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carolmunson · 10 months

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orange colored sky (older!modern!eddie)

older!modern!eddie - setlist inspired by the fact that i fall in love with someone new every time i got to trader joe's and @loveshotzz new older!steve series. manip by my fave @eddiemunsons-missingnipple tw: nothing really, very much a meet cute at a grocery store. eddie is in his early 40s, reader is late-late 20s/early 30s. lemme know if you guys want this to be a whole thing.

the automatic doors rush cool air into your face, a sweet reprieve from the sticky heat of this summer. a much muggier july than you remember having as a kid. but then again, you don't remember that much about being a kid these days. trader joe's is a little busier than usual, which makes sense with the holiday weekend coming up -- but you hate when it's busy. there's already too many sounds -- some summer 90s playlist and the squeaks of the carts, people in their hawaiian shirts milling around with boxes and box cutters. you just want some snap peas for god sakes.

you grab a basket and adjust your canvas bags on your shoulder, tossing your headphones in them for later. you feel 'running errands ugly' but everyone seeing you in the bike shorts you threw on this morning doesn't think that view is ugly at all. your music drowned it out on the train ride over here. you're already sort of annoyed. people just don't know how to do anything anymore -- why are we just standing in front of produce. get what you need and go! you think hastily. but you wait for people to stop gawking at the produce and make their selection before you grab the romaine, snap peas, and shredded brussel sprouts you need. when you turn you almost walk entirely into someone's cart, eyes flitting up briefly and muttering a 'sorry, s'cuse me'.

can everyone just get off my fucking ass? you huff to yourself internally. you maneurver over to fruits, a few stands in a row -- citrus, apples, berries. all separated by category in large cargo looking boxes. you snag a big box of cherries, the three pound one, knowing you'll go through the small ones too fast. you frown over the lack of watermelon, continuing along while someone turns the corner into your aisle. you look up for a moment, just to scan your surroundings, to see who it is.

you've never seen him before, but you've never seen anyone here before. it's not like there's regulars at the grocery store in a city like this. his hands hang over the handle to his cart by the wrists, knuckles tattooed in shapes you can't make out. you follow the leather banded watch up to a full sleeve of ink, only obscured by the start of a cuffed t-shirt sleeve, a crisp white that blinds against the black of the elvira pin up tattoo on his tricep. horror icons blending into each other seamlessly. you can see more black and color peeking out from the collar of his shirt --vintage judas priest, mint condition, tucked comfortably under a well perserved denim vest covered in patches of bands you've never heard of. you're surprised by the black chino shorts on his bottom half, not expecting someone who was clearly still stuck in their grunge phase to wear those over cut off jeans. the busted up reebok's on his feet make up for it though -- pairing nicely with the tattoos on his calves and thighs, not quite sleeves, but enough to make a statement.

you grab a box of strawberries and pop them into your basket, surveying the mangos on the top shelf at your eye level while he maneuvers behind you. you think he's cute but you don't take too much stock in it -- it's so like you to have a 'train boyfriend' or 'trader joe's boyfriend' for a brief moment in time. someone cute that you spot outside and never speak to. it's one of those days.

he has brown eyes and thick lashes, hair dark wrapped in a bun on the top of his head with streaks of silver poking through, bangs in his face. some curls stick to the heated skin by his neck and jaw. not that you're looking. the scruff on his face is littered with salt and pepper -- maybe that part of him aging more than the rest. he grabs a heap of bananas to his nearly empty cart. he also has a big box of cherries in there. he wears a cologne with spice and suede in the notes, it's familiar, a little smoky. maybe an old boyfriend used to wear it. you shrug it off, grabbing a mango or two and popping it in a produce bag before hocking it in. more veggies for a greek salad. an onion. some pre-packaged turkey slices.

you turn into the first frozen food section, weaving through more people who just stand there and you grit your teeth. you snag some frozen broccoli, the coolness bringing you a moment of calm so that you don't lose your mind inside the store. more like traitor joe's. you grab a few more things, a veggie medley for a tofu scramble, some scallion pancakes that you’ll use as meal replacement because no matter how many times you think you’ll food prep you never do. you see him at the end of the aisle, rifling through bags of frozen shrimp to find one he likes. you notice he has a ring on but it’s on his pointer finger, two more rings on the hand that holds his cart by his hip – a silver chain dangles from what you assume is his wallet in his back pocket. his keys jingle from a carabiner by his front belt loop. slut, you think to yourself. you grab a bag of small frozen salmon filets, not paying much mind to your grocery store boyfriend of the week when you turn the corner to the next frozen food aisle. he’s there not soon after you, grabbing frozen fruit medleys and a few bars of chocolate on the non-frozen shelving above. you aren’t sure if he sees you, but you see him. you can smell the suede and spice of his cologne as his moves past you to the other end. bread is on the back wall of the store, you want to get sourdough but you know you’ll just eat it plain and not make sandwiches so you opt for the tuscan loaf instead. you snag a bag of mini bagels, forgoing the small baguettes this time. you can’t afford the good burrata this week for any special girl dinner you come up with, so it’s best to not have it around if you can’t pair it with anything pretty. further down the back wall you get to snacks and don’t ignore the bag of yogurt covered pretzels – a basket must. seaweed snacks for salmon rice bowls. plantain chips. Your basket feels a little heavy but at least this errand is almost over. you turn down the pasta, beans, and rice aisle and there he is turning down the other end. you both catch each other this time, because this time feels like it’s not a coincidence. you both break eye contact as quickly as you make it, both of you looking down and smiling to yourselves. you feel the heat on your cheeks but you don’t see his blush, both of you too preoccupied with whatever you have to pick up to pay attention to the other. you smell the suede and smoke even after you lose him to the next couple of aisles.

pre-packaged tortellini, lox, shredded cheese. chicken thighs. a six pack of some pretty sounding beer you’ve never tried. your basket overflows but it’s fine. the errand is over, at least here, before you need to run into target which for some reason is far less overstimulating. he’s a few people ahead of you on the opposite line, still leaning over the edge of his cart with his hands hanging, one thumbing a text to someone before he stands up fully to push the cart ahead. he looks over his shoulder and your eyes briefly meet for a moment – heat on your cheeks – before he moves ahead to turn down the long row of cashiers to pay. you don’t see him when it’s your turn and by the time you’re done paying you’ve already forgotten about him, lost in a flirty conversation with the guy ringing you up. target only has half of what you need and that’s fine because nothing else will fit in the big canvas bags you brought with you for your groceries and it’s at least an eight minute walk back to the train. you groan when you get back out into the heat, the boiler room of the subway cooking you as you make it down to the platform. a pleasant sigh passes your lips when you see it’s at least only a four minute wait until your train makes it to you – only a few more minutes of suffering before you’re on your way back to your air conditioned studio apartment. you look across the platform where some old lady’s push cart rattles as it makes it down the stairs on the other side. her little body walking ahead, a voice saying ‘i got it, ma’am don’t worry,’ echos down into the chamber of the subway.

there he is. a canvas bag on each arm filled to the brim and the push cart lifted in front of him. while you can’t see from this distance, you have a feeling you’d like how his arms looked at full capacity like this. the cart’s metallic jingle continues when he places it on the concrete ground, pushing it over to the woman who now sits pleasantly on the bench. you watch their conversation while they say quiet ‘thank yous’ and ‘your welcomes’ to each other and he checks his phone while he finds a spot to stand, waiting for his train on the opposite side.

you check your phone just the same and look up again as he puts his phone in the pocket of his vest. his attention catches on you from across the way.

he gives you a small wave and smiles. he has a nice smile, infectious.

“hi.”

you wave back with two fingers, a small salute, “hey.”

“i’m eddie,” he starts as the red glow of the light on your train starts to pull in.

the chug, chug, chug starting to drown him out. he raises his voice with a boyish grin, you hear him just before the train obscures him from view – whooshing past you as it pulls into the station. “i normally go to trader’s on wednesdays!”

you get on the train when the doors open, seeing him still on the platform, searching for you in the windows. you put your hand up again in an awkward wave and he grins when he finds you. ‘stand clear of the closing doors, please!’ he puts a hand back up with two fingers, mouthing out a message. ‘wednesdays around two.’

you give him the okay symbol with your fingers and nod at him, chuckling at the ridiculousness of the situation, he chuckles too. his smile is pretty, lips are full. his two fingers point to his eyes and then at you – ‘see you then’.

the train pulls away before you get a chance to reply.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #older!eddie munson #old!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #stranger things #stranger things fan fiction

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gyalcoeur-love · 2 years

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i prefer vegetables to fruits they get so rotten and nasty... also maggots

#fruits i like: lime lemon pineapple (not too ripe) mango (underripe so you can eat with pepper)#star gooseberries are great bc they are not sweet and again can be eaten with pepper #tomatoes and cucumber grown here #not sweet so good.#watermelon is very sometimeish #crisp green apples are good too i guess #oranges mandarines portugals are on thin ice because i peeled a mandarin and there were maggots inside #i will not eat a ripe mango. i just cant eww #please note: the fruits i like GROW HERE #so apples pears grapes and such are IMPORTED so they are very nasty and disgusting eugh #blueberry strawberry you will not catch me eating dat eww

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totheblood · 11 months

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even more modern!ellie headcanons

a/n: just a little something... again AI AUDIOS AT THE END... replies and reblogs are appreciated

masterlist

ellie is a homebody, and usually will have to be dragged out by you or dina

honestly she’s never ‘dragged’ out by you, she usually likes to tag along if she knows you’re going somewhere where there will be a lot of people

it’s not that she doesn’t trust you, it’s that she doesn’t trust the people around you

you don’t really mind anyway, you like how she loops her finger in the belt of your jeans and pulls you closer to her when she notices someone staring at you

if the person doesn’t stop she’s not above pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear while making direct eye contact with the person

you giggle, throwing your head back slightly and turning to look at her in the dim light, “what’s gotten into you, ellie?”

“that dick keeps looking at you,” another kiss pressed to your jaw, “don’t like it.”

but she’d much rather stay at home with you, both of you tucked under her comforter with the air conditioner turned down to 64° and whatever show you’re watching at the time on the tv

she hates to admit it, but she loves grey’s anatomy (she swore to you she’d never like it with a scoff and “that show is shit, babe. it’s for like, middle-aged moms with no life.”)

but now as you both have your eyes glued to the screen, she can’t help but scoff every time george is on the screen

“what?”

“he’s just such a fucking loser, this guy.”

“he’s not the worst.”

“he’s pretty fucking bad… why would he sleep with meredith and then make it about him when she starts crying! it’s obvious she’s vulnerable… i just don’t like him.”

ellie gets pretty passionate when watching tv. she’s always sharing her opinions with you, looking at you for validation or arguing when you disagree with her

she’ll always add something like: “you’re lucky you’re cute” or “if you weren’t my girlfriend i’d tear your argument apart” and then kiss you on your nose and go back to watching tv

ellie is an awful cook… like so bad

one time she tried to make a recipe for your anniversary, thinking it would be easy but ended up failing miserably

she’s the type to write out the grocery list and cross shit off as she picks things up… even when she doesn’t know what it means

she didn’t know what trader joe’s was, so when she got there she’d be picking shit up and looking at it with a weird look on her face, “mango… joe joe’s? what the fuck is that?” she’d mutter before putting the box back on the shelf

but eventually she’s getting sucked in, picking up a box of mini ice cream cones, cookie butter, and the rest of the groceries needed for the meal she planned on making for you

you come over and the place is a mess, there is flour all over the counter and floors, pots and pans piled up in the stove, and ellie is stood over a bowl, mixing with a giant wooden spoon

“ellie?”

“shit.. fuck,” she curses, jumping a little bit before turning and smiling at you, her eyes looking you up and down, “you fucking scared me. you’re early.”

“no, i’m not.”

ellie’s eyes glance down at her watch, cursing as she bolts towards the stove a “no, no, no,” falling from her lips as she opens and sees the chicken inside burnt to a crisp. she’s throwing on her mitt and pulling the pan out, sighing as she watches all her hard work go to waste.

“you were trying to cook for me?”

ellie forgot you were there for a moment, her jumping a little at the sound of your voice and wiping the sweat from her forehead as she gives you her best smile, even though it’s strained.

“babe, i’m sorry, i- i don’t know where i went wrong,” she sighs, watching as you walk closer to her and put your hands on the counter behind her trapping her in.

“don’t be sorry” you kiss the side of her lips and smile against her skin, tasting her sweat, “it’s sweet… no one’s ever cooked for me before.”

she’s blushing and leaning into you, your warmth providing her some comfort from her previous stress

“you look nice,” she whispers below her breath, but you can still feel the puffs of air coming out of her mouth, “you deserve a good meal.”

“i’m not picky,” you whisper back, giggling as ellie’s heart leaps in her chest. she loves you so much it hurts

her hands rest at your hips when she kisses you gently, saying something about missing you that you miss because of how her lips feel against yours

you order takeout that night and eat it as you help her clean up the mess she made

“have you ever been to trader joe’s? that shit was crazy”

ellie is the type of girlfriend to send you two people from a tv show or an edit and be like “babe, this is so us”

or to think it’s so cute when you have matching icons on instagram, tiktok, or twitter

she just wants to show you off all the time

she draws the line at a joint couple account though

she’s always writing things about you, whether it be in her journal, little poems, or songs about you

she’d post a song she wrote you on tiktok with the caption “wrote this song about my lover” and not expect it to blow up

but then she’s receiving a million comments about how sweet it is and how people wish someone would do something like that for them

she doesn’t like the comment “can your gf fight” so she’s responding to all of them like “no, she can’t, but i can and i will! LEAVE MY GF ALONE!!”

but she’d brag about it to you, shoving her phone in your face and saying “look, your girlfriend is fucking famous.”

when you gasp and grab her face congratulating her in between kisses her face grows red and she’s smiling so wide her cheeks hurt

“don’t forget me when you become famous.”

“how could i forget my muse?”

ellie loves listening to music with you and will make you a playlist that she updates with every song she listens to that reminds her of you

she’s incredibly corny in that way

she always wants to listen to the music you suggest to her, wanting to be closer to you in any way she can

even if she doesn’t like it she’s pretending she loves it and playing it constantly, even when you aren’t around

ai audios:

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fan fic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams oneshot #modern!ellie williams #college!ellie williams #ellie williams one shot #mine

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peachesofteal · 1 year

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Dead Disco / Chapter 4

Dead Disco Masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.3k words - AO3 18+ Minors DNI, no smut but mentions of sex, eating issues, feelings of anxiety, depression, sadness. Relationship issues. Established throuple. Conversations.

It’s possible you’ve had a stroke.

One minute, you’re alone in the hotel room, half asleep on crisp white sheets, and the next, you’re in the apartment, your small bag slung over your shoulder, Simon’s knuckles white around the handles of your suitcase, Johnny standing in front of you with a hand outstretched like you’re a deer he might startle. You must have had a stroke, because how else did that happen so fast? Maybe you’d been knocked unconscious or tripped and hit your head. Or you’re stuck in some sick nightmare that’s pretending to be dream, because-

“Darling?” Johnny pulls your attention easily, hand closing over yours, it’s warmth a safe and comforting thing that you thought you might really never feel again. He looks at you expectantly, and you take in the door frame that you’re standing just on the other side of, your body not quite across the threshold yet.

Were you really doing this? Going back?

You wanted to leave… didn’t you?

Did you? Did you truly want to leave?

Or was it easier to leave, then be left. Was it easier to leave, so you could be found.

When you look at them, something burns in your chest. They look exhausted, and an entire new layer of guilt lays upon you, knowing that they’ve already been back for hours, but haven’t been able to rest.

Simon says your name, quietly, but his voice carries the warning of a promise he made two hours ago, the assurance that no matter where you went, he’d always bring you back. That he and Johnny would never give up, they’d never let the ugly things that live inside your head win. That he’d remind you, again and again, until you don’t remember anything else. Until you only recognize the truth.

You want to fight them. A part of you, the desperate part, the violent sliver that blackens a piece of your heart, says you will. You want to scream and yell and throw something. Break something, damage something other than yourself. It’s not that easy, you want to tell them, you don’t understand. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest. What if you’re making a mistake? It was always them, and then you… wasn’t it? Wasn’t it? You gulp, and you know it’s audible, because Simon shifts his weight, tensing, like he’s preparing to dart out into the hall after you. Is it real? Could it really be, the three of you… and not them then you?

Johnny’s thumb rubs a gentle pattern across your knuckles, and it draws you in, your body naturally seeking his, your feet moving on their own until your curling into his chest, face buried in his shirt, fingers clutched in the fabric like it’s your only lifeline. A bag drops, a door clicks shut, a trio of locks slide into place, and then Simon is on you both, heavy arms pressing your bodies together, a mouth mussing along your freshly washed hair.

“Let’s go to bed.” Simon suggests, stroking a pattern up and down your spine. “We can talk more when we’re up, how does that sound?” You murmur non-committal nonsense into Johnny, who turns you in the direction of the bedroom, and you walk one step in front of them until you’re folding onto the mattress, sinking into the too familiar comfort of the big bed. Tomorrow, you promise yourself sleepily, tomorrow you’ll get your head sorted out.

“I’m confused.” Your phone is squeezed between your ear and your shoulder while you probe a mango that looks awfully green, and Johnny sighs on the other end of the line.

“Dinner. Dinnae tell me you’ve got plans?”

“What? No… I don’t. Are you… are you inviting me over to like, eat dinner?” A meal? Like actual food? And not just you spread out on the dining table like last weekend?

“Aye, love.” The mango flexes in your grasp, the soft points of its flesh surrendering under the pressure of your fingertips.

“Tonight?” There’s a pause, swift silence and the phone goes dead quiet, like the line has been muted. A few seconds pass, and you discard the mango carelessly in frustration before he comes back on.

“No, tomorrow?”

“O-okay. Sure. Dinner, tomorrow.” Dinner. You’re going to have dinner with them. You steady your breathing to try to get a grip. It’s not like you haven’t shared meals before. The three of you have eaten takeaway in bed at least twice, and you’ve all eaten out together, or had breakfast in the morning together.

But this sounded… it felt like something else.

“Our place, nineteen hundred.”

“What time is that?”

“Seven. See you then, yeah?”

“Um. Yeah.”

Your stomach is thrashing when you stand in front of their door the next day. Your confusion about the invite for dinner has blossomed into a full-fledged panic, and you’re mostly convinced that this is the goodbye dinner, that they’re going to cut you lose now, sever the connection that’s been brewing between the three of you without a second thought.

These thoughts, this spiral has forced you into a new realization, a terrifying one, a truth that sits uncomfortably in your belly, its reality forcing you to swallow your nerves while your finger hovers over the doorbell.

You like them. You don’t want them to cut you lose. You want to stay. You want… more.

You’ve already told yourself; you won’t beg them. You won’t plead, you won’t try to convince them to keep you. It’s pretty clear they’re happy together, your intermission in their life probably something they’ll wipe their hands of as soon as you’re out the door tonight.

Still, something in you burns for them. Pulls you towards them, like they’ve got their claws in you and won’t let go.

You smooth the front of your dress and ring the doorbell. You try not to fidget, try not to touch the black fabric that sits just a little snug, that outlines your body in all the right ways, and your fingers are wrapped around themselves when the door swings open wide to reveal Simon on the other side. He looks you up and down indulgently, and something flares in his eyes, a heat that you can practically feel while his jaw flexes behind the mask.

“Hi.” You want it to sound confident, comfortable, but it comes out as a hoarse whisper.

“Darling.”

It’s the heat that wakes you. Your body is pinned between them, the three of you easily falling into the usual sleeping position, you on your side, Simon at your back, Johnny half sprawled, your face on his diaphragm so he can stretch his arm above your head. Usually, he falls asleep scratching his nails into Simon’s scalp, and you fall asleep with your hips pressed back and a flat palm on Johnny’s rib cage.

Today, you’ve woken up exactly the same, except Simon’s cock is flush with the curve of your ass, and you can feel the heavy hardness of it when you shift. A delicious daydream forms in your mind, and you think about reaching behind you to free him from his briefs when Johnny grumbles, his eyes blinking open with a disgruntled mmph. He stuns you, still, with how beautiful he is. How perfect he is, how even when he’s just waking up, he still manages to look like something etched by a god. Your heart swells when you look at him, the overflowing feeling nearly smothering you beneath it's pressure, and you resist the urge to stroke your fingers along his jaw. Love. It's love, it's love, how could it ever have been anything other than love?

“Good morning.” You whisper, even though you know it’s well into the afternoon. He rolls completely, tucking you into his body closer, and you feel his hand card over Simon’s side.

“How did you sleep?” He croons above your ear, accent still thick with sleep, and you shrug.

“Fine, I guess.” You trying to make the shush motion with a finger against your lips, but Johnny just smiles. A big hand, not Johnny’s, pats your hip.

“Breakfast?” Simon mumbles in your hair and you nod.

“Breakfast sounds good.”

Johnny makes pancakes. You assume it’s because he knows they’re your favorite, and because there are no fresh groceries in the apartment, no eggs or fruit or anything else.

“I could go down to the supermarket, if we want? Grab some-“

“No.” Simon pours a mug of black coffee and points to the counter stool. “Sit.” He’s still in his briefs and nothing else, the cut of his hips on display just above the waistband, and your eyes trace his form briefly. A magnet that's settled behind your heart springs alive, trying to pull you towards him, trying to push you right up against him. The feeling intensifies as you watch him, and your stomach flips. It's love, the thrall, the pull, the power of what you feel. The intoxication of your adoration, the connection you have with him. It threatens to end you, right there on the stool and you cast your eyes down to break the spell. He sets the coffee in front of you and turns to where Johnny stands at the stove, placing a kiss on his shoulder before getting himself his own cup and sitting down next to you, a thigh just barely touching yours.

“How’re you feeling?” Johnny probes, and you gnaw on your bottom lip and look down into your lap. Get your shit together. Get your head together.

“I’m okay.” You shrug, and Simon scoffs into his mug. Johnny stands with a hand on his hip across the countertop, looking back and forth between your plate of pancakes and your face expectantly. Just eat. Make him happy. You love pancakes. Discomfort settles your bones. The edge of the fork bites into the skin of your palm. “I am feeling a lot.” You disclose it cautiously, staring down at your plate, watching the syrup ooze around the contents of your breakfast.

“Will you tell us? What it is you’re feeling?” Simon persuades, his hand just hovering in your line of sight. Not touching you, but close enough. In case you need him. You draw a deep breath, filling your lungs with as much air as you can manage before letting it out in a whoosh.

“When you’re gone… and even sometimes when you’re here, it’s too easy to feel like this isn’t real. It feels like... you could never come back, because you don’t have to. It’s not like you need me.”

“What’s making you think that?” you notice the way Johnny’s gripping the countertop, fingers wrapped around the edge like he’s trying to snap the slab free, knuckles white, forearms tense. Tension runs through him from head to toe, and you feel the urge to reach out and comfort him, to mold your body into his, feel him against you. You’re hurting them. You’ve hurt them. Is this really what you wanted?

“I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Yer not eating?” You swallow the dry fear in the back of your throat and try to give Johnny a smile.

“I did.” He raises an eyebrow. “Eat some.” You clarify and shift nervously. “It was good, you did great as usual.” You give him a cheeky smile and he returns it, but it slips from his lips easily, and he returns to folding his hands in his lap.

It’s something he does when he’s nervous, you’ve noticed. When he’s anticipating something. He’s been jumpy since you got here, and it’s done nothing to alleviate your fears and everything to confirm them.

They’re giving you the boot. You can already tell.

You try to keep it together, try to focus on having a good time and enjoying their company, but you can’t stomach the reality of the situation… or your food. It’s a bad habit, something you’ve picked up over the years, the eating thing. It’s not something you’re proud of, of but also something you can’t shake. It plagues you, and you-

“We want to discuss something with you.” Johnny says, and you give them both a polite smile, forcing yourself to not to stand up and bolt in that very second.

It’s going to be fine. It’s just like getting dumped, which you’re fairly good at. You can do this.

“Okay.”

“We’ve really liked having you around,” Your mind strays, zoning out for a moment while you think about how much you’ll miss them. How it’ll be different, not waking up between them or spending long nights in their apartment with them. How you’ll miss the way Johnny rubs your back, the way Simon soothes you with a simple, gentle touch. How- “and we don’t want you to get the wrong idea about us, we-“

“What he means to say is…” Simon interrupts, and then pauses like he needs to collect his thoughts. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together, the three of us.” Your heart goes from fast to superspeed, it’s pulse thundering in your ears. You fight to steady yourself, your head, your heart, anything to get control of your own mind and not break down at the table. “And we enjoy it. Enjoy… you.”

“Not just the sex.” Johnny cuts in, and you nod.

“We’ve had a lot of fun.” You agree and Simon frowns, something like disappointment, or sadness, casting a shadow across his face before it clears and he’s reaching across the table for your hand. His touch calms you, and when you look up into his eyes, there’s something there that surprises you. Something tender, and soft. Something like adoration.

“’S not just fun, darling. You’re precious to us.” Your head feels light, and you look at them both with wide eyes. They’re holding hands, and Johnny looks like he’s grasping onto Simon for dear life in this moment.

“I don’t understand... you two are… in love. I thought, we were just… having sex?” your mouth feels like cotton, and you grope blindly across the table for your wine glass without taking your eyes from them. When you find it, you down the dark red liquid without a second thought, gulping loudly.

“Aye, but… we want to spend more time with you. If you’d like that.”

“More time…”

“Dating.” Johnny smiles at you, his gorgeous, easy way of it settling a wild flare that’s gone off inside your heart.

“You… want to date… me?” You nearly laugh at the absurdity, but hold it back, not wanting to insult them and the serious expressions they’re wearing.

“You’ve given us something…” Simon trails off, lost somewhere before he comes back, eyes clear and focused on you. “You’ve given us something we didn’t know we could have. Didn’t think we had a capacity for, and now… we don’t want to be without you. We miss you when you’re not with us.” The room suddenly feels incredibly hot, like someone’s turned the heat on high, and even though you’ve just finished your wine, your mouth is completely dry.

They want you. They don’t want to get rid of you… they actually want you. Something dark and sharp twists in your mind, something full of doubt and loathing, something that tells you to run away. They won’t want you anymore once they get to know you. Truly get to know you. They won’t keep you. Don’t get confused.

Johnny politely clears his throat, and then drags his chair until he’s right next to you, soft gaze peering down with wonderment, like you’re some magical… unicorn.

“We wan’ be with you, love. The three of us, together.”

The blackout curtains make the bedroom effectively dark, the only light a small one, and you bury your face in the pillow when you feel weight shifting, the heap of blankets you buried yourself under being tossed around until you feel the heat of a body next to yours. You reach for it instinctively, the ridges of scar tissue in very specific spots signifying who it is. You feel his lips above your ear, and then he’s pulling you into him, cradling your head with the back of his hand. He pulls the blankets back up overtop the two of you, enclosing you both underneath, shutting out the light. You had managed to slip away from breakfast unscathed, but it didn’t matter. They’d always find you.

“When I first fell in love with Johnny, I pushed him away, I hurt him intentionally in hopes he would grow to hate me.” Simon’s voice is low, nearly a whisper, and you close your eyes and fall into it. “I was… scared. Of him, of what he made me feel. I was afraid that once he knew me, knew who I was, he’d be gone.” He strokes a hand up and down your spine, and your fingers tighten in the blankets that you’re holding. “He made me feel out of control, and I was terrified of being abandoned by him. Every time he went out in the field, I convinced myself he wasn’t coming back. And then when he did, I treated him harshly.” Oh, Si. You bury yourself farther into him, placing a soft kiss where his neck meets his shoulder. Cool air slips in an opening and the mattress dips again, Johnny’s body molding to your back, his embrace pulling the three of you tighter together under the blankets.

“Simon…” you whisper, but he continues on.

“I had treated him poorly because I was enraged by my fear. My fear of losing him, my fear of being alone again, my fear of being abandoned by him.” He pauses, chest expanding with a deep breath. “I can’t tell you I know exactly how you’re feelin’ but I do know what it’s like to be afraid to lose. I know what it’s like to be a captive of your head, your own thoughts.”

“I…”

“Like I said last night, as long as you want us, we’ll never give up on you. We’ll drag you back to us every time. I know, we know, that deep down, you know the truth. You know we love you, darling. And even though you lose yourself sometimes, we will always take care of you. We will always be here for you.”

“You’re never on the outside with us, but I understand how you might feel that way sometimes.” Johnny offers, and you nod silently. “Simon and I spend a lot of time together when we’re away. I know it hasn’t been easy, being the one always left behind.” Tears roll down your face now, and a thumb wipes across your cheekbone. “But we miss you every second, think about you every second. It’s hard because we can’t call, can’t text, but when we’re not with you, we feel like we’re missing a piece of ourselves.”

“And maybe we haven’t done a good enough job, communicating that with you, making you feel safe and secure.” Simon murmurs, and you shake your head.

“No.” you choke. “N-no it’s not your fault. I- I’m supposed to tell you…when I feel bad.” How can you explain? “I don’t know how to explain it, I… just… ran away. Instead of talking to you.”

“You ran away because you thought you were being abandoned.” Simon kisses you gently on the forehead, and Johnny presses his lips to your shoulder. You try to say yes, say no, say you’re sorry, but nothing comes out but a choked sob.

“But… we need to know if you still want this, love. If you do, we’ll list the flat tomorrow and start looking for a new one together.” Johnny’s voice wavers, and you feel his grip tightening. “If you don’t think this… us, is something you want anymore, you have to tell us. You have to decide what you want.”

The room falls silent except for the sound of your lungs heaving, your breaths wet and syrupy from crying, your heart breaking wide open. Do you really want to be without them? Do you really want to be left feeling like you do when they’re gone? You love them, do you actually want to give them up?

Do you want this?

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