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headkiss · 11 months

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you’ll always know me

part 1, part 2

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: even as the crowds at his shows get bigger and bigger, eddie munson still has you, his very best friend. or, (for my swifties) eddie munson is your dorothea.

word count: 8.6k

warnings: fluff, a little angst, childhood best friends to lovers (sort of), weed and smoking, librarian!reader, first kiss, so many uses of the words “i miss you,” and some idiots in love !!!

a/n: hiiiii!!! this one took so long but i really love rockstar!eddie and i hope you do too!!! this is inspired by tis the damn season and especially dorothea by taylor swift <3 thank you to my love @inkluvs for encouraging me on this one ily!!!

♫♩♪♬

It’s surreal to watch someone close to you grow so much bigger than the town you live in.

To know that the person you see on the news, at award shows on your TV screen, is the same one who used to push you on the swings at the playground, who used to walk with you to and from school, who grew up beside you, closer than anyone else ever could have.

Closer than anyone ever would, still.

To most people, he’s Eddie Munson, lead singer and guitarist of Corroded Coffin. To you, he’s Eddie, the best friend you’ve ever had.

You can go back years and years, and Eddie’s woven into your life for so much of it. So is his music. You can pick out the points: watching Corroded Coffin play for the first time in middle school, watching their first gig at the Hideout, being in the front row for it all wearing the widest smile, having the loudest cheers.

Even the late night phone calls you’d get when he’d be stuck on lyrics, when he wanted someone’s opinion and chose to dial your number instead of his bandmates’.

(“Hello?”

“I can’t get this line to sound right.”

“Let’s hear it, Munson.”)

You’re often in disbelief of where he is now. Not because you ever doubted him, but because even after so long, it’s strange not to see him every day. You’re insanely proud of him, but that doesn’t mean you don’t miss him.

Because you do. You miss him so much.

A box sits on the top shelf of your closet, one filled with newspaper and magazine clippings, articles about the band’s success, positive reviews about their shows and their albums. Things to show that Eddie’s dream came true, and that’s a rare thing.

There’s only one kind of tabloid you choose not to keep: the ones booming with rumors you selfishly hope aren’t true.

‘Lead singer of Corroded Coffin has a new spark? Read more to find out who’s caught famous bad boy Eddie Munson’s eye.’

You see him constantly in pictures, through a screen, but you only really ever see him on holidays, when he’s able to come home. When he comes bursting back into your life in vibrant fireworks with his stupid, pretty smile and stupid, shining brown eyes. When he comes back only to leave all over again.

You only have yourself to blame, really, for letting it tear you up. Because more than anything, you’re happy for him, so happy you could never express it properly, but still, there’s an ache in you when he crosses your mind, when the feelings linger.

Life in Hawkins for you consists of working at the library, reading your days and thoughts away, hanging out with the gang when you’re up to it, and that’s about it.

Eddie always knows where to find you when he does come home, usually barging into the library with his arms open for a hug, one you rush into easily. You always spend the couple days he has in Hawkins together, being the you and him you’ve been since you were kids. But the lingering reminder doesn’t fade, the reminder of him having to leave looming over you like a storm cloud.

Eddie Munson comes home sporadically, unknowingly taking your heart with him wherever he goes. And when his inevitable departure takes place, you’re forced to regrow what’s missing from your chest. Every single time.

Besides his uncle Wayne, who could only ever see him as a troublemaking kid, you’re the only person who’s never treated Eddie any differently.

Not in high school when he was labeled a freak, not even when the fame rose so suddenly it felt like a tidal wave. You kept him afloat. You keep him afloat.

He knows he should call more often, he knows that even if the phone works both ways, you really don’t have a way of keeping track of which hotel he’s in, which state, which country, even. He knows that falls on him.

Your phone number’s burned into Eddie’s memory. He could never forget it, and still, he can’t seem to find the time to dial it. He’ll get called away, or he’ll just be getting back from a show and barely have the energy to shower before getting in bed. Worse, he’ll get the panicked sense that you won’t pick up anymore.

At least he’s never missed your birthday. That, he’ll always make time for, usually phoning you at the same time that a bouquet of flowers arrives at your door. And somehow, even when he’s away, you don’t miss his birthday, either.

Eddie’s sitting on the small couch in his dressing room, waiting to go on stage, thinking of you the way he often does.

He wonders if you think of him, too. If you miss him or if you’re angry that he’s gone so often, that he can barely even manage a fucking phone call. Though, you were never the type to be angry. Never with him, at least.

He wants to hear your voice, wants to hear you tell him ‘good luck’ before going on stage like you used to. He peeks at the table next to the couch. Eddie’s not sure how much time he has before he needs to go, but he figures it’s worth a try.

Just as he’s about to pick up the phone in his dressing room, there’s a knock on the door.

“Munson! You’re on in five!”

He’ll call you later, then.

“Beginning descent to the Indianapolis International Airport.”

The muffled sound through the airplane’s speakers is followed by the ding of the seatbelt signs being turned on. Eddie shifts in his seat to look out the window. He’s got his own little cubicle in first class, and though this is how he always flies now (other than when he finds himself on a private jet, which is even more unbelievable), he’s still not used to it.

He’s itching to get out of this seat, then he remembers that he’s still got the trek through the airport and the drive back to Hawkins. It’ll be worth it to see Wayne, who he doesn’t see nearly as often as he should, and get his classic hug with a slap on his shoulder.

It’ll be worth it to see you, who makes Hawkins feel more like home. You, who reminds him of the person he’s always been, the parts that get lost on the road. You, who hugs him tighter than anyone else ever has.

His hands clench into fits in his lap.

As soon as Eddie steps off the plane, his security team finds him. He’d assured them that he’d be fine, really, but this is how it is for him now. Through baggage claim and all the way to the car that’s waiting for him outside, security takes a step whenever he does.

Shutting the car door as he slides into the backseat, Eddie tips his head back and sighs.

The car ride feels shorter than usual, the city fading into trees and fields until the ‘Welcome to Hawkins’ sign comes into view. The gravel crunches under the car’s tires as it pulls into the trailer park. Wayne’s got enough to get a better place now, Eddie made sure of it, but he never did. He’d never admit it but Wayne’s sentimental, and the trailer houses too many memories to let go of it.

After all, it was home.

Stepping through the front door there’s the smell that he’d never noticed until he’d been gone for weeks at a time. The settled dust, the faint smoke of cigarettes, coffee, and the room spray Wayne inevitably uses to try and cover it all up.

Eddie drags his bags inside, waves to his driver, and shuts the door behind him.

Then, Wayne’s warm rasp, “my boy. Get in okay?”

He’s wrapped in his uncle’s classic hug quickly, the pats on his shoulder and all. Eddie closes his eyes and soaks it in, just for a second, “yeah. It was fine.”

“Good, good,” Wayne says, pulling back and grasping Eddie’s shoulders, getting a good look at him. “Take a shower.”

“Is that your way of telling me I look like shit?”

“Nah, that’s me telling you that you smell like airport, boy.”

“It’s great to see you, too,” Eddie says, smiling.

He and Wayne have the kind of relationship that time doesn’t really affect all that much. Whether Eddie’s away for a week or a month, or two, or three, they fall back into things like he’d never even left.

He knows Wayne’s probably lonely, probably hiding more than he could imagine, but he also knows that he loves him, and that’s always a good thing to know, to feel. Loved.

“Shut up, you know I missed you,” Wayne shakes Eddie’s shoulders and lets go, “now go wash up and you can tell me about your last show over some coffee, sound good?”

“Sounds good. I missed you too, Wayne.”

Eddie carries his bags into his room, leaving them open on the ground rather than unpacking. He’ll just have to pack them all over again, anyways.

Before long, the trailer’s small bathroom is filling with steam as Eddie steps into the shower, dropping his neck back and letting the water run over his shoulders, his back. He stands like that for a bit, simply letting the heat melt away at the tension in his muscles.

By the time he steps out, the mirror is completely fogged with steam, and Eddie wipes away at a section to look at himself. The bags under his eyes, the mess of his hair that he doesn’t bother taming, the small scratch on his chin from one of his rings. He shakes his head and heads into his room with his towel around his waist.

He throws on a pair of plaid pajama pants and a faded band tee, his hair soaking the back of it drop by drop.

In the kitchen, Wayne’s got two mugs of coffee sitting on the small table, a seat already pulled out for Eddie to take.

“Thanks.”

He nods, sipping from his mug as Eddie does the same.

In the silence, he can’t help but think of you, of how close he is to you now. Mere minutes away. He wonders what you’re doing, if you’re reading in bed after your shift, if you’d just showered like him, if you’re thinking of him, too.

“I saw her the other day,” Wayne says.

They both know he means you.

“How’s she doing?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll ask her that when you see her tomorrow, but she seemed good.”

“How'd you know I’m gonna see her tomorrow?”

“Come on, kid. You go to the library the day after you get in every time and think I don’t notice?”

Eddie looks down at the mug in his hands, his face warm. It shouldn’t matter, shouldn’t have him feeling all shy and nervous, like he’d been caught, but it does.

“She misses you,” Wayne adds.

“She tell you that?”

“Doesn’t have to. I’ve known that girl since she was little and running after you on the playground. I can tell.”

Wayne has always said that you’re as good as family, after all. Eddie used to joke that his uncle liked you more than him, and you used to laugh and joke back that he was right.

Eddie’s suddenly very excited to sleep, only to get to tomorrow quicker.

“I miss her, too.”

“Yeah, kid. I know,” Wayne leaves it there, switching things over, “I saw you almost eat shit on TV the other day.”

“Come on!” Eddie groans. He’d tripped over a fucking wire on stage. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It was still fuckin’ funny.”

“Of all the shows, you just had to tune in for that one.”

Wayne asks about the tour, about how Eddie’s liking it this time around, about whether or not there’s anything new he’s working on.

In return, Eddie asks about the mechanic’s, about whether or not Wayne’s back has been acting up (which earns him a light slap on the back of the head), about what’s changed in Hawkins since the last time he’d been home.

Even through the smiles he shares with his uncle, Eddie’s wondering how you’ll react when you see him tomorrow, picturing how it’ll feel to be near you again. He gets that feeling in his gut, the butterflies that are nerves and excitement and questions and feelings rolled into one.

He’s pretty sure he dreams about you, too.

Your shifts at the library are always long; full days of scanning and shelving books. You’re lucky to say that you actually like your job. The smell of worn pages, the peacefulness (save for when Dustin comes barging in with his stack of overdue books that you let him off the hook for every time), the interactions that are almost always short and sweet since it’s meant to be a quiet place.

Your eight or nine or however many hour days go by much quicker now than they did during your high school job at the grocery store, that’s for sure.

You’re pushing the put-back cart between shelves, humming a random song quietly as you place the books where they belong, sometimes pausing to straighten things out. It’s the middle of a weekday and you’re the only person in there anyway. That is, until the small bell on the front desk dings.

“Just a second!” You call, squeezing between the cart and the self beside it to walk over to the front desk. You think your heart stops altogether.

You’d recognize that head of hair anywhere, the dark, frizzy curls. Hell, you’d recognize that damn denim vest anywhere, even the stance of the person wearing it. “Eddie?”

He turns around at the sound of your voice, and something lifts from his chest when he sees you. A grin spreads wide on his face, splitting his cheeks and crinkling his eyes in the corners, “there she is.”

Usually, when he comes home, it’s on a holiday and you’re expecting him, watching the door and waiting for him to walk through it. This time, you had no idea he’d be coming home. It’s the best surprise you could get.

You’re practically running into his arms, and he wraps them around your waist easily, yours tossed around his shoulders. Your face is buried in his neck, breathing him in, making sure this is real. “What the hell are you doing here?”

His hands clutch at the fabric over your sides, his head twisting so he can place a kiss over your hair, “had a break from tour. Missed home.”

And sure, Eddie hadn’t really realized just how much he missed it until he came back, it’s crystal clear now, with you hugging him. He really, really missed home.

You want to say something stupid and emotional like it hasn’t felt as much like home until now, or I missed the sound of your voice and the smell of your shampoo, but that would probably reveal a little too much.

“Just home you missed or…” you tease, pulling back to look at his face, his brown eyes that sort of sparkle. Your hands stay on his shoulders, his on your waist.

“I missed Wayne, obviously,” Eddie replies, acting oblivious and smiling at the small furrow in your brow.

“Eddie!”

“Aw, come on.” He tugs you in for another hug, his cheek squished against the side of your head. “‘Course I missed you, trouble.”

Trouble. You never knew you could miss a single word so much.

Eddie started calling you ‘trouble’ when you were kids, sometime in middle school when you’d stolen a bunch of his mixtapes and only returned them weeks later, when he finally noticed. He’d snatched them out of your hands and muttered ‘you’re trouble’ and it just stuck.

“Thank you,” you say, laughing when Eddie pulls back frowning at you. “And I missed you, too. Duh.”

“Duh.” He mocks. He lets go of you fully but doesn’t go far, leaning an elbow against the desk, “you’re doing okay?”

“I’m good. Things don’t change all that much around here, you know that.”

“I’m not asking about around here, I’m asking ‘bout you.”

You tug at the hair tie on your wrist. “I’m fine, Eddie. Promise.”

He nods, and there’s a small lull in the conversation that pinches at your chest for some reason. The sort of silence that never used to be there when it came to you and Eddie, always filling it with conversation or letting it be comfortable. Now, there’s something like awkwardness stretching and it stings.

Because it shouldn’t be there, because he’s Eddie and you’re you and you’re best friends and that’s all there should be to it. But it isn’t. You’re the same people, but so much is different.

“You working late?” He asks.

“Until we close.”

“Care for some company?”

You tilt your head at him, “you really wanna hang around the library for the last four hours of my shift?”

“Sounds like fun to me. I’ll even push the cart for you, and you can tell me what I’ve missed while I was away.”

It’s funny that he thinks he’d ever have to convince you to spend time with him, when you’re practically pulling at any thread of him that you can, when you’re taking anything he has to give you. Two days, a week, a couple of phone calls.

It’s all better than not having him at all.

“Only if you tell me what I’ve missed, too. Like all the cool celebrities you’ve met.”

“Not as cool as you, trouble.” Eddie taps your nose, smiling at the way you scrunch it in response.

“Shut up and start pushing the cart, Munson.”

He stands straight and salutes, “yes ma’am.”

You’re still smiling when you shake your head, “idiot.”

Eddie really does spend the rest of the day with you, pushing the cart while you re-shelf books, sitting in the extra chair behind the counter while you file returns, ducking when someone else walks in.

He asks you about Robin and Steve, Dustin and Lucas, how the kids are finding school, whether Nancy’s been hired at a big paper yet. He asks you about your family, and most of all, about you.

He hangs onto every word you say. And not once do you say anything to make him feel bad for being away, if anything, you can’t stop telling him how proud you are, especially when he talks to you about what’s in the works.

“I always told you you’d make it, Munson.”

“Wouldn’t have done it without you, trouble.”

The next morning, you’re sitting across from him in the corner booth by the window at Benny’s for breakfast. The same way you did every Friday in high school, at the same table.

Whenever you wind up at Benny’s when Eddie’s away, you tend to avoid that booth. It’s pathetic. Like his absence is clearer than ever sitting there when he isn’t. When he’s not putting whipped cream on your nose or stealing food off your plate.

Now, it’s his presence that surrounds you, his smile and his laugh, his foot nudging yours under the table.

The menu is sticky under your fingertips where you hold it, faded from sunlight and discolored from coffee spills that stain the page. You don’t really need to be looking at it—after years of coming here, you’ve probably got the thing memorized—but you need the time to collect yourself. To remember that this is Eddie, and there’s nothing to be nervous about.

You need the time to stuff down that flutter in your gut and in your chest.

On the other side of the booth, Eddie takes your distraction as a chance to really look at you. The details he can’t seem to picture when he’s away like the flecks in your eyes or the exact shade of your lips.

He never realizes just how much he misses you until he’s home. Until he’s sitting across from you and listening to the sound of your voice clearly instead of through a crackling phone’s speaker, until he gets to see the way your eyes light up slightly when you laugh.

It sort of hits him all at once, and he’s thinking, God, I should call more often. I should visit more often.

After a couple of minutes, you look back at Eddie, “you know what you want?”

“I’ve been getting the same thing since high school, trouble. Don’t need the menu.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll go order,” you say, placing your menu back in the holder by the window.

When you start sliding your way out of the booth, Eddie places a hand over yours on the table, “I can get it.”

You look down at your hands, his skin on yours, like you’d expected to see something there. A spark, a burn scorching your skin in the best way.

“I know you can,” you say, smiling at him. “But it’s my treat, okay? I want to get it.”

Eddie always feels sort of guilty when he’s not buying, because he has more than enough money to take care of it, more than he knows what to do with. Sometimes (often), people expect him to pay, even. And just like you’d known how he was feeling, you shut it down with a flash of your smile.

You shift to squeeze his hand before getting up and heading over to the counter, leaning on your elbows as you wait your turn.

Still, Eddie’s looking at you, his hand in the same spot on the table.

He knows that, despite it not being a busy morning at Benny’s, people are looking at him, whispering the way they did even in school. Only now, they’re saying they can’t believe it, look at him now, instead of calling him a freak. And just like in school, having you around makes the talk bearable. Hell, it makes it disappear, if only for a little while.

When the waiter finally comes over to take your order, you send him a kind smile, rattling off yours and Eddie’s orders.

Eddie watches the entire interaction. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to make eye contact with anyone else, that it’s because he’s just making sure you’re alright. It’s certainly not because of how pretty he thinks you look today, not because of how hard it is to keep his eyes off of you.

The waiter is a younger guy, probably around your age. Someone Eddie doesn’t know. He seems to tell you a joke because you laugh, bright and sunny, and Eddie suddenly wishes that Benny was the one taking orders.

Because he should be the one to make you laugh like that, to be on the receiving end of your grin and crinkled eyes. Because there’s this weight in his stomach that feels a little too much like jealousy. Because you’re his best friend and he fucking misses you.

Eddie looks down at his hands and twists his rings around and around until you come back, the old booth squeaking as you sit down.

“You okay?” You ask, always noticing his nervous habit of fiddling with his rings.

She’s my friend, he reminds himself. My best friend, that’s all.

“‘Course I am.”

“The guy at the counter, Dan, wanted me to tell you he’s a fan.”

He shakes his head, “I can't believe I have those. Especially in this town.”

“Excuse me? Your biggest fan is sitting right here, in this town, Munson.”

He probably thinks you’re joking with the way he chuckles, chest rumbling. But, you’re not. The shoebox full of clippings says enough, and you don’t think he’d ever let you live it down if he knew about it.

“She want an autograph?” He teases, the heaviness in his stomach melting away. Your biggest fan.

“In your chicken scratch? Yeah right.”

It’s not long before your food arrives, plates of waffles and fruit, sides of bacon and hashbrowns. Of course, you inevitably end up with whipped cream on your nose and food missing from your plate.

It’s your favorite kind of breakfast.

You’re sitting in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van—the same van he’s had since high school, that he refuses to replace—heading towards Steve’s place. It’s not unusual for either of you to be meeting up with the gang, but Eddie’s still nervous.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks you.

They don’t know he’s in town, and as sure as you are that they’ll be thrilled to see him, Eddie isn’t convinced. You place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze lightly as he drives.

“Everyone’s gonna be so happy to see you. Don’t you trust me?”

“‘Course I do,” he says easily, without thinking, “just haven’t seen anyone in a while, you know?”

“We all miss you, Eddie. It’ll be fun!”

Logically, he knows nobody’s gonna kick him out, or treat him any differently, but it doesn’t stop him from getting nervous. You wanted to surprise everyone, and how could he say no to you? So, here he is, gripping the steering wheel too tight and worrying too much.

Pulling into the driveway, he nods, “here we go.”

You hop out of the van before he has it shut off, but he catches up quickly. He follows you to the side gate of the house, watches you unlatch it and stroll into the yard. The sound of voices mingling hits his ears as you walk around the house and find your group of friends sitting around in lounge chairs.

“Look who I brought,” You announce.

Your shout is followed by eyes flicking towards you, then Eddie who stands beside you. Then, a chorus of his name, plus Argyle’s “rockstar!”

“Hey guys,” he says, waving shyly.

It’s odd to feel this way around these people that he’s known for years. Robin and Steve who’ve rented him way too many movies for free, Nancy and Johnathan who are probably why he graduated high school, and Argyle who was always his most loyal customer.

All of these memories and he feels a little too much like a stranger. At least he’s got you, who feels like one of the only sure things in his life. No matter how long goes by, you’re there, and he hopes you always will be.

“You want a drink?” Steve asks, leaning to reach into the cooler beside him.

“I’ll take one, thanks,” you say, catching the can Steve throws to you.

“I’m driving,” Eddie says, jingling his keys.

“Eddie Munson being responsible,” Robin teases, “they grow up so fast.”

And just like that, he feels a little better. These are his friends, and even though he’s not around all of the time, and even though he may not be as close to everyone anymore, they’ll still be his friends.

You sit down on the empty lounge chair and pat the space beside you for Eddie, sending him a smile that says both ‘told you so,’ in your snark he can practically hear, and ‘everything’s okay,’ in your kind way.

He plops down beside you.

“How’s everything going?” Johnathan asks him.

Not wanting all of the attention on him, Eddie keeps his answer short, “busy, but it’s a ton of fun.”

“Everything you ever dreamed of?” Robin adds.

“You could definitely say that.”

Though, Eddie has this strange feeling that he’s missing something whenever he’s gone. It’ll go away, but somehow, it always finds him again, when he’s debating on calling or not, when he’s hit with a memory of you in the front row at the Hideout when he’s on stage.

He looks over at you and finds you smiling softly at him, eyes fond. He can’t believe he’s the one you’re looking at like that.

Eddie blinks and turns back to the group, “how about you guys? How’re the jobs?”

The chatter picks up and surrounds him, but Eddie can’t stop thinking about the way you were looking at him just then. He’s never had someone look at him like that, like there’s nothing but affection there.

It’s platonic, he tells himself. She’s my best friend.

You feel happier now than you have in a while. Things feel more complete when Eddie’s around. Things feel right. It’s all of your favorite people with no empty chair, it’s falling back into a friendship that’s existed for years.

When conversations split off into smaller ones, you lean your head on his shoulder, and the words sort of slip out of you, “it’s really nice to have you here.”

His heart beats louder, he leans his head on top of yours, “it’s nice to be home.”

And it is. Eddie loves touring, he loves playing his music, and he loves his job, but at the end of the day, he’ll always be this boy from Hawkins, and he’ll always be happy to be home, to be with you.

Catching the moment, Argyle—always sharing his thoughts—says, “sick, you guys are finally together.”

You and Eddie both sit up, like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t, even when you’ve sat like that countless times before.

Everyone’s eyes seem to be on the both of you now, and you have a tiny panic inside. Have you really been that obvious with how you feel? Does Eddie know and he hasn’t said anything because he doesn’t want to hurt you?

You laugh awkwardly, “what?”

“Like, dating,” Argyle explains.

“Me and Eddie?”

He’d been frozen for a second there, surprised that Argyle thought that. Was he seeing something Eddie couldn’t? No, no way.

“Just friends, guys,” Eddie says. “Come on.”

You swallow, forcing out a word, “exactly.”

“They’ve always been like this,” Nancy says, which explains enough but also sort of nothing at all.

Just friends. It’s something you know, you remind yourself constantly. It’s all it’ll ever be, and still, hearing Eddie say it out loud has your stomach feeling heavy. Just friends, get over it.

Even as conversation picks up again, as you laugh with everyone, the two words play in your head over and over. Then, after saying your goodbyes, once you’re in the van with Eddie again, it fades, because if you can’t be in love with him, you can be his best friend, and you’d much rather have that than nothing at all.

Once he drops you off, Eddie thinks and thinks about what Argyle had said. He goes over memories, over how he feels around you, and it hits him like a huge punch to the gut.

He thinks he has feelings for you. Big, huge feelings.

It’s the same day, a different sky, the sun sunk behind the horizon to give way to a sky full of stars and a bright moon.

Eddie’s van is parked by Lover’s Lake, the back full of blankets where you both sit, the doors open to look at the sky and the way the moonlight reflects on the water.

There’s practically an indent in the ground in the spot he’s parked, the one that’s been your go-to for ages. From day picnics to nighttime smoke sessions, it’s another place on the list of the ones that are filled with memories of Eddie.

Beside you, he’s got a joint in hand, the flick of his lighter catching your ears over the crickets and the breeze. You watch him inhale, his chest expanding, the smoke slipping from his lips. You turn back to the water.

“Your turn,” he says, handing you the joint.

You grab it between your fingertips and bring it to your mouth, feeling the smoke trail down your throat, further, then you’re breathing it out, clearing your throat at the tickle.

“Out of practice?” Eddie teases at your small cough.

“My favorite weed dealer went out of business,” you say, nudging his shoulder with yours, “so, yeah.”

He takes the joint back from you, “you don’t smoke when I’m not around? You know Argyle’s gotta have some stock.”

“Oh, he definitely does. A little too exotic for my taste. Besides, he won’t give it to me for free.”

“Getting cheap, trouble?”

You shrug, shoulder to your cheek, and give him an innocent smile.

It feels easy, the joint being passed back and forth between sentences until it’s done and stubbed out, the flow of conversation, the comfort that’s there. It’s always been easy with him, even when it hurts a little.

Eddie’s got on his worn denim vest, still full of pins, and you tug at it, “think this thing has a permanent weed smell by now.”

“I think that’s just part of my natural scent,” he replies, playfully flipping his hair over his shoulder.

His curls graze your cheek—that’s how close you’re sitting, thighs touching—and you giggle. You’ve had so many nights just like this one with Eddie, and it feels like some kind of reward that you get to have them still, even when they’re far less regular now.

“Doesn’t this make you think of high school?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Eddie’s hand is on his knee, his pinky twitches, reaching for your leg, “hell, I’m even wearing the same clothes as in high school.”

“How does it feel like yesterday and also a lifetime ago?”

Eddie looks over at you, the warm glow of moonlight and stars on your skin, the way your sweater hangs off your shoulder, the shine in your eyes that’s part weed and part nostalgia.

“A lot’s changed since then,” he says. “I’m not a loser anymore.”

“You’re still my loser.”

How is it that even when you’re calling him a loser, the idea of being yours in any sense of the word is enough to have Eddie’s heart swell in his chest, a balloon floating up and up and he has to swallow to push it back down.

“Stop being cheesy,” he plays it off, ruffling your hair.

You shove his arm away, “I just miss you!”

Eddie looks at his arm, your hand still holding onto it, he follows your arm with his gaze until it lands on your face. He thinks you’re beautiful, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen and no groupie could change that.

“I miss you, too, trouble.”

Something shifts, the air growing thicker, a sort of understanding between the two of you. There’s something here, something that could be a disaster but could also be so, so good. Could be everything.

“No way you think about me when you’ve got crowds and fans and-“

“I think about you a lot, honey.”

Honey. He’s probably called you that before, but never like this. Never dripping sweet and sincere, never looking at you like he wants to do something you can’t even let yourself imagine in fear of being let down, of hoping too much.

Eddie’s hand shifts from his own leg to yours, thumb running back and forth, burning you even through the fabric of your pants.

“You do?”

“All the time. You’re my best friend.”

Right. Friend.

“You’re mine, too, Eddie.”

And suddenly you can feel his breath fan across your cheek, your lips. His face is close to yours and the hair that falls over his forehead tickles yours. Just a second ago he’d been saying the word ‘friend,’ and now it feels like he’s going to do something to contradict that.

Against all odds, he does.

Eddie couldn’t help himself. Maybe he’ll blame the weed, or maybe he won’t, but before he knows it he’s reaching up with the hand that isn’t on his leg to cup your cheek and tilt your head. And he’s kissing you.

He’s kissing you.

It’s so delicate, so much you’re afraid to even breathe, like it’ll break in an instant. Eddie’s fingers squeeze your leg, urge you to kiss him back and there’s no way that you wouldn’t. Not when his lips are actually on yours, not when he tastes like weed and mint gum and something perfect.

It could be seconds or minutes that you’re kissing, tilting your head even more to feel him, clutching his sleeve tightly. It never deepens, but it doesn’t have to, it says enough.

When you pull away, it’s not one or the other who does it, it’s natural, like it’s been rehearsed time and time again. Eddie leans his forehead against yours, his hand still on your cheek.

“Was that a bad idea?” He asks you, voice low and quiet.

“Maybe. I don’t know.” And you don’t, because there’s no way of knowing what’s gonna happen next, if things will be ruined, if this will fade away like it never happened, or, maybe, just maybe, if it’ll start something.

“Was it okay?”

“More than okay.”

You don’t talk about it that night, and you don’t want to just yet. You’re fine with enjoying the pink-tinted haze at least until tomorrow.

Eddie’s barely been gone for two days and you’re not sure what to do with yourself. After that night, neither of you brought it up, and as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t. You were scared. And anyway, it was probably just the weed for him.

You’d never kissed before. Sure, you’ve come close, faces inches apart when you’d share a bed, whispers away, but nothing ever happened. Until now.

Now, sitting on your bed, chin resting on your knees, you’re reeling from knowing what Eddie’s lips feel like and missing him all over again. Rebuilding that piece in your chest.

Somewhere else in the country, in the world, Eddie’s position isn’t so different from yours. He’s sitting on the edge of his hotel bed, forearms on his knees, head bent. He wants to call you, and he’s figuring out what he’ll say when he does.

He misses you every time he isn’t home, but it’s never felt like this. There’s never been this ache in his stomach that won’t go away because of it. Fuck, he misses you more than ever.

The last trip back to Hawkins was different than anything else, because he brought back these feelings with him and he keeps reaching up to press his fingertips to his lips, like the memory of your own lingers there.

Sure, he’s had silly, sticky thoughts like waking up with his arms around you after a nap and thinking he could wake up that way forever, but he’s always pushed them down. Now, it seems, he can’t, the images too buoyant to ignore, floating back up every time.

Sucking in a deep breath, he sits up and reaches for the phone, dialing your number that’s stored in his memory. His leg bounces as the phone rings.

You’re startled by the screech of your phone on your bedside table, head lifting to look at it shake on the receiver. You reach over and pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, trouble. It’s not a bad time, is it?”

Eddie. His voice crackling through the phone sends a spike down your spine. You clutch the phone a little tighter.

You’d expected Robin, or Nancy, even Steve. Because there’d been a time, earlier in Corroded Coffin’s career, when Eddie would call you at least three times a week, and then the calls grew less frequent until they sort of died out to holidays and birthdays.

So, maybe a couple of years ago, you’d have expected Eddie’s voice, but not today.

“Eddie, hi. Not at all.”

“I- um, I just wanted to call,” a small pause, he clears his throat, “how are you?”

“It’s only been two days, you know how I am.”

“I mean right now.”

You twist to lay on your side, legs curling in towards your chest. You smile to yourself like an idiot. “Right now, I’m good. It’s lame, I already miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

The reply comes easily to him. There’s no thought to it, because in the past 48 hours, he hasn’t been able to stop missing you for a second. The warmth of your hand in his, the sunshine sound of your laughter.

He’s not sure why everything’s so big now, his feelings amplified, only quieted now, by the sound of your voice.

“Did you have a show today?”

You have a way of asking that makes it sound like you really care, Eddie thinks. He loves his music and he knows you know that. It means the world to him to do what he does, confusing feelings or not.

“Not today. We spent the day on the bus. Show’s tomorrow.”

“Nervous or excited?”

It’s something that you used to ask him before every small show in Hawkins, and the memory has a grin spreading on Eddie’s face. “It’s always both. More excited, though.”

“You should be,” you say. “You guys are really great.”

“Yeah? Who’s your favorite band member?”

He’s fishing, and you tease him rather than bite, “hmmm. Gareth.”

“Fuckin’ trouble. You liar.”

“You asked!”

“You answered the question wrong, honey.”

There it is again. Honey. You’re sort of glad he can’t see you right now because you probably look way too happy, burying your face in your pillow for a second before replying.

“You know you’re my favorite, Munson.”

“Yeah I am,” he sounds far too proud. And then, he’s softer, “I’m not keeping you up, am I? Time zones fuck me up.”

“No, no.” Even if he was, you wouldn’t tell him. This is better than trying and failing to sleep the way you so often do. “It’s not that late. What time is it for you?”

“Not that late,” he says, even though the clock on the nightstand reads 1:14AM. “So, what’s happening in Hawkins right now?”

“Mmm, it’s getting warmer. My window’s open and the crickets are loud as fuck.” You twist the phone cord around your fingers, “it’s donation week at the library, so I’ve been shelving new books for a change.”

Eddie listens to every word you say, asks you questions like if you’d kept any books for yourself (you had, but swore you’d give them to the library when you were done) and hums between your sentences.

Somewhere along the way, he’d laid down while listening to you, eyes shut as he tried to picture what you might look like right at this second. If you’re in your pajamas or not, whether your hair would be a little messy, baby hairs a halo around your face.

Then his eyes grew heavier, your voice putting him at ease even with the sounds of his bandmates laughing from somewhere in the hotel.

“Eddie?” You ask after he’d been silent for a bit.

“Hm?” He hums sleepily.

“I lost you for a second there.”

If he wasn’t half asleep, he’d feel worse. “Sorry, getting sleepy.”

“You wanna hang up?”

“No, uh- keep talking to me? You have a nice voice.”

You smile, cheeks pinching with the size of it.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll keep talking.”

And you do, you keep talking and talking until you can hear the sound of Eddie’s tiny snores on the other side of the line. You’re smiling again at that.

Even after you’re sure he’s asleep, you don’t hang up right away, not until your own eyes are growing heavy. You put the phone back quietly, like you’ll wake him if you’re not careful. You whisper a soft ‘goodnight, Eddie,’ as you do.

There’s a small stiffness in your fingers from how tightly you’d been holding the phone, and still, you’d let your hand cramp for hours to talk to him.

The next morning, Eddie wakes up with the pattern of the phone pressed to his cheek where he’d left it last night.

The TV sends flashes of color flickering across your living room and over your face. Usually, you’d be in bed by now, but it’s the night of the MTV awards and Corroded Coffin is nominated. You couldn’t miss it.

You’re not really paying attention to most of it, the sounds of performances and hosts and thank-you speeches filling your ears as you read your latest book. At least, you’re not paying attention until Eddie’s category is announced.

That has you shutting your book and sitting up, grabbing the remote to turn the volume higher.

They show the nominees, give far too long of an introduction before tearing open the envelope holding the winner’s names. You don’t know it, but you’re practically white knuckling the blanket on your lap.

“And the MTV award goes to… Corroded Coffin!”

You stand and place a hand on your chest, feeling your heart beating—racing—for the band, for Eddie. This is huge, it’s a dream, and it’s his. If you could, you’d give him a suffocating hug right now.

Eddie’s voice taking over, thanking his fans and Wayne, the boys and their team, then, thanking Hawkins and the people there, even when they gave him hell.

If you knew the right number to call to talk to him, you’d dial it in an instant.

Lucky for you, your phone rings the next night, late enough that you can only assume it’s Eddie given you don’t know anyone else who’s probably in a different time zone right now. You pick up quickly, fumbling with the phone a little before bringing it up to your ear.

“Eddie?”

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Ummm, my amazing intuition? Telepathy?”

“Telepathy, she says.” There’s a soft chuckle on his end, you close your eyes and lean your head back to thump against the wall behind you. “How’re things, trouble?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that, mister MTV winner.”

Eddie’s been calling more often again, whenever he gets the chance, really. Even so, he never thought you’d be keeping up with him that way, that you’d care enough to watch an award show and remember what he’d achieved.

“You were watching?” He asks, heart thudding.

“Of course I was. I’m your biggest fan, remember?” You’re sitting with your back against your headboard, knees bent, hand absentmindedly pulling at a loose thread in your pajama pants. “I’ve got cheerleader pom-poms and everything.”

“You do not.”

“Do too. They’re super metal, all black.”

“Yeah, cause pom-poms are super metal, babe.”

Another pet name in the rotation, uttered like it’s easy, natural. You bite back a smile.

“Whatever. Mine would be,” you say. “I’m glad you called.”

“Me, too.”

“I wanted to call you yesterday,” you admit, twisting that loose thread in your fingers, “after I saw you won. I’m really proud of you, Eddie.”

They’re words he hadn’t been expecting, but ones he’ll be thinking about over and over. He wants to keep making you proud, he thinks, and he’ll pour that into everything he does whether he means to or not.

“Thank you,” his voice is quieter, almost shy. “I wouldn’t be here without you, you know?”

“You would. You’re talented, and there’s no way that could stay hidden in this town, you’re bigger than it.”

Somehow, it’s easier to be so open with him on the phone. You don’t have to look at him, get distracted by his tongue running over his lips or the way his bangs get caught in his eyelashes sometimes. This way, all you have to do is speak, nothing more.

“Trouble-” he can’t even find the words to say, because there’s affection laced in your tone, seeping through the phone and into his head and, fuck, he wants to kiss you for it and he can’t. “I really miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” There’s some silence, and the overthinker in you worries that you’ve said too much even though you meant it with every part of you, that you’ve given yourself away. “Anyways, I should go, let you celebrate your win.”

It’s what he would be doing if Eddie’s thoughts hadn’t been so full of you and your mouth and your voice. It’s what his bandmates and friends are surely doing in some club around here.

“You don’t need to. I’m not doing anything.”

“No?” You try to lighten your tone, to joke the way you usually do, “don’t have groupies knocking on your hotel room door right now?”

Instead of playing along, Eddie’s voice is serious, still soft in the way he speaks to you, but serious nonetheless, “I don’t entertain them, honey.”

“You don’t?”

He’s tried. But ever since you kissed him, probably since before that, too, Eddie can’t seem to look at anyone else, let alone have someone else kiss him and tarnish the memory of your lips on his. He’s only ever thinking of you, it seems. So no, he hasn’t fooled around lately.

“Not in a while. I’m trying to write for the next album. No distractions.”

No distractions. He says it like that’s true, even though he can’t seem to fully focus, like there’s a piece he’s missing. Like every lyric he’s written since he’s been back isn’t somehow about you.

He’s so, so fucked.

“Look at you, Munson. Squeaky clean.”

You hope he can’t tell that you’re sort of a mess, a stupid blossom of hope planting itself where it shouldn’t. He’s your friend, he’s always been just your friend. But you kissed and it felt like something changed, and you can’t seem to let go of that.

“You sound surprised,” he teases, gathering his wits the best he can.

“Can you blame me? You used to have multiple lunchboxes reserved for your weed.”

“You loved those lunchboxes and you know it.”

“Yeah, I did.”

And then, like that moment was simply a blip, easily brushed over, your conversation turns back to your normal. Jokes with underlying affections, teasing while picturing what kind of smile the other wears when you laugh lightly into the phone.

Time runs away from you, and by the time you hang up it’s well into the early hours of the morning, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

After hanging up, Eddie’s got this sinking, aching pull in his stomach. He knows what it is, has had bouts of it before where he misses Wayne’s hand patting his back or the way his mattress is worn-in just the right amount back at the trailer, when he thinks about what his friends might be doing or what science project Dustin’s got going on.

But it’s never felt this heavy. Eddie’s the most homesick he’s ever been.

He’d listen to your voice forever, but in that moment, he’d give anything to see your face, to see the shake of your shoulders when you laugh, the curve of your smile.

What the hell is wrong with him?

Eddie wipes his palms on his thighs before standing and walking out into the living room of his band’s suite hotel room. The guys are still up, and they’re all staring at him like weirdos.

“What?” He pauses in the doorway.

“Did you tell her you’re in love with her yet, or what?” Jeff, the electric guitarist, asks him.

“What?” Eddie says again because there’s no way he heard that right. He’d only just come to terms that he had feelings. This is much bigger.

“You’re joking,” Gareth pipes in, “you don’t even know it? Dude, you’re all ‘I miss you, trouble, you’re my favorite person ever.’” He does a knowingly terrible impression of Eddie.

“I do not sound like that.”

“You kinda do,” Jeff says.

“Why else would you be spending hours in that room on the phone, man? Come on,” Gareth sing songs the next bit: “you’re in loooove.”

Then Eddie thinks and thinks and thinks. The warmth that blooms when he hugs you, the jealousy he felt when he thought that server at Benny’s was flirting with you, the difficulty to say goodbye, the way your kiss haunts him in his sleep.

These idiots aren’t usually right about things, but just this once, maybe they are. Eddie Munson is probably, very likely, definitely in love with you.

Yeah, he’s so fucked.

♫♩♪♬

thank you so so much for reading!!! if you enjoyed please please please consider reblogging and letting me know what you think! it helps and means so much <333 i have plans for a part two, and if you’d like to see it, some support would help a bunch! ily!

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oflgtfol · 2 years

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my capacitor exploded bc it was electrolytic and so its polarized and so i followed this diagram on how to place it so like any normal person, i followed the diagram that we were told to follow and saw where it placed the plus sign, and so i placed my real life capacitor such that its plus side was also pointing in the same direction, and then my capacitor exploded, because it was pointing in the wrong direction

#two key events today that keep haunting me: my prof telling me off for my paper #and the few seconds i had before my capacitor exploded #i saw it generated a wave and i was like hm thats strangely symmetrical for what we’re doing in this experiment #but then i was like ah but its a smoothing capacitor so maybe thats how its supposed to look #and then the wave just started glitching and drifted up the screen and i was like. lol why is that happening #and then suddenly BOOM #and the screen goes to a flat line #and it takes me a second to realize what just happened #i look down and the capacitor is just in pieces everywehere #and everyone in the room is staring at me #brot posts #i am NOT exaggerating btw. it quite literally went BOOM #it was so fucking loud and right next to my ear

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queenendless · 6 months

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😷🤒Sick Day(Adult!SatoSugu x Sick!Fem!Reader)🤒😷

A/N: Yep this is part of that SatoSugu Teacher AU alongside Moving Day and Nights.

Also, announcement. I have smut writing fatigue after just putting out one and I'm down with a cold right now. So that vampire AU gang bang piece is happening next month. I'm so sorry for this yall. Thanks though to everyone who commented on that and helped me decide.

But I will hopefully be posting a JJK Halloween piece to make up for it. A headcannon/ imagined scenario where the JJK cast celebrate Halloween with my ideal fave pairings in couples costumes and such in this what if AU. And yas it gonna be SatoSugu x Fem or GN reader, idk on that part yet.

All credit for JJK and its characters goes to the madman that is Gege.

* Please DON'T plagarize, translate, or repost my FANFIC content. Reblog, like, and follow instead.

I hope you enjoy!

Your throat feels raw.

Your nose feels stuffy.

And you kept coughing every few minutes.

You should have figured spotting a curse forming from a virus epidemic happening in the hotel across the street would pose a high ass risk of getting infected yourself.

But as a Window, it was your job, as life risking as it was.

The more people inside and around the building got infected, the Grade 4 grew closer to Grade 3. If it kept up, dozens upon hundreds would die.

"Ijichi-san. Disease curse. Transitioning from Grade 4 to Grade 3. Requesting sorcerer help here immediately." You struggled speaking over the phone as you kept coughing, dispatching the address to him, seeing the revolting curse grow in size as its toxic presence spilled, tripping as you tried keeping your distance.

Your head was pounding and you could barely focus as Ijichi-san panicked on his end.

"L/n-san!? L/N-SAN!"

In a moment of ailment, you dropped your phone, causing it to disconnect from the impact.

You were barely able to keep a grip on your phone or walk without faltering as you felt more drained with each passing moment. You blinked a lot as you tried staying alert, stumbling before collapsing against a parked empty vehicle on the street, sliding down to your bum just to rest your aching head against your knees, hugging your legs to your chest.

That curse's smogs began spreading down the streets, into traffic, and nearby occupied establishments.

Believing help wouldn't get here in time through the systematic process, you opted for your wild card, shakily picking up your now cracked screen device.

"Toru. Curse problem. Get here ASAP. Please." Texting the address in your feverish haste, you pressed send before curling in on yourself, welcoming sleep to rest your aching self.

In just under the next few minutes — more like moments — you felt a boom in the cursed energy atmosphere, that curse no longer being sensed. At last, it was done.

The shift from freezing metal to cozy soft fabric stirred you awake a bit. Along with the feel of solid warm arms draped around your shoulders and under your knees. Those big smooth hands squeezing your shoulder and your kneecap had you tugging weakly on the front of that top, pressing your face against your makeshift pillow, struggling to open your eyes as your hearing painted the picture for you in the meantime.

"A majority will spend weeks recuperating. The ones closest to the cause will spend months in the hospital at best. Still though, no casualties. Thank you for the help." High chances it was one of the many medics on site for post cleanup.

"You can thank the young woman here for that. She was the first responder, after all. I'll tend to her recovery myself. Sayonara." You know that voice right away, even when he was muffled, relaxing further in his hold.

"This cold isn't going away anytime soon. Too bad reversed cursed techniques don't make the common cold go away." Your half lidded eyes still had him swooning at how frail and precious you were in his arms.

You murmured, noticing him in his black long sleeved top, matching sweatpants, and face mask with the blindfold. "Blindfolded giant." That's when you realized a face mask was put on you as well, your muffled coughs hitting cloth.

You could already picture him beaming, grinning, as he laughed a bit.

"Correction. Your blindfolded giant, darling~ Now then, let's get you home."

°•○•°•○•°•○•°

Geto typing away on his computer, working on his latest reports.

Gojo straddling his lap, hugging him as he napped against his dear best friend slash hubbie.

The former smiling fondly at the motion before picking up where he left off was their situation before both men's phones began vibrating and ringing.

"Geto-san! L/n-san has reported a disease curse spotting! But she was cut off before I could get further details!"

"She just texted me the location." The sleepiness was wiped away, replaced with firm seriousness, as Gojo started getting off of him to get some shoes on.

"Ijichi-san, do not fret. Satoru will handle the curse." Geto calmly responded over the phone before speaking concerningly to his snowy-haired hubbie. "Toru, bring a face mask in case the affected area reaches where you land post teleport."

Said man smooched his hubbie in kind before slipping on the black face mask to match his current apparel. "Wait up for us, Sugu~"

Seeing you both back, teleporting into your home office, Suguru smooched Satoru the moment he took that face mask right off. Pressing the back of his palm against your forehead to double check for a fever, Suguru's dismay was warranted.

So being there when you awoke from your fever dream tucked in the middle of your guys' giant bed meant Suguru patting your now sweating forehead with a wet rag, you trembling from chills raking your skin followed by feeling warmer the next minute as you coughed into a tissue he handed to you.

"Well dearest, you've got yourself a nasty cold here." Suguru noted with a gray face mask on as well, seated by you on his side of the bed.

"Ah bah." Your raspy spat earned you a cough into your fist before you were offered a filled up water bottle by Satoru who was sitting behind you on his side; blindfold off but face mask back on.

"Welp, I exorcized the curse and brought your cute self back here. Plus I got that report to work on in your precious stead. So you're welcome." He gently ran his fingers through your hair to ease you in whatever way he could.

"Thank you Toru." You slowly sat up and were then handed some cold pills by Suguru to down some water with. "Thank you Sugu."

"Now that we've made our home Ground Zero, you are hereby confined to this room. Drink plenty of fluids. Take your medicine. Get lots of rest. Do you hear me, young lady?" Suguru's smart ass tone made you pout.

"Yes mom." You murmured raspy.

Satoru snorted behind his face mask to which Suguru whacked him in the shoulder across from him with narrowed eyes. "At least Megumi and the twins are living in the dorms now and Tsumiki was able to convince her classmate to stay at her place for a while. Meaning we three have the place to ourselves~"

"Does that mean … I have to sleep by myself?" You whimpered, cracking their resolve. "Neither the Gojo Geto bears, nor the Gojo Geto cats, not even the Gojo Geto giant round plushies can substitute for the real deal." You moped, pointing at said custom made toys lined up on the window seat on the far side of the room.

"Aww, Suguru, how can we deny our lovely sweetheart the company of her valiant handsome knights in the flesh, huh~!?" Satoru dramatized his own cries, muffled though.

Suguru sighed, consigning. "At least one of us should. Who else will be teaching the first years in the meantime?"

"Round robin, then? Last one left standing tends to that noble martyr and gets our dear sweetheart to be their own personal nurse in the end … huh …" That hum and those inquiring eyes could only bode mischief. "I volunteer Suguru to go first!"

"Not gonna happen, Satoru." He immediately denied.

"But to be fed by, bathed by and be doted on by our angel is heaven sent~!" Satoru gushed.

"Which is why you shouldn't be the only one getting that special treatment!" Suguru being jealous at possibly being left out on that.

"Hey!" Your strained shout ends in a coughing fit, curled up in bed, sniffling to which Suguru hands you a big enough tissue to blow your nose in. "I'm dying here."

"Hmm … Yu could fill in." Satoru suggested.

"He is working as a teaching aid part time. And he did say he could help out whenever we needed it." Suguru added.

"Plus Nanamin is on a business trip for the week~ He'll need something to do while waiting for his beloved's return~!" Satoru teased.

"That settles it then." Suguru was smirking behind that mask, you could just tell.

"How lucky you are, darling, to have the strongest duo be your own personal nurses~" Satoru was so smirking his ass off.

"Even though you'll literally get sick of me?" You shyly asked, squeezing your bottle, apprehensive.

"We have strong ass immune systems, Y/n. Comes with over a decade of immense training." Satoru prided on, kissing your flushed cheek.

"If we can risk ourselves in the face of death as sorcerers, this is nothing." Suguru assured, kissing your other flushed cheek. "I'll call Haibara."

"I'll start up a bath for us all. Thank you big ass bathtubs." Satoru clapped to that.

"What do I do?" Even when sick, tilting your head and batting those eyes made the duo smooch your lips at once.

"Just be a good little patient for us, alright, honey?" God that wink of Suguru's left you more hot than usual as he walked off to make that call.

"Besides, being sick with you means being granted a sick leave and getting paid for it! Ah, thank you, my darling sweetheart~!" Satoru did hug you, nuzzle his face in your hair, and left you a wheezing mess.

"Y - You're w - welcome!"

Well, on the bright side, at least you'll all be sick together.

Snuggled in bed, among discarded tissues, wrappers of cough drops, and smooshed in one big embrace of entangled limbs while binging nothing but sitcoms, movies, and anime.

You would eventually get better in a week's time then later tend to your two enamored, affectionate partners and get them back into tip top shape.

But until then, being in their cozy arms, sleeping smack dabbed in between them, that might as well be the key on your quick road to recovery.

The SatoSugu cure, indeed!

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xlatiwritesx · 3 months

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Serious, serious | CL16

A/N: an F1 imagine 🏎️ !!! Yes, yes, I’m into F1 finally, so I of course had to write something and who else would it be than THE Charles Leclerc. Ngl, this isn’t my best work but I just had to get this idea out of my system 😵‍💫. Hope you guys enjoy it !!

Words: 1.6K

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: after your first serious scare being an F1 girlfriend, you’re rewarded with a new found emotion.

…

Time is a funny thing. Humorous, at times. It goes fast or slow as it pleases. Chooses its pace to get on your weakest nerve.

For instance, the past three months flew by. Meeting him, texting for the first time, your first date, your first kiss, attending his first race, getting to know his friends.

It felt as fast as blinking an eye. Or as fast as you were falling for him.

"A Ferrari car is off the track!" The commentator's voice boomed through the TV speakers. You jumped to your feet from the leather couch you were sat on.

"Oh no" the commentator said soon after. Soon after Charles' car crashed into the concrete wall alongside the track.

Your heart fell, your breath quickening at a dangerous rate. You shut your eyes, reminding yourself of what Charles always said to you.

"Crashes happen. All the time. These cars, though, they're meant to protect us. So, crashes aren’t as dangerous as they seem in F1"

"He's okay" you whispered to yourself. However, when you opened your eyes, everyone's face didn't confirm that, though.

"Right?" You asked, looking around the Ferrari unit. Everyone was frozen, eyes glued on the screen that showed smoke coming out of the crashed Ferrari car.

Charles' car.

Your legs moved before you even decided. You ran so fast. Faster than any car still racing out there even though the world seemed to crumble and break into pieces.

You gasped for air, the wind making it colder than usual. You reached a half empty Ferrari station. All those screens deserted. You barely held yourself up. You wondered how bad was it that half the team had to go to the scene.

"Crashes are normal in Formula One. Almost inevitable"

Not when it's the guy that you were realizing meant much more to you than you thought. The thought terrified you. So much terrified you all of a sudden.

"How do I get there?" You didn't realize how panicked you were until you heard yourself speak. The man stared at you in confusion.

"How do I get to the crash?" You urged. You couldn't believe you were saying that.

"Ma'am, you can't just go-“

"No, no! I have to!" You could feel your eyes well with tears.

"It's Charles Leclerc! Hurry!" A group of paramedics ran to their veichle. You ran after them.

"Ma'am this is not allowed-"

"Please!" You begged them.

"I'm sorry, this is for authorized-"

"Y/n!" You turned around, desperate to believe what you were hearing.

"Carlos! Carlos, please tell me he's okay" you ran to the only person that you felt would care enough to tend to your worries.

"They're taking him to the hospital" he sighed, bowing his head, his fingertips barely holding his helmet.

"W-why?" You stuttered. He finally looked at you.

"Let's just go"

You silently followed Carlos to his car after he quickly changed out of his suit. The drive to the hospital drove you insane. So many questions. Wondering about so much, too much at once.

As soon as Carlos parked outside the emergencies, you ran out of the car and through the glass doors, not caring about all the chaos going just outside of them.

"How serious is it?!"

"Do you think Leclerc will be able to go back to racing?!"

"Will he be there for the next race?!"

It was a lot. Too much, even. You wanted to scream them away. Tell them that this wasn't the time to ask all those questions with bright cameras and microphones everywhere. To respect the other patients' and their families' privacy. But you care more about Charles right now. So you kept running until your hands hit the edge of the counter.

"Charles Leclerc just came in" you breathed. The nurse widened her eyes at your state and just pointed to where he was.

You got to his bed in no time, him just lying there, unconscious. You immediately held his hand and the waterworks began. Carlos walked into the curtain closed space and stood in front of the bed, leaning on the edge.

"Hey" he called so quietly. You just kept crying.

"I don't recommend dating a Formula One driver if you'll cry this hard every time he crashes" he said casually. You stopped sobbing and looked up and to your left. You glared. Carlos shrugged.

"Just saying" he said, looking away.

"Carlos!" You whined. He looked at you, but you just went back to looking at Charles.

You noticed some bruises already forming on his hands. You held it tighter. You felt like time was not moving. It just dragged on and on. Carlos stood there. You sat there. Charles laid there. Just like that. For eternity.

"You didn't eat anything. What do you want?" Carlos' voice reminded you of his existence. You slowly turned to look at him, your tears barely dried on your face.

"How can you be so…chill?" You asked. Not in annoyance. Just out of pure curiosity. Carlos frowned at you for a second, before breaking into a fit of laughter. You stared at him blankly, your hand still holding Charles' tightly.

"I'm telling you! This sport is not for the faint of heart!" He waved a warning finger at you and you frowned at him. This time in annoyance.

"We just" he sighed when he stopped laughing, only a smile left behind from it.

"We get used to this. To seeing it. To being victims of it" he said ever so casually that it terrified you. It was terrifying the things passion makes a person do. How far people would go for what they love.

"I'm getting food and you will eat it. Charles would kill me if he woke up to a starving you while I was just hanging here. Deal?" He raised a brow at you. You hesitated, but Carlos kept his gaze. You finally nodded.

"Good. I'll be back in a bit" he said before leaving. You watched him go and something warm filled you. Gratitude.

You were grateful for him staying with you. With Charles. Not all drivers care enough to do that, unfortunately. You didn't notice the smile on your face until a few minutes later. When Charles spoke.

"What's so funny?" He mumbled. Your eyes shot to his and you stood up in an instant.

"Charles?!" You exclaimed, tears filling your eyes for the millionth time today. He just blinked, wincing.

“Who won the race?” He asked, still trying to find his voice.

"Oh my god" you covered your face, walking away from his bed in disbelief.

“Seriously?!” You spun around, crying. You wanted to fight even harder when a smile slowly took form on his tired face.

“Charles do you know how terrified I was?! And all you’re worried about is who won that race?!” You kept scolding. He placed one arm behind his head, still watching you in amusement. You breathed heavily, not bothering to wipe your tears as you crossed your arms over your chest.

You watched him laying there, smiling with his arm under his head, giving him better view of your tear-stained face.

“You know what?” He spoke. You had to walk a step closer so you could hear him clearly.

“I don’t want to know who won the race. I want to know how on earth did I get this lucky” he started.

“Yeah! I’m so glad it just cane down to some bruises. And, and, you’re awake, and you’re talking, and you seem okay!” You rambled, now sitting by his side on the edge of the bed. He chuckled softly at you missing what he meant, raising a hand to wipe your tears, then tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Right when I realized what was happening, there was one thought that kept echoing in my mind” he whispered, suddenly all serious. Your heartbeat quickened, not enjoying the memory of watching him crash and not knowing what he was feeling or if he was going to be okay.

“I just kept thinking ‘fuck. I didn’t get to tell her I love her’” he confessed. You raised your brows slightly, surprised at the sudden confession. You’ve been together for three months now and neither of you had said it, yet.

But there it was. And it felt like the world that crumbled after the race was patched and stitched back to perfect, pristine condition.

You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your lips. Charles smiled as well, his heart monitor exposing how important this moment was to him.

You leaned down and wrapped your arms around his neck carefully, holding him tightly to make up for all the fear of losing him. For all the fear of him not feeling the same way.

“I love you, too, Charles” you whispered.

You held each other for as long as it took for your flushed cheeks and racing hearts to quiet down, giving your new found feelings some sense of privacy.

Once you pulled away, your faces met, less than an inch apart. Charles leaned in. You were grateful there was no heart monitor on you, or that would’ve been the end.

“So, I didn’t know which is your favorite, so I got all flavors-“

Carlos’ voice sent you flying to your feet. Charles sat where he was and pierced his lips shut, staring at nothing in particular.

Carlos’ eyes danced between the two of you and he broke into a grin when he realized.

“I think it finally happened?” Carlos asked, hinting at what you both just confessed to one another. You glanced at Charles just to catch him glancing at you. He cleared his throat and you held back a smile.

“So now it’s serious, serious?” Carlos asked excitedly.

“Serious, serious” you both answered.

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #charles leclerc #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc f1 #charles leclerc ferrari #formula racing #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #formula one fanfiction #formula one fic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic

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thebearer · 10 months

Text

follow me |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: the bear needs a social media rebrand. sydney hired you, and carmen gets more than just followers after meeting you.

an: bad descript i'm sorry lol. basically you're a social media manager and carmen likes you lol or how you and carmen meet <3 also thinking this will be a part 1???? lmk if you want a part 2!!!

contains: reader is a social media manager. language. carmen denying himself happiness ofc. mentions of mikey. fluff, fluff, fluff!!!

“What the hell is this?” Sydney’s voice raised, brow raised even higher to heighten her suspicions. Maybe her disgust.

After Carmen looked at the snarl on her face, he decided it was definitely disgust.

“What?” Carmen shrugged, looking at the screen in front of him. “It’s the, uh, The Beef’s old Instagram.”

“Right.” Sydney said slowly, blinking at Carmen obviously. “The Beef, and we are not that anymore. We are The Bear.” She scrolled for a moment. “They also haven’t posted since twenty-twenty, which is-”

“-Well, Mikey ran it, alright?” Carmen huffed, glaring at Sydney with annoyance. “I just found the fuckin’ password on a fucking gum wrapper in a folder labeled ‘important shit’ so I don’t know what to tell you.”

Sydney nodded slowly, looking back at the phone, before sighing deeply. “I know what you should do.” She said, typing on her phone. Carmen grunted, still looking at the piles of order forms for produce in front of him. “You need a social media manager, because Carm, this? It's not gonna work.”

“Social media what?” Carmen’s brows creased, shaking his head. “I don’t- no, I don’t need to do that. I’ll just, I’ll get Gary or fuckin’ Sweeps or Fak to run-”

“No, no, Carmen, seriously? Look at this. There’s- oh my God- there’s a thing here that says bring your own plate and you’ll get a free drink, Carmen… What the fuck?” Sydney sighed, shaking her head at him.

Carmen nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I-I’m thinking that was a, uh, a Mikey special.” He muttered, pinching his eyes shut. “I can’t afford to hire someone on the payroll for that long, ok? Not when I could hire another hostess or-or a runner.”

“They only come in to revamp and get it started. Just a little kick start for now. To get us started.” Sydney explained, clicking on her screen. “Look, I have a mutual friend with this girl who’s really fuckin’ good, ok? She did Lobo’s that pizza place? Got them from two hundred to eighteen thousand followers in like two or three months.”

Carmen’s eyes flashed, looking at Sydney with a raised brow. “Seriously? Fuck…” Carmen looked at the screen, the crisp photos, videos, fun and trendy- vibrant and alluring. He hated to admit it, but it was good.

“Look, Carm, it’s free advertising, ok? You catch the influencers if it goes viral. Could really put this place out there.” Sydney countered. “It’d be a lot cheaper than paying for some shitty advertisement on the news that no one watches anyways. Could bring in a lot of business and attention.”

Carmen’s fingers drummed against the counter, sighing sharply. “Fine, whatever, see if you can get her in and just… Just tell me how much I need to put aside, alright? I’ll push the new glasses until then.”

Sydney smiled triumphantly, nodding at Carmen. “Yes, Chef.” She saluted, walking out of the office.

Three days later, you were standing outside of The Bear, newly opened, freshly renovated, and steady but not booming. “Uh, excuse me?” You waved through the window at the man in the beanie, looking at you carefully.

“Hey, we’re closed until dinner, alright? But you can-”

“Oh, no. I, uh, I’m not here for eating.” You cringed, shaking your head. “I’m looking for Sydney? Or Carmen? I’m the new social media person?”

“Social media?” The man repeated, pushing the door open further. “Oh, shit! You’re the girl who does the, uh, Lobo and Avec!”

“Yeah, I am.” You blushed, walking into the restaurant.

“I love watching those reels of the asmr cutting the bread. Ugh, I watch it every night before going to bed.” The guy laughed, locking the door behind you. “Oh, I’m Marcus by the way.”

You took his extended hand, introducing yourself, while you took in the fixtures on the wall, the art, the overall ambiance. “I am going to get Carmen, but you can stay right here if you want.” Marcus grinned, pushing the sliding doors open.

You set your things down, pulling out your notebook, and looking around the restaurant. You knew that this was once The Beef, Sydney had sent you a few things about Carmen’s credentials and you looked up the rest. Impressed was an understatement, a guy your age that had ran the best restaurant in the world? Quite possibly was the best chef in the world or at least Chicago and needed your help? You were nervous, to say the least.

Marcus called your name, making you jump slightly as you turned around. “Uh, so this is Carmen. He’s the owner, the head chef.”

“Hi,” You were met with piercing blue eyes, hidden under a stray blonde lock of hair. Carmen’s hand reached for yours. “Nice to meet you. Sydney, uh, she couldn’t stop tellin’ me about your work. Thank you for helpin’ us out.”

“No, no, thank you.” You reached for his hand, strong, a little rough, trying not to stare at his inked fingers. “It’s a pleasure to work with you. She told me a little about you, about the restaurant. It’s very impressive. Surprised you needed me.” You grinned.

Carmen bit back a smile, looking down to hide his blush. Fuck, Sydney said you were good at your job, she failed to mention that you were so fuckin’ pretty too. Carmen could feel his heart fluttering in his chest, taking flight like he was a middle schooler again with a school yard crush.

“So, if you have time, I want to go over some goals with you?” You say, gripping your notebook tightly.

“Goals. Right, uh,” Carmen looked through the back doors. “Sydney is on her break, and-and my sister, Sugar- well, her name is Natalie, she’s like our manager. Richie too, uh, shit- I’m sorry that’s a lot of people, I know.” Carmen shook his head, an anxious laugh pealing out from his lips. “Those are the people you need to talk to, basically. I can grab them, just-”

“-But you’re the owner, right?” You asked, lifting a brow gently.

“No, I mean, yeah, I am.” Carmen stuttered.

“Then I need to talk to you, too.” You gave him a small smile. “I mean, you know this place better than anyone, right? All the ins and outs? And from what Sydney told me, you redid this entire place. Right?”

“Yeah, I did.” Carmen nodded. Fuck, he kept staring at your lips, he didn’t mean to, he was just… he was distracted.

“So, we can all meet if you want, or I can do it one at a time.” You pulled your pen out of your notebook, looking at him with a gentle smile. It had Carmen’s heart racing. “I just have a few questions about the vision.”

“The vision?” Carmen repeated, swallowing around the growing lump in his throat.

“Yeah, the vision.” You smiled. “Just… tell me about this place. Tell me about you.” You slid into the chair across from him.

Carmen wiped his hands on his pants, turning to look at the doors, hoping someone would come to his rescue. He wasn’t good at talking, especially not to pretty girls, especially about himself. Still, he couldn’t leave you sitting there. He’d hired you after all, and you were here to help him. So he sat down across from you, hoping you didn’t see the way his knee bounced under the table, hoping you couldn’t hear how his heart pounded.

“So, Carmen Berzatto,” You grinned, every syllable of his name rolling off your tongue so sweetly, Carmen was sure he was going to faint. “Tell me about The Bear. Why did you start it?”

“Well, it was The Beef before. And-And my parents owned it, then my brother Mikey did…” Carmen started, watching the way you scribbled, eyes flickering to him with a small smile.

“Hello!” You called, pushing through the back door. They’d given you the code a week ago, so you didn’t have to wait or pound on the front door until someone took mercy and let you in. “It’s content day!” You sang, cheery and bright.

Carmen could hear the pretty trill of your voice, trickling down the hall and into the kitchen. Tina smirked, watching the way he stopped, turning to look at you, blush rising under his white shirt. “Hey, Jeff,” Tina smirked, his head snapping to her. “Your girl’s here.”

The staff had been teasing Carmen relentlessly about how smitten he was with you. Something he’d been so reluctant to do, he now looked forward to. Carmen swore it was because of your work. You had taken them from the measly six hundred followers they’d had since they started the account in twenty-eleven to six thousand, strategic posts and tags and tagging a few buzz accounts that were Chicago foodies. Business had gone up, reservations filling slowly. Followers poured in from TikTok, from the reels, from the posts. One tag from a micro Chicago influencer had brought in a good chunk and was still, all because of a photo with the pretty light features and the dessert.

“Where’s the Bear?” You grinned, passing Sydney, camera in hand, bag slung over your shoulder. You pushed open Carmen’s office, dropping your bag in there. He’d told you that you could keep your things in there, since you didn’t have a locker, of course- and not at all because that meant he’d see you before you left.

“He’s in here, baby!” Tina called, smirking at Carmen.

“C’mon,” Carmen shook his head, a deep breath to keep him from looking so flushed. It worked for a moment, of course, until you rounded the corner. All bright smiles and fuck, you smelled so good. Camren wanted to drown himself in your perfume. “Good morning, Bear.” You beamed.

Carmen grinned, cheeks heating with every step you took forward. “Mornin’.” He muttered, looking at the clock.

“It’s content day.” You grinned, shaking your camera lightly. “Tell me you got something good for me, Chef. What's the special this week?”

“A lamb tenderloin with a gorgonzola sauce served over pasta- house made, of course.” Carmen answered.

“Of course.” You repeated with a tiny grin. You turned on your camera, taking a test shot, before you looked at Carmen carefully. “Ready whenever you are, Chef.”

Carmen bit back his own grin, clearing his throat lightly. “How do I start it? The same as last time?”

“Yep.” You nodded, pressing the camera to your eyes. “Tell me your name, name of the restaurant, and then just this week's special.”

“On your mark.” Carmen nodded, picking up his clean utensil.

“On yours.” You laughed. “I’m already recording.”

Carmen spoke to the camera easily, trying to stay trained on the lens and not at you. How you’d grin and nod encouragingly at him, zooming in closer as he chopped, seasoned, pulled the already prepared and finished product out of the oven.

Richie crossed his arms, leaning against the wall next to Sugar, lips pursed knowingly. “I know you’re thinkin’ the same shit as me.”

Sugar hummed. “That Carmen’s into her?”

“Way fuckin’ into her.” Richie grinned, watching as Carmen blushed, grinning back at you, genuine and a little shy at your compliment.

“Fifty bucks says he doesn’t make a move.” Sugar looked at Richie.

Richie snorted, scoffing with a shake of his head. “Alright. I’ll take your bet. I say he does.”

“Get ready to be out of fifty dollars, Cousin.” Sugar said smugly. “This is Carmy we’re talking about. Not Mikey. Carmen’s not gonna make a move on her.”

“Eh, not so quick, my dear, Natalie. Carmen’s changed a little since this place.” Since the horrendous freezer incident with Claire. “He really likes her too, look at ‘em.” Richie nodded, watching as Carmen held the spoon out for you, blushing when your hand touched his to take it, groaning before smothering him in compliments. Tina looked at Richie, amused and grinning from across the room.

“Carmen will seal the deal. It’ll be last fuckin’ minute and it will be a mess, because it’s fuckin’ Carmen, but… I believe in him.” Richie nodded.

Natalie snorted. “I genuinely hope you’re right, Cousin.” She looked at Carmen with a small smile, watching the way he looked at you, eyes cutting like he was being so cool about keeping his feelings underwraps. “I really do.”

That night, Carmen lied in bed, scrolling through his footage from the day, seeing the video pop up from @/thebearchicago. Set to classical music, snobby and dramatic, the cuts, Carmen’s voice laid over describing the meal for the week, and a particularly good close up of his hands cutting the onions fiercely. Carmen was shocked to see the number of likes… the number of comments flooding in.

“the cameraman knew exactly what they were doing lmao”

“New necklace available!!!”

“I will give you my vital organs and let you chop them up like that if you let me watch chef please”

“What the fuck?” Carmen snorted lightly, shaking his head, scrolling through the comments. He clicked to the main page of the restaurant, seeing you were just a few away from ten thousand followers. Fuck… Sydney was fucking right. You were good.

Carmen’s face fell, mind racing and screaming with the reminder that you were only there for a few more days. He’d only hired your for two months- two glorious fucking months. You seemed… permanent now. Like he couldn’t imagine you not coming in on Tuesdays and Thursdays and after three on Fridays. You were a staple there. The staff loved you, you were good, and-

And Carmen really liked you. Liked having you around. Looked forward to talking to you. To get the chance to lean over your shoulder as an excuse to touch you when you showed him a preview of a post. Or when you’d send him cute text messages, a funny comment attached, your text reading: “you’re a hit, bear! they love you!”

It was like you could read his mind, your contact flashing across the screen at him.

To: Carmen

‘told you this would be a good one! the fans love you berzatto!!!’

Carmen grinned, the faint twinge of a blush on his face. He could feel his heart racing, fingers dancing over the keyboard, and worst of all- he could hear Mikey’s fucking voice in the back of his head. A nagging tone repeating over and over and over, “Let it rip, Bear! Don’t be such a pussy! Ask her out!”

Carmen looked at his screen, fingers typing out the message, a short, less than smooth invite to make you a special thank you dinner and his place- a date. He hoped you picked up on it. Heat hammering in his chest, he could feel his chest tighten, ribs knitting together uncomfortably, stomach twisting in the worst way.

So, Carmen did what he always did.

From: Carmen

‘Never doubted you. Thank you. The video was great.’

He watched as the blue sent, the delivered turning into seen, and followed by your thumbs up over the text. Carmen put his phone on the table, lying back on his pillow, but he couldn’t sleep. His stomach still turned, unsettled with regret.

“Oh! Marcus stop!” You gasped, Carmen’s head turning at the sound of your voice. “You didn’t need to do all of this!”

“Yeah, I did.” Marcus beamed. Carmen turned the corner, seeing a beautifully piped cake there, candles and icing cursive that read “thank you!” in the middle of the buttercream. “You’re cool and you got us on the map, girl. Plus, we’re gonna miss you.”

“Yeah,” Sydney nodded, holding a small balloon that said that exact phrase on it. “We will miss you.”

“I’ll miss you guys.” You grinned, hugging them both tightly. “This has been my favorite job so far. You guys have been so nice. Way nicer than a lot of these assholes around here.” You grinned.

Richie stood on the wall, foot tapping, eyes darting back from you to Carmen. He could see his cousin’s stuttering movements, hesitant and careful, before retreating back into himself. C’mon, Carm, fuckin’ do it, Richie thought, shaking his head. Carmen wouldn’t though, wouldn’t let himself be happy. Richie took a deep breath, head shaking with annoyance.

“Goddammit, Berzatto,” Richie muttered, pushing off the wall. “You know, sweetheart, it’s been so great having you. Seriously, you blew us all away.” Richie said, walking towards you.

You smiled. “Thanks, Richie. I really appreciate it.”

“And you know what, we want to really show how much we appreciate you.” Richie’s eyes cut to Natalie, a silent plea to help him out. “I had a cancellation for this evening, and I would love for you to come instead. Let us really cook for you, give you the whole experience. No bill, of course. All on the house, for you, my dear.”

“Oh, I-I couldn’t let you guys do that.” You shook your head politely, eyes cutting to Carmen’s.

“No-No, please.” Carmen nodded, finally speaking. Richie sighed silently in relief. “It would be great actually. Please?”

You felt your heart melt, nodding softly. Before you could even reply, Richie was stepping up again. “And you know what? You gotta do one last post for us, right? The big chef spotlight one. The, uh, c’mon, Sydney what am I lookin’ for here?”

“Oh, the one about the staff spotlights?” Sydney asked.

“That’s the one. See, that’s it. And you’ve done everyone except the big boss.” Richie pointed at Carmen, ignoring the way the younger man’s face fell.

“I didn’t get one-” Fak started, Richie shoving him out of the way.

“You gotta end with Carmy, and it's funny because it’s gonna be real slow tonight anyways. Wednesday, ya know? And I think what better way to experience the night, really craft that staff spotlight thing, than with Carmen. The two of you, have dinner and get to talk.” Richie knew it was rocky, not at all smooth, but it was the best he could do.

“What? Cousin, what are you-”

“-No, you’re right, Richie.” Sugar added, stepping towards Carmen, and cutting him off. “And Carm, you were saying you wanted to see everything in action for yourself. You do the customer experience so you make sure everything’s good, and we’ll serve you both dinner. All the stops.”

“How’s that sound?” Richie clapped his hands together, nodding at Tina, who grinned.

“Jeff, it would be really nice to make sure we can work without your instructions. A good night for it too.” Tina added.

“Yeah, and Sydney’s got it.” Richie nudged the girl beside him.

“Totally, Carm- uh, Chef. I’ve got it.” Sydney nodded, catching on to Richie’s glare at her.

Carmen felt like he could melt into the floor, face red and palms sweaty. His ears were ringing, tongue swelled thick in his mouth. You looked over at him with a small smile. “I mean, that does sound really nice. If-If it’s ok with you guys, you don’t have to-”

“-Oh no,” Richie shook his head, walking over to Carmen to clap him on the shoulders. “We insist, don’t we, cousin?” Richie laughed, leaning down to Carmen. “Don’t fuckin’ stand there like a jagoff, say somethin’.” He whispered.

“Yeah.” Carmen said, swallowing thickly around the lump in his throat. “It’s, uh, yeah. That-That sounds great.”

“Wonderful.” Richie beamed. “Six o’clock sounds good for you kids? Give you enough time to get it together.” Richie looked from you to Carmen. “Maybe for some of us to take a shower.”

Carmen could feel the heat rise from his neck to his cheeks, covering him in a furious blush. You giggled. “Definitely gives me time to get a blow out.” You laugh. “See you at six then?”

“It’s a date.” Natalie added, practically bouncing on her toes behind Carmen.

Carmen glared at her, before turning back to you. “Yeah, I-I’ll see you then.”

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paladinncleric · 2 months

Text

Kitchen Capers.

Pairing(s): Jenna Ortega x fem!reader

Summary: Jenna and R's attempt at 'cooking'

Warning(s): fluff

Words: 1k+

A/N: Not a big fan of this, but kinda enjoyed writing it. Hope you like it!

Request

"Babe." Jenna poked my cheek as I concentrated on beating my highest score on Flappy Bird.

"What?" I said giving her a quarter of my attention.

"Babe." She poked my cheek again.

"Whaaat?"

"Babeeeee" She said as she repeatedly poked my cheek.

I groaned as I stared at the 'Game Over' on my screen just a few points away from my top score. I looked at her sitting beside me on the couch giving me her best innocent smile as I glared at her.

"Now what exactly do you need me for, Your Highness?"

She climbed up on my lap, straddling me, as she squished my cheeks together causing me to look like a duck, she repeatedly pecked my squished-up lips as I sat there with my arms crossed, which I eventually melted into cause who could resist her kisses? Certainly not me.

"Stop being cute and tell me what you want." I said as I caressed both her thighs exposed from her shorts while she caressed my neck, still in my lap.

"I was thinking we could make pasta to take to my mom's tonight."

"Okay...that sounds easy enough?"

"It's not."

"It's not?"

"I was thinking of making it from scratch..." Said Jenna trailing off absentmindedly playing with my shirt.

"Oh like not the store-bought kind?" I asked and she nodded.

"Well...can you?"

See, after recently moving in together we realized neither of us are all that big into cooking, with me lacking the skill and Jenna's career keeping her away most of the time. So, I've taken up some cooking classes to at least be able to feed both of us. But it's only been like a week so my skills are nowhere near good enough, I don't wanna accidentally poison someone. That's why we've been striving off of takeouts and dinners in her parent's place every once in a while.

Which is also why we've been invited to her family's house tonight for dinner, and Jenna being Jenna was determined to show them that she's capable of living alone without their help.

"Of course I can, I've watched my mom make it a hundred times." She said as she looked at me with furrowed eyebrows.

I chuckled and said to her, "Babe I'm sure you're aware that there's a difference between watching someone make it and making it yourself."

She stared at me annoyed, "Obviously, but how hard can it be right? I'm pretty sure I know all the stuff that goes in there."

"Are you actually sure? Cause we can call your mom an-"

"No! I want to do it all by myself and without her help for once."

I sighed at her stubbornness and said with my eyes narrowed "If I die tonight because of your food, I'm haunting you for the rest of your life."

"Wouldn't want it any other way, baby." She said with a chuckle and a quick kiss to my cheek and got up from my lap already on her way to the kitchen.

I sighed as I fall back on the couch and I pulled out my phone again to try and beat my score for the 5th time, but as soon as I got comfortable Jenna's voice boomed through the house.

"GET YOUR ASS IN THE KITCHEN Y/L/N, I WON'T SAY IT TWICE."

I groaned as I got up and made my way to the kitchen with slumped shoulders and mumbled a quiet "Yes mom."

Jenna immediately turned towards me again and asked with a glare "What was that?" Making it clear she heard me.

"Nothing." I said avoiding eye contact with her.

"That's what I thought. Now, get to work." She said then went back to taking out all the ingredients, which I followed to do after dramatically groaning.

**********

"Uh babe are you sure we added the right things?" I said as I looked at her trying to massage the watery dough.

"I mean, yeah, I'm pretty sure." She said with furrowed eyebrows and flour covering almost every inch of her face. I chuckled as I took a towel and turned her face towards me as I gently cleaned her face. After I was done, I gave her a kiss on her nose as she smiled at me softly and I smiled back.

"Thanks." She whispered.

I caressed her cheek with my hands as I replied, "You're welcome, gorgeous." She kissed my chin then went back to her work.

I watched her struggle for 10 more minutes as I say, " Uh we can check google if you want?"

"No! Nope! I said I'm not taking any help tonight. I'll figure it out myself." Jenna's stubborn ass said.

I sighed as I leaned back against the counter knowing it's gonna take a while. I would try and help her normally, but in these situations I'm even worse than her.

I watched her for a while, now with an hour and a half till we need to leave. When finally, she groaned and pushed away from the dough. She turned around almost into tears. I open my arms for her as she stumbles into it, her holding the back my shirt as I rub her back while trying not to instinctually move away from the wet dough smearing on my shirt from her hands.

"I really thought *sniffle* I could do this."

"Hey it's ok babe, don't be sad. I can totally become the perfect housewife/trophy wife for you after I'm done with my course. I mean, c'mon, at that point I'll almost be a professional chef."

"Shut up." She said with a giggle as she backed away from the hug and wiped under her eyes with her dough hands as she froze.

I saw her analyzing everything with wide eyes, to my dough-covered shirt, to her dough covered clothes from vigorous stirring of the dough, to her face now filled with dough to her hair and the kitchen floor covered in flour. Then finally, her eyes landed on the clock above my head which read exactly an hour left to leave.

"Shit!" She exclaimed as she ran for the bathroom.

"Hey! I need to shower too!" I yelled after her.

"Join me!"

I smirked at that and was about to respond, when she said, "Without your unholy thoughts!"

I laughed to myself, as I quickly cleaned the floor and threw the dough away while trying not to touch it. After about 10 minutes I was done, as I stripped my clothes along the way to the bathroom and threw it on the floor of the laundry room.

I finally got in the shower, as I saw Jenna washing her hair butt naked. I smirked and went to slide my hands around her waist, when she abruptly turned around and said with narrowed eyes.

"Don't even think about it."

I threw my hands up in surrender as I exaggeratedly looked her up and down with a teasing smile on my face. She groaned and went back to showering as I joined her under the water.

**********

After showering, I wear some slightly baggy jeans with a button-up and my converse, while Jenna wears something similar too.

We both nod at each other with an approving smile, as we run towards the door with us already being 15 minutes late.

We enter their house with Nat standing and pointing at her watch at the entrance. We both sheepishly smile as I give her a quick hug and Jenna gives her a kiss on the cheek as we both move on to greet the rest of the family.

"So, how's everything going back home? Settling well?" Jenna's dad, Ed asked us after we all finally settled on the table for dinner.

"I'm sure they are, was probably too busy 'unpacking' to get here on time." Aliyah said while quoting 'unpacking' with her fingers.

I coughed as I picked up my glass to drink my water so I didn't have to reply, while Jenna subtly kicked her under the table. I saw Aliyah wince as I struggled to hold my chuckle in.

"Everything's going great Dad." Jenna clarified.

"Except." I said as Jenna's head snapped towards me as she threatened me with her eyes.

"Don't you dare."

"Her attempt at spaghetti ended up failing so bad, it was hard to distinguish the edible part."

Aliyah and her parents burst out laughing, Jenna glared at me and smacked my shoulder with her hand as I stuck my tongue out at her.

"You could have asked for my help mija.”

I saw Jenna’s shoulder slump and she pouted at the table.

“I know but I wanted to prove a point.” She grumbled as she shoved bread in her mouth.

“Yea you proved it very well.” Aliyah said sarcastically.

“I’m still proud of you for trying at least, God help me I don’t wanna step foot in a kitchen anytime soon.” I said exasperatedly.

“You ever plan on cooking?” Asked Aliyah.

“Of course but only when I have the assurance I can cook something decent and won’t burn the house down.”

“Take all the time you need, Y/N. At least in this way I get to see my daughter more often.” Said Ed taunting Jenna.

“Daaaaaad.” Whined Jenna

“What?” Said Ed laughing at his daughter as she sat pouting again.

“Okay that’s enough, let the poor girl eat.” Said Natalie as she shook her head smiling.

**********

I unlocked the door as Jenna stomped in and went straight to our room as I sighed at her child-like antics. How can a person be so poise and yet childish? Fuck if I know. I locked the door behind me as I approached our bedroom slowly dreading what I’d have to face. I get in the room to see her getting ready to wipe her makeup already in her sleeping clothes. I stood there staring at her through the reflection of the mirror. Her eyes caught mine as she raised her eyebrows at me as I squinted my eyes at her.

“Do you have something to say?” She asked.

“Uh no…do you?” I replied as I stared at her confused.

“No…?”

“Oh okay great!” I brightened up significantly as I thought she had forgiven me.

I happily walked to the bathroom. Did all the necessary things, emptied my stomach, changed clothes, brushed. I happily trudged back into my room to see Jenna taking up the whole bed and my pillow nowhere to be seen.

Uh oh.

“So uh dumb question but where’s my pillow?”

“Oh they’re on the couch.”

Well, shit.

“My I ask why…?”

She just stared at me blankly as she faced away from me. I sighed and groaned as I flopped on the bed, half on her and half on the bed.

“I’m sorryyyy, we just always joke about your culinary skills and I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

“I told you I was trying to prove my independency to them, but you saying that proved the opposite.”

“Jen I’m pretty sure they know you’re independent, you literally travel country from country shooting films, most of the time alone.” I said as I looked at her quizzically.

“Well…yea but they were still reluctant with me moving in with you.” She countered back.

I laughed as I pull my head up to look at her and say “That’s because you’re their little girl and of course they’re gonna be sad and kinda worried about you moving out of their home for the first time.”

Jenna groaned as she put a pillow on top of her face and said “I knowww it’s just them being so, I don’t know, over-protective this way makes me feel like they don’t trust me with taking care of myself.”

“At the end of the day, they still let you right? focus on that. I think they let you ‘cause they know I’ll be here.” I said with a smug smile as Jenna rolled her eyes at the bullshit I just spewed.

“Also I think you’re parents think we’re like, some sort of, sex crazed people...oh my god is this why they were reluctant?” I said as I made a ‘mind blown’ face.

“No, of course not why would they think that?” Jenna said as she looked at me confused.

“Well with the way your mom makes sure we have weekly check-ups and your dad’s The, by the way very terrifying, ‘Talk’ he gave me I’m pretty sure they do.”

“Oh my god, shut up you’re being ridiculous.” Jenna said laughing as I smiled finally hearing it.

We laid there for a while, me half on her and half on the bed as she stroked my hair. After a while, she stops and says.

“I’m still mad at you though.”

“Oh please, woman you’re not fooling anyone.” I say as I get up to get my pillow back.

��Ugh you’re lucky you’re cute." She said and I responded with a 'duh' face.

"The lower half of my body is numb because of you asshole.” Jenna said as she wiggles her toes in my face as I stand in the doorway of our bedroom and smack her feet away.

“This is what it feels like being the bigger spoon most of the time, except it's the upper half, so now YOU deal with it.” I say as I quickly stick my tongue out and move out of the way as a pillow comes straight to the door. I stuck my head in again as I look at the pillow and her on the bed with deadpan eyes and say.

“Hahaha you miss-“ a pillow smacks against my face.

“Now go get your pillow and hurry up I’m tired.” Jenna said as she situated herself on the bed again.

“Yes ma’am.”

**********

“Does it actually feel bad to be the bigger spoon?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“But you just said.”

“I like it as long as you’re my little spoon.”

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega fanfic #wlw post #fluff #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x you

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sexlapis · 6 months

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hi stella! so i remember rachel mcadams and ryan gosling winning “best kiss” at an award show bc of the notebook and when they go up stage they recreate that kiss ….. so what about actor toji and reader doing it???

OMG?? anon your mind?????????????????!!!!!!

this is the kiss btw !!!!

‘BEST KISS’

౨ৎ actor toji x actress/actor reader

kissing! kissing! kissing!

masterlists

actor!toji masterlist

౨ৎ

the romance film you and toji starred in exceeded everyone’s already high expectations. it became the best performing romance film of the year and one of the most successful films of that same year, period.

but was anyone surprised? not really.

people loved you. people loved toji. people loved you and toji. people loved you and toji together, especially when you were both kissing and fucking in an intense, angsty, emotional-rollercoaster of a romance film.

the public all had their speculations and assumptions about whether you and toji were really together or not, but tonight, after this award show? this very moment erased any doubts in their minds.

it was time to announce the nominees for the (only) category you and toji were nominated for, ‘Best Kiss’.

you turn around and look at toji who is seated behind you and grin toothily at him, giving small claps. he smirks, giving you a sleazy wink.

when the exaggerated, deep voice booms from the speakers, announcing you and toji as nominees and displaying the kiss scene on the vast plasma screen, the crowd grows crazy, chaotic almost - they’re screaming like they’re fucking dying. and that’s when you and toji both know you’ve got this in the bag.

you almost feel bad for the other nominees and at how the crowd essentially goes quiet at their scenes. oh well.

shoko and gojo are there to announce the winners.

“and the ‘best kiss’ goes to…” shoko trails off, building anticipation as gojo opens the card that states the award winner.

“ha! someone’s that’s gonna be cleaning up tonight.” gojo laughs “..toji fushiguro and _____!”

the audience began to shriek before they even got through toji’s whole name.

you and toji look at each other and smile, knowingly. knowing the shit you were both about to cause with what you’re about to do.

standing up languidly, toji places a hand on your back as you two stroll right up to the stage, the crowd deafening you at this point.

the steps lead to a double path in the stage and you and toji part ways temporarily, walking around to be opposite each other.

you unbutton your cardigan and let it drop to the floor, hearing whistles and cheers in the pools of crowds next to you, reaching their hands out and screaming your name.

toji begins fake stretching, jumping up and down like he is about to exercise and you giggle at his antics before making a serious face, gazing at him in mock seduction.

he begins striding towards you across the length of the stage, making a ‘come here’ with a long, thick fingers. and you’re like a magnet, rushing towards him, the audience rising in volume as you two grow closer together.

and then you’re jumping up on him, wrapping your legs around his waist as his roughly smashes his lips onto yours and shoves his tongue into your mouth. you accept it, gleeful with his actions, knowing that people will not stop talking about this moment for weeks.

your hands are tugging at his hair and his large hands cup your ass as you both make the fuck out in front of sea of people, who are now louder than you even thought was possible.

toji bites your bottom lip, sucking gently, before finally pulling away from a kiss that lasted what felt like an eternity.

realising what has just transpired, even though you both planned this, you feel embarrassed. you cover you hot face as toji carried you to the podium, your ears ringing from the nonstop echo of the crowds cheers, jeers, whistles and screams.

toji sets you down on your feet and urges you to speak in the microphone. you huff and puff, not really wanting to talk after that…stunt you just pulled.

“toji!” you growl. “get up here!”

“alright, alright..” toji sighs, picking up the trophy of popcorn and holding it up. “i would just like to say…that it was my pleasure.”

his words make the fans go insane again, some members demanding an encore of that steamy kiss.

sighing, you take you trophy and toji places a sweet kiss on your temple. you both walk away side by side, leaving the chaos of the crowd behind as you go to walk backstage. toji reaches down and swings your fallen cardigan over his shoulder, smiling, clearly smug and satisfied with himself.

he looks down at you and you blink up at him, biting the inside of your cheek. you take in his tight, black top, shamelessly staring at his pecs and thick neck as you walk.

toji notices. and when you look him in the eye again, he winks.

a/n: anon what if i diedddd!!!!😩😩😩😩

#📫.toji #was gnna go to sleep but nah i had to do this #anon ily kisses ur brain #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji crack #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x y/n

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healmyhrt · 3 months

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ANGST MATT. Matt gets jealous. BOOM. THATS ALL I HAVE JELOUD MATT AND ANGST. YUHHHH !!!! DO WHATEVER YOU WILL WITH YHE STORY WE JUSR NEED ANGST😍😍😍😍

⌗ jealous, m. sturniolo

matt x fem!reader

summary: you get lost at a party, and another guy gets the wrong idea. your anxiety getting the best of you, you quickly leave the room to find matt, only for him to get jealous at what just happened.

disclaimers!: angst, kissing, use of y/n

a/n: this sucks

i had lost matt in crowds of people, and i was pretty tempted to just find a random ride home, but i wasn’t in the mood to possibly get killed tonight.

my phone chimes, and i squint at the screen, in hopes to get a better look at it. there was a text from matt that read, “where’d you go? im dying to get out of here, not rlly that fun anymore.”

that makes two of us.

i click the call button on his contact, and hear the phone begin to ring, and then stop. i quickly look at my screen, only to see a low battery symbol. “fuck!” i yell, making people near me give a confused look.

i run into a random room, and see a bunch of people getting high. i begin moving back towards the door, when a hand grabs my wrist. “stay a little, baby. what do you have to lose?”

i look back at the boy. he looked about my age, he had tan skin, brown eyes, and long, messy, brown hair that went to his shoulders. he manspreads in front of me, and i nervously sit on his lap.

no one really pays me a bit of mind, and just goes back to getting high. the boy hands me a gummy, and gives me a smile. i take it into my palm, slowly.

“how much?” i ask. he laughs in response, and hands me the bag. i read the text, and my eyes widen. “1500?!”

he places a hand on my shoulder, and shares a sweet smile. “don’t worry, you’re in good hands.” i nervously look back at the table, and everyone’s staring at me.

the boy under me, slowly moves his hand closer and closer to my inner thigh. im practically sweating my face off, as my anxiety gets the better of me.

i jump up off of the boys lap, and run out of the door. i hit someone’s chest, and look up to see matt. “oh, thank god!” i squeeze him tightly, and he hugs me back uncomfortably.

“hey, come back, baby.” the boy in the room says, laughing. matt raises an eyebrow at him, and i grasp his wrists, making him follow behind me.

“y/n, what the fuck was that? who is he?”

i keep pushing through crowds of people, until we make it outside. we’re almost to the car, when matt lets his wrists become free of me. “y/n, stop.”

i stand still for a moment, and turn around, staring at the pavement. “what was that? are you okay?”

matt walks closer to me, and slowly places his hand in mine. i grasp his hand tighter, interlocking our fingers. i look up, and softly press my lips against his.

matt pulls away quickly, and looks down at me. he gently grips my jaw, and makes me look directly at him.

“who was he?” he asks, enunciating every word.

i grab his wrist, and slowly remove his hand from my jaw, smiling. “jealous?” i turn around, and continue walking to the car. matt follows behind me, and i can almost hear the anger in his voice as he tries to remain calm.

“no…” he starts, “i mean, i shouldn’t be jealous, you aren’t even mine.” he tugs on his bottom lip.

i stop at the car, and begin to walk over to my side.

i lean against the car door, and matt stands in front of me, towering over me. “what’s that you said at the party last week?” i tease, “i own you?” i smile, mimicking his voice.

he places one arm against the car, next to my shoulder. matt leans in closer to me, eyes staring at my lips.

“fine.”

he stands up straight again, sighing. i move out of the way, and he opens the door for me.

the drive back is quiet, but had been broken many times by matt dramatically sighing.

“what?” i finally say, as we stop at a red light. he gives me an angry sigh, and clenches his jaw.

“no, say what you’ve been wanting to say for these last 40 something minutes. please, matt.” i spat out in a snarky tone.

he quickly turns to me. “i don’t know what you and that guy had going on up in that room, but it ends now.”

i look at him, my smile fading. “okay, matt.”

“im so fucking serious, y/n. you don’t know how much of what you do has an impact on me. all i’ve wanted was to be with you, and then i see you go and pull some stupid shit like that.” he looks back at the road.

“im sorry.” i shrink in my seat. matt stares at the road, as the light turns green. i slowly inch my hand closer and closer to his, and interlock our fingers again.

the rest of the ride is silent, until he pulls up outside of his house.

“still jealous?”

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #matt

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modmad · 5 months

Text

today's 'technology is in such a hell state now that I genuinely feel compelled to scream about it daily' moment was my trying to print and scan a document, with my printer/scanner (which, I must have you note, despite my pleading with the seller did not come with usb wire option available, and none of the others did).

Predictably, having been used on the day of purchase and not since, the printer did not work despite being less than 6 months old. Searching for why this could be led me down a rabbit hole that eventually resolved into how the print cartridges for this model just dry out and clog up if you don't use them every single week. you know. what a normal thing to happen. but don't worry! just soak the bottom in a shallow bath of warm water for 30 minutes dry it off and reinstall it that'll make it work

you what.

Anyway, it did work. I print the test sheet, boom, what should have worked before at least worked now. And there was Much Rejoicing.

alas. alas. how shortly lived it was.

Now I naturally move on to print the document, sign it, and scan the newly signed document. The document from my pc. With this printer/scanner which is sitting on a desk directly NEXT TO my pc.

Which. will not. connect to my pc.

I plead. I bargain. I follow the wizard twice, thrice, but it is a cruel wizard, a tormenter from the nether world. "Type in the IP address!" He taunts me, cackling maniacally as I do, weeping over my staggering fingers attempting to puzzle the code out of the 1 inch touch screen, numbers and dots jazzing into nonsense in my field of vision as I loose all comprehension of what the symbols mean. The printer cannot be found. The printer does not Exist. The printer, at this moment, the sole focus of my gaze, decides it is bored and goes to sleep, therefore ending the whole attempt of communicating with it just as the 938678th loading bar had reached its zenith and I, ever the hapless Sisyphus, watch my dignity flatten into a pancake of wordless, stark-eyed bewilderment verging on hysteria as my boulder crashes back down the hill as the wizard begins to drag me back to the beginning of his never ending Labrynth, to be eaten by and become the ouroboros yet again but no! I will not enter back! I shall bite down, break my scales, and end this cycle of tyrannous misery!

anyway that's why I ended up taking a shitty photo with my phone's camera and I'm doctoring it in CSPaint to look like I scanned it with the SCANNER THAT I AM ABOUT TO THROW OUT OF A SECOND STORY WINDOW

#I thought you said keys!#why the fuck would I say keys?!#anyway #HELL WORLD.#technology #im gonna actually explode lads it's gonna happen #this is my Joker moment #I've had several before I know but listen

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hanlimz · 4 months

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[midnight thoughts: jungwon + the sublime]

synopsis: after an arduous battle, jungwon isn't sure if he's going to make it, but he has to say something before he goes. pairing: yang jungwon x gn!reader genre/warnings: spiderwon!au, angst with happy ending / mentions of blood, discussions of death, overall angsty themes but no one actually dies!, lots of confessions of love, and weird inclusion of "the sublime" bc we talked abt it in my eng class, also NOT proofread :,) wc: ~2.4k (haha OOPS) a/n: heyyyy how yall doin :))))) this has been sitting in my drafts forEVER ... and i finished it at 1am b4 my first day of school so be warned for inconsistencies / i liked the first half of this drabble but the second half is not my fave ,, so sorry that i couldn't do you justice spiderwon

yang jungwon never believed in the concept of the sublime. that uncanny mixture of overwhelming fear and unsettling fascination never managed to make an impression on him. especially in his line of work, jungwon is firm in his notion of death: when the time comes, a vast blackness will consume him; the void will leech away his life, and he will cease to exist. there will be no theatrics, no white light, no booming voice or angel song—only a comforting emptiness welcoming him into the dark.

now, however, jungwon lies alone in a familiar back alley; the tips of his fingers are numb from the amount of blood he's lost, and he can hardly lift his head up from the brick wall it's resting on. the palms of his hands are stained a deep crimson as he attempts to stop the river of red spilling from his thigh. jungwon admires the eerily beautiful way in which the body lets go; glinting in the dim street lights, his wounds glitter like rubies in a summer sunset. at this point, succumbing to his injuries seems inevitable, and jungwon thinks there may be some truth to be found in sublimity.

but, he's not ready to die. not yet—not with so many things left undone, so many things left unsaid.

with the little strength he has left, jungwon reaches for his backpack hidden in the nook behind the dumpster. he pulls out his phone and dials a number number he knows by heart; his cold fingers fumble over the screen, and he curses his current lack of dexterity. eventually, though, the machine begins to ring. the sound grates on his ears as he waits with bated breath for you to pick up.

"hello?" you croak, your question laden with sleep, "who is it?"

a breathy chuckle escapes jungwon's lips. he had forgotten how late it was, how you mentioned earlier that you had a calulus exam tomorrow, and just how gorgeous you sounded when you were tired. "sorry, [y/n] ... didn't mean to wake you," jungwon sighs, "just wanted to hear your voice."

"won, seriously?" you scoff, "this couldn't have waited 'til tomorrow? i mean, it's—it's two in the morning ... i was literally just dreaming about acing that calc test."

a dopey grin fastens itself to jungwon's lips as he wills his eyes to stay open. if he falls asleep, he knows there's a possibility that he won't get back up; so, he indulges for a bit, listening to your fatigued grumbling and smiling like an idiot. "honestly, m'not sure if tomorrow's in my cards, [y/n]," he admits, trying to hide how labored his breaths are becoming, "'nd i jus' wanted to hear you one last time."

"yang jungwon, what the hell are you—" jungwon knows exactly when you realize he's in trouble. he knows exactly when you realize he's not messing with you. the abrupt pause, the hitch in your breath, the way you inhale through your teeth—it's almost too obvious. "oh fuck," you continue, "oh shit ... won, where are you? are you hurt? what can i do to help?"

jungwon coughs out a laugh, "'m in the alley off jackson ave, 'nd i think i've bled on every piece of old furniture back here, if that says anything."

your breathing is frantic. jungwon listens to the sound of rustling clothes and the occasional thud of your foot as it hits your bed frame. you're cursing and mumbling and unravelling at the seams, searching for whatever you can that might help you help jungwon. out loud, you go through a list: gauze, neosporin, saline.

"am i missing anything?" you ask, not expecting a response.

"bandages?" jungwon replies.

"bandages!" you exclaim, "i almost forgot the fucking bandages?" there's more noise on the other side of the phone, and jungwon doesn't let himself relax until he hears your window crack open. metal clangs as you rush down the fire escape; he wills the beating of his heart to match the tempo of your feet against the steps. jungwon wills himself to stay alive. and, it's almost as though you can read his mind through the phone. "don't you dare fall asleep, yang jungwon. talk to me about something—anything—just don't fall asleep."

he racks his brain for a topic of conversation; the nerves building in his stomach as he anticipates next week's orgo exam, the cat he rescued from a tree in queensbridge park earlier today, the new thai restaurant that opened up near his apartment building. options race through his mind, but all of jungwon's thoughts lead back to you.

"i love you," jungwon says, abrupt yet resolute.

"oh god." you suck in an incredulous gasp, "you're delirious. this is—"

"i'm not delirious," he interrupts, voice hauntingly clear. "i know what i'm saying. and, i'm saying that i love you, [y/n] [l/n]."

for a moment, the line crackles with a thick, viscous silence that seeps through the grainy static; it's heavy, almost too real, and jungwon listens to the sound of your shoes slamming against the pavement until you speak again. "okay," you sigh, something unreadable swimming behind your words, "keep talking to me, jungwon."

jungwon takes in a deep breath before speaking again. his whole body is cold now, and if it weren't for the weakness spreading throughout his veins, he's positive his teeth would be chattering. inhaling the concoction of gasoline fumes, freshly dumped trash, and frigid, autumn air, jungwon feels the chill of the reaper creeping up the length of his spine. its spindly fingers beckon him into that same darkness he was once so sure of, once so okay with. but, jungwon can't let himself give in to its temptation. after all, he has someone waiting for him.

"you give me this feeling," jungwon declares in an inexplicable moment of lucidity, "'nd i dunno how to explain it. it's—it's like ... i look at you, and you pull me in. an invisible string, maybe? fate? true love? i'm—i have no idea what to call it. you always make me want to know more, even though i've known you forever. since we were kids, [y/n]—i've felt like this for years. and, i'm sorry. i'm sorry for not telling you earlier, for not telling you when i told you about the whole spiderman thing.

"i'm such an idiot for making you worry. someone who loves you shouldn't do that to you, i shouldn't do that to you. and, god [y/n]—i love you so much. you're this force of nature, you know? drawing me in, even though it's dangerous. and, even though i'm terrified of what the consequences might be, i love you so much that i'm afraid to die without saying it at least once.

"i'm—i'm so sorry for being so stupid, because—" jungwon whispers with a shaky voice, teetering on the edge of consciousness, "i love you, [y/n]. i love you."

jungwon's hearing is fading in and out, and his vision is growing blurry; but, the sounds of your footsteps accompanied by the incessant drone of his phone keeps him from slipping into that overwhelming darkness. you take in a sharp breath, and his head lolls in your direction. jungwon's lips are molded into a mindless, faraway smile; his eyes are misted over, foggy with both pain and fatigue. he's not all there, but he still manages to be cheerful. it astounds you.

rushing over to begin applying all the first aid supplies you managed to stuff into your backpack. wound-wash, gauze, bandage, wound-wash, gauze, bandage, wound-wash gauze bandage, wound-washgauzebandage. the sheer amount of blood that has been leeched from his body makes you dizzy; your head is spinning as you try to calculate just how many pints would be equal to what you've just sopped up. glancing up at your best friend (crush? lover?) you see that his eyes have drooped shut. his skin is pallid, his lips are pale, his neck is craned at an awkward angle as it rests on his shoulder. and, your heart stops because you didn't get to say it back.

"no. no, no, no ... won—jungwon, wake up!" a storm brews in your stomach. it starts as a mellow rain pattering against the lining of your intestines, then becomes a raging tempest as it bubbles up and out of your throat. "please, please, please! i got here in time, i swear—i never cared about the stupid, fucking calc test! i cared about you, i care about you! and, i'm here now, so you can't leave. you can't leave me."

an inhuman shriek claws through your lips, ricocheting against the brick walls that seem to be caving in around you; the weight of the world crashes into your frail shoulders, threatening to crush you. as you inch even closer to jungwon's shrouded figure, your pants are soaked through with a crude mixture of blood and rainwater. you reach out for him and cup his cheek with a trembling hand, and part of you swears his skin is still warm to the touch.

but, hope has no place here.

instead, you cradle his head and heave his body to rest against yours. he is astonishingly heavy; you can feel his muscles ripple beneath the tips of your fingers, but you're already convinced. your best friend is dead. slowly, the cement will absorb his heat, and he will grow cold. as the morning draws nigh, you will be forced to put his mask back on and leave him for someone else to find. then, the news articles will pour in, and the city will have stolen not only his life, but his death as well. tears are wetting his scalp as you bury your nose into his sweat-caked hair. you're gripping at his suit so hard you think the threads might snap, and the throbbing in your head is nothing compared to the agony in your heart.

the wailing doesn't stop until, in your peripherals, you see his finger twitch. sucking a staggering breath through his nose, jungwon cracks open a tired eye to gaze up at you. "i would—" he coughs out with a wince, "i would never leave you."

in your stupor, his voice doesn't register first. his mouth moves, but no sound escapes him; then, the words play over again in your mind while his lips remain closed. seconds melt into minutes, and you float away from your body. a numbness overtakes you as you stare at the scene before you from about five feet away; your fingers are still clutching at the suit fibers, the pajamas you chose earlier tonight are now saturated with blood, and jungwon is breathing. jungwon is breathing. jungwon is breathing.

snapping back into yourself, you place a weak hand on his chest. steadily, certainly—it rises and falls; the beating of his heart, though shallow and slow, thrums beneath your palm. shifting your stare to his face, you are greeted once again by a familiar, wry smile. jungwon is alive. despite all odds, the boy you love is alive; and, try as you might, you can't really help yourself.

"[y/n]?" he croaks, quirking the eyebrow above his less swollen eye, "can you hear—"

"i love you, too."

the utterance dangles precariously in the frigid midnight air. jungwon's lack of response causes your stomach to churn until he relexes further into your frame, huffing out a pained laugh. he lets himself rest for a moment, relishing in the warmth he manages to leech from your skin. "it wasn't ... wasn't supp—supposed to happen like this, you know?" jungwon protests, voice catching on his fatigue and discomfort. "i ... had everything planned—planned out."

"won, you don't—"

baring his teeth, he lifts a hand to hold the one you kept on his chest and barrels through your objection. "i was gonna take you to the met ... gonna take you for a pic—a picnic in central park." jungwon sputters, pressing his forehead against your upper arm, "then, we would swing ... back to your apartment. 'nd, i was gonna tell—tell you. tell you about how i feel."

still supporting his neck with your arm, you move to take his face in your palm once more. jungwon's gaze is sharper than it was just minutes ago—more focused, more alert. the emotions swirling in those deep pools of raw umber are more multitudinous than the stars they reflect. gratitude, torment, joy, defeat, love. bridging the gap that had separated the two of you for so long, you stop just shy of his lips. a dynamic heat emanates from them; jungwon is practically vibrating under your touch, living and breathing.

"are you okay?" you ask, "is this okay?"

jungwon answers by pushing himself up—closing the distance, sharing your breath, connecting your souls. salt and iron dance on his tongue as your tears mingle with his blood. it's a hypnotizing concoction—one that threatens to send him reeling, one that threatens to have him spinning out with no hope of return. fireworks explode behind his eyelids, a myriad of bright reds and vibrant oranges blinds him, and jungwon uses what is left of his strength to grip your wrist; he grounds himself and allows his lungs to burn as he breathes you in.

after a while, however, your parting is instinctual as the lack of oxygen forces you apart—two bodies trying to preserve themselves long enough to meet again. with a labored sigh, jungwon slumps backwards and tucks his chin to catch your gaze. in that moment, he finds himself frozen; his essence is suspended motionless, positively bewitched by you. in the silence, where all he can sense is you, jungwon embraces the ever-present warmth that has flourished within him. it floods his being with a terrifyingly powerful adoration for you. it is nothing like he has ever felt before, and though he is brave enough to confess, this extent of his love for you—it scares him.

however, as your skin glows in the light of the moon and your eyes pool with the desire for a future with him, jungwon digs his feet in and roots your love deep within his heart. he refuses to let this fear grow in its place; instead, he vows to nurture it, to care for it, to protect it. as he lies in your arms, jungwon rejects the sublime once more and chooses for himself.

"i love you, [y/n]," he whispers into your palm.

the world seems to go quiet as it listens for your response.

"i love you, too, jungwon."

#enhypen fluff #enha fluff #jungwon fluff #enhypen headcanons #; — cass writes: jungwon #enhypen #jungwon headcanons #jungwon imagines #jungwon reactions #enha scenarios #enha imagines #enha angst #enhypen angst #enha x reader #jungwon x reader

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spiderlandry · 6 months

Text

connect — ethan landry

Description: Ethan is enamoured with the girl who beats him during a college trivia night.

Pairing: Ethan Landry x F!Reader (she/her pronouns, reader is referred to as a girl)

Warnings/Tags: non-gf ethan, fluff, probably super corny (you have been warned.)

Word Count: 3k

Author’s Note: the trivia is based off an episode of only connect. for the record, i’m not british i just love that show

There aren’t many things in college that really matter to Ethan besides his grades. Sure, he has his friends—but they understand his incessant need to excel in academics once he opened up about his aspirations, which more often than not have him holed up in the apartment he shares with his longtime roommate, Chad. They’ve been roommates since freshman year in the dorms, and Chad said he didn’t want anyone else to be his roommate, so they decided to rent an apartment for junior year. Being a good roommate is third in the list of important things.

However, the thing that takes second place is something that his friends don’t understand. It’s the annual trivia competition held by Blackmore’s Honor Students Society. Particularly, one held by the STEM students. This tradition, having existed since the society was founded, has been a loved custom.

Spanning three days, the winner gets a donation to a charity of their choice under their name at the end. It’s been vital for frats and sororities to win because of the reputation points earned for their society, but Ethan is not part of one; yet he still wants to win.

Often, he gets teased by Chad and Mindy while he prepares for the upcoming few days. But he lets them, knowing they’d agree to be his teammates like they always do. His team during the first part—the trivia bowl—has always consisted of him, Chad, Mindy, Anika, and Tara. They switch out teammates for different categories. It has worked all these years, there’s no reason for it not to work again.

Well, he’d be proven wrong this time.

The first day is by far the most difficult due to the amount of people participating: twelve teams.

The lecture hall is alight with excitement, nerves running through the crowd as the host gets on the stage. Ethan being the team captain, he sits in the middle with Chad and Anika on his left, Mindy and Tara on his right.

(After some trial and error, it was best Chad and Mindy didn’t get to sit together because of their banter, and if the arrangement was Mindy with Anika and Chad with Tara, it’s just Ethan fifth-wheeling.)

“Who’s ready to rumble?!” The host shouts, the boom of the microphone travelling around the room. They cheer in anticipation. “Alright! I’ll explain the rules for the quiz bowl, then we’ll get to introducing our teams.

“For this first day, we’ll play connections—the goal is for your team to find the connection between the clues we put on the screen,” he points to the big projector screen. “For the first ten seconds, there will be two clues. After that, the other two clues will be shown and there are fifteen seconds for your team to figure it out.

“The clues will get harder as it goes on. Every team has a bell, whoever dings first gets to answer. Now! Let’s get to introducing! From the front of the room, you—“ he points.

Chad speaks for the team, “We are the Fab Five, and we’ve got a champion with us.” He half jokes, shaking Ethan by the shoulders.

The host chuckles, “That’s right. Certainly a legend, Ethan Landry, who’s won the past two years. Think you can keep your streak?”

Ethan, confidently nodding, “Absolutely.”

Every other team introduces themselves. Nobody stands out, at least not for now. There are only some familiar faces to Ethan and that’s it.

It’s not until about halfway through the game, during a question that Ethan realizes he may have actual competition. Of course, he’s been confident throughout the past hour, his team in the lead with the most points, but there’s a close runner-up that answers from across the room.

The screen reads:

Audio CDs. Details of The Budget.

The silence in the room is cut with a familiar ding. Ethan looks to the source, spotting the one person who seemed to have an edge over his entire team. You.

“Red books,” You answer.

God, who are you? Ethan thinks. He shakes his head—he has to get it together. His strategy has been to focus on his team only, and he can’t stray from that now. His brows furrow when the host says you’re correct.

“This has been interesting,” the host smiles, “The Fab Five has tied with the Three Fates.”

Ethan looks closer, and indeed, there are only three people on your team.

You don’t seem to pay him any mind.

So the game continues.

Aqua Regis. Aqua Fortis.

“Alchemist names for acids,” Ethan answers.

Oscar Niemeyer, Brasilia. Charles Barry, London.

“Architects of parliaments,” you chime.

Meanwhile, his friends can definitely sense the nervousness radiating off Ethan. He isn’t usually concerned with staying first place, but he keeps sneaking glances to your position in the room and they’re beginning to think it’s not just about trivia.

All in all, their team still stays in the lead with two points ahead of yours.

The second day.

The host welcomes everyone back into the room, a few less people than yesterday. He leans against the podium, grinning as your team and Ethan’s are forced closer together, tables next to each other.

“The teams have been cut down to the top four who earned the most points yesterday,” he explains. “The other teams are invited to come watch, as well as anyone else interested as the game finally gets interesting.

“For the next hour, you’ll play sequences. The goal is to predict the fourth in a sequence—if you predict it with less clues on the screen, you get more points. Two seconds in between each clue. No need for introductions, let’s do it!”

Fear.

Surprise.

Ethan rings the bell. “Devotion to the Pope.”

“Three points to the Fab Five. Next!”

Observation.

Statement.

“Testing.” You answer.

“Three points to the Three Fates, well done.”

It goes on like that, with the other two teams occasionally answering. But mainly it’s just either yours or his that answers.

A game of cat and mouse. It gets under Ethan’s skin, the way you easily answer the questions while laying back in your chair all the while Ethan is probably bouncing off his seat.

Amidst the chaos inside his own head, a jumble of questions and answers, there’s something about you that stands out. In his own circles, he’d never seen or heard about you. Though Blackmore was a big college, the amount of STEM honors students they had was relatively small, with the university being known for its film programs. He needed to know who you are.

The game is over before he knows it.

Hours later, thinking about his choices and zoning out, his train of thought is interrupted by an object being hurled at his head.

“You okay?” Chad throws a pillow at Ethan, who is sitting on the couch. He catches it last second.

“Why?” Ethan hugs the pillow close to his chest as his roommate gets something from the kitchen.

“You just seemed fidgety today. At the trivia thing.”

Even after knowing Chad all these years, it surprises him that he notices.

“No, yeah. I’m fine. Nobody’s just come close like that before.”

“Well, Y/N’s smart.”

Ethan’s interest piques. “You know her?”

“Yeah. I met her at a party, last semester. She just transferred here. She was drunk, going off to me about this new thing they discovered in physics.”

“Oh,” is all he can say.

“What, are you nervous?”

“Why would I be nervous?”

“Tomorrow’s the big day. You’re gonna have to face her without us.”

“Shit.” He sighs. He was so caught up in beating you that he’d forgotten the last part of the challenge. He has to face you individually with other teams watching to see who gets the winning prize.

“You guys would get along, I think.”

“Are you kidding? She’s getting on my nerves.”

Chad tilts his head, akin to that of a confused puppy. “I don’t think you know the real reason, bud.”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying!” He shrugs. “She’s very pretty.”

And as his (infuriating) roommate walks away, Ethan can’t help but silently agree.

A few continuous buzzes from Ethan’s phone is what finally takes him out of a studying session. Picking up the device, the screen reads:

Quinn

can you come pick up ur notes

He groans. The sun had taken its place above, a contrast to when it was just dawn as he woke up to study for the final part of the quiz. It was probably a good idea to go outside, though.

On the steps of the Carpenter/Quinn residence, he taps his foot against the welcome mat impatiently.

The door swings open.

Here’s the thing: With the three people living in this apartment, it was a common occurrence for friends to be over. Tara’s got a big group that she knows, Sam has coworkers over, often Danny even opens the door or one of Quinn’s flings.

But out of all the possibilities, the last person in his mind to open the door is you.

Ethan’s smile drops, and you seem to notice it. “Oh, sorry.” You stand aside to let him in, yet he doesn’t move an inch. “Who are you looking for? You’re Ethan, right? Chad’s roommate?“

Just then, Tara’s voice booms from the other room. “Come in, Ethan!”

One second under your scrutinizing gaze is enough to make him stumble into the apartment, and he’s sure he can feel your stare burning the back of his head as he rushes to Quinn’s room.

He closes his sister’s door with a slam, making her jump. “What’s your problem, asshole?” She turns from her spot on the bed, facing him.

It takes a minute for him to catch his breath. “My problem? I should be asking you that!” He’s careful not to be too loud, his words coming out more as a whisper. “Why would you ask me to come here?”

“To pick up your notes? I told you.”

“No that—” He shakes his head, “That Y/N is here. Didn’t I tell you about that girl from trivia?”

“The one you have a crush on?” She laughs. “So? She’s friends with Tara.”

“Friends with—” His head tilts to rest against the wall. “You didn’t tell me she was here.”

“…I did. Didn’t you read my texts?”

Texts. As in plural. He fully opens his phone into the app, and lo and behold, the texts are there.

Quinn

the girl you have a crush on is here lol

where have u been

can you come pick up ur notes

She laughs even harder when she realizes his mistake.

“Please shut up, Quinn.”

“Why don’t you just talk to her? She’s nice!”

“Keep it down.”

“Fine,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “Your notes are on my desk.”

He picks them up and turns to leave, however not without an additional comment from his sister.

“I promise you won’t regret talking to her.”

He only grumbles, walking out. He has to face you again, though he’s sure if he’s fast enough he can avoid you.

Nope. Totally wrong.

You stop him before he exits the apartment, he shoots a stern look to Tara in the background when she audibly holds back a snicker.

“Hey, you.” You nod to him. “You’re my competition.”

He finally faces you. His eyes scan your expression, treading lightly as to not get lost in your eyes. “I am.”

You flash him a devilish smirk, “You think you’ll win?”

“I know I will.” He quips back, slowly gaining confidence. You slide in front of him, opening the door to let him out.

“See you tonight?”

“Good luck,” he smiles. “You’ll need it.”

Unbeknownst to him, it was Tara who invited you over just to psych him out. And it worked.

“The final day of this competition,” The host speaks to the crowd consisting of the teams who competed. “It’s been a close race between the Three Fates and the Fab Five.

“Per our tradition, the team captain of the two leading teams are to face off each other in a timed game of missing vowels.

“On my right is Ethan Landry, team captain of the Fab Five with twenty-two points,” He reads off an index card. “He’s an honors statistics major, in his third year here at Blackmore. On my left is Y/N Y/L/N, team captain of the Three Fates who have twenty, she is a double major on linguistics and anthropology. She recently transferred here from Rutgers University.“

The audience cheers. You and Ethan stare at each other intensely, like you can see straight through his soul.

“The objective of this game is to fill in the missing vowels of what’s on the screen. You’ll be given a category, the first one being endangered mammals. Thirty minutes on the clock, use your bell to answer, and best of luck. Time starts now.”

FRC NLPH NT

Your bell goes off before he can even think, “African Elephant.”

You have an advantage, he realizes. But he studied.

BLC KRH NCR S

“Black rhinoceros,” Ethan answers. You smirk—for a second he’s thinking if you hadn’t answered on purpose.

The game is back and forth.

RN GTN

“Orangutan.”

BC TRNC ML

“Bactrian Camel.”

He can feel the audience’s eyes jumping between him and you, and besides either of your voices and the host moving onto the next category, the room is unusually quiet. It’s not like any other year, he should have worked harder.

It does not help that you’re gorgeous, but it takes all of his willpower not to get distracted by your frustratingly enchanting smile and the crinkle of your eyes when you beat him—

You beat him, and he lost.

“Time’s up!” The man announces, and he meets you halfway on the stage to shake your hand.

“There’s always next year, man.” Chad pats him on the back pitifully, though he knows it’s out of kindness. “Look who’s coming,” His roommate gestures to behind him. He turns around, and of course you’re there.

Ethan can see your group exiting the room, and he can sense his group leaving, too. It’s just you and him now.

“You did well,” you say. And to his chagrin, it really does sound like you mean it. “Wanna get a milkshake?”

He tries not to show surprise. “With me?”

“The least I can do,” you nod.

“Lead the way.”

He hopes you don’t notice the beads of sweat on his forehead.

He can’t help but feel slightly guilty when you pay for his drink. Slightly. You did beat him.

Expecting to separate from you after that, he moves to leave but you catch his wrist. “Where are you going?” There’s a laugh brewing, but you hold it back.

“I’m—“ He pauses. “I thought—“

Thankfully, you get him. “No, I wanted to talk to you. Come on, I know a spot.”

The cold drink in his hand is surely a good distraction. He follows you into a small academic building, and you start making small talk with him. He really doesn’t mind, not when it’s you.

“Where are we going?” He finally questions when you lead him to a set of stairs.

“Rooftop,” you reply when you both reach the top.

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Illegal?” You open the door, ushering him outside as you follow.

The sunset is the first thing he sees. He’s drawn to it, staring in awe. Various pink and orange hues paint the sky.

“It’s not illegal,” you pipe up. “Blackmore just doesn’t allow it. It’s a liability.”

He knows that, though. “So how did you get us up here?”

“That’s for me to know.”

He mirrors your grin. “Come on, tell me.”

“Maybe one day.”

The implication of a deeper friendship with you makes his heart soar. Or something more than that.

“What does the competition mean to you? Do you just like the bragging rights?”

His brows furrow. “I don’t know,” he shrugs. That’s a lie, he knows. “I donate the money to this animal shelter where I got my childhood dog.”

It’s a moment of honesty that is unexpected, even for him.

“What’s the shelter?”

“Why?”

“So I can donate it under your name.”

Hm? “What?”

You chuckle, “I like your reason. It’s nice.”

“But you won.”

“And I get to decide,” you say.

He can’t really argue with that. So he does the next best thing, “We can do it under both our names. You keep the bragging rights.”

“What makes you think I want it?”

“You were teasing me!” He bickers.

You go back and forth again, this time without any prying eyes. You stay talking until your milkshakes are done, even more after that. The sun has almost gone down, with only a little bit of light left.

When it’s time to leave, though, neither of you want to. It’s an invisible string.

“Just text me the name of the shelter.”

“Text—“ he starts, “I don’t have your number.”

You raise your brows, as if asking something. “Well?”

Getting the hint, “…Can I have your number?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

#ethan landry x reader #ethan landry #scream 6 #scream 6 x reader #scream vi #scream #scream x reader #ethan landry fluff

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