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#THE BEGINNING AND THE END OF THIS PLAYLIST ARE SO DIFFERENT FROM THE REST I AM DYING
ghost-proofbaby · 8 months
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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)
→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn
→ warnings: strong language, smut (oral, f receiving), overload of cheesiness, upside down does not exist, minors dni
→ wc: 11.8k+
→ a/n: this might be the cheesiest, fluffiest thing i've ever written, and i can't even be bothered to care. it might be unrealistic. it might be too much. i do not care. this has been a long time coming and i think we all deserve all the cheese after this story.
i don't even know what to say besides thank you. thank you to everyone who followed along from the beginning, to those of you joined the journey along the way, to those of you who are reading as we finish it up. thank you for all the support and love you guys have shown this fic. i will always, always, appreciate it more than i know how to say. i love these idiots, and i love you all.
if you would like to see this story continued through small blurbs, my ask box is officially open to requests from this universe. i will also probably be posting some "beyond the hours" content over the next few weeks.
thank you. i love you.
without further ado...
masterlist.
spotify playlist.
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EPILOGUE: A BET
TWO MONTHS LATER
“Why are there so many fuckin’ options?” 
Eddie stares at the line up of smartphones before him, all different models and different physical sizes, different colors and different memory amounts. 
“There’s not that many,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around him from behind as you rest your chin on his shoulder. It’s a bit of a stretch, making you lean up onto your tippy toes, “Besides, isn’t having options a good thing?” 
He scoffs as he brings a hand up subconsciously to where your arms overlap on his torso, grip gentle as he runs a thumb over your skin and gives a squeeze, “Sure, options are great. But there’s at least twenty different iPhones on display here, sweetheart.” 
The last few months had been interesting, to say the least. A new and exciting journey initially, but also a fairly stressful ordeal given all the hoops you two had been jumping through. You’re both busy people, having to suddenly figure out how to carve out a specific space for each other amongst bustling lives. It wasn’t the same as making time for friends or a weekly night out; it was figuring out times for dates, times for lazy afternoons, times for just you and just Eddie.
And, occasionally, time to take Eddie shopping for a new phone. Finally.
“Well, better pick one fast,” your fingers dig into his side playful, and he blows out an annoyed breath as he side-eyes you. You only retaliate in a fast peck to his cheek before whispering in his ear, “We’re gonna be late if you keep taking all day.” 
It was Argyle’s birthday party tonight. His actual birthday wasn’t for another week, but he’d be venturing back home to California for that. And so the group elected to throw him a preemptive party at one of the group’s favorite bars. 
Which — fine. Awesome. You were excited, you really were: you loved Argyle, you loved your friends, you even found yourself warming back up to parties.
But your friends didn’t know. 
Two whole months, and neither you nor Eddie had told a single soul of what had become between you two. Not even Steve. Not even Nancy. 
At first the excuse was to give this time to grow, to find your footing before you brought your lovable yet rambunctious group of friends into the equation. But then you two had found your footing, and you’d worried what they would say. Eddie had nearly made himself sick with anxiety over Nancy finding out he’d kept this relationship from her. They’d support you two — that wasn’t a worry. They’d proven that since the first time the entire group had hung out after the bet.
“So,” Robin started, narrowing her eyes at you and Eddie sitting on opposite ends of her and Steve’s couch. Neither of you had said a word to each other yet (Plenty had already been said that morning as you’d snuck him out of your dorm), “You two really aren’t together?” 
“Why is everyone so adamant that the bet has to end with us getting together?” you jeered.
Eddie didn’t help the cause when he was quick to take your side, “Exactly! The bet’s over. We lasted twenty four hours. We’re friends now — isn’t that what you guys wanted?” 
“I actually wanted to help you dudes plan a winter wedding,” Argyle chimed from the kitchen where he was retrieving a coke, “So I’m gonna side with Birdie on this one.” 
“Of course you are,” you muttered beneath your breath. 
Everything in you ached to be sitting next to Eddie rather than so far. You ached for his arm around you, his lips pressed to your temple. Just to share body heat, even — innocent thighs brushing with layers of denim between would have been enough.  
“It’ll happen eventually,” Nancy mused from her seat on the kitchen counter, Jonathan beside her and matching her confident energy with a sly grin, “Just give them time.” 
What they hadn’t realized is that it already did happen. The moment Eddie showed up to your dorm and the two of you said to Hell with space, it was inevitable. 
Now, it was just the challenge of letting your friends in on the secret.
“What about the red one?” Eddie asks you as you finally unravel from him.
“Of course you’re choosing the red one.” 
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he scowls, no malice behind it as you step up to occupy the space next to him, brushing shoulders for only a moment before his hand is grabbing yours, intertwining fingers like second nature. 
You recall that moment on his balcony, where he had once been so nervous and hesitant to hold your hand. 
“Nothing,” you shake your head, smiling to yourself as you look at the specific model he was talking about, “You’re just getting a little bit predictable, Munson.” 
He opens his mouth to argue, to nip back at what you always offer him, when one of the salesmen approach you two.
“Hi folks! Can I help you with anything today?”
Eddie squeezes your hand, no doubt in an effort to withhold his laughter at the man’s overly chirpy tone. You squeeze back, if for nothing more than to let him know you felt him.
Despite Eddie’s previous claim to a decision, he still chooses to entertain the man. Asking questions about different models, inquiring for recommendations as if they’d change his mind. They go back and forth, both polite enough, but the conversation easily bores you. In five seconds flat, your mind has officially wandered off.
You two hadn’t really discussed the specific details of the night to come. Whether you’d ride with Eddie there, how you’d navigate Eddie’s natural born clinginess once he got a few drinks in him, if tonight might be the night to finally tell your friends. 
The last one felt a bit obvious. It was Argyle’s night — you didn’t want to snatch the attention from him for even a second. 
But there were layers to your anxiety. Because it was more than just how to navigate how you two would display yourselves to your friends on nights out. 
It had been two months, and you still hadn’t said those three little words back to Eddie.
He didn’t pressure you. He never once brought it back up, never once pressured you. But just because he wasn’t constantly reminding you vocally that he loved you didn’t mean you didn’t feel it. You’d felt it, impossible to miss, when all those lazy morning fantasies became reality. You felt it during movie marathons and you felt it every time he’d worship your body. It was there — in the late nights, in the early mornings, in the dull afternoons. A wild thing unleashed in your gardens, all those vines you’d worked so hard to see flourish threatened to be torn up by impatient claws at the feeling growing rapidly in your chest every time you looked at him.
And slowly, surely, you knew that there was only so much longer that like could suffice in describing your feelings for Eddie. 
You were falling, whether he was aware or not. You just needed to figure out the right moment for those three little words to unstick, to go from hot honey on your tongue to easy breaths between you two. He’s given you time, he’d filled the months you’d awarded him with making up for every previously bitter exchange, and yet you still couldn’t give him this. And you’re starting to believe maybe that’s why you couldn’t imagine telling your friends yet. 
You sort of hated yourself for it.
You’re pulled back to reality once the salesman departs, no doubt into the back to grab Eddie’s choice of phone. You don’t even have to ask; you know he got the red one.
“Hey,” Eddie fully turns to you, bringing your knuckles to his lips in chaste kisses. Your stomach still kicks with flutters, your heart still warms at the gesture. Eddie’s affection has yet to lose novelty, “Where’d you go?”
“What do you mean?” you twist your face, “I was here the entire tim-“
“Not where’d you physically go,” he clarifies, letting your conjoined hands drop back to the sliver of space between your bodies, “Mentally. Where’d your mind just go?”
 You hadn’t thought he’d notice your drifting.
“Nowhere,” you shrug off.
“Nowhere? So you’re really just that interested in the newest iPhone model?” 
He pointedly looks up at the widescreen display you don’t doubt you’d been blankly staring at the entirety of his conversation with the man who had yet to return.
“Oh, absolutely. You know me so well.” 
All bark, no bite. These days, all the previous venom that had infected exchanges with Eddie prior to the bet had finally been sucked clean from the wound, long gone to make room for all the genuine affection to seep into its place. You still argued — or perhaps bantered was a better word for it — but you didn’t fight. You both still grated on one another’s nerves and managed to slither beneath the other’s skin, but not in an unwelcome way. 
It was a nice change.
It made you hate yourself even more for not saying those three little words. 
Eddie seemingly reads your mind, “Are you nervous for tonight?”
“I-“ you consider lying to him and saying it hadn’t even crossed your mind, but the look he gives you warns against it, “We just haven’t… discussed it.” 
“What’s there to discuss?” 
You hold up your interlocked hands for emphasis, raising your eyebrows at Eddie.
His mouth falls open softly, eyes widening, “Oh. Are you- Are you wanting to tell them tonight?” 
No, your gut screams, absolutely not tonight.
“Is Argyle’s birthday party really the best time to explode their minds?” 
You try to keep your tone teasing as you sense Eddie’s own nerves creeping up. Sometimes it was fun, standing in a room with everyone and pretending to be more akin to strangers than lovers. But sometimes, it was just plain painful. Sometimes, the entire group would be laughing at something, and you craved nothing more than to be pressed into Eddie’s side and feel the vibrations of his shared joy rather than just having to listen to it from across the room. 
It’s not that you wanted to tell your friends and cause a scene — you just didn’t want to have to hide anymore. And maybe you wouldn’t have to, if you’d just tell him how you felt.
“Probably not,” Eddie murmurs, “I mean, it’s his night. We can always tell them the next time we all get together.”
The issue is that’s what the two of you always say. You always brush it off for the next time. 
You can only sigh in defeat as you see the salesman finally bounding back out from the back room, a small box holding Eddie’s purchase in his grip, “Yeah. Next time.” 
You can’t even be mad at next time. It’s the same thing you tell yourself every time you felt those words on the tip of your tongue, so close yet so far from revealing the most terrifying truth you’d discovered yet to Eddie.
You let go of his hand long enough for him to check out, hardly overhearing when he questions how they can transfer all the data from his current flip phone. When he seems particularly worried about pictures transferring, you don’t think anything of it.
STEVE-O: do i need to pick you up tonight? 
You don’t see the text. You’re a bit busy with something when it comes through.
Something is currently still between your legs, curls threaded between your fingers as your back arches off his mattress and his name starts to come out as a desperate whimper rather than a chant. 
STEVE-O: ???
The initial buzz of your phone on his nightstand doesn’t phase either of you. Eddie’s tongue still works you eagerly, circling your clit as you tug particularly harshly at his roots. Each flick sends white hot pleasure through your bones, nearly making you see stars.
“Fuck,” you gasp out when he brings his fingers into the mix. You can feel his smile against you as he curls his fingers inside of you, mimicking a come hither motion and relishing in your little pants as your thighs tighten around his shoulders, “Oh, fuck. Right there, Eddie. I- Eddie.” 
The way you’re moaning his name only encourages him as he slips in a second finger, stretching you further. You feel cool metal bumping your entrance, sending shocks up your spine as his lips suction against you and he sucks hard.
He hadn’t even taken the time to remove his rings when the two of you had gotten home. He had been too eager, dragging you to his bedroom with his lips attached to your neck from the moment he’d shut the front door behind the two of you until he’d thrown you down on his bed.
“That’s right, baby,” his voice vibrates against your clit, “Say my name. Tell everyone who’s making you feel this goo-“
STEVE-O: helllooooo????
“Okay, who the fuck keeps texting you?” Eddie finally pulls back when he realizes you’re slipping out of that bubble he’d created, your head having turned towards the nightstand in curiosity, “Let me guess, it’s your other boyfriend?” 
Your head is still spinning and your chest continues to heave from that lingering pleasure he’d been offering so generously to you. He sounds annoyed, but you can guarantee you’re even more irked. 
“I don’t have another boyfriend,” you blandly reply, not taking his bait.
It only makes him wrap his hands around your thighs on his shoulder, giving a playful squeeze as you reach out for your phone. 
“You sure?” 
You squint at the notifications, but don’t properly read them, only rolling your eyes at both the fact that Steve’s the one interrupting this precious moment and at Eddie’s valiant teasing.
You slam the phone back down, eyes trailing down to his, “I am, but I can certainly find another boyfriend if you don’t get your mouth back on me in the next three seconds-“ 
He doesn’t need a second warning. In an instant, the warmth of his tongue is back on you, lapping at all the spots he’s come to memorize as of recently. That pleasure comes back into reach, edging your vision with feathery black as your eyes flutter shut and the coil in your stomach tightens.
You throw your head back into one of his pillows, one that has started to smell like your shampoo now rather than his, and let a drawn out whine escape your lips.
“You were saying?” he teases, grinning wickedly. He takes that brief moment to come up for air, turning and sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your thigh beside his cheek. Not hard enough to draw blood, and probably not hard enough to leave indents. But it is enough to have you preening once more as your heels dig into his bare back and you try to lift your hips, desperate for his mouth again.
He was edging you. Without even meaning to, he was repeatedly bringing you to the edge only to leave you teetering. 
With your focus back on him, you can admire how pretty he looks. Mouth slick with you, pupils blown out, hair an absolute mess. You like him best this way, you think, when he looks so absolutely devoted to you. When he’s looking at you with a hunger you almost can’t place. It makes you want to scream from the rooftops about how you’ve fallen for him. How you feel so much more than like for your boy. 
STEVE-O: seriously. if you don’t respond, you can just walk. you have five minutes.
At the buzz of the phone, your hands leave Eddie’s hair to form fists, pounding them into the mattress at your side in a brief tantrum. He ceases all actions, pulling his lips away from you again, and it only makes you pout more. 
“Baby,” he coos, fingers trailing up the sides of your thighs before he reaches out to hold your fists down, “Maybe you should answer him. Tell him to fuck off-“
Eddie’s interrupted as your phone fully bursts to life with your ringtone.
You were going to kill Steve Harrington. 
“On second thought, let me answer it,” Eddie groans as you reach out and grab it once more, “Give the fucker a piece of my mind.”
“Shut up,” you hiss as you realize it’s Robin calling. You turn the screen so he can see, and his eyebrows lift in surprise.
He makes no move to remove himself from between your legs, though. He stays face to face with your aching core.
“Hello?” you snap after swiping to answer.
“Finally! My God, Steve’s been texting you-“
“I didn’t see the texts.”
“Do you need a ride?”
“Nope.” 
You’ve never been so short with your friends. 
But that pleasure is slipping from you, the flames of your impending orgasm dying down to nothing more than embers. It’s enough to piss anyone off. 
“Are you sure?” Robin asks, sounding genuinely concerned, “It’s kind of a far walk-“
“I’m running late,” you sigh, realizing that you were going to have to come up with a lie to get off the hook. Another thing you hated about the hiding — it led to your friendships being littered with dishonesty. Always a new excuse as to why you weren’t available, always feigning reasons as to why you didn’t reply to texts as timely as you used to. “With getting ready. I could- I don’t know, do you think Eddie might pick me up? Isn’t my dorm along the way to the bar from his place?” 
At the mention of his name, he perks up. His cheek settles against the exact spot he had bit just moments before, nearly nuzzling into you as your free hand comes down to gently push back his bangs. On instinct, you find yourself soothingly pressing your fingertips in slow circles against his scalp. You’re nearly melting beneath his soft gaze, those big and wide eyes locked on you with bated breath.
“You want Eddie to pick you up?” you suddenly hear Steve exclaim in the background.
Your face scrunches up, a wrinkle forming across the bridge of your nose and between your brows. It’s so damn cute to Eddie that he can’t help but press a quick kiss to the skin he continues to lay into, beginning to smile as your absent-minded head massage continues. 
So much more than like.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was on speaker.” 
“Why do you want Munson to pick you up?” Steve ignores your sarcasm, voice sounding closer to the phone now, “He drives a motorcycle, you know. That’s dangerous.” 
Eddie must be able to catch some of Steve’s shrill exclamation, his eyebrows raising ever so slightly. You feel his curious hum against your skin and you don’t hesitate putting your own pesky friends on speaker. 
“Motorcycles are not that dangerous,” you retort, and it makes Eddie have to hide a slight scoff into your thigh in an effort to stay silent. It was ironic that they cared about how safe it would be for you to ride with Eddie on his bike now, after that allegedly dangerous vehicle had been your main source of transportation for nearly two months now, “He has a helmet, right?” 
“Isn’t your dorm the opposite direction of the bar from his place?” Robin questions, “I mean, I’m all for you asking lover boy if he’ll give you a ride but-”
Steve interrupts her flatly, “It’s making him go out of his way. Besides, he might have already left for the bar by now.” 
You don’t know what to silently laugh at first. The assumption they were making that couldn’t be further from the truth, or Robin’s new nickname for Eddie. 
Lover boy is fitting for him in this current position. He’s still latching onto your leg, cuddling you in every way he could from where he laid, staring at you and hanging onto your every last word. The poster boy for pathetically in love, he gives your leg another kiss, starting a fiery trail with his lips until he reaches your knee. It pangs in your chest, wondering if he can see your feelings also painted so obviously across your face. 
“Steve,” you murmur, breath catching in your throat as Eddie’s lips linger in the ditch of your knee. It takes a second to remember you’re on the phone, “No offense, but Eddie hasn’t been on time to a single get together the entire time I’ve known him.” 
Eddie reacts in real time to your insult, forcing an over-exaggerated offended look before he bites you again. This time, his teeth do leave an imprint from his nip, and it makes you slap a hand over your mouth to avoid yelping. 
Don’t bite me, you mouth at him. 
Don’t be mean, he answers right back, silent as ever. 
“Technically we’re all already late,” Steve points out. It makes you sit up quickly, startling Eddie in the process. You squint at the clock across the room and- fuck. Steve was right, “Nancy just texted me that she and Jon are there, Argyle’s on his way. She said she tried texting Eddie but didn’t get any response,” there’s a long pause as you motion wildly for Eddie to get up with you, the boy watching as you fling yourself off his mattress and carry the phone with you to his dresser, “Have… you heard from him recently?” 
“Why are you saying it like that?” you jab, throwing open one of the drawers Eddie had cleared out for you to keep some clothes here in his apartment. At this point, a good chunk of the tuition you paid was going to waste considering the fact you rarely spent the night at your dorm. You were already half moved into Eddie’s space. 
You try not to think too hard about it, because just last week, you’d had a panic attack at the revelation. 
You were afraid of smothering him, even if he was the one always insisting you could leave more of your things here. He was always the one conning you into spending another night, promising soft murmurs of giving you a ride to class the next morning if you did. You rarely ever had much of the choice in the matter; once he’d wrap his arms around your waist, curl his body flush against yours, it was always game over.
Practically living together, and you still hadn’t said those words back to him. 
“I’m not saying it like anything!” Steve defends himself, “I’m just asking an innocent question!” Eddie’s snort this time is audible, and you freeze as Steve clearly mistakes it for your laughter, “Shut up. It’s a reasonable question. You guys are friends now, remember?” 
Friends. Of course, because all your friends jumped at the chance to bury their mouths against your cunt and make you cum repeatedly until you had tears streaming down your cheeks. Because you let all your friends sleep in the same bed as you, and wake you up by burying deep within you as they bite your shoulder with a moan. You and Eddie were friends. 
“Trust me,” you glance over your shoulder in your haste, looking at Eddie as he stretches out on his side and props himself up on his elbow, “I remember.” 
He gives you a knowing smile, squinting his eyes at you in entertainment. 
“Babe, it really would just be easier for you to ride with us,” Robin’s voice sounds again as you tug a shirt out of the drawer, something casual and comfortable that you could style for the night, “Unless you’re just hellbent on having alone time with Eddie for some reason-”
“I’m not hellbent on being alone with him, Robs.” 
Another lie. I definitely am. But not in the context you think. 
“You just sound like you are.”
“Well, I’m not,” you yank a pair of black jeans free from the drawer and slam it shut, standing and turning to Eddie. 
He hardly has time to react before you’re tossing your phone down on the mattress in front of him, the small device bouncing and hitting his chest. He winces and throws himself back dramatically, letting out a small oof that you pray neither Robin or Steve pick up on. 
As you dress, throwing on the random t-shirt and shimmying on your jeans, Robins laughs, “Denial isn’t a good look on you.” 
Eddie watches you, never moving to get ready himself. All he does is stare as you button up the pants. 
When you give him an expectant look, he merely mouths, bra? 
You shake your head. You don’t know where Eddie had flung your undergarment, and you’re not in the mood to frantically search for it. You’ve gone without a bra before – you can survive one night out without one. 
Eddie’s entire face and chest immediately flushes pink. Cute.  
“Now you guys are just being assholes,” you scowl despite the fact that only Eddie can see it, waving your hands to motion for him to get up and also get dressed, “I’m texting Eddie. If he has already left, I’ll just walk. Fuck you guys.” 
“Tell lover boy I said hi,” Robin teases. 
“Even if he’s already parked at the fucking bar at this point, we both know he’d jump right back on his bike and come pick you up,” Steve’s voice grumbles over the line. 
It almost makes you smile.  “Someone sounds jealous.” 
“Not jealous, just annoyed,” Steve corrects as Eddie finally stands from the bed, “When are you two going to get your shit together?”
“What do you mean?” you play dumb.
You’ve had this conversation with your friends multiple times. They were truly going to have your head once they realized what you’d been keeping from them for months now. 
“Don’t you have a 4.0 GPA?” Robin inserts herself back into the conversation, “You can’t possibly be this stupid.” 
Eddie pauses in his fumbling with pulling his jeans from the pile he’d left his clothes in at the end of the beg, face scrunching in silent laughter. You almost walk over and smack his bare back angled towards you. 
“First of all, no. I don’t have a 4.0 GPA. Thanks for the reminder,” you grab your phone back off of the bed and decide to leave Eddie behind in the room, heading into the bathroom to finish getting ready. You hate to admit it, but if you have to keep watching him giggle so cutely to himself, you’ll also probably break. And you aren’t in the mood for any further interrogation from Robin and Steve, “Second of all, I’m hanging up now. I’m going to call Eddie. At least he won’t be such a dick to me.” 
“Oh, you must see the irony there-” 
You cut Steve off, “Bye! See you in… like, ten minutes.” 
Once you’ve hung up, you put your phone down on the bathroom counter and look up into the mirror. Your hair is a mess, wild and tangled from all the writhing you had been doing before being so rudely interrupted. You give it your best effort, trying to tame it a little bit to look more presentable, but it’s a lost cause at this point. Fuck it. 
Eddie appears in the doorway behind you, fully dressed and his hair pulled back into a bun, leaning into the door frame with his arms crossed and an impish grin on display, “Oh, you’re going to call me now, sweetheart?” 
You glare at him in a jocosely manner through the reflection, “Don’t look so proud of yourself.” 
He pushes off the frame and comes up behind you, still locking his eyes only through the reflection as he leans his chin over your shoulder, “And what if I don’t want to give you a ride? You have been awfully mean – insulting my punctuality, throwing your phone at me, teasing me by going without a bra. The list goes on and on.” 
Something deep within you stirs, those embers that still ache to burst into a forest fire. You hate that you could easily spend the entire night here with him, letting him take you every which way between his sheets. And even without sinful actions involved, you would be plenty content with just his presence tonight. As a matter of fact, you might be more content with that outcome rather than heading out to see your friends.
Sorry Argyle, you think guiltily. 
“I’m teasing you?” you question just as his hands land on your hips, moving so that he was pressed firmly against the curve of your ass. Making sure you could feel how hard he was against the seam of his jeans’ zipper, “You didn’t even make me cum.” 
“Seems like we’ll both be spending the night frustrated, then,” he smiles, almost gleefully, almost devilishly, “Besides, that was technically Harrington’s fault, not mine. We both know I usually have no problems making you cum on my tongue – without interruptions, of course.”
He rolls his hips ever so slightly into you, and your mouth falls open, eyes going glossy as you continue to stare him down through the mirror.  The stirring in your abdomen is persistent now as your heart hammers against your ribs, mind melting and completely forgetting the obligation at hand. 
And Eddie knows this. He’s well aware of the effect he’s having on you, and it’s deliberate. 
Suddenly, his body completely pulls away from yours, “I’ll meet you downstairs. Don’t want to keep them waiting any longer, do we, sweetheart?” 
Damn him. Damn him, and damn his dimples, and damn how good his legs look in those jeans as he’s walking away from me right now.
You linger in the apartment, alone, for a few extra minutes to compose yourself. Trying to quelch the heat between your hips that had slowly spread across your entire body, threatening to consume you. You even go as far as to splash cool water across your cheeks, giving yourself a few smacks for good measure as you try to prepare yourself to go into public and put on the usual act. And beneath it all, you also hush the animal in your chest, the one that claws at you to tell him. The one that wails everytime you simply tell him you like him, the one that roars when you let another moment slip you by. It has to quiet, just as your flames need to settle, all for the sake of the act.
You deserve a goddamn Oscar at this point. 
After deciding that touching up your makeup would take up far too many precious seconds, you’re darting out of Eddie’s apartment, locking up behind yourself before you head down to where he’s waiting. He’s already straddling his parked bike, the engine roaring to life like the animal inside you as you exit the main doors of the building and his hands extend his only helmet. You don’t fight him on who’s going to wear it – that’s a battle, you’ve learned, you will always lose. 
We really need to just buy a second helmet. 
The thought makes you smile as you hold the clunky thing. Buying a second helmet. Something Eddie had never done before, because he had never had a regular passenger before. He had never had someone glued to his side as you had become, not even Nancy. It sounds terribly domestic; perusing aisles with him, debating which helmet fits your style best. He’d probably make a joke about your head being big. He’d probably tease you for looking at the ridiculously expensive ones and tell you to opt for a cheaper one. You’d probably end up with a pricier one in the cart regardless, and Eddie would probably refuse to let you pay for it. 
Domesticity. The image of it doesn’t ache like it had that night all those months ago. This isn’t something you yearn for hopelessly, smoke and mirrors that dissipate when you dare to reach out for it. It’s something finally in your grasp. Something tangible and something bound to happen, all you’d have to do is say the word and Eddie would comply eagerly. 
Anything to keep my girl safe, as he would tell you any time you pointed out how dangerous it was for him to go without a helmet. He’d gotten creative in saying his own version of those three little words. 
“M’lady,” he hums, nodding for you to put the helmet on before sweeping a hand over the empty space in the seat behind him, “Your chariot awaits.” 
You don’t have a snarky quip to throw back at him, only grinning at the ground as you flip the helmet around a few times to prepare to put it on. All those embers aren’t just desire for him – there’s a warmth there that always exists. A candle on the windowsill of the home you had finally found. 
You raise the clunky thing and tilt your head when Eddie suddenly says, “Oh, and babe?” 
Immediately, you lower it, eyes wide in curiosity, “What?” 
“That’s my shirt.” 
“What?” 
He motions to the t-shirt tucked carefully into your jeans, “That fine shirt you are currently wearing is mine.” 
You look down, and he’s right. It’s too late to go back inside to change, and you know he’s aware of this when you catch his amused smirk. He probably noticed the moment you had put it on, and had deliberately waited until it was too late for you to do anything about it to inform you. 
Bastard. 
“I-” you pinch the fabric between your fingers, looking between it and Eddie wildly for a second before your shoulders slumped in defeat, “It’s fine. I doubt they’ll even notice.” 
You were wrong. They do notice. 
Everyone is already waiting inside for the two of you, nestled around a table in the bar in a similar arrangement to the very first night you’d been introduced to the group. There’s only two empty seats left conveniently, right next to each other. You don’t miss that mischievous look of success on Robin’s face as she looks overly proud of herself.
They’d set it up so we’d sit next to each other. 
You’re grateful for your friends’ antics until you go to take the empty seat next to Steve.
“Is that Eddie’s shirt?” 
Robin is leaning around Steve eagerly as she says it, ridiculing the shirt intensely. 
“What?” you laugh nervously, looking down and tugging at the fabric. 
Lie. Make up a lie. Make it good. 
“That is Eddie’s shirt,” Nancy looks surprised across the table, looking up at the two of you questioningly. 
“What?” you repeat yourself. Eddie has already taken his seat, and is avoiding the stares of everyone, “No, it’s not.” 
“He has one just like it,” Jonathan adds fuel to the fire, “He literally wore it - what? Two days ago?” 
In a pathetic attempt of an excuse, you plop down in your seat and force an offended look, “People can own the same shirt. He’s not the gatekeeper of-” you look down, and nearly erupt in embarrassment when you see what the shirt is. “Deftones.” 
Ah, fuck. 
It’s not just the embarrassment of being on the verge of getting caught in your lie – it’s the memories that flood back. You, on Eddie’s lap. Your mouth and his becoming one. Steve calling, and you sucking so innocently on Eddie’s neck. 
Fuck. 
You really wish Steve and Robin hadn’t interrupted earlier. 
“It’s not like I got it at a show,” Eddie shrugs, and you wonder for a moment if he’s lying, “They’ve gotten more popular lately. I’ve seen their shit in Target.” 
“Exactly!” you exclaim a little too loudly, a little too quick to defend yourself, “Exactly. I just thought it looked cool at Target. Besides, tonight is about Argyle.”
You smile at the birthday boy, and he returns the joy as he waves a little at you. The reminder is all it takes for everyone’s attention to return to the focus of the night – everyone’s attention but Nancy’s. 
You can feel her eyes on you as conversation sparks up and debates of ordering shots begin. Everyone is busy asking Argyle what his plans for next weekend are – which are mostly composed of normal family gatherings, probably a homemade cake, etc. – but Nancy is watching you and Eddie like a hawk. In the peripheral of your eye, you watch the way she leans back so casually into Jonathan's around her shoulder, looking like she knows. You’re probably just being paranoid. You’re definitely just being paranoid. 
You try to ignore it, and instead let yourself just enjoy the moment. All your friends gathered, a group in which you finally feel like you belong to, jokes being made and laughter being exchanged that has you feeling a bit giddy. It’s nice. Even between the smoke of the room and the flickering lights overhead, murmuring chatter of nearby patrons mingling right in with your group’s noise, it’s homely. The smell of drunken cigars and fruity cocktails should be overwhelming, but you just let it wrap you up instead. 
And when you turn your head, inhaling deeply the smell of cinnamon and musk rather than all those other foreign anomalies, you find Eddie already looking at you. Soft eyes, bitten grin, a few loose curls framing his cheeks as his bangs curl up into his forehead. Even in the shoddy lighting, he takes your breath away. 
He’s looking at you. Just like that first night. Dozens of other people in this room at this moment, and he only has eyes for one – he only has eyes for you.
“So!” Argyle announces, “I think, my dudes, instead of doing what Birdie had so… excitedly suggested,” and oh, he was being generous and calling Robin suggesting he took twenty three shots for his twenty third birthday just her being excited rather than foolish, “We should just take the twenty three shots and split them up amongst the group.” 
Steve and Jonathan immediately groan, protesting how they’re driving, and Eddie only shakes his head with a chuckle. So far, he’d only ordered and been nursing on a plain coke, no whiskey. 
Somehow, sitting beside him with the group is worse than keeping distance. 
When he’d taken off his jacket, you’d silently begged for him to rest an arm across the back of your chair just as Jonathan was doing to Nancy. And he had, almost too naturally before he’d caught himself. It would have been easier to play off cooly, probably would have gone unnoticed, but your boy had practically jumped out of his bones as he’d flinched and tucked his arm back into himself suddenly. He’d even bumped his elbow against his own seat in his haste.
And Nancy had noticed. 
“That’s only three shots per person!” Argyle defends, “Four for me, since you know – birthday boy.” 
While Eddie may be avoiding alcohol tonight, you aren’t. Not unusual, but it had been odd when Eddie had told the waitress your order of an amaretto sour rather than you telling her yourself. 
Another strike. Another thing Nancy had noticed with her watchful eye.
“I’m down,” you shrug, “Hell, I’ll even take an extra shot if those two dumbasses won’t.” 
“Is that a good idea?” 
You wish Eddie had been drinking to excuse his idiocracy. Because all it takes is him saying that, not with malice but with concern, and the look on Nancy’s face told you she was officially catching on.
He hadn’t said it with the concern of a friend prepared to warn against drinking yourself sick. He’d said it with the concern of someone who would be taking care of you by the end of the night, of someone who would be dealing with the aftermath of that many shots. 
You two were bombing this whole secrecy, to put it lightly. 
You try to save the moment but laughing it off, turning to him slightly and teasing, “What, are you my keeper now?” 
Despite your best efforts, the statement doesn’t come across as friendly banter. It’s not quite fighting either. It’s a dare, you dangling something in Eddie’s face that no one else at this table quite sees. A stupid, idiotic continuation of your flirtatious game of cat and mouse from earlier in the apartment, when he’d deliberately gotten you hot and bothered. When he’d deliberately let you leave in his shirt. His palm is warm when he shifts ever so slightly, placing it on your thigh beneath the table. Out of sight from everyone else. Fueling and fanning all your growing flames. 
You two were toeing a very dangerous line tonight. 
His eyes darken a bit, and you pray no one else notices in the dim bar lighting, “I don’t know, am I?” 
Everyone is distracted enough with your idea. Steve and Jonathan were agreeing, saying they could take one shot and then others in the group could shoulder the extras. Robin was quick to also say she’ll take an extra one. But Nancy is silent, watching your quiet exchange with Eddie. 
“I don’t think you are, Munson.”
Except he is. Without a single doubt in your bones, you know that he is. 
Your playful smile betrays you. It tugs up the corners of your mouth and it’s clear to any outsider this wasn’t a brewing argument. The game was obvious if anyone was watching close enough. And Nancy, ever the smart one, was watching close enough. 
She’s playing her cards right, you realize, when she waits until the group has ordered the round of shots to say anything. 
“So, Eddie,” she begins, drawing the entire group’s attention to her best friend, “Do anything fun today?” 
He nearly chokes on his coke subtly. “I- Um-” 
“You just didn’t answer any of my texts today,” she continues on, “Must have been busy, yeah?” 
Eddie retracts his hand from your thigh, far more elusive in this action than he had been about removing his arm from your chair, before he fiddles with his hands in his lap. “Yeah – no, yeah. Sorry about that, Nance.” 
He pulls his phone from his pocket for no apparent reason. The shiny new smartphone, having not even bought a case or screen protector yet. You’d already yelled at him for that, claiming out of everyone, you trust him the least to not break the phone on the first day. He’d only laughed and shut you up with a kiss. 
His new phone is placed face down on the table, cherry red glinting, “I just had to go to the mall and-”
“Is that a new phone?” Argyle interrupts him, catching sight of the movement and the glinting, “Oh, holy shit, my dude! That’s a new phone! That is an iPhone if I’ve ever seen one!” 
Everyone – Robin, Steve, Jonathan – are rapidly leaning to catch sight of it as if they can’t believe it. Eddie continues to shrink at being the center of attention suddenly. 
“It is,” Steve laughs in disbelief, “Never thought I’d see the day, Munson.” 
Robin scrunches her face, “Does this mean we have to add him to the group chat?” 
You let out a giggle at that, lips pressed to try and contain some of that smile breaking through as you look at him and wiggle your brows. He immediately rolls his eyes, but picks up the phone regardless to give everyone a better look. 
“Yes, yes. I’ve finally joined the dark side,” he teases everyone just as the waitress returns with the tray of shots. Jonathan is the only one with enough sense to look away from Eddie’s spectacle, thanking her kindly, “Feast your eyes, my friends, for this is where my five hundred dollars went-” 
“Holy shit.” 
Nancy’s sudden whisper of an exclamation has everyone freezing. Eddie stops spinning and flipping the phone to show it off, staring at her with nothing but concerned, “What? What happen-” 
Nancy shares a look with Robin as they both grin.
Oh no. 
“Eddie,” Nancy says slowly, turning her head back his way slowly. 
“What?” Eddie frowns, eyes flitting back and forth between Nancy and Robin.
Robin is the one to ask the question rather than Nancy, “What exactly is your lockscreen?” 
Eddie goes pale. You’re confused, looking at the phone he’s currently cradling with the screen against his palm. 
Did he even change it? Wouldn’t it just be one of the default ones? 
“Guys,” you decide to come to his rescue, still impossibly confused, “It’s probably just some default screen, don’t tease him.” 
“That was not a default screen,” Nancy laughs out. 
Argyle looks around at everyone. Nancy and Robin, both with mischievous glints in their eyes. Eddie, still ghostly white as if he’s been caught red-handed. Steve and Jonathan, both just shrugging at each other. “Uh…. Why do I feel like I’m missing something here?”
“Show the class your lock screen, Eds.”
“Fuck off, Nancy.” 
“Oh my God,” Robin coos, leaning across Steve and pressing you back gently to catch sight of Eddie, who’s dipping his face down, “He’s blushing!” 
“Guys, leave him alone,” Steve insists, sharing a look with you now. But you have no clue what’s going on.
You have no clue what his lockscreen is. 
“Edward Munson, show us that lockscreen right now, or I’m Venmo-requesting five hundred dollars from you,” Robin continues to threaten. 
You look away from Steve and at Eddie immediately, leaning in closer to his space. He looks at you, clearly focusing on your presence more than everyone else’s, and smiles like a child trying to get out of trouble. 
“Eddie,” you say quietly, almost impossible for your friends to hear, “What the fuck is your lockscreen?” 
He slowly and carefully turns the screen towards you, making sure only your eyes can see it, and- oh.
It’s a low quality photo. Clearly taken on his flip phone. Details just a little fuzzy, and the darkness of the photo wasn’t helping. But you can see it clearly. You can make out exactly what it was that had Nancy and Robin losing their minds. 
It’s a picture of you and Eddie, with your head on Eddie’s chest.
For a moment, everyone else at the table doesn’t exist. You hadn’t been insane that night – he had taken a photo. A snapshot of the moment where everything had changed. The moment in which you had given up the fight and completely succumbed to just how much Eddie meant to you, how badly you pined for him and how deeply you liked him. 
“I was going to make it the one of you at Betty’s,” he whispers, “But, I just- I really liked this photo.” 
He’s still tense, as if he expects you to be upset with him. 
You’re the farthest thing from upset at him. 
“You made me your lockscreen?” you breathe out, a slow-growing smile beginning to stretch your lips. 
You’re not upset at him. As a matter of fact, you’re in love with him. You want to scream it from every rooftop, shout it to every stranger on the street – you are in love with Eddie Munson.
And you have been for a while. You just hadn’t found a way to tell him yet.
“Yeah,” he loosens up a little when he realizes you’re happy, enamored with the fact, “Yeah, of course I did. Who else am I going to make it besides my favorite…. Enemy?” 
He says it loud enough for everyone to hear clearly. All of Nancy’s teasing has come to a halt, Robin has settled back into her chair, and Steve is finally looking too curious for his own good. 
“As birthday boy,” Argyle breaks the moment, shatters away the bubble you and Eddie always seemed to end up in, “I am demanding I get to see this lockscreen.” 
Eddie doesn’t make any move to show the screen to any other person, only watching you for approval. 
Well, so much for next time. 
You give him a little nod. 
Eddie makes a dramatic show of it, sighing heavily before he very slowly turns his lockscreen to face everyone else. But even in his dramatics, you can see that weight lifting off his chest.
This, as a matter of fact, changes everything. 
No more hiding, no more lying. One simple flash of his phone screen, of a photo he had taken on a night that no one has even been gifted the details of yet, and all your friends suddenly know.
The reactions all vary. 
Argyle leans forward and squints before his face breaks out into pure joy for the two of you, “Oh, fuck yes! Best birthday gift ever. Pay up, my dudes!” 
Jonathan leans backward, digging out his wallet as he murmurs, “Son of a bitch.” 
Steve only smiles and shakes his head, also digging for his wallet as he seemingly chastizes himself, “I should have fucking known.” 
“Hold on,” you look between everyone as Jonathan digs out a couple twenties, “Wait, did you guys fucking bet on this?” 
“We did,” Robin answers you, holding up a hand to make Jonathan and Steve pause their retrieval of cash, “What do you take us for? Idiots? Now, gentlemen, before either of you payout, we’ve gotta ask the most important question,” she shoves a palm against Steve’s chest so that he’s out of line of sight, gaze set on you and Eddie, “When did this happen?” 
You don’t have any time to be mad at your friends. Because when Robin asks you this, suddenly you’re back to two months ago. You’re outside your dorm with Eddie, kissing him as if tomorrow would never be promised, and you’re home. 
You pulled back from Eddie finally, both of you gasping for breath as he held you steady. Your exchange from moments before still hung heavy in the air. 
You liked him, you liked him, you liked him. 
And the feeling was mutual. 
You’d already known, but it was nice to hear. It was nice to be reminded that this, what had happened between you two, was so very real. 
“I don’t wanna start over,” the words tumbled from your tongue before you could consider them, upheaving from your chest, desperate for Eddie to heard them, “I- I don’t need to start over. I like our story, okay? You had been right – it wasn’t all bad, and… and I don’t want to start over. I never want you to be a stranger again, and I know that sounds stupid-” 
“It’s not stupid,” he interrupted you, forehead meeting yours, “So very not stupid.” 
“I don’t care if you were a dick,” you continued on, carefully, “I was, too. We were both… shitty. I forgive you. I’ll forgive you a thousand times over, as long as you keep trying to make it up to me.” 
“Make it up to you?” he grinned playfully, “And just how do you suggest I start making it up to you?” 
“Ask me out,” his eyebrows raised in surprise, and you knew you must have looked like a wild idiot to everyone else, but you didn’t care, “To dinner, to a movie, to just hang around your apartment with you for another twenty four hours – I don’t care. Just… Just please, Munson, ask me out.” 
And so he had. A first date, a second date, a third. You two had gone through the entire ordeal of every cliche relationship despite the unconventional beginning. You’d gone to dinner, you’d gone to a movie, and you had done plenty of hanging out around his apartment and more. 
“The night of the bet,” Eddie answers as he finally brings an arm up around your shoulders, just as he had wanted to earlier. 
Immediately, both Robin and Argyle let out their own curses, pulling out their wallets just as Steve and Jonathan had. 
You look between them, all the annoyance you should feel just being run over with adoration for these idiots. Your eyes land on Nancy, and when you realize she’s the only one at the table not coughing up any cash, you ask her, “I’m assuming you guessed correctly?” 
“I did,” she nods, looking proud of herself. 
“How’d you know?” 
Nancy raises a threatening finger, before suddenly pointing it right in Eddie’s direction, “That idiot has always been down bad for you-”
“Okay, okay,” Eddie stops her, “I’ve already told her the nitty gritty details. No need to embarrass me.” 
“No need to embarrass you?” Nancy asks in disbelief, “Good God, just how many times did I have to sit and listen to you pine for her? No, no – I have earned this, Munson.” 
You look at Eddie, a glint in your eye, “You only told me about the first time.”
“I only remembered the first time,” he counters, blushing under yellow and faded lights, “I was usually dru-”
“Don’t lie,” Nancy stops him, “There were plenty of rants where you were dead sober.” 
Everyone only smiles at Eddie, a few teasing comments made his way, but none of them matter as you lean into his side, your shoulder bumping his to the best of your ability with his arm still around you.
“Aw, babe,” you coo, warm all over for the man beside you, “You had a crush on me? That’s cute.” 
His chin lowers, eyes boring into yours with unlimited affection. For a moment, it’s just you and Eddie. The guise of you two having your own bubble of a moment. 
His head tilts further, his ears brushing your ear as he whispers for just you to hear, “So did you, if I’m not mistaken.” 
“Not mistaken,” you whisper back. Money is now being exchanged, tossed across the table with grumbles that hold no heat. 
Yeah, you did have a crush on Eddie. You still do. You don’t think you’ll ever stop having a crush on him, even as he’s surrendered himself as yours. Especially not when his thumb is stroking your shoulder as it is now. 
Just like that very first night. The smoky bar fades to nothingness, your tunnel vision focused on Eddie. You know jokes are being made about the two of you by your friends, but it’s all white noise when he’s looking at you like this. Like you’re everything to him, like he’s just returned home after a long week. 
You’d really like to be his home to return to after every long week, for the rest of your lives, but there’ll be time to ponder on that later. For now, you two have time. 
The voice inside your head suddenly comes to life as it recognizes that this is your moment. You can tell him. Now that you’ve told everyone else, you can tell him those three words. Finally get them off your chest. Make it real. 
“Hey, Munson,” you say, still quiet enough for the words to only reach his ears. He perks up, eager to drink your next words. You have all his attention. You always have all his attention, “I-” and then you choke. He stares curiously for a few seconds, and the words just won’t come out. You want to scream – you wonder if it would work if you screeched the three words at the top of your lungs. Probably not, “I’m just really glad you didn’t really hate me,” a pathetic excuse at a coverup,  “And… I’m really glad they made that first bet.” 
He smiles so softly, it strikes you right in the center of your chest. Right amongst your garden that not only had you tended for him, but that he had also had a hand in watering these last few months. 
You should have told him. You love him, and you should have told him. 
“I’m really glad I didn’t hate you, too,” he remarks, squeezing your shoulder a little tighter, “Actually, I’m glad you don’t hate me. Not anymore, at least.” 
“I never really did.”
“You definitely sort of did. You tried to take me out with a glass, remember?” 
You burst into secluded laughter, hearing your friends beginning to pass around the shots but paying them no mind. 
Eddie can’t help it. He pulls you in close, placing an impulsive kiss to your temple and letting his lips linger there. Just pressed against you, breathing in the scent of you. 
That kiss sends shivers down your spine, warmth through the center of your bones. You love him. 
You love him, you love him, you love him. 
So why can’t you just tell him that?
“Aw!” Robin pulls the two out of your bubble, “Aren’t they just adorable?”
“Yes, yes,” Steve passes two shot glasses down to your end of the table, “Absolutely adorable. It’s nauseating. Also, I’d like to go on record – I totally knew the entire time. I was just giving them the benefit of the doubt.” 
“Playing the Devil’s advocate?” Argyle asks, lining up his multiple shots, “I dig it. Even though you’re totally lying right now.” 
“You’re so lucky it’s your birthday, dude,” Steve rolls his eyes, clearly holding back an insult. 
Eddie’s arm stays heavy on you, a welcome weight as you sit up straighter to take your own several shots. 
These were your friends. Somewhere you belonged, filled with people you loved and a boy you could come home to after all your long weeks. A certain happiness that is rare, and impossible to place, and can nearly bring you to tears overwhelms you as you grab that first shot. 
“Also-” Steve turns to you and Eddie, “I knew that was Munson’s shirt. The day he got it, all he did was brag about what a rare find it was. Fuck off with your Target bullshit.” 
Eddie’s hand leaves your shoulder long enough to reach out and thump Steve, laughter booming and vibrating against you, “Sure you did, Stevie.” 
“Target has some nice things,” Nancy offers with a shrug, now holding her own shot glass. 
The seven of you all hold up the first of what will probably be too many shots tonight, the beginning of a night that will probably be remembered through killer hangovers tomorrow and possibly even captured on camera by the likes of Jonathan, Steve, and Eddie. 
“To Argyle,” you take the lead on the cheers, jittery and anxious as all the love you continue to withhold buzzes in your chest, lifting your small glass in his direction, “The most lovable twenty three year old I know.” 
Everyone moves to drink, but Argyle immediately shakes his head, “Nah, fuck that. It’s not even my birthday yet – I demand a new toast.” 
He lifts his brows, staring you down and silently adding, you know what to do. 
And yeah, you did know what to do. 
“Fine,” you sigh dramatically, leaning further forward, Eddie’s arm following. You relish in the tense silence as everyone waits for what you’re about to say instead. Even Eddie is waiting with bated breath, watching your every move, a contrasting yet easy smile on his face, “To bets.” 
A booming applause from your group. Glasses tapping against the wooden table before shots are downed. Groans of disgust as the tequila hits everyones’ tongues. 
Eddie hardly waits before you’ve both swallowed to remove his arm and grab your face, turning your cheek so that his lips can capture yours. Everyone only cheers louder, Steve letting out an obnoxious whistle as Argyle claps. You’re surely going to get kicked out of the bar at this rate. But you really don’t care as you kiss your boy back. 
Next time. You have to tell him next time. 
The night ends in more of a whisper than a bang, surprisingly. 
Everyone has suddenly become a happy drunk, probably from all the love and good news passed around throughout the night. It’s all warm feelings and warm hugs, tequila on the breath and love on the mind. 
You don’t even get kicked out of the bar. Your waitress only smiles at your rowdy table from time to time, and you figure that all the good vibes must be rubbing off on her. 
Steve is the first to call it quits. Robin has drank enough to give herself the hiccups, and he says that after that, she almost always gets viciously nauseous. He wants to get in the car and home before she gets to the point, for the sake of his car’s interior not getting covered in puke.
It’s a domino effect from there.
Argyle quickly agrees, Jonathan offers a guiding arm to Nancy, and Eddie’s arm only tightens around you. The group closes out the tab, putting off worries of everyone paying Jonathan back until tomorrow. Quick, simple, painless. 
Until you all get outside. And goodbyes are exchanged – that’s not the part that gets to you – with promises of seeing each other throughout the week. Everyone congratulates you and Eddie one more time for good measure, Nancy and Steve looking the most proud of you two as Argyle and Robin giggle like children about it. And it’s fine – you laugh along and it’s all good. You let them get in all their I told you so’s and know it’s all in good fun. 
It’s all fine. Until you two branch off from the group, Eddie’s bike across the lot from everyone else’s cars. 
The moment you two are alone, you can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or if it’s the levity of suddenly having a moment that only belongs to you. Your mind wastes no time of reminding you of your pathetic cop out: I’m just really glad you didn’t really hate me. None of those words even sound akin to the real ones you should have said.
I love you. 
It’s not because your friends have found out. You know it’s not that, because just last week, right after your breakdown about whether you were smothering Eddie by half-living in his apartment, you’d had a breakdown because you realized you wanted to fully live in his apartment. You’d had a breakdown because you hadn’t grown tired of him yet, hadn’t satisfied the need to see his face every morning when you first wake up yet. You hadn’t gotten bored with all his lingering affectionate touches. You hadn’t gotten used to the way he’d kiss you in the middle of sentences. He was still taking your breath away, two months later, and you had a breakdown because you realized it wasn’t novelty or a pathetic crush making you feel this way.
You had a breakdown because you love Eddie. 
You love him, ardently so, and you still can’t find the right moment to say those words to him. He deserves to know – the entire foundation of this relationship was honesty.
It’s all you can think about as his hand finds yours and he’s walking up to his bike, practically dragging you up to his bike as your legs forget how to work amongst nerves. 
“So, I was thinking,” he carries on conversation so casually, “You want to spend the night at my place? I know you said you don’t have any class-“ 
Now. Not later, not next time. Now. 
“Hey, Eddie?” you interrupt him, stopping the two of you a few paces away from his bike. 
His face is impossibly concerned as he looks down at you, clearly reading the worry on your face, “What’s up, babe?” 
Here goes nothing – be brave.
“I-” 
Why is this so hard? 
It shouldn’t be this hard, because loving Eddie is easy. 
It’s easy when he’s looking at you like this, like he always does. It’s easy when he wakes up after you, and he comes into the kitchen to just wrap himself around you as you make him coffee, no matter what time of day it might be. It’s easy when he catches your eye from across the room during outings, sometimes winking once he knows you’ve found his gaze, just to see you laugh. It’s easy when he tries to distract you from homework when you’ve been spending far too many hours hunched over your laptop on his couch, coming and bugging you, laying his head on your lap and insisting his girl needs a break. It’s easy when he kisses you and everything just feels right. 
It’s easy. He loves you – you love him.  It isn’t hard. You’re making this hard, when it never was. 
“I love you,” you admit quietly, voice shaking as the words leave you easily. 
Loving Eddie is easy. 
“I love you,” you say more surely, voice raising in volume as you find the willpower to look into his eyes, “I love you so fucking much, Eddie.” 
Each time you say it, you gain confidence in it. It’s true – you love him. You love him so much, it encompasses every inch of your being. It entirely consumes you. You love him. 
His face falls slowly, mouth agape and eyes boring into yours.
You don’t wait for his response. You already have it – in the way he’s still holding your hand, in the way he holds you at the end of each night, in the way he knows both your orders at bars and coffee shops. In the way he will always put himself between you and the street when walking down the sidewalk, in the way when he roughly stops his bike at stop lights that his hand always flies back to hold onto you. In every soft touch and every expression of devotion he has offered you for not just two months, but for over a year. 
“You love me?” he softly asks, finally beginning to come back to life. 
You nod without hesitation, “I love you, Eddie.” 
Now that you’ve started saying it, you can’t stop it. And each time, it’s still heavy and sweet like honey, even as the confession comes as easy as breathing. It’s pouring from every crevice, filling up the night air around you. 
He takes you off guard with a harsh kiss. His teeth colliding with yours, his breath stealing yours, his entire being molded with yours. 
“Say it again,” he begs in a murmur as he pulls you in even closer, desperate as you break into a smile, “God, please say it again, sweetheart.” 
“I love you,” your cheeks begin to ache, the kiss no longer even to be a considered a kiss as you two are just mindlessly pressing your smiles together, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” with each repeat of the sentiment, Eddie drinks it in, “I’m so fucking in love with you, Eddie Munson. You and your stupid lockscreen and-”
“You do not think my lockscreen is stupid,” he pulls away, raising his eyebrows as his palms squish your cheeks, “I saw the way you looked at me. You were eating that shit up.” 
You bite your lip, trying to pull further away from him, but he won’t let you, “I was not-”
“You were,” he cheekily teases, eyes bright as he looks at you, “You were, and it was the best thing ever. Totally worth stealing Argyle’s spotlight.” 
“We didn’t steal Argyle’s spotlight,” you try to defend yourself. 
“We so did.”
You shake your head to the best of your abilities, face still between his hands, “We… Okay, we sort of did.”
He grins like a young boy, all his youth and all his love on show for you as he leans down, pausing right before pressing another kiss to your lips, “We definitely did. And it’s fair, because they fucking bet on us.” 
“They did,” you agree, not even feeling guilty anymore, too consumed by the love for the man right in front of you, “They tend to do that a lot, don’t they?” 
“They do.” 
He finally surges forward, lips sealing against yours one last time. It’s less messy this time, more meaningful. A bit more patient as he takes the time to fit his lips into yours, just as they should be. 
You have an audience. You’re completely oblivious until you hear the cheering from across the parking lot, snapping apart to both glance at where Argyle and Robin are jumping up and down, screaming their heads off. 
“Hell yeah, my dudes!” Argyle’s voice booms as Robin only produces incoherent coos to echo. 
Nancy, Steve, and Jonathan are all just watching silently, shaking their heads, but you can also see their grins. Almost as radiant as you felt.
Steve finally cups his hands around his mouth, sending his voice to you over Argyle’s continuing whooping, “Get a room!” 
Perfectly in sync, you and Eddie both throw up a hand with your middle fingers raised in their direction, still half tangled in each other. 
Your eyes find Nancy. She’s looking at you two with overwhelming pride, a certain satisfaction that breathes out the relief of finally. This may be a weight off not only your chest but Eddie’s as well, yet you can’t help but imagine just how she feels. How many nights she had stomached Eddie’s rambles about you leading up to this very moment. The pay off must be unimaginable. 
Finally. 
“Congrats on finally getting the girl, Munson!” she calls out, but her eyes are on you, winking. 
You see it now. Why they’re best friends. How all her best parts and Eddie’s best parts overlap and compliment one another perfectly. 
Jonathan is the final one to yell across the parking lot at you two, one arm slung around Nancy as the other moves to unlock his car, even his usually grumpy face showing signs of elation in that timid smile, “Now take your girl, home, dude. Spare the rest of us the gory details.” 
Eddie’s laugh reverberates against you physically from how he holds you, also making its way to burrow deep within your chest where all that liquid bliss belongs, as he throws his entire head back and makes you finally focus on just him again. Home. Not just his apartment, but him. You realize now that it’s simply wherever he goes. Where he leads, you’ll follow. It could be a shitty dorm room with a mattress that leaves your back aching, it could be a comforting apartment that holds you ‘hostage’ for twenty four hours straight – it doesn’t really matter. Wherever he is, home is. He’s your home; you love him, he knows you love him, and he’s your home. 
When his laughter finally fades, and he’s looking at you again, his dimples are prominent as ever through his whisper, “Just in case you’ve forgotten – I’m very much in love with you, too, sweetheart.” 
His lips meet yours for good measure. 
It’s been the longest week of your life, the longest year, but you’re finally home.
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trubblegumm · 1 year
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Welcome to the Bloodbath.
Official AO3 link
Despite it’s name, the AU itself isn’t all about
blood guts and murder.
However, it does have its fair share of blood/gore cws, so proceed with caution.
The bloodbath AU revolves around the idea of Splinter having the reputation of the most deadly assassin. When he mutates, Lou Jitsu is only able to save one of the turtles, the rest somehow find their ways to different parental figures. It happens to be a strike of misfortune when these figures happen to be the very people who ruined Lou Jitsu’s life in the first place.
However, surprisingly, these ‘villains’ from Lou Jitsu’s life turn over a new leaf after unexpectedly finding themselves attached to their respective turtles. All ends up well and happy for these newfound families, having been brought joy in the form of these turtles. For Lou Jitsu/ Hamato Yoshi, it’s different.
He’s unable to let go of the past, and of his grudging hatred for those who wronged him.
However, he tries to remain sane for the sake of his adopted son, Leonardo. The life of a mercenary is no life for a child, and despite the coldness in his heart brewing from his trauma he wishes to keep Leo away from the harmful lifestyle.
This proves to be futile. After all, Leonardo was made in Lou Jitsu’s image.
They all were.
Bloodbath follows the story of all four turtles reuniting, bonding and eventually becoming one as a family. They’ll learn that family does whatever it takes to protect each other, even if that means covering up murder for your brother.
Want to know more? Check out the bloodbath ask blog!
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This AU is always open for questions and suggestions! I’ll get to any asks as soon as I can. To follow the story, you’ll need to start from the beginning.
2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30
Running out of time
Leo | Donnie | Mikey | Raph
Bloodbath bad guys!
Finish Him! (Fic)
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valeskafics · 5 months
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"Most Ardently" Chapter One: The Food Of Love - Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader (Pride & Prejudice AU)
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a/n: i haven't done a ye olde aemond series in a while but had gotten a few requests for a pride & prejudice au, so i hope you guys enjoy! 🩷
Summary: You and your sisters make the acquaintance of your visitors, Prince Daeron and his more reserved elder brother, Prince Aemond.
TW: profanity, innuendo, afab reader, she/her pronouns
Word Count: 2,500 words
Rating: 18+, MDNI
SPOTIFY PLAYLIST HERE.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the songs listed in this chapter nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
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It has often been said that the five daughters of Lord Borros Baratheon and Lady Elenda Baratheon, aptly called the Five Storms, could not be more different from each other. The eldest is Cassandra, considered to be the kindest of you, always ready with a gentle smile or a sweet word. Then you, the second-born, known to be the cleverest of your sisters. After you comes Maris, known for her affinity for music, or rather, her attempt to be an aficionado of the art. After Maris is Floris, often called the most beautiful of you all. And then Ellyn, the youngest and by far the most flirtatious.
When the announcement comes that the younger Targaryen princes are to visit Storm’s End, your lady mother, in all her wisdom, immediately decides that the occasion calls for a grand ball to welcome them. Of course, your elder sister Cassandra and younger sister Ellyn can hardly contain their excitement at the prospect of a ball, excitable things that they are. Despite being closest in age to Cassandra, the two of you, as so many have said, could not be more different.
“Well, girls, you’d best see the tailor,” your father sighs, “I do not know what else to say. Your mother has spoken.”
“Do you think the princes have come to seek a bride?” Cassandra asks excitedly, turning to Ellyn, “Oh, sister, imagine! Two of us, being princesses of the realm.”
“I have no desire to be a princess,” Maris declares, turning her nose up in disdain, “I have no desire to attend this ball at all, in fact.”
Cassandra gives you a pleading look, knowing you are the only person in this world that Maris has any respect for. You turn to your younger sister, a strained smile on your face.
“Maris, just think of all the people you will be able to entertain with your music,” you offer, “Won’t that be lovely?”
That seems to appease your sister, at least for the time being, and she happily follows the rest of you toward the tailor. Floris comes up beside you, linking her arm in yours, all of your sisters immediately beginning to speculate what the princes will be like.
“Do you suppose they’ll be amiable?” Cassandra wonders aloud, “I hope they are.”
“I just hope that they’ll be handsome,” Ellyn sighs dreamily, “Imagine, me! The wife of a prince! You will all have to bow to me, you know.”
“Seven Hells, I did not think she could become more insufferable,” you mumble to Floris who covers her mouth in an attempt not to laugh aloud, “Anyway, it won’t matter to you if he’s handsome or not, Floris. The Targaryen coffers are overflowing with gold dragons, so he’ll buy you all the pretty dresses you want.”
Floris can’t help but burst into laughter at the offended look on Ellyn’s face as she storms away, “Was that necessary, sister? Exposing the little one for her vapid ways?”
You shrug, “I found it entirely necessary. Now, let's get going.”
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When the day of the ball comes, you and your sisters wait with bated breath to see just what Prince Aemond and Prince Daeron look like. You turn to Floris, a smile on your face, admiring how radiant she looks.
“If every man is not in love with you by this evening’s end, my dear sister, I am no judge of beauty.”
She laughs softly, embracing you, “Or men, sister!”
“Humorless fools, the lot of them, in my experience,” you giggle, watching as she rolls her eyes, craning her neck to see if the princes have arrived.
“One of these days, sister, someone will catch your eye. Then you will have to hold your tongue.”
“I doubt it.”
You both fall silent as the herald announces the arrival of the princes, and thereby, the beginning of the ball. You and your sisters observe as the two men walk in, shoulder to shoulder, heads held high. They are every bit as regal as you thought they would be, dressed in lavish robes of Targaryen red and black, the House of the Dragon’s sigil embroidered on their tunics. They walk with purpose to where your sisters stand with your mother and father. One is a slight bit shorter than the other, with blond curls and a pleasant face. You bite back your smile as he stumbles into a bow when faced with Floris, his cheeks flushing as he openly admires her. His brother, taller with long hair and more angular, sharp features, though no less handsome if not more so, gives a short bow as well.
With that, the festivities begin.
Once the princes move away to greet some of the other guests, you lean in and whisper in Floris’ ear, “Which of our painted peacocks is Prince Daeron?”
She grins, whispering back to you, “The one on the left with the curly hair is Prince Daeron.”
“And the one with the quizzical brow?”
She shakes her head at you, amused, “That is Prince Aemond.”
You watch as the man stiffly makes his way across the room, shaking your head, “Poor soul. He looks utterly miserable.”
“Perhaps he might find solace in Maris’ lovely tunes.”
You slap a hand over your mouth to prevent yourself from bursting into hysterical laughter at the thought of the dour-looking man listening to your sister’s awful singing. Your parents soon usher the five of you toward the princes. Your mother introduces each of her daughters by name with pride.
Well, other than Cassandra and Ellyn.
“I have two others but they are already dancing,” she declares proudly, prompting you and Floris to exchange a look of annoyance.
“We are delighted to make your acquaintance,” Prince Daeron responds amiably while his brother simply nods his head.
Though he says he is delighted to make all of your acquaintance, Prince Daeron appears to only have eyes for Floris.
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You stand with your guests and Floris, none of you having gone off to dance yet. You turn to Prince Daeron in an attempt to engage him in conversation, noting that he seems to be struggling to break the ice with your sister.
“You were fostered in Oldtown, is that correct, Your Grace?”
Daeron nods at you, grateful for the save, “Yes, my lady. I served as a cupbearer and squire to my uncle, Lord Ormund Hightower.”
You smile at him, “The libraries near the Citadel are said to be the best in the country.”
Daeron gives you a sheepish look before glancing at Floris and fiddling with his collar, “Yes, it fills me with guilt that I do not read more often. I like being out of doors.” He pauses before adding, “I mean, I can read of course.”
“I wish I read more, but there always seems to be so many other things to do,” Floris offers, giving him that sweet smile of hers that has ensnared the hearts of many a man.
“Just so, that is exactly what I meant,” Daeron beams at her before offering his hand, “May I have the honor, Lady Floris?”
She nods shyly, taking his hand, the two walking toward the dance floor. You smile to yourself, thinking that they make quite a handsome couple and how happy you are that someone is treating your little sister with all the adoration and respect she deserves.
However, this leaves you alone with Prince Aemond, who simply stands beside you, hands clasped behind his back. 
Seeking to fill the awkward silence, you turn to him, giving him a polite smile as you question, “Do you dance, Prince Aemond?”
He does not do you the courtesy of facing you as he responds, his body stiff and voice cold, “Not if I can help it, Lady Baratheon.”
You purse your lips slightly, realizing that your guest has no interest in maintaining polite conversation with you. And so, when the young and handsome Lord Connington asks you for a dance, you do not spare your guest a second look before leaving with the man.
Perhaps if you had looked back, you would have seen the slight downturn of the prince’s lips at the sight of your retreating form, the way his hands ball into fists and he sighs, stalking off toward the banquet table.
Some time later, after you and your sister have had your fill of dancing and merriment, you meet Floris’ gaze from across the room. She gestures for you to follow her, which you do immediately. The two of you hide beneath the banquet table, much as you did when you were little girls, snacking on lemon cakes and gossiping about all those present at this farcical ball. Though, for the first time, Floris seems quite excited. Young Prince Daeron has clearly caught her interest, considering how many times the two have danced this eve. 
When he and his brother walk by, stopping close by where the two of you are hiding. You exchange a look and both crawl a bit closer to listen in on their conversation.
“Come now, brother, you must dance. I hate to see you standing by yourself, skulking about like a Silent Sister.”
Prince Aemond shakes his head, “You know how I detest it.”
“I have never seen so many beautiful girls in the same place at the same time,” Daeron remarks as he stuffs his mouth full of sweetcakes.
You and Floris hold back the urge to giggle at how adorable he is, but your expression sours at his brother’s snide response, “I believe you were dancing with the only handsome woman in the room.”
Floris takes your hand in hers, squeezing gently as Prince Daeron replies, “Oh, she is certainly the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld! But her sister, with whom you were conversing earlier, is quite lovely as well.”
You smile to yourself slightly at Prince Daeron’s words. You have always been considered the wittiest of your sisters, with a sharp tongue and quick mind, while Floris is the beauty. You have never been called lovely and a warm feeling rises in you at the thought, only to be quashed by the elder prince’s subsequent words.
“She is perfectly tolerable. But not handsome enough to tempt me.” Floris feels your grip on her hand tighten, running her fingers over your palm to soothe you as Prince Aemond speaks again, “You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles. You are wasting your time with me.”
After the two have departed, the younger prince no doubt searching for your sister once again, Floris turns to you, “Ignore him, sister. He is such a disagreeable man. It would be a misfortune to be liked by him. Just think, you would have actually had to talk to him!”
You giggle at her words, “Do not worry, I would not dance with him for all of the Red Keep’s finest jewels.”
Though part of you cannot deny that his words and rejection have stung you, injuring your pride, as the two of you make your way back toward the dance floor.
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As the party begins to wind down, you stand with the princes, Floris, and your mother, who has no doubt come to insert herself into her daughter’s potential courtship, speaking in a manner that embarasses the two of you entirely, “My Floris is truly considered to be the beauty of the Stormlands. Why, when she was only thirteen, Lord Wylde was so in love with her that I was sure he would ask for her hand,” she sighs, shaking her head, “He did write her some very pretty verses.”
Sensing the awkward atmosphere and Floris’ embarrassment, you step in, tone impatient as you cut your mother off, “And so ended their affection. I wonder who it was that first discovered the power of poetry in driving away love?”
You are completely taken by surprise when Prince Aemond looks at you, head tilted to the side as he addresses you directly, an intrigued expression on his face, “I thought that poetry was the food of love.”
“Of a fine stout love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already,” you reply sagely, watching the glimmer of interest spark in his eye, his lips curling upward ever so slightly, “But if it is only a thin, slight sort of inclination, I’m convinced that one good sonnet will starve it away entirely.”
He hums before questioning, voice slightly mocking, “What would you suggest then, my lady, to encourage affection?”
Your response comes without delay, “Dancing,” you say, recalling Prince Aemond’s earlier disparagement of you, a cheeky smile on your face as you add, “Even if one’s partner is barely tolerable.”
Prince Aemond watches you walk away, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the realization that you heard him insulting you. Prince Daeron snickers at his brother’s expense, asking Floris for another dance while Prince Aemond simply watches you waltz with Lord Wylde, a slight frown on his face.
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That night, you lay with Floris, tucked up in the same bed, too excited to sleep.
“Prince Daeron is just what a young man ought to be,” she sighs dreamily, “Sensible, good-humored-”
“Handsome, conveniently rich-”
She slaps your arm at your teasing completion of the list, “You know perfectly well I do not believe marriage should be driven by thoughts of wealth or title.”
You nod, declaring in a melodramatic fashion, “I agree entirely. Only the deepest love will persuade me into matrimony, which is why I will end up an old maid.”
The pair of you burst into giggles, Floris questioning after you have calmed down, “Do you really believe he liked me?”
“Floris,” you stare at her, amused, “He danced with you most of the night and stared after you like a lovesick child for the rest of it.”
She smiles, cheeks flushing at the memory, “I was flattered, I must admit. I did not expect such a compliment.”
“That is one great difference between us,” you say, nudging her playfully, “Compliments always take you by surprise. In any event, Prince Daeron is certainly very agreeable and I give you leave to like him, little sister. You’ve liked many a stupider person.” You snicker at her gasp of your name, continuing on, “You’re a great deal too apt to like people in general, you know. All the world is good and agreeable in your eyes.”
“Not his brother,” she frowns, “I still cannot believe what he said about you!”
“Prince Aemond?” Your lips quirk up slightly, remembering the flabbergasted expression on his face when you last saw him, “I could more easily forgive his vanity had he not wounded mine. But it does not matter. Once their visit is over, I doubt we shall ever speak again.”
With those words, you blow out your candle, allowing darkness to claim your room and the sweet embrace of slumber to claim you and your sister.
Though your thoughts wander to a certain blond one-eyed prince…
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macfrog · 6 months
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if i had a gun cowboy like me chapter 12.5 (joel's pov)
long-awaited, pain-packed, and sealed with a bow by yours truly. i love y'all. thank you for being so patient and kind with me on this one. this chapter is joel's experience of the end of illicit affairs and all of hits different. you might wanna check those chapters out before you indulge in the angst-fest that is this one. hope you enjoy 🧡
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pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader
summary: walk a mile in joel miller's shoes. see if you'd do anything different
warnings: more heartache, more angst, lois, alcohol + drug consumption, mention of reader being roofied, very brief mention of joel punching knox, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing
word count: 9.8k
terrible news! there is no more taglist! make sure you're following @macfroglets w notifs on if you wanna be buzzed when i post 🤍
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“Right. Sorry. It’s just…we kinda have a…situation, here.” It’s you. He fucking knows it’s you. His heart begins to hammer. He doesn’t give a fuck whether she puts two and two together or not when he asks – “Where is she?” “We’re still at Frank’s,” Anna says, sniffing. He can hear the booming bassline of music, muffled; the sharper chatter of voices. She’s on the street. In his head, he can see her shoulders hunched; her bare arms wrapped around her body for warmth. She goes to say it again. “We’re still at –” “’n where is she?” Joel cuts, and she finally cracks.
You’re still fast asleep when he lifts his head.
You’ve had this argument plenty before. I do not snore. Yes, baby, you do. I’ve heard you. I don’t! It’s alright, it’s okay that you do. It’s a cute snore. Joel, I don’t fucking –
Right now, he’s pretty certain you’re snoring. He just wishes you were awake to hear yourself.
He thinks about pulling his phone, taking a video so that once you’re up, you can hear the little bursts of air, the tiny rasps from your nostrils as you snooze. But if he ever did record anything like that – just like the Hillcrest pictures, until you’d found them last night – he’d keep it for himself. Wouldn’t offer it up so easily.
Just something for him to have, for all the time he spends without you.
Your hair’s still all over the place. Tangled in Joel’s right arm, still smelling of chlorine and sex. Your head rests softly on the crook of his elbow like it’s a pillow; your lips and eyes are puffy, tired. You have this ridiculously strong vice grip on his left arm; during the night he felt you wrap your wrists around it and pull it into your chest, tucking it gently under your chin until your entire upper half was drowned in his.
His chest snug against your back, his arms encasing you safely, and his hips…his hips lined with yours. His now semi-hard cock buried between your legs – he’d slept inside you last night, and it was like, after forty-eight years, someone finally took him by the shoulders and said: This is how you do it. This is how you rest.
He was out as soon as his head hit the pillow, soon as his eyes fell shut. He stirred only to feel you maneuvering his arm, and then fell straight back asleep.
He felt comfortable. He felt safe. Big, old, tough guy Joel Miller. Never let anybody in since Sarah’s mom left. Alone for almost seventeen years, and fine with it. His cheeks heat at the idea of needing – of wanting to feel that. Safe. But then you came along, and he realized he’d been waiting his whole life to feel it. Didn’t even notice he’d been missing it.
That’s how these things go, right? Can’t miss what you don’t have, and all that.
But now he has it. Now he has you.
And you make him feel things he’s never felt before, or if he has, it was so fucking long ago that he’s forgotten. You drive him fucking insane. Keep him up at night, wondering what the hell he’s gotten himself into. Make him do stuff that his reflection glares at him over. Are you being serious right now? Make him…different. New.
The night before last, when he’d picked you up from Frank’s after rodeo night, he promised to make you a big breakfast in the morning. Compensation for not swinging by McDonald’s on the way home. But then your dad called, and you had to take off before Joel had even properly woken up.
When he eventually rose from the bed, he went straight to the store. Stocked up on eggs, flour, sugar, bananas. He’d printed a recipe from his computer while you were gone. Marked the items off as he meandered through the store. Stood for ten minutes deliberating over which gluten-free flour would be best, before an assistant asked if he needed any help.
I’m good, he muttered, and then, as the kid wandered off, cleared his throat and said, Actually –
Greg – the kid assistant in question – had suggested the red bag. Said it’s corn flour, instead of wheat. Joel can’t pronounce the brand name. He just knows it’s tucked behind a box of cereal in the cupboard downstairs – he hid it there so you wouldn’t find it and snuff out his plan.
His plan, which he now has to put into action. Without waking you. He’d lie here forever just staring at you, if he hadn’t sworn to himself to make good on his promise and cook you some damn pancakes.
So he slowly pulls his left hand from between yours, loosening your death grip, and steals it back across your waist. He does the same for his right arm – more careful, though, so he doesn’t tug on your hair. Like some kind of wild cat creeping through the jungle, every moment calculated and careful.
He bunches the comforter up a little at your back, so that if you do stir, it might feel like he’s still there. Still a weight, curving around you. He takes a good five minutes just to travel the length of the room – the lightest he’s ever walked, dodging the spots on the carpet that he knows make the floorboards squeal.
When the door gently clicks back into place, he heads downstairs. Cracks out his frying pan – non-stick, obviously – and all his ingredients, pulls the printed recipe from its hiding place between two cookbooks and lays it out on the counter, flattening the creases and unfolding the corners. And gets to it.
His first egg cracks messily over the lip of the bowl. The yolk runs down the outside, and he curses before swiping it back up with his index finger. The second egg empties fully inside the bowl, but drags with it tiny fragments of shell. Joel spends five minutes focusing on picking every single piece out of the mixture. He crouches to make sure he’s poured the exact amount of milk, eyes level with the top of the liquid, and he double checks every step before he follows it.
This has to be perfect. Has to be. For you.
The entire time, all he can think about is you asking to sleep with his body inside yours. Wanting him closer than you’d ever wanted him before, as close as he could physically be. Your sleepy voice circles between his ears on loop – want somethin’ else. That safe feeling creeps up on him all over again.
He knows he shouldn’t. He can’t. He’s spent the last month purposefully pushing those feelings down, dampening them anytime they rose to the surface. Only allowing himself to feel them, to acknowledge them, when you’re around. Because he can’t fucking help but acknowledge them when you’re here – they stare him straight in the face.
So he’d been making peace with letting the floodgates open just a little bit at a time – one quick rush whenever you’d give him one of your meaningful glances, when your hot skin would brush against his, when your mouth would fall open at the feeling of his first deep thrust inside you.
And then he’d bolt them back up.
Except that, now…he’s not sure the dam can hold much longer. There are cracks he’s not repairing quickly enough. Unintended consequences hammering against the other side of the stone in the form of angry white waves.
He’s staring at the beige circle of batter in the pan, swept off with the waves into someplace far from his kitchen, when the sound of your voice draws him back.
“Joel? You down there?”
The floorboards at the top of his stairs creak. You’re leaning over the banister.
“Yeah, darlin’, I’m here.” He slips halfway out of the kitchen door, closing it over his body in hopes you won’t smell the pancakes. You ask what he’s doing, and he says, “Just makin’ a coffee. You want anything brought up?”
“I’m good,” you reply. “’m gonna take a shower.”
“Alright, baby. There’s probably some stuff in Sarah’s bathroom you can use.”
He listens closely as your footsteps recede, waiting to hear the hum of his shower before he relaxes again, flipping the pancake over. It sizzles away as he runs one thick finger along the inside of the bowl and tastes his handiwork. Pretty damn good, he thinks. He’s sucking his finger clean when his cell goes.
Joel swipes to answer, and before he can utter a Hello?, your dad’s voice is screaming down the line to him.
“Mornin’, pal! You in? You up?”
He figures this is the infamous speakerphone you rambled for ten minutes about last night. Like a fucking foghorn, man. I’m deaf in this ear now.
He doesn’t wait for Joel to respond. “I was just passin’ by, remembered you got that leakin’ pipe, or whatever it is. Under your sink, right? You good for me to drop in ‘n take a look?”
“Uh – uh, I’m –” Joel stammers his way through a sentence he doesn’t know the ending of, slotting the phone between his cheek and his shoulder and giving the pan a rattle against the stovetop. He slips the spatula under the mixture, and when he flips it over, the pancake is charcoal black. “Fuck.”
“What’s that?” you dad roars, deafening in Joel’s ear. Fuckin’ speakerphone.
“Nothin’, it’s…” He sighs, accepting his new-found position: backed into a fucking corner. What’s new these days?
“Yeah, I’m up. See you in a bit.”
He hangs up the phone midway through an Alright, buddy from your dad, and whacks the chargrilled pancake on top of the pile. His phone surfs across the counter in a blur of blind panic, before Joel’s taking the stairs two at a time to get to you.
The door’s ajar. He can hear you quietly singing to yourself. Same song you’re always fucking singing, always trying to coax Joel into singing along with you. You’re humming the guitar solo when he whips the door open.
“Hey, hey,” he’s panting, taking your towel in one hand and reaching for the shower door with the other, a blur of movement before his eyes like he’s not in control of his own body. “Out.”
“Huh?” you reply, blinded by the soap suds running down your forehead and into your eyes.
“Baby,” Joel whispers, desperate, “you gotta get out. He’s here. Your damn dad’s here.”
He drags you over to the first place he spots: his closet. He knows it’s no fucking good, but he can hear your dad’s car squealing to a halt in his drive, and he’s in a blink panic wondering what artefacts, what evidence of your being here lie dotted around his house. Your bikini’s hanging up out back, there’s probably a hoodie still strewn over the back of his couch.
He doesn’t have time to think, though, because in the midst of his mental scan of every room whilst explaining to you what’s going on, your dad’s heavy boots just thudded onto his doormat.
“Miller?” he calls up the stairs. And Joel closes the closet over.
----------
He stands by the front door watching your dad’s car purr off down the street, waiting until it turns left and disappears behind the Dawsons’ back fence to shut the door. When he turns back into his hallway, the house is uncomfortably silent. You’re still up in his room.
The weight of your phone pulls at the waistband of his jeans. He slips his hand into his back pocket, fishes it out, and takes one step toward the stairs. The screen lights in his palm.
There’s a cluster of notifications from some film class group chat, a couple Snapchats from Sarah. A reminder to take your birth control from some pink-icon app, and then –
I’m heading over to Joel’s to check something out for him. Wanna meet me there?
He stares at it until the text burns into his eyes. Blinks, and it’s seared into his lids. His breath leaves his chest in a heavy, burdened sigh. It trembles as it pushes from his lungs. He feels something burning under his skin. All over.
He’s angry. And he’s trying to keep it contained.
Keep it where it lies, keep it beneath the surface. Stop it from pooling right behind his lips, collecting in the light of his eyes. Keep it from revealing itself. But when his foot lifts to the first step, it’s like a deadweight in the air.
He’s angry. But he’s fucking exhausted.
The bedroom is empty when Joel pushes the door open. You’re still hidden in the closet. You don’t look up at him when he pulls on the shuttered door, letting light flood across your hands, still covering your face. There are flicks of dripping wet hair peeking out from under the towel on your head.
He wants to put his arms around you. Wants to kiss you all over. Tell you, It’s okay, it’s alright. He didn’t see nothin’.
But he can’t. Because neither of those things are true.
Your dad saw the cowgirl hat. Hell of a lot like a hat my daughter has. It sent a sharpened bolt of panic through Joel’s body the second the words came tumbling out. He might’ve seen your bag lying at the bottom of the stairs. Might’ve passed your car on his drive here. There are so many loose fucking ends.
And more than that – harder to accept: maybe this isn’t okay anymore. Maybe it hasn’t been the entire time. And maybe, despite all his good efforts and the fucking way you make him feel, despite it being weeks now of tiptoeing and lying and covering your tracks – maybe you finally crossed a line.
He can’t look at you a second longer. His heart’s in his throat. If he opens his mouth to speak, he’ll probably choke. Break down. So he walks away.
You follow him downstairs a few minutes later, fully dressed and silent. Your touch sweeps across his shoulder blades, and it takes everything in him not to turn to you then and there. Come here, kiss me. Pretend none of it’s happening, just for a moment.
He sets your plate down in front of you. He’s taken the burnt pancake. He follows a pattern: cuts into the food, glances out to the backyard, and back to the plate. It’s the only thing keeping the words from rolling out onto the table in front of him. The only thing stopping him from –
You kick his leg. So gently, he barely feels it.
“You gonna eat?” he asks in response, chewing on the smoky flavor of burnt batter. Your hands hesitate, and he feels his own flinch as if to take them, rub them, squeeze them. And then he watches as you drag your knife through your own breakfast.
He wants you to yell at him. He wants to give meaning to the guilt he feels. He knows what’s coming, and he isn’t so sure that you do.
This is…impossible. It has been, from the start. Always sneaking off, coming up with excuses. So many fucking excuses, he can’t even keep them straight in his head anymore. She’s here, droppin’ my flannel off. Now we’re upstairs, I’m showin’ her my guitar. Need her to help with decorations. Your TV’s broken, did you know that? Don’t mind us, just sat in this private corner of my backyard, out of view of fucking everyone. I’ll pick her up from her rodeo night, take her home. She’s at Anna’s all day today, right?
And your dad – kind and naïve, or maybe just so fucking gullible that every single one lands like the flour did in the egg mixture. Just gracefully floats down into his brain, absorbs itself and folds perfectly into place.
So, yell at him. Get mad. Make him feel like the fucking asshole he knows he is. Leading you on, and letting you get close to him, and then when it gets too hard – pushing you away. Doesn’t matter if that’s what he did or not; doesn’t matter whether he did or didn’t mean it. He wants you to be mad at him. To justify what he’s about to do.
He slides you your phone. Motions for you to read it.
“Fuck…” you whisper, and then he thinks you get it.
But then you say, “…he didn’t see me, though. Right?” and his heart sinks.
No. He didn’t see you. But he saw so many little pieces of you, that Joel finds it impossible to consider that he isn’t already seeing the entire picture. He’s picturing your dad at home in the living room, one hand on his hip, the other running through his hair, adding two and two and two and two and –
You’re bickering. Actually arguing. He doesn’t know how to navigate it, save for letting the frustration take the wheel and drive the point home: you came too close to being caught.
You’re smarter than this, he knows you are. He knows that you can see plain as day, everything that he can. The bag, the hat, the fucking home-cooked breakfast sat on his kitchen counter. He’s watching you argue your point, hands dancing in the air animatedly, eyebrows lifting, eyes widening. Hear me out. Listen to me. Hear me out.
“I didn’t fucking mean to let him see the b–”
“That’s not the point,” Joel says, before he has time to stop himself.
“Then what’s your point?”
He feels his voice carry off into the air with the images racing around his head. Hank’s shadow under the door. The roar of voices downstairs as you climaxed. Your body pinned under Joel’s on your couch. The way the morning light screamed into the house as your front door burst open.
He doesn’t sound like he has much of a point, even to himself. He’s in it just as much as you are. He’s lied and he’s hidden just as much as you have, and made mistakes that are…worse, as far as he’s concerned.
And the worst one of all sits directly opposite him. Head low, eyes boring into the wood of his kitchen table. He can see the tears swelling across your waterline. Can feel the heat from here as it spreads across your face. Anger thrums through his chest again, and his teeth grit.
He murmurs, pushing himself up from the table and away from you. Tells you there’s some stuff he needs to see to. You’re mad about it, like he knew you would be. Like you should be. He promises he’ll be back in a couple hours; promises you’ll talk when he gets home.
And then he leaves.
----------
Clark’s is on the other side of town. It takes him nearly forty minutes to get there, and more than half of that time is spent staring at the tail lights of a Honda in front of him. Some accident up ahead. His eyes bore into the burning red strip of brake light until it’s singed into them, a blur of blue when he finally rips his glare away and stares up at the white sky.
He thinks about calling you. Saying, Hey, I’m stuck in traffic, talk to me, but he doesn’t. He just…doesn’t.
Instead, he wonders what you’re doing. Whether or not you’re still at his place. He wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t. But if you are – and he hopes you are – what are you doing?
He thinks: She’s on the couch. Bundled in blankets. Grey’s is on TV. She’s rewatchin’ her favorite episodes.
Least, that’s what he wants you to be doing. Wants you to be making yourself feel better, because he knows he was a complete ass earlier. You didn’t deserve any of it. Nothing that he didn’t deserve himself, just as much, anyway.
He thinks about coming home, and you hitting pause, pushing yourself off the couch and sauntering around to him. Wrapping him in the blanket until your bodies are pressed together under the woven red, and kissing him. Kiss me kiss me kiss me.
And the thought of you, standing on your tiptoes to press your soft lips to his, your fingers sifting through his hair, is like a cold pack on a searing wound. Dulls his anger, even if it’s just for a second.
His wide tires crawl silently across the smooth lot of the plant hire, parking right in front of the wire fence. The truck door slams shut when he gets out. He doesn’t mean it. Maybe he does. But he does it without thinking, and with a hot head, a temper sharper than nails, he strides over to the glass-paneled door and swings it open.
She’s sat behind the desk, same as always. Dark, deep auburn hair, groomed and set to perfection so that when she looks up, it doesn’t move an inch. Curls around the sweetheart shape of her face, smooth and shining. Her blue eyes twinkle in the glaring light from outside, and she stands.
She tugs lightly on the hem of her white blouse. You’d probably elbow him and say, That’s cream, not white. She smiles at him and it doesn’t look a thing like your smile. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw your smile. Fuck, he thinks, when did I last make her smile?
And he’s still wondering, when Lois says, “Hey, stranger,” and puts a gentle, pale, red-nailed hand down on the desk. “Long time, no see.”
“Yeah,” Joel grumbles, clearing his throat and glancing at the man in a pair of thick, steel-toe boots, sat in a waiting area to his left. He thinks it’s probably polite to ask how she is. It’s been seven weeks since he blew off her hint for a date.
“Good, thanks,” she replies, cheeks swelling even more. They’re lightly shaded crimson, a soft shimmer to them against her snowy skin, dappled with light freckles. “You?”
He nods once. “Good,” he echoes, not sure what else to say. He’s lying, and she doesn’t seem to figure him out the way you would.
No. Instead, Lois steps back, straightens up, and twirls the pen in her fingers. “What can I do ya for?”
“Got some equipment I’m after,” he mutters, hand slipping into his back pocket for his phone. Lois’s eyes flit up and down his body as he taps his passcode in with his thumb.
She asks him something, but it sounds like she’s speaking through a closed door. He’s elsewhere.
The phone unlocks, screen lifting to reveal the last open app: his camera roll. His thumbs hover over the screen, tracing where yours would’ve tapped last night.
The video’s muted, she won’t hear it even if he let it play, but he swipes away the second he recognizes the tangled mess of your hair, his fist locked tight in it. His own hair, salt and pepper buried deep in the crook of your neck.
Something in his chest aches. Pulls tight, hurts his heart. He takes a deep breath and scares the feeling away. He’s staring at his camera roll. Staring at twelve little square thumbnails – couple of them work stuff, couple of them lists of supplies he has to remember to pick up – and then. Then.
You. At the Hillcrest. Dimples in your cheeks. That’s what made him take his phone out. The soft dips in your skin that appear anytime you smile, laugh, sometimes even just when you talk. He’d first noticed them when you had a mouth full of pizza, chatting animatedly about Meredith and Derek, and he’s noticed them every time since.
He’d seen them, as you posed with Sarah for a selfie at lunch. And his hand had slipped into his pocket before his brain even had the chance to finish the thought.
His quiet way of marking how he felt in that moment. How his chest seemed to fill as if with air, or something thicker. Sweeter. Like it was trying to push words up, a comment to tell you how beautiful you looked. Trying to make him move, run his thumb light as air across that tiny valley in your cheek and look at you with eyes that translated the words hammering behind his eyes.
But you had company. And all he managed to do was take two fucking photos.
Lois talks again, and this time, there’s no closed door.
“Huh?” Joel’s head snaps up, takes a few seconds to focus on the red hair in front of him. “Sorry, Lois, sorry.”
“’s alright. You okay?” She’s smiling so warmly, so sincerely. And there are no dimples in her cheeks.
“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “just checkin’ for the address.”
She holds out a pad, a stack of hire agreement forms hovering between her body and his, but he’s not looking. He’s still scrolling through his phone, thumbs searching your dad’s text thread for the information. Lois lowers the pad to the counter, places the pen on top. Fiddles with it until it’s lined up with the top of the form perfectly.
Then Joel looks up, and she smiles again.
“Not for you, then?” she asks.
He shakes his head. “Just the messenger.”
“Got it. Well, you know what you’re doing. Let me know if you need anything.”
Lois takes a step back, eyes still on Joel, who smiles politely, then swipes the form from the desk and takes a seat between Steel-Toe Boots and some tall, leafy plant that he has to bat away when he sits down. He’s copying the site address, phone resting on his thigh, when the receptionist speaks again.
“How’s Sarah doin’? She home yet?”
“Yeah,” Joel replies, “been home a couple weeks now. She’s been in Nashville this weekend.”
Lois lifts her head, blinking slowly. “Nashville. Nice. So, you’ve had a weekend to yourself.”
He scoffs. “Yeah,” he croaks.
“And what does Joel Miller get up to when he has an empty house for a few days?”
His fingers squeeze around the pen, pushing deeper into the paper. His expression hardens. “Nothing excitin’ enough to share. Sat by the pool yesterday. Was nice out.”
She agrees. “Sure was. You have company?”
Joel shakes his head once. Blinks the image of you and your red bikini from his vision. Focuses on dragging the pen one digit at a time across the line labeled Phone Number. If he cared enough, he’d give the obvious hint a couple seconds’ consideration, even just to protect Lois’s pride a little.
But he doesn’t care. And right now, he ain’t interested in protecting anyone but you.
“Nope. Just me ‘n a few beers.”
“Better off that way,” a hoarse, forty-cigs-a-day voice rasps from his right. “Less fuckin’ problems.”
Joel’s jaw rotates a degree towards the work boots; notices the folds of dry, leathery skin piled atop the raised gray eyebrows of their owner, and then turns back silently.
Lois clears her throat awkwardly. “Well, I spent the day with my book. I’m readin’ a Colleen Hoover. Adam’s at camp, so – quiet house for me, too.”
Joel finds himself nodding. Autopilot. He’s pretending he’s listening.
You’re still in his sight, wandering over from the sliding kitchen doors, a bottle in each hand. He can hardly see you when he looks up, the sun’s so bright. You hold a beer out, condensation dripping down your fingers towards Joel’s when he takes it, and then you slump down in the sun lounger next to his.
His arm reaches across, and your small fingers wrap and then unwrap around his, running across his knuckles, nails lightly scratching his worked hands. And he’s smiling, and he doesn’t even notice it until his eyes meet yours and you laugh, and he asks, What? through a chuckle, and you say, Nothin’, you just look happy.
Your dimpled blush blurs back into checkboxes and scrawled handwriting. You’re gone again. He’s in a white office, and the gentle lapping of the water on the pool’s edge fades into the headache noise of a fan humming, and he feels the warmth of your gaze on his skin turn into the cold, harsh spotlight glare of Lois’s eyes on him.
He looks up. She’s still smiling. At this point, he finds it fucking unnerving.
He rises from his chair, swings a wandering leaf from that ugly green plant out of his way and paces back over to the desk, sliding the pad back across to her. Their hands brush as she takes it from his grip, and he pulls his wrist close to his body. Lois doesn’t seem to notice.
She’s running the pen down the form, checking everything he’s filled in. Her tongue moves around the inside of her cheek, sucking on a hard candy. “Delivery on Friday?” she double checks, and Joel nods. “Alright,” she says, tearing away his copy, “we’ll call ya.”
“’ppreciate it,” he mumbles, folding the paper into his back pocket.
She turns, reaching to slip the form into a blue tray, and Joel pauses. Thinks to say something – he hopes Adam has a fun time at camp, or that Lois enjoys the rest of her quiet week. But then he sees you sat opposite him, staring fixedly at the plate before you, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. He feels your hand laced in his, hears your laugh still ringing in his ears.
He misses you. He should never have left you. You matter more to him than some equipment for a site. Matter more to him than anything. He should’ve never fucking left.
Joel nods. Reaches for the handle of the door. Glances back to Lois. “There a florist anywhere near here?”
----------
He pulls the truck in alongside the florist. Teal window frames, a little pink door. He can hear you now. How fucking cute is that store? Give me your phone, I gotta get a picture. Mine’s is in my bag in the back. Look, the traffic’s movin’, Joel, give me your phone – quick!
His fingers hook around the silver door handle. He pats his jeans once – wallet’s right there – and goes to pull, when his cell vibrates from the center console. He can see himself in the glass screen, your dad’s name written across the reflection of his forehead.
He bites down on his lip. Hard. Glances up to the road ahead. Blinks. And decides to answer.
“Joel,” your dad chirps down the line. “Sorry, buddy, you’ll be sick a’ the sight ‘n sound of me today.”
Joel manages a convincing laugh. “What’s up?”
“Just makin’ sure you’re rememberin’ to put Friday’s date down for delivery on that order. We’re gonna need the stuff over the weekend, so.”
“Yep. Just been to do it right now. Friday’s date, Harvey’s site, your card details ‘n everything.”
“’attaboy. Good job. You’re all grown up.”
“Funny.”
“Thanks, pal. I appreciate it. There wasn’t no chance I was gettin’ time to do it myself,” he lowers his voice, “I’m still stuck here with Kelman.”
Joel’s fingers trace around his steering wheel. “Oh, yeah? He keepin’ you busy?”
“You bet. Had to haggle with ‘im just to get a lunch break. Speakin’ of – I swung by the house and that daughter of mine wasn’t home. Haven’t seen or heard from her since yesterday mornin’. I’m just checkin’ she ain’t stop by to see Sarah or som’?”
His fingers lock tight around the leather. “Sarah’s still in Nashville, she gets in tonight. Couldn’t tell you where yours is. I’m not home yet, so.”
It’s a half-truth. He could wager a pretty good guess, but he can’t be certain, can he?
Your dad chuckles down the line. “She spent the night at Anna’s. My house must be like prison to her – she’s never around anymore. I’ll hear from her soon, I’m sure. Alright. Thanks, again, Joel.”
He drops the phone back into the cupholder with a sigh, leaning back against the headrest to stare at the roof of the truck. He’s still picturing you in his living room, head turning to the street at every sound of a car door, or tires rolling by. And then the image is marred by your dad, peering in the window back at you, catching you wrapped up in a situation you shouldn’t be in.
He doesn’t want your dad to find out. For obvious reasons. Because it would mean the collapse of their friendship, the collapse of the world they built between them – for you, for Sarah, for themselves. Comfortability, and normalcy, and routine and order all thrown to the wind on account of some month-long fling.
But more important than all of that: it would mean dragging you into all of that, too. Fucking up your relationship with your dad. Making things weird between you and Sarah. Ruining whatever’s left of what you and Joel had, before you both took it too far.
And if he doesn’t want all that – if he doesn’t want your dad finding out – then something has to change. Something’s gotta stop.
His fingers wrap tight around the key and turn, and the truck jumps to life. He turns away from the teal-colored florist as he pulls off.
----------
You take it about as well as he reckoned you might. About as well as you should, given the circumstances. He isn’t surprised, and he doesn’t blame you. He’s probably on your side, when you argue back with him.
“You’re not serious, right? Joel. You’re not –”
“Kid, I…”
“No. What? Because of a fucking bag?”
He lifts his gaze and pleads with you. “Because of the lying.”
You’re right, with your response: it’s never been an issue until now. He’s been more than fucking happy to sneak off, take you as his own, and then return with a satisfied grin and a mouth full of excuses to feed your company. He almost agrees.
It’s just: this time, your dad’s at your heels like a bloodhound. A little less sharp, maybe. Blind as a fucking bat, sure. But he can smell something’s up. And he’s circling it, nose to the ground, drawing nearer and nearer to the pair of you with each step.
You ask if he wants to tell the truth. That thought scares him just as much. Knocks him back a few steps. No, he doesn’t want to come clean.
The words fly back and forth like a tennis match. Too fast for him to keep control of what he’s saying and how you’re hearing it. He wants to break it off – is there anything to break off? – but he doesn’t want to lose you – how can you lose something you never had? – and then: did he ever have you in the first place?
You’re standing over him, between his knees. “End it,” you tell him. “I’ll go.”
There’s a casualness in the loose shrug of your shoulders that scares him more than the prospect of you actually leaving. How easy it looks like it could be, for you to just wander out. Sling your bag over your shoulder and revert back to the start of the summer, when he was just a ride home after a rainy day at work.
Forget how to touch him the way he’s certain only you can, forget the secret language between you, forget every stolen glance and whispered word and every thought that ever translated from your brain to his as easy as they would pass between your lips.
“You don’t mean nothin’ to me? That what you think?” He’s laughing. Disbelief, fear, shock. Whichever one it is, it pulls across his cheeks painfully. Somehow, you’ve ended up at the foot of his bed.
“Well, what else am I supposed to take from this, asshole? That you’re fuckin’ in love with me?”
It’s cold water over an already-dying fire. The words smother into ash on his tongue. No more come to the front. He just stares at you. His phone starts to chitter out into the silence between you.
You take a step forward. Your voice is low. “You don’t get to do this, you know. You don’t get to pull me in and then drop me…once you’re done with me.”
“Don’t.”
It’s not much, but it soars from the pit of his stomach, through his throat and past his lips like a final arrow. All he can muster up.
“Don’t.”
There’s a weight where the words originate from. Something deep in his gut, an ache pulling its way upward, swelling across his chest. His ears are screaming.
Of all the things you might think – he’s an asshole, he’s a liar, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing – the worst one would be that he spent this entire time leading you on. Making you feel special. Making you think you were something to him.
You are something to him. You’re – you’re fucking everything to him. It’s why he’s doing this, right? Going against every instinct, every gut feeling. To protect you. To do what’s right by you. He’s not fucking done with you. He wonders if he’ll ever go another day in his life without thinking about you.
“I can’t read your mind anymore…” you whisper, and his lungs steal a breath. His lack of response flattens your expression.
Joel might not be done, but you are.
He can feel you slipping from his grasp like sand through his knuckles. Each grain rocking itself loose, choosing to throw itself to the depths below rather than spend another second wrapped in his clutch.
He’s trying so desperately to hold onto you. Listen to me, he thinks, and he knows you can’t hear him anymore. Because now you’re really going – you’re tripping out of his room. Your heel catches on the threshold, like one last-ditch attempt from fate to pull you back into him, but you stop yourself and spin, fleeing down the hallway.
He takes a loose grasp of your wrist, fingers barely meeting on the other side of your skin before you tear it away from him like he’s scalded you. The look on your face makes him think for a moment that he might actually have done it – burned you. Pained you. Raised the skin below your gentle palm in a furious, red glow.
He’s swapping words out like they’re tools, each one immediately breaking and being flung back into the box. He’s trying any combination, any useless, futile order of words to make you stop in your tracks. You know how much I care about you, ‘s why I’m doin’ it, baby, come back, we can talk about this.
And he opens his mouth to give voice to the only words he knows would stop you – the reason why he’s doing it in the first place, the only thought he’s had anytime he’s looked at you for the last couple weeks. He opens his mouth to say it, or say something like it, when the machine silences the ringtone and the pair of you, too.
Her voice is like ice down the back of his shirt. He stares at the machine, red light blinking like a rag to a bull. He could walk over to it and smash the ever-loving fuck out of it with his fists until it’s dust on his coffee table. Until it shuts the fuck up, stops interfering with his fucking business.
And then he thinks about Lois, and her cream blouse, and her red nails, and her big, blue eyes, and her soft drawl and everything about her that is so entirely opposite to everything about you.
And how much – despite how nice and friendly, or funny and good-natured she is – how much he hates her right now, and how much he fucking loves you.
But you’re gone, now. Washed away by the tide. No more sand in Joel’s palm.
He tries to stop it. Tries to wind back a little, tries to make the sea cough up what it just stole from him. Give her back, you fuck. His eyes are stinging like salt water. Why are they stinging? There’s a roaring in his ears – the waves laughing in his face. Sickly and deafening.
He’s doing his best to keep a hold on his trembling voice. He knows he sounds pathetic. But yours is louder, stronger, steadier. And when you talk, it’s with an air of finality. Like you’re turning over the horizon. The last time he’ll ever see you again.
“I’ll see you ‘round, Joel.”
----------
He doesn’t call or text you that night. He doesn’t know what he’d say. Doesn’t even know where he’d begin. You’re mad, and Joel figures you got every right to be. This entire thing – today, this weekend, the whole month you’ve been together – is one big fucking mess.
He spends the afternoon hunched over his kitchen table, trying to distract himself with work. Twirling a pencil between his fingers, reading three, four, sometimes five times over the same building plans before deciding that the words and numbers won’t fucking sink in. He leaves them strewn across the table, wanders aimlessly upstairs and takes a cold shower.
Sarah’s flight gets in at 8PM. Joel’s sat curbside, truck engine humming, scanning every single figure that walks out of the airport building. When he spots the gray hoodie, the brown hair tied back with a pink scrunchie, the much-too-big-for-four-days-away suitcase rolling at her heels, he gets out.
She hugs her friends, they nod in passing greeting to him, and she skips over.
“Hey,” he breathes as she wraps her arms around his waist. “How was your flight? Saw you comin’ in.”
She shrugs in response. “I’m hungry. Wanna go get McDonald’s?”
Joel grumbles, slotting her case in the back of the truck. “You don’t wanna get home? Take a shower first? You smell like plane.”
“Ha! No.”
She opens the passenger side door and hoists her foot up on the seat, retying her sneaker. Joel’s already in and buckled up, hands on the wheel, watching her blue nails loop the laces.
“There’s one, like, ten minutes away.”
He’s shaking his head. “We got food in the house.”
Her gaze lifts. Her foot drops. “Oh, c’mon, it’s on the way home. We’ll be, like, five minutes. I just got off a two-hour flight, dude, right through dinner. I’m starving, I –”
“Would you just get in the damn truck, Sarah?”
It’s shorter, snappier, angrier than he meant. But he’s parked in the middle of the packed pick-up area, and the rattling of suitcase wheels and the whistling of cab drivers and the fucking roaring of planes overhead are making the headache behind his eyes worse.
Sarah freezes, one arm still leaning on the doorframe. “Jesus. What the fuck?”
“Sorry,” Joel mutters, shaking his head. “Sorry. Just – get in.”
“No need to be an asshole about it,” she murmurs, pulling herself up into the passenger seat.
Joel’s face is in his hands, elbows atop the steering wheel. “I’m not tryna be an asshole,” he says into his palms.
His daughter looks at him. Concerned. “Somethin’ happen? While I was gone?”
He shakes his head again.
Nothing happened.
He’s quiet the rest of the night. The rest of the week. Sarah notices, he knows she does, because she pries. In her own way. She’s smarter than he is. Less obvious.
She’s already up and in the kitchen when he rises on Tuesday morning. Spins around at the toaster, tells him the machine’s ready for his coffee. Asks if he wants her to make it. Asks if he wants any breakfast.
Thanks, kiddo. No, I’ll get it. No, you’re good, thanks.
They sit opposite one another in silence, save for the crunching of Sarah’s toast. He can feel her eyes on him, same way he felt Lois’s. Trying to burrow deep inside, take a look at his brain. Catch a glimpse of the words he’s thinking over and over and over.
There ain’t no words, though. It’s just images. Video replay of your back as you strode down his driveway, the way the wind caught your hair and brushed your cheek, the way your hand came up to wipe your tears. And the way he stood there, like a fucking idiot, and did nothing.
His chest hurts any time he thinks about you. Pulls in, knits itself together in knots. He’s good at pushing feelings down, good at turning them away from the sunlight like faded pebbles. But this is different. It’s a different kind of hurt.
It’s unresolved, it’s an open wound. It’s you. And it’s every time he hears REO Speedwagon, every time he pulls a flannel over his shoulders and catches the scent of your perfume on it, every time he’s flicking through the TV and catches a flash of a hospital setting, it’s a pair of hands deep inside the wound, pulling it a little wider.
It aches. It stings and it aches and it winds.
And then he turns the pebbles around. Back to the shade. Over and over and fucking over.
On Wednesday night, he caves. Asks Sarah if she’s spoken to you.
She’s chewing on a slice of pizza; licks the grease from her fingertips before she answers. “Not really. She’s been quieter than usual. Why?”
“She’s been quieter than usual?” he repeats, playing off the way his head shot up by looking straight back down at the pizza box.
Sarah narrows her eyes. “Yeah. I figure she’s working a lot.”
“Right. Right.”
“She gets tired of being in the house all the time, I think. Getting treated like a kid still. So I guess the more time she can spend outta there, the better.”
Joel nods slowly. He already knows that much.
Sarah studies him. Watches his hands as he dabs a pizza crust into the dip. When he tosses it in his mouth, he looks back up at her.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she says. “You want the last slice?”
“You take it,” he mutters, sitting back and wiping his hands on a napkin. “I’m stuffed.”
She hums, reaching forward. “Whatever it is,” she says, pulling the dough apart, “that’s got you this down –”
“Ain’t nothin’ got me down, kiddo.”
“– whatever it is,” she continues, “I bet it works itself out.”
Sarah stands up, taking her water with her, and wanders out of the kitchen.
----------
Joel struggles through another sleepless night, Thursday through Friday. His eyes don’t close over once. He hauls himself out of bed early in the morning, forces a black coffee down his throat, and heads off to work.
He’s up at some new client in Waco. Andrew Curtis – or, well, Andrew Curtis’s father, but Joel’s been dealing primarily with the son, and the guy’s a fucking imbecile. Doesn’t know his head from his ass, probably. And he has a voice like nails on a damn chalkboard, and his shirt’s untucked around the back, but Joel ain’t got a tone kind enough, or half the wordsmanship, or an ounce of energy to tell him.
Anyway – he spends all day at this dusty site, trying to work and instead, thinking about whatever the fuck you’re doing. Wherever you are, whoever you’re with. It’s almost seven by the time he’s leaving, packing up his truck and watching Andrew Curtis across the yard. He’s spotted his own shadow; he’s twisting around to reach the ducktail poking out from above his belt loops.
Joel thinks to call you about it on the way home. Tell you all about the guy: his dry conversation, his flannel, the fact he kept calling Joel Joe all day. He figures it would make you laugh, least the way he’d tell it, and he reckons that’s exactly what you need right now. That’s exactly what he needs, right now.
When Clark’s call him, he dials your dad. Has his ear blown half to hell by the speakerphone. Learns midway through the conversation that you’re right there in the car, too, and bites back a stream of incoherent, senseless words. Settles for a quiet reminder: he’s right here if you need him.
He doesn’t expect you to take him up on it. Knows you got better things to do than deal with some asshole who’d rather break your heart than have a few difficult conversations. You’re probably having fun, probably finally feeling good again. You’re probably fine.
But still. He doesn’t sleep that night, either.
It’s just gone two when Anna calls. He’s lying in bed, some shopping network on loop on the TV. His tired eyes bore into the screen, defocusing over the pixels, not watching nor listening and barely fucking breathing until he picks up the phone. Her voice is panicked, shrill, and shaking so much he wonders if his own phone is trembling with it.
“Mr. Miller?” she asks, and Joel sits up. “Got your number from Yelp. ‘m sorry it’s so late, it’s…oh, fuck – it’s, like, 2AM.”
“Anna,” Joel says hoarsely. Get to the fuckin’ point.
“Right. Sorry. It’s just…we kinda have a…situation, here.”
It’s you. He fucking knows it’s you. His heart begins to hammer. He doesn’t give a fuck whether she puts two and two together or not when he asks –
“Where is she?”
“We’re still at Frank’s,” Anna says, sniffing. He can hear the booming bassline of music, muffled; the sharper chatter of voices. She’s on the street. In his head, he can see her shoulders hunched; her bare arms wrapped around her body for warmth. She goes to say it again. “We’re still at –”
“’n where is she?” Joel cuts, and she finally cracks.
In one long, drawn breath, she spills. “She was fucked from the second we walked in here; she drank too much too quick, Mr. Miller – Joel,” she says when he corrects her, “and then she just – I dunno, she just – fucking disappeared with these guys, me ‘n Kara never saw ‘em in our lives – and they went upstairs we think, and she came back smelling like weed, and then this guy – he just, like, scooped her off, Mr. M– I mean Joel, like, totally dragged her away, and then –”
“Who–? Anna – Anna, wait,” Joel says, shushing her between her rambling, trying to rein in what she’s saying. When she finally shuts up, he speaks slowly and calmly. “Who dragged her away?”
“We don’t fuckin’ know!” she almost shrieks down the line. It cuts out for a second and Joel’s heart stops dead.“– so we don’t know,” she says when her voice filters back through into his ear, “but Sam said he saw the dude drop something in her bottle when he turned away. A pill or something.”
Joel’s body tenses. Freezes solid, with the blood in his veins. His eyes fix on one spot on his dresser: the loose handle that sits a little squint. He stares at it until his peripheral starts to blur.
“He – say that again?”
“He roofied her, we think. But we can’t fucking find them. Sam and Kara are in there just now looking. The guy pulled her away, that’s what I’m tryna say!”
“Right,” whispers Joel, nodding. He drags a heavy hand over his eyes, tries to push the image of you in danger out of his head for one second so he can figure out what to do.
Anna doesn’t hear him. She keeps talking. “…and then Sam said she told him not to call her dad, but I had to call someone, y’know? You’re the only person I think she wouldn’t – I think she wouldn’t mind me callin’. Please.”
He’s already halfway down the stairs, arms pushing through the sleeves of his shirt. He keeps the phone against his cheek when he bends to reach for his boots, ties them loose and grabs his keys.
“You call me as soon as you find her, you hear? I’m on my way,” he tells Anna, and hangs up.
He’s panicking. Fear, transferred between her cell and his, creeping over his shoulders, wrapping long, cold fingers around his throat. He’s panicking. He’s panicking. He never panics. Where the fuck are you? Who the fuck are you with?
There’s barely any traffic on the road, but the drive takes for-fucking-ever. The lights at the side of the road blur into long, thin streaks of orange. His hands are tight around the steering wheel, his jaw clenched. Your name lies loose on his lips.
He pulls up right outside the bar. There are small clusters of people, congregated tight together under the streetlights; cigarettes hanging from lips, bottles loose in hands. He shoves by them on his way to the door. Some guy shuffles out of his way, looking up to cuss Joel out and quickly dipping his head again when he locks eyes with the grizzly expression.
He shoves the door open with his shoulder, and spots you instantly.
----------
His knuckles are throbbing. Skin stretching anytime he moves his hand, searing hot and sharply stinging across the bone. Your touch is the only thing soothing them right now.
He got two good punches in. Just two. Burst the guy’s nose. He would’ve kept going, had he not been in a bar full of people – people who knew who he was – and had you not been stood behind him, body liquid-like from how much you were swaying.
But he has you home now. Up in your room, settled in bed. You’re safe. You’re with him.
You’re fucking wasted. Like, can barely lift a glass of water to your lips unaided wasted. He spent the entire drive watching over you, stealing glances when your head turned or your eyes lulled closed, checking you were still awake, still talking, still fucking breathing.
Whatever that asshole gave you, you don’t seem to have had enough for it to do too much damage. The alcohol is the real culprit. Though you were cognitive enough to yell at him over Lois in the kitchen, which relieved him for a second before it fucking crushed him. He’s lying awake right now – listening to the sound of your snoring – replaying the argument in his head. Over and over.
You’re an asshole and a liar. Just stringing me along this whole time.
He’s some awful cocktail of angry and terrified and fucking heartbroken. You’re lying inches from him, your hand resting softly on top of his, and yet – you’re miles away. The space between you both – fragmented, treacherous.
In a perfect world, he’d have wrapped his arms around your shoulders. He’d have pulled you against his weight, against his strong, steady form. And he’d have walked you, as slow as you needed, out of the bar and to his truck. Maybe laughing. Maybe singing.
He’d have told you everything was fine, told you he loved you, told you he was gonna get you home, make you feel better. He’d hold you until the sun came up, and then hold you until it went back down.
He’d love you. And you’d let him.
Maybe that world doesn’t exist, Joel thinks. And maybe that’s for the better.
It fucking hurts, though. Stings like a hot blade through his chest. All this time, messing around, pretending there was nothing more to it. Letting his feelings through like water in a fucking dam. It was bound to break eventually.
And maybe he really thought, even just for a fleeting moment, there could be something here. Something worth holding onto. More than two idiots messing around, more than sex and secrecy.
He didn’t even realize. Didn’t notice the shift. When did he start feeling…more? When did it cross that line?
He’s staring at the end of your bed. Thinking about you under him, gripping onto his shirt, his hand between your legs. The very first time. And every other fucking time since then. Which one was the threshold? Who pushed who?
His ringtone bursts through the silence, making him jump. His arm swings to fish it from the nightstand, swiping to answer before he’s even read who’s calling, just to shut the thing up.
“Hello?” he murmurs.
“Hey, Joe? Uh, I mean, Joel? It’s Andrew Curtis here.”
He rolls his eyes. For fuck’s sake. “Mornin’, Andrew.”
“Hi. Sorry, I know it’s super early. I’m just checkin’ we’re still good to go. I got my guys ready, we’re rarin’ to get goin’ whenever you are.”
Joel clears his throat, pushing slowly off the plush mattress, resting your hand on the sheets. “Yeah, uh…” He slips out of your room, hopping over to the bathroom and closing the door over. “…I had a, uh…a family emergency durin’ the night. I’m gonna be a little late, but I’ll be there.”
“Oh, gee, I hope everything’s alright?”
He phrases it like he wants Joel to clue him in. He considers for a second actually saying, Yeah, my best friend’s daughter – who I’ve been sleeping with for the last month – got plastered at a bar – Frank’s, local place, you heard of it? – because I broke things off with her – but I didn’t want to, I was just tryna be fuckin’ noble – and I went and picked her up, punched a guy who was tryna hurt her, because guess what, Andrew – I’m in fuckin’ love with her.
He sums it up with: “Yeah. Everything’s fine now. Thanks.”
“Alright, well, great news! Call me when you’re twenty minutes out, I’ll have the guys here for you arrivin’. Safe journey, Joe!”
Joel breathes an Uhuh and hangs up, holding the bridge of his nose. He has a headache, like he’s the one who’s been drinking. It’s only going to get worse, too, heading off to go spend his Saturday with Andrew fucking Curtis and his loose flannel.
The sun’s rising slowly, lighting the hall in a warm glow. Joel pads quietly into your room and pulls the cover back over his side of the mattress. You stir; your head jerks only to move some hair from your face, and then you sigh, sleep pulling you back into its arms.
He watches you for a second. Wishes he could run a light hand down your cheek, kiss your head. Whisper a goodbye, the same way you did to him almost a week ago.
He shakes the thought, collecting his boots from the floor. His hand hovers over his shirt for a moment. And then he lifts it by the collar, lays it neatly on the pillow by your head, and leaves. You can keep it, trash it, burn it. But it’s yours. Everything about him is yours.
In the kitchen, he stands by the sink, nursing a cup of coffee. It’s a quarter to six. This early on a Saturday, he figures he’ll be in Waco by seven, seven-thirty latest. His eyes fix on the spot you two stood last night, yelling back and forth about Lois. She seems so far away, now. He can barely remember the shape of her face, the sound of her voice.
His grip tightens around the mug. He places it in the sink, and grabs his keys. As he passes the stairs, he pauses. Leans on one foot, head tilted to listen out for any sound of life. Any fucking sound – the creak of a floorboard, the squeak of a door handle. Anything to keep him here. Anything.
Nothing comes. No sound, no movement, no you.
He closes the front door gently on his way out.
----------
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hwaslayer · 1 month
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project: make you love me (jyh) | sixteen.
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♣︎ spotify playlist | series masterlist
—summary: yunho can’t stand how you’re so wrapped up in the notorious campus fuckboy, park seonghwa. he would gladly love you the way you deserve, despite being shy, awkward and the complete opposite of seonghwa. thus, when he finds himself spending more time with you over literature reviews and random study sessions, he decides to take on the challenge to win you over.
—pairing: jeong yunho x f. reader
—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers/friends to lovers, college au | fluff, angst, smut
—word count: 3.6k
—chapter content/warnings: cussing/mature language, seonghwa, physical fighting, mingi calling his friend out on his stupidity, crying, sorry if i missed anything.. quickly edited this lol, yunho is just mad and overwhelmed with his feelings rn 😭
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yunho: baby
yunho: wait at the science building later, please? i'll come get you so we can walk to my car together
you: okee ☺️
yunho: ☺️ see you later? enjoy the rest of your classes
you: you too, my bighead!
Yunho smiles at his phone before tucking it away, slowly following Yeosang to their group study session.
"Should I even ask why you're smiling like that?" Yunho looks up at Yeosang and chuckles.
"Just Y/N."
"Of course. Is she in class?"
"Yup. She's in the back row being all distracted."
"Perfect way to pass time in my honest opinion." Yeo clears his throat. "I've been meaning to ask you out of curiosity."
"What's up?"
"Have you guys told each other 'I love you' and everything?" 
"Mm, no. Not yet at least."
"Not yet?" Yeosang smiles. "You feel that way for her, don't you?"
"I do. I just.. I don't know? I don't know if it's too soon. What if I scare her off?"
"Nah, doubt that. You can't put a timer on these things."
"True. Plus, it sounds cliché and like it's out of a movie, but I truly wanna wait 'till it feels right to say it to her."
"That makes sense."
"Trust me, I really do feel that way for her." He lets out a breath as they look towards the library building, the sun from behind slightly blinding them as they approach the doors. "She has literally become my bestfriend. It's crazy how life works."
"I know. I remember when you first told me you were helping her out for literature." Yeosang chuckles. "Or when you'd save her in the back lot."
"Still can't believe that was even real." Yunho does a tiny head tilt. "He's really something."
"What was up with Y/N's birthday thing? How did he even know?"
"I don't know. Word gets around fast. Why wouldn't Seonghwa know? Especially since it has to do with Y/N."
"Can't wait till the day he leaves you two alone. Must be fucking annoying to deal with."
"I try not to mind it. Though, I think he's been getting bolder lately and I can't put my finger on it."
"Has Y/N said anything?" He shakes his head.
"No. Maybe I'm just overthinking. She just seemed a little weird about him at her birthday party."
"Well, yeah. It's Seonghwa." Yeosang waves at their study group sitting at the far end of the library in the loud section.
"Yeah, but, I don't know. It was different. She seemed bothered about something but she hasn't told me anything. I assume it's not a big deal."
"Hm. Well, I'm sure it's not either. Just Seonghwa being himself, maybe."
"Mm, whatever though." Yunho greets the study group as they approach the table. "She's my girlfriend now, and that won't change." Yeosang gives him a small smile before they settle with the group and begin their long study session together.
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"Remember, we have a test next class. Make sure you study everything I included in the study guide. Don't skip on anything just because you think it's a minor detail! Nothing is minor!" Your professor says before dismissing the class. You let out a sigh, already stressing over the next test. You didn't do bad on the first test, but you also didn't do the greatest. Thankfully, you're still at a good point in the semester, which gives you enough time to pull your grade up.
Once the initial rush of people leaving the classroom dies down, you pack up your things and head out the door. You hurry out of the classroom and down the steps, excited to see your boyfriend after yet another long day. For a split second, the building is crowded with other students leaving their classes and heading to their next destination— whether it be the next class, the library or to their cars. It's a sudden swarm of people that you don't even realize Seonghwa had stepped out of his own class, following you down the corridor.
"Y/N." You hear Seonghwa's voice behind you. You try to mind your own business, subtly rolling your eyes as you walk out of the science building to reunite with Yunho. 
Except, he isn't exactly there yet and Seonghwa grabs you by the wrist.
"Y/N." He repeats, turning you to face him.
"What are you doing?" You question him.
"Just a second." You let out a loud, heavy sigh. "Why are you being like this?"
"Like what?"
"Like you ignoring me. You haven't answered any of my texts or calls—"
"Why do I need to?" You raise a brow. "You're not actually serious, right? I have no reason to respond to you, Seonghwa. Don't you have places to be, people to see?" You pause. "Don't you realize you're a little too late? This was something I needed from you way before. I don't need it from you now."
"I know it's late, but I don't wanna give up on this."
"This? This has been done for a long time, you and I both know that. You're only worried about losing the only safety blanket you've ever had. Why can't you just move on and let me be happy?"
"Happy?" Seonghwa almost scoffs. "With him? Okay, baby." He shakes his head. "Listen. Enough of this for real. Can you please just hear me out, I'll explain and apologize properly—"
"Seonghwa, stop calling me that. What don't you understand about no?" You say almost at a whine, his hand still having a grip on the edge of your wrist. You truly don't want to entertain this, but Seonghwa almost gives you no way out, no way around his bullshit, and unfortunately, that'll be the root of everything that unfolds tonight. Yunho is happily [and eagerly] making his way down to you after the long, heavy study group session, while Yeosang decides he's gonna stay behind in order to hit the gym and get his workout in. Yunho is a few minutes late, but he knows you'll still flash him that beautiful, million-watt smile he adores so much before wrapping your arms around him.
He can't wait.
But, Yunho slows in his steps just as he's close to the front doors; familiar voices filling the surprisingly empty, quiet space.  It's you, and he already feels himself boiling with anger when he hears who else is occupying your time right now.
"Why haven't you even said anything about the flowers and the card I gave you? Did you even get them?" Yunho overhears Seonghwa ask you, and he furrows his brows. What flowers and card? You don't answer right away, and Seonghwa is quick to follow up. Yunho doesn't even get to hear your response about it and the most upsetting part of all this— is that this is how he finds out about everything.
Not from you, but from Seonghwa.
"You couldn't even send me a text? I was worried you didn't get it. I wanted to talk to you afterwards."
"What is there to talk about?"
"Yeah, what is there to talk about?" You and Seonghwa turn towards Yunho, who stands there with his hands dug deep into his pockets. His jaw is slightly clenched, head titled to the side while he waits for a response. Seonghwa lets out a pathetic chuckle, hand slipping down your wrist as he fully faces him.
"Loverboy sounds upset over a little talk."
"A little talk? Is that an add-on for the flowers and card you sent her?" Yunho sounds more stern, more angry. You can't even blame him, but at the same time, it's unusual for you to hear him this way. You're not sure what could come out of this and you don't necessarily want to find out.
"I'm sorry, should I have sent you some, too?" Seonghwa steps closer to him and the panic starts to settle in for you. You wish someone, anyone, was around to help. Because although you don't think Yunho will let this blow out of proportion, you aren't 100% about your answer. You're not sure how Yunho manages his anger in these situations and you're not sure what triggers him; what tips him over the edge and is the 'cherry on top.' Seonghwa has always rubbed him the wrong way and you don't think this could end remotely pretty. "I'll take note of that for next time so you don't have to sit there and stare at Y/N's."
How you wish Seonghwa had just gotten the point. Why couldn't he just let you be? Why was he out to ruin your happiness so badly?
"Seonghwa. This is done. Let it go." You warn him, but it doesn't clear anything. You aren't getting through to any of them.
"Back up. I'm not asking." Yunho clenches his jaw as he comes face to face with Seonghwa, making him give off a small scoff.
"Aw. Loverboy's mad—" And that's exactly the tipping point for Yunho. He's not sure why, he usually has a lot of patience. He usually brushes things off easily, doesn't hold a grudge or stay angry for long. But, Seonghwa? He was a different story, especially because of the history you have with him. Every little thing about Seonghwa pisses him off— down to the way he moves, breathes, acts like he can always get his way so easily, so quickly. Before he can even think about the consequences, or how you'd feel, Yunho swings at him, making Seonghwa stumble backwards. 
"Yunho!—" You gasp, Yunho's initial punch is pretty rough that it had Seonghwa in shock before being able to register what just happened.
"Fuck you—" Is all Seonghwa spits out before going at Yunho. The two continue to go at it, pushing and gripping at each other's shirts, rough attempts at landing punches;
They're almost successful with tearing each other's heads off until you step in between and get involved.
"Stop!" You step in between to try and prevent the fight from escalating even more. "Stop it!" You push Seonghwa back when he tries coming for Yunho, a campus security guard dashing towards all of you to completely break up the scuffle.
"Knock it off! The hell are you two doing acting like this on campus? I suggest you two part ways now before we call the cops over!"
"Yo, what the fuck?!" Mingi comes from around the corner, grabbing at Seonghwa's arm to pull him back. "The fuck are you doing, dude?" He looks at his bestfriend in disbelief.
"Why don't you ask your friend who fucking started it—"
"Me?" Yunho spits, while Seonghwa wipes the blood at the corner of his lip. "I wouldn't have had to if you just knew how to back the fuck off!" Yunho is angry, continuing to raise his voice. "Let me catch you sending shit to my girlfriend one more time and see what the fuck I'll do—" 
"Yunho." You say softly, tugging back at his arm.
"Are you serious?" Mingi looks at Seonghwa. "You don't go messing around with people's relationships, Hwa. You need to let this go, you look crazy!" 
"Oh, so all of a sudden you're sticking up for your friend?"
"Yeah, because he is my friend and it's just shit you don't do! What the fuck don't you understand about that?! You fucking deserved that shit!" Mingi shakes his head before pushing Hwa forward, pulling him off to the side to continue talking to him. 
"Babe." You turn to Yunho after Mingi and Seonghwa create good distance, hand coming up to cup Yunho's cheek. But, he turns, slightly shaking his head at you. You pull your hand back and feel your heart drop, the look in Yunho's eyes being one that you've never experienced before.
Sadness, hurt, anger. 
Mostly sadness, hurt.
"What flowers was he talking about, Y/N?" His chest is still rising at a somewhat uneven pace, doing his best to calm down after the adrenaline rush.
"H-he left them at my doorstep after we came back from the snow. I'm really sorry, Yunho, I didn't tell you because I tossed it out and—"
"But still, it's the fact that you didn't tell me after all this time." Yunho's brows are tightly knitted together, and the look causes your heart to sink even deeper. "Why did you have to let me find out this way? Were you going to tell me about this too if I hadn't come right away?"
"I just didn't get around to telling you because I didn't think it would matter— Seonghwa doesn't matter."
"If he didn't, then wouldn't you be able to tell me without questioning it so much?"
"Yunho, no. I'm sorry, no." You repeat, tears pricking your eye lids. "I didn't mean for it to seem like that. I really didn't mean to hide this from you."
"Did you think about keeping them?"
"I—I, no. I thought—" Yunho hears you stuttering and his throat suddenly feels dry. Why can't you just tell him? Even if Seonghwa didn't matter to you, why couldn't you trust him enough to tell him? 
Why couldn't you feel comfortable enough to tell him?
"Be honest with me, Y/N. That's all I've ever asked. Did you or did you not think about it keeping it?" Silence. And god, it is the most gut-wrenching silence Yunho has ever endured.
Yup. Got it. 
The answer is clear.
You did think about Seonghwa. You thought about accepting the flowers as his apology, you thought about the possibility— even if it was for a brief, splitting second. Seonghwa did matter for one fucking second, and that's what bothers him.
"Yunho, please. I just thought—" You can barely get through your sentences.
"Did you, or did you not?"
"I thought about keeping it, but it was so stupid. I was just blinded for a second, and I realized it didn't matter to me. He doesn't matter to me. At all. I promise. Everything just caught me off guard." You try to grab for his hand but he steps back. "Yunho, it was all stupid. I tossed it out so quickly. I wasn't going to do anything, I wasn't going to text, nothing."
"But, why does it feel like after everything he's put you through, you still believe he'd genuinely change? Why does it feel like a part of you is still actually holding onto that?" Well, when Yunho says it to your face like that, you feel dumb. Not once did you ever think about running back to Seonghwa and leaving this behind. But, you were blinded in that quick second from your history with Hwa, being close and sharing moments for months. Asking Seonghwa for little gestures like this, for more attention; even though it was a ride, you still had history.
And yes, maybe at one point you wanted to be the girl that changed him.
But today, you can't even imagine going back to that point. Not after being with Yunho, not after the happiness he's brought you.
Not after you realize how much you genuinely and truly love Yunho. 
You don't wanna lose him.
This is all so stupid, and a huge misunderstanding. But, you're the only person to blame here— if you hadn't given Seonghwa the time of day, if you had just told Yunho right away without second-guessing it, if you hadn't hesitated; you wouldn't be here right now.
"I'm not!" Your tone raises and it sounds like a whine at this point. "I'm not, Yunho. Please."
"Look, tonight was a lot." He sighs, running his hand through his hair before wincing and looking down at his knuckles. "I was excited to see you after a long day, Y/N. I was really looking forward to being with you. I wasn't expecting all of this and honestly, I don't know what's worse? Stumbling upon all of this the way I did, or not knowing at all."
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. It was stupid and fucked up of me, and I'm sorry." You repeat, tears streaming down your cheeks.
"Maybe you just need to think about what you really want." Yunho shrugs. "I thought you were over the whole thing with Seonghwa, but clearly not if you're still considering on giving him the time of day."
"No, no, Yunho. Please don't. It's not that." You try to lace your hand with his, but he gently brushes it off with a shaky sigh. He doesn't wanna leave you. He never wants to be without you. But, tonight was a lot for him to handle, and it is overwhelming. He hasn't really felt this protective over someone. Of course, it's only natural since you're his girlfriend. He'll always protect you. It's just that Seonghwa brings something out of him that he doesn't necessarily like, and he wants it to be gone for good. It feels unhealthy and icky;
The anger, the frustration, the anxiety.
He hates it. And he doesn't want this to be a thing in your relationship. Plus, he still feels himself fuming with anger and he just can't possibly talk to you while he feels that way.
So yes, he's overwhelmed and he needs to get over this.
"No, seriously. You really should think about it. I know where I stand but I'm not so sure you do." He lets out another disappointed sigh. "I'll take you home, but we should probably just be in our own places tonight."
"Okay." You say close to a whisper, sniffling as you wipe away at your face. You don't even try to fight it anymore simply because you know Yunho needs his space right now. He begins to walk off with you slowly trailing behind, head hung low after everything that happened tonight. Everything happened so fast you're also having to process it all on this walk over to the lot. Suddenly, you're pulled out of your thoughts when you hear footsteps picking up behind you, followed by a familiar, deep voice.
"Yo, wait up!" Mingi says. "You good? I'm sorry about him, he's actually losing it."
"You're sorry? Mingi, when the fuck is your friend gonna grow up so that you're not apologizing on his behalf?" Mingi lets out a breath as his eyes dart from you, back to Yunho's. "Seriously. I don't mean to throw that your way, but it's not even just about tonight. Your friend knows no boundaries and that's crazy to me."
"I know, he's got things to sort through but that's his own problem now. I already told him multiple times. Me and San did." Mingi shakes his head.
"Doesn't take much to grow the fuck up and take ownership of your own fuck-ups once in awhile."
"Let him keep learning the hard way. He will, eventually. He deserved that tonight."
"He can try all he wants, nothing's gonna change between me and her. Hope he understands I'm not going anywhere after tonight."
"Of course." Is all Mingi could respond with because of course Yunho wouldn't go anywhere— why the fuck would he let Seonghwa get in the way? He shouldn't. And Seonghwa needs to know that. "Anyway, just wanted to see if you two were okay. For real." Yunho sighs.
"Mmyeah. Thanks." He responds as Mingi daps it up. "We're just gonna head home."
"Drive safely. Text me if you need me." Mingi gives you a small smile before running off to tend to his friends, San now also getting dragged into all his mess. 
The walk over is quiet, but Yunho still opens the passenger door for you when you finally get to his car. You hate the silence that falls between you two, but you understand Yunho is upset and needs his own time away from everything, from you, even. You can't help but cry even more into your hands when he pulls into the apartment lot, Yunho letting out a breath as he puts the car in park. He looks over at you and his heart breaks because he truly hates to see you cry, and he never wants to be the reason behind you being sad or hurt.
"Hey. Don't." He says softly, hands coming up to pry your own hands away from your face. He gently wipes the tears away, making sure no drop is missed. 
"I'm sorry, Yuyu." You repeat.
"I know, it's okay."  He says, even though right now, it's not.
"Is it?"
"Let's get you home, okay?" He just looks at you with a soft expression before unbuckling his seatbelt. He comes over to open your door, locking his car when you step out and slowly make your way to your apartment. When you get to the steps, you turn towards him with a small pout. Yunho pulls you into a hug and kisses the top of your head, wiping any remaining stragglers from staining your cheeks. He's not happy, but he's trying to send you off on a calm note— hoping this could at least ease you for the night. "Get some rest."
"I'll see you tomorrow, right?" He doesn't say anything before he pulls away and takes a few steps backwards. "Yunho." You call for him in that tone of yours that always makes him so weak.
"Y/N, please. I just need to shake this off. That's all. Goodnight." All you can do is simply walk away before running up the steps and into your apartment. Chaery is the only one home, cleaning her dishes after cooking a good meal for all of you to share.
"My love is home! I cooked!" She says happily, but her smile dies when she sees you set your bags down and cry into your hands. She drops everything and rushes over, throwing her arms around you while guiding you to the couch. "Hey, what's wrong? What happened?" She brushes the hair away from your face while you continue to cry. You don't respond for a bit, signaling for Chaery to just hold you and let you be.
You cry, and you cry.
Because you already miss Yunho, and you feel so dumb for overthinking the entire thing, for not being honest with him. It was a stupid mistake, but you hope Yunho knows you truly weren't out to hurt him. 
You hope he can forgive you and move past this— with you, together.
Because today and so on, he's all you want. You love Yunho, and there's no one else that completes you the way that he does.
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♣︎ taglist: @s-nsanshine @soupbinlily @tyongff-ff @jiminiscricket @g1g1l @staytinyinmybpack @woomyteez @gfksz @bitchwhytho @savluvsmingi @thisisntmyrightera @hyukssunflower @miriamxsworld @tmtxtf @kuromibabe04 @lmnhead @carrietwrites @tournesol155 @persphonesorchid @txt-yaomi @mxnsxngie @h-nji @mundayoonimnida @jalapeno-princess @nakiiko @asjkdk @kunikku @idkwgoh @kyeos4ng @agust-d2 @araknoid @bintificreads @primoppang @betray-the-light @aurorasjoongie @wineyoungie @yunhotteokkk @yungigiggles @jaerisdiction @ignoretheskies @luminouskalopsia @naeviscall @vixensss @choisansplushie @arya9111 @my-lightspirit @dazednconfusion @astro-doll-the-star @faesmingi @idfkeddieishot @startinystay @emily505 @mgdixon @mcsalterego @cheynalexilaiho @svintsandghosts @mismatchfluffysocks
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bingwriterxo · 10 months
Text
wisdom teeth
pairing: vada cavell x reader
summary: in which vada gets her wisdom teeth out and you're subjected to listen to her babbling
warnings: mentions/talks of sex (character 18+)
word count: 1000+
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Peace and quiet was something that was often lost on you whenever you were in Vada’s presence, your girlfriend’s ramblings and blabber always filling the silent void if there was one to begin with. It was rare that you could hang out with her and not hear her talk for hours on end about whatever came to her mind, even if you didn’t particularly care to listen—not that you’d ever tell her that, because you knew she’d be upset, and you liked hearing her talk, anyway; actually listening was just different. 
Somehow, although you really should’ve expected it, you got no reprieve when you offered to drive Vada home from her dentist appointment after getting her wisdom teeth removed. Part of you had thought that she would be too groggy from the anesthesia to do anything more than sleep in the passenger’s seat, while the other part of you thought that her mouth would be too stuffed with gauze for her to talk. Either way, you had initially believed that your time spent with post-surgery Vada would be blissfully silent. 
Oh, how wrong you were.
“Vads, come on,” you groaned. “You have to get in the car.” Currently, the brunette was refusing to sit down, instead choosing to flail her arms around in what you believed was an attempt to fight you away. It was, obviously, hilariously failing. 
“No!” she shouted, though her words were muffled a bit by the copious amounts of gauze in her mouth, keeping her from bleeding and drooling all over herself. “Stop touchin’ me! I have a girlfriend!”
You froze for a moment, staring at the girl, and then you burst into laughter. You knew that her mind would be a little…gone, because of the anesthesia, but you hadn’t been expecting it to be like this.
“Vada,” you said, “I am your girlfriend.”
Vada stared at you for a moment, her eyes narrowed in suspicion, and then she lit up with excitement and offered you a toothy grin, which was a little bloody. “You are my girlfriend!”
You chuckled. “I know I am. Now, will you get in the car, please?”
She nodded fervently and dropped into her seat, making sure to pull all her limbs in so that you wouldn’t shut the door on her. You bent down, clicking her seatbelt into place, and on your way back up, Vada tried to pull you in for a kiss. It was easy to avoid, however, and her lips landed on your cheek. 
She pouted up at you, clearly confused as to why you wouldn’t kiss her. “You can’t kiss with your gauze,” you said, which was half-true. The other half of your avoidance was that you didn’t want her mouth-blood anywhere near you. “Once we get home and take it out, and we get you cleaned up, then I’ll kiss you, okay?” you promised. She nodded solemnly. 
You shut the door and rounded the car to get into your own seat. When you were settled, you pulled out your phone, plugged it into the aux cord, and played the playlist that you and Vada had made together softly over the speakers. 
You glanced at her. “This good?” you asked, referring to the music. 
“I don’t care,” she said brashly. “Let’s go home so we can kiss.”
You bit back a smile. “Okay, babe. We’re going right now.”
* * *
You were halfway to Vada’s house when the nonsense-talk started. 
“Can we have sex when we get home?” she asked innocently.
In your surprise, you pressed on the brake a little too hard as you pulled to a stop at a red light, jolting both you and Vada forward slightly. “No,” you said. 
“Why not?”
“Because you need to rest, Vads. Plus, your mom and Amelia are going to be home.”
“That’s never stopped us before.” You blushed to your ears at the thought and stepped on the gas pedal when the light turned green. “Besides, who needs rest when we could fuck?”
“Vada!” you hissed, glancing at the girl. She didn’t seem to realize that her words were a little out of pocket, grumbling something about ‘dying from lack of pussy,’ as if the two of you didn’t have sex literally the night before.
You were able to scratch by with a few more minutes of quiet, humming along to the music that was playing, before Vada cut into it again, another question racing to slip past her lips. 
“If I buy a cowboy hat, and wear it around daily, would you say that I’m a cowboy?” 
You tilted your head at the question. “Why? Are you planning on doing that?”
She shrugged. “That depends. Would I be a cowboy?”
“I guess.” You bit at the inside of your cheek, thinking. “But, I think you might need the boots, too, and, like, a horse?”
Vada huffed. “But if you saw me walking around with a cowboy hat on, your first thought would probably be ‘cowboy’, right?
“Probably,” you answered, thinking that the conversation would be over the sooner you gave into it. 
“And you’re all for letting animals have freedom, aren’t you?”
You furrowed your eyebrows. “Uh, yeah.” Your eyes flitted toward her in suspicion. “Where are you going with this, Vads?”
She giggled a little, and then coughed violently. “Sorry, choked on spit ‘cause of the gauze.” Vada cleared her throat to the best of her ability before saying, “So if I’m a cowboy, and you like free animals, then would you save a horse and ride this cowboy?”
If you weren’t driving, you would’ve slapped her across the back of the head. Instead, you settled for heaving out a sigh and shaking your head. “That was terrible,” you confessed. 
Vada frowned. “Rude.”
“Sorry, babe, but it’s true.”
She mumbled something you couldn’t hear and then said, “You didn’t answer the question, though.”
You pulled into her driveway, parking the car and turning to her. “I pray you never have to be given anesthesia again,” you muttered beneath your breath. 
Vada looked at you. “What?”
You laughed at the sight. Her cheeks were blown out like a chipmunk because of the gauze, and when she spoke it looked like she was stuck in the middle of a yawn. There was some drool on the corners of her lips, and some on her shirt, and yet…
“Yes, Vads. I would ride this cowboy.”
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theangelictarot · 1 month
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🔞📱 🔞 📞 🔞 ☎️ Next in your love life 🔞📱 🔞 📞 🔞 ☎️
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Welcome back everyone! I have picked my giveaway winner, I am really excited to reach out to them. If you receive a message from me and are comfortable! You can comment below and let everyone know how your reading resonated. I have yet to deliver but I’m sure you’ll enjoy it! (Delivered!) Also, I’m on a kick with the readings. I do take time to myself and I enjoy going at a manageable pace for me! No rush. Divine timing is always at play and I can sense my collective knows this as well as I do. *virtual hugs* 🫂 🫂 🫂 Each pile was uniquely created. My first time getting information this way so let me know how it was! 🩵
Pile I:
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Reconciliation. They could be returning OR you don’t even know them yet but you know them on a soul level. The reason it says reconciliation is because you always vowed to find each other again no matter what. I’m seeing sleepless nights due to you two being up with each other. Yes, I see intimacy. However, this is different. It’s almost as if you both are trying to makeup for loss time. (side note: time is never loss, time isn’t real. everything happens for a reason.) Who cares what others may try to say or think about this. You two can create generational wealth together or will already have wealth. Very free spirited. So many vacations, time on the beach! Africa is significantly important here. You’re about to begin to see or have already started to notice supernatural activity, in a VERRYYYY good way!!! “I made you a playlist” type of love. SO MUCH hydration!!!! Of course because of all the adventures 😉😩🫦🥵🫣 Many different people are wanting into your energy, it’s about to be a major shift within your situation and circumstances in general. Especially in the love department, it’s been far too long for some of you. I’m also picking you that many of you are interested in possibly a fwb situation. You are letting the diving stir this next journey in love.
- “Think I already have a big crush on you.”
- “No doubt you are the one and only I want to spend the rest of my life time with.”
- “We shouldn’t be influenced by the outside world. Just focus on us two.”
- “It’s hard to show but I do care about you so much.”
Pile II:
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A lot of emotions in this pile. You’re afraid to take a step moving forward. You could be in a LD relationship, phone sex. HEAVY. Love notes, love messages, random flowers, mailed gifts, ETC. They will send you songs that remind them of you, they use music to communicate. Pay attention to the specific lyrics that they send over vs a link to the song. You will each pay attention to detail, i’m inspecting my layout and spread to make sure I’m not forgetting any minor details. Everything counts. Communication about pregnancy, you both will be in fantasyland thinking about it. Using your imagination more, brain stimulation. Virtual date night(s), ordering in food. Sushi, Tacos. They could skateboard 🛹, Snowboard 🏂, or something to do with needing a helmet when doing these activities. You’ll probably travel to watch them do this. They’re well-known at what they do. Marriage, I see two rings. 🤷‍♀️ Getting a pet together/creating a home, building a family. The whole shebang !! Staying up to see the sunrise 🌄 Different TimeZones. The song Dandelions by Ruth B. 🎶 Feeling hopeless/bitter due to the distance. You feel like your heart is half way across the world and you’re slowly dying without it. Damn. Not being able to see the future clearly. It could be difficult for one of you to get approved for a visa or whatever you’ll need to meet/see them or even move in with them. That could lead to one of the major reason you two decide to get eloped. In the end, I’m seeing a rainbow! 🌈 You two will get your happy ending and will finally after all the stress and sadness. Something will just click and everything will begin to work within your favor after all! They could’ve been in a relationship (toxic friendships or with a spouse) when they first began talking to you, you didn’t know and they’re coming to let you know in a message but! before they told you they had already ended it. This will shock the hell out of you. This was destiny though, the divine forced this “meeting.” Healing ❤️‍🩹 during this time.
Pile III:
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Love by Keyshia Cole 😭😭😭 “But I knew once we start kissing’ I found you.” You’ll believe it when pigs fly?! OKAY spirit said. This pile is heaven sent! I heard not usps but UPS 1-day express shipping😭 Seriously like something out of a movie almost. They’re going to take you for a freaking trip! Mentally and physically, transforming into your ultimate self. I’m a bit confused, so you may not even notice this occurring until you’re sitting down thinking back and then you’ll see how it all played out. You’ll be showing your gratitude to the divine for your beautifully wrapped heaven sent gift. Take this leap of faith! I once asked an older women while having a conversation with her, “if you could be my age again, what would you do?” and she responded, “I would’ve taken more risks.” That alone should make you think about just how precious time is and we’re not promised anything or even another day. You’ll soon acknowledge this, celebrating you overcoming your fear(s) with this connection. Moving into brighter days!!! No more restless nights of thinking and wondering. 🤔 💭 Victory after a long time, the divine is assisting so much in this process!! You were going towards the wrong person and have been moved you/them to the proper path/direction. Setting sail on an adventure of success in all aspects of life. You’re getting back into dating! Someone may send you a rose on Hinge! That’s how the date will occur. They surf or used to be a surfer 🏄 🏄‍♀️ 🏄‍♂️. You’re wreaking down years, decades of generations curses that someone placed on your family probably because you were born! You’re experiencing your ancestors pain. Fighting for what you love. Not shaking your morals due to a little pain from the past. With that being said, you win in the end. Getting the whole wish fulfillment. You did the work, you get rewarded. It’s harvest season for some or once the spring time comes!! Spring time! Your “fruit” will begin to spout or blossom 🌸 🌼 🌞
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updownlately · 4 months
Text
like a moth to a flame | alessia russo x reader
chapter 1: all i can say is (it was enchanting to meet you)
| a/n: here we go. first ever multi-chapter fic. this one's just a bit more of backstory/intro. we'll get to the fun stuff in the next chapter or so. i'll be honest, i don't know how consistent updates will be for this, nor do i know what the plotline is after the first 3-4 chapters (i probably should but eh fuck it we ball). this is totally going to be a go-with-the-flow typa series so yeah, hopefully shit works out. :) anyways, happy reading! 🫶 | series masterlist / playlist / intro / chapter 2
~~~
It’s a miracle really, that you didn’t realize just how fucked you were when bright blue eyes met yours for the first time.
Maybe it was the blinding smile she shot your way that had your mind preoccupied, the joy clear on her face as she pulled you in a welcoming hug- into one of the best hugs you’d ever received, if you were honest. 
Maybe it was the way your body slotted perfectly into hers, the embrace feeling like the warm comfort of your blanket on cold winter mornings. 
Or maybe it was the way her eyes crinkled as you both pulled back, her giving you a once-over before nodding approvingly, squeezing your bicep and grinning as she walked away. 
All you know is that sometime during your first day at the Colney training grounds, Alessia had slowly taken a piece of your heart, and you weren’t to know until you’d find it broken, shattered into a million pieces a handful of months later. 
~
Your body’s thrumming with anxiety, a shiver running through your spine despite the still warm weather from the waning August days. 
The world cup had just officially ended a week and a half ago, and here you were already, in a different continent than you called home, a new country for you to explore, a new city for you to learn.
You hadn’t expected a call from any club in the world after your world cup performance, never mind one of the biggest clubs in the world. 
Having not made it past the round of sixteen, you’d been heavily disappointed with yourself after your final game.
It wasn’t that you’d played horrible or the team didn’t try their hardest- it just didn’t click. Things just didn’t work out in your favour. It sucked, yes, but it was life, and as much as you beat yourself up for it, you knew punishing yourself would do nobody any good.
So, as unlucky as it was for you guys, a series of unfortunate events that left the team with their heads hanging down, the rest of your team boarded a flight back much earlier than anyone had expected, four goals against them the only thing on many of your teammates’ minds. 
You’d stayed back though, more than content to explore Australia and New Zealand, as well as catch some world class football, having nothing really to head back home to.
With your contract at Reign having expired once your loan to City ended at the end of their season, you’d been patiently waiting for your next opportunity, fearing slightly that the challenge you so desperately craved for would never come.
You didn’t realize it in your worry however, but between your performance on the pitch during the handful of games the team had played, and your constant presence throughout the overall world cup, you had somehow caught the eye of a handful of European clubs- an elite two midfielder was always a treasured asset after all. 
It was only as you were nearly boarding your early flight to head back to Seattle, did a slew of texts ring through your phone, your agent nearly flooding your inbox as she begged for you to call her when you got the chance. 
Half asleep, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, you’d quickly dialled her number. 
It was only as the other line was answered, words rapidly being spoken at the other end, did you get abruptly shaken out of your sleepy state, mind beginning to run a mile a minute as you’d slowly deciphered the words. 
Offer. England. London. Arsenal. If you want. Yes. 
Swallowing hard as you’d pinched yourself the best you could with your phone tucked between your shoulder and ear, you felt your chest swell with shock and pride.
Arsenal? Wanting to sign you? 
A childhood dream come true truly- flashbacks of your childhood bedroom decorated with memorabilia in red and white, a gunner’s flag proudly tacked up above your bed, Thierry Henry’s jersey that you’d saved up for nearly a year to buy hanging at the front of your closet for you to look at every time you opened the damn thing (that number had increased a lot since you’d gotten the jersey). 
With a hurried yes escaping you, you ran your hand through your hair in disbelief, your head dropping to your hands as you took the phone out of the crook of your neck.
Arsenal wanted to sign you. 
Holy fuck. 
~
It’s how you found yourself in London, a little over a week after the call, standing in front of a quaint little house, your rented car full of nearly everything you owned back in Seattle- everything you owned at all, really. 
Swallowing hard, you tried to keep a steady hand as you reached for your new house keys, it taking a few tries before you got it to slot into the lock, the door opening with a quiet click as you took in what was to be ‘home’ for the next two years. 
And with the realisation that there was a little less than a day to settle in before your first day, your first training, with the rest of the squad, your mind a frenzy, heart beating faster as it finally sunk in.
You were a Gunner.
~
You’re grateful that Cloe’s signed just shortly before you, her announcement post and video going up mere days before your own. 
It gives you another familiar face, despite the fact that you weren’t really close to the blonde. 
Between Sabs and Cloe, you figured that you’d be able to adapt somewhat easily, the older players already having looked out for you since you’d been called up to the national team a handful of years ago.
It’s why, as you pull up to the training grounds, you text the group chat that three of you had created upon learning of your and Cloe’s signings.
‘So, where do I go after parking?’
Sending a sheepish emoji after your message, you smiled gratefully and Sabs’ text sprung through not even seconds later. 
‘I’ll come grab you. What car are you in?’
Shooting back a quick description of your temporarily rented car, you made a move to exit the vehicle, lowering the extremely loud music to a near mum as you turned the vehicle off.
Grabbing your bag from the backseat and slipping your ever-trusty headphones onto your head, only covering one ear for now, you leant on your car, facing what you presumed was the entrance to the locker rooms.
And so it begins.
~
You were an NWSL semi-finalist.
You were an Olympic champion. 
You were a highly sought after two-way midfielder.
You were, also, currently standing in front of the doors to the women’s change room, hands just slightly shaking as your heart pounded in your chest, social anxiety nearly causing your throat to close up.
“Just go in,” Sabs laughed out, standing behind you, getting to witness your panic first hand. 
Whipping your head out, you gave the older woman an incredulous look.
“It’s not that easy! There’s- there’s legendary players in there! What if I make a fool of myself?”
Swallowing hard, you brought your hands up, shaking them in a futile attempt to get them to stop quivering.
“God. Just head in yeah? Cloe did it just a few minutes ago, and she’s fine. Plus, I’ve already talked about you to them, they’re really excited to meet you!”
The words didn’t have the comforting effect that Sabrina had hoped for however.
“You already told them about me?!” 
Eyes wide as saucers, you did your best to close your jaw that had just dropped. 
“Please tell me you didn’t embarrass me...”
Shaking her head with a smile, the goalkeeper shoved you towards the door good-naturedly.
“Just go in, yeah?”
Swallowing hard and mentally hyping yourself up, you nodded in response. 
“God, you really have been here too long. You’re starting to talk like them.”
Holding your ground against the retaliating shove that came your way, you grinned at your little victory, it being the slight boost of confidence you needed. 
Counting to three in your head, you let out a sigh and pushed the door open. 
Here goes nothing. 
~
Immediately upon opening the doors, the first thing that you notice is the intensity of the light inside the locker room.
It’s a stark comparison from the slightly dimmer lights outside in the hall, and you can’t help but squint and pull your hoodie over your head in reflex. 
The second thing you notice is the eyes on you. 
More specifically how many there were. 
Inhaling sharply, you upped yourself mentally.
You got this. You’ve earned your right to be here. You belong here.
Puffing up your chest slightly, shoulders squaring back as you stood up a bit taller, you tilted your head to the side in a slightly cocky stance, a smirk crossing your face, confidence you didn’t currently have somehow taking over. 
They signed you. They wanted you. You’re here for a reason. 
Scanning the room, eyes of players you’d looked up to for years staring back at you with welcoming smiles, you took in the fact that you were in the presence of players with the likes of Foord, McCabe, Walti, Little…the list could go on and on. 
It’s only as you finished your quick scan of the room did you feel a shove from behind, Sabrina snickering at you as she urged you to move forwards so she could enter. 
Not giving yourself the chance to feel embarrassed, you laughed right back in response, threatening jokingly to not move. 
Feeling another shove, a slightly harder one this time, you decided to let the other woman through, stepping forward until she had enough space to come by you.
It was only then did you notice a black Arsenal training top much closer to you than where it’d been a mere seconds ago. 
Holding a bated breath, you did your best to keep the smile on your face as Kim greeted you.
“Hey, welcome! It’s nice to finally meet you!”
Doing your best not to look too starstruck, you held out your hand for a handshake, only to be surprised as the older woman pulled you into a gentle but warm hug, a smile not once leaving her face. 
Hugging the shorter woman back the best you could with one hand, you did your best not to knock her with your headphones. 
And as the skipper pulled away, she gave you quiet words of encouragement, followed by a quick smile, one that she hoped was friendly enough. 
“I swear we don’t bite, just ask Cloe.”
Smile on your face after the easy welcome, you became increasingly star struck as one-by-one, more of the team slowly came to introduce themselves. 
The Aussies came in a little group, jokingly apologising to you for the thrashing they’d given you a few weeks earlier, an apology that you quickly forgave, teasing them to be prepared for the upcoming match ups.
Shaking McCabe’s hand, you watched as she gave you a once-over, nodding to herself approvingly as her grin grew. 
“You Canadians are known for body-checking, yeah?” 
Humming as you nodded in response to her question, you let out an amused chuckle at the Irishwoman’s conspiring wink. 
“I think we’ll get along just fine then.”
Doing your best not to be too enthralled as you hugged Lia, you felt the weight on your chest relax as she gave you an easy smile, quick words of looking forwards to playing with you giving you the boost of confidence you so desperately needed
Slowly but surely, you ran through most of the team, many of the younger players saying their hellos much more quickly, some of them wonderstruck themselves.
Finally, with only a few players left to meet, many of which were currently in rehab, you sighed gratefully as you finally got to Cloe. 
Hugging her as she walked up to you next, you let your shoulders relax as you felt the winger pat your back supportively. 
“I know. And trust me when I say they didn’t let me enter until I met every one of them! Took me a solid ten minutes to make it past the door.”
Rolling your eyes playfully, not doubting the blonde’s statement with the number of handshakes, hugs, and ‘hello’s’ you’d just given out, you followed her instructions as she showed you your new locker. 
Setting your bag down in your seat, you adjusted your headphones, continuing the once-paused music, as you let the familiar music energize you for the day you had ahead. 
It just so happened, that in the sea of familiar and unfamiliar faces, you didn’t realize you’d missed introducing yourself to one person. 
Said person that had been camping at the back by her own locker, having been in your shoes just a mere week ago. 
Said person that had also gotten to witness your career as it took off aside her own, never having the chance to play against you but having heard enough about you that she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t intrigued. 
However, wanting to take her time to meet you, to feel you out first, see how you’d react to the swarm of other girls, she held back, waiting until you were somewhat settled in to cross the locker room and introduce herself. 
It was sometime between you undoing your laces to pull off your sneakers and grabbing your cleats that you noticed the shadow looming over you, a confused look quickly overtaking you. 
Craning your neck up from where you were hunched over in your seat, your eyebrows furrowed as you noticed the unfamiliar face standing above you.
Quickly noting the training top the blonde was wearing, your mouth formed an ‘o’ as realisation sprung upon you. 
Your dumb ass had missed introducing yourself to a whole ass person. 
A really, really, really pretty person as well. 
Mentally kicking your own butt, you hastily stood up, cleats beside you long forgotten, one trainer on, one foot sock-clad as you figured out how to word the apology on the tip of your tongue. 
You didn’t have to get very far however, thankfully for you, as the blonde cut in, saving you from what was sure to have been an embarrassing moment that would’ve haunted you well into late hours of the night. 
“Hey. I’m Alessia.” 
Your own head tilting to the side as you watched her give you a once over, you stood a little taller, chin rising as you watched her eyebrows raise appreciatively. 
“I’d introduce myself, but I’m going to assume with the way I’ve said my name nearly twenty times already, you probably know who I am by now?”
You figured a light joke would be the best way to not make a fool of yourself.
And you were right. 
Receiving a giggle at your words, you grinned as Alessia opened her arms, inching towards you.
Hiding your panic at the taller blonde’s actions, you let yourself be pulled into it, wrapping your own arms around her midsection as you did your best not to let your mind wander. 
Holy shit. You just made a pretty girl laugh at a dumb joke and she’s hugging you. 
Feeling Alessia squeeze you gently before pulling back, you tried to not focus on how perfectly you slotted against her body, your head at the perfect height to rest comfortably on her shoulder, her arms feeling like a safe haven as they had tucked around your shoulder and back. 
Blinking rapidly to shake yourself out of the thoughts, you stepped backwards towards your seat, letting out a breath as you watched Alessia take in your surprised look.
Reaching up to pat your shoulder, the striker shot you an easy smile, her tongue poking out adorably between her teeth.
Collecting yourself, you shot her a smirk of your own, it growing as you saw her eyes shamelessly flit over your body once more. 
Eyebrows rising as your guys' gazes met once again, you watched as a faint, but unmistakable red hue spread across Alessia’s cheeks, no doubt at being caught. 
Taking the moment in stride, the Englishwoman didn't let her smile falter as she spoke once more.
“I can’t wait to share the pitch with you.”
Even her accent was pretty. 
Nodding easily in response, you felt the blonde’s hand slowly slip off your shoulder, giving your upper arm a gentle squeeze before she shot you one last smile, this time it more coy, as she took a few steps back before fully turning around.
A look of shock overtaking your face as you processed the last thirty or so seconds, you sat back in your seat and swallowed hard as your thoughts began to wander. 
Did she just-
No. It couldn’t be.
But-
No. 
But like…wow.
Holy shit.
You were so fucked.
254 notes · View notes
tpwkwriter · 3 months
Note
Can we get y/n as a total book worm and Harry just finding it so adorable and loving that about her and teasing her and recreating cute scenes from romance books with her
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Head in a book
I wish I could say I was a bookworm but in fact the only things I read are on tumblr🥲
Warnings: slight cursing, mentions of book tok😭fluffy as!!☁️
Pairing: Harry x quiet!y/n
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Y/n appreciated a quiet life, the small moments were a huge thing to her, the smell of freshly baked bread, picking flowers, watching the stars n all.
So when her boyfriend is the most biggest popstar, surrounded by loud music, screaming fans, and flashy cameras, everyone thought the couple wouldn’t work out, oh how they were so wrong.
After loud music, flashy lights, the screams and chants of millions of fans, Harry learnt that quiet and peaceful moments were better shared with y/n, he didn’t just love her, he adored her and everything she did.
She was the quiet rain in the darkest of nights.
It was a common occasion that Harry would come home to y/n absolutely nose deep in a book on the sofa, he loved watching the way she would get totally immersed in the story and endorsed on the character’s behaviour and thinking process.
Well tonight was no different, the time neared 6:45pm and Harry was out of the studio relatively early, he walked into there shared home, before he could look around he could sense something wasn’t right, the lights were all off, normally y/n would have various candle scents lingering in the atmosphere and the sound of her playlist would be faintly heard in the background.
He toed off his shoes and released his belongings by the door (making a mental note to clean it up later)
And walked through to there shared living room, y/n was bundled on the sofa with a grey faux blanket covering her, her hoodies hood was covering her hair and her eyes looked red and defeated.
Alarm bells are immediately going off in Harry’s mind, and he’s quick to act.
“Hey you, what’s happening?” He asked gently asked, swiftly sitting down next to her, leaning back and gently tapping her arm enough to signal ‘come here’
“Harry? Didn’t even hear you come home” she said voice a little wobbly, she joined his side, lounging her legs across his lap and resting her head on his chest.
“S’okay, what happened my love?” He asked softly into her hair, allowing his hand to slowly trace gentle circles on her back.
“Well” she started
“You know the book i was close to finishing?” She sniffs.
Harry begins to slightly relax at the fact it may not be as serious as he anticipated.
“I do m’love” he smiled
“Well because, it wasn’t a good ending at all” she begins to tear up again and snuggle her head further into his chest.
He mainly chuckles out of relief that it wasn’t anything ‘real’ and ‘serious’ he continues to hold her and press kisses to her hairline.
“I’m sorry to hear that m’love, wanna speak about it?” He’d gently ask.
As she begins to tell him the tragedy of the protagonists death and the failing love story between characters, even if truthfully Harry had no idea, he loved listening and taking in what she had to say.
“It sounds like such a beautiful story though my love” he said, trying to amp the spirits up.
“Mhmm” shes hum against him, the rest of the night was filled with cuddles and a lazy dinner together.
——
It was a few weeks later and now y/n had got on to some new books, she was never without one.
One evening when y/n was sitting up reading in bed, and Harry was in there shared en suite getting ready for bed, y/n had an idea, that would send not only her but many girls around the world into a frenzy.
Before he finished up she sent up her phone discreetly on her beside table and began to work her magic.
“Harry!” She called
Lucky for her, timing was great, he emerged from the bathroom and was about to head out to the bed.
“Stay right there mister” she smirked
A confused smile crossed his face, at her instructions but he did as she said.
“Babe-?” He chuckled lowly.
“I’ve just been reading here” she said holding up her book
“And it says here: “with arms holding him up he leant against the doorframe admiring the girl in-front of him” “ she recites from the paper.
Rolling his eyes already knowing what she was gonna request.
“So if you could please, show me your best doorframe lean, I’d be very happy” she smiled as she put the book in her lap and leaned back against the headboard.
His famous smirk flashes at the girl
“Y’want me, to lean against the doorframe?” He chuckles.
“Basically, but like- in a really romantic and heroic way, y’know” she giggles.
Y/n can practically see Harry think of how he’s gonna do this.
“M’kay, I need you to c’mere then” he calmly requests.
“Harry, just do it!!” She blushes, she’s also thinking of how thankful she is for the 5 minute feature on TikTok!
“Will, just come here” he laughs, he walks over and takes both of her hands and guides her to the place he wants which is right by the doorframe but far enough.
When satisfied with were the both at, harrys left arm lifts up and due to his height sits just above the top door frame, already y/n found her self flustered, and with his right hand he held her face and pulled her in for a sweet kiss on her lips, while still holding the “doorframe leaning position”
She pulls away flustered and blushed up,
“You did not just do that” she laughs as she stares at him.
“No Harry, I know the fuck you did not do that” she states, her eyes still wide and her mouth curling up into a big smile.
The smirk of satisfaction crawled up on his face as he managed to to fluster up his girl, despite nearly 5 years of being together.
Remembering the iPhone camera pointing in there direction, she quickly turned on her heels to stop it, at the realisation of she’s been filming them hits Harry and it’s now his time to go red.
“You cheeky thing” he says going up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, he kept his chin on her shoulder as they watched the video they just made together, sharing laughs and smiles.
“Fuck sake” he smiles, pressing a kiss to her temple and getting into his side of the bed.
She presses post and couldn’t wait to see what everyone had to say tomorrow, she joined in the bed next to him.
“Safe to say girls are gonna be having a field day with that one” she laughs.
“Where did you learn that stunt from anyway?” She giggled leaning in to his side.
“Well baby” he started.
“When your girlfriend is obsessed with books and romance novels you do learn a few tricks along the way, and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t read a few of your stuff” he nonchalantly pointed out.
Her eyes light up again.
“Really? You have?” She excitedly asked
“Mmmhmm, I got say y’got good taste” he shrugs.
“If you want recommendations just say”
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164 notes · View notes
liyawritesss · 8 months
Text
ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ
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Characters: Spider-Verse!Hobart “Hobie” Brown [Spider-Punk] x Black!Fem!College!Reader
Type: Drabble
Word Count: 1.4k
Synopsis: Hobie’s got a habit of letting himself into your dorm room. Thankfully, you’ve got your own suite, and tonight isn’t any different.
Warnings: cursing, very very horrible british accent & slang I apologize in advance/please teach me better, brief nudity (he’s taking a shower chill you horndogs), I perceive Hobie to be around 18-19.
A/N: Was listening to a 90’s playlist while writing this so yeah there’s a couple of 90’s songs references in here.
Song Suggestions: “comfortable” by H.E.R., “So Into You” by Tamia, “Brown Skin Lady” by Black Star, “I Wanna Be Down” by Brandy, “Be Happy” by Mary J. Blige
Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @venusdraco @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @pantherheart @marsfunzon22 @movie-enthusiast22 @famedrs-blog @honeybleed @briology @pnkweb
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Hobie can see the pretty lavender color seeping from your window about a block out from your dorm building. It’s the color you use to signify that your window is open for him to come through, and he has to admit, in times like these, he’s glad that the both of you decided on the bright, pastel-like hue that shines from your LED strip lights.
To say the hero was tired as an understatement. His body was screaming for rest; has been for the past week. But one can’t rest in the face of oppression, and Hobie Brown never turned down any action that would cause unease and unrest for the elitist politicians of his society - and neither did Spider-Punk.
Said action was the reason why Hobie hadn’t gotten proper rest or taken care of himself like he knew you’d want him to in the past week. He normally didn’t care for the repercussions his actions would have on himself, always telling himself that it was a risk well worth since it brung him and his people closer and closer to the freedom they desired, no matter how small the steps were.
However, upon meeting you, and subsequently falling for you, and subsequently taking on the label as your partner, he’d come to understand that you just wouldn’t have any of that. Although begrudgingly at first, Hobie began to take your advice and constant nagging on taking care of himself better, but now it had gotten to the point where he simply couldn’t do those mundane tasks of self care without you. Even sleeping became hard without you, or at least, something that reminded him of your presence.
Hence why he was swinging from building to building to reach your dorm hall, because while Hobie wasn’t in the right mind to admit it to himself, he was in need of your love and care, and only you could ease him in the way he needed.
He hangs off the wall as he gazes into your single suite dorm, the muffled melody of Mary J. Blige’s “Be Happy” reverberating through his body. You’re doing a little dance in your desk chair, pretty hair wrapped up in a headscarf, the maroon hoodie you had on swamping your upper body. You had a writing utensil in hand, and with the books opened on your desk, it appeared like you were doing assignments for class. Hobie smiles to himself under his mask, wondering how he ended up with such a smart and intellectual person like yourself.
He has no problem raising up the window and slipping inside, his practiced movements quiet and agile as he pads across your hardwood floors. He pulls the mask from his head, freeing his face and wicks from the stretchy material, taking a deep breath. Your room smells like home, traces of lavender sage trailing in the air, and he can feel the headache that had been plaguing him for the longest finally begin to subside.
Hobie begins to search through your drawers, trying to find the stash of clothes you insisted on him keeping at your place since the first few times he’d crashed there. In the midst of doing so, he feels a pair of arms trail around his midsection, and not long after, your voice floats to his ears.
“I love how you never look in the bottom drawer,” you say with a teasing lilt in your voice, “y’know, where your clothes have always been.”
“Hello to you, too, pretty.”
Hobie allows himself to be shooed off to the shower, as you tell him you’ll worry about getting his clothes and some food together, He can’t resist the lopsided grin that spreads across his lips as he follows your orders. The hot water against his sore muscles and stinging scratches and other injuries feels like heaven, and when he emerges from the bathroom, he smells like it, too. The lavender body wash is his favorite out of your collection, and he chuckles when he sees you’ve got two tall bottles of it stored under your bathroom rink, almost anticipating that he’d use it anyway. He loves how well you know him.
Hobie dresses in the gray sweatpants you left out for him, opting to remain shirtless for the comfort of it. Definitely not to see your flustered face as you walk back in your room to him sitting on the edge of your bed, ready to be taken care of.
When you walk back in, the song on your speaker switches to the easy one-two step tempo of Brandy’s “I Wanna Be Down”, a container of food in one hand and a first aid kit in the other. “Tell me where the knicks are.” You say, setting the food down on your nightstand, and Hobie proceeds to show you the various scratches and bruises on his body that desire your gentle touch and attention.
They’re not so bad, which is surprising considering how wild and reckless Hobie usually is, so you figure some ointment and muscle cream for the soreness will help for the night. Calloused hands hold the container of food that you’ve so graciously warmed up for him, and as he eats, you encourage him to talk about his day.
“Bloody prick wouldn’t shut up,” he grunts after a few bites of food, and you assume the ‘prick’ he’s referring to is one of the members of the local government that, for lack of better words, did not have the support of the younger generation when it came to his reign in office, “wan’ed to knock his head off his shoulders so bad. King dick arsehole.”
You laugh at his choice of words, and it's the best sound he’s heard all week.
He’s done eating faster than what he anticipated and with the food in his system, his body begins to feel more heavy, the exhaustion beginning to seep deep into his bones and become visible on his face. Your heart swells at the sight, his lidded eyes and slight head-nodding to your music more than enough to tell you just how tired Hobie was. 
You take the empty container and place it on your dresser, taking Hobie’s head into your hand and pressing gentle kisses against his cheeks, his forehead, his eyelids, his lips. He all but relishes in the feeling, each peck of your lips leaving a burst of comfort in his wake, and it causes him to nearly melt in your hold. His large hands make their way up your biker shorts, riding up your thighs into the crevice of where your pelvis and thighs met, and under your hoodie to feel the warmth of your bare skin. You stand in between his legs here, though Hobie decides that this isn’t close enough, and reaches to the back of your thighs to pull you onto his lap.
It quickly becomes addicting, the feeling of your lips on his face and your skin under his hands. It’s not long until you’re laying on your back and Hobie is settled between your legs, his head tucked into the crevice of your neck, his upper body resting almost completely on top of your own. One large hand rests on the curve of your ass, the other is under your hoodie, resting on the side of your ribcage, thumb subtly swiping under the curve of your breast.
Your touch brings him just as much comfort as just the simple skin-to-skin contact he enacts on his own. One hand roams the surface of his back, tracing figures into the dark skin littered with even darker blemishes and scars. The other rests at the nape of his neck, holding him close as you continue your kissing assault on the punk-alt boy. Hobie sighs into your neck when he hears you begin to hum the tune of the new song playing. Even though you’re barely above a whisper, he hears you clearly and the wave of comfort that floods his form is indescribable.
It doesn’t take long before his breaths start to even out, and the weight of his body begins to sink into your own. Pressing one final kiss into the crown of his head as “Brown Skin Lady” begins to fade down into a low hum, thanks to you turning down the volume through your phone. With Hobie fast asleep, it leaves you no choice but to your own slumber. It’s not like you can go back to your homework, after all.
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363 notes · View notes
superblysubpar · 10 months
Text
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I Was Next To You, And You Were Right There Next To Me:
a best friends to lovers story - steve harrington x fem!reader
steve & reader's playlist | summertime magic masterlist
9.7k words
warnings: see masterlist for general warnings about reader plus she's established as not a fan of camping in this chapter - PS if you don’t know what a koosh is you are too young to read this - 18+ only babes! | nothing too crazy this chapter - mentions of alcohol and drugs being used / illusions and talk of masturbation / slight graphic warning about injuries (descriptions of blood and scary things and what not - this part is kind of angsty and ends not so fun, it might get your heart beating so sorry...)
📻 Now Playing: Brandy (You're A Fine Girl) by Looking Glass
"...already almost 80 degrees out and only growing hotter, folks! I don't know about you but I cannot wait for Newby Waterpark to open on Monday! Hawkins' newly renovated downtown is sure to bring in..."
Radio nudged lower as you sigh, flopping onto your pile of clothes that lay atop your baby blue comforter. The familiar tick and spray of a sprinkler outside mingles with children's laughter, the wheels of skateboards and bikes kicking up gravel. The grind of a lawn mower wafts the fresh scent of the cut grass through your window. Yellow curtains flutter in the warm breeze and the lilacs from the Harrington's backyard linger in the air. 
The sun is just rising, those cotton candy pink and sherbert oranges breaking through the white puffs of clouds above the homes that line the already bustling neighborhood that sits along Cornwallis.  
Summer - the first official day of it.
Your last summer in Hawkins for the foreseeable future most likely, and you're spending it working. It is important, you know this, a summer job is needed to show future employers that you didn’t spend your summer sitting on your ass - that you had ambition and drive and all the buzzwords. But how are you having to make adult choices like this? What happened to carefree summers filled with melting popsicles and no schedule other than the movie theater’s? How does it all look the same but feel completely different?
The embroidered daisies on your comforter are frayed, older, and have lost a bit of their shimmer like the girl who resides beneath them every night. Your walls are littered with the past, with memories and reminders of what could have been and what happened instead. The light bulbs in your lamps are milky, dim with minimal use the last few years, posters of bands you no longer listen to illuminated by them. 
It's not all old and coated in a bittersweet taste only the past can leave in your mouth - some things are new. Like the clothes you are currently laying on, carried to and from your new home back to the childhood one you somehow seek to get away from and stay in until you die. Your bulletin board now littered with reminders for the summer, to do lists, a few Polaroids of the only reason you came back one more year. 
Like the boy can hear you thinking about him, you hear the familiar plink of something hitting your window. Sure enough, as the radio trills out the beginning notes of 'Brandy (You're A Fine Girl'), you loll your head to the side to find him with his arms folded on your windowsill, a perfect smile above the chin resting on them. 
"Well, well, well, would you look at what summer dragged in." Steve's grin only grows wider at the roll of your eyes. He clambers inside the open window, still all too broad of shoulders and clumsy limbs, never quite figuring out the best way to enter despite years of practice. He dusts his hands off on his jeans before they rest on his hips satisfied. 
Some things about Steve Harrington have never changed in the almost 20 years you've known each other. He's still got jeans, a shirt, and shoes that match perfectly - clothes that are in with the latest trends. Everything in the Harrington household wrinkle free of course, and smelling like the same laundry detergent that costs a dollar seventy five more per bottle, but Vivian Harrington insists is the best. He's got the same old watch on his left arm that his grandfather gave him, but the leather band is a little more worn, it fits snuggly on his tanned wrist now. Of course, there's the hair. The only difference with that being the way he learned how to style it, and you suppose it's darkened a bit over the years - caramel and honey to match his eyes. 
Steve squints at the walls of your bedroom in the low lamplight, remembering how he helped you tack up posters and frames years ago. His nose scrunches before his tongue sticks out on the right side as he reads something on your bulletin board. He turns his head to glance over his shoulder at you, large hands dragging over a few of the textbooks you brought home.
"Missed you, city girl." His lips twist up into the familiar smirk under the unfamiliar scruff of what appears to be a mustache he's trying to grow. 
Your favorite pillow squished under your arms as you roll to face him, kicking your legs up. You watch the way his eyebrows furrow but his lips twitch at your quiet, "Missed you too, small town boy." His chest aches a little from the way you say it, like you really did but somehow didn’t at the same time. 
Steve's always been a nickname guy, these one’s his newest favorite all because of an obsession you both have with Journey. He had insisted on changing the lyrics, that it was your song, it made total sense. Although, Buttercup might be his lasting favorite and most used - because of your favorite song and his favorite movie of course. 
He spins, resting himself against your desk, and raises his eyebrows at you as you both sit in not quite an uncomfortable silence. It’s never awkward exactly, this reunion between you and Steve, but there’s always something different when you come home now. 
When you were little, a mere few hours apart had you running towards each other shrieking about who missed who more, Steve lifting your toes off the ground in a hug without a second thought. Now, months apart, and it felt like the air stilled, like there were words hanging there for both of you to say or hear in the silence but neither of you did or could. Despite phone calls to each other as much as possible, the truth was, you both had lives apart from one another now. It always took a second for your gears to line back up, a little oil in the form of jokes and awkward small talk until it was the well running machine your friendship had always been again. 
Steve’s fingers tap at the wood underneath them as he clears his throat, a stray piece of hair falling across his forehead as he ducks his head, feeling silly for the question he asks, “Um, can we…hug?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry.” You scramble off of your bed, tripping a little on the pile of shoes you dumped out last night. 
He catches your fingers and rolls his eyes, “Why are you apologizing?”
Humming as you shrug your shoulders and his arms wrap around you. A hug from Steve was something you wish you could have kept bottled up, pulled out while away at school on the really bad days and held until everything felt right again. They were warm, safe, and reminded you of Steve sharing the last brownie in the tray with you no matter what, of holding hands on a roof while you wished on shooting stars, and they always seemed to turn the world back on its axis when you felt like it was all a little off kilter. Maybe you didn’t have a plan or any idea what the future held, but his arms around you always had a way of reassuring you it’d all be alright and work out in the end. 
Your palms wrap up and underneath, pressed just under his shoulder blades and his go over, enveloping you so your face lies against his chest. It’s easy, like riding a bike, and it’s always the first piece of the machine that starts working again - or maybe the only piece that never breaks. You inhale deeply, relaxing into the other part of Steve you wish you could bottle for rainy days. There’s something about the way he smells, like his toothpaste and expensive things like leather, but it’s more. Maybe it’s rain right before a sunset, or the woods you explored as kids, you’ve never been able to put your finger on it. It’s just Steve, and no other boy has ever come close to smelling as good. 
He clears his throat and you realize you’ve had your nose pressed between his pecs and your body heats up, letting your arms drop. Stepping backwards, you look anywhere but him as your fingers become restless, “Sorry, just missed you, smell good.”
Why the fuck did you just say that? Best friends don’t tell each other they smell good, Y/N.
Steve’s smile is cocky, but you don’t miss the way his cheeks turn a little pink as he quips, “I smell good?”
Rolling your eyes, you turn away from him to your closet, searching, thinking quickly on your feet. “I meant, your, uh, detergent,” looking over your shoulder and smiling, “You’ve got the good stuff over there, was thinking of stealing a bottle in August, Viv won’t mind right?”
Steve laughs a little as he flops onto your bed and your shoulders relax - crisis averted. The invisible line Steve and you had never crossed aside from that one kiss in middle school still drawn in the metaphorical sand. “No, no, I’m sure she’ll blame me or the housekeeper. Actually,” he tosses the pink and green ‘Koosh’ from your nightstand into the air as he continues, “She’ll probably think whoever’s sleeping with my dad took it.”
You spin, wincing and biting your bottom lip, “Shit, I didn’t want you to find out this way…”
“Oh, fuck off!” He tosses the neon toy at your head and you laugh, motioning for him to turn away as you hold up your swimsuit.
He sighs, hands over his eyes as he grumbles something about his dad, faltering when he hears clothes hitting the floor but recovering quickly. You roll your eyes - boys are too easy. 
Your summer uniform of a baggy shirt and jean shorts back over your swimsuit and you stand in front of him. Painted bright red toes tapping his shoe as you smile widely while you tease, “I mean, your dad’s not unattractive-”
Steve’s eyes shoot open as he sits up, voice hoarse, “Stop.”
Shrugging your shoulders and having too much fun at the way Steve’s ears turn red as you continue, “One time, he had on these pair of jeans, which is weird for your dad, you know? And I remember thinking: huh, Mr. Harrington’s butt looks-”
Steve’s hand is over your mouth, body on top of yours as he pulls you onto the bed and rolls. His lips fight a smile, twitching as his eyebrows furrow over his eyes that sparkle. Greens and golds shimmering in the morning sunlight as he leans in closer and whispers, “If you care about me at all you will never, ever finish that sentence.”
Raising your arms under him in surrender, Steve slowly removes his hand from your mouth, eyes watching you carefully. Steve’s warm, his weight against yours comforting and your mouth feels a little dry at the thoughts running through your head. Maybe this was a good time to tell him you weren’t coming back. That it was time to move - on, away - it was time to grow up and you wish he would with you. 
“Ohh, Dingus!” A voice sings from below your window. 
Steve winces as you frown and he gets up, rubbing the back of his neck, mouth opening to answer the question before it even leaves your mouth. 
“Steve, why is Robin here?”
He drops his head in defeat, fingers squeezing his neck as he sighs, “Okay, so I know, it’s your first day back, and we have our deal, but she had too much of this coconut cherry I don’t know what it was last night and well her parents are out of town and…” he keeps going and you sigh. 
You don’t dislike Robin, in fact, you really love her. Sure, you were a little jealous at first that it took Steve all of a month to find a new best friend when you left for early admission that summer. You hate that she was there for him and you weren’t. You hate that they all share a bond you’ll never know because they’ve been here in the hell hole of Hawkins, together, and you haven’t been. But, you’ve learned how to put yourself in a different category - you’re a different kind of friend, and that’s okay. You can share Steve. 
Except on your first day home. 
A rule you both made up in ‘86. The first day back for the summer was yours and Steve’s only. It’s catching up and eating too much junk food, laying by his pool and cooling off with movies before heading back outside to start it all over again. It’s stealing his mom’s good wine and ordering pizza. It was yours and no one else’s. 
At least, that’s how it used to be.
Steve’s finally finished whatever excuse he’s come up with and he stops, shoulders slumping, “You’re mad.”
Forcing a smile, you tuck your hands in your lap and shrug, “No.”
He groans, waggling his finger, and you have to cover your smile and he has to shake his head at the thought of how much he looks like his dad when he does it. “Don’t lie, I know you, Buttercup.”
Standing, you open your door and head down the hallway and shrug your shoulders. “I’ll get over it, of course Robin can hang out with us Steve.”
He starts to follow you out after clicking off your lamp, glancing at your bulletin board again and the picture of him, saying something about making it up to you. Waving him off, halfway down the stairs and looking back up at him as you grin. “Well, why don’t we call it even? You invited Robin to our hangout and I,” you blow out your breath and smile, “Well, Steven, I think your dad has a cute butt.”
Steve gasps but you’re already down the stairs as he chases after you and out the front door shouting something about please for the love of god take it back. Your gleeful, ‘never’ through a peal of laughter and a shouted ‘Hi Robin! Missed you!’ as you race towards his backyard is an image he wishes he could snap a picture of and keep forever. 
The radio still plays, the oldies station drifts out of your window and he glances up at it as he runs by, missing hearing it every day. 
📻 Now playing: Working For The Weekend by Loverboy
Murray stared at you unimpressed, a click of his tongue before the clack of his fingers returning to his keyboard, eyes moving to the screen as he mused, “You’re hungover.”
“I’m not.” A lie, a blatant lie. You didn’t think you’d ever been more hungover in your life to be honest. 
The alarm next to your bed had been slammed off by a large palm this morning, Steve grumbled from his diagonal position across your bed, something about how he couldn’t work, not today. Your bare foot kicked his shirtless and freckled shoulder, somehow your head ending up at the foot of the bed and his on your pillow all night. 
“Steve,” your tongue sat heavy in your mouth, thick and desperate for water. You smacked your lips together and whined, stars still blinking behind your eyes as you kept going, “You have to drive me, I don’t have a car.”
“I hate you,” he moaned, morose, like he was in physical pain - maybe he was. 
“I’m not the one who shoved whiskey down your throat all night!” You kicked at him again and he caught your ankle and hoisted it in the air without opening his eyes. Your yelp interrupted when something below your eyeline squeaked.
Tilting your head back in a grave mistake, you cursed, pushing yourself into an upright position, palms and fingers clinging to your comforter in search of stability since the room was spinning and Steve tugged on your foot with a whine that must have meant to stop moving and shaking the bed. The whiskey pusher in question curled up on your floor under a pile of your clothes instead of a blanket. 
Cups upon cups to your lips that tasted like peaches and cherries, Robin’s amazed and shocked voice still clear as day in your head as she shouted about how you couldn’t even taste the alcohol.
Steve and you had barely made it into the parking lot, clutching your clipboard and tugging on the strap of red spandex that dug into your shoulder. Ignoring the snickers and comments as the two of you practically fell out of the car together, hair unwashed and smelling of alcohol, exactly one minute early. 
Murray doesn’t believe you. You know it, he knows it, and the staff waiting just outside the door knows it. So he simply peers over his wire frames at you, handing over a clipboard and a scoff, “Okay, and I’m the mayor.”
You turn on your heel and his voice calls after your retreating form, just loud enough for everyone to hear, “Puke in the pool and Harrington and you get double shifts for the whole month!”
The too large for you raybans slide over your eyes as your face heats up at the whispers from the staff. Sandals clacking too loudly, swimsuit and athletic shorts too tight, your forehead dotted with sweat and expelling the alcoholic demons from your system before the sun has barely started its climb. This was all wrong and you clear your throat, determined to still turn the day around. 
“Good morning!” your voice squeaks and no one really stops talking. 
Steve’s eyebrows furrow at the crowd, mouth opening but you beat him to it, making sure everyone knows you’re in charge and not him - much to his dismay you’re sure. Repeating yourself a little louder, “I said, good morning!”
Everyone stops then and you go through logistics of lunch breaks and rules that all waterpark attendants need to follow, ending on, “Oh, and absolutely no making out in the supply closet.”
A girl you don’t recognize starts to raise her hand and you tack on, “Or the concession booth,” and it quickly drops. 
Steve starts to laugh, covering it with a cough into his fist as every employee glares at you. Tommy Hagan smirks like it’s a personal challenge, Andy rolls his eyes, Heidi blows a bright pink bubble of her gum and snaps it loudly as Carol scoffs. Rolling your shoulders back and letting the whispers of ‘pathetic’ and ‘jealous’ from the girls who peek at Steve bounce off of you. All another reason you didn’t want to come home again, the looming sign of ‘jealous best friend’ or ‘hey look at me I’m the third wheel!’ always above your head. 
“Alright! Assignments!”
Sheet flipping on the clipboard, you rattle off names and positions, staff talking amongst themselves until you tell them where to go, leaving in pairs. Andy argues with you about how he wanted the concession booth and your reply of that’s too damn bad earns a whistle from Carol and a wink from Tommy, mumbling something about ‘feisty’ as the two boys slink off to the obstacle course part of the park.
“Sinclair!” you shout and both teens step forward, smiling at you, “Both of you on slides.”
Their smiles drop immediately and Steve twists his lips up and you know he’s preparing to argue with you, to let you know that this pairing probably wasn’t a good idea from the way the two teen siblings glared at each other with disgust. 
“I wouldn’t-” Steve began and you interrupted.
“Harrington, I got it.”
“Right.”
Everyone left in the small circle lets out quiet oo’s, like he had just been told to go to the principal’s office. Rolling your eyes, you suppress your groan because of course he’s next on the list. 
“Harrington!”
His eyes sparkle and he stands up straighter, “Yeah, boss?”
Everyone’s lips twist and you recall your note he stared a little too long at on your bulletin board vowing to make him call you just that. 
Keeping your voice cool, you reply, “Lessons. Byers and-”
“I’m sorry, what?” Steve’s voice interrupts you again and you push his glasses into your hair, raising your eyebrows at him. 
“What now, Harrington?”
Steve steps forward, voice dropping as his eyebrows pinch together, “You’re not seriously putting me with kids all day long? Lessons? As in swimming lessons?”
Your clipboard drops to your side, hip cocking as your chin rises in a challenge, “As a matter of fact I am, do you have a problem with it?”
Steve narrows his eyes, raising his brows and hands, surrendering as he backs away, “No problem here ma’am.”
Steve heads off towards the pool, turning and miming how you were going to pay, finger pointing and then drawing a line over his throat as he shakes his head with a smile so you know he’d get over it eventually. You slide his sunglasses back over your eyes, newfound energy buzzing through you as you smile and keep going, “Right, where was I…Byers…”
Your body collapses onto the bench of one of the picnic tables. The sun is just breaking past its highest point, a layer of sweat glistens on your skin, your sandals new and unbroken and you kick them off, your arches relaxing into the hot cement. So far you’ve only had to put out small fires - a first aid kit delivered to the lazy river where a kid tried to belly flop into a tube and missed; an unfortunate cleaning incident in the kiddie pool that Steve was gonna make you pay for no doubt; an actual fire in the concession booth where Argyle tried a new snack invention out against Jonathan’s warning, and separating Lucas and Erica after she shoved him down one of the water slides headfirst. You hate that Steve was right. 
His voice pulls your attention, and you glance over at the deep end of the pool where he stands. He swipes water from his eyes and his teeth are almost as bright as the turquoise water reflecting the sun that ripples around his tanned and toned waist. He stares up at the six year old with yellow floaties wrapped around her arms where she fidgets near the edge of the pool. 
“Alright Bailey, so when I say three, you’re gonna jump.”
“Kay,” she shivers, unconvinced, pink ruffles on her swimsuit blowing in the breeze as she frowns at him. 
A line of a few more kids behind her wait their turn and Steve yells ‘three’ excitedly, holding his arms out. 
Bailey doesn’t move a muscle. 
A boy behind her groans, “Mr. Steve, she's not going to do it, she's too scared!”
Steve points at him, “Hey, I seem to remember someone being afraid of me taking my hand off of them to float by themselves Jack.” Steve wades over to the edge and smiles, “Bailey, you can wait to jump, but I bet you’re gonna have a blast once you do. I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
She pouts, eyes filling with tears and he reaches up and squeezes her hand, “Hey don’t worry, we have all summer. Watch some of the other kids try it, okay?”
Bailey nods and moves out of line as a flash of red fills your vision.
Murray towers above you, arm extended and dangling a can of coke that drips with condensation in front of your face. “I’m impressed, kid. You run a smooth ship,” he gestures with the can towards you, “For your hangover.”
Your fingers curl around the Coke, mouth parting to argue and he holds up his hand, “Spare me. If not for that then to soothe the heated lust you have for the Harrington boy.”
He starts to walk away, your nose wrinkling at his choice of words before you realize what they actually imply, shouting, “I don’t-”
“You do!” Murray’s arm waves, interrupting you as he disappears back towards the front offices.
“You don’t what?” a familiar voice says as it plops into the seat next to you. Your frown replaced by a wide smile. 
Eddie Munson sits with his head back, lips pulled over his teeth in a way that shows off his dimples, big brown eyes crinkling in the corners. He’s somehow still in jeans despite the heat, legs spread wide as he leans against the wood tabletop behind him. Pale arms revealing his tattoos in all their glory thanks to the roughly cut band tee draped across his form. He places a cigarette between his lips, lighter raised and you pluck it free, ignoring his scoff of protest. 
“You can’t smoke here!” Snagging the pack he had thrown onto the table and holding it away from him, “Besides, I thought you said you were quitting?”
He groans, “That was two years ago and before I started working with that prissy-”
“You’re in fucking love with her, admit it,” you roll your eyes, pushing Steve’s sunglasses onto your head as you give him a knowing look.
“I hate her,” he waves a hand, dismissive as his cheeks turn pink and he looks around the park.  
Your thumb swipes over the top of your Coke, wiping the condensation with a loud laugh, “Okay, I don’t believe that for one second, Eddie. I don’t understand why you can’t just-”
“Tell her how I feel? Well, sweetheart, I could ask you the same thing about a certain next door loverboy, couldn’t I?”
Your mouth clamps shut and he leans forward, face close to yours, “Not so easy being on the other side is it?”
A brown sack falls in front of the two of you, both of you looking up to see Robin disappearing towards Steve with a wave of her hand. Steve smiles at the two of you, water clinging to his body, chest hair curling and sticking to his skin, red swim trunks that contrast his bronzed skin - pulling on and highlighting certain things that make you have to look away.
Steve pushes a hand through his hair as he watches Eddie lean closer to you, a smile on both of your lips before yours falls. 
“For your drool,” Robin quips as a white and blue striped towel is shoved in his face. 
“M’not drooling,” Steve mumbles under his breath, pushing his face into the towel and trying to even his breathing. 
“I don’t understand you two.” She shakes her head, stealing a chip out of his lunch bag that he yanks from her with a pinched expression taking over his features. 
“There’s nothing to understand because-”
“She’s not staying in Hawkins and I am, I’ll only hold her back, Robs.” Robin finishes with him. 
He glares at her, unamused and she steals the bag of chips again, walking back out of the park, mumbling under her breath, “This is going to a long fucking summer.” She calls back over her shoulder, “Eddie! Break’s over!”
Eddie flips the sunglasses down on your eyes and nose as he stands, knocking Steve’s temple lightly with his knuckles as he passes. Steve and you watch your friends leave the park, and he sits in front of you, water dripping onto your feet as he steals your Pringles and you smile at each other. 
Blowing your breath out of your nose, you take a big bite of your sandwich. Steve shoves a handful in his mouth and speaks around the chips, “What’dhedotostopsmiling?”
PB and J thick in your mouth, you shove it into your cheek as you ask, “Wha?”
Steve shrugs, chewing and rolling his eyes as he gestures to his mouth too full to speak and you both start laughing around your bites of food, leaning into one another.  
Both of you relax, swallowing and breathing normally again. He clears his throat, taking a sip of your coke before he taps the table, “I said, what’d he do to make you stop smiling?”
“Oh,” your fingers pick at the crust on your sandwich as your brows furrow, “Uh, we were just talking about that girl he works with is all.”
Steve hums, “So…you’re jealous?”
“What?” you laugh around a sip of Coke, wiping at your lips, “Of her? No.”
Steve snaps a carrot between his teeth before frowning at it and grabbing another Pringle from your bag. He fiddles with the carrot as he replies, “She’s pretty,” he speaks around the singular chip easily this time, “We went on a date a few weeks ago.”
Your eyes roll as you mumble around the sweet bread that smells like honey, “Of course you did.”
Steve straightens, tone annoyed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Shoulders rolling as you mirror his posture, “Just…you go on a lot of dates it seems s’all.”
It’s quiet for a bit before he nods once, fiddling with the paper bag, “It’s not like it was serious you know, just like, fun, you do remember how to do that right?”
Your eyes roll as he spins a cherry tomato and asks, “Have you even gone on any dates lately? Feel like you never really talk to me about it anymore.”
“Oh,” you swallow a grape and shrug, splashes in the pool louder, the sun above you hotter as you try to focus on anything other than him, “Um, not really, nobody really asks me?”
Steve scoffs, leveling you with a disbelieving look, “Honey, now I know that’s not true.”
“Yes it is!” you protest.
“Luke Bishop asked you out for New Year’s and you said-”
“Well, that’s different. That’s guys in Hawkins, I don’t want some small town…” your voice trails off as he purses his lips, realizing what you’re saying.  
Steve’s hot, he’s hungover, and he’s hurt and that’s the only reason he says, “Well, maybe you’ve got a stick up your ass because people in the city don’t know how to have a good time. Maybe you should try out the small town thing for the summer, have some fun - you used to like it.”
Your mouth drops open, “Um, first of all, you’re kind of being an ass. Second, are you seriously telling me I should hook up with guys all summer?”
“Yeah, guys. Multiple. All summer long. Go nuts.” He waves his hand nonchalantly. 
“Fine, maybe I will.” 
“Great, I hope you do.” He smiles, tight lipped and pulls the sunglasses off of your face and pushes them onto his, throwing a grape in his mouth. 
Steve doesn’t say anything more and neither do you. Does he really not see how you feel? Is that really what he wants? To see you with other people, to let you move away while he stays in the same town dating the same people, never growing, never changing, never leaving? 
Maybe it’s just those gears sticking, they need more oil, they need more time. 
He starts to stand and you grab his wrist, hating how your stomach feels and the look on his face, “Hey, can you take me to Rick’s Motors tonight? I’ll buy you a milkshake?” You bat your eyes and try to smile, making your tone light again. 
He stands, “Can’t, sorry, I have a date. I gotta go. The twelve year olds will start drowning each other by the diving boards if I don’t get over there.”
You watch the girls of the park, high schoolers, staff, and even the moms follow his retreating form like lions stalking their prey. His words ringing in your ears as a green monster battles with the whiskey in your stomach for the thing that’s making you more nauseous. 
Maybe Steve is right, and if he insists on dating the entire population of Hawkins instead of you, perhaps you could have some fun with someone else for the summer. 
📻 Now Playing: Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey 
Hoisting yourself up onto the windowsill, you hold your breath when you hear voices coming from his bedroom. 
Wait, not voices, singing, and a…sigh? Oh fuck, is that moan? Oh god, you are seriously not about to see your best friend having sex! You are seriously not hearing your best friend have sex! If this is karmic irony for telling him his dad’s butt is cute you take it back. 
Since Monday, Steve had been gone every night on different dates, like he had something to prove. Like he needed to fill his time with any person that wasn’t you.  
You knew it was silly, a summer Friday night, of course he had a date. He saw how you shrugged and said it’s fine at work though, squeezing your fingers before walking away. The machine was not a well-oiled one again yet, and you were determined to get it back on the right track. 
You had told Rick to fuck right off when he claimed he had no recollection of your deal made over winter break. Before he was hastily calling you sweet thing when you shoved the open envelope that was bursting with cash back into your bag and sighed, claiming to find someone else who’d want the money instead of him. 
A blanket on your front lawn as your parents cooked and relaxed inside, your brand new baby sitting in the driveway. As the sun turned from gold to orange and it dipped behind the houses though, you gave up waiting to show it off for Steve. 
The sky turned blush, then lilac, then the same color of your new car. As the moon started to outshine the fading sun, his maroon BMW finally pulled into his driveway and you grabbed your chucks by the laces and climbed out your window as quietly as you could. 
You had been sure you watched Steve walk into his house alone, but the sound of the groan mixed with Tears For Fears playing quietly made you doubt yourself completely. Your foot slides on a shingle, a quiet ‘fuck’ falls from your lips and a louder ‘Hello?’ comes from inside. 
Your shoulders hunch, your eyes squeeze tight as you cry out from your precarious position, “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain! I’m leaving, I-”
“What the hell are you doing?” His voice hisses, closer, and you peek one eye open. 
Steve’s eyebrows are furrowed together as he sees you balancing like you’re on a surfboard and not on the roof of his garage with one eye open. He’s half leaning out his window - shirtless, black boxers slung low on his hips, cheeks rosy and hair ruffled, oh god you totally interrupted sex. 
You look down at the roof, body hot as you try to scoot further away, “I- I wanted to hang out, but you’re busy, and-”
“I’m not busy.”
Your head whips up, taking in his appearance again and you tilt your head to the side, “You’re not?”
His expression turns confused, “What, no,” extending his hand out towards you, “Will you please come over to the window, I don’t trust your balance right now.”
You start to crawl towards him, thoughts running a mile a minute as your fingers lace with his and he pulls you through the window, grumbling, “You could have used the front door.”
“You never use the front door,” you stick out your tongue as your hands drop, fingers untangling themselves and he spins, heading to his closet. 
Steve’s sheets are rumpled, the radio playing quietly and his clothes leave a trail from the door to his bed. When you see the bottle of lube hastily shoved under the shirt by the nightstand you spin on him, “You weren’t busy?”
“Do I look like I was busy?” His head pops out of a yellow sweatshirt. 
He yanks on jeans, bouncing a little as he pulls them up his hips, eyebrows raised in your direction. You pretend to be interested in his dresser as you shrug. “Maybe just your hand.”
You whip your head over to look at him dramatically, his fingers stop on his zipper as his head shoots up, cheeks flushing darker and you gasp. “Oh my god, you were masturbating with your window open. Steve Harrington you dirty, dirty-”
His hand is over your mouth, his eyes are closed and his shoulders slump, “Please, please can we never speak of this again?”
You tap on his fingers and he peeks his eyes open to find you raising two fingers in a Scout’s honor, eyes sparkling above his hand as he lets you go. Your other fingers twisted behind your back to cover your tracks for lying because you absolutely plan on bringing it up again. 
It’s quiet, his stereo plays and he buttons his jeans, your bodies too close together. That stilled air is back again and you need to do something to break it so you whisper, “Do you want me to let you finish or are you good to go?”
He groans, hands sliding down his cheeks as he spins and leaves his room. Your feet are loud as you chase after him, skipping down the stairs, both of you jumping over the last two.  
“So it was a bad date, I take it? No, uh, happy ending?”
“I’m not hearing this, I’m not listening, this isn’t happening…” he sings to himself under his breath, heading out his front door. He stops in front of his car when you start to head back towards your house, “Where are you going?”
Spinning, you hold up your new set of keys and smile, “Oh, I thought I’d drive.”
Steve’s smile is brighter than the moon, but it does not last long when you barely make it to the woods that lead to Lover’s Lake and you quietly mumble something about the AC not working. 
“I hate to break it to you, Buttercup, but Rick sold you a fucking lemon,” Steve’s tone is clipped, annoyed you had gone car shopping without him and bought something because it was cute and your dream car - safety and properly functioning be damned. 
You hoist the Quick Mart bag into the air and crawl onto the hood, patting the spot next to you. Waiting until he sighs, scooting up the pale blue paint of the VW Bug, pretending to not be curious about what you have in the bag. 
“Well, if you keep talking about my baby like that I’m not gonna show you what Rick gave me for the AC not working…” 
“Better have been the keys to the lot cause the piece of shit he so-”
You pull a joint from your bra and he stops, glancing down into the open bag on your lap to see chocolate milk and gummy worms and he smiles, “Oh, fuck yeah!”
He reaches for the joint and you hold it above your head, eyes sparkling, palm on his chest. “Take it back.”
He drops his head back, looking up at the stars that slowly dot the sky, becoming brighter. He mumbles up to the heavens, “Your baby is not a lemon.”
“Thank you.” Ripping the bag of gummy worms open as he lights the joint. 
The gears are oiled, the smoke in your lungs and the looser inhibitions kick start the machine and soon you’re shooting chocolate milk out of your nose from laughing too hard and ripping gummy worms in half for wishes. 
Your head rolls, the cool blue metal beneath your cheek as you take in your best friend’s profile. His cheeks are hollowed as he inhales, dark scruff lining his jaw that’s more angular than it used to be, the slope of his nose fitting his face better. The curve of his fingers on hands that are a size that fits his body now, if not still big. Steve turned into a man somehow in the last few years, but as he passes the joint to you while ripping a gummy worm between his teeth, you see why it’s hard for him to move on, the boy you know from your childhood still there at his core. 
“Hey, Steve?” you whisper into the evening air, cicadas buzzing around you loudly, your summer mixtape playing out of your car’s open windows. Passing the burning paper back to him again.
“Yeah?” 
“So you masturbate fully naked, huh?”
He coughs around his inhale, head smacking the hood and you cackle, both of your sounds echoing across the lake. 
Steve groans, snuffing out the end of your fun as he sits up, “Well, that settles it. You’re definitely too high.”
You sit up as well, arms wrapping around his, “Oh, come on, Steve, Steven, Stevie,” he looks down his nose at you unamused as you tug on his bicep, “I’m your best friend, am I not?”
He sighs through his nose, thick fingers fiddling with the chocolate milk cap, “Yeah, of course.”
“So, as your best friend, I think I have a right to know.”
“No, you don’t. That’s not how this works.”
“Who says?”
“I say.” Steve flicks your temple and you blow out a raspberry. 
You lay back against the hood and stare up at the stars, finding The Big Dipper first before you search for answers in a greater world than you’ll ever know. 
Steve stares out at the lake, his knees drawn up and arms hanging over them. You wonder if he’s thinking the same things as you. That it’s all too big and there are too many unanswered questions. Maybe he needs a distraction, the weight to be lifted just like you do, just for one more summer. So you smile and push it further, the weed making you a little more bold. 
“I’m usually a shirt and panties gal myself.”
Steve’s breathing stops and you smirk, head tilted back as he lets out a breath that sounds shaky before looking back at you. 
You grin, hands resting on your stomach, as the heel of your converse drags on the hood, pulling your knees up. “Naked is a bold choice, why-”
He falls back against the hood again, hand grabbing yours and squeezing, “No more masturbation talk, I beg of you. I’d rather talk about my dad’s ass at this point.”
You lace your fingers through his and he rolls his eyes at your smile, both of you turning your attention back to the inky sky. 
It could be seconds, minutes, or hours that you sit there in silence, but it’s not the awkward, stilled kind anymore, it’s the kind you yearn for with other people. The kind of silence that’s simple and more powerful with the things unsaid than spoken. Your chests move in time together, slow breaths in and out, Steve’s thumb brushes against your skin in a way that has the high making every nerve in your body hone in on it. Steve starts singing along quietly to ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’. 
“What should I name her?” You pat the car with your other hand. 
“Stevie?” He smirks. 
“Ella? Doris?” 
It’s quiet for a second and then Steve turns his whole body, resting on his side, “How about just ‘Baby’?”
You mirror his position, smiling at the Dirty Dancing reference and agreeing, “It’s perfect.”
“For a smile they can share the night, it goes on and on and on and onnn…”
Steve clears his throat and traces his fingers along the metal beneath him absentmindedly, “I know why you like that movie so much.”
You roll to your back again, avoiding his gaze, “Because Patrick Swazye is a total hottie, of course.”
He hums, “Mmm, well, sure, but it’s cause of the actual dirty dancing in the one scene.”
Your body heats up, hands and legs fidgeting and he leans over you, finger in your face, smug and gloating, “Aha!”
Swatting his finger away with a groan, “Shut up!”
“Oh, so you can bug me about masturbating, but I can’t tease you for liking a little sexy dancing in a movie? What’s that about honey, huh?” His fingers are on your waist, jabbing playfully and you wheeze for air, laughing. 
“I give, I give, I surrender!” Swatting at his shoulders until his fingers stop. 
You’re both breathless, Steve’s eyes in front of yours, blocking out all of the stars - there’s only him. His lips part, tongue licking over his top one as he glances down at yours, bodies warm against one another. 
He whispers your name and you think that maybe something bigger is going to happen. Maybe all of those stars that shot across the sky with a promise of wishes fulfilled are finally rewarding you. 
“Well what do we have here?”
Andy’s voice rings through the night and Steve and you scoot apart from each other, glancing up to see half of Newbys staff and more holding cases of various booze and boom boxes as they walk past you and down to the shore. 
“Hi, Steve,” a tall blonde wiggles her fingers at him as she passes and you hop off the hood. 
Robin and Eddie change the pitch of their voices as they steal both the candy and milk when they run by. Waggling their fingers at him mocking, “Hiii, Steeevvee.” 
Steve throws a pinecone at Eddie’s head with impressive aim in the dark and smirks when he yelps. 
Tommy passes by with Carol and he looks you up and down in a way that makes you feel slimy, “Is Princeton Princess gonna come remind everyone why even the wannabe King of Hawkins couldn’t get her?” He pouts, “Or is she still pretending she’s too good for all of us?”
“Fuck off, Hagan!” Steve and you moan while flipping him off in sync. 
The bodies of your peers all disappear, the sounds of guitars and bass are louder than the ones coming out of your car, and the ember’s of a bonfire match the woosh you hear as flames catch and logs are lit. 
The first summer bonfire.
“Who calls pong first?” a voice shouts. 
Steve sticks his tongue in his cheek as he looks at you, raising his eyebrows. A silent conversation of how you could go back home, or you could have some fun and forget that you have to work tomorrow. 
You race each other to the sandy beach and at some point his hand slips into yours and pulls you along faster as he screams, “We’re first! Move, Munson!”
📻 Now Playing: Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen
“Robin, please I’m begging you, literally anything else.”
She pauses from where she restocks the cassette shipment, eyes narrowing at the wall as she tilts her head, seeming to think over your request before looking at you seriously and tapping your nose. “No.”
You groan in frustration and grab the Red Vines off the counter and stalk towards the front door, her shout calling behind you, “Hey!”
“Sorry! Red Vines are for birthday girls who are willing to negotiate!”
Her co-worker’s laugh leaves the store with you while the bell chimes overhead as the door slams shut. The tough licorice candy is no match for your teeth as you growl into your bite and Steve hands over the cherry slurpee left over from the movie with raised eyebrows. 
“She didn’t go for it, huh?”
You kick a rock down the sidewalk before sitting on the curb with a huff. 
“You know, I think it’s gonna be a lot of fun…” he starts again.  
Your glare is white heat down his spine as you rip into another Red Vine. 
“Camping, Steve. Camping! It’s going to be like 80 out and there’s bugs and rocks and, and trees, and-”
He laughs, hands covering his face, “Oh my god, it’s barely outside of Hawkins and what happened to the girl who used to go worm hunting with me? The city has changed you, Buttercup.”
The slurpee sucks through the straw loudly, gaps in the red sugary drink making you hollow your cheeks more and Steve feels his own cheeks and ears turning the same color as his tongue. He pulls it away from you, “Alright, easy tiger, I think he’s had enough.”
Your forehead falls against his bicep with a moan. Steve wraps his arm around your waist and squeezes. “I promise, you’re gonna have a great time, you’re going to be begging to go on more trips just like it.”
That’s how you found yourself in the middle of an Indiana State Park on the last weekend in June - glaring at your best friend. 
Steve’s lip is between his teeth, baseball hat turned around as his fingers rub his temple and he looks down at the rough sketch of the map he had sworn was an exact copy of the one at the trailhead. 
And maybe it had been, four hours ago. Before you both sweat through your clothes, before his canteen leaked and made the sharpie and lined paper look like a monster.  
“We’re lost?” You venture, palm swatting at things that fly at your sweat soaked neck for the fifth time in less minutes. 
“No, no, not lost, we’re-” Steve squints as he looks at the two wood arrows pointing in opposite directions and back down to the soggy paper. 
Sitting on a boulder, another five minutes pass before Steve finally drops the useless map with a curse and looks at you apologetically, “Yeah, we’re lost.”
Your head falls into your hands, fingers ripping at your hair before he snaps his fingers. “Oh! The walkies, I’ll try to explain where we are and…” 
You hop up, scrambling pebbles and pinecones under your feet as adrenaline fills your veins for the first time in hours at the hope of getting back to the campsite. It wasn’t your bed, but it’s something. 
Steve turns the dial of the walkie and you wait for static, but nothing leaves the tiny speaker. He clicks it again and then shakes it violently in his hand, “You. Stupid. Piece. Of. Shit!”
“Steven,” your head looks up at the sky, a deep breath through your nose, “Are there batteries in that thing?”
It’s far too quiet and Steve fears for his life tonight. Not because you’re lost in the middle of the woods, but from the look you’re giving him. 
Your hands shove at his chest once, “Steve! I listened to you swear to Henderson that thing had fucking batteries in it-”
“I thought there were! He’s always getting on me about them, because I did it to him one time, the little twerp is such a-”
Shoving at his chest harder, you scream at him, “We’re gonna die in the fucking woods because you have a tough guy complex and have to make sure everyone knows you’re cooler than a seventeen year old and-” you break off into a sob and shove him harder than the first two times and he stumbles backwards a little. 
“Hey!” His fingers wrap around your wrists and your forehead falls into his chest and you start crying. Steve’s voice softens, “Hey, come on, stop, we’re gonna be fine. We’re like ten? Yeah ten miles away from camp. If we start back the way we came…we’ll…we’re gonna be fine.”
“Sorry,” you sniffle and wipe your nose into his shirt. 
His palms soothe up your spine and when you tilt your chin on his chest to peer up at him, he cradles your face. The pads of Steve’s thumbs are rough, but gentle in their movement as he swipes at your cheeks with a smile, “Nothing to be sorry for.” He leans down and kisses your forehead. 
Chapped lips that are still warm and soft against your skin. Steve inhales the smell of your shampoo, the salt on your skin as he presses a second and longer kiss to your hairline. Your eyes flutter closed and your fingers tangle in the hem of his shirt, getting closer to him.  
Both of you realizing what you just did at about the same time, you pull away and clear your throats, arms dropping to your sides. 
It’s been quiet for over an hour according to his watch, and the sun is causing the pine’s shadows to slant longer across the dirt trail. Broken up by golden light that sparkles and highlights moss and leaves that hold the morning’s dew still. You have to admit it’s pretty. It had been all day. And really, you had been having a pretty good time like Steve said you would, as much as you hated to admit he was right. 
Steve had made a birthday weekend mix, the few hours driving out of Hawkins town limit filled with wind whipping your hair and singing along loudly as the sky turned from navy to lavender to rose and gold. A lull of speaking and the dawn sun making you all lazy and sleepy until Bohemian Rhapsody had come on. You had leaned forward in between the seats, squealing and asking for it to be turned up. Steve, Robin, Eddie and you taking turns belting out specific parts down to the guitar solo. All of you screaming at the top of your lungs, “So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye?” Bouncing with energy as you arrived at the State Park, everyone hopping out and setting up their tents. 
And the campsite was pretty, you missed it. Close to the lake that Steve promised would have a killer sunset over it tonight, you squinted up at the trees ahead of you, pretty sure you’d never make it back in time for it. Despite thinking you had all day for this specific hike, the sun rose and started to set faster than your legs could carry either of you. And that was before you were lost. 
📻 Now Playing: I’m On Fire by Bruce Springsteen
You need a distraction, and sure enough, your best friend always seems to know what you need before you do. 
“Do you remember,” Steve starts, eyes on the trail ahead of you, thumbs looped into the backpack straps over his shoulders, “When we met?”
Your smile cracks the dirt and sweat that clings to your face, before you laugh, “Yeah, I shoved Tommy’s face in the sand on the playground when he told me that girl’s couldn’t like dinosaurs and you tattled on me.” Your hip bumps his.
Steve looks over at you, “I stand by that, you were a menace on the blacktop, specifically tetherball when we got to middle school, but, no,” he shakes his head, “That’s not the first time we met.”
“It’s not?” You’re lost in recalling memories, sifting through smiles and laughs and even tears, too caught up in it all to see how Steve watches you out of the corner of his eye. How his gaze moves over your face and wishes he had an ounce of the drive and focus you do. 
“Give up?” He whispers and you look over at him and he smiles, “It was when you moved in. You were outside with chalk and asked me if I wanted to draw with you?”
“Oh yeah,” you smile down at your shoes but then look up at him, “Why are you bringing this up now?”
Steve looks at you seriously, “I think the shit we scribbled on your driveway twenty years ago was museum quality compared to the map I barely wrote down before leaving on this hike - before the water ruined it. We were doomed from the start.”
You laugh, shoving his shoulder, “I’m never going camping or hiking with you again!” 
Your laughter trails off as you keep walking, Steve rubs at his jaw and you wonder if he’s up for actual reminiscing as you hedge, “Remember the first party we went to?”
Steve swallows, humming a little, “Mhm.”
Your voice is quiet, but you laugh, “I remember I came over to your house because Jackie told Shelby that Tommy told Carol that a boy liked me and wanted to kiss me at the party.”
Steve rubs at his neck nodding, “Right, yeah, I remember…”
Your eyes are glued to your sneakers now, watching the pine needles scatter with each drag of your heel, “And I asked you if you would kiss me, so I knew how to do it.”
“Yeah, listen, Y/N,” Steve starts. Your head whips over to him at the use of your actual name, no longer looking at the path. He sees it all happening before it does, eyes widening as your foot hits the edge of the path and holds out his hand and grabs yours, “Wait, watch ou-!”
You’re all limbs as you slide and roll down the side of the hill, Steve cursing and your fingers squeeze his palm tightly. Something burns, something stings, something hurts and it feels like days that you’re moving and falling until you’re not. Your breath is heavy, eyelids fluttering as his hand slips from yours. 
“Oh, fuck,” Steve’s breath is knocked from his lungs. His palm presses into black earth and he looks up, laughing when he sees the yellow tent and Robin holding the walkie in her hand in the distance. Of course they were barely away from camp. They’d probably been walking in circles for all he knew. 
Robin’s hand over her eyes as she squints, “Steve?”
Steve laughs, holding his side, “Oh, Buttercup, you beautiful, wonderful, clumsy person. I don’t know how you just managed to…”
He falters when he looks around and doesn’t see you. Standing, as he calls out “Y/N?”
Steve hears your whimper and his heart stops when he sees your crumpled body, crimson staining your temple and soaking your pant leg. He scrambles, tripping over his sneakers, “Y/N! Robin, get the first aid kit!”
His fingers shake, unsure of where he should touch or grab or hold, “Hey, hey, Y/N, can you open your eyes, are you okay, can you talk, Y/N, babe, please say something.” 
A cough gets stuck in your throat and you moan at the pounding in your head, eyelids fluttering, “Babe’s a new one.”
Steve laughs through a sob and then taps at your cheeks when your eyes start to close again, “Hey, no, no, no, you gotta stay awake, I’m so sorry, no, honey, stay awake…”
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Thank you for reading and I appreciate any love left - I hope you can share my writing and get it circulated. As a reminder, there is no tag list for this fic / series. 💛
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beyondthesefourwalls · 9 months
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This Love Came Back to Me (5)
Summary: You and Bradley hadn’t ended on bad terms; really, you stopped before the two of you could even truly begin. Still, in the last seven months, you had never completely left his mind. So when you suddenly appeared in front of him at the bar, asking for a favor and pulling him into a kiss, he thought maybe it was the perfect opportunity to see if this time, things could be different. But what neither of you realized was that there’s more going on than just rekindling a lost romance, and it might not be as easy as simply just wanting it. 
Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (no use of y/n)
Warnings: second chance romance, language, allusions of smut and potential full smut, stalking, unhealthy obsessions, delusions of feelings, unwanted attention.
Part Five Word Count: 4.1K
Part Four :: Series Masterlist
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Friday couldn’t come fast enough, but when it finally did, Bradley felt like it dragged on forever. He hadn’t looked forward to a weekend this much in quite awhile, and he knew you were the reason. 
He hadn’t been able to see you since your date on Monday, having late nights on base the rest of the week. He had been tempted to make the 25 minute drive from his apartment to yours each and every night, but the notion of going too fast too soon had crept up in the back of his mind. You had settled into a relationship that felt stronger and more hopeful than what it had been seven months ago, but he was still mindful of the fact that it was, in some ways, new. 
But it was Friday, and you had plans to spend the weekend together again, and he couldn’t wait. He smiled even thinking about seeing you. The nightly phone calls you had all week were great, but they were nothing compared to seeing you in person.
He was on his way home now, windows down and tapping on the steering wheel in rhythm with the 80s playlist flowing from the speakers. You were coming to his place this time and he knew you wouldn’t be too far behind, having texted him when you left your office. 
Bradley’s smile slipped slightly as he thought about that. 
It had taken everything in him not to track that douchebag that you worked with down when you told him about the comments he had made to you on Monday, and then how he had almost certainly purposefully run into you. The thought of him physically touching you made him want to be sick. And then he had the audacity to send you flowers in return the very next day. 
It went beyond just not knowing how to take a hint, of that he was certain. He couldn’t wait for you to get out of there. He knew you had met with HR earlier in the week and that nothing had really come of it aside being told they’d “look into it.” It was frustrating, but he knew there was nothing he could do but be there as support. You had spent the week working on your resume and job hunting, one of the reasons he hadn’t pushed to drive out to you every night. He was just as anxious for you to find something new as you were. 
You deserved so much more than what you were getting. 
He had barely taken his shoes off once he was home when there was a knock on his apartment door. He opened it quickly, and he swore, you damn near took his breath away. For a moment, he couldn’t do much more than stare at you, standing there smiling at him, twirling your keys around your finger. 
“Hey there, Aviator.” 
Your voice broke him out of his stupor and he reached out. You giggled as he pulled you through the doorway and into his chest, the door slamming shut once you were inside. He kissed you firmly, tasting the sound of your laugh. 
“Missed you this week,” he murmured against your lips. 
“Yeah?” 
He shook his head at the shy tone you had adopted and kissed you again. He felt your grin get even bigger before you pulled away. Your gaze swept over him, and when you gave a low whistle, he felt a flush creep up his neck, even as he cocked an eyebrow.
“See something you like?”
“I never saw you in your uniform much,” you shrugged, eyes lingering on his pins. Your finger brushed over his last name. “You look good in khaki.” 
“You look good in anything.” 
He shot you a wink when you rolled your eyes. He squeezed your hip before letting you go, and you followed him further into the apartment. He asked you about your day as he grabbed you a glass of water. 
“Can we not talk about work tonight?” 
He set your cup down slowly in front of you, considering your question. You didn’t seem upset, or like you were avoiding talking about something. Your eyes were still shining and a soft smile remained on your face. So instead of pushing, he nodded.
“I have a proposition for you, then.” 
You looked at him curiously, and Bradley cleared his throat, suddenly nervous. It was something he had been thinking about all week, really. His friends had seen him leave the bar with you on Friday night, and he had strategically avoided all the text messages over the weekend aside from responding with a “I’m alive, but busy. See you at work.” in the group chat. He had arrived on base on Monday to a firing squad of questions. You had met all of his friends before, but Nat was the only one who really knew how hung up on you he had remained after your breakup. She was more cautious than the others in their excitement that he had gotten back together with you. It had taken a private conversation for her to show how happy she was for him; he was pretty sure he still had a bruise from where she had punched his arm when he jokingly cooed about her concern for his feelings.
Still, despite knowing all of his friends were supportive, he wanted them to see for themselves how happy you made him, how the two of you were good. Strong. And, if he was honest with himself, he selfishly wanted to show you off a bit, too. 
“How do you feel about going to the Hard Deck with me tonight? Phoenix and the rest of the guys will be there. We can stay in if you’d rather-” 
“Bradley,” you interrupted, placing a hand on his chest. Fond amusement was written all over your face as you nodded. “I’d love to.” 
___
Bradley was hit with a bit of deja vu when he walked into the Hard Deck later that night. He couldn’t help but think about how last week at this time, he was spotting you from across the bar before you beelined your way over to him and back into his life, tilting his entire world on its axis. The bar was just as crowded, but this time, he was walking into it with his hand clasped tightly in yours. 
He knew his friends were in the back corner that they’re always in. Slipping his sunglasses into the collar of his shirt, he started to pull you in that direction when you stopped him with your free hand wrapping around his arm. 
“Can we get drinks first?” 
Looking down at you, he noticed how your eyes were slightly wider than normal, and how you seemed to bounce on your feet a little before settling. 
You were nervous. 
For some reason, that made his heart skip a beat. 
He gave you a soft smile and cupped your cheek with the hand not holding yours, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. Without a word, he changed direction and headed to the bar instead. You kept ahold of both his arm and his hand the entire time, but he didn’t mind a single bit. 
“Hey,” he murmured once Penny had set your drinks on the bar in front of you. He waited until you met his eyes to speak. “I’m really glad you’re here with me tonight, Bug.” 
Some of the anxiety on your face fell at his words, a breath of air leaving your painted lips. You pushed up on your toes to kiss him, pulling away way too soon for his liking. 
“Me too.” 
He held his bottle up between you with a wink, and you laughed lightly, clinking yours against it before you both took a sip. He arched his eyebrows in question and with another deep breath, you nodded. With a hand on the small of your back, Bradley guided you in the direction of his friends. 
It was obvious the moment you were spotted by the group of aviators. Loud calls of both of your names rang out, along with some obnoxious whistling that had him rolling his eyes. Everyone greeted you happily, a few of the guys even offering quick hugs. Nat’s the last one to approach, her eyebrow arched in a way that is so very Phoenix as she drew out your name. She smirked in Bradley’s direction before looking back at you.
“You didn’t learn your lesson the first time? This guy is a pain in the ass, but he’s your problem now. You can only return him once. It’s in the policy.”
He let out a breath of relief he didn’t even realize he was holding. You laughed, accepting the brief hug that his best friend gave you. 
“That’s okay,” you assured her, looking up at him briefly. “Guess I’ll just have to keep him then.” 
He smiled and shook his head, but his heart pounded in his chest and he felt warm all over from the implication of your words. 
It didn’t take long for you to get sucked into conversations. You really had gotten along well with everyone before, and it seemed like time hadn’t affected that, either. Bradley loved seeing you laughing and having fun, effortlessly fitting in with the people who he considered family and who meant the most to him. It just solidified what he already knew, which was that you were meant to be here with him. 
You finished your second drink about an hour later, and Bradley kissed your cheek as he said he would go grab another for the both of you. But you shook your head as you slid off the stool you had been sitting on, telling him that you needed to go to the bathroom anyway and would just grab another round on your way back. 
“I’ll go with you,” Nat chirped. He let out a soft “umph” when she shoved her pool cue in his chest, telling him to take over her game for her. You giggled softly as the two of you walked away. Bradley watched your back until you disappeared from view. When he turned back, everyone was looking at him with varying levels of amusement. 
“Shut up,” he muttered, prompting laughter. He rolled his eyes as he moved to take the vacated spot at the pool table, and after some expected teasing that he took proudly, the conversation shifted to the trip Coyote was planning on taking next month. 
It had been less than ten minutes, nothing to really be concerned about considering how busy the bar was, when Fanboy nudged his arm with a laugh. 
“Yo, Rooster. I think Phoenix is roping your girl into one of her bar fights.”  
Bradley’s eyebrows knitted together as Fanboy’s words registered, but once they did, he turned quickly to look where he was pointing. Red-hot anger surged through him as soon as he spotted you, because it wasn’t just anyone Phoenix was going toe to toe with - it was Paul.
The pool cue clattered to the ground and he was moving before anyone could say anything. 
Phoenix was standing beside you, an annoyed look on her face. But it was your expression that had him forgetting his manners as he pushed through the crowd.  You were holding your arm close to your chest, your mouth slightly opened in shock or disbelief or both. You looked startled, and your eyes were wide with something that looked far too close to fear than Bradley was comfortable with. 
When he was close enough, he could hear Phoenix spewing something about personal space. Similar to how he was with him last week, though, Paul was looking right past her with his focus trained solely on you. 
“Hey!” he called, and three sets of eyes plus a few onlookers turned to him as he stormed up. He pushed himself between you and the red headed man, effectively blocking you from view. 
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he growled out. 
Paul’s eyes widened at first, before a flash of anger went over his face that settled into a cool indifference much too quickly to be genuine. But he didn’t look surprised. Instead, it was like he had been anticipating this confrontation and had prepared himself. 
“I’m not here to talk to you,” he replied. He shifted like he was trying to peer around Bradley’s larger frame to see you, but Bradley mimicked the movement. Paul’s jaw ticked in annoyance. 
“Yeah, well you aren’t here to talk to her either,” Bradley snapped. His voice was filled with a steely determination that he doesn’t think he’s ever heard come out of his mouth. “You’ve bothered her enough.” 
“I’m not bothering her!” 
Bradley scoffed at the absolutely delusional words he was hearing. It was only your hands settling on his back and your body heat as you stepped closer that prevented him from completely losing it. He reached back to settle a hand on your body while keeping himself in front of you. His jaw clenched as he forced himself to take a deep breath. 
“Whatever little crush you have on her, you keep it to yourself from now on. No more coffees or flowers or any of that bullshit you’ve been pulling. Leave her the fuck alone. She doesn’t want you, man.” 
Paul finally stopped trying to look around and snapped his eyes to him at that. Gone was the indifference that was there before. What replaced it was something that had Bradley tensing even more. His eyes were cold, infuriated even. The red head huffed out an angry breath, his spine straightening as he took a step forward.
“And you think you’re good enough for her?” he hissed. His hands shot forward and pressed into Bradley’s broad chest like he was trying to push him, but the larger man barely budged. That seemed to just make him angrier and he repeated the motion. This time, Bradley pushed him back with the hand not touching you. Unlike him, the smaller man stumbled back several steps, nearly losing his balance. Bradley went to take a step forward as his anger surges, but your grip on him tightened, the fabric of his shirt clenched in your hands. He heard you whisper his name into his back, your tone urgent and pleading. 
“Please,” you said, “he’s not worth it.” 
The air was tense, and more than just those in their immediate surroundings had begun to notice the confrontation happening. Bradley kept his eyes trained on the person who had caused you nothing but stress and who had put the fear in your eyes, but it seemed the man in question had noticed how all of their friends had pushed through the crowd and joined them. It was clear whose side they were on, even if they had no context as to what was going on right now.
Still, though, it was like Paul was weighing his options and his chances as he glanced around. Bradley almost couldn’t believe it. 
“Is there a problem?”
Penny, as always, had impeccable timing. Payback and Bob moved to the side easily to let her through, and though she was speaking and looking at Bradley with raised eyebrows, he could tell that she knew it wasn’t him who was the issue. 
Before he could say anything though, Phoenix spoke up. 
“As a matter of fact, there is. This douchebag here doesn’t understand keeping his hands to himself or the word no. Rooster was just giving him a friendly reminder.”
Bradley’s nostrils flared and his fists clenched at the thought of him having touched you. The only thing keeping him from really reminding him was your forehead between his shoulder blades and the grip you had on him. 
Penny knew them all well enough to know they’d never bullshit her, so she simply nodded. 
“You disrespect a woman or the Navy in my bar, you buy a round. Since you seemed to do both without even bothering to start a tab, I’ll make it easier for you by telling you to get the hell out and not come back.” 
She only briefly looked at the outsider as she spoke to him. She nodded at the guys, instruction enough to make sure her orders were followed through; she knew they would - they always did, and this was one of their own. 
Perhaps the first smart decision he had made that night, Paul seemed to realize just how outnumbered he was. He spoke your name in a last ditch effort to get your attention. You pressed yourself closer to Bradley’s back at the sound of it. He was unmoving in front of you. 
“Go,” he growled out. “Now.”
He turned to leave with a sigh. Before he could get far, though, Bradley stepped away from you and grabbed his arm. He knew his grip was tighter than it needed to be by the way the smaller man winced. Good. He stepped up to him, leaning down to speak directly into his ear, his voice laced with venom and a clear warning. “You’re going to leave her the fuck alone, or you won’t be walking out of here next time. I can promise you that.”
Paul glared up at him, but Bradley knew he heard. He released his arm with a sneer and watched as he scurried away, Fanboy and Coyote following to make sure he left like Penny had requested. It was only once he saw them go through the front door that he turned, and as soon as he did, he had your face in his hands. 
“Are you okay?” 
You nodded, though your eyes were still wide as you stared up at him. He watched as you took a shaky breath and it took everything in him not to follow Paul into the parking lot and introduce him to his fist. But you were his priority here - you always would be. “Baby, what-” 
“That guy was a fucking creep and his beady little eyes might be in my nightmares now.”
Your eyelids fluttered shut at Phoenix’s words and you turned your head just slightly away from her and into his hand, like you didn’t want anyone to see your moment of weakness. He wondered if perhaps Paul would be in your nightmares, too, or if he already has been. He felt queasy at the thought. 
“I think we could use another drink after that,” Nat continued decisively, turning to you and asking if you were in. 
He didn’t take his eyes off of you and saw how you bit the inside of your cheek by how your lips pursed and how you took a deep breath in through your nose. He could practically see the calm mask drop over your face as you opened your eyes. You sent him a tight lipped smile and squeezed his wrists, nodding once.
He hesitated for a moment before he reluctantly let his hands drop from your face. 
You forced as much joy into your tone as possible, telling his best friend that another drink sounded like just the thing you needed. When the other aviators who had gathered dispersed either to the bar or back to their regular spot, though, Bradley held you back. 
“We don’t have to stay,” he assured you. Selfishly, part of him wanted you to say you were ready to go, so he could take you back to his place and hold you tightly for the rest of the night, assuring you but also himself that you weren’t hurt. But you shook your head at his words. 
“He’s not ruining this for me more than he already has. For either of us. Just….one more drink.”
He spoke your name gently and shook his head, not quite knowing what to say.
“Please, B.”
Your soft, quiet voice cracked slightly and your eyes were pleading with him, and god, Bradley hated this so much. He hated him so much. 
But he pressed a kiss to your forehead, breathing you in for a long moment as you clung to him in return. Then he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and guided you back to where you had been sitting before, accepting the drinks that Nat had gotten for the both of you.
___
You were quiet on the drive back to his apartment. Too quiet, in a way that left Bradley feeling on edge and out of his depth. You had pushed through two more drinks at the Hard Deck, a smile on your face and laughing at everyone’s jokes as you stayed integrated into the conversations happening around you. It was almost like the altercation with Paul hadn’t even affected you, you were so convincing. But he knew better. He could see the way your eyes had darted more often than usual to the entrance, or how your brows knitted together in thought if you went too long without talking. 
You were both the strongest and the most stubborn woman that he had ever known, and it wasn’t until after Jake and Nat had both slunk off and the others were starting up another round of pool that some of your facade had faded. You had barely needed to say his name before he was leading you out of the bar after a few quick goodbyes. You had kept a tight hold on his arm as you walked toward the Bronco. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t surveying the packed parking lot more than he normally would, and he knew you were doing the same.
You kept your gaze out the window, your hands in your lap. He could hear the sharp snap, snap, snap of your hair tie against your wrist and finally Bradley reached over to place his hand over yours, stopping you from the unconscious coping mechanism you had. You didn’t say anything, but you turned your palm up and laced your fingers through his, squeezing his hand instead. He kept it there in your lap until he pulled into his designated parking space. 
You still didn’t look at him once he turned the ignition off, and Bradley felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin with how the silence was killing him. 
With a sigh, he climbed out of the car, walking slowly around the back of it to your door, trying to give you a moment by yourself, no matter how brief. 
He mustered a smile when he opened the door to the passenger side. You did your best to return the gesture, but it was half hearted. He was just extending his hand to help you out when you finally spoke. 
“I think maybe I should go back to my place tonight.” 
Your words made his heart stutter in his chest for all the wrong reasons. He took a deep breath and clenched his jaw, clearing his throat when the words got stuck in it. 
“Is that what you want?” he gritted out, trying his best to keep his voice neutral. It was the opposite of what he wanted - what he needed, truthfully. He had promised to do everything to support you, and he knew being alone was something you valued sometimes, but god damnit, the thought of you alone in your house as upset as what he knew  you were, even if you weren’t showing it, didn’t sit well with him at all. He wanted you here with him, just like the two of you had planned. 
He hated that dickhead for making you feel like this. He should’ve followed him into the damn parking lot. 
You chewed on your bottom lip for a moment, and when you released it from between your teeth, he could see how it wobbled.  Bradley’s heart clenched. 
“Not really,” you admitted, your voice cracking with the words.
“Then why?” 
You shrugged miserably, shaking your head. You didn’t say it, but he could make guesses as to what you were thinking. You were too much. You didn’t want him to see you upset. He shouldn’t have to put up with this. 
The possibilities were all bullshit and couldn't be further from the truth.  
Bradley took a step closer until he physically couldn’t anymore, blocked by the car frame. He brushed his thumb over your cheek and you leant into the touch, your eyes fluttering shut. 
“Come inside, Bug. Please.” 
You took a few deep breaths and his heart was in his throat until you finally gave a shaky nod and unbuckled your seatbelt.
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Part Six :: Series Masterlist :: Main Masterlist
Notes: Does Paul give anyone else a serious case of the ick? I hope you enjoyed this one! Likes/comments/reblogs are the best encouragement for posting more🖤
Thank you to Mak and Em for all of your help making this story come to life. And thanks to Mak for the AMAZING banner!
Tag List: @roosterforme - @mak-32 - @wildxwidow - @gretagerwigsmuse - @bradshawburner - @lilyevanswhore - @too-fangirl-to-fuction - @fav-fanficssss - @notroosterbradshaw - @teacupsandtopgun - @sometimesanalice - @sunflowersteves - @littlezee80 - @je-suis-prest-rachel - @khaylin27 - @infamous-reindeer - @hotch-meeeeeuppppp - @sarahjoestewy-blog - @yanna-banana - @inthestars-underthesun - @avengersfan25 - @wkndwlff - @lt-spork - @indynerdgirl
@mssleepy876b - @kassieesworld - @mizzzpink - @a-serene-place-to-be - @memoriesat30 - @sexualparkour - @sadpetalsstuff - @almostgenerallyalways - @alilstressyandlotdepressy - @ccbb2222 - @taytaylala12 - @shelbycillian - @mavrellover91 - @vici111 - @lunamooncole - @blackwidownat2814 - @pisupsala - @sylviebell - @bellaireland1981 - @jynxmirage - @shanimallina87 - @greatszu - @na-ta-sh-aa - @callsign-magnolia - @chaoticassidy
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halfratsalready · 1 month
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The Unhinged Jack x Wanderlust Conspiracy Board Explained
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A few days ago I posted this silly conspiracy board I made for a slideshow night with my friends where I talked about how Ubisoft loves to deny Jack x Wanderlust and everyone seemed to like it so here’s an in-depth (and I mean in-depth) explanation of everything on it.
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We start, of course, with Si’ha Nova and the Traveler, and Wanderlust wearing his dad’s cape at the beginning of Canned Heat because it’s super cute.
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And you can’t talk about this ship without the moment from Majesty that perfectly mirrors the moment from Save Your Tears because genuinely why would they do this if they didn’t want people to ship these two? (Rainbow flag added for ✨flavor✨)
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I also thought it was worth mentioning that the only time we ever actually hear any of these characters speak across all 14 lore playlist maps is literally Wanderlust calling out Jack’s name.
And now it’s time for the part that I like to call Ubisoft’s crusade against a monster of their own creation (because look at those last two points and tell me they didn’t do this to themselves. You can’t.)
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Now in making this I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Ubisoft isn’t being as harsh on the ship as we’ve been thinking, because “they’re such good friends” and “best friends” with a thumbs up automatically reads as very sarcastic and joking to me, like all the memes about “historians will say they were close friends.”
Then there’s the infamous in’s and out’s New Years post, but what I hadn’t picked up on until I saw this screenshot from Twitter is that the inclusion of “normalize being evil” on the in’s list is rather suspicious and that, according to Just Dance, “this was posted by Night Swan’s army.” So I feel like that’s worth mentioning, because it casts a different light on all the other things on the lists. As in including Jack Rose in the in’s list since he’s the only one she didn’t corrupt yet and she wants to do that this year? And putting stanning Jacklust on the out’s because she’s evil and doesn’t want us to have nice things? Not too sure but hey, if someone better at analyzing things wants to look into that, I’d be down to read it.
(I also think it’s worth mentioning that “worrying about getting a Megastar” is included in the out’s list when the tweet just before that one is encouraging players to get Megastar on Zero to Hero, so some more contradictions there, but that might not mean anything, given that Night Swan’s whole thing is perfection and I feel like she would definitely be in favor of worrying over getting Megastar.)
Plus there’s the pretty popular belief that they’re just pointing out how stupid of a ship name Jacklust is, but I’m personally not at all sold on this being the reason, even if Jacklust is a stupid ship name. (I told my friends the ship name during this presentation and one of them said “Really? Wanderrose was right there.”)
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Lastly, I threw Night Swan in there because of the theory that Ubisoft is denying Jack x Wanderlust because the Traveler is Jack’s father. Now, I have opinions about this theory and I hope it’s not true for obvious reasons, but I feel like if it is, it’s a serious oversight on Ubisoft’s part.
Firstly, if they’re half siblings why did they recreate the move from Save Your Tears in Majesty? Seems odd to have half siblings recreate a pretty iconic romantic duet moment.
There’s also the fact that we can clearly see that Wanderlust takes physical traits from each of his parents - his mother’s blue skin and his father’s dark hair. If the Traveler is Jack’s dad, why don’t they share any physical characteristics? At the very end of the beta for Sweet Dreams (spoiler?) we see Night Swan with green eyes, unlike the yellow eyes she has in the rest of the dances we see her in. (While this could just be an older design choice, I personally interpreted this as meaning that her eyes were green before she went evil and then they turned yellow.) In all of his character artwork, Jack’s eyes are green, which I take as meaning that this is a trait he got from his mother. So I personally feel like it only makes sense for his father to have red hair (and we’ve got plenty of options to pick from with that criteria).
But hey, that’s just a theory… I don’t need to finish that part, you’re already thinking it. Thanks for reading my insane ramblings!
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greyyson83 · 8 months
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lego flowers for you, dear
genre | pure fluff. cheesy, even.
warnings | kissing, uhhh. that's it. i think. fake arguing, i guess? like, half edited, no use of y/n, they/them as far as im concerned, lower case on purpose
pairing | tommyinnit x reader (you pov)
word count | about 1.3K
a/n | this had so many drafts, at one point they went to see hamilton but that's gonna be a different fic now otherwise it would be too long. i have a feeling this might not be very "tommy" cause i was struggling see him while writing but i did my best. have fun reading :)
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you and tom had fallen asleep last night quite late, giggling and smiling together as usual, looking forward to the following day. your one year anniversary.
if you were being honest, you didn’t know how you had managed to keep a relationship for one year, especially with someone as hyper and chaotic as tommy. in the beginning of dating him, you had been hesitant since you hadn’ been able to handle relationships before, but also confused, because with tom, you didn’t get burnt out. you were okay with being affectionate and cheesy around him, which had never happened before. you had never felt more comfortable around anyone. which, you believe, was the reason you had managed to put up a year with him.
‘put up’ being used very loosely. you wanted nothing more than to spend all your time with him. in no way did you ‘put up’ with tommy.
when you woke up in the morning, you rolled over, wanting to cuddle with tom for a little before getting up, only to find empty space.
okay, that’s odd. tom was very much not a morning person, especially not on a day like today.
you slid out of bed, grabbing one of tom’s hoodies that was hung on the back of a chair, pulling it over you from the slight autumn chill, making your way into the kitchen, just to see if he was there. which he was. standing over the hob with two of the flat pans, pancake batter poured into them. he had the speaker on, playing his khai dreams playlist, and he moved around the kitchen while softly singing along.
“tom?”
“morning, lovely.” he spoke, your stomach curling at the sound of his morning voice, which had not yet worn off.
“tom, since when could you make pancakes?” you asked, spotting the small pile of them on a different plate placed on the island countertop. none of them were burnt. none of them had holes or were broken. they looked perfect.
tom smiled. “i’ve always been able to. mum taught me ages ago.”
you fell onto your hip, crossing your arms over your chest. “so why am i always the one that makes them?”
“so when i make them, it’s special.” he grins, leaning over and pressing a kiss on your cheek before running off to put the now cooked pancake on the plate along with the others.
you gasped, watching as he failed to hide the large smile on his face, eyes wide. “cheek!”
“most of them are done, you can help yourself.” he spoke, concentrating on the final one.
but you shook your head. “no it’s fine, i’ll wait for you.”
“what a sweetheart.” he joked, not having to even look up at you to see the smile curved into your lips. and after a second of comfortable silence, he stood up straight, coming over to you, pulling you in for a kiss filled to the brim, overflowing, even, with love. the pure adoration you had for each other. once the two of you pulled away, he smiled, resting his forehead against yours. “and happy anniversary, darling.”
“happy anniversary, pretty boy.”
the two of you ate breakfast together like usual, random conversations about random things, catching up on news and ending up with the tv playing quietly in the background. it was nice. it was quiet, which was rare with tom and his job. it was perfect, really.
after breakfast, you convinced tom to come back to bed for a few cuddles. just lengthening the quiet time you had before he took you out for whatever he was planning. for about half an hour or so, the two of you spent time together in bed, under the covers just tangled in each other, not necessarily needing to talk, just small murmurs to each other every now and again. it often took tom a while to calm down, unless he was burnt out, but that morning he managed it perfectly, being calm and relaxed around you, shutting down together while you recharged for the day ahead. tom said he apparently had a lot planned.
most of the day had been spent doing all your favourite things. you taught him more guitar, giggling as he struggled some of the harder chords now that he was getting to that point. you were in the middle of teaching him ‘charlie boy’ by the lumineers, which he was really eager to learn, since it was one of your favourite songs. overall, it was going pretty well, and it was still mostly enjoyable. the two of you had a good time, and tom really did love playing guitar, even if he sometimes struggles to keep up or have precision.
he, in turn, had taken you into the office and forced you to play some minecraft (forced being used very loosely. you actually loved playing it but shush). he had taken you onto the server and shown you around, cackling in proudness as you hit an mlg perfectly. it was only then when you revealed you played minecraft a ton as a kid, you just hid it from him. at first, he was jokingly annoyed, but quickly got over it when he realised he could now bring you into more videos, if you were comfortable with it, of course.
you had gone to one of the more expensive cafes in the centre of brighton, you getting slightly annoyed when he refused to let you pay, knowing he would do the same when he took you out for dinner tonight. but he promised he would let you pay for ice cream afterwards, and even if it wasn’t the same, you knew it would be the best deal you could get.
as well as that, you both accidently bumped into james and wilbur while walking around the park. you’d stuck around for a bit talking to them but then tom had dragged you away, ready to go back home. tom had said you didn’t have time to get into a deep conversation with wilbur and james, pulling you away as you promised to meet up with the two of them at a later date for coffee or something.
back home, tom made you go into the living room bringing out your gift a second later. you squinted at him as you opened it, mumbling under your breath, “we said we weren’t going to do gifts.”
“it’s only small.” he excused, laughing slightly under his breath as you rolled your eyes, unwrapping it.
it was a lego flower.
a lego rose, unassembled, which meant that he wanted to build it with you. a small smile curved into your lips as you looked up at him grinning. “how did you know?”
“know what?” he asked, eyeing you suspiciously.
without saying another word, you reached behind the sofa and pulled out your gift, chucking it at him. it rattled as he caught it, and he laughed, immediately knowing what it was. he ripped the wrapping paper apart and smiling at the lego yellow tulip that was sprawled across the front of the box.
he looked up at you, a loving look in those gorgeous blue eyes. “we said we weren’t doing presents.”
“shut up.” you shook your head, leaping across the small gap between you and tom, closing it as you pulled him into a hug with such vigour that it pushed the two of you onto the floor. “i love you.”
“love you too, lovely." he spoke, smiling. "cmon, lets build them." and you push yourself off of him, pulling him up with you, ending up just in front him as you passed him the yellow tulip box.
after a few minutes of silence, you got up and grabbed the speaker from upstairs, connecting it to your phone and putting on your shared playlist. it consisted of a lot, including lovejoy, mac miller, khai dreams and a few other of your favourite artists, like the lumineers and many others. it was the perfect playlist for this, just chilling together while building each others presents.
just under half an hour later, you hold the red flower out, examining it and smiling, seeing tom behind it, just finishing as well. you took his hand as you hand him your flower.
"give me one second, i've got the perfect thing to put this in."
and you squeezed his hand lightly behind standing up and leaving the room. you came back a few seconds later with a small pot that had been sitting on your desk without a use for the past few months. tom handed you both flowers as you put each one in. they sat perfectly in the small pot, and tom stood up as you made your way to the windowsill, sitting them on the rim along the bottom. they fit perfectly in the spot, along with the other small, real plants that were scattered along the windowsill.
tom came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and settling his chin on your shoulder. "perfect."
"i know!" you laughed, leaning your head back so you could look up at him, which didn't quite work out as he leaned to the right to leave a soft kiss against your cheek. you giggled slightly at his actions, relaxing further into him as you looked out the window together.
but suddenly he was gone, spinning you around and taking your hand in his. "now come on! dinner reservations are soon, and you've got to get ready! we need to be out of the house by half six."
"we going fancy or casual?" you asked, holding his hand tightly, smiling up at the man you loved so dearly.
he shrugged. "somewhere inbetween. honestly, it doesn't really matter, it's not a 'we'll throw you out if you're not dressed black tie' but it's not casual. find something that works for that."
"very helpful." you grinned, leaning up to kiss him softly, feeling his hands on your waist as they squeezed softly.
it wasn't over yet, but this was already the best day you'd ever had. you didn't think anything could ever stop you from loving that man, and you don't expect tom would ever do anything to even threaten that. you'd never felt so much love for one person, and you were sure that he felt the exact same way towards you. life couldn't have been better.
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phantombriide · 1 year
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SEA, SWALLOW ME (neteyam !)
content — HEAVY ANGST!!!! character death, no happy ending, emotional distress, gn!reader. honestly i see a lot of neteyam death stories but like no one ever includes emotion and feeling so i wanted to attempt to put it into words so we get a feel of what it's like to love and lose someone and how it completely ruins you for all you are. :') had to turn on my depression playlist for this one tbh, enjoy lol!
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"the stars, ma y/n." neteyam's eyes finally rest on you, the most stable his gaze has been since you guys reached shore. seconds ago his eyes frantically bouncing from figure to figure as if he's processing everything that is happening in the moment, and then the observation begins, his brain working overtime to memorize the faces he loves but will never see again all while accepting what's to come.
his hand is trembling violently, the stains of blood beginning to dry, but you hold on like it's your lifeline, lifting it to your face to graze comforting kisses across each knuckle.
you struggle to voice your thoughts and feelings as if you have all the time in the world and you don't. it angers you and tears you apart simultaneously. so many emotions and you fail to process a single one. it's not the first time neteyam has seen you cry, but it's the first time he cries with you.
your minds hold different thoughts. he's grieving his loss of you before he's even gone, recalling every second that he's spent his life loving you, every minute his skin has had the pleasure of touching yours, every fraction of his heart that he happily gave you. all snatched out of his grasp within seconds, too fast to even comprehend but he's always been a man or awareness. through blurry eyes, he sees the way you crack and begin to shatter, trying to piece yourself together before him so an empty shell of his lover isn't the last thing he sees.
meanwhile, your mind is in shambles, your wonderland is destroyed and your heart is in ruins. he's still breathing before you, but you wonder what you'll do when he isn't. he has less than minutes with you but you're already gone. you fight to configure a idea of how you'll live your life without him by your side, but you only come to a single conclusion; you won't. it's impossible. you never only became his all those years ago, you became one, and what are you without your other half? it's like two strings tied together at the heart, the home of the great emotion called love, threaded in the vessels in order to pump your love through the line and into the other only to have it torn out, leaving you both to bleed freely.
you gasp for a breath that you're worthy of, cursing yourself for taking even an ounce of the oxygen that the love of your life is being deprived of, wanting to give everything you're made of, everything that is keeping you alive right now just for him to live.
despite how unbelievably brave and strong you've always been, not any amount of training prepares you for this moment. the weak squeeze that you feel from him makes you crumble. you think you're being attacked with the way you struggle to breathe through cries of agony and despair. the sight pains him and suddenly the gun wound that is killing him is the last thing he's worried about.
he finally realizes what it means to have a soulmate, more importantly, to lose one. the feeling is equivalent to sand falling between his fingers. he sees the acceptance coated in your tears, the mourning beginning before it has a reason to.
but he must be assured that this isn't the end, that this isn't the last of the two of you. "we will meet again, in the stars."
you nod profusely, confirming his advances and that is enough for him. his grip loosens and that familiar light that swims in his eyes dulls within milliseconds.
there's screaming, there's crying, there's every emotion you could imagine, all surrounding you, but you feel nothing. you recognize this bottomless pit that sits in your heart as the same one you carried around before meeting him. what a power you have to hold to make and destroy someone just by existing and then, not.
a single second is what it took for neteyam to leave you, and another is all you need to disappear with him.
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sixthwater · 4 months
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Back with another yearly review! This time it's just seeing how the beginning of your year went vs where you are now. This is mainly for those who aren't sure if they've made any progress, or to see what lessons you've learned. Maybe to check what the theme of this year was? Either way, it's difficult to see where your tracks begin and end when you're the one walking the path, right?
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Left → Right / Pile 1 → Pile 4)
Decks Used: Archetype Cards, Animal Spirits, Rider Waite, Sacred Creators Oracle, Fairies Oracle Deck
Disclaimer | Pinned | Tip Jar | Paid Readings
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Pile One
Beginning of Year
Cards: Virgin, Zebra, IV of Swords Rx, Shift, Sacred Treasure
Very straight-forward! In the beginning of the year there was a lot of external energy present; you had a new beginning or you were very open to a lot of new experiences. I’m not getting a change in mindset because this feels more action oriented, but it’s like being very excited and rejuvenated to try new things and get back into a groove after a period of rest. Before this you might have been questioning a path or why you were doing certain things, because some cards are asking you to keep reminders of your goals or your inner child with you if you start to doubt yourself again. Also Virgin speaks to someone who keeps their innocence with them regardless of what happens, as well as a new beginning. Overall, I see you being very excited and somewhat giddy about the new opportunities around you and I keep hearing ‘getting back into it’, so a return to the external world basically! For some it could’ve been an external block but I also sense just trying out new activities and experiences (food, cultures, friends, etc).
End of Year
Cards: Queen Rx, Fox, VIII of Cups Rx, Spark of Hustle, Divine Hustle
I figured something like this would happen. I wanted to pull up a playlist of a group I can’t fully listen to on spotify, and their discography is going backwards in this video. This is what your energy feels like somewhat. I also want to note that your first pile was very earthy and there were a lot of blue-greens, meanwhile this pile is red-yellow, but feels stiff and cold. Right now it feels like that energetic and passionate energy has turned into a survivalist one. It reminds me of an earth mindset where money and finances are the driving point — which in these times I’m not too surprised. Instead of passion being a driving force, it’s about what can keep you stable and what gets people interested instead of what you enjoy doing. There’s still external activity, but it’s like clocking in/out of a job. This can also extend a bit to relationships. For some, molding parts of your personality so they enjoy your company. The other group needs to reach out and spend time with loved ones and also listen to their advice/opinion if you vent to them about your stress regarding the first portion of this reading. A piece of you is testing out things, understanding they don’t work, and trying something else out but you’re not actually processing the lesson. It’s just go go go. You need to take care of yourself as much as you can and get back in touch with things like spa days. There’s a difference between reaching deadlines and pumping out content; so which one are you doing? Come to that understanding and make sure you rest your body appropriately. Also someone needs to hear this because it keeps popping up: you are not using all the skills that you have, but are still holding onto the possibility that it’ll work out. If you work at it, there’s a higher chance it’ll work out, but simply dabbling in it won’t give you the results you’re seeking. Don’t obsess over the results if it is a hobby (they should make you happy), but if you want it to work out, you have to try harder.
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Pile Two
Beginning of Year
Cards: Priest Rx (Light Attributes), Unicorn, VIII of Pentacles, Divine Masculine, Joke’s on You
You are new here or you discovered a new system. I also Never take the empty cards from the Archetype deck but it wanted to come out, so I don’t believe you did anything I’m about to explain with ill intent. It could lean to just friendships for some but it’s definitely spiritual for most of you.
There’s a feeling of superiority here. Equating it to material goods, let’s say someone got into an AP class or has a higher degree. A few percentage of them will subconsciously have a tendency to exhibit some classism (ex; this person didn’t go to college therefore they aren’t as smart as me). So specifically, it can feel like the usual case of finding this new world and realizing that some people just ‘don’t get it’. So there can be some cases of trying to explain/share this newly found knowledge but being a bit intense, or distancing from old connections in favor of those who are closer to these subjects. I see someone taking in a lot of these topics and wanting to find out as much as they can immediately which is why it feels like something is new here, because that’s usually what happens. However there’s a misleading energy so it’s like...so I wanted to have TMG on in the background for whatever reason before I pulled cards and I understand why now. Some songs are poking fun at people; usually from the pov of someone who’s a disaster talking shit about other people (ex; deadbeat, no flex, clout, etc) and that’s immediately what clicked in my mind. So it generally feels like the energy of someone at a podium shouting about the good word but they barely know it themselves? That’s the general energy I have here. As I said, for some it could be about relationships and a betrayal of some sort, possibly regarding that, but that was a flicker of a message — it’s not that strong.
End of Year
Cards: Angel, Hummingbird, Ace of Pentacles Rx, Living Poetry, Gold at the end of the rainbow
Oh this is cute! I knew it’d go this way but this is more adorable than I expected haha.There is some control on the previous energy from before. You’re still expressing yourself and communicating with others, but it’s more organized? It’s when people come to you instead of you going to them, or you post stuff online. Perhaps you have a separate account to help mitigate those urges to express all the ideas in your head! So you can still share how you feel, but it’s not gaining the previous reaction mentioned before. As I said, there was never ill intent and you do want to legitimately help people. It feels like you found solace in whatever practice it was and you just want others to be able to feel the same, thus you’re trying to find the best way to do so. The Gold card mentions that you should stay focused, as you will soon reach your goal. I don’t believe it’s monetary. I’d be shocked if you weren’t new because you have the same progress that most of us have haha. When you start off, you want to express these feelings to people, you make a lot of connections and you just say them, and sometimes people just find it annoying if it’s the wrong crowd. Eventually you will find a good balance, and usually you want to start off doing it for free and to help people because it makes you happy! That’s what I’m seeing here. There’s a sweet energy coming from this section and I can see you trying to reject people’s offers to pay you for something. I’d be a bit surprised if you weren’t active in the community somewhere (whether that’s in a discord server or actively posting).
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Pile Three
Beginning of Year
Cards: Victim, Beaver, King of Cups Rx, Fearless Expression, Time to tinker
Shadow work. Definitely going through negative traits you have, and confronting any past demons that have been holding you back. Enforcing boundaries, standing up for yourself, and doing your best to try and put yourself first. I don’t see you closing yourself off or becoming more cold, but it’s more like wanting a better life. You have a future that you want, and you know the steps you need to take in order to achieve it. It’s like the order of the cards; The Star comes after The Tower — that’s what I feel like happened to you but more like internally/emotionally before you started enforcing it. There’s a possibility that a few of you might be going to therapy considering some sort of expression is here, but for a majority of you it’s just placing boundaries down for what you will and will not accept into your lives.
End of Year
Cards: Hermit, Beaver, Knight of Pentacles Rx, Bliss, Sacred Treasure
Special Note: Hermit wanted to come out from the tarot but it flipped back in
Veerrryy slowed down. Focusing on yourself, your loved ones, and what’s important to you. Self-care is super prominent here. There’s a pinch of health issues for someone (you being the care-taker?) but that’s a very specific message. The point however is that you’ve basically gone into the woods to do some rebuilding from the ground up. To find your inner child, see what’s upset them and make them happy again. You want to feel peace purely from within, and you’re trying to create healthier habits around your spiritual practice or your mindset. I can see meditation, however there is also a big piece of re-framing how you see yourself and talk to yourself. Instead of negative talk it’s being more patient and reaffirming your positive qualities. I feel very calm and it’s a beautiful energy here, so if you feel like you’re not making progress don’t be fooled, you are. There’s a lot of realigning with yourself until you can head back into the over-stimulation of what society can bring. I think it’s important to note that I wanted to watch a supernatural ghost hunting youtube channel while doing this, and they have a halloween special which is heavily edited and has clips of ‘high activity’ — I can see this connected to doing shadow work when you think about it. If the caretaker message resonated with you, I can see that this time to focus on others might make you rethink your path or what you want in life (usually seeing someone run into health issues can make you think about your own life). Ah...I think also with the current transits going on (Saturn), you might be wondering what you’re even doing here. That can explain why your energy feels so intense. Please be patient with yourself, things like this are a lifelong journey. There is a chance you could get things wrong, because it’s more rare to get things right the first time around. Take time to understand what you want to do, what gives you happiness, and go for it. Just recently Andre 3000 said that a friend had told him that it’d be over if he released ‘Hey Ya’, and that most of his friends don’t like his music. He makes things that he likes and you should follow that same mindset. Yes, outside feedback is helpful but not if it imprisons you.
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Pile Four
Beginning of Year
Cards: Addict, Owl, The Moon, You are light, Showing up
Interesting...in the beginning of the year there was a lot of reflective energy going on. It’s a bit difficult to explain, but it’s similar to how sometimes we can attract those that show us what we need to work on within ourselves? You were that person for others for some time. It might have been that you were outgrowing a few people in your life as well and that’s how this is showing up. It isn’t coming off as doing work on yourself, it’s more like you’re telling others about things they need to work on for themselves. Maybe some of you are tarot readers/astrologers lol. I don’t think many remarkable things happened for the first quarter of this year for you (at least not for it to show up), but you showed up for others. As I said, people probably sought you out for advice, or you subconsciously were highlighting a lot of people’s insecurities. This can sometimes make people act out, so I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a little animosity during this time due to this.
End of Year
Cards: Destroyer, Panther, The Lovers Rx, Fierce Serenity, Wayward Paths
Ah, the relationships probably started gaining traction during the middle of the year? Your energy still seems peaceful? Usually with these cards it seems a bit thrown off or frustrated but I’m getting the image of someone dusting or cleaning. You’re just simply sorting out what should or should not be in your life. The main theme is relationships, but I think it causes you to sometimes think about jobs, hobbies — what your energy is going towards. Is it worth your attention and love. You give off fixed sign energy. You have an idea of what you don’t want in your life. I don’t think you’re set on what you allow in, but once people/things cross boundaries then they have to go. You have a set of standards and right now you’re doing a spring cleaning of sorts. As I said, I don’t see it as being aggressive — I don’t see any door slamming. It’s just like...distancing? Or prioritizing different people and things that give you more happiness. I think in the beginning there was a bit of confusion or you were giving some extra chances but you realized it was throwing you off kilter which you didn’t appreciate. You’ll be entering a ‘new’ stage of your life come next spring? At the latest.
Ahaaaa, looking back at both of these piles, there was a high chance you were pulling in a lot of relationships to teach you lessons. Let’s say you had 3 friends back to back and they had varying ways of abusing your kindness. That was happening until you realized something needed to change and that’s where you are now. That’s where the subtly and slight animosity was coming from.
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