Not like hasn’t been going to bars since he was fifteen, but now at least he’d be able to go into a major city with his real ID without getting flagged. Last year he prattled on about plans for this one, how he was gonna have a big rager at Steve’s and drop a whole paycheck on kegs.

You’re sure if he was going to do anything in those next two days, then he would’ve told you by now.

That Wednesday morning, you rise early to the sound of your alarm.

The kitchen counter is already filled with the ingredients you need, preparing for a labor of love. You hook your Walkman to your jeans, listening to the music blaring in your ears as you add one ingredient at a time, watching the batter slowly come to shape.

It’s familiar, your mom’s famous homemade recipe for cake batter. After missing her many cakes and the familiarity of her food, you finally searched for the cards containing her neat print, clearly and concisely telling the reader what her recipes needed.

It became your favorite thing to do when you missed her.

As you pour the batter into each divet in the tray, you recall the first time you thought to make a birthday cupcake for Eddie.

Neither of you cared much for first period, so it was easy to catch him before he woke up. That day you presented a vanilla cupcake with a swirl of black and blue frosting. You learned that morning he hates vanilla.

Every other instance of making him a cupcake has been a litany of flavors, but never vanilla.

As they bake, you whip up the frosting with a hand mixer, hoping the low hum doesn’t wake your father. He works so hard already. Red food coloring turns it from white, the process all too satisfying.

A plastic sandwich bag with the corner cut off is always just enough for you to pipe frosting on, the skilled hand you’ve trained after trial and error working fast.

Your dad always knows on February 19th he will wake up to 11 cupcakes on a big plate.

The pastry sits in a comically large container as you borrow your dads truck, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon as you climb the stairs to the Munson’s front door.

You balance the cupcake in your hand as you head straight down the hall towards Eddie’s room. The sounds filling the trailer take a moment to register, for some reason not realizing how quiet it should be on an early weekday morning. The only sounds should be that of an early bird or newspaper hitting the front door.

Dread finds home in your stomach, as if on a very instinctual level you realize what you’re hearing. Though for some crazy, masochistic reason, those instincts wanted to be sure.

His door, wide open, reveals him hunched over Chrissy with the blanket barely covering his broad shoulders as he’s rocking. He’s rocking…and oh, you can hear her, too.

She’s moaning, whining, clawing her nails up his back like a leech, or worse, a tick, digging itself in and refusing to give up the tight hold they have on their victim.

Your mind goes empty, numb, until you hear her faintly wish him a happy birthday. You blink yourself out of the trance, blindly stumbling back into the fresh air of the living room. The cupcake lands on the kitchen counter on your way out the door, not caring as it slams behind you, definitely alerting Eddie and Chrissy of the third unknown presence in the trailer.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to even care about it, the queasiness deep rooted in your stomach threatening to make itself known on the outside plants.

You have a class in less than an hour, something you need to continue into the second year of your Communications degree, but not something that requires brain power.

The simple question of how you managed to ride your bike all the way to the campus, take notes in your class and blindly walk over to the library will always escape you. You somehow watch yourself go through the motions until you meet Steve at the cafe.

The moment he sees you, he knows something is wrong just by the deadened stare that’s taken over your face.

When you break down into tears, he brings you to his house, letting you finally admit to him what you’ve been afraid to admit to yourself.

You’re in love with your best friend. And while you’re doing your best to be happy for him, your poor heart can’t handle it.

The cupcake isn’t mentioned until you call him two days later, still heartbroken, but missing his voice. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, despite the great ache that makes each and every day fuzzy.

Usually, more than half the cupcakes get eaten by him, which is why a dozen are made each year. There’s still more than half left, the very sight of the cupcakes depleting your appetite as his continued absence carves a bigger and bigger hole in you.

He answers on the fifth ring, sounding as if he’s in the middle of rummaging through items in some way, slightly out of breath. “Hey, Chris, sorry I can’t find–”

You swallow the pain. Maybe the lump of pain swallowed in your stomach will finally evict itself like the contents of stomachs should. Yet, the more you throw it up, the more it seems to gather. How does that work? “It’s me.” You say dryly, tiredly.

“Shit,” he breathes, the background noise coming to a sudden halt. “Hey, you.”

“Hey. How was the cupcake?”

“The mysterious appearing pastry was delicious as always, slugger.” Slugger. “What-what time did you drop it off?”

You know that he knows that you heard something. He doesn’t know how much you heard, but he knows the slam of his front door was you.

“I didn’t hear much. Just enough to know you had already received your birthday present for the year,” the attempt at humor doesn’t hit you very well. You’re not sure how it’s received, but Eddie laughs regardless.

“Sorry about that, she slept over the night before unplanned. I should’ve remembered your yearly morning cupcake.”

“Should’ve remembered you have a girlfriend,” you answer, wishing you had that better judgment. “Did you do anything for your birthday?”

“Chris took me out for dinner with her parents.” Honestly, that sounds like it was for her more than it was for him.

“Sounds fun,” you deadpan, earning earnest chuckles from him.

“They’re an acquired taste,” Eddie offers, allowing your slight criticism of his birthday party.

“You sure you still don’t want to go to Indianapolis and bar hop?” You can’t help but ask. It’s like you can hear his reluctance to accept the celebration he got.

“Nah. Besides, we can’t risk your fake ID, after all.” He pauses, an understated sigh passing through his breath. “How has school been?”

Small talk is not often something that passes through a conversation between you two. You’re aware of it, he’s aware of it, and it turns the conversation into something almost jilted.

“I miss you,” you admit, lying back on your bed.

“I miss you,” he parrots, soft and sweet.

“Can we do something? Just you and me?”

He chuckles, low and under his breath. “Sure. Pancake night. Just you, me, and Martha’s perfume.”

…that never happened.

The less you see Eddie, the more you end up hanging out with Steve. He seems to want to introduce you to his own best friend, but your admission of not wanting to be a third wheel again gets him to drop it. You can’t help but notice the only times you speak to Eddie are when you call him. He hasn’t called you since asking for Chrissy to join pancake night.

That alone wouldn’t entirely convince you to not call him anymore. The jilted conversations always ending with promises of time with one another never coming to fruition. It’s the equivalent of being skinned alive, one strip at a time.

Steve has watched the circles under your eyes darken, the enthusiasm in class deplete, and the lust for life dissolve before his very eyes. To say he’s pissed at his friend is to understate it, he’s ready to tell you to give up on him and forget he exists.

Yet, Steve knows how unlike Eddie it all is. Dustin has complained he hasn’t been called back for a long time, Gareth reached out to you asking if you’d heard from Eddie lately as they haven’t rehearsed for a while. He garners more concern than anger at times.

Steve’s living room has become a new choice of hang out space, but the unnatural cleanliness of the house, the lack of cologne that both Eddie and Wayne use, the familiarity of eight years of friendship, it gives this unrelenting feeling of emptiness. It’s worth trying to fill it with edibles and weed.

It doesn’t seem to work, but you’ve become more open, more free willing with him as a direct result. He doesn’t favor horror movies like you and Eddie, but you find common ground in action and slapstick comedy, instead. Anything but romcoms, you implore. Anything even close to resembling romance is rejected.

Steve spills the latest he heard from Hawkins’ elite country club group, a bunch of ladies with nothing better to do with their afternoons than spread rumors about the population as a whole and judge them for it. Steve knows for a fact which members of the country club have side women, bringing them in hours after walking in with their own wives.

It’s so nice to be concerned with the lives of others and to not care about yours falling apart at the seams. Well, really it's being ripped apart by Chrissy Cunningham’s greedy little claws.

Ironically enough, you get paired up with Steve for a major assignment in Soc class, one required to analyze social constructs that have been deep dived in class. Another little gift of irony is you were given Social Stratification, which is the hierarchical arrangement of individuals or groups within a society based on various factors such as wealth, power, and prestige.

Being from two very different classes, you and Steve find yourself uniquely qualified to discuss the topic.

It provides opportunities to hang out together, distracted by the collective want to not work at all, but driven by an looming due date. Your mind wanders to Eddie non stop, wondering how he is, if he’s ok, if work is still giving him a hard time, did he finally get the belt he was needing, if Wayne was taking it easier.

Your fingers itch for the phone to call and ask, always haunted by the memory of each phone call, the polite conversation and empty promises. You crave to remember what it was like before.

Steve seems to act as your voice of reason, disencouraging you every time you mention wanting to call him. He sympathizes, of course, but he recalls the last time you called him and the aftermath following it.

When the assignment is finally in the last stages, making final edits to clear up any loss in conciseness, the final second guesses if the point has been made clear, you sit on the floor of Steve’s room cross legged, going cross eyed as you reread it, again.

“I can’t wait for this thing to be handed in,” you groan, throwing your pen at him.

“I think we earned a celebration,” he sighs, throwing the pen back to you. “On Friday, after we finally hand over this paper to this asshole, I am throwing a big ass party in your honor.”

“A party will not make me feel better,” you reprimand, glancing at him under your brows.

“No, but a good excuse to drink the pain away, might,” he grins, leaning forward on his stomach and kicking his legs animatedly. He looks so innocent, as if he doesn’t have his own agenda. You’ve come to know him well enough that he really doesn’t. “C’mon. Let loose with me just for one night!”

You reluctantly agree to it after he pulls out his dumb puppy eyes.

News of Steve’s party spreads fast across campus, and you find yourself curiously excited for it when you usually dread dancing with complete strangers. The strangers at this point make it better, not needing to concern yourself with anything other than how the alcohol burns.

Your dad drives you to the party, the rain heavy on the pavement making it hard to bike in such weather. He’s noticed the way you’ve shut down a little bit as of lately, more than happy to bring you to a party if it means putting some life back into the eyes of his one and only daughter.

When you enter the door with slightly damp hair just from the walk from the truck, the party is already in full swing, music overtly loud, bodies bumping and dancing, empty cups already scattered on dusty surfaces.

As soon as you see Steve, he waves you over, talking to Robin, who he’s introduced you to. She became your friend the same way he became your did; ambush. Turns out, Robin is really cool. She hands you a beer, winking as you tilt your eyebrow out of skepticism.

“Beer, really?” You ask over the music, turning the bottle around in your hand.

“You’re drinking to forget, right?” She asks, an air of wisdom in her scratchy voice. “Then what does it matter what it tastes like?”

Well, you guess she’s right. You grab another from the fridge while you’re at it before they lead you to a couch. It’s surrounded by a crowd of people you mostly have never met before, more than happy to laugh with them at the particularly stupid topics of conversation.

You’re already pretty buzzed less than an hour spent at the party, having asked Steve to get you a third bottle. “Might wanna slow down, sweets.”

“I’m drinking to forget, remember?” You ask him, winking cheekily.

Time starts to meld together as the bottle gets emptier and emptier. Robin grabs you by the hand to dance with her and Steve in a circle, top 40 pop acting as a soundtrack while you forget any goddamn trouble that might have plagued you.

You’re chatting about some mindless gossip when something tells you to turn your head towards the door. The door opens to Eddie and Chrissy, holding hands as they look around the party that got even rowdier since your arrival.

Eddie’s eyes meet yours, frozen in place as the emptiness his absence has left consumes you.

“Oh shit,” Robin mutters right next to you, but you don’t answer it as you stumble your way into the kitchen.

The internal debate on whether you need to drink water or more alcohol is roaring, so you drown it with more alcohol. Maybe you can shut it up. It’s too fucking loud. The ajar door opens and closes, a presence in the kitchen you don’t bother acknowledging. You don’t smell Eddie’s cologne, the momentary disappointment flooding your senses that he saw you and didn’t even bother talking to you.

Another sip. Another gulp. Make it go away.

“I was wondering when I would run into you,” it’s not Eddie, or Steve. Confusion takes over you as you wonder which male voice in your life you’re forgetting, turning to face the culprit.

Daniel.

“Here I am, I guess,” you mutter, taking another swig. “What exactly do you want?”

“Retribution.”

“Huh?”

He laughs, cruel and blunt. “I’m here for what I’m owed, sweetheart. I don’t get told no. Girls don’t say no to me. So, I think I’m owed some payback for the humiliation you put me through.”

What the fuck?

The laughter that leaves your throat is loud and abrupt, clearly not what he’s expecting. “Oh my fucking god, you’re just delusional. Girls don’t owe you shit for buying them dinner! You ask us out for a date, that’s on you, bud!”

“I don’t fucking think so,” he growls, slinking in closer. You can smell his breath, he’s clearly been drinking. “I will get what I want, I always do.”

Panic floods your brain, suddenly realizing he’s being dead serious. “Wait–” you protest as he leans in, the wall and your back colliding harshly. “Wait, no–”

“All you had to do was blow me, baby,” he chides, as if he’s reprimanding a small child. His hand harshly wraps around your waist, preventing you from weaving from between him and the wall. “Now look what you made me do.”

You try to push him off, panic continuing to push up your throat as he proves himself much stronger than you. Oh god, am I about to get raped in Steve’s kitchen?

His hand feels slimy as it pushes past your shirt, sending a jolt of shivers down your body. You’re shaking from fear, one cheek against the wall as you continue to resist him. “Stop– Daniel, please stop–” Your voice is frantic, eyes wide in terror as you try to push his hands away.

The harsh laughter directed at your pleas are cut off, an incredibly familiar voice slicing the air with malice. “She said stop.”

The heat you were surrounded by is thrown off, leaving the cold air behind Daniel to overwhelm you as he’s thrown onto the floor.

Blows of fists on flesh fill the room, watching in horror as Eddie has him pinned, delivering blow after blow to his face. You only see a portion of Eddie, his dark jeans and leather jacket as he hunches over his victim and blindingly delivers one punch after the other. Daniel has stopped fighting back, just a limp set of limbs as it jumps from each hit.

When Eddie has shown no signs of letting up you’re forced to jump into action, stumbling as you run into his line of eyesight. “Eddie, stop! You’re going to kill him!” You plead.

The sounds of brutal fists on soft flesh die immediately, Eddie huffing as he rises to his feet. “You okay?”

You blink as his hands frame your cheeks, petting them softly with his hands. A tear falls, splashing his hand. His concern is comforting, but the direct juxtaposition of his concern from the silence he’s fed you the last few weeks washes over you, confusing every emotion that has been hurting.

Despite the sweet shine in his eyes as they watch you, you back from his hold in a jerk reaction. “Didn’t know you still cared about me.”

He wears the hurt from this statement on his sleeve. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You wander back over to the fridge, grabbing a beer from the second six pack you’re working through. You pop it open from the mounted bottle opener, taking a handful of sips. “You’re kidding me, right? You haven’t called me in weeks. Weeks.”

He stands there, blankly watching.

“I might be more forgiving if it weren’t for Dustin and Gareth and hell, Steve also saying the same thing. None of them have heard from you. You went from calling at least once a week to radio silence! I wanted to get along with Chrissy. I really did. I started all the conversations, offering snacks, asking questions about her, letting her set her boundaries, but she had something to say about everything we did together!”

Eddie stutters, blinking as he watches you talk. He doesn’t try to talk, doesn’t try to defend himself. You don’t give him the chance.

“She clearly doesn’t respect you, otherwise you would still be my best friend and I would remember the last time we had a normal fucking conversation. I get wanting boundaries, but at this point, I don’t think she even wants you to have friends! Is that what you want? A girl who makes you make yourself smaller for her sake and isolate completely? Really? Because that’s what you have. No horror movies? No more junk food? No heavy metal music? She’s making you shrink yourself so she deems you desirable! Fucking– I can’t watch it anymore.”

“Wait, what do you mean–” he’s interrupted by the door closing, a yelp filling the room as Chrissy runs to him.

“What happened to your fists?” You glance down to them, seeing bruises lining his knuckles.

“Nothing, it’s fine. I’m fine,” he assures her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“Alright. Well. I meant exactly what I said. I can’t do this one sided friendship thing with you anymore,” you take another swig, wondering how the bottle was already so light. “I can’t. Call me when you find my best friend, because I haven’t seen him in three months.”

You leave the room, ignoring the calls from his mouth that suffocate you. As you stumble into the living room, you catch Steve’s eye right away, chin trembling. The hot tears that trail down your face have already drenched your cheeks by the time you realize it’s even happening, choking on the emotion that drowns you.

Steve guides you into the guest bathroom, closing the door as he watches you attempt to stop the sobs long enough to tell him what happened.

“I think–” you hiccup, sniffling loudly, “I think I just lost my best friend–” tears rattle through you once again, just saying it out loud feels like lightning in its startling ability to shatter you once more.

By the time the sobs diminish again, you’re sat on the floor by the tub, head sitting in his lap as he pets your hair. You sit up suddenly, mid hiccup as you give Steve an odd look.

He almost asks if you’re okay when you spill over his lap, whimpering between gasps as you know what you’re doing, the toilet only a foot away, but it continues to explode from your stomach.

“I’m so sorry,” you explain, tears falling again, as he sits in shock.

He grins sadly, undoing his belt. “It’s fine, sweetheart.”

He finds someone, Robin, to grab him a second pair of pants, ditching the ruined pair in the bathtub.

The dry heaving seems to stop the tears, now staring blankly with a wet face and lashes that stick together. Steve brings you upstairs, wrapping his arm around your waist as he brings you to his bedroom.

As your head hits his pillow your eyes fall closed, mumbling something about fucking up, about three months ago.

Steve locks his door from any stragglers, walking down each step to find a particular metal head to give him a piece of his mind.

From how your sobs shook your body, he might give him the whole thing.

The light cascading through the blinds hurts, like a dagger through your brain as you take in your surroundings. You don’t know how you got into Steve’s room under his blanket.

As soon as you sit up, the pain stabs you, pushing you back down. Ow. You don’t even attempt to get up again until the urge to pee hits you, when it’s too much to ignore. You rub your eye, tip toeing to try to get back under the dark blue comforter decorating Steve’s bed.

On the corner of the bed Steve sits, one foot resting on the other knee as he holds a jade green drink. “How badly does your head hurt?”

You wince at the volume of his voice, placing your hands over your eyes. “Not great.”

He winces sympathetically, offering the smoothie. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Blurry images flash through your mind, the kitchen, Daniel, half of the second case gone. You attempt to remember past that point but it comes up blank. “I remember running into Daniel.”

As you sip on the surprisingly delicious hangover smoothie, Steve watches you, wearing a clear expression of concern.

“Anything after that?”

You can tell he’s egging you on, digging for something with an unprecedented seriousness in his tone. But there’s no memory after that. You gingerly shake your head, which sends more needles of pain through your skull.

“Why?” You ask weakly. Steve pauses, ruffling a hand through his hair as he releases a long sigh.

“You really don’t, huh?” Steve asks, one last attempt. “Maybe it’s good you drank as much as you did, then.”

“Steve, you’re scaring me.” Images of worst case scenarios course through your mind. What did you do?

Steve pats the spot on the bed next to you, double checking you don’t feel the urge to throw up. You don’t.

“Daniel tried to force himself on you.” He’s gentle, compassionate in his admission as he watches your reaction.

Huh. “How far did he–” you stutter, breath hitching as you bite back the sobs that suddenly threaten to rake through your body.

“He was interrupted before he even got that far,” he comforts you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he caresses it. “Eddie sort of bashed his face in.”

Now that you think about it, the memory of Eddie hunched over Daniel as he delivered blow after blow to his nose, his cheekbone, his eyebrow. You didn’t see the final result of Eddie’s defense, but the bruised knuckles you vaguely recall spell out how brutal the retaliation was.

Eddie.

“What–” you pause, stuttering through your breaths, “what happened after that?”

“You yelled at Eddie. Berated him. I think you even told him you didn’t want to be his friend anymore. At least, that’s what I gathered from what you told me,” he admits.

Your blood grows cold. From the weeks of silence, the jilted conversations, the slow resentment that bloomed through your stomach for him. The ache already hurt just from the absence of your best friend, but it was good for you. Fuck, this hurt.

“Is that all?”

He laughs, pulling your head into his neck. “Just that you can’t hold back your liquor.”

That’s why your breath tastes like vomit.

From the extra strength tylenol he gives you, the rest of the morning is spent helping Steve tidy up the trash around his house. Only after spending twenty minutes in the kitchen on his hands and knees scrubbing up the red stains does he allow you to help him. You only catch a glimpse of the paper towel soaked in dried blood and bleach when throwing out red solo cups, a small hint of the mess Eddie made of Daniel.

The thought of his name is a self betrayal, and you work faster once it crosses your mind.

Once the place is clean, you allow Steve to drive you home at his insistence, repeatedly asking when he pulls up to your house that you’re sure you’re okay.

Your dad is at work, not there to ask any questions you wanted to avoid from the previous night, namely why your eyes are swollen from tears. The blinds in your room fall with a trill resembling a xylophone, blocking the sun from your intense migraine.

For the first time in weeks, you’re stirred awake from sleep from the ringing of the phone on the floor that has been pushed under the bed. You let it ring.

Just as sleep pulls you back in, you’re abruptly startled as the phone alerts you again. You roll over, ignoring it as you wrap your head in your hands, curling into the pillow. No one has to get a hold of you that badly.

This person does, it seems, as they call you again. You groan, crawling over the edge as you grab the phone from your receiver. “Hello?”

You refuse the want to chew them out, to take your emotions and friendship breakup out on the person who has interrupted your sleep.

“It’s me.”

You lurch forward in your bed, still tethered to the receiver by the tightly coiled wire as it forces the receiver to scuff against the hardwood floor. Eddie.

Eddie’s sat on his couch, limply resting his head on the couch arm as the shrill voice of the main character complains over a problem that could be solved if she had just told someone. His hand rests on his eyes, shielding himself from the light to prevent the headache he can feel coming on. He’s given up on suggesting other movies by now, but she somehow seems to only play the movies that get on every last nerve.

He would probably be more willing to watch the romcoms in question if they weren’t the bottom of the pack. Last time Eddie even suggested a romcom he actually doesn’t completely hate he had to hear about it for an agonizing twenty minutes. Fine. She could watch her movie, he can practice on his guitar, right?

You would think.

So he dissociates and focuses on the gentle petting of his calf as he rests his leg on her lap. His mind floats to his best friend, how much he misses the smell of your shampoo, or when you make fun of the cheesier horror movies he loves to watch. If Chrissy wouldn’t make a near temper tantrum every time your name is mentioned in conversation, he would’ve called you weeks ago. He missed your voice.

Chrissy continues to insist that you like him, that you’re trying to steal him from her. It turned into many fights where Eddie felt like he was losing his mind, insisting he just wanted to see his best friend. There is a stubborn, immovable force still holding hope that something will just click one day and realize just how wrong she is. There’s a little nagging part of him, eating at his brain, warning that it probably won’t ever come true.

The possibility is almost too much for him to mentally handle, because when it blows up in his face and you decide not to forgive his radio silence, he doesn’t think he will be able to handle the absence in his life. So he procrastinates the detonation.

“I’m surprised you’re not going to Steve’s party,” Chrissy chirps, interrupting Eddie’s disarray.

Eddie blinks, trying to recall any mention of a party that might’ve slipped his mind. That might’ve been the reason for his ignorance if he could remember the last time he even spoke to Steve. He’s sure Chrissy knows that.

“I didn’t even know he was having one.”

She grabs at the extra material of his jeans, pulling his attention. “Did you want to go?”

He mentally rattles through the mechanics of going to Steve’s stupidly large house, knowing damn well his distance has managed to drive you straight into the arms of someone new, even if it’s only platonic. You’ll be there, the chance much more likely than not.

He wants to see your face, even if it’s in passing. He wonders if Chrissy sees you there if she’ll decide to leave early or just avoid you altogether. But it’s just the chance that drives him to agree.

By the time he gets there, vehicles have already littered the streets surrounding his house, some even audaciously blocking his neighbor’s driveways. Chrissy’s hand is in his as he walks in, anxiously looking around the party for you.

He peers into the living room, to the couch containing members of some of Steve’s closer acquaintances and it wasn’t long until he saw you, sitting right next to Robin holding the bottleneck of a beer bottle.

Your eyes are already on his, wide and still as you stare at him. You’re even prettier than he remembered, any polaroid he’s ever had of you does absolutely no justice to your radiant smile or vibrant eyes.

Fine, you’re staring at him like you would rather be anywhere else for the moment, panic flooding your features, but it’s a breath of fresh air for him compared to his last few suffocating weeks. As you stumble to your feet, Eddie tricks himself into believing that you’ve gotten up to talk to him until you pass the front entrance straight into the kitchen.

He supposes he deserves that, fading as Chrissy tugs him to the dance floor. His hands find her hips, allowing himself to get lost in the relentlessly catchy pop tune. He can’t help but allow his eyes to float back over to the couch every now and then, something in him carnally needing making sure that you’re safe.

Alarm bells go off, goosebumps trailing over his skin as something in him screams that you’re in danger. You could very much just be avoiding him, which he wouldn’t blame you for, not for one moment, but he wouldn’t forgive himself if he found out his worry had any footing.

“Babe, I’m gonna grab a drink,” he mutters, blankly kissing her sweet scented blonde hair before his long legs take him to the kitchen.

His stomach drops as your voice fills the kitchen, asking the asshole with wandering hands to stop as he forces himself on you.

The next thing he knows, Daniel is under him, his back slammed on the floor with a face scrunched up in pain as Eddie’s fists are flying. His fists, his jeans, the floor, the whining little shit’s face, it all gets painted with blood.

Eddie doesn’t realize when the pair of arms stop trying to push him off, or when the green eyes no longer stare at him in horror, shut from the trauma of one blunt hit after the other. He just continually bashes his face in for even daring to attempt to force himself on the woman he loves.

Fuck this guy. Fuck him.

Eddie’s blind with rage, but he’s also blind with his own regret.

Your voice cuts through the anger, a warning that seeps in his brain like a sponge. If he keeps hitting him like this he will end up taking his life.

He stands up, facing your trembling form as you seem to be in shock. You melt in his hold, tears spilling over his hands as he caresses you, doing his very best to take care of you. He knows the answer when he asks, but he has to hear it from you.

Finally, the words seem to sober you from wanting his comfort to the hurt that you’ve felt from his silence. You lurch yourself from him, staggering blindly to the fridge as you grab another beer. The scent was harsh on your breath, the sight of you glugging back as much as you can sends jolts through his system.

Then you tell him everything. And he deserves it. He wants so badly to tell you how badly he wanted to call you, but the excuses sound lame even in his own mind.

When you tell him you’re done is when he finally snaps out of his own trance. He knows what you mean, but surely, you don’t really mean it? Before he can ask, Chrissy comes into the picture, doting over his bruised knuckles, ignoring you completely as she asks what happened. He’s fine. He’s not, but he’ll say anything to get back to what you were just saying.

Choked back sobs escape as you tell him with absolute finality that you are done, tripping over your own feet when you leave through the kitchen door.

No, this has gone too far. Eddie hasn’t had a single drop of alcohol but feels as if he’s wasted from stumbling after you, blocked by his girlfriend.

That conversation goes as well as can be expected.

In the hours following, he doesn’t seem to find you anywhere. But without Chrissy trailing after him, he finds himself free to converse with friends he’d missed, meeting their snide remarks of coming back to the land of the living with grace. Eddie stays for hours, half heartedly partaking in any conversation he finds himself witness to just in case you make another appearance.

Steve walks down the stairs after what feels like forever, wearing a grim look on his face. Eddie approaches him. “Hey have you seen–”

“She’s upstairs,” Steve answers, sighing. “Passed out. She’ll wake up tomorrow morning.”

“Is she okay?”

“Didn’t choke on her own vomit, at least,” Steve quips, his voice harsh. “Physically, she’s okay.”

Steve moves to walk around Eddie, seemingly done with the conversation.

“Physically?”

Steve sighs, angry, frustrated. “She just sobbed on the bathroom floor for an hour and a half, Ed. I literally watched her heart break! Safe to say, I don’t think she’s doing so well emotionally.”

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters, feeling hopeless, like he should’ve been there to take care of you instead of being the cause of your suffering. “Steve, I–”

“Listen, Eddie. I just heard a bunch of shit from her that I’m not even sure she knows that she said. Other than her I guess telling you to fuck off, what else happened?”

Eddie gulps, not exactly wrapping his own mind around it, yet. “I found Daniel Moore trying to force himself on her.”

“Jesus,” Steve mutters, passing Eddie straight into the kitchen.

“Steve–” Eddie tries to stop him, or warn him at least, wondering how no one else has seen him, yet. There is almost no reason for most to make their way into the kitchen as the drinks station is in the living room, but usually a straggler or two, especially couples would make their own way in. He’s definitely not up and partying from the blood that seeped through the shirt he was wearing…

Should Eddie have called the ambulance?

“What the fuck–” Steve barks, taking in the crumpled form before him. “Jesus, Eddie, what happened?”

“You listen to your best friend beg someone to stop assaulting them and not beat the shit out of him?” Eddie retaliates, watching as Steve double checks to make sure he’s still breathing.

“Well, now I gotta get him out of here before someone has you fucking arrested,” Steve mutters, wracking his brain through old morally questionable friends of his that would help with no questions asked. Fuck. He has a few favors to call in. “Where’s Chrissy gone?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Eddie spits.

“Considering she has control over who you’re allowed to spend time with, probably somewhere nearby with binoculars,” Steve mutters, a fragment of seriousness in the joke.

“Well, not anymore,” Eddie shrugs, feeling surprisingly pragmatic about it.

“Oh.” Took you long enough, Steve thinks. “I’m gonna get him out of here, but I suggest you do the same.”

“Can I stay? I wanna be here when she wakes up.” His eyes pleading to Steve.

Steve’s brows raise. “Respectfully Eddie, I don’t think she really wants to see you.”

“I haven’t been able to tell her anything for weeks, I’m staying!” he insists, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

Steve shakes his head, leaning on the counter. God, he wished he hadn’t invited a few dozen people to come to his house for the night. “God, you’re an idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re an idiot. You’re both idiots, but, man I think you’re the bigger one.” Steve walks around the kitchen island, getting unreasonably close to him. “I don’t know if you’re blind, or just selectively ignorant. She loves you, dude! She was willing to support you getting a girlfriend, but then you just shut her out. It’s gonna take more than an apology to be back in her good graces. When she wakes up with a killer hangover, I think the last person she’ll want to see is you. God, if one of you just made the jump years ago this never would’ve happened!”

Eddie’s heart drops at Steve’s angry words, refusing to believe any of his feelings for his best friend are reciprocated. “Sure, because three months of friendship tell you everything you need to know about a person.”

Steve chuckles, walking over the snoring asshole as he steps out to the living room. “I would have to be blind not to see it. She talked about you one time about this stupid fucking movie she watched with you and I could tell. Rather than telling your girlfriend that you have a best friend and she has to get over it, you shut her out. For weeks. And left someone else to pick up the pieces.”

“Steve, I know. I know I was being an ass–”

“Then why didn’t you stop? Why didn’t you give her a call? You had to know she wasn’t going to forgive you so easily–”

“Of course I fucking knew that, Steve! Why do you think I put off letting it explode in my face?”

“Because you’re an idiot! She loved you. She loves you! If you can’t see that then I really don’t know what to tell you. Listen, if you call her tomorrow, I’m not all that sure what would happen. It’s gonna be a while before she’s ready to forgive, bud. For now. Maybe you should go.”

“Oh,” you sigh, hugging your knees into your chest, feeling small. A war rages in your mind. You were hurt enough by him to break your friendship off with him, but you don’t even remember it. The other side of you just wants to be close to him again, willing to sink into the apologies that he owes you and happily accept them.

But you shouldn’t. And you know you shouldn’t.

“Do you wanna come over for a movie?”

You want to come over and watch a movie so badly, it wraps around you and constricts your airflow. “Will she be there?”

“No. Just me and you. I promise,” Eddie swears, voice low enough that it resembles a whisper. “She won’t be, uh, crashing our movie nights anymore.”

You diminish the pulse of hope that threatens to bloom. “What do you mean?”

Eddie sighs. “I was hoping to tell you in person, but we broke up last night…come over, I’ll tell you more. I just need my best friend…and a horror movie…and junk food, god, I miss junk food.”

You miss him so much it hurts. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

The bike ride sends pulses through your head, worsening the ache of the hangover. If the pain isn’t gone by tomorrow, you might just ask someone to shoot an arrow through your head to put you out of your misery.

It’s been more than long enough since the last time you were on his front door step, nervous as you hesitate to knock. Eddie’s footsteps are rapid and loud as soon as your knuckles hit the door, the opening to him, wide eyes, graphic t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. He appears unlike himself, almost tired. You wonder if you noticed it last night.

Before either one of you says a word, he tugs you in, wrapping his arms around you in an embrace in his scent. Overwhelming emotion takes over, his shirt absorbing the tears that fall. He feels like home, every part of him. His scent, the muscles flexing under your grasp, his steady breaths.

“I missed you,” he mutters, his voice low, choked, even.

Then why didn’t you call me? “Me too–” you whimper, squeezing onto him even tighter. You sniffle, curling your head into his neck.

The hug lasts forever, or at least long enough for your arms to become numb.

Your butt lands on the couch, the spot that was once permanently marked by you now weirdly lumpy from the lack of use. Did Chrissy know she was allowed to sit in her own seat on the odd occasion? On the coffee table, Eddie has already prepared the popcorn and your favorite snacks, only your favorite snacks. Three movies are laid out, all awaiting their turn in the VCR.

“What’s this?” You ask, rubbing your nose from the snot.

“Uh, three movies. Pick one.”

You read the titles, Back to the Future, Friday the 13th, and Labyrinth. “What happened to wanting to watch horror movies?”

“I have a lot of sucking up to do before I get to be picky with our movie night,” Eddie answers, his voice gentle and careful. “Pick one.”

If he says so, then you’ll have to pick your favorite, rather than his favorite. “Alright, then, Labyrinth it is. David Bowie in leather pants, here I come!”

As the movie plays, a teenage girl desperate to find her brother, you sink into the comfort of the ratty old couch. Through Eddie, you found out that the rattiest couches are actually the most comfy. The more tears and rips, the better. Eddie stands up, running to the kitchen to grab fresh cans of soda from the fridge.

He sits back down, handing you a Diet Coke while popping open his own. Two things you notice when he sits. One, he’s remarkably close, his ass nearly planted in between the cushions. Two–

“Since when did you start drinking diet coke?” You ask him, wincing at the aftertaste.

“Since Chrissy was such a stickler for sugar,” he answers casually, grabbing a bite of the popcorn.

His simple tone, emotionless and understated, squeezes your heart. “What happened with her, anyway?”

Chrissy blocked him, staring at him with wide eyes as she held his shoulders. “What–what is going on?”

“I need a minute,” he stuttered, attempting to walk around her.

“Did you do that?” Chrissy asked, pointing to the lifeless piece of shit on the floor.

“Chris, it’s really not a good time, right now. I will tell you later, I promise. I’ll be right back.” Eddie promised.

She blocked him again, hands pushing on his broad shoulders. “You’re not seriously thinking of going after her, are you?”

“Chrissy, she’s my best friend! That creep just tried– I have to go check up on her, make sure she’s okay!”

“You mean the girl who is pathetically in love with you?” Chrissy asked, belligerent and full of sass. “Sure, go and give her more false hope! She was practically all over you at the diner, mooning over you, desperate to take you out on a date, I mean, don’t give her fucking hope!”

Eddie sighed, rubbing his face angrily. “I don’t know how many times I need to fucking tell you, Chris. She is just my friend. She was being nice, trying to include you. I’m so fucking tired of this conversation!”

“So am I!” Chrissy crossed her arms, popping her hip out. It was times like these Eddie was absolutely sure of why Chrissy and Jason dated for so long. “You know what? Fine. Me or her.”

“What?” Eddie was unsure if she was being serious.

“Pick! Me or her? Because when you pick me maybe then she’ll get the fucking hint!”

It was the easiest decision he’s ever made in his life. “Her.”

Eddie finishes explaining it, mostly nixxing the parts where she berated you or talked shit. You just needed to know the part where she practically had a temper tantrum.

“Wow,” you mutter, remembering how you called Chrissy sweet when they first started dating. “And…you, you picked me?”

“Of course I did.” Eddie pops a kernel into his mouth, leaning back into the couch. His body heat is warm, his scent intoxicating. “You’re my best friend.”

“You haven’t called in weeks, Eddie.” It comes out quietly, the hurt overflowing in your body and pouring out your mouth. “I thought you had a new best girl.”

Eddie sighs, grabbing your hand. “If I could take back the last three months, I would. I-I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“I missed you so fucking badly,” you admit, focusing on how your hand feels intertwined with his.

“I missed you. I know– I fucked up, but believe me when I say, I missed you so fucking much.”

On one hand, it’s hard to believe him. It seemed like it was so easy for him to cut you off. On the other, the glint in his eyes, his thumb caressing the back of your hand, gentle and unequivocally vulnerable.

Eddie leans forward, connecting his forehead to yours. “I will make it up to you, I promise.”

“You have a lot of making up to do, mister,” you inform him, pulling away from him to lightly nudge his hair.

“And a million strawberry mountains covered in strawberry sauce,” he answers, kissing your forehead softly.

“You really had me worried,” you admit, taking a good look at his face. “I believe you when you say that you missed me, but Eds, you hurt me. I want to trust you, but–”

His movement is swift as he grabs your face with his hands, pulling you in close. “I know, baby, I know.” The pet name takes your breath away, music to your unsuspecting ears. The name wraps itself around your like a warm hug, melting all those months of worry and panic away. “I’m so fucking sorry, if I could just–”

Maybe it wasn’t the right timing, months of silence, unanswered questions, hurt, but all that just conveniently disappears the moment his lips touch yours. You startle, jerking backwards as you look at him curiously, looking for something that’ll tell you he’s not kissing you out of pity, or obligation.

You’re met with the exact way that he always looks at you, but this time, it’s radiant. How did you miss it this whole time? You smile, wrapping your hand behind his neck as you tug him in, entangling his lips with yours and chasing that emotion that ran through you the first time.

Eddie meets your kiss with enthusiasm, grinning madly as he pulls you in closer, your body flush against his as he pulls you down with him.

It’s maddeningly enchanting, the way you can taste his minty breath and his hums against your lips, buzzing and tickling. His tongue sweeps along your bottom lip, pulling a gasp as you happily meet his with yours. Your skin feels electric as his hand sneaks under your shirt, as if he’s just getting the feel of you.

You sigh, curling your arm around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. His kisses trail along your jawline, down your neck, pressing sweet kisses down your jugular. “You taste like strawberries,” he mutters, audibly smiling. “I should’ve known, all those damn strawberries you eat.”

“Before we go any further,” you gasp, clutching at his t-shirt, “and believe me, I want to, you owe me a proper date.”

“Taking you out for a date, baby?” He places more rapid kisses on your neck, letting himself absorb your laughter. “God, I’m lucky.”

You’ve learned one thing for absolute certainty, Eddie Munson knows how to grovel. Between the many kisses you’ve shared that night you tell Eddie with surety that just because he knows how to kiss doesn’t mean he’s suddenly forgiven. Eddie relishes in that, grinning just because you’re kissing him.

The previous night he was losing his mind at his ex-girlfriend’s terrible movie choices, and you, his best friend, the person who has always known him best, you’re finally here kissing him. You could ask him to write a 1000-page apology letter entirely in rhymes or haikus and he would do it heartbeat, but all he’s required to do is prove it?

He’s more than willing.

When the date is proposed, he swears he would love to take you anywhere. He provides a list, with all of the restaurants you know he can’t afford. When you ask him and inquire about such, he shrugs casually. There’s a silent question there, wondering if Chrissy had even considered his wallet size before their date nights.

Instead, you answer with, “Our first date should be the diner, no?”

You’ve never been so nervous before, looking through your small arsenal of date night dresses. He’s seen all of them, whether from a school dance or the aftermath of a date gone sour. One dress catches your attention, at the very back of your closet covered in plastic, just waiting for the right time.

White, with blue flowers hand embroidered on the bodice, a sweetheart neckline and bubble gum pink ribbons tied together as the straps. Periwinkle blue that bleeds into mint green leaves along the hemline, fanned out into a hoopskirt. You’ve stared at this dress when it sat in your mom’s closet, asking when it might be your turn to finally wear it.

The dress fits you like a glove, looking remarkably close to the photo on the easel downstairs, a first date 25 years ago that ended up being one of your favorite bedtime stories.

As you finally make your way down the stairs, hair half up in curls in a ribbon matching the ones on the dress, your dad looks at you with pride and glossy eyes. Whispered words of the resemblance as he hugs you, eyes too tired for a man in his forties from loss and stress, a whiff of gratitude hits you.

It’s a warm spring evening, no need for a coat as the van pulls up with the usual melodies of heavy metal and drumming. You make your way down the sidewalk to his passenger side, butterflies erupting as you open the door.

The volume is turned down to a background noise, the heavy metal feeling oddly out of place at such a low volume. “Hi, sunshine.”

You grab his hand, petting at his calloused skin. “Hi.”

You feel his eyes on you, taking in the dress that is on its first night out in decades. “I don’t know how you show up looking this good and expect me to act normal.”

You grin, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and sniffing at the leather. He can’t say shit like that and expect you to go on like normal. “C’mon. I haven’t had a strawberry milkshake in ages.”

You open the window just a crack, appreciating the scent of fresh grass in the spring. New beginnings, fresh starts, rebirth. It seems oddly poetic.

He pulls up to the diner, bright neon lights against an evening sunset. It looks as if it’s painted, yellow into orange into blue. A lonely diner isolated sitting against a watercolor sky, but one of your favorite places in the world.

The bell ringing feels like an old song you haven’t heard in years, bringing some bittersweet nostalgia.

Martha perks up, the diner even deader than normal with only a lone man sitting on a bar chair holding a milkshake like a beer. The comparison sends a gag reflex through your body, never wanting to even smell another beer in your lifetime. As you sit next to Eddie, in such close proximity that the other side of the booth is useless, Martha appears with a cheeky smile on her face.

“If you two aren’t on a date, I’ll eat my notebook,” she sighs, hands on her hips as if she’s chastising two kids.

You and Eddie glance to one another, debating on fucking with her. It’s all the approval she needs.

“Finally! If you came in my diner again with those puppy dog eyes of yours I would’ve about had it with you two. Now, are you getting your regulars again?”

Eddie’s arm curls around your shoulders, his thumb petting the bare skin of your shoulder. “I’m disappointed you haven’t already brought the milkshake, Martha.”

“Smartasses. The both of you!” She walks off, a brand new pep in her step.

His thumb turns under your chin, pulling your face towards his. “C’mere. I need to make up for the times I just wanted to kiss those pretty lips in this booth of ours.”

“Why didn’t you?” You ask him, breathless as you stare at his eyes.

“I didn’t think the prettiest girl I know would want to kiss a goofball like me,” he chuckles, self deprecating and vulnerable.

You shake your head sadly, sighing happily. “You are so wrong.”

His chuckles are interrupted by your kiss, clutching onto the cotton t-shirt clinging onto his chest. It’s like you to forget how to breathe, taking the moment to take a deep breath before kissing him deeper, harder.

Your tongues meet, wrapping together with his and leaning forward to be as close to him as possible. His hand lands on your thigh, petting it roughly as he teases you. You hated yourself, hated how you told him you wanted to wait, because it’s becoming too much. The need for him sits deep in your stomach and begs you for any resolve from his teasing hands.

His kisses keep you only so satiated, whimpering by the time your make out sessions are done and ready to beg him to touch you already.

The glass of pinky sweetness hits the table, interrupting his electric lips on yours. “If you two do it, at least have the decency to take it to the bathroom like every other patron.”

You yelp, avoiding Martha’s eyes as Eddie tugs you in against his chest, kissing your temple. “Yes ma’am,” Eddie obeys, saluting with two fingers. Two, very distracting fingers.

You take a sip, humming. After weeks, you will proudly proclaim that this is still the best milkshake in town.

Eddie kisses your cheek, pulling you even closer. “If you lick that whipped cream off your finger, so help me god.”

It’s a habit of yours, one you’ve done at least once a visit just to get a taste of it before it sinks into the milkshake. The numerous times you’ve done it sinks in, unknowingly teasing him. “Something wrong with tasting whipped cream, Eds?”

“When you do it with that tongue of yours, yes,” he mutters, nipping on your jawline.

“Why don’t you have a taste,” you hum, taking a scoop with your pinky, licking it up.

Eddie pulls you in, humming as his tongue reaches out for yours to grab a taste of the cream melting fast in your mouth. He pulls back all too soon, eyes fluttering shut as he tuts his tongue. “Mmm. Yum. Thanks, baby.”

The milkshake is nearly gone by the time Martha rolls around again, pancakes and waffles in hand, interrupting soft conversation and sweet nothings.

He finally tries a taste of your pancakes, eating from the fork you offer him. His face winces, screwing up as he chews on it. “That strawberry sauce is sweet, ain’t it?”

“A little sour, I guess, but it’s my favorite. The fresh strawberries are a nice little addition.” You tell him, cutting up the pancakes.

“I’ll stick to my sprinkles,” Eddie mutters, dipping a piece of the big fluffy waffle in the whip. “They are the best.”

“I have a question,” you mutter, relishing in the taste of the sweet strawberry sauce. “How-how long have you liked me? Was it more recent, or have you liked me for years?”

Eddie smirks, placing a stand of hair over your shoulder. “Years.” He chokes back the correction of the word like, cause it’s so much more. “The first time I saw you, you were giving one of the football dicks hell for picking on one of the scrawny little freshmen. And I mean, berating him. You’re shy, baby, but not when it comes to others.” He pauses, chewing thoughtfully. “I knew from that moment.”

Oh. It was a handful of months before you found yourself sitting by the hellfire table, shaking your head at their antics. Plus, Gareth was just plain wrong in his opinion, you shook your head disapprovingly as you dug your nose in the book. Eddie caught on to it, demanding you join their group and inform him of how wrong he was. You did. You didn’t realize how charming Eddie was, how welcoming and genuinely kind.

It took your breath away, especially how gorgeous he was. The crush was kindled from then on, only being nurtured as you continued to debate him and his friends on their nerd culture.

Eddie followed up with the same question, asking how long ago for you, too. You tell him that very story, of how he enamored you just from being around him.

“You know, by then I was already head over heels for you,” he admits casually, sipping the last of the milkshake. “Something about sticking it to the man just does that to a guy.”

“Those dimples of yours are a weapon.” You admit in kind, and he laughs. You drop your jaw incredulously. “They’re a weapon! You think your hands are the only things those girls call magic?”

Eddie leans in, hot breath on your ear sending ripples down your neck. “And have you thought about these magic hands of mine, sweetheart?”

You gulp, licking your lips as your heart races in your chest. “Maybe...” You say softly.

He hums, tentatively kissing your skin. He really shouldn’t be doing this in a public space, you think, attempting not to wiggle at the uncomfortable feeling of arousal pooling in your panties. “I can’t wait to show you just how magic they are.”

You hold back a whimper, choking on it as your eyes flutter shut at his tentative kisses.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?” You nod, watching as he places the right amount of bills with a decent tip for Martha.

On your way out the door, Martha shouts her goodbyes, happily yelling out her congratulations as the glass door slams behind you. Eddie’s lips find a home on the back of your hand, holding it as he kisses loudly, tickling the skin.

The trailer sits alone in the park, all lights off as he pulls up. With the turn of a key, his arm wraps around your waist as you walk in sync. It’s familiar as you help him turn on the lights, domestic, even. His jacket is off, tossed on the couch as he tugs you by the hand towards his room.

You’ve thought about it so many times, whisking away into his room with him to devour him completely. Usually it occurs when you’re mad stoned, happy and horny, but too blizted to make a move.

Your hands curtain the back of his neck, thumbs petting the nape of his neck and tangling themselves in his curls, rubbing in small circles. His lips connect to yours, stumbling over dirty laundry as he guides you to his bed. “Hmm, strawberries.”

He yelps as lands on his back, laughing as you collide with an oof. The playful moment is quickly replaced with intensity, staring down into his brown eyes, darkened by desire. Across the years of being his friend, he’s darkened his eyes in many moments, right before he decides to pin you down and tickle you senseless or when you talk down on yourself.

There were moments when his intense gaze took you aback, mostly when you innocently used too much enthusiasm in eating ice cream or put your hair up in a ponytail.

Or when you wore a sundress that sat a bit too high on your thigh.

All these moments suddenly make sense, filling you with a gust of emotion as you grab at him, tugging him harshly for a kiss much more powerful than you knew you had in you. He gasps into it, deep and desperate against your lips as you pull him closer. One of his hands travels downward, hiking under your skirt and grabbing at your thigh, your knee pulled up against his stomach.

Eddie turns you over on your back, hands grabbing at the skin harshly, his rings pressing at your skin hard enough to create an indent. Your leg wrapped around his waist tugs him down, his chest landing on yours.

“Question, my love,” Eddie mutters, words intertwined with his kisses. “Why the hell haven’t I seen this dress until now, it’s…oh my god.”

You grin against his lips, pushing your hands past his cotton shirt. “Waiting for a special occasion.”

“You telling me I could’ve seen this ages ago, baby?” He gasps, wrapping your tongue against his, delicate but enough to make you mewl into his mouth.

“Probably.”

He nips your lip, a punishment for your cheekiness. “It’ll look better on the floor.”

Your hips grind up, meeting the bulge in his pants just right. “You can’t say stuff like that–” you gasp, arms wrapping around his neck to hold on to him pathetically.

“You have no idea the things I’ve wanted to say to you.” His hand travels further up, passing the waistline of your panties and spreading on the skin of your tummy. “All the things I’ve held back…”

The admission is thrilling and terrifying, giving you almost everything you’ve ever wanted.

Now if you could get that bike you wanted for Christmas when you were twelve…

“Can you tell me now?” you ask, smiling up at his pretty, bewildered face.

“Hmm, patience,” he tuts, using his hand to explore. “Right now I just really want to touch your pussy, please, baby, please.”

It’s your turn for bewilderment. He’s acting like touching you is this great honor, instead of a means to an end like anyone else you’ve slept with. “Uh, yeah, I want that. I really, really want that.”

Eddie sighs, using his traveling hand and dipping it under the waistband of your panties. As his best friend, you’ve gotten so comfortable around him, arguably too much. Late nights in his room with a t-shirt and panties as his room fills with smoke. Eddie is only human, appreciating them too much as as you sat cross legged with the strip just a tad too thin for what it was supposed to cover.

This particular pair is decorated in lace up the front, a sheer lace for the bum, a light blue to match the flowers. His fingers latch to your pussy, delicately moving them up and down the folds.

“Oh my god,” he sighs, playing with the slick and spreading it. “You’re so wet, all this…all this for me?”

He adds more pressure, rubbing small circles and watching you throw your head back and melt in the heat that spreads across your thighs and takes form in a tremble, in a shake. “F-feels good.”

“Yeah?” he asks, placing his thumb on your clit and rotating it in tiny circles. “You like the way I play with your pussy, baby?”

You frantically nod, grinding up against him. “Need..need more. Please? More?”

“What does more mean?” He leans in, decorating your neck with sucks and bites and licks. “You want me to lick it, baby? You need my fingers, you already beggin’ for my cock? C’mon my girl, use your words.”

You might just beg for his cock, but you don’t want it to be over so quickly. “Want–want your fingers, Eds.”

He giggles, planting a nice wet kiss on your lips. “That’s my girl.” He doesn’t wait a second, curling one finger past your entrance and pumping it slowly, building a slow momentum that pulls at your stomach. He sighs, husky and deep, “Fuck, it’s so tight.”

He removes his finger without warning, not commenting on the moan in disappointment that escapes your mouth. He sits up, grabbing at the waistline as he tugs them down your legs, slowly, carefully, savoring in the moment. He lifts up the skirt, exposing the landing strip that sits waiting for his eyes.

“Did you decorate your pussy just for me? It looks so pretty… Thank you, baby girl,” Eddie is borderline emotional in his gratitude, showering you with praises.

Your legs attempt to close back together in embarrassment from his intense stare. He notices it, pushing your legs back down. “Do me a favor, won’t you? Keep these legs open while I eat your pussy.”

You drench your thighs, turned on even from the mere idea of being with him. “Mmkay.”

“You–” he gasps, delicately licking at the mound. “You taste so good. Wanted to bury my face in this little cunt for so long.”

His hands lift your thighs up and over his shoulder. His mouth tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing, listening to the cues you give him through your quivers and whines. The dress is completely covering his face, hiding the man that is eating you out, slowly and carefully, as if wanting to taste every drop of arousal you feed him.

Before long, your legs start shaking in his hold from the pleasure that has your hands tangled in your hair, eyes squeezed tight as he pulls whine after whine from you. One finger slides right back in, facing no resistance, sucking on your clit simultaneously. That arches your back and curls your toes, gasping from his build up, his words, god just from the years of mental torture.

You cum against his lips without warning, for him or yourself, twitching around his fingers and crying out his name.

He coaxes you through it, kissing your pretty pussy lips gently until your legs stop convulsing. Sweat beads on your forehead, spreading on your back and neck and making the thick fabric of the dress too hot. You untie each ribbon, desperately grabbing at the neckline to pull it up and off.

He kisses up your torso, laughing as you get stuck with the dress half off. One heel digs in his back in retaliation, whining as you gesture to him to help you. “I’m sorry, you’re just so cute.” Eddie giggles.

You whine, kicking your legs for him to hurry up. Your hair is stuck in your dress. It lifts over your head, a light bra covering your tits acting as a tease for him. The dress lands on the floor, nice and splayed out as it’s done its purpose.

You roll your eyes, tugging him in for a desperate kiss by the neck, wandering hands moving south to tug at his t-shirt. “Wanna see you, too,” you confess, helping him rid of his shirt. “Show me those tattoos.”

“You like the tatties?” You nod enthusiastically although you know he’s just teasing you. “Oh, I bet ya do. Probably ogled them while I wasn’t lookin’ huh?”

With a chest like his, you don’t imagine he could blame you. You let your eyes speak for you, raking over his covered chest and openly staring. “Wanna suck your cock.” You look up at him with big doe eyes, silently begging.

Eddie’s eyes widen at your admission, groaning as you start to undo his jeans. “Fuck, I don’t know if I’ll last that long…I need to be buried in you, wanna feel that pussy around my cock.”

You gulp, wrapping your legs around his torso so his jeans meet your pussy, probably drenching a wet spot on the front. “Me too…but I remember you said you didn’t really get reciprocated very much.” You inhale, gathering courage. “I remember thinking how I’d love to spend hours with your cock down my throat.”

Eddie keels over you, curling his face in your neck as he whimpers. “You were holding that back from me?” He punches the mattress right next to your head, a mild temper tantrum. “What other depraved thoughts have you been hiding from me?”

“You want me to tell you, or show you?” You’re not sure where this surge of confidence is coming from, but you’re running with it, especially if it means you can hear him make that sound again.

“Sh-show me- want you to show–” he nods, whimpering into your neck and shuddering.

“Mmkay,” you muse, smirking at just how easily the shoe falls on the other foot. “Get on your back.”

He complies promptly, wrapping his arm around the small of your back and turning the two of you over. You straddle him, grabbing at his chest carefully as you plant kisses all the way down his lean torso. You bring teeth into the mix, sucking and biting and marking your territory.

You’ve been itching to do so since he showed up one morning with bruises decorating his neck, claiming his hookup got a little too eager.

I'll show you eager, you begrudgingly think, wishing that all the boys were teasing him from bruises you gave him, instead. God, there was one planted on his collarbone that was excessively large, annoyingly so.

You mark your way down his chest, his stomach, lapping greedily at his treasure trail as he whimpers at your enthusiasm. This is power, you think to yourself, wondering what other noises you could conjure from him. As your mouth moves, so do your hands, undoing his belt slowly, taking your time as you unzip his fly.

The evidence of his arousal is strikingly clear, his boxers bulging out of the open fly and begging for your attention. While your subtle glances downward gave you an inkling of his size, his hardened cock presenting itself to you, even disguised in its plaid wrapping, had you letting out a gasp in unbridled lust.

You wrap your hand around it, gleaming as he hisses, a hushed swear passing through his lips. You watch his face, observing him as you place your lips on the covered shaft, just letting him feel the heat of your breath on it. “Oh, fuck–” Eddie chokes, letting out harsh shudders.

The sight of his face is borderline angelic, all of his walls down as he focuses on you. You can’t help but smile at that, at how you desperately wished for nights like these, only paying attention to one another. You poke your tongue out, drenching the cotton fabric with your spit, working your way down the length.

At his little whines, you finally curl his fingers under his waistband, drooling at the taut cock that pops out, giving you a friendly hello, swaying from the spring. You smile ear to ear, delicately wrapping your hand around the base.

You kiss the tip, lapping at the pearl of precum that gives the clear indication of his arousal, as if his hard on wasn’t enough. “Mmm,” you hum at the salty taste, leaning in to suck every last drop from his flushed tip.

You let the saliva that has pooled on the surface of your tongue drool onto his cock, spreading it down the shaft, absorbing the moan he rewards you with. “Shit, that feels–oh my god.”

You smile with pride, finally taking him into your mouth, enthusiastically bobbing up and down on his length. Your eyes remain on his, watching him as his face melts, committing it to memory.

“Oh, Jesus,” he swears, hips rutting up, clawing further into your mouth. You take him in further, gagging on it as you wrap your tongue around it experimentally, choking loudly and purposely. “Ch-choke on it, yeah, ch-ohmy god, just like that–”

Your hand moves in rhythm with your mouth, slobbery sounds of spit on flesh, his and yours, deliciously wet. He tenses up beneath you, whines growing more desperate, moans huskier, deeper. It’s a marvelous melody, one no composer could make even if they tried their hardest.

“St-st-stop,” he stutters, curling over himself, writhing under you. “Stop–I-I’m gonna cum.”

Reluctantly you listen, lifting your head off him with a pop and cheekily smiling at his heaving chest. You crawl upward, yelping as he wraps his arm around the small of your back and tugs you in for a kiss, more powerful, wrapped in an unnamed emotion you couldn’t possibly let yourself be delusional enough to define as. The one hand crawled up your back undoes the clasp of your bra, tugging it off your arms and flinging it across the room.

“Gimme those tits,” Eddie sighs, kneading them in his hands and toying with the flesh and nips. “Oh, they’re so pretty, baby. I love them, I‘ve wanted to play with them for so long.”

Eddie’s legs move under you, kicking off his jeans while holding you close to his chest. You sit up, tugging him up with you as you hover just over him.

His skin directly on yours, close and toe curling as you straddle his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as you stare into his eyes. There’s a glow in them, eyebrows relaxed as he holds your hips, staring up at you with such enamour. “Want your cock,” it’s only a whisper, but loud in the intimacy between you two. “I want you.”

His brows furrow, only a moment. The thought passes through him quick as a flash, but you see it.

“What was that?”

He smiles, relieved and tender. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He leans in, pressing kisses on your clavicle, your neck, your shoulder, the swell of your breast. “Not-not just like this. I mean, fuck, I wanted it, so, so bad. But…I’ve wanted you, wanted your late nights and early mornings, to help you when you need to study, wash the dishes…sorry, I’m rambling.”

You pet his cheek, shaking your head. “No. Keep going.”

“I mean, we’ve always sort of had that, you know? It was just torture, not kissing you stupid whenever I wanted…because I wanted to. I wanted to, so much, baby. I love you. So much. You’re my best friend, my person, and I just love you so fucking much.”

A breath of a laugh passes through your lips, attempting to absorb what he had just told you. “Really?”

You smile, holding him tightly as you kiss him, sighing happily as he confirms, nodding frantically. The head brushes against your entrance, pulling a whine from you. “Eds, I-I love you, too.” The kisses get more fierce, Eddie clinging onto you harder and nearly attacking your lips. “But…if you don’t fuck me soon I might actually lose my mind,” You giggle.

He laughs, combing his fingers through your hair, away from your face, from the sweat. He slaps his cock against your clit, teasing you with his head. “Of course, baby, you wanna ride me, hmm? Hop up and down on my big fat cock?”

You nod, biting your bottom lip, hissing when he pushes his head in, watching as your jaw drops. “Oh, look at you, I knew you could take it like a good girl.”

You choke back a whine, swallowing hard as his words have such a strong effect on you. ‘Fuck, f-feels so good.” You stop, mewling as the burn of his girth becomes too much.

“Don’t rush yourself, baby, it’s okay.” He puts his hands on your hips, digging into the soft flesh. “So nice and tight, fuck.” His eyes practically roll to the back of his head.

You sink further, taking him deeper as the burn bleeds into bliss and back to burning again. “Jesus, s’good.”

“Mm, almost there, baby.”

“Move, please. Eds. Need-need you to move.”

Eddie chuckles, large hands holding your back. He lifts his hips, slowly filling you to the hilt and bringing it back out, one hand landing by his side to use it for leverage. You chirp out his name, mewling as he slowly rocks his hips. “Love the way you say my name,” he gasps.

You start rocking, slowly lifting your hips as you assist him. “You gonna make me scream it?”

“If that’s a challenge, then I will happily accept,” Eddie growls, gripping onto your hips harder and pulling you down so the union of where your bodies meet hurts in the best way. “Wonder when those legs will give up, hm?”

“I’ve thought about riding you on the couch too many times to give up easily,” you admit, giggling at his wicked grin.

“Oh, have you now? Been wearing those little panties just so I’d snap and ravish you, hmm?” He asks, hair wild as he watches you bounce on him.

“Maybe,” you admit, though that was mostly just out of comfort and trust of your best friend. “You have stronger will power than I thought you would.”

“Hmm, you think too much of me, baby,” Eddie mutters, framing your face with his hand and pulling you in for a kiss.

Admittedly, your legs are growing tired, but you soldier on, connecting your forehead with his desperately and watching his eyes glaze over. Your head already feels hazy, heat building in your stomach as you rapidly climb towards your climax. “You getting close? About to cum on my cock?”

You nod, startling in your movement as he starts to move you quicker with just the tightening of his grip on your hips. “Eds,” You whimper as he rubs his thumb on your clit, rapid movements as he hurdles you towards your orgasm, your cunt tightening around him as your eyes roll back.

“Lemme feel you squeeze my cock, baby, wanna feel you cum all over it.” Almost as he demands it into existence, you finish with a start, twisting your toes together and hunching over his shoulder while he rolls his hips, gasping and whining and mewling. “Oh, that’s my girl. Here, bet those legs’re gettin’ tired, hmm?”

You nod, giddily giggling as he maneuvers you on your back. “God, I love you. I really really do. I don’t–I don’t know what the fuck I’ve been thinking–”

You slap your hand on his mouth, giggling at his wide eyes. “Sorry, but…shut up. Rail me. Destroy me. We have time for all that later, now quit getting all emotional on me.” You take your hand off his mouth and pat his cheek. “Be a good boy and make me scream your name, won’t you?”

He chuckles deeply, his jaw dropping as he nips on the palm of your hand. “‘Be a good boy,’ hmm? Yes, ma’am.”

Okay, this turns you on too much not to eventually dissect it, but Eddie’s hips start moving, harsh and raw and brutal, just as you asked for. With each collision of his hips comes a whimper from the force, each one louder than the last.

His head curls down into your neck, sinking his teeth into your skin as he sucks and bites and laps his tongue over the pain. “Look at your neck, all marked up. All mine,” He rasps.

“All yours,” you whisper, choking on the emotion that fills your throat.

“My good girl who loves to get fucked hard, hmm?” He chuckles, curling his arms tightly around you. “Oh, listen to those pretty little noises you’re making, so pathetic for me, oh fuck.”

“Ed-keep-oh-oh–” you gasp, whining higher and higher.

“Yeah, just like that. Pathetic little princess.”

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in close, skin to skin, all sticky and sweaty as the smell of sex fills the air.

“You’re moaning like a desperate little slut but you’re not screaming my name, yet. Can’t wait for it. Hmm? Why you makin’ me wait?”

“Maybe you’re not hitting hard enough,” you gasp, a smile spreading across your face.

Eddie’s eyes widen, lifting his body off yours quickly. “Oh yeah? Hands n’ knees. Turn around.” He sends a jolt of fear through you, eyes widening as move into a crawl position. “That’s a girl.”

His hands tighten on your hips, lining himself up and pushing in all within the span of 3 seconds. He’s relentless with it, lurching forward as he grabs a fistful of your hair. “C’mon, I can’t hear you.” He taunts you, pulling deliciously at your scalp.

He starts moving faster and harder, clumsily planting his lips on your back, messily trying to take any claim he can on you. One hand slaps your ass, Eddie hums, appreciating the print of his hand on your skin. Moans pass through your lips, the loud ones that Eddie was asking of you. HIs name is added into the mix, cross eyed and desperate as he somehow increases his force.

“There we are. Where do ya want me to cum, baby, I’m so fuckin’ close.”

“Cum–cum in me, Eds. Fill me up.”

“Fuck-you, y’sure?”

“Fill. Me up.” You say again, getting your point across.

“Oh fuck–” he stutters, jaggedly rutting into you as he bends over you, filling you up with sticky white ropes. “You feel that, baby? Fuck. You feel all full?”

Eddie releases the hold on your hair as you fall forward, breathing heavily as you collect yourself. He pulls himself out, collapsing right next to you. His arms easily wrap around your back, pulling you in against his chest. You curl into him, sighing happily as you listen to his racing heart.

You lay like that for a while, listening to his breathing even out as he pets your hair gently. He plants a kiss on your forehead, humming. “Why did that take us so long to do?” You ask, still trying to regain control over your breathing.

“Hmm?” He pulls away, processing your question. “Oh, I don’t know. We’re idiots.”

You tug him back in, feeling sleepy as you smile against his chest. “Yeah. Big, big idiots. I love you, idiot.”

He hums, pulling you in tighter. “Love you too, ya idiot.”

It’s strange. You thought it would change everything if he were to finally be yours. It doesn’t change anything, banter traded as always, only with a caressing hand that tugs you in for a kiss when he teases you. Hormones go wild, finding resolve in one another as movies are no longer watched, just a nice background noise.

Thank you so much for reading, remember replies and reblogs are the best way to support fic writers on tumblr

Taglist For I Can Do It With A Broken Heart:

@mopeymopeymouse @fracturedarkness @mmunson86 @capricornrisingsstuff @georgeweasleyslostearhq @gagasbee @birdysaturne @empathyroad @unsureofthe-future @remuslupingf @evacraft1 @eddiebanishedmunson @mewchiili @trixyvixx @take-everything-you-can @streamafterlaughter @tlclick73 @fhsbsvy @micheledawn1975 @munsonmecrazy @harrysgothicbitch @honeyedstar @sadangeltingz @ali-r3n @hereforshmut @cooljadejacksonthings @emma-munson @bl1ssfulbaby @costellation-hunter @mysticpeachobject @thisisktrying @idcandimscared @mel119g @them-cute-boys @bl0ssomanddie @baileebear @luahmeeks @shaybahs @ribbitribbitquack @stephanie-nicks76 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @kennedy-brooke @ezzynf @pretendthisnameisclever @padf00ts-l0ver @boinkybarness @maedesculpaeusoubi @skyfullofsong123 @cruwushes @cloudroomblog @yourdailymemedelivery @daisy-munson @wolfstarsimpxx @haruari

bold means it wouldnt let me tag you so I DM'd you in private to you know.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader smut

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alexa-fika · 2 months

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I've finally reached the point in the anime where the cross guild is formed and addicted🙌

I don't mihawk wouldn't even think about letting buggy near child!reader, but what if reader snuck off to one of buggys shows and got caught by crocodile and/or mihawk?

Circus Escapade ( Cross guild x Gn!Dracule!child!Reader)

A/N Finished my essay ya’ll!! So I made this for you guys, sorry it took so long anon! Also idk how I feel about it, no idea why but the first word that comes to mind is surreal?

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which means Reader in Japanese.

Dividers by @/saradika

Dokucha knew that what they were doing was likely to get them in trouble not only with their dad but their uncle would not be the happiest either

But they just wanted one small peek of the show, a small peek at what happened behind the tarp; that’s all they wanted

They grin, popping their head slowly over their hiding spot and watching as the different acts went about performing

The stage was filled with different acts performing, each one seemingly more outrageous than the other; some were dangerous, some were more comedic, and a few even seemed a bit off to the audience…but that was the point; it’s a circus after all

A new act has now taken the center stage, the lights dimmed and the curtains drawn as Buggy himself came out, using his devil fruit ability to perform various tricks

They grin, giggling at his comedic actions, watching enthralled as the different body parts move around independently

Buggy’s comedic act continued; his body parts continued moving all around, one arm reaching over, picking at his teeth, and one of his legs would do a silly little kick before each body part would come together again.

His act was rather amusing, and as the act reached his peak, he came over to the podium, extending his arms toward the audience

“Hahaha!! Applause, Applause, Applause!!,” he screamed, waving his arms around, trying to get the audience to clap for him

They laughed along with the audience, gleefully enjoying the act until they felt something lift them up

They squeak as they suddenly are brought right up to the ringmaster himself

“Well, looks like we have a break-in!” Buggy laughs but stills as he takes a closer look at them

“W-Wait, you’re Mihawk’s-

“Clown.”

Everyone turns their head at the sudden entrance of the ex-warlords; the circus growing eerily quiet, everyone too afraid to move a muscle in fear of angering the duo more

“Buggy…” Mihawk seethes, his eyebrows knit together, his tone of voice dangerously eery

Crocodile, while maintaining his usual stoic expression, holds back a low grow

Buggy’s expression changed when he saw the two enter, his body parts freezing into place, his eyes widening slightly as he gulped, his voice growing quieter as he spoke

“Cro-Crocodile, Mihawk…”

Buggy gulped, taking a few steps back as he spoke, “I ca- I can explain!”

“Do you think I care for explanations?” Mihawk glares at Buggy, his gaze becoming sharp; he takes a step closer

“W-Wait, I swear I had nothing to do with this. I didn’t bring them here!”

“Your hand on them tells a different story,” he growls, ripping way the hand from Dokucha and embracing them

“Tha-I swear I can explain. I didn’t know.”

“Dokucha.”

They flinch at their father's sharp tone, and although they were aware that the anger was not directed at them, they were also going to get one hell of a scolding

“Go to your room; I will come to talk to you after I'm done with him.”

They nod

“Sorry Papa”

“Now you,” Mihawk said coldly, looking at Buggy, who just stood there, sweating profusely, his entire body shaking in fear as the duo advanced on him.

“H-Hey, I'm sure we can talk this out.”

The last thing Dokucha heard as they flew out of the tent was the cries of the mercy of the crown; they flinched at the sound

“Oops…”

Did buggy probably die? Yeah, is everything Dokusha said to that oops? Yeah cause their a menace

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

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thepixelelf · 5 months

Text

female ceo reader x tailor mingyu 1.1k words.

note: female reader (because the plot is based on how some men think women can't be taken seriously in higher up positions). this premise/idea is from The Duchess Deal by Tessa Dare. like pretty much all my fics, this is not a full story and more just a fun idea

[coincidence? I think yes] Letting out a guttural, defeated groan, you slump your head down on your keyboard. The keys press down, adding to the already incomprehensible email you were drafting to send to your personal assistant.

Seungkwan,

I need a husband.b,mfnhh7gy6untjjn 7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7nn7n7n

The first four words were stupid enough. Why should you need a husband? Just because your grandpa is a misogynistic prick?

7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7nn7n7n7n7n

And why should you need to get married of all things just so that he doesn't hand over "his" company -- that you practically resurrected from bankruptcy, by the way -- to your insipid cousin?

7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n77n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7

It's not like your cousin Yeongmin is married. He just happens to be the family's oldest male in your generation.

n7n7n7n7n7nn7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7n7

"Um--"

Seungkwan's voice makes you pop up, and you straighten your back to attempt to look put together even though it's arguable that Seungkwan is the only person who's ever seen you at your most bedraggled. He's probably the only person you'll ever let see you as anything beneath totally put together badass CEO who built themself up from almost nothing.

You smooth out your sleeves. "Yes?"

"There's a man at my desk," Seungkwan says, slightly confused. You're not sure why.

"Okay...?"

"Asking for you."

"Yes, Seungkwan." You nod, brows furrowing. "That's why people normally go to your desk."

His fingers toy with the end of his other arm's sleeve. "Yeah, but..."

"But?"

"He's wearing a wedding dress."

"Oh." You glance down at your computer screen, and the last words you typed-- well, on purpose.

I need a husband.

Weird.

"Do you, uh..." Seungkwan jerks his thumb towards the door he's only stepped halfway through. "...want me to send him away?"

"No, no." If a guy is coming to you in a wedding dress, he must want something. Badly. You've never heard of such a stunt, but you might as well hear him out. "Let him in."

Husband...man in a wedding dress... There's not that big of a difference, right?

Maybe you can offer him what he wants so badly. In exchange for something you want.

Seungkwan nods, still hesitant. "Alright, but you might want to put on some sunglasses."

You don't have time to ask him what the heck he means by that before he disappears out the door, and only seconds later, a blazing white fire barges in.

With all the floor-to-ceiling windows in your corner office, the afternoon sunlight is often a blessing. Right now, however, it bounces off approximately one million sequins, pearls, and crystals, and reflects so harshly into your poor eyeballs that you have to simultaneously raise your hand to cover your eyes and turn away.

"Oh my god." You may have just received snow blindness comparable to years of albedo exposure. "What the--"

"Miss CEO. Ma'am," Mr Say Yes to the Dress starts from behind the curtain of your fingers, voice loud, if a bit unsteady. "My name is Kim Mingyu, and I'm here to collect."

Lowering your hand just slightly, you allow yourself to see him from the shoulders up, which is lucky, since the dress seems to have a sleeveless sweetheart neckline.

Not bad. Broad, sculpted shoulders, a symmetrical face topped with fluffy black hair, something meek in his eyes -- despite having the gall to walk right into your office wearing the world's brightest hodgepodge of fabric and demand payment for... something.

"Collect?" you echo.

"Yes." He nods, and you see him shift to gesture towards the crinoline-filled skirt of the gown. "For the dress."

Instinctively, you look where he gestures, and you wince at the sparkles that stab your retinas. It's not that it's ugly. In fact, the handiwork must be incredible, if you know anything about anything. It's just so...much. Lace and pearls and sequins and rhinestones and floral embroidery.

"You must be mistaken. I never ordered--" You wave at the embodiment of Narnia's never ending winter. "--that."

"No, but Choi Yeori did."

Ah, now things are starting to make sense. You're closer to your cousin Yeori than you are her older brother Yeongmin, if only because you used to play murder mystery make-believe with her when you were nine and she was six. It's been a long time since those days, though. The only updates you get about Yeori's life now come from her public social media, and gossip columns. But there's one thing you know from both the past playtimes and the current Instagram stories.

Choi Yeori is a romantic. Always has been, always will be, you suspect.

From acting the femme fatale (as deadly as a six-year-old can be, which is surprisingly very) to the three engagement announcements she's since deleted from all her accounts, she likes to believe in stuff like love.

All the power to her, you say. Living in her beautiful world must be nice.

Well, except for when it's not so beautiful.

"Let me guess." You tilt your head at the boy-in-a-wonder. "The wedding's off."

Now that your hand is down, and your full attention is on him, Mingyu seems to shift uncomfortably under your gaze. His hands reach to pull the top of the dress higher over his pecs, since it's tailored to Yeori's exact size, not his.

He nods. "I spent countless hours on this dress--"

"I can see that." Otherwise he probably wouldn't be here.

"Everything is sewn by me, like she requested--"

"Of course." No machine could make something so ice queen from Sharkboy and Lavagirl-esque.

"And her payment was retroactively rescinded," he finished. "I can't get a hold of her, or any of her contacts, and I couldn't--"

"Find a single other person who would buy this amalgamation of sparkles, luxury, and fanfare?"

Frowning, Mingyu crosses his arms. "I couldn't think of who else to go to. I'm a one-man company. The cost of material on its own has almost put me in debt."

"Right, sorry." You roll your chair further under your desk and lean your elbows on the dark, lacquered surface. Your eyes glance once again over the dress. "But this could've been an email, you know."

He shrugs. "I got your attention, didn't I?"

You can't help but laugh. Yes, he's got you there.

Reaching into one of your drawers, you pull out your chequebook. "Right, well." You grab a pen and put it to paper. "What does my dear cousin owe you, Kim Mingyu?"

He rattles off the number, and you try not to sigh at it. Oh, Yeori... This time might really be too much.

You sign on the dotted line, and stand from your chair to round your desk. Walking up to him, you tear the single cheque from the book and hold it out.

"Here."

He's even more handsome up close, you note.

Just before his fingers can grip the expensive piece of paper, you jerk your hand back with a sharp bending of your elbow.

"Or," you say. "I could offer you even more than this."

Cautiously, Mingyu raises a brow. "Even more...?"

"You could take this money now--"

A moment happens where you curse in your head. You're acting cool and collected, but the idea bubbling in your mind is one of the most outlandish you've ever come up with. Are you really going to do this?

Mingyu eyes the cheque hungrily. That seals it. He needs money, and that's really the best thing you have to offer anyone, so why not someone with a pretty face?

You smile. "--or you could marry me."

#seventeen scenarios #caratlibrary #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #mingyu scenarios #mingyu imagines #mingyu x reader #kim mingyu scenarios #kim mingyu x reader #kim mingyu imagines #svt scenarios #svt imagines #svt x reader #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines

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amakumos · 1 year

Text

CUPID’S CONFLICT — eight ; i see what’s happening

as the man behind cupid's corner, jungwon is responsible for getting majority of the couples at decelis together (namely, riki and his girlfriend.) but there's one person that always gets in the way of half of the couples that jungwon sets up together — you. you are the polar opposite of yang jungwon, affectionately called "evil cupid" by your friends, as you have the unfortunate ability to break any couple up within a couple of weeks just by taking a picture with them. it's not intentional, you tell jungwon. what's also not intentional, is when jungwon finds himself crushing on you.

“Have fun on your date,” Rei says to you, watching as you shove your books into a tote bag. “I’m going to work on a project.”

“Project, date, same thing. Take lots of cute pictures of Maeumi for me. ” Wonyoung says, and you roll your eyes. “We're actually going to be working. It's not a date.”

“Don’t get distracted, by his… face?” Wonyoung replies, and you give her a weird look. “What? You guys would be cute together.”

Yes, he’s good looking, and basically your exact type, but you don’t really know Jungwon well. Plus, you’re pretty sure he isn’t really fond of you.

You take the train to Jungwon's, and it's not too far away from Decelis. You don't know why he doesn't choose to stay at home instead of the dorms since he doesn't live too far. When you stand in front of the lift, waiting for those elevator doors to open, you suddenly find yourself feeling a little nervous.

You press the button to the 9th floor, watching as the doors close. It's just a project. You're not nervous. The doors open, and you step out of the lift. Jungwon says he lives in apartment 9B, and as you approach the door, you hear the sound of a dog barking.

You assume that's Maeumi.

Jungwon opens the door, wearing a plain white t-shirt and sweatpants. "Hey," he says, opening the door wider to let you in. You take your shoes off, leaving them near the entrance. "Maeumi gets really excited when he meets new people." Jungwon adds as he watches Maeumi jumping up on your leg to greet you.

"Ah," you say, smiling. "That's very cute."

"Come in," he says, and you walk into his apartment, Maeumi trailing behind you. It's very clean, and Jungwon's placed his laptops and books on his dining table. "You can just put your bag on that chair," he says, sitting down at the table.

You slide into the seat next to him, taking your own laptop out. "So... where are your parents?"

"They're working. They're a bit busy this week, so I've kinda got a lot of time for myself."

"Oh, I see." you say. It's a little awkward, with it just being you and Jungwon. In his apartment.

"So... should we start working on this?" he asks, and you nod. He opens his laptop, creating a new slideshow and sharing it with you. "We've just got to create a presentation about this poem... and analyse it. Then share it with the class. Super simple,"

"I think we can finish it in 20 minutes. I mean, we did do a lot of preparation in class - we kinda just have to type everything out now."

You find that you work well with Jungwon. He's easy to share your ideas with, and even when you find that you can't exactly find the right words to use to get your points across, he understands what you mean. The nervousness you felt before fades away, and you start to think that you were just overthinking everything, especially when it came to you thinking that Jungwon hated you.

The project's finished in less than 20 minutes, much to your surprise. "Do you wanna grab lunch?" Jungwon asks you, and you shrug. "Sure. Are we going to go outside?"

Jungwon walks towards the window, pushing the curtain aside. "Ah, it's raining. I'll just order takeout. Are you okay with fried chicken?"

You nod. "I'm not a picky eater. Order whatever you like."

You get up from your chair, making your way over to Maeumi. You sit down on the floor, away from the carpet (because you've seen Jungwon's tweets about Maeumi shitting on the carpet), and the dog comes up to you, and you give him a head pat.

You play with Maeumi for a bit, picking him up and settling him in your lap while Jungwon orders the food. "He likes you," Jungwon says, placing his phone on the table.

"Does he?" you ask, ruffling Maeumi's fur.

"Yeah, he does. Give me a second, I'm just going to get Maeumi some treats." he says, before disappearing into the kitchen. He returns with a container of dog treats, and he sits down beside you.

Jungwon takes one of the treats out, feeding it to Maeumi. "He's so cute." you say, and Jungwon smiles.

Jungwon's opinion of you has changed very quickly over the past few days. He supposes that it was a shitty thing to do, to hate you over the fact that you had broken up a lot of couples at the school unintentionally. He guesses that he takes his role as Cupid a little too seriously.

You're very nice. So nice to the point that Jungwon feels terrible for being mean to you on his private Twitter account.

Suddenly, Jungwon hears the door unlock. He furrows his eyebrows - his parents aren't supposed to be at home until 9pm. It's only 3pm, and he doesn't think he's expecting anyone to swing by.

The voice of Kim Sunoo rings out, and the boy stops in his tracks when he sees that you're in Jungwon's house. "Jungwon, Riki wanted to know if you're free- oh! I see what's happening."

"Hi, (Name)." Sunoo says, a smirk on his lips. "Hi, Sunoo. Nice to see you," you reply, still giving Maeumi head pats.

"What are you doing here?" Jungwon asks. "Riki sent me to see if you were free, since I know the password to unlock your door. But, I'll just tell him that you're not available." Sunoo says, wiggling his eyebrows at Jungwon.

Sunoo's going to tell everyone in their friend group. And now everyone will think that you two are a thing.

"Have fun on your date," Sunoo whispers to Jungwon, who elbows him. "It's not a date." Jungwon whispers back.

"Sure it isn't. Bye (Name)! See you tomorrow!" Sunoo says, waving at you. You bid farewell to him too, and before he leaves, Sunoo whispers one thing to Jungwon.

"Don't fall in love."

"I won't," Jungwon replies.

Jungwon doesn't know it yet, but he is very, very wrong.

eight －i see what's happening! previous ☆ next ♡ masterlist

author's note. first written chap of the series !! my entire body hurts cuz of badminton #lovemysport

CUPID'S CONFLICT! a jungwon smau. genre: smau, crack, fluff pairing: non-idol! jungwon x non-idol! reader warnings: swearing, ignore timestamps taglist is CLOSED!

#kflixnet #k labels #enhanet #enhypen smau #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #enhypen au #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #enhypen angst #jungwon smau #jungwon imagines #jungwon fluff #jungwon au #jungwon scenarios #jungwon x reader #jungwon angst

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lives-in-midgard · 1 year

Text

You'll never be alone

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Bucky comforts reader after a family dinner.

Word Count: 930

Masterlist

Yesterday you were at your parents’ home for a family dinner and because it was late you texted Bucky that you were sleeping there. Because he knows how your parents sometimes can be, he asked you if everything is okay and you texted him of course back, so he assumed that it was.

After he had breakfast Bucky started to worry that you weren’t okay. He looked at his phone and haven’t got any message from you. Normally you would always send him a good morning text with I love you and a heart emoji when someone of you is away. But this morning you haven’t even texted him back, which made him wonder if everything was okay. At first, he thought maybe the internet connection wasn’t good or something, so he waited for a while and took a quick shower, but you haven’t texted him back after that either. So, he decided to go downstairs to the others and maybe someone else knew something or you just got home.

“Do you guys know something from y/n?” Bucky asked the other avengers when he walked in the living room and couldn’t see you there. His hope that you were there and the internet connection wasn’t good immediately disappeared.

“I think she is still at her parents’ home.” Steve said and Bucky could see a confused look on Wanda’s face.

“She didn’t go to your room last night?” Wanda asked while she turned the TV off.

“What do you mean Wanda?” Bucky asked her.

“She came home last night. I only saw her for a few minutes, but she looked sad. I talked to her and thought she was going to you because she said she would.” Wanda said and Bucky began to worry and thought what might had happened at your parents’ home that made you so upset that you didn’t even want to go to him.

“But y/n texted me that she is staying there. I should have known that something is off. I’m... I’m her boyfriend. I should have known that she is not fine like she texted me and when she only sent a good night instead of calling me.” Bucky started to walk through the room and Steve and Wanda looked at each other. Steve stood up from the couch, walked up to Bucky and placed his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“You should go up and check on her, Buck.” Steve suggested him and Bucky nodded.

“You are right I’ll go to her to make sure she is okay.”

When he stood in front of your door, Bucky took a deep breath and made a gentle knock on the door with the hope that you were okay.

"Hey doll, it's me Buck." He said in a soft tone but didn't hear a response from you. When Bucky was quiet for a moment, he could hear you sniffle.

"Doll, I'm coming in okay." When he didn't hear a response from you, he opened the door. There was not much light coming through the curtains, but Bucky could see you laying there facing the other side of the room and covered in your soft blanket. He walked over to your side and kneeled down in front of you.

"Hey, doll." Bucky lifted his arm and gently stroked your cheek with his hand.

You began to sniffle "I’m..." You paused.

"It's okay doll, you don't have to talk." Bucky said and wiped with his thumb a tear from your cheek away.

"Do you want me to cuddle you?" He asked and you nodded.

"Okay, doll." Bucky said and gave you a kiss on the forehead. He stood up and climbed into the bed and wrapped his arms around you from behind.

"I've got you doll. Everything is gonna be alright, I promise." Bucky said while you sobbed and gave you a kiss on your shoulder. Bucky was holding you as long as you needed him and whispered some calming words into your ear while giving you kisses. After a while you calmed down a bit and were ready to say something.

"Why am I never enough?" You said and it was quiet for a moment.

"You are enough, maybe not for your parents but for me you are more than enough. You saved me, you were there for me when I was feeling so low and thought no one could ever love me. You came and saved me like an angel... you are my angel." A smile began to grow on your face, what Bucky has just said was more than a I love you it was so much more.

"You don't need your parents to be happy you have me, and you'll never be alone, I promise." Bucky continued to say and you turned around in his arms and faced him with a smile.

"Thank you, babe. You're right I'll never be alone I have you and the other dorks downstairs." You said and made him chuckle.

"I love you."

"I love you more." Bucky said with a smile.

"That's impossible."

"But it is true. I love you more."

"No, I love you more." You continued to say when suddenly Bucky leaned in and kissed you to stop you from talking.

"Okay, you win." You said when you broke the kiss and Bucky grinned at you. You cuddled up with him and placed your head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat.

"Try to sleep my angel." Bucky whispered and you could feel how you were falling asleep in his arms.

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daisybianca · 9 months

Note

Hi hi!! I love your blog sm!!!! Can you do something for mick?? (He's been looking wayyy too good I NEED SOMETHING) HSJSHJSHS BUT ANYWAYS ILY AND I HOPE YOU HAVE AN AMAZING DAY SWEETS🤍

pairing: mick schumacher x femalereader

summary: mick is literally the perfect boyfriend. the guy that is in every rom-com as the good, gorgeous, generous, and polite kind-of-guy. that's the surface, right? that's what people see and think. but what lays beneath the perfection is somehow even better.

warnings: angst, sexual activities

(a/n): Thank you lots once again. I seriously love writing for you guys😭 please feel free to recommend anything you'd like to read!

"BABY, MY TUMMY is purring." You claimed next to Mick when your eyes had finally started to adjust in the morning light that invaded through the curtains of your bedroom. "It hurts."

Your body was utterly exposed beneath the sheets, and you could feel Mick's bare leg caressing your thigh in slow but smart and teasing movements that required your attention.

"Yeah, but I'm the one with a belly being rubbed at at the moment." He laughed and you realized your hand had been rubbing the spot of his stomach the entire time since you exposed your eyes to sunlight.

"C'mon, you know why I do this." You tried to voice, but it came out muffled because of your boyfriend’s strong arms being wrapped around you tight and hard.

"Yeah." He said behind your messy hair. "You do this almost every day we wake up"

"I--"

"You rub my belly every time you want it in the morning." Mick exclaimed. "I'm a very observant bastard when it comes to my girl's tendencies for getting away without saying a word."

His hands were placed on the flesh of your belly and started creating soft circles there.

You knew he was a teaser and didn't know if you liked it or hated it. Maybe both but on different circumstances each.

You grabbed his hand and pulled it away, clearly stating you were mad at him.

Your bodies had been tangled together, and you bet was just like his. Sex hair from the previous night had been a total blast.

He was right. You hadn't noticed, but you indeed caressed his chest and stomach when you were in the mood and had just woken up.

But you weren't going to admit it anyway.

"(y/n)." His finger was brought on your jaw, forcing you to look at him. "Say it, and it's yours, baby." He said, as if his dick was a prize to win.

Which certainly was, but...

You forced a smile. "No, I-I don't--" You stuttered.

"Baby..." Mick started. "I don't want you to be embarrassed or uncomfortable or shy around me." He placed his hand on your cheek and brought you closer to his chest, still captivating your eyes into an intense staring contest.

"Mick, I--"

"I want you to be happy with me and--"

"But I am--"

"I want you to know that I'm always here. And when I say always, I mean it." He stated in a mumble. "I'm here whenever you need a warm hug to feel better, or a strong shoulder to cry on and release the stress..." His lips found the sensitive skin of your neck, and all of a sudden, your heart roared in your chest as if you were a schoolgirl. "...or even a good fuck to make you remember what you mean to me and maybe erase the word embarrassment from that beautiful vocabulary of yours."

He stopped the kisses and looked at you.

You thought your heart had ceased beating in your chest for a moment.

You inhaled and exhaled slowly.

Mick's lips were curved slightly, and his blond hair was messy. His gaze was surely intoxicating, his blue eyes so pure. The purest you'd ever find.

Contrary to his intentions...

"You got me?" He asked and you nodded.

His expression changed to fake annoyance once again.

"Words, baby." Mick mumbled. "You're not that quiet when I fuck you every morning."

You couldn't help but let a laugh escape. You got up and on top of him.

First thing to do in the morning: give a lecture to your girlfriend about vocabulary matters and let her ride the shit out of you till she can't walk for your upcoming race day.

Check.

You started kissing him passionately. Your soul, body, and mind screamed his name. "Yes, sir."

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abarbaricyalp · 3 months

Text

I thought there was a Post-TFATWS space, but there's not, so have another Free Space fill! @sambuckylibrary

Based on a Daily Fluff Diary post! // cw: injury in the last section // AO3 Link

Knock Before Entering

It's not that Joaquin hasn't seen them make out before. It comes with the territory of spending long amounts of time with two people not only deeply horny for each other, but also just deeply in love. He tries not to think about it. Tries to forget that Barnes clearly needs an outlet for adrenaline after a fight. Tries not to pay attention when a closet door shuts on the jet. Tries to ignore the eyes Sam shoots Barnes that has them both vacating a shared space.

They're good about it. Don't get up in each other's space intentionally when he's around. Barely even touch if they're all sharing a room. One time, Barnes had even slept on the floor instead of sharing a bed with Sam. Though Joaquin had woken at some point in the night and found Sam's arm hanging off the bed and Barnes's arm reaching up so they could hold hands anyway. At least it was his prosthetic arm, so Joaquin assumed he didn't need to worry about a blood rush.

The point is, it's not a secret that Sam and Barnes are together. And they're usually pretty good at keeping to themselves.

Which is why it shouldn't be surprising but certainly is when Joaquin walks back into Sam's office from hunting down the new drone prototype he'd been reporting on and finds Sam half sprawled across his desk with Barnes crowded between his legs, following him down.

Joaquin smacks a hand over his eyes like a child. It means he drops the drone, but it's live, so it just hovers next to him. "Guys, gross!" he snaps, also like a child. It did kind of feel like seeing his parents making out for the first time.

_____

He can hear them spring apart, like it's a surprise that he's back. He'd literally been gone for five minutes tops. He just had to run to his room and get this. He'd told Sam where he was going. He hears a slight exchange of shoves and elbows before Barnes says, "Drop your hand, kid."

Joaquin does after several more seconds, when he's sure the coast is clear. Sam's behind his desk again, Bucky leaning a hip up against the side of it like he belongs here.

"Where did you even come from?" Joaquin asks finally when it seems like no one else is going to volunteer anything.

"World War II," Barnes answers like the smartass he is. "Brooklyn."

“I was gone for three minutes," Joaquin clarified through his teeth. He wants to sit down, thinks better of it, stays just inside the doorway. "What if I was someone else?"

Barnes's mouth quirks a little. It's as much a confirmation as Joaquin will ever get from the man that they are kind of their own little triumvirate. If it had happened under any other circumstance, Joaquin would be elated. Right now, he is not. “But you’re not, so relax, Tweety.”

Joaquin rolls his eyes and walks into the office, giving that side of the desk a wide berth. He sets the new drone down, along with a makeshift manual.

“Don’t go gettin’ attached to that side,” Barnes says.

“Don’t,” Sam warns.

But Barnes pushes on. “I’ve hauled him up on that side too.”

Joaquin doesn’t even both to groan. He just leaves the room again.

. . .

“Ready or not!” a small, but very loud, voice calls from somewhere else in the building.

Bucky ducks into Sam’s office because AJ is fast and if he doesn’t take cover now, he’s going to get caught. There’s a gorgeous wardrobe with a false back in the far corner, but Cass had hidden in there two rounds ago, so it’s likely to be one of the first places AJ looks. The desk is too much on AJ’s level for Bucky to hope to hide well under. By design, Bucky is too big to fit into the vents.

The curtains that hang from the windows don’t quite make it all the way to the floor, but Bucky figures his dark boots will blend into the shadows if he stands far enough to the corner. He can hear AJ’s sneakers on the tile, hurrying down the hallways and checking doors, so he jumps behind the curtain and tries to hold it still.

He jumps behind the curtain and directly onto Sam’s feet.

“Ow! Hey! I’m already here. Go find your own hiding place!” Sam hisses, shoving at Bucky’s shoulder futilely. Bucky intentionally digs his heels down into the ground. Sam glares at him, then takes a deliberate step closer. “If you don’t move, we’re both gonna get caught,” he threatens. “And you know AJ will go after you before he comes after me.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow in doubt. He was almost positive AJ and Cass were teaming up to find Sam, who had not been tagged ‘it’ yet in this game. Mostly because he kept cheating by using all his flight training to get up into the rafters where, even if he was seen, no one could climb up to tag him. Well, Bucky could, but it was too much work, honestly.

“I’m faster than you,” he points out. “And I’m not above tripping you.”

Sam rolls his eyes, leans in, kisses Bucky. It’s enough for Bucky to stop digging his heels in, but Sam gets just as distracted. Actually, instead of shoving Bucky out of the hiding spot, he halfway tries to climb up Bucky’s body. It sends Bucky stumbling back, the curtain getting tangled under his foot, and they both end up crashing against the window, curtain falling away in time for the office door to get pushed open.

“Ugh,” AJ says with so much disdain Bucky kind of can’t believe it. “I knew that’s what you two were doing instead of actually hiding. It’s no fun if you don’t try!”

“It’s all Sam’s fault.” Bucky accuses. The elbow into his ribs exacerbates the ache from falling into the window sill too. Still, he puts himself between Sam and AJ. “Go find your brother.”

“Nuh-uh,” AJ insists. “I found you two. I’m gonna tag you two.”

Sam snickers behind him, squirming away from the pinch Bucky’s trying to land on his hip. “You only need one of us,” he points out.

AJ’s mouth curls to one side with frustration. “I can’t find Cass,” he admits. “I need help.”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky concedes. He steps away from Sam, towards AJ. Waits for Sam to relax. Then he grabs Sam around the waist, holding him still so AJ can run forward and tag him as the next seeker, much to Sam’s loud protests.

“Cheaters!” he cries between laughter. “Betrayal!” But it is ineffective in the long run.

. . .

There should be no one else at the compound, so Bucky’s lazily making out with Sam in his desk chair, Sam across his lap. Joaquin is doing Air Force stuff, the other young heroes are out of state or busy, the older heroes don’t really hang out there. There are no meetings scheduled, no tours, no new introductions. It’s just him, Sam, and the sunshine streaming in from the window.

It’s been a while since they’d been able to do something like this. Cap duties had taken Sam away and Bucky had been pointedly kicked off of the jet. He was still piecing it together, but he thought it might’ve had to do with Hydra. Why he was kept out of the loop with those things, Bucky couldn’t begin to guess, but whatever. In the time Sam was gone, Bucky managed to get himself hurt (which is why he should’ve been allowed on the jet) and Sam had come back so exhausted that, even when they were alone, they mostly just took the security of each other’s company to pass out for hours at a time.

But a quiet weekend and a, so far, quiet week had done wonders and now Sam is getting handsy as Bucky absently pets his chest, over his shoulder, and back down his arm. Contrary to what Joaquin thinks, they haven’t ever actually desecrated the office, but Bucky’s willing to break the streak. Especially when Sam’s fingers fall to his waistband and begin to rub out the indentions of his jeans from his hips.

“Come on, let’s break in the desk,” Bucky cajoles, opening his mouth, deepening the kiss as he licks into Sam’s mouth with more intensity than the afternoon had called for.

Sam laughs unexpectedly, sits back, stares. Bucky can tell when the answer is going to be a straight no. This is not necessarily a straight no, which is almost hot enough to get the job done on its own. Sam’s a daredevil. An adrenaline junkie. People think Bucky’s the bad influence, but it’s not always his fault.

Sam’s just about to pass his judgment, is already moving off of Bucky’s lap to sit on the desk, when the door opens. There’s no one there, which has Bucky pulling Sam away, halfway tossing him towards the window for a fast escape. His mind is already racing with the potential threat–a smoke bomb, a grenade, some other small danger that he can’t see over the width of the desk. He hears Sam grab the shield, a sure, defiant presence behind him.

No bomb goes off. Instead, an orange cat jumps up onto the desk.

“Goose?” Sam asks, lowering the shield.

“Danvers’s cat?” Bucky clarifies. “Oh, shit. No, get down!” he shouts, lunging for the cat sitting on top of Bucky’s leather jacket. But it’s too late. The cat vomits tentacles and ray guns and a glove (or maybe a hand) and slime all across the desk.

“Argh!” Bucky shouts, yanking his jacket free, which makes Goose hiss and jump down. Too late for that, Bucky hisses back in his head.

It’s only a split second later that Danvers appears, just as Goose is running out. She watches her with surprise, then looks at Sam. “Cap, I need your help,” she says. Then her nose scrunches and she looks to Bucky and his jacket. “You need to get that cleaned.”

Bucky really considers throwing it at her.

. . .

The reporters are following Sam, who is trying to answer their questions but it’s weirdly difficult to when they’re walking on his heels. The smoke of the battle is still wafting off of him, which he can’t even smell because of the concrete dust in his nostrils. The cameras flashing in his face are doing nothing to help the migraine digging through his head. He needed a med crew to tell everyone he was probably concussed and to leave him alone.

“Captain Wilson,” someone calls. It still sounds weird to hear it. That’s not really his title, but he’d stopped fighting it after the first few months. “You saved more than a dozen people in midair. How did you react so quickly?”

Sam’s shoulders and back ache at the reminder. “It’s my job,” he says. “I’m supposed to save people. These wings aren’t just a fine accessory, y’know.”

“Captain, how did you figure this plane would be attacked?” someone else asks. His office is so close. The door locks now. He has a couch with a weighted pillow that he can put over his face and drown out the lights and the noise.

“When we realized the target wasn’t physical riches, but riches of the soul and mind, it was a quick hop to the plane carrying the summit awardees and delegations.”

“Mr. Wilson, you saved lives and hope tonight. How many future conflicts do you think you stopped tonight?”

“What?” Sam asks. The words just will not slot into a logical order in his mind. “I can’t tell you anything about the future. Very good people were targeted tonight to stoke division and fear. They were targeted by bad people to get back at other bad people. It was a wholly unfair situation. I am grateful for the lives we were able to save. The damage was still large and there’s yet more clean up to do that affects hundreds of other good people. Please turn your attention, time, and resources towards doing something productive too. You don’t need wings to make a difference.”

The reporters mutter amongst themselves and Sam uses the opportunity to get a hand on the door knob, a foot halfway into his office.

“Sir, is there any update on Sergeant Barnes?”

The image of the building coming down on Bucky as he evacuates civilians flashes through Sam’s mind like a hot sword. The crackle of his comm device as it went dead mid-sentence. The silence that followed. Sam’s heart begins to thrum uncomfortably in his chest, rising up to choke out his throat. He can’t cry on camera.

“As far as I’m aware, no one has made contact with Sergeant Barnes as yet,” he starts to say.

Then the door opens. Bucky’s standing there, looking like a sight. There are bandages wrapped around his head and half of his face is bruised into a sickly black and purple. He’s covered in gashes and scrapes. His right arm is wrapped in a sling. He’s hobbling with one boot on and the other foot and ankle wrapped in even more bandages. He’s clearly in so much pain that all Sam wants to do is shove him down on a bed and keep him asleep until the serum can repair everything.

“I was dug out by the same people I had just gotten out of the building,” Bucky chuckles at the camera, like this is a normal press conference. Actually, that’s not true. If this was a normal press conference, he would be in a back room somewhere, glowering at every reporter and cameraperson he saw. He did not like public speaking. But here he is, looking like it’s his natural calling. “They made quick work of it too. Dragged me off to a med-tent. Felt right at home, huh?” he says, directing the last bit at Sam, since it’s usually Sam dragging him to medical.

Sam can’t answer. Can’t breathe. Bucky’s alive. He’s moving. He’s swollen six ways to Sunday, but he’s making jokes. He was in Sam’s office. Waiting for him.

“Excuse me, guys and dolls,” Bucky says with a wry look at the media. Wry, even though the bruising. So unfair. “I gotta do something real quick.”

And then he’s kissing Sam. It’s awkward and too warm. Both of their faces are different landscapes after the fight. They both smell terrible. Sam keeps getting medicinal alcohol in his mouth and Bucky accidentally peels off two of the butterfly bandages on Sam’s cheek as he holds his face.

It’s one of the best kisses of Sam’s life.

This time, he doesn’t let anything interrupt them.

If you enjoyed this, please consider leaving a note or kudos on AO3

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #captain america #sambucky fanfic #the falcon and the winter soldier #writing #sbvday2024

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storiesbyjes2g · 3 months

Text

3.82 Birds of a feather

Mama came out of the party room, smiling warmly at us. She had probably been running around the restaurant all evening, being extra and making sure everything was in order for us. As always, she was dressed to the nines and looking amazing.

"You're not supposed to arrive early at your own celebration," she said.

"And let you take care of all of this by yourself? Nonsense," Sophia said.

I nodded in agreement.

"What she said."

Mama shook her head lovingly at us.

"You two are too cute. Your guests should start arriving soon. Get a drink. Enjoy yourselves. Don't do anything else!"

She scurried off to make sure the fountains had drink and all the heat lamps were working. I wasn't sure why I didn't consider it might snow when I suggested a patio party in the dead of winter. Guess I've officially lived in Oasis Springs too long.

I drew my attention back to my gorgeous fiancée, who was beaming at me. I got to spend the rest of my life with her. How did I get so lucky?

"Let's dance," she said.

I knew there was music playing somewhere, but I could barely hear it.

"Here? Right now?"

"Yeah! Why not?"

I shrugged and cradled the small of her back. If my lady wanted to dance, we dance. We swayed back and forth, and she grinned at me the entire time. I knew she was eager to get married, but I think that was the first time I could clearly see her brimming with excitement. The curtain of snow behind us was the perfect backdrop for the short-lived romantic moment.

"You guys started without us," Dub said.

We broke away from each other, semi-embarrassed.

"I was just about to do my special move," I said.

Sophia's head jerked back in disbelief.

"You have special moves now? This I have to see! Can you guys come back later?"

We all shared a laugh.

"So you're Sophia," Dub said. "It's great to meet the woman this guy won't shut up about."

"Oh, you mean like you can't shut up about Maia?"

"Yeah...you're right."

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Luca," Maia said. "He talks about you a lot too."

Maia was absolutely stunning. Her eyes... They drew you in, and it was clear why Dub was so twisted up when we met. But it wasn't just her beauty. She was poised and had a comforting vibe. I could tell she was a quiet force to reckon with, and I was so glad they were finally together. Maybe one day soon Sophia and I would be dancing at their wedding.

"The pleasure is all mine," I said.

My friend Justin slipped into the middle of the group. I hadn't seen him since we ran into each at the romance festival, but we communicated a few times a week on Social Bunny. We didn't connect on a deep level, but I enjoyed chatting with him and didn't hesitate to extend an invitation.

"Excuse me," he said. "Sorry to interrupt. I probably can't stay the whole time, so I just wanted to come congratulate you before it gets too crazy."

"Thanks, Justin. I appreciate that. And thanks for coming!"

"No doubt. No doubt. I'll get out your way and let you finish."

He could have stayed and got to know Dub, Maia, and Sophia, but he left just as quickly as he arrived. I guess it would have been a bit weird to stick around, especially when he interrupted us. Sophia seized the opportunity to chat with Maia.

"I love your dress," she said.

"Oh, thank you. I love yours too."

Dub and I watched as our ladies felt each other out. I didn't doubt he was as happy as I was that they seemed to like each other.

"You wanna grab a drink with me?" Sophia asked. "We can leave our boys to bask in their bromance, or whatever."

Maia laughed.

"Sure, let's go."

But before they could leave, Chi Chi sashayed her way into the conversation, looking as fine as ever. Why was literally EVERY woman in my life insanely attractive?? All of them! Was it normal to have so many good-looking friends?

"You must be Sophia," she said. "Wowee! I see why this guy dropped everything and ran to Oasis Springs. You are breathtaking!"

Sophia's cheeks reddened, and she flashed a nervous smile.

"Uhh...thanks."

"I'm Chi Chi, by the way. I'm very happy to finally meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," Sophia said.

When Chi Chi finally took her eyes off Sophia and noticed Dub and Maia, her entire demeanor changed.

"And who is this?" she asked, looking at Maia. "Are you two together? Because if you're not, I think I just might try girls next!"

Dub's eyebrow went up, but Maia maintained her smile, though it seemed forced. Luckily, Maira hopped in and saved us from the awkwardness.

"Congratulations, my friiiiieeeeennnnnd!"

"Thanks, Maira. Come join us. Let's all sit over there."

I brought the party over to the sofas so we could chill and chat more comfortably.

Dub and Maia by @mysimsloveaffair

#ISBI challenge #sims 4 story #sims 4 gameplay #adolting #adolting gen 3 #luca winston murillo #sophia aguilar #wade banks #maia tilley #xochitl luna #maira watson #justin walker #emerald pope #banks collab

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star4daisy · 8 months

Text

rosestarkiller

Tw: teasing and implied threesome

I wrote this on my phone at a family barbecue lol god knows why but it's more than I wrote all holiday so yay

...

Regulus lay down on his belly, feet up in the air as he pretended to read a book, occasionally letting his gaze travel to the bed in front of him where his two best friends had been snogging for a while.

He used his curls to hide his eyes, allowing them to fall on his face as he peeked behind them, admiring the way Evan's hands slowly ran down Barty's naked torso. Over the roses tattoo he had on his neck, over Evan's name on his chest and then squeezing when he passed over the Regulus constellation on his right shoulder.

Regulus's breath hitched, he loved that Barty had a tattoo in his honour, none of their other friends did except for Evan, but well they weren't just friends. So it made him feel special to always be close to Barty, even if he wasn't the one who got to kiss it.

Now he had to restrain himself from humping the bed while his friends kept working each other up. Perhaps he shouldn't have been there for it, but Regulus had gotten there first, they saw him when they climbed into Evan's bed, and they purposefully didn't close their curtains. It wasn't his fault that they had chosen to give him a show, it was only polite not to deviate his eyes.

When Evan's mouth reached the waistband and Barty let out a loud groan when he bit into his side, Regulus had to put his fist in his mouth to stop the sound that was threatening to come out. Fuck. They were trying to kill him. He wondered if he should leave, but there was no way he would manage without them noticing his obvious hard-on.

Surely they wouldn't take their trousers off while Regulus was right there. Even Barty wasn't that much of a show-off, Regulus was sure. Except Evan started unbuttoning slowly, palming Barty with one hand as he got the zipper down. Regulus stumbled out of the bed so fast his book fell, he quickly grabbed it and pressed it against his crotch as he tried to make a hasty exit.

He was sure he heard a chuckle behind him. "Oh, we didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Evan said quickly. "You can stay, we won't kick you out of your own room."

"It's okay. Maybe I should-"

"Come on, Reg." Barty sat up and Regulus finally allowed himself to take a peek at them.

They looked like sin, their hairs standing on end, pink mouths swollen, Evan's eyes were half-lidded with desire while Barty's twinkled with mischief.

"We're amongst friends." Barty's green eyes travelled slowly down Regulus's body. "No need to be shy."

"I'm not shy," he barely managed to speak, his mouth felt entirely too dry.

"Then why the hasty exit?" Evan questioned with one eyebrow raised in challenge.

"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

"You could never make us uncomfortable," Evan reassured him.

Barty grinned, his eyes settling on the book Regulus held glued to his front. "What were you reading?"

Regulus had no idea, his eyes widened, his heart beating so fast he thought it might jump out of his chest. "Pride and prejudice."

"Oh," Barty said delightedly. "Let me see." He extended a hand in his direction. "This is the one you're always trying to convince me to read, isn't it?"

Regulus held the doorknob. "Maybe, later. I should go."

Evan chuckled. "Relax, Reg." he slapped the bed by his side in invitation. "We don't bite."

"Unless you want us to, of course." Barty raised his eyebrows mockingly while he settled on his elbows and forearms, his arms straining beautifully.

Regulus coughed. "I mean I thought you guys were-"

"We can," Evan said unbothered, voice dropping sensually when he kept talking. "If you want us to."

Regulus froze. "What?"

"How many times do we have to snog in front of you for you to get the hint?" Barty asked impatiently.

"What?" his voice came out way too breathy.

Evan quickly stood up, coming in his direction and stopping only when he was close enough to take the book out of Regulus's hands. His gaze travelled south slowly, a smirk growing on his lips when he saw the bulge in Regulus's trousers.

"The question is how much do you want us?" Evan pressed a thumb against Regulus' bottom lip in appreciation, completely enthralled by the way Regulus flicked his tongue over it, sucking his finger into his mouth automatically like it had been ingrained in him to do so.

Barty groaned from behind them. "Hopefully half as much as we want you."

Evan's fingers popped out of Regulus's mouth as his eyes finally opened again, their chest almost touching from his irregular breathing.

"I've never wanted anything more in life," Regulus admitted.

Evan dropped the book carelessly and Regulus couldn't even find it in himself to protest, following him instinctively as Evan went to the bed where Barty lay waiting for them with a wicked grin on his lips.

...

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thefuseoftemptation · 8 months

Text

WHO TURNED OFF THE LIGHTS?

The lights go off at your neighbors but from what you know, no one’s there.

EDDIE MUNSON X GN!READER

WARNING(S): cussing, not sure how else to label this so just lmk. NOT PROOFREAD.

—

“No one’s there, Munson.”

You weren’t sure how many times you’ve said it, but you kept having to repeat yourself because your guy kept shrugging it off as if it were nothing.

The lights next door went off. And from what you know, no one’s there. Nobody's been there since last summer. You couldn't even put it as you just seeing things because just before you could question yourself, they turned back on- only to then be turned off once more.

When you told Eddie, he tried telling you it was just you— something you’ve been trying to convince yourself ever since it happened— but you knew what you saw.

Though it wasn't that Eddie was trying to let it go like you thought, it was because he knew you weren't pulling his leg. He knew you weren't lying. The tone of your voice followed by the look you held was the only proof necessary. And if he were to be up front with you too, which he usually was, he would've told you how he'd been thinking the same thing. That maybe there was something going on and you guys just didn't know it yet- at least what or who it was.

But he wasn't about to let you in on them, not if it was going to end up with him getting an earful and a few pushes for him not telling you.

"Munson?" Your voice pulled him from his thinking, not even taking into mind how he'd been rubbing his fingers together. A manner he kept to- usually occurring when he was too in his head.

"Hm?" It was all Eddie could get out. Not even really looking at you, but rather past you. Just over your shoulder and through the window that gave you view of where your concerns had surfaced from.

"We should go see."

Now, that got through to him.

Eddie's head turned to you, his face pulled together in a way that said you were likely out of your mind. And he could only respond back in a way he knew was proper for that sort of thing. Or how any reasonable person would.

"No."

Eddie's hands went back and forth in movement to the single word that left his tongue. "Are you hearing yourself, huh? You literally just said that the lights went off when no one's even over there, and your answers are to go take a look?!"

“Well, you said it’s nothing! So if it is, then let’s go.” You shrug. It fell from your lips so easily, as if you weren’t shaken up about it a while ago.

You were by the window looking to the other side at where the ‘neighbors’ lights went out. The curtain between your fingers as you not-so subtly looked across. Eddie could only shake his head at you, taking the chance to gesticulate his hands while making a face when you weren't there to see.

"My back's turned to you but doesn't mean I don't know you, Munson." Your head turned to look over your shoulder, catching him in the midst.

"Shut up and tell me what you see."

Eddie sighed as he stood behind you pretending not to be into what was happening. While on one hand he was, on the other, he was trying not to get pulled into whatever this was. Who knows where it could lead you guys. Though that's never the case for anything when it comes to you.

"Well, I see what appears to be a an empty lot." You say flatly, which would normally earn some counter back from Eddie for the underlying yet still evident purpose to it, now was not the time. “Mhm, it is in fact, an empty lot.” You repeat, turning to Eddie who stared at you with crossed arms.

“Why’re you like this?” He questioned, honestly wanting to know how you could be shitting around at a time like this.

“Got a few suggestions put in when it came to my making.” You remarked, turning your attention back to the ‘neighbors.’

Even for a question that wasn’t meant to be literal, it still came out as one. Eddie knew why though. It was just a front you guys put up to cover what it was you were really feeling. And if it weren’t for him being too caught up in the current matter, he’d be right there with you. But just like it’s always been, one of you has to keep the other leveled when they’re not up for it. And in this case, it’s you.

You knew the moment the words left your mouth about the lights, that Eddie had already known what you were referring to. He was too in his head for someone who kept trying to put it off as nothing.

“Y’know, if you’re trying to be subtle, it’d work if the these were off and you weren’t standing in the middle of the window.” You could feel his breath on your ear, his suggestion making you roll your eyes as he gestured to the switch.

“Well, why don’t you get those for me? Hm?” It was Eddie’s turn to roll his eyes as he got the lights.

It was almost as if you guys weren’t the only ones watching, because when yours went off, theirs went on.

“Munson….”

“Mhm…saw that.” Eddie gulped. “You sure no one’s there?”

“M’sure.” You eyes hadn’t moved from the window, by now, Eddie’s chest was pressed to your back, the two of you watching to see if you could spot any movement.

“Turn the lights back on.” And Eddie followed. But the second he stepped to get the switch you saw it.

“E-Eddie!”

The tone of your voice had him stopping in his steps, coming over to take a look. “W-What, what is it?!”

“Someone just moved.”

“Someone?” He repeated, eyes trying to see what you saw. “You’re not lying to me, are you?” He knew you wouldn’t, but he wasn’t sure what to think. He was just trying to make sense of it all.

“No, m’not. I know what I saw! It passed by the window when you left. I-It was clearly there!”

“Sh, shhhh.” Eddie’s hands came up to grasp your shoulders when he saw you were losing it, pulling you into his chest. Arms around you, his head resting against yours as he stared out to the other side.

It was his turn to level you.

“So, were you still looking to go see what’s over there?”

“Shut up.” It earned him a push too, pulling yourself away as you put your attention back to where it was before.

“Get the lights.”

When they went off, theirs went on once more. It was repetitive, one after the other of turning the lights back and forth and it wasn’t until you saw it again that you guys stopped.

It looked like a person. But as you said before, no one’s been there for a year.

“You see them too?” You ask Eddie and while he didn’t necessarily answer, you could feel him nod.

They were standing at their window, the curtains not really giving you easy access to what they look like, but neither was the distance between here and there. So either way, you couldn’t know who it was. There was just no way to tell.

And just when you were about to call it in, the lights went out on both sides. Yours and theirs. Only this time, you weren’t the one to shut them off.

“Eddie.”

“Shit. Get the lights! Get the lights!”

They wouldn’t turn on, you kept flipping the switch back and forth waiting them to turn back on.

“Why aren’t they—” “Turn them back-”

“S’not like m’not trying!”

Eddie stopped what he was about to say when he saw the lights from the other side turn on- even from where he was at. Though your guy’s were still out. And he wasn’t sure what to think or what was worse, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from the spot where they used to be.

“Where’re they? W-Where’re they?!”

“Where’s who?!”

You got your answers when they showed up at your door. Your body stood still as you stared at the form on the other side, breaths coming out uneven when you saw the handle turn ever so slightly and if weren’t for Eddie’s voice pulling you out of your state, you would’ve still been there.

“Let’s go.” No chance for you to ask, and honestly you weren’t about to with what was happening.

—

A/N: feedback and reblogs are appreciated.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson hcs #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson one shot

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rogueddie · 1 year

Text

Steve hesitates in the doorway, hovering for a moment. But Argyle stays hunched over, sitting at the edge of the pool, lower legs dipped into the water and leaning forward on his knees.

He kicks his shoes off, the noise making Argyle flinch- he stays hunched over though, head only turning a little, curtain of hair blocking his view.

Steve sits next to him, gripping the edge as he dips his own legs into the water. He doesn't both rolling his jeans up. He'd be just as uncomfortable either way.

"Needs cleaning," Argyle points out.

And he's right. The pool is a disaster. But Steve doesn't come this close unless he needs to. He's never letting anyone actually get in there again, so it doesn't need cleaning.

"Yeah," Steve says.

He stays quiet. He's sure that if Argyle wanted to be alone then he'd tell Steve to leave. But Steve isn't going to force himself to fill the silence. He always ends up saying the wrong thing anyway.

It's actually alright, Steve realizes.

Being close to the pool for so long isn't easy, it isn't comfortable, not by any stretch of the imagination. Having someone else there? It's oddly comforting. Especially because he's pretty sure that Argyle is still more freaked out than him.

"You're shaking, dude," Argyle says after a long moment. He tries to lift Steves hand, not pulling hard, his grip is gentle... but it just makes him grip the edge of the pool tighter. "Are you cold?"

"No, it's not... I'm ok. I'm fine."

"You sure? You don't needa sit with me."

"I'm not leaving you out here on your own."

They fall back into silence.

Steve can feel Argyle glancing at him, see him shifting out the corner of his eye, seeming to debate with himself. And, just a moment later, Argyle nods to himself. He takes off his jacket, draping it over Steves back. He bats away Steves hands when he tries to stop him.

"Thanks," Steve mumbles.

"Nah, thank you. It's great spending time with you, my guy."

He pulls Argyles jacket around him, holding the front shut. It'd probably be easier to just put it on, but he likes how it feels, to be wrapped up in him.

"Why do you call me that?"

Argyle hums, curious.

"'My guy'. Just, uh... curious."

"D'you not wanna be my guy?"

"Wh- that- I didn't say that, it's- I mean..." Steve huffs, annoyed at himself. "It's the implications and shit."

Argyle leans forward, trying to catch his eyes, but Steve keeps his head forward and eyes down, tense. He's so wound up that, when Argyle gently brushes some of his hair behind his ear, he jumps.

He shifts a little closer to Steve, thighs pressed together. He curls his arm around his waist, pulling him so his leant against his side.

"Do you not wanna be my guy?" Argyle repeats, voice hushed, leaning so close that Steve can feel his breath on his ear.

"That's- that's not what I'm saying," Steve whispers.

When he turns to look at him, he stops, breath hitching. Argyle is so close still, close enough that their noses brush. When he doesn't pull away, Argyle relaxes, smiling.

He's looking down, at his lips. He looks back up, looks to Steve, looks in his eyes. Looks, silently, for permission. And Steve nods. His heart is thumping so fast. He's sure if he tries to speak, the words will simply get lodged in his throat.

He's leaning in- slowly, patient, giving Steve time to change his mind.

But Steve only has so much patience. He's about to lean in himself, about to kiss him, finally, finally...

The door slams open, making them jump apart.

"Steve!" Dustin calls, hands on his hips. "Dude! You said you were getting us snacks!" He frowns, seeming to only just see where they are. "Dude, get up, your jeans are in the pool!"

Argyle snorts, patting Steve on the shoulder before climbing to his feet. "Kid does make a very good point, my guy. Come on, let's get you into something dry."

Steve accepts the hand he offers. He avoids Dustins eyes when he frowns at them, eyes narrowing at the way Argyle keeps ahold of his hand as he leads Steve inside.

"Your door has a lock, right?" Argyle murmurs.

#stranger things #argyle #steve harrington #stargyle #stargyle fic #stargylefic #ficlet

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zerokurokawa · 4 days

Text

An excerpt from my fanfic that I'm currently writing on Wattpad: REVERSE | Tokyo Revengers

Amber, my mother, was a very laid back woman. She would often do spastic shit like cut all her hair off because it was bothering her while working in the ICU. Currently, she has a pixie cut. Standing at about five foot five, she was tougher than any woman I know. She would work herself to the bone one night and then get up the next day to go get a new tattoo added to her sleave. Amber was the definition grunge. To me, she looked like a Winona Ryder but with tattoos and a nose piercing. Don't get me wrong, she's a genius when it comes to the medical field, but it's like she loses her mind when she comes home and lacks common sense - like the bike incident.

She also gives me stupid ass nicknames.

"Sweetie pie," She hollered while walking in the front door, "Mom's home, come give me a hug, I've got some shit to tell you! You would not believe the night I had."

"Mom, its fucking 8am on a Saturday morning, why? Why must you do this to me?" I stumbled up from the couch and walked over to her. All of a sudden, panic came over me. I had forgotten that Baji, of all fucking people, was also asleep on the couch. We had a movie marathon late last night and fell asleep. Baji was at the other end with his face buried in the pillow. Thank God he had long hair. Now, if only he could stay unconscious long enough until my mother goes to bed.

"The ER was rough last night, a bunch of punk ass kids came in all busted up," My mom froze, staring at the edge of the couch. "Who is that?"

"Oh uh…." I stammered. "My friend stayed over last night."

"That does not look like Zoe and I know she's your only friend." She said, peeking around me.

"Throwing shots at me now, are we? At 8 in the fucking morning mom?" I yawned.

All of a sudden, I hear a sleepy, manly groan. Peeking out from the curtain of his black hair, Baji sat up and stared at my mom dead in the face, eyes still blurry with sleep. He has no idea what's going on and neither does my mother.

"Let me explain…" I tried to console my mother before she got pissed that I had a boy in the house.

"You're fifteen, Val. Why do you have a boy staying over?!" She gestured wildly, but quietly, at Baji.

Baji still has not moved. He just keeps staring. I'm either royally fucked, or my mom is going to be cool with it. You never know with Amber.

"Keisuke… this is my mom, Amber. Mom, this is Keisuke Baji." I stared back and forth between the two. "I tutor him at school and we became friends, FRIENDS, and we had a movie night. By the time the movie was over, we had both fallen asleep, ACCIDENTALLY."

I stared hard at my mother in her face, willing her to understand my meaning and to please not embarrass me; but oh she started.

"Keisukeeeeee! It's nice to meet you! I'm glad you've been taking special care of my special daughter. She likes to do dumb shit, she got it from her brother, Kaine. God rest his poor soul."

"Mom, Kaine is still alive…" I put my head in my hands as Baji stood up. He wasn't wearing a shirt, which made shit even worse.

"Well, for the time being at least." She said stoutly as she stared at a shirtless Baji.

Noticing my gestures to put his shirt back on, he grabbed it, said a quick "hello", and then ran off to the hallway bathroom as my mother's laughs followed behind him.

"No but seriously, what the hell, Valerie? You gotta boyfriend now?" She turned to me with a straight face.

"NO MOM, Jesus, he's just a friend of mine. I can't have guy friends?" I emphasized the friends part. I decided to go and start making breakfast for all of us considering this was going to be a very awkward and long morning. I was getting the dishes out when my mother speaks up.

"So this is the part were I need to give you the talk, huh?" I turned around and just looked at her.

"Mom, God, please… no." I begged.

"You're having boys stay over and I want to make sure you're being safe! I started at a young age and I wanted to make sure-" I cut her off.

"Mom, I'm a virgin and will stay a virgin for a long time." I looked at her with a fake smile, trying to get her to shut up before Baji came back from the bathroom.

I heard a cough coming from the hallway as Baji stepped out and leaned against the fridge.

"I apologize for my rude behavior, Mrs. Delrey. My name is Keisuke Baji and we accidentally fell asleep while watching movies last night. I'm used to sleeping in a cold apartment and got hot. I'm sorry." He calmly explained and stuck out his hand for my mother to shake. She smiled at him and nodded in response, shaking his hand and greeting him properly.

"It's nice to meet you, Keisuke. I'm Amber, Valerie's cool ass mother." She smirked while making that statement. "I'm not like a regular mom, I'm a cool mom." She also likes to make Mean Girls references.

It was true though, my mother was very cool. She was chill about a lot of things. I didn't have a curfew and she would let me drive around in her expensive BMW when she was home. She also wouldn't care that Zoe would come over and stay weeks at a time with me.

I finished cooking breakfast as my mom practically interrogated Baji. I sat the plates down passive aggressively as she asked him the infamous question:

"Are you in a gang?"

The silence was deafening.

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queen-dahlia · 1 year

Text

𝐆𝐢𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐯𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧

𝗠𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗥𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗲 𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟭𝟳

Note: Translation is not 100% accurate. Expect grammatical errors.

// : alternate translation | ⫘⫘ : flashback | 4:4 answer

Akatsuki: "... It is easy to dye white to black. But it is difficult to dye black to white."

Akatsuki: "To sympathize with him means that you will be dyed black."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

When I heard the owner's story, I suddenly remembered something.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gilbert: "A white rose looks good on you, pure as you are."

Gilbert: "But—"

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

(—I wonder what the black rose he gave me at that time meant.)

I step out of the bathroom, wipe my wet hair, and look at the black rose on the desk.

When I was preparing for the White Rose Festival, the only rose that was dyed black was the one I had all along.

(I wonder if he meant to "dye me black.")

Just looking at the black rose makes me uneasy. It is even more so because I know that they are originally white roses.

I cannot turn this black rose back into a white rose.

Even if it could be painted over with paint, it should not be the original, beautiful white.

(My current color is...)

When I touched the black rose, I heard a sound from the balcony.

???: "Good evening, Little Bunny."

(… Okay, I'll pretend I didn't hear that.)

???: "If you don't open up, I will break the glass?"

Emma: "I'm opening it now!"

I ran quickly and opened the balcony window, not caring that the wet linen fell on the floor.

A night breeze blew in, causing the curtains to flutter, and when the curtains staggered, a black figure entered the room.

Gilbert: "Oh, you just got out of the bath? If you don't wipe your hair properly, you'll catch a cold."

As soon as he sees me, Prince Gilbert puts one hand behind his back.

Nothing should have happened, but when it came back to the front once more, he was holding a brand new linen in his hand.

(He is always amazing all the time. I don't know how he does it—no!)

Emma: "Why were you on the balcony?"

(I'm also wondering how you got onto the balcony, though…)

Gilbert: "If by any chance I run into your "father," he will kill me."

Gilbert: "Akatsuki… Is he still in court?"

Emma: "… Yes."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Emma: "What's the owner going to do now?"

Akatsuki: "I need to talk to a man named Sariel."

Rio: "He's out right now, but I think he'll be back in the office in the evening. I'll show you around."

Akatsuki: "It's a big help. …I need a satisfactory explanation of my daughter's future."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

(Rio told me before I went to the bath that the conversation was still going on at night... I hope it's okay.)

Before I knew it, Prince Gilbert was behind me, gently wrapping my head in linen.

He carefully wipes my hair, and I fidget.

Emma: "Um…"

Gilbert: "Didn't I tell you I'd thank you for the honey cookies?"

(… That's why he came all the way to my room.)

Perhaps as a "thank you," Prince Gilbert's touch was pleasantly gentle.

Gilbert: "Then again, I didn't expect Akatsuki to show up."

Gilbert: "Based on my calculations on the map, I thought he wouldn't return to Rhodolite for at least a month…"

Gilbert: "I guess he was so worried about you that he flew his horse over here."

(Does this mean that Prince Gilbert was also watching the owner's movements before he came to Rhodolite?)

(… If that's the case, then you had your eye on me from the beginning.)

This may be an important clue to the still-unknown question, "Why did Prince Gilbert visit Rhodolite?"

Gilbert: "But it's getting a little troublesome when it comes to this."

Emma: "Troublesome?"

Gilbert: "I'm sure he'll do whatever it takes to take you out of court, no matter what."

Gilbert: "That's exactly what he would do, even if it meant giving up Belle's role."

(That's not…)

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Rio: "Just for the record, what are you planning to do after meeting Prince Gilbert?"

Akatsuki: "Kill him."

Everyone: "!?"

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

(… No, it might be possible with that spirit.)

Gilbert: "It's in a father's heart to protect his daughter from bad guys, isn't it?"

The "bad guy" laughs like someone else.

(If the owner really came to bring me back, then it's the same as that time…)

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Luke: "Emma, you must cut all ties with him."

Rio: "Being around Gilbert is not good for you."

Rio: "I'll do something about it, please."

Rio: "Emma, come back."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

(… And maybe I'll have to make a choice again.)

However, the situation is different now than when I convinced the two men in the infirmary.

The hope I had then was now shattered by a hammer and seemed to fall through the gaps between my fingers.

I'm barely holding onto it, but if I loosen my grip just a little, it seems like it will disappear in no time.

Emma: "If I leave the court now, I will have escaped from Prince Gilbert."

Gilbert: "Whether you can escape is another matter, isn't it?"

Emma: "… I don't want to just talk about ideals and turn my back on them." // "… I don't want to just talk about ideals and turn my back on you."

Gilbert: "The ideal is called ideal because it can't be fulfilled."

Gilbert: "It might be easier if you give up and accept it, don’t you think?"

While combing my wet hair with his fingers, Prince Gilbert brings his face to my ear.

Gilbert: "Communication does not change people or the world. Only violent means are the only way to understand each other." // "Communication does not change people or the world. Only through violent means can we come to a unique understanding."

I shook my head without hesitation.

Gilbert: "You're stubborn."

(… But, I don't know what to do.)

(There are so many ideals, but I wonder if I could make even one of them a reality.)

Involving Prince Gilbert in my daily life and bridging the gap between the country of roses and the country of ore

The current situation is that nothing has been resolved by just saying nice things.

On the contrary, after the White Rose Festival ended, the ideal became even more distant.

(It may have been obstructed rather than being far away.)

(… That's like painting a white rose black.)

When I turn to Prince Gilbert, I meet his red eye.

The blood-colored eye has not yet lit up with emotion.

Emma: "Without ideals, there will be no better tomorrow."

Emma: "I haven't done everything I can do yet, so I won't give up."

Gilbert: "You're already covered in scars."

Emma: "I'm fine."

Emma: "… Thank you very much for the hair."

When I try to move away from Prince Gilbert, he grabs my hand.

The cold body temperature seeped into my skin gradually.

Gilbert: "Hey, did you know?"

Gilbert: "The more you pursue high and distant ideals, the higher the price you pay. No ideal can be achieved without sacrifice."

Gilbert: "You're covered in scars from my malice, but isn't that enough?"

Emma: "The… price?"

Gilbert: "Yes. Because you haven't lost anything."

Emma: "… If that's the case, I don't know what I have to lose to reach the ideal."

Gilbert: "Liar."

Emma: "…?"

Gilbert: "You are subconsciously aware. You're just looking away."

Gilbert: "You just don't have the guts to pay the price and make your ideals come true."

No idea. There is no price that flashed through my mind.

And yet, my fevered heart pulsates.

It was as if my body was warning me, "Don't think about it any more."

(… It feels weird.)

As I exhaled to calm myself down, Prince Gilbert let go of my hand and sat down on the bed.

Emma: "Are you… Are you not going back?"

Gilbert: "I don't remember ever being that kind of man who only thanked you by wiping your hair."

Emma: "I was happy enough with what I just got. Thank you very much."

Gilbert: "Do you want to kick me out that much? You're the one who said you don't want to run away from me."

Emma: "That's a different story. It's night now…"

Gilbert: "You once visited me in my room at night, too."

Emma: "That was a special circumstance—"

Gilbert: "I've got special circumstances, too."

(My heart is starting to beat in a different way.)

Prince Gilbert, smiling briskly, patted the sheets.

Gilbert: "Let's have a sleepover, shall we?"

Emma: "… Yes?"

(Sleepover… SLEEPOVER!?)

Prince Gilbert immediately lies down on the bed, as if he has no intention to be reserved just because he is in a room of an opposite sex.

Gilbert: "… Hmmm. Your bed smells like roses."

Emma: "… Prince Gilbert. It feels more like harassment than a thank you…" // "… Prince Gilbert. I feel like I'm being harassed rather than thanked…"

Gilbert: "Eh, that's terrible. Even though we're friends, you hate me so much."

Emma: "I hate it."

Gilbert: "… I think I'm going to cry."

Emma: "We're opposite sexes even before we became friends. I can't sleep peacefully."

Gilbert: ". . . . . ."

Emma: "… What is it?"

Gilbert: "In other words, you're conscious of me as a man. Little Bunny, you're so cute."

Emma: "No, it's not!"

Gilbert: "Ahaha, it's no different. …Well, I'm not going to get out of bed no matter what you say."

(No way… It looks like he's going to stay no matter what.)

Prince Gilbert's proposal is either "accept" or "force me to accept."

(I don't know what he's up to, but I don't have a choice... I hope no one notices.)

I pull out the spare linen that was tucked away on the shelf in my room and head to the sofa.

Then, for some reason, Prince Gilbert also got up from the bed and went ahead and lay down on the sofa.

Emma: "I knew you were harassing me!" // "Are you still harassing me!?"

Gilbert: "No, no. You don't want to sleep in separate places even though it's a sleepover because it seems like you're not on good terms with each other, right?"

Gilbert: "If you’re going to sleep on the sofa, I think I'll sleep on the sofa too."

Emma: "I can't let a distinguished guest sleep on the sofa…"

Gilbert: "Shall we move to bed then?"

Emma: ". . . . . ."

Gilbert: "You're the one who asked me to be your friend, now you're acting unfriendly?"

Emma: "I think it's important for us to keep an appropriate distance as friends."

Gilbert: "For me, this is the right distance."

Emma: "Where..."

Gilbert: "I told you before, didn't I?"

(… By the way—)

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gilbert: "I'm cold, so I like to feel the warmth of people all the time."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

(…Then you don't mean anything else…)

(. . . . . .)

(No, no, it's Prince Gilbert, so I'm sure he has other intentions.)

Gilbert: "Ah, Little Bunny... Are you thinking of something naughty again?"

Emma: "I'm not thinking of it!"

(Forget it… Whatever.)

I can't keep repeating the offense and defense forever, so I go to bed in tears.

Fortunately, the bed was wide enough for me to keep my distance,

The moment I headed for the edge, Prince Gilbert hugged me and forcibly confined me in his arms.

Gilbert: "Haa… Little Bunny is as warm as ever."

Gilbert: "Obsidian is such a cold country, so I want to take you home with me."

(Please don't…)

I've been detained in Prince Gilbert's room in the middle of the night before.

That time he let me go back without incident, but today he won't listen to me.

(I don't like this...)

(… I really don't like this.)

The rapid beating of my heart cannot be stopped, which leads to more and more disgust with myself.

I didn't want my heart to pound with anything other than terror at a beast that asserted that "love" was "dominance." // I didn't want to be thrilled, except in fear, by a beast that would declare "like" was "domination."

Gilbert: "Speaking of which, I think I'm going to sit in on the four-way talks tomorrow."

Emma: "Eh."

I widened my eyes at that casually spoken word.

I was no longer distracted by the sound of my heartbeat.

Emma: "Really?"

Gilbert: "You know I don't lie."

(But…)

It has been more than 10 years since Obsidian, which is on a diplomatic path, last sat down for talks.

Although the reason for his stay at Rhodolite was ostensibly "to attend a meeting,"

Even the Rhodolite princes were skeptical about the implementation.

(That's how easily it happened...)

Gilbert: "Until now, I refused because I was busy helping Little Bunny, but the situation has changed."

(… Did you mean at the ceremony when you said the situation had changed?)

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gilbert: "Ten years have passed, and Obsidian wishes to establish a new relationship with your country."

Gilbert: "If possible, let everyone here live a happy life."

Gilbert: "If you can give me a sincere response at the upcoming four-way talks, I will respond to that as well."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

(A "sincere response," huh...)

Emma: "What are you going to talk about at the meeting?"

Gilbert: "Secret. But I'm sure Little Bunny will be happy."

Gilbert: "The main purpose of the meeting is "for the sake of future peace"."

Prince Gilbert doesn't lie.

But for some reason, I can't be honestly happy about it.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Emma: "You weren't on the battlefield."

Gilbert: "If you have to ask me if I was there or not, I would say yes."

Gilbert: "But I was not in command. I was there for a private observation."

Emma: "… Private?"

Gilbert: "Yes. I have always planned to invade Rhodolite at some point, so this was a preview of what to expect."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

(I hope you've changed your mind about that…)

Prince Gilbert's body is as cold as ever.

The suffocating feeling never went away.

══════════════════

—When the candlelight went out and the room was enveloped in darkness,

A corpse was lying on the balcony of Emma's room.

The sword thrust into his chest is red and wet, and the overflow stains the balcony.

Gilbert, who was looking down at the scene with a cold gaze, threw the glove he had taken off behind him.

Gilbert: "Clean it up, please?"

A hooded man appears out of nowhere and nods as he accepts a pair of blood-stained gloves.

Roderich: "A couple of knights have captured what they believe to be accomplices."

Roderich: "… It doesn't seem to make sense to me to allow them into the room."

Gilbert: "I think Cyril was able to calculate my movements as well."

Gilbert: "Or behind it... Maybe it's Chevalier's command, though."

Gilbert tramples on the already motionless corpse.

The night air trembled, and there was a bloodlust enough to make the birds resting on the trees flap their wings.

Gilbert: "This guy has been chasing the little rabbit since daytime."

Gilbert: "He was picking a fight with me, so I just bought it."

Gilbert: "Rhodolite has a lot of fools in it."

Roderich: "You mentioned something similar at Obsidian."

Gilbert: "Ahaha, I did. Every country is like that."

He kicks away the corpse and puts on a new pair of gloves that he pulled out from inside his cloak.

Gilbert: "Well, it's a bit different from what I originally planned…"

Roderich: "… Isn't it too far off?"

Gilbert: "Ahaha, it can't be helped. Being with the little rabbit is unexpectedly fun…"

Gilbert: "I regret it."

With his crimson eye flickering, Gilbert turned on his heel.

Roderich: "Whatever decision is made, do as you will."

══════════════════

Emma: "What now..."

The next day, when I woke up, Prince Gilbert was gone before I knew it, and Jin called me instead.

It seems that Sariel is representing the King's name in the four parliamentary talks that were to be held urgently,

The appearance of him sitting at his office desk with a solemn expression was different from the usual Jin.

Jin: "I'm not surprised you're having a hard time accepting this, but it was suggested to you by the man there, okay?"

The owner, who seems to have been welcomed as a guest at the court, leans his back against the wall and crosses his arms.

Jin: "He wants to send you to another country temporarily."

(I didn't mishear... it turned out just as Prince Gilbert said.)

Akatsuki: "Last night, when I spoke with Sariel, he told me what exactly your situation is."

Akatsuki: "As a result, I decided that it would be dangerous for you to be in Rhodolite right now."

Emma: "But…"

Jin: "But the Rhodolite side is of the same opinion."

Jin: "Both domestic and foreign aristocrats are questioning your existence."

Jin: "At this rate, you are likely to be put on the aristocratic council yourself."

Emma: "… What will happen if I am put on the aristocratic council?"

Jin: "In addition to being prying into your identity, you will be questioned about the suspicion that you are an Obsidian insider."

Jin: "We can cover you up for the latter, but the former is a bit troublesome."

Jin: "If they find out that you are Belle, they will find out that we also kept quiet about the passing of the king..."

Jin: "It could give fuel to the anti-monarchy faction, which is already on the rise."

(That's... no good.)

(My presence makes Rhodolite more chaotic.) // (My presence makes Rhodolite even more confused.)

Akatsuki: "Emma… Let’s travel together until things cool down."

Akatsuki: "Even if Gilbert keeps an eye on you, there are many countries where he can't get his hands on you."

Akatsuki: "For the time being, it would be appropriate to go to Acroite via Benitoite."

Jin: "I agree. I can write a letter of introduction for Acroite. The immigration process is tough, but you should be able to get through it."

Both the owner and Jin have already spoken about it as a "decision."

I felt his firm determination to take me with him, even if I shook my head.

Emma: "If I'm gone…. won't Prince Gilbert get a reason to attack Rhodolite?"

Jin: "No… If he wants to do it, it doesn't matter whether you're here or not."

Emma: "What about the selection of the king?"

Jin: "Here, I have a certificate of authorization from Sariel."

Jin: "… Can you do it?"

(… I can't find any reason why I should stay in Rhodolite.)

My efforts as Belle have been steadily carried out even while being swayed by Prince Gilbert. // My efforts as Belle have been carried out with great care and diligence, even while being pushed around by Prince Gilbert.

Now I can answer clearly who I would select as king—and for what reason.

Of course, I really wanted to have time to think about it until the end of the given period.

It was not a situation where such selfishness could be tolerated.

Jin: "Emma… I'm sorry I pushed you this far."

Jin: "I'm in a position where I have to guarantee your safety, but in the end, the best thing to do is to get you out of the country."

Jin: "… It's the worst possible outcome."

Emma: "Oh no… Jin did nothing wrong."

(I…)

(… I wonder if it would have turned out differently if I had stood up or behaved better.)

It's unbearable and frustrating.

If I flee to another country now, I will have no means to fulfill my ideals…

If I force myself to stay in Rhodolite, I can see a future where I will cause trouble for the princes.

(I know. I know, but…)

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gilbert: "I don't know what "lonely" means."

══════════════════

Emma: "… How can I turn you back into a person?"

══════════════════

Akatsuki: "Emma… don't feel sympathy for Gilbert. Don't empathize."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

(… It's hard to break things down.) **

Contrary to my heart, I accept the quill pen offered to me.

It was then that I wrote my name on the certificate.

The door of the office opens violently, as if it had been blown by a strong wind...

Leon: "Emma, are you there!?"

Emma: "Leon?"

Jin: "What happened to the meeting?"

Leon: "That's not the point. Emma, leave the castle now."

Leon: "There's no time to lose. Hurry—"

Clavis: "Hey, Leon. That's not a good idea on your own, is it?"

Clavis appears late and blocks the door to the office.

Next to him was Cyril, with an apologetic look on his face.

Clavis: "This is an order from the leader. Stop Emma."

Leon: "You……"

Jin: "Okay, calm down. What happened, Leon?"

In the tense atmosphere, Leon clenches his fist as if to express his emotions.

Leon: "… Obsidian—"

Leon: "He came to offer hostage negotiations."

#サイバード #イケメン王子 #ギルベルト=フォン=オブシディアン #ikemen prince #ikemen prince gilbert von obsidian #ikemen prince gilbert #ikeprince #ikeprince gilbert von obsidian #ikeprince gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #ikeprince jp #ikepri jp #ikeprince translation #ikepri gilbert route spoilers #ikemen prince spoilers #ikeprince spoilers #ikepri spoilers #dahlia's bad translation

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radioactivepeasant · 6 months

Text

Snippet Tuesday: Blackmail au

First

If he had to answer one more question, Jak was going to punch someone in the throat.

He sat in the same alcove, still out of reach, and glowered at the supposed king from under a curtain of tangles as the interrogation began again.

"What's your name?"

"You already know my name."

"How old are you?"

"Don't know, don't care."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"You can't have him."

"Do you know your father's name?"

"No."

"What's your mother's name?"

"Don't know. Never met her."

"Are you going to come out?"

"No?? I don't know you people!"

"Where is Mar?"

"#$^ off."

"I'm asking nicely, boy. Where. Is. Your brother."

"....go away. Let me go."

And so it went, around in circles again and again. The man they called Damas was getting more and more upset, Jak understood that on some level. But he was past caring. If Krew had told the truth, this was a coward. Someone who had abandoned either him or Mar. Jak didn't owe him anything.

"You may not care about the child-" Damas began, frustrated, and Jak snapped.

"I don't care? I'm not the one who ditched him when Praxis took over!" Jak scrambled out of the alcove and planted both hands in the center of Damas’s chest, shoving him back. “I don't eat so he won't starve! I stay up all night to make sure those idiots don't send him to look for artifacts if they think I'm "busy"! Don't you ever tell me I don't care about him!"

Jak balled up his fists, chest heaving.

Too late he realized he'd played right into their hands.

The man who allegedly sired Jak didn't retaliate after being shoved. Instead, he held up a hand to forestall the reactions of the other Wastelanders, who had been about to intervene. There was something new in his eyes when he looked at Jak now. An understanding Jak didn't share.

"You care about Mar," he said pointedly. Was that gratitude in his voice? Why?

Daxter squirreled out of the alcove and up Jak’s back, baring sharp little teeth.

"No kidding? What part of “he starves himself for Junior's sake” didn't you understand?! You guys got a lot of nerve, kidnapping us and then acting like it's our fault that left Junior without his favorite role model and Jak!"

Damas kept his eyes on Jak’s. "If you had the opportunity to free him from Haven, would you take it? Would you give up his location to people who could save him?"

Defiantly, Jak raised his chin. "And give him to you, you mean? Nah, man. You only get one chance when I get my brother back. If the dog doesn't like you, you're done. I take the kid and we disappear. No one chains us ever again."

Consternation, anger, fear and grief each flickered across Damas’s face in turn -- and across Sig’s. But Jak held firm. Just because Mar was stolen didn't mean this horned king had been a good father before. For all he knew, the guy was just another Praxis!

"Uh. Pal? I don't think you were supposed to say that part out loud," Daxter whispered in his ear.

Sig set his jaw, mouth in a thin, hard, line. "Kid," he said softly, "You don't know the first thing about Damas."

"No," Jak retorted, "I don't. So why would I trust him with something this important?"

Damas turned away. In long, stiff, strides he marched into the antechamber he'd sequestered himself in before. Before sealing the door behind him, he made a vague gesture.

"Sig. Please."

The boys didn't have to wait long to find out what he meant. Sig caught Jak by the scruff of the neck and rather firmly "encouraged" him to follow the Wasteland leader. It did not escape their notice that Sig leaned against the door once it closed, blocking off their escape.

Inside the circular room, benches lined the walls around a brazier and altar. Damas sat on one of these benches and ran his hands over his face.

"I understand your anger," he said dully, "and I do not fault you for it. But I need you to know, here and now, that I did not abandon you. Either of you. You were taken from me."

Daxter reached down and squeezed Jak's shoulder when he noticed him tensing up. "S'ok, Jak," he whispered, "We're stuck here, so we might as well hear him out, right? What if he's tellin' the truth? What if this was just the most half-baked rescue in history?"

Damas twitched as though he'd heard him.

"I would rather the circumstances of your departure had been less...traumatic. But the truth is that I told Kleiver to get you out of that city by any means necessary."

He glanced up.

"I've only known your name for three weeks. Until the ransom message arrived, I believed that you had perished with your mother and other supporters of the House of Mar.”

Jak folded his arms and remained standing. "Ransom again. You can say that word as much as you want, doesn't mean I know what you're talking about."

That got a raised eyebrow and a quick glance at Sig. Sig cringed and shrugged. Damas nodded and took a slow, deep, breath. He seemed to exhale much of his anger with it.

"Almost a month ago," he said quietly, "Krew sent a message to one of my outposts. He said that a young boy, allegedly of my bloodline, had fallen into his "care". And that- that if I did not provide him with a certain "finders fee", as he put it, he would hand the boy -- hand you over to Praxis. I didn't trust him not to take the money and turn you in anyway. Sent Kleiver to make sure everything was on the level."

Jak’s fingers dug into his arms. "I- I don't know you," he argued, "and you don't know me! Why would you do that? What if that computer had said something else?"

Damas shrugged. "Didn't plan that far ahead. I knew it could have been a fool's hope, but how could I risk ignoring it? There aren't that many channelers who can survive dark eco out there. Even fewer who look that much like me. After seeing your face, the blood test was more formality than anything."

"Damas..."

Sig’s voice was soft. Almost wounded.

"I couldn't tell you, Sig." Damas frowned down at his hands. "I promised you- I promised I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize your cover. I would never risk tipping Krew off. You know that."

"For something this important?" Sig demanded, a catch in his throat. “You couldn’t even drop me a message, “Hey, I think Baby Heart might have survived” so I could be ready for something like this?”

"Uh...so...you guys clearly know each other?" Daxter asked uncomfortably, glancing between Sig and Damas.

Damas sat with his fingers steepled against his forehead and didn't answer. Sig only nodded slowly. After an extremely awkward silence, Damas looked up at Jak again.

"You didn't know your mother, you said."

"Nope."

Jak wondered idly if there was a prize for the most uncomfortable conversations ever had. This definitely topped the poor old guy in the cell beside his who had to tell him where babies came from.

"Were- were you in Haven the whole time?" Damas swallowed hard. "How is it that you were only just now discovered?"

Jak’s eyes hardened like chips of granite. "I was free," he said, short and clipped. "We were free. Coastal kids, no walls, no fences. Raised to be a rottin' secret weapon for the sage. He knew what was beyond that transport ring and he just let me walk into a trap. I think-”

He clenched his fists until his nails dug into the skin. “I think he needed me to be old enough to survive Praxis's super-soldier experiments."

Damas clenched own his fists until his knuckles turned white, and Sig cursed violently behind them.

"How old?" Sig demanded. When Jak didn't answer, he repeated himself. "How old were you, Jak?"

It was Daxter who answered on his behalf. "Ei- either thirteen or fourteen. We were never sure, we just know his voice finally broke."

Sig slammed his fist into the stone door and tipped his head back, cursing the Underground, the Baron, and the entire lineage of Praxis in obscene terms.

"I'm sorry." Damas couldn't look at Jak. "Gods, I'm- I'm sorry, boy. If I’d known-!”

He covered his eyes a moment.

“I never got a chance to speak to any of the people I cared about the night of the mutiny. They dragged me out of the city and flew me out to the desert in the middle of the night. I was supposed to die within two days."

He ran a hand across his throat as if remembering an old thirst.

"Praxis bragged that he had "ended my line". He wanted me to think he'd killed you and your mother."

“You’re…really sure I’m this “Baby Heart” person, aren’t you.” Jak frowned.

“There is not a single doubt in my mind.” Damas dragged his fingers down his face and peered out over them. “If I could have gotten back into the city-!”

"They threw you away too, huh?" Jak asked bitterly.

"Runs in the family, it would seem," answered Damas.

He rubbed his chin wearily and leaned back against the wall.

"I know you have only my word to go by when I tell you I would die before letting myself be anything like Praxis-"

"Just your word?" Sig interjected with a very sharp tone.

Damas winced. "You're already upset with me, I didn't want to presume-"

"No, you didn't want to communicate like an adult again." Sig rolled his eye. "If you’d just talked to your partner, I could’ve prevented Jak from flipping out from the beginning. You keep doubling down and I'm not gonna dig you out of the hole you get yourself into next time."

“You told me not to blow your cover while you searched for Mar!”

“I said don’t blow my cover unless it’s an emergency!” Sig made a frustrated wave in Jak’s direction. “I’m pretty sure this counts as an emergency, Daym.”

Daxter snickered, and even Jak had to hide a quick grin at the thoroughly chastised look on the king’s face.

"Love the drama for you, Sig baby," Daxter drawled, "but little ears are present, can you not?"

He pointed to himself.

"It's me. My ears are little. Please stop scarring my mind."

Jak studied Sig’s annoyed posture for a few seconds before turning to him.

"You really trust this guy?"

"With my life, boneheaded though he is," Sig replied immediately, "More importantly, I trust him with yours."

Finally, Jak sank down to sit on one of the other benches. "...Okay, why are you really in Haven?" he asked Sig.

The big man frowned. "I'm...I'm looking for Mar, cherry. Damas was searching this continent, and I was searching the mainland. That was the plan. Playing bodyguard to Krew means I get access to every rumor in the whole godforsaken city."

"So you were actually looking for him? He wasn't forgotten?"

A trickle of guilt squirmed through Jak's ribs. He glanced over at Damas, then away.

"I...uh. Sorry."

"Only a fool would hold it against you, given the circumstances," Damas sighed. As if thinking of Jak's prior outburst, he pursed his lips and asked, "When did you last eat, boy?"

The slightly blank look in Jak’s eyes answered the question a little too well.

"Like...eat what? Anything?"

Jak shrugged and tried to sound tough. "Stole a roll yesterday. And some fruit."

Four grapes, to be precise. Half of them had gone to Daxter, half of them had gone to Mar. And a third of the roll had gone to the puppy.

"And that was yesterday?"

Something suspicious glinted in Damas’s eyes, reflected in Sig’s.

"How much of that did you eat?"

The tips of Jak's ears burned. What did they want him to say? That he was a starving street rat? Apparently that was already obvious. Let him keep what little remained of his pride!

"You...gave it to Mar, didn't you?" Damas asked. His voice caught. "You- oh gods, you only just saw him yesterday, didn't you?"

Flushed with shame for having to admit it, Jak sullenly nodded. He didn't expect Damas to leap from the bench and race across the room to grip his shoulders. Jak tried to pull back, but he was already against the wall.

"Is he alright?" Damas gasped, "Is he hurt? How- how tall is he now? Please, Jak, we- we lost two years of his life-"

Abruptly Damas released him and fell into a crouch before him.

"Two years of his life," he realized, and a guilty wince creased his brow, "...but all of yours. I- I am sorry, Jak. I do want to know what I have missed of your life, I do. I should be asking more about you, too."

"You don't know me," Jak mumbled again. "I don't expect you to."

This time the pain in the king's eyes was that of a fresh wound, not an old grief. He stood slowly and cleared his throat.

"I...er, I'm going to get some trail rations from the Dozer. It's- well, it's not much. But it's protein, and iron. And clearly you need both."

"Huh?"

"Food, genius," Daxter scoffed, pinching Jak's ear, "He's getting us food! Finally!"

Sig caught Damas by the elbow as he neared the door and murmured, "So you know: this conversation is not even slightly over."

"I know," Damas grimaced. "I- no, I know. I just- we'll talk about it later."

"We'd better. We're a team, Daym. You gotta keep me in the loop, no matter how you think I'm gonna react." Sig squeezed his arm affectionately, then let go. "You want me to find a bedroll for the boys? Just need one. Chili Pepper prefers to use Jak's head for a mattress."

"That doesn't suffocate him?!" Damas sputtered, looking back at the two foot mustelid climbing up Jak’s arm.

“Apparently not, but don’t ask me how. I’ve seen those two sleep all of three times,” Sig huffed.

#snippet tuesday #jak and daxter #jak and daxter au #blackmail au #dadmas #king damas #dad sig #damas and sig are platonic life partners but can also be read as ship #jak and mar are separate people au #fic prompts #writing prompts #angst with a happy ending #don't worry they'll get there #in which much angst could have been avoided if damas had communicated clearly instead of acting rashly

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