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mywrittings · 2 years

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destiny / geralt of rivia

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: Staying at Kaer Morhen was an unexpected event in your life. After getting a room assigned you realize the room actually belongs to someone whom you'd often see by chance... or because of destiny?

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 4.5k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: 18+ ONLY! dirty talk, kissing, pussy eating, handjob, riding him, him fucking you... basically smut

a/n: hello everyone! I have been writing this for a while now but I have finally finished it! This story has a lot more dialogue and I hope you don't mind that. Also for anyone that is still waiting for my next chapter of lust series, it's coming! I am still in the process of writing it. Anyways hope you like reading this one!

Vesemir had called up on you to come stay at the Kaer Morhen for a while. Since it was winter time most of the witchers returned to this place to refuel and relax, your job was to keep the order and help with making elixirs. It was a sudden decision from Vesemir, an emergency to be precise. With many more blood hungry monsters, he wanted to make sure that all the right elixirs would be ready by the time winter is over, so naturally you were the best mage that knew how to make them without needing any recipes.

He showed you to your room where you would be staying for the next upcoming weeks. All the rooms at this place seemed the same but for some reason this one was way bigger than the rest. It had a lovely window that overlooked the training station outside, a large bed that looked comfortable, a fireplace to keep you warm and a small wardrobe. It almost felt like this room did not belong to Kaer Morhen but rather an inn.

‘’Get some rest, tomorrow I’ll tell you what you’ll need to do.’’ Vesemir said his goodbyes to you as he closed the door behind him

You had a long journey ahead of you today as you also made some stops in between, hence why your muscles were aching. You were desperate for a bath but weren’t so sure where you could find one. Also since it was winter outside, the weather completely changed. Snow took over the entire property, the leaves fell off the trees and the once green grass was covered in its entirety.

Stepping out of the room you walked along the many hallways that lead to different rooms while others lead to other rooms that had equipment. With each door you opened you kept getting more and more upset - there was nothing. All there was, was just a bunch of random stuff that didn’t really have a place or a pile of junk.

Feeling even more devastated than before you decided to return back to your room. The night by now has fallen, as the lamps lit up the place, making it feel more cozy. The chatter coming from downstairs was still up and about. After all it was the first day, when most witchers returned to their home, so it was only fitting for them to catch up with one another.

As you open the door to your room you suddenly scream out loud, while covering your eyes.

‘’What are you doing in my room?!’’ you exclaim at the figure that was standing by the bed, with their shirt off

‘’Your room? This is my-...’’ and in that moment you recognize his voice as he does yours

‘’Geralt?’’ you put your hands down but still keep your eyes closed shut

‘’What on earth are you doing here?’’ Geralt asks as you hear him make a step

When it comes to Geralt, you very well knew who he was. The greatest witcher of all times. The best hunter for monsters. Most of the time alone or accompanied by his friend Roach. He always did what he had to do and he did it perfectly.

But when it comes to you two, often your destinies would collide with one another and whenever you’d see each other, there would be tension between you too. You've always thought you did something to him since he gave you the strangest look when you first met. As a result, you automatically did the same to him.

‘’Just put on a shirt first!’’ you extend your arms out, as a way to prevent him for coming further even though he only made a step to turn to you

‘’Why would I? You are in my room, you barged in here.’’ he argues back and you hear the shirt shuffling in his hands

‘’Excuse me?,’’ you let your hands down ‘’Vesemir had told me this was my room while I’m staying here.’’ you point to the ground as you hear Geralt snicker

‘’Staying? Are you staying here?’’

‘’Yes? Did you not see my stuff I put in the wardrobe?’’ your eyes were still closed shut as you hear the door of the closet creak open

‘’Why are you here?’’ he asks, closing the wardrobe ‘’And also you can open your eyes, it’s not like I had my-...’’

‘’Okay!’’ you squeal quickly, opening your eyes to see Geralt wearing a black linen shirt that was tucked in his pants

‘’Do you mind leaving now?’’ you gesture to the door

‘’No? It’s my room.’’

You really did not have the time to argue with him but you did not wish to give up the room under any circumstances. If this was someone else asking for their room you’d give in already but since it was Geralt that was off limits.

‘’Geralt, I do not care if this was your room it’s mine now.’’ you point to yourself

Geralt huffs in annoyance, throwing his head back as his hands were on his hips. You now understood why this bedroom was his. He was the best witcher out there so I guess it was only fair to give him best of the best, as he caught many monsters and dealt with different quests. But you knew how other rooms there were. Most had a small bed with no fireplace and there were even rats around as nobody really took care of that.

‘’Then we share it.’’ he suggests and your eyes open wide

‘’Share it?’’ you were in disbelief that he even said that

‘’I’m afraid all the other rooms are occupied.’’ as he says that you peek your head out to the hallway and notice that sure indeed all the rooms were full as light came from each of them under the door

When the winter comes around all the witchers return back to this place to have some rest as there aren’t many monsters at this time. And when they do return this place is full of chatter, laughter and them sharing stories among one another. But you did not understand why Vesemir gave you this room if he knew it was Geralts.

‘’Can’t you sleep somewhere else? You could share a room with another witcher?’’ you look back at him as he gestures ‘no’ with his head and that’s when you thought that maybe it was unfair of you to just kick him out of his room that he earned fighting along many different creatures. However you were still going to stay in this room no matter what.

‘’Fine but what about the bed?’’

‘’I’ll take the floor.’’ he answers as he rushes past you out of the room

You watch him leave unsure as to where he was headed but in the meantime you decide to get ready for the bed. You took the duvet off and quickly jumped in, tucking yourself in afraid he was going to change his mind.

Soon Geralt was back in the room with a pillow, a duvet and a fluffy carpet. He closes the door before throwing everything he held on the ground. The carpet he placed on the floor which you realized it was for him to lay down but given the fact he was tall and bulky, the carpet practically disappeared underneath him. You watch him fiddle with the pillow and the duvet, tossing it one way and another, he was getting frustrated.

‘’Geralt.’’ you call to him and at first he doesn’t acknowledge your voice

‘’Geralt.’’ this time you said it louder and finally grab his attention

He whips his head and pierces his eyes into yours. You knew this wasn’t a way for him to sleep, especially because you did not know how long you were going to stay here. It was weird as you had some pity for him but then despised him, still you knew how hard they work and how desperately they need their sleep to recharge for the next season.

‘’We can share the bed.’’ you offer as you scoot over to one side and he just looks at you confused

‘’Just a few minutes ago you didn’t wish to share a room with me and now you want to share the bed?’’

‘’I do not have time to bicker, take this side of the bed or have fun sleeping on the creaky wooden floor.’’ you turn your back to him, taking half of the duvet covering your body in it

For a second there it was quiet, there wasn’t a single sound to be heard until the floor slowly creaked from behind you. A ‘Hmm’ left Geralt’s mouth before you felt the bed dip, the weight of the bed shifts as the other part of the duvet is being thrown to you.

‘’I got mine.’’ he shortly says as you hear his covers shuffling before he settles in the comfort of the bed

The setting was strange, sharing a bad with someone you did not like. Every little move he would make with his body the bed would creak but that didn’t bother you as the weight of your eyes took over you and you fell asleep.

Somewhere in the middle of the night you began tossing and turning as you were starting to get cold. The fire in the fireplace burnt out and the room suddenly changed temperatures. The duvet wasn’t doing you any justice as well at that point. Your body was freezing underneath it and because of that you were unable to sleep even though you were exhausted. But you weren’t the only one that couldn’t shut their eyes.

‘’When do you think you’ll stop?’’ you hear Geralt’s raspy voice

‘’When I get warm.’’ you didn’t even turn around to him, instead just mumble that under your breath. You wanted to start the fire in the fireplace but you didn’t have the will to get up and get even colder so instead you decided to shut your eyes and tried not to think about the coldness and eventually the sleep took over you.

Some point a little later in the night you had to switch sides and you had completely forgotten that you were sharing a bed with Geralt. It wasn’t until you opened your eyes slowly to find his yellow golden gaze staring at you. He didn’t say anything once the two of you met each other's gazes and suddenly the only thing you could hear in the room was you two breathing.

‘’Why are you looking at me?’’ you whisper, as your eyes were half open now, holding onto the duvet in your hands

‘’You are the total opposite when you sleep.’’ he remarks in his low voice

‘’What do you mean?’’

‘’You don’t say much. You’re quiet.’’ Geralt said while you narrow your eyebrows at him

‘’Fuck you.’’ you lift your head off the pillow as you say that, Geralt just snickers back at you

‘’Such pretty lips saying all that filth.’’ he all of the sudden says and you widen your eyes at him. His were fully focused on you now, wavering around your eyes to your lips. You could feel your heart beating faster and faster and you weren’t sure why you were having these thoughts.

‘’Huh?’’

Geralt quickly closes the distance and places his lips on yours. It was such a gentle kiss, without any strong pressure. He let his lips remain on top of yours for a few seconds whilst you closed your eyes, unsure how to respond.

His lips leave yours before he returns, significantly stronger this time as he removes his hand from beneath the covers and softly places his thumb beneath your chin. You now respond by spreading your lips as he leans in and you kiss him back.

He moves himself closer to you as his hand begins traveling down from your face to the back of your head before pausing at your lower back. You too took your hands from beneath the covers and delicately touched his face with your fingertips. You could feel his rough skin along with his stubble he had not shaved. His hair tickled at your skin once he deepened the kiss by slipping his tongue in your mouth evoking a moan out of you. His tongue danced with yours, every now and then he’d pull away just to kiss you again before going back in to bite on your bottom lip, everything was becoming more heated.

‘’Geralt…’’

‘’Yes?’’

‘’What are we doing?’’ you confusingly ask once you two stopped kissing

‘’Kissing each other.’’ he replies, as his thumb traced your lips

‘’But I hate you.’’

‘’Oh you do? Show me how much you hate me then.’’ he says quietly, his eyes were yearning for more you and the desire inside of you, it was like a spark that was waiting for a while before it ignited, that’s when you swiftly remove the duvet and straddle him

Your legs were on the side of him and he immediately put his hands on your hips. But first he assists you in removing your dress as you help him get rid of his linen shirt. Your breathing hitched once you felt something hard underneath you, poking at you but it felt good. You lower yourself to him, just inches away from his lips hovering over.

‘’Kiss me.’’ he orders before you close the gap and kiss him hard. Geralt’s hands came back at your hips, aiding you to move and you felt your pussy getting increasingly wetter and wetter each time you’d feel his cock twitch underneath you

"For someone that was visibly annoyed by me, your hard cock is saying otherwise." you add in between kisses.

That’s when he backs up and within seconds he moves you away from himself. He gets out of bed but turns around to face you, his knees slamming into the bed frame. His massive cock jumps out as he quickly takes his pants down. As you were on your knees, staring up at him, he drew you closer and grips your neck.

‘’Open your mouth.’’ he urges and you don’t even think twice because you wanted him, you needed to taste him in your mouth and you didn’t care about anything else

You do as he says and he shoves his cock in your mouth, while keeping his hand on your neck.

‘’That’s more like it you fucking cunt. Got you all quiet now huh?’’ his dirty talk had your pussy throbbing and you wanted so badly to touch yourself but Geralt had a different idea

‘’Put your hands behind your back.’’ he instructs, eyes watching you as you keep taking him in your mouth

Geralt began moving his hips back and forth, as you bobbed your head to the pace he was instructing. Your eyes were looking directly at him as he threw his head back once he placed his hand to the top of your head.

‘’You take this cock so fucking good,’’ he growls as he takes his dick out of your mouth ‘’stick your tounge out.’’ you obey him as he slaps his dick on your tongue, repeatedly before putting it back in your mouth

He was fucking your mouth, his head went back once he pushed it all the way and that caught you off guard. Your entire body was in a state of euphoria, that feeling of him completely within your mouth was driving you mad. You loved his taste.

‘’Fuck, that feels so good.’’ he purrs as he takes his cock out and a trail of saliva comes out of your mouth. Your lips were red, swollen from how much he pounded his dick in your mouth.

His face lowers to you and he crushes his lips on yours while making sounds. He tugs and licks at your lips, his hand resting on your face and you couldn’t keep your hands away from him. You had to touch him. So you tug at his hair as your other hand pulls him closer, causing him to collapse on top of you. He didn’t seem to mind that as he began slowly grinding on your pussy.

‘’Look how fucking wet you are cunt.’’ he says mid between kissing you as you feel his hard cock, grazing over your wet pussy. Both of your hands were now in his hair, his were at the either side of your body, holding himself up as his cock was drenching in your juices.

‘’Geralt…’’ you mutter his name

‘’Mmm, yes princess?’’ you feel his finger on your pussy and you jolt in your place

‘’What did you want hm?’’ he asks, his voice so sinful, wishing you to have more of him but you couldn’t make up any words. It was difficult to talk while he was playing with you, a cocky expression on his face knowing he had every inch of you he desired.

‘’You need to tell me princess, so I know what I need to do to make you feel good.’’ he leaves a trail of wet kisses along your jawline as your eyes roll back from the feeling

‘’I…I want your…’’ you gulp and lick your lips as Geralt watches you with hungry eyes ‘’I want your mouth on my pussy.’’ you finally croak out and he kisses your lips before going down to your legs.

‘’You want me to lick your pussy?’’ he opens your legs further apart, getting access to your exposed dripping cunt. His arms wrap around your legs holding you in place before dipping his head and licking a strip up your pussy.

‘’Like this?’’

You nod as he snickers and goes back in, flicking his tongue repeatedly, up and down in any direction he could think off. His tongue was velvety making you fill up with pleasure. He looked so handsome this way, the window from the roof was shining just enough on him, outlining his back and arm muscles. His hair was falling at his face and his eyes would occasionally peek up at you.

As you glance further down his body you could see his hard cock, jerking every time you’d moan or call his name. Just thinking about him being inside you made your body melt, you felt tingles from your spine traveling throughout your body.

Geralt seemed to take notice of your eyes as he smiled in your pussy ‘’Do you want something else, I can give it to you.’’ he removes his tongue off of your cunt and retrieves his body back to yours, as he licks his fingers before locking his lips back to yours.

‘’Yes.’’ you whisper, unable to control yourself

‘’Do you want my cock?’’ he says as he glances down and reaches for his cock, taunting you with his tip at your pussy

‘’Yes.’’ you were pleading by this point now

‘’Do you want me to fuck you?’’

You bit at your lower lip, he was driving you insane. His tip alone was enough to make your brain dizzy, let alone his deep voice, which sent shivers down your body every time he talked to you dirty.

Finally you nod and he pulls you closer to him as he enters you, slowly at first, filling your insides. He was big, you could feel every bit of him, stretching out your walls. You gasp out loud, your back arching, clutching at the sheets as Geralt muffles your sounds by kissing you.

‘’Shit. Such a tight little pussy huh?’’ he asks, as he moves in and out of you. You were clenching around him, he knew where to find the right spot, your moans were the response to his movements.

The room was filled with sweat, moans and Geralt’s grunts as he began moving faster. He leaves your lips and grabs at your legs, placing them around himself as he was on his knees. As he’s holding at your legs, he keeps going faster and faster. His body was glistening with his sweat, his perfect v-line flowing down to his cock, while he pummeled into you, flinging his head back.

You were still grasping at the sheets, closing your eyes in between, nobody has ever made you feel this good. You could feel your pussy pulsing from his cock around your walls, his cock fit perfectly in you.

‘’Come here.’’ he suddenly says as he pulls you to himself and smother’s your face with his lips. He was kissing you all over your face, his tongue was licking at your cheeks, it’s like he wanted to devour you from head to toe - you tasted sweet to him.

Geralt then lays down on the bed and has your back facing him. He helps you as he eases you onto cock,holding you and fucking you again. Your hands were trying to support you but because of him you didn’t need to do so. You didn’t mind this position, the only issue is that you couldn’t see him and the sight of him in this state made you wet all over again.

He leans you back into him, your back now colliding with his chest as his head pops across your left side, where he turns your head and kisses your lips. His lips were hot, as he sucked and pulled at them. His hand slithers down your body to your pussy. You had no idea it would make you feel even better, but it did. He began circling around it, driving you insane.

‘’Geralt…fuck.’’ you moan unable to control yourself

‘’Only I can fuck this pussy, you understand?’’

‘’Mhm…’’

‘’Say it.’’ he demands as he kisses you again

‘’Only you can fuck this pussy Geralt.’’ you repeat and he smiles into the kiss

‘’Make me cum with this pussy.’’ he says as you squeeze your pussy, knowing it would drive him over the edge and you were right

‘’Cum with me.’’ he lastly says before you feel his heart beating faster

Geralt’s hand is continuing playing with your pussy as you feel him twitch inside of you. His cock was pulsating as you felt yourself getting filled with his warm cum. His lips were pressed to yours, he was groaning in your mouth, you moaning back into his. Both of your bodies went to a new state. Your vision went black once you reached your high and the sensation overtook your entire body.

‘’Fuck.’’ you cry out, biting your lip while arching your back

His heavy breathing slowly came at ease but your body was still buzzing from the orgasm he just gave you.

‘’You’re shaking.’’ Geralt says as he takes his cock out and quickly places you at his side, wrapping your body with the duvet. He pulls you close to himself, wrapping his arms around your frame to keep you secure and in place.

‘’Geralt, did we really just fuck?’’ you mumble and feel his hands caress your back

‘’We did,’’ he takes a moment to look at you ‘’do you regret it?’’ he asks, his eyes speaking to you

‘’No, I don’t. Do you?’’

‘’No. I always wanted to be inside you.’’

You playfully bump your head onto his chest and giggle as you see a smile on his face as well. He removes a strand of your hair away from your face and places a soft kiss on your lips.

‘’So all you needed was to fuck me and suddenly you don’t hate me anymore?’’ you say, as you trace the features on his nose

‘’The only thing I hated was that this pussy wasn’t mine. Until today.’’ his hand moves to your ass where he slaps it and right after squeezes it

‘’When did I say it was yours?’’ you joke but he slaps your ass again making you jump in your place

‘’This pussy is mine. Only mine.’’ he kisses your nose before nuzzling you back into him rocking you with his body

It felt so good laying with him like this, the warmth wrapping around you and hearing his breathing was the perfect combination to make you fall asleep but not before he said ‘’Our destinies always seem to be colliding Y/n.’’ that made you think of all the other times you had seen him. Sometimes you’d see him in random places, unturned areas yet and he’d be there. Each time you’d see one another, each time your eyes would be different. But it never came to your head that this all was in fact destiny. It never came to you that the feeling you had was true - you wanted him to be yours.

‘’You are right. Maybe we belong to one another after all.’’ you reply and his hands came to your face, lifting it up

‘’Not maybe, rather yes, we do belong to one another.’’ the sides of his mouth lift upwards and he leans in kissing you but with the biggest passion yet

“I never hated you.” he suddenly says as he keeps his hands around you and takes his eyes up the window on the roof “I wanted you, each time I’d see you I felt something in me, it was pulling me in to you.” he licks his lips before continuing ''But I always thought to myself 'Why would someone like her wish to be with someone like me'.” he looks back at you, his eyes were heavy and sleepy

''Someone like you?'' you scoff and sit up ''Do you know how strong and amazing you are Geralt? You are the most powerful witcher out there,'' you point to the window ''there is no one that could beat you.''

Geralt takes your hands in his lap and sits up with you ''That's all I am Y/n. I kill monsters and get their blood all over me. I reek of their smell.''

''You are protecting us. Protecting the people. Without you, this world would have eaten us by now.'' you boop his nose with your finger and he grabs your hand, placing it himself on the side of his face and the weight of his head falls into your hands

''You are such an extrodinary woman Y/n. I'm sorry if I was...''

''Grumpy? Annoying?'' you cut him off and snicker

''Yes. I was trying to push you away for my own being which was a very dumb decision...'' he wavers off, he was troubled by this

''I mean I did the same to you, only you did it first to me and then I did it and then I thought 'what did I do wrong' because you were always so mad when you'd see me and I-...'' Geralt stops you from talking as he smashes his lips onto yours, breathing in your scent

''You're mine Y/n. That's all that matters to me now. I have you.''

#geralt x reader #geralt x you #the witcher imagine #the witcher fanfic #geralt smut #geralt imagine #geralt rivia x reader #geralt x rivia smut #the witcher smut #the witcher x you #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill smut #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt rivia imagine #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x y/n #the witcher x reader

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astoryisaloveaffair · 17 days

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Fix You - Chapter 16 - Genesis

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader

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Chapter Summary: 🤷‍♀️

Word Count: 4K

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Warnings: cussing, graphic violence, mentions of sex. I'm not giving more warnings than that, sorry.

A/N: Hey all. First I want to say I'm sorry. I literally had no time or motivation to write this. I'm gonna be honest, this is a really tough chapter, and it was hard to get in this headspace. Suffering a recent heartbreak, things in this chapter are things I have thought also, and so it was really hard for me to voluntarily want to address that. I also started working in veterinary medicine, i do not have the spare time that I used to. We also recently adopted a puppy who we named Bucky! And if you read my earlier posts, you know that I was SA'd last January. All that to say, sorry I couldn't do this faster.

Also want to wish a happy birthday to @musings-of-a-rose, my beloved, my bestie, and my constant support. This is for you. Sorry it's not a happier chapter....

* If a character is speaking fully in Spanish, I will put “[ ]” around the dialogue. I speak pretty decent Spanish but not good enough for this

Suggested Songs: "Exile" Taylor Swift feat. Bon Iver, "I Love You" Billie Eilish, "Vampire" and "Logical" by Olivia Rodrigo, "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron and Phoebe Bridgers, "Genesis" by Grimes

You didn’t even flinch at the landing, which was rough, so that’s saying a lot. When the janky cargo door (which looked like at any time during the flight would be ripped right off) opens, you barely even lift your eyes from the floor. You felt heavy and hollow, somewhere suspended in between shock and just not giving a fuck anymore. The only thing you could still fell was the pinching in your heart. It was still broken.

At some point during the journey, the co-pilot had taken pity on you and untied your arms from behind your back and bound them in front of you instead. You hadn’t struggled. There was no point. Where would you go? Jump in the ocean? You weren’t that great of a swimmer and you loved sharks and everything but the open ocean is not where you are supposed to be.

You have no sense of space and time, so you have no actual clue where you are other than not the mainland. You’re dehydrated as fuck, groggy, your vision’s blurry and you’d figured out the sticky moisture on your face was your own blood.

Because when you had suddenly blacked out it was because they’d hit you, and had absolutely no hesitation doing so. They did not care about you, they did not see you as a human being, they didn’t even bother strapping you into a seat so you had been sliding around the cargo bay the entire flight, bumping into everything. You were in deep danger, any hope that you would have some ransom protection had pretty much disintegrated. You had hoped that the boys wouldn’t come for you at first. Then you had hoped that they would, because if you’re ransom, even if at the very least you’d be alive until then, right? But “alive” doesn’t mean unharmed.

A shadow looms over you and it finally makes you look up, squinting to adjust your eyes to something so close, as well as the brightness of the sun. It feels like it takes you 10 whole minutes to process that you were being spoken to in English.

“Eh!” The man leaning over you snips, and when you simply blink in confusion and don’t answer, he slaps you lightly on both cheeks. You’re stunned enough to finally look at him, his oval face, beady eyes and unique sideburns seeming so familiar to you but quite frankly you wouldn’t trust yourself with recognizing even your dad at the moment, so you push that thought aside.

He kneels down in front of you. “You listen to me. We don’t want you. We want the money. This means if you don’t fucking piss me off, I might be nice and not kill you, you understand? Be a smart little girl, eh?.”

You nod, you probably should be feeling some sort of panic setting in but you don’t. Whatever. Who even cares anymore.

He takes your silence as submission. “Bueno.” He whispers, leaning down and grabbing you by the arm, lifting you until you are back on your feet. He tilts his head and steps to the side, revealing 5 additional men with AKs pointed straight at you. From behind, you feel the sharp tip of another poking your back, urging you forward and down the precarious ramp. The pilots.

You didn’t trust that they wouldn’t hurt you, but you knew you had no other choice. Trying to fight was asking for it, and once you step out of the hold and realize you were in the fucking jungle, there would be no sensical place to go even if you did get away.

You step out of the plane onto a rickety steel ramp that bounces as the footpad of your sandals touches it and shuffle slowly down it. You feel suffocated sandwiched between four men, your hands chafe where they are tied and you have been in the same positions for so long your whole body is sore. Every touch and movement hurt.

You stumble as the ramp ends but one of the men grabs your arm and yanks you so you don’t fall. It wasn’t kindness. It was a way to hurt you that he could get away with. The tiny dirt landing strip is almost canopied completely by the jungle trees, leaving large patches here and there where the plane flew through, not noticeable from far above. It looks like you’re walking to nothing, just a dirt road that ends right into the thick middle of the jungle, but you don’t stop at the edge. You push through.

It’s hot as shit and you felt sweat buildup in every crevice of your body, your thighs are rubbing raw from your asinine decision to wear short shorts to the fair, and you could feel a heat rash growing under your tits that you couldn’t even scratch because your hands are bound.

You walk for forever. You walk until the friction rash on your inner thighs turn to lesions. You haven't drank water in almost 48 hours and it feels like 150 degrees out, with full humidity. You’ve had to stop twice already to vomit from heat exhaustion and you still occasionally gag even though there’s nothing in your stomach to come up anymore. All the years that you did not appeal to insects are making up for it now, they’re all over you and you can’t walk 3 steps without one getting in your eye. The jungle gets tighter and you can’t breathe because it’s pushing in on you almost as tight as the hands on your shoulders pushing you forward..

You start crying. At least, that is what you tell yourself as you whimper and sob as quietly as you can. You know you’re strong, but this is just beyond reason that any normal person could take. And when you think about how this is probably what life was all the time in Delta for the boys, you cry even harder because you feel guilty, that you have no right to complain.

Finally, after what feels like forever, the tightness of the jungle seems to loosen. More open. You notice some of the trees look more oddly arranged than others. As you get closer you realize they aren’t trees at all, but tents and dilapidated buildings built into the shadows of the trees. The huge roots and overhanging canopy of the jungle transformed a bustling camp into what looks like a little village. At the entrance, a line of guards in jungle fatigues that were impossible to detect until you got right up to them. You hear someone speak above you, alerting you to a man up in the trees on a platform tucked between the branches. There was another in the tree on the opposite side. He calls to the man with the sideburns, saying something in Spanish you can’t interpret fast enough, but it’s jovial and they laugh, and it makes you feel like you’re going to go mentally insane.

It’s like it’s not even serious to them. And it’s so serious to you.

You are pushed through the camp quickly, but not quick enough that you don’t see the insane amount of cocaine packages piled up in the makeshift buildings, sheds, and tents toward the back. Men were milling about checking them, moving them and glaring at you as you walked past.

You continue past the main camp, crossing over a bustling creek whose bridge was literally just planks of wood, but you noticed there were tire marks across them so you felt at least safe it could handle a car’s weight. Across the creek, an old stonework manor stood. You can tell at one time it must have been glorious, but the white stone-worked walls were dirty and crumbling in many places, the fountains out front had dried crusty palm fronds and dirt in them and looked like they hadn’t sprayed water since the 1980s.

It was still oddly beautiful. You thought about how this house came to be, what it might have looked like when it had been first built. A beautiful Caribbean sea mansion. A jungle that hadn’t closed in on it yet. Fountains spraying and colorful birds resting on the rooftops. But then you realize that this place has probably always been used for what it is now. Someone like Carl Lehder probably lived here and ran an entire cartel within this very jungle. Maybe it was the same one, just run by someone else.

There was a shabbily made shack to the left of the manor with padlocks, piles of debris piled next to the door. You assume that’s where you would be taken, but you were instead led up the stairs to the manor proper. And as your eyes focus in on the ground while you were being guided to the mansion instead, you realize the heap of matter by the shack that you thought was some dying plantation was actually a crumpled human body. A boy looking not much older than 17, shot execution style in the head and left to rot.

Then smell hits you, your knees buckle and you vomit on the stonework stairs, a scream of shock and realization pierces the jungle, making the nearby tropical birds explode from the treetops. When the sicarios pick you up and carry you through the mansion door, you’re still screaming.

Eventually whoever was carrying you became fed up, and simply dropped you at the bottom of the stairs and dragged you up backwards by the armpits instead. You didn’t even feel the step edges hitting the small of your back all the way up, but you would later.

You were tossed stricken and shivering on a disgusting, top-sheeted mattress on the floor in the corner of a room, your feet still bound together and your rope-bound hands looped through a radiator that was long enough only for you to lie down or shuffle over to a bucket for your business. Everything stank and you still had vomit on your chin so you curled up in a ball and slammed your eyes closed, hoping that in time the voices and smells and fear would give way to just simple numbness. You didn’t hear a female voice speaking to you for several seconds.

Your eyes snap open, skin pulled taut from dried unwiped tears,and you jolt upright to look in the direction of the voice. A woman who wasn’t even tied up was propped up against the adjoining wall, and as you take in her condition you could understand why they hadn’t even bothered. She wouldn’t have been able to run.

Her legs look..wrong, splaying at angles that shouldn’t be possible. They look like they could be broken, but you can’t tell for sure because she was wearing jeans that cover up most of her skin. The jeans were ripped in some places and stained with dark blood spots, the color turning brighter wherever her skin shows through the tears in the fabric. She’s missing several fingers on her left hand that had been burnt at the ends to cauterize, and her face was black and blue, swollen and smeared with more blood that seemed to be coming from her scalp somewhere. Her lips are pale and cracking and her eyes are glazed over and barely open. When she speaks, she already sounds like she is dead.

She swallows and winces slightly in pain, then licks her cracked pale lips.“Is…my…her–my brother. Did you see him? Out there?”

Your face scrunches in confusion, which actually hurts a little and you’re not sure from what specifically. Perhaps you look just as bad as the other girl. “Your–I—I don’t understand.”

She’s too exhausted to even be annoyed with you. “My brother. They took him from me days ago. They do not talk to me anymore. They don’t—need me anymore.” A single tear falls down her swollen cheek and you suddenly feel so much connection with this woman and how incredibly fucking strong she is. Her eyes roll over to you, meeting yours for the first time. There are burst blood vessels in them.

“I think that they killed him.”

Your lips part and you utter a shuddering breath as you connect the dots. There’s no point in sugar-coating it. You nod slowly. “I think so. But it’s not…recent.” You look away as her eyes slowly close, the additional tears she was holding back finally spilling over and cascading down her cheeks.

“Bueno.” She says. “Then at least he is not suffering like me.”

You both fall quiet and you look over her again. Her pants aren’t completely done up and her t shirt is ripped at the neckline, exposing a gashed shoulder. Almost like…

You start crying again, and you feel even worse about it this time because you have in front of you a woman who has been through much worse and is somehow NOT crying. You curl tighter into yourself to try and hide.

But she simply asks. “Who are you?”

You swallow, raising your head up off your arms, quickly wiping the access tears off on your sleeve. It’s incredible how adrenaline and fear can sometimes make you the most clear-headed you’ve ever been. Your thoughts are swirling but you knew one thing for damn sure, if they didn’t know your name yet, you weren’t going to say it now.

If I look forward I am lost. Focus on right now. Nothing else. It’s my best chance.

You know enough about trauma that compartmentalizing this moment is your best chance. You can’t think what will happen if you don’t escape, if you aren’t found, if they never come for you. You need to stay focused. You need to keep hope alive. You need to stay coherent, because if a chance pops up, you need to be able to think quickly.

“I’m no one.” You mumble. “Just happened to be dating the wrong person.”

She sniffs and looks away, but it’s muffled because her nose sounds congested. You don’t miss her tone though. “Mmmm. His new one then.”

You blink. “What?”

Her glazed over, discolored eyes snap back to yours. “Pope.” She spits. “Your man. Santia—”

“NO!” You cut her off with a shout, you know there is a guy who is in the area and you still don’t know how much these men do or do not know. “Don’t. Don’t give them names if they don’t already know it.”

“I don’t give a shit about Agent Garcia, or his friends, or anyone else, it’s their fault I am here and it’s their fault my brother is dead and..” She finally, finally starts to cry. “I told him I didn’t want to do it. They said they would let us go if we gave them what they wanted.”

“It was you.” You exhale with a shuddering breath. “They found us cause of you. You told them.” You shake your head, and for some reason you feel betrayed by this woman even though you’ve never met her. “How could you?”

“Because all I care about is my brother, do you understand?! I wish I’d never met him, Garcia, we would have just snuck away and no one would never seen us, but no, instead we listened to him and helped them steal from fucking Lorea, and now they found us and I knew they would, and YES, I gave them EVERYTHING because they said they’d let us go so long as they found you and–”

“Eh!” A voice trails in with a watchman you knew was hanging out somewhere in the hallway beyond. He slips through the doorway, a smaller man you were not expecting from that voice, and leans against the deteriorating door frame. He crosses his arms and his legs and it makes the handgun on his hip jut out prominently from his skinny hips. “No talking to each other.” His voice is silky and the words all slide together so it sounds like ‘no talkintoeeachother.’

You shrink back into the dirty wall behind you as your associate spits a bloody phlegm ball in the man’s direction. “FUCK you!” She snarls, a tirade of cuss words in Spanish flying from her lips.

A loud pop almost bursts your eardrums and your heart and you exclaim in terror as your associate is shot point blank in the head, her back slumping against the wall and her head hitting with a bang, pieces of blood and brain tissue spraying over the back wall with pieces flying in your direction.

The man remains completely motionless with his arms still raised before huffing a laugh to himself, putting the gun back on his hip, and looking at you with the such an unaffected gaze it leaves you feeling dizzy and you scream and scream and scream yourself hoarse, crumpling onto your mattress in a terrified heap, arms over your head, sobbing hysterically.

A gentle but firm palm wraps around your forearm, yanking you back up to a seated position. You look away, but the man’s other hand takes you gently by the jaw and makes you look at him. And just behind him, the woman slumped in a pool of blood and brain matter. You try to wriggle out of his grip but he tightens ever so slightly, and you can’t help but notice how different it is when Frankie would grab you like that versus this man. Frankie held you the same, sometimes harder, but you had trusted his domination and his care of you and because of that, it made it arousing. That same motion with this man has you more scared than you ever have been in your life.

“Bebita.” He coos, thumb lightly caressing your jaw. He wipes at a small speck of blood you don’t know is even there. You can feel yourself shaking and breathing so fast you can see his half waxed back tousled locks that hang past his temples are blowing in its breeze. You can’t answer him. “Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are a dark, almost black chocolate brown, shape mismatched, a scruffy beard and goatee and thin lips. In another world you would find him devastatingly attractive and the fact that you do makes you feel absolutely violated and disgusted with yourself.

“Do not cry.” He continues. “You have no reason to if you behave, si? You be good and you listen and I will keep you safe you understand? Well, at least for now.” He shifts closer to you, you can smell his breath. It smells like orange and cloves. “There are a lot of men here Bebita. I am sure you understand what this means, si? Answer me.”

“Yes.” A final fat tear spills from one of your eyes, and it stings as it mixes with your sweat and the raw skin around your eyes.

He juts his head in the other woman’s direction. “This one, she fight the whole time. I like a easy job. Make my job easy, I make sure you always deal with me. Do not make me call in the other guys, they are not as nice. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He releases your chin and you scoot back quickly as he saunters over to the other woman’s bloody body, grabs it by the arm, and casually drags her as dismissively as possible out the door and out of your sight, leaving a bloody trail behind.

At first you just sit there in a slump staring at the opposite wall,, you don’t know for how long. Probably hours. Maybe days. The man, whose name you figured out from when he spoke to someone else in the hall, is Angel. Sometimes he would sit up and watch you, as if figuring you out, your body and the way you shift and switch positions when you are uncomfortable, what it looked like when you were crying and trying to keep quiet and unnoticed. But most of the time he ignored you. Occasionally others would come into the room and either speak to him or approach you, but upon noticing Angel watching them they would hiss or spit a curse and slink off.

The room reminded you of those old houses from the 70s that had those drafty unfinished basements that were simply concrete floors, painted stucco or white brick. To the sicarios, it served as an overflow area, there was a rotting desk along the side wall with a metal folding chair and piles of scattered papers and random household tools on them. Against the opposite side wall was a pretty nice tv, considering, which was always playing soccer. Angel seemed to make that his home base, his lithe frame sprawled across a grandma-fabric sofa, head resting on one of the puffy arm rests. He binge-smoked cigarettes and his right hand was always stretched over his head resting against his forehead in the direction of to an end table with an massive overflowing porcelain ashtray on it. You didn’t used to mind the smell of cigarettes too much but now it makes you feel sick.

You’re ashamed of how little you actually think about your current situation and like the hopeless romantic idiot you are, mostly all you can think about is Frankie. The things he said–you knew he said mean things when he was mad, or things he didn’t mean, but isn’t there always some truth to things that are said in the heat of the moment? That was enough for you to silently spiral. You thought about every memory you had of him and how it could be viewed through the lens that Frankie just wanted to fuck you. Your self confidence was low enough it was believable, and your mind races through every instance of an older man being in a relationship with someone much younger and how of course it was predatory, and how could you not see it, that you didn’t have anything in common? It’s a tale as old as time. He just wanted to fuck you, he wanted to fuck you and dominate you, his dark desires seducing you into feeling so wanted you can’t believe you thought he loved you and didn’t see right through it.

And his friends, well, they were all in on it weren’t they, because why would they want to hang out with someone like you either? Why would men such as that actually want to be friends with you when you have never experienced half of what they have.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his lying ass, he was a fucking loser addict and you’re pissed at yourself for even considering him. Like how lonely were you?? To choose an old man with a kid who served in an institution that represented everything you hated about this country? To be so easily blinded by pretty words and love bombs to immediately take your clothes off. Because how, if he actually loved you or even like you, could he possibly have lied about something so big?! Or bought you something nice with all that fucking drug money he stole. Not that you’d want it or expected it, but why wouldn’t you want to treat someone you love as much as he claimed to?

How could he sit there and make up what happened to Tom like that, when you were being so coddling and trying to be a caring ear. And Benny…Pope...if they were your friends they should have told you, that’s what real friends do…

But they weren’t your friends. They were never your friends.

And if you went the other way, and considered that it was all true, that he did love you, that they were all your friends, and that he lied to you and threw stones to hurt you and push you away, how was that any better? You couldn't even think about a future not being with him, but obviously he could. He could watch you cry and question him and not even look at you, completely ignore you, then not even think about you again. No texts, no calls. No “I’m sorry, please come back.” Silence.

How could it be so easy for him? How can he just go about his life like you never happened? Why did you still care?

Why did you still want him?

Why did you still love him so so much. Part of you wishes they’d get on with it and just kill you. At least then you wouldn’t have to feel this excruciating pain. You wouldn’t have to see him show up to rescue you because he has to, to have to see his fucking face and every line, crinkle, scar, the bald patch in his beard and the tousled little curls that pop out of his hat…only for him to save you and then leave again, or die and then you have the guilt of killing a man who no longer loved you.

Yea. You think you’d rather die.

You feel like you’re going to throw up again. You’d let him force his cock in your mouth as far as it could go, let him tie you up and fuck you hard enough to leave bruises you had thought of as a badge of honor. You’d let him cum on your face. You’d let him fucking cum inside you! He’d gaslit you so you actually wanted him to tie you up with zip ties—-

Your heart almost stops. You can picture how his face looked exactly when he said it.

Sometimes rope can give over time.

That’s why we always used zip ties.

You look down at your bound hands.

They’re bound with rope.

#fix you fic #triple frontier fanfic #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x you #frankie catfish morales x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic

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superblysubpar · 6 months

Text

masterlist | the music

19.7k words | Sorry freaks, no smut this chapter - but the series is 18+ and so is my blog so skedaddle on out of here if you're not!

A/N: I have a really long one here - so I'll just say thank you once again and that I love you. Also, another special thank you to @sweetsweetjellybean and @loveshotzz💛💛

chapter warnings: very brief mention of religion (but not reader participating or believing in one in particular) | small mention/description of reader's maternal death and cancer symptoms | teeny tiny spoiler for the ending to the movie 'when harry met sally' | use of dialogue from the movie 'My Best Friends Wedding'

Why do we want to believe in things like fate or destiny - divine intervention? Why do some put their faith in religions with blind following? Why do we look to the stars in moments of despair, when we’re desperate for hope, when we’re lost?

We seek out answers from something we can’t see but we want to believe in. Whether it’s a fortune cookie in your take out, a penny head’s up on the sidewalk, a community of like minded souls coming together for prayer or worship, or a horoscope you read on your morning Instagram scroll - the reasons have to be the same for choosing to believe, for the hope that starts to rise in you for the promise these things try to offer.

We look for solutions to problems. We need reason. We need purpose. We need to feel like we’re not alone. We need confirmation that it’s all gonna work out even though nothing can really guarantee that.

When you look up at the stars that work hard to shine through clouds and a full moon, your chest rises with air trying to fill your lungs and you wonder if they’re up there. Your eyes blink up at that indigo sky, searching. Steve sits next to you and Leigh waves, whispering their hellos. His hand rests next to yours on the plaid blanket, he clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. It’s all too stiff, too on edge, and you hate it. That attempted deep breath is unsuccessful, lungs deflating as it catches in your throat, and your thoughts wander back to the stars again. They wander to him, and them, and seek answers.

What if they are up there, watching, like it’s one of those movies your mom was always putting on and your dad and you boo’d at from your spot playing cards. When he walked in with her with that on her finger, your mom would have gasped, she would have paused the movie, she would have yelled at you and your dad about the plot. She would have thrown popcorn at the TV and declared there’s something going on, he couldn’t, no way - there was no way. She’d have calmed herself down, rationalized there was still time left, gone to the pantry for more chocolate, kissed the top of your head and your dad’s cheek as she passed. By the end of the film, her prediction would have been right, she’d be crying and sighing at the couple who got their happy ending.

So could Steve declare his feelings for you here in a dramatic scene? Tell you it was all a big misunderstanding - that he’s sorry, that it was a rocky road but being together is worth fighting for? Could you leave here, hand in hand, as a top forty song plays and the credits roll?

Of course not.

Because this isn’t a rom com your mom would have loved. Life is not a movie full of soul-mates and cosmic connections. People like your parents are the exception to the rule. The couples who make it work - the ones who don’t let the trials of life take their love away like Allie and Noah, Kate and Sam, or Westley and Buttercup, are fictional characters. They’re stories to escape into when the despairing reality of yours is too much to read or write anymore. It’s exactly why you don’t like most movies or stories like theirs. Because eventually, the movies end, the credits do roll, and you have to face real life once again. Love like that doesn’t exist off the big screen, and you’re just kidding yourself when you fall into their traps.

Knowing this simple fact of reality doesn’t stop the hope though.

That painful, aching hope that clings to your skin like honey when you can feel the heat from his arm even through the sleeve of your sweater - like your bodies burn hotter when closer together - too close to the sun. It feeds the hope that your brain tries to squash away but your heart thuds harder for. The what if, what if, what if replacing each beat of it. Hope that makes you want to cry out ‘please let this just be a bad dream’ to the universe. Hope that tries, but can’t escape the gnawing pit in your stomach that’s growing wider, threatening to swallow you whole. Hope that makes you wonder why this can’t be a story - why can’t you just be the grandson, yelling at his grandfather that he can’t be telling it properly? Someone is getting the story wrong. He can’t be marrying her, you’re just sure of it. Screaming at him, at someone, to please, just get it right.

You wonder if someone were watching, would they be feeling the despair you are? Is this the moment? That scene in the movies is always the gut punch - for the audience and the character. It’s meant to hurt, make you hold your breath. Made to be dramatic - yell at the screen, break your heart, make the character in the action get back up and fight. They’re moments made to ignite that hope - but really, it’s the double tap - coming right after the feeling catches flame, that’s made to shatter you completely.

The moment that extinguishes the what if for all it’s worth. When the audience’s heart's already breaking for the grandson, only for the grandfather to ask who says life is fair? Where is that written? When the knife is entering your chest, but the mask falls and the killer turns out to be someone you thought you could trust. When you’re untethered in space only for your last moment of consciousness to be watching a friend cut the cord. The person who sucker punched you is now kicking you when you’re weak, taking it one step too far, leaving you crumpled on the mat. It’s all enough to make that fight, that urge to be angry instead of scared or hurt, disappear. It’s enough to knock you down so hard, you can’t possibly get back up - the hope is extinguished, and the story seemingly over.

Robin squeals quietly, pulling Leigh’s hand across you to admire the ring, knocking Steve on the shoulder and saying something about the Dingus doing good. Your gaze flits down to the brown sugar and apple donuts in your lap, convinced you’re about to get sick right on top of them. Not because he’s marrying her, but because instead of being angry with him, you feel like you’ve been squashed, you’re hurt, you’re betrayed. Despite your better judgment, despite the past several years, you’ve let a man make you some pathetic, sad, heartbroken, and weak version of yourself.

When Leigh’s hand retreats from Robin’s, lifting and curling a piece of hair behind her ear, diamond sparkling in the moonlight as she smiles over at Steve, your story’s end is written, and you need to accept it if you ever want some semblance of normalcy to return. You can’t lose him and them. But when Steve’s pinky brushes yours and you look over, his eyes resemble the broken beer bottle from the football game all those weeks ago. Shattered emerald and amber, cutting you to shreds with each shard of glass as he murmurs, “Can I tal-“

“I’ll be right back!” You whisper-shout, cutting him off and squeezing Robin’s shoulder as you get up.

She yanks on your wrist, halting your attempt at an exit. Her eyes narrow as she interrogates, “Where are you going?”

Swallowing harshly as her blue eyes peer directly into your soul. She can probably smell the desire to run on you. Remembering your vow that Steve won’t take them away from you, a not quite a lie falls from your lips as you gesture to the concession food trucks, “You don’t have those cinnamon roasted almonds. They were my mom’s favorite and the smell is driving me crazy. Promise that’s all.”

“I swear to god, if you don’t come back, I will literally come stand outside your window on the sidewalk and scream-sing Monster Mash until someone calls the cops and I’ll drag you down with me.”

Her eyes blink, features incredibly serious despite the amusing threat. Your laugh mixes with Leigh’s and you ignore the shared moment, tugging your wrist free. “Would expect nothing less Robin.”

She motions she’s watching you, fingers to her eyes then yours, lips twitching in the corners before she turns back to the screen.

Your feet feel heavy as they drag through the damp grass, and come to a stop to wait in line. It shouldn’t be a surprise after ordering when you hear his voice behind you. It floats through the air, soft, barely audible over the popping kettle corn, “I really didn’t know you’d be here. I wouldn’t have…” he sighs, settling on restating, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Your shoulders fall and your eyes stay focused on the truck. You’ve had time, since that night on the sidewalk, but your hurt still sits fresh under your layer of armor - tender like an open wound you need to keep protected. Your palms slide further under the sleeves of your sweater, clinging to the garment like the shield you’re willing it to be - you don’t want to fight with him anymore, no matter how hurt and angry you are.

So the tone you respond with aches to sound indifferent, if not a tad harsh, reminding him you’re mad and pretending there isn’t any spark of hope within you still. It’s over, it has to be over, and all it ever was to him was something to kill time - fun and no strings exactly what you wanted. So your words are really just a reminder to yourself, another layer of the wall you need to keep up around him, “It’s fine Steve. Would have been nice to get a head’s up,” your shoulders shrug, “But, well, that’s probably too generous for the girl you were just fucking while waiting for the one, right?”

The people next to you clear their throats and you can’t find it in yourself to care, to be embarrassed.

Steve moves in front of you, his face filling your vision. He shaved - no more scruff you like. His jeans are dark again, with fresh, new creases, and a light blue sweater pulls across his chest and shoulders. He’s picture perfect, his polished uniform in place.

He shakes his head, eyes bouncing between yours as he asks, “Is that really all it was?”

Your shoulders shrug again, because it’s easier. It’s easier to try to deny, to ignore the flutter the question causes in your stomach. Easier to bite back the words that try to form on your tongue. Because of course that’s not all it was, at least not to you. You wouldn’t feel the way you do right now if that were true. But what’s the point in telling him that though? What happens? Can you forgive each other for the words said, that, no matter how true, can’t be taken back? Things like this only end in heartbreak - because what happens if you tell him how you were starting to feel - does that change anything for him? And even if it did, that means a broken engagement, it means complicated truths coming out, it means attempts at forgiveness. And even after all of that, life won’t give you a guarantee. There is no promise of zero fights, of nothing bad ever happening. There is no happily ever after where the possibility of a break up, of losing everyone you’ve grown to care for deeply, doesn’t exist.

So yes, it’s easier to not say any of that, because you know. This isn’t how life works. This isn’t a movie. No one is immune to life’s misfortunes. These sorts of open-ended questions and complicated emotions that come from his simple ask are unmeasurable and unreliable. Wondering and giving into those feelings only open you up to be used as a target for someone else’s shooting practice. You’ve known this, but you allowed yourself to forget, hating it was Steve who had to remind you.

Which is why you look away from his eyes as you say, “I believe that is what was established a few weeks ago at that party Steve. You were there, remember? You were dressed as a pirate.”

His head drops, hands running through his perfectly styled hair as he laughs, breath shaky, like the laugh is covering up any feeling in his voice. “So, that’s it? We’re just gonna act like none of it happened? You don’t wanna talk. You run away every time we get a chance to do so, a beer in my face and-“

Your hand rising in the air cuts him off, his mouth clamps shut as you make eye contact with him. “You deserved that and I’m not apologizing for it.”

He takes a step closer to you, his hand reaching towards you, then back into his hair, second guessing himself. “I’m not asking you to, and I’m not apologizing for what I said either.” Steve swallows, hands on his hips as he looks at the ground then back up at you, “What I said wasn’t a lie.”

He breathes out the next words, both of you staring at each other with the weight of what he says hanging in the air between you.

“You couldn’t tell me.”

Your hands shake from the confrontation, from his request you left unanswered that night. The emotions that still want to bubble over, the time apart did nothing to cool either of you down. That what if, what if, what if that replaced your heartbeat grows louder, but your brain only shuts it down harder. If you hurt now, how will it feel if you keep feeding the flame only for him to extinguish it again?

The beat of your heart and those hopeful words thud in your ears as your head shakes and your voice tries not to, barely audible as the words leave your lips, “I don’t want to do this anymore Steve. We’re just going in circles. You’re getting married. You didn’t tell me. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you were really my friend while you were clearly getting engaged this whole time?”

Blue light flashes from the screen, catching the corner of your eye and illuminating his, their gaze bouncing over your face. Your bodies move closer like they can’t help it, like they know they won’t be this way again. Steve’s tongue darts over his bottom lip before his breath blows out, your name a whisper on it. The way he says your name with that look in his eyes, chests almost touching, it’s easy for your head to tilt with familiarity. Your breath out is his breath in, and it’s even easier to forget the last time you were this close. Sounds other than his harsh swallow and your heartbeat fade away. Time freezes, just a little, and the air pulses with a tangible possibility of hope.

A shrill classic horror movie scream shatters the bubble. Your name is called, you blink, and take a step away. Guilt washes over you as you see your friends staring intently at the movie you’d practically forgotten you were there for. Leigh and Robin talk quietly and your eyelids flutter as you will whatever wants to escape down your cheeks away.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore Steve. I just want to go hang out with my friends. I need this to be over. Can it please be over?” You stare intently at the ground, one single tear slipping past your lashes. It feels like it rolls down your cheek for an hour before Steve finally answers.

“Okay,” he quietly agrees.

Your head nods once and you brush past him, barely choking out a whispered ‘by the way congratulations’ as you grab your snack. Hand swiping at the stray tear as you make your way back to the blanket slowly.

When you sit back down, Leigh’s typing on her phone. She squeezes Robin’s hand before whispering a goodbye to everyone. She jogs over to Steve, cocking her head at him. He pushes his hands through his hair again, giving her a short smile. He runs his thumb and forefinger down the bridge of his nose, swiping under it with the back of his hand. His other extends towards her as she reaches him, fingers lacing together as they walk out.

Robin’s shoulder nudges yours and your head turns to find her with eyebrows pinched together. She leans in and quietly asks, “Is he okay? Did he say something about leaving to you?”

Your head shakes, and you extend the bag to her with a tight smile. You will just keep lying to her. Steve and you will move on, and maybe, one day in the distant future, you’ll be able to tell her. It’ll all work out.

She mirrors your sad smile, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening as she takes a small handful and turns her attention back to the movie. Or she tries, but you watch as her eyes glance down to her phone every few minutes, until it lights up with his name and she quickly starts typing a response.

It’ll all be fine.

“Said ‘I’m fine’ but it wasn’t true. I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you…”

The pop song playing overhead makes your teeth grind, your skin itch, it pries at your armor. It clangs its melody like fists on the metal plates around your heart, screaming to let it in.

Fuck Taylor Swift and her poetically relevant lyrics.

You’re fine.

“Mommy, why is that lady wearing pajamas?”

“Well, sometimes people, um, well maybe they’re sad or-“

“Not sad,” you call over your shoulder, but spin as you decide to face the stranger. The poor, unsuspecting stranger who is unprepared for the wrath of a person wearing blue, fuzzy pajama bottoms with ducks all over them, yellow smiley slippers, and holding several pints of Cherry Garcia in her arms. “Could just be sick. Or lazy. Could be a lot of different things, but sad is not one of them, and it’s rude to assume there’s any reason at all. I could just have wanted to stay comfy today, you don’t know!”

It’s almost laughable, if it wasn’t so humiliating or awkward. A practically audible record scratch kind of moment. Conversations of several other customers quiet then stop altogether. Eyes blink at you in concern and pity under too harsh of fluorescent lights, surrounded by neon advertisements and packaging trying to convince you the world isn’t shit as long as there’s junk food. The poppy beat overhead seems to play even louder, yet a pin could drop and people from another state would hear it.

The mother’s hand runs through the small child’s hair next to them as she stammers an apology, “I really…I’m sorry, I just-“

“No, no, I’m so sorry. It’s fine…I…” You close your eyes and turn back around, mortified beyond a depth you ever thought possible. The pints of ice cream tumble onto the sticky counter-top, lottery tickets beneath it staring up at you and mocking ‘hey wanna test your luck even more?’. Your hand flies up into the face of the cashier as you grumble, “Not a word, Keith.”

The employee you’ve come to know on your late night and early morning snack runs snorts. His mouth closes, slurping his Mountain Dew through a straw as he rings up the ice cream. His lips leave the red plastic, squeaking it against the lid harshly, about to tell you the price you already know, when a bottle of wine is placed on the counter with a low thunk. A leather clad arm extends across your vision, a second bottle landing beside it. A deep and familiar voice from behind your shoulder calls out, “These too. But definitely not because she’s sad.”

Turning, you find Eddie just as you knew you would, his brown eyes the same as they have been since you met. Full of warmth that’s contagious, except now something darkens them, they’re colder. Reminiscent of how they looked in a bathroom that feels like you were in it ten years ago instead of a month. They’re kind, but they’re hurt, confused, and most importantly - disappointed.

“Right,” you clear your throat and look away from them. Embarrassed, but adamant in your denial of the purchase and your appearance having any connotation with the emotion they all think you’re feeling. “These are not sad items.”

Despite the look in his eyes, Eddie’s lips twitch in a fight of a smile. He looks over your outfit and the hint of amusement disappears. His mouth turns down in a grimace. He faces Keith, hand waving across your form, “Right. Sad people don’t wear duckie pj’s to the store to buy ice cream and wine, they just don’t. People who ignore their friends though, they might…”

Honestly, the call out is nicer than what you deserve. You hadn’t dared to miss a text or call from Robin again, but all other group contact had gone unreciprocated for two weeks - convincing yourself it was easier for everyone that way. Biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes blink up at him apologetically, hopeful you can fix a small part of the mess you’ve made still. “Yeah. But if a person,” your hands wave as you speak, “Who isn’t sad,” you quickly tack on before continuing, “Did ignore their friends, it was probably for a good reason and she probably feels really bad about it and-“

“Jesus Christ, pay for your sad shit and get out,” Keith groans, snapping his fingers and then waggling them for payment.

Eddie mashes his lips together, a genuine smile threatening to break as he hands over a bill. He salutes as he grabs the bag of items. “Keep the change, dude.”

“See you tomorrow, new shipment of Ben and Jerry’s at nine A.M!” Keith calls to your retreating forms. Eddie and you turn in tandem, flipping him off.

“Mommy, what did that mean?”

Eddie snorts, his laugh finally bubbling out of him as you hide your eyes under one of your hands. The door swings closed behind you as the brisk November air does little to cool off your embarrassment.

His laughter trails off in a sigh and yours in a groan. When you peek at him from behind your fingers, you hold your breath as they fall to your side. Eddie’s eyes seem to poke and prod at you with their gaze, like you’re a frog laying open on a table for dissection. Like he already knows what he’s about to find, but he’s giving you an opportunity to just say it before he makes the first cut.

Gesturing towards the bag in his hand, your eyes drop to the ground as you clear your throat. “Thank you, you didn’t have to pay. And I really am sorry for going radio silent. I’ll get better at that.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you risk a glance up. His brows are furrowed, meeting under parted bangs, brown eyes glued to your pajama pants. Eddie nods slowly, tucking his tongue into his cheek before clicking it against the roof of his mouth. Rocking back on his heels, the plastic bag swings at his side. “Sure. What are friends for?”

His eyes meet yours again finally, and as your lips part, he keeps going, his voice a little crisper than it’s been to you before. “Cause, we are friends. Right?”

Head nodding as your brows bunch together from the tone delivering the question. That and his gaze makes something under your skin itch, your feet restless against the pavement like a horse before a race.

Hesitation heavy in your words as you respond, “Yeah, of course…listen, I have to get back but-“

“Great,” he spins on his heel, heading down the sidewalk like he was waiting for those exact words to leave your mouth, “I’ll walk with you, sad girl.”

Blinking at his abrupt interruption, hand still raised to take the bag from him, it takes you several seconds for his words to register. He’s already halfway to the corner, your apartment just around it and you have to take a quick few jogs to catch up with his long strides as you call out, “I’m not sad.”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie nods, flicking a zippo in his hand, converse scuffing against the sidewalk as he kicks a pebble, “And I’m the King of England.”

Tired of his tone and demeanor you didn’t invite or ask for - you don’t need this. Eyes rolling as you huff past him, your shoulder bumping his harshly as you do. Eddie scoffs, but falls back into step close behind you, not letting you get away. “Quite the attitude to have with the friend who just bought your sad girl treat, even threw in the wine.”

Your shoulders hunch at his words, eyebrows pulling together and face growing hot as you fiddle with the first key to the apartment building. “Well, I didn’t ask you to buy it and if you only did to just rub it in my face you’re not really my friend. And I didn’t ask you to come here.”

Eddie’s hand lands on the door above your shoulder as you push it open, arm blocking you from entering. “Quit the tough girl act, you’re not fooling anyone.”

Your skin burns at his accusation, hands balling into fists at your sides. “I’m not trying to fool anyone, Eddie, or do anything. I literally don’t know what you’re talk-“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you can keep trying to sell this shit to everyone else, but I’m not buying.” He points inside, “Let’s go.”

Face feeling hotter than when you were six and scolded in public, you stomp through the entryway, each step echoing across the old tile. As you turn to head up the stairs, if only to get away from his all seeing eyes, the realization of what your apartment looks like and how extremely not ready it is for guests has you pausing mid stride.

When your gaze makes contact with his again, Eddie simply makes a statement. Flat, disappointed, and no question in his tone, “It’s worse than I think isn’t it.”

Before you can argue, before you can tell him to leave, the keys in your hand are snatched by swift fingers, and Eddie’s long legs are jumping up the stairs, skipping over several steps and disappearing around the landing. Chasing after him, the thundering of both of your feet is dulled by the faded and dingy carpet and the shriek of his name leaving your lips.

Watching as he pushes the key into the lock, turning the knob, you sprint down the hallway. Your body barrels into his, but it’s too late. Eddie falters from your weight crashing into him, but he remains upright, although slightly hunched, as your body clings to his, trying to drag him down. The door swings open and he winces, and you drop to the ground, defeated.

For the first time in a few days, you take in the state of your living space from an outside perspective. You watch as Eddie reviews it all for the first time - the take out on your counter, the empty beer bottles pushing the lid of the recycling up. The stack of Double O Seven DVDs on the coffee table. The couch covered in blankets because you’ve been sleeping there, your bed still sitting free of sheets in the other room. The bag of chips and the tub of frosting. It’s not a pretty picture.

Eddie suddenly crouches, hands grabbing at you and you push him away shrieking, crawling into your apartment and away from him. Both of you swat at each other, hair flying in faces and grunting like you’re siblings fighting over the remote.

“Go-get off! What the hell is your problem! Eddie!”

He manages to grab your phone out of your sweatshirt pocket and you leap towards him, arms over his shoulders, you reach for the phone, and he holds himself up on his knees, arm extending it away from you. He manages to tilt it just right to get your face to unlock it and you growl, thumping on his bicep as he shoves you off. He presses the familiar green icon on your home screen while you accuse, “What is your deal? What the fuck are you-“

Eddie groans, holding up the screen displaying the last song you’d been listening to and getting to his feet. He points towards your bedroom. “Go put on some jeans. No more sad girl music. No more cheese out of the can. Field trip. Let’s go.”

Your hand holding a slipper that had fallen off in the scuffle points towards the open door, any neighbors paying attention getting a hell of a show. Your scowl meets his frown. “Um, you can go. Don’t basically break into my home and insult Britney and Easy Cheese in the same sentence asshole. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, they disappear under his bangs and he looks at you as if you’re the child you’re determined to act like. He sighs, voice dripping in drama as he heads into your kitchen, “I really didn’t want to do this, but you’ve left me with no other choice.” He spins the cheap metal cap off of one of the bottles of wine theatrically, flicking the cap onto the counter before turning the bottle upside down as he stares at you. “I’d get going. The ice cream is next.”

Your eyes roll as you scoff, “You’re not gonna do shit to the Ben and Jerry’s, you and I both know it.”

He starts on the second bottle, both ringed hands holding tight to each, red liquid splashing the sides of the sink. “I will literally drag you back out of here in your sad girl jammies to a very public place. I’m generously giving you the opportunity to avoid that embarrassment, but if you insist…”

Eddie sets the bottles down in the sink, stepping over to you in two strides, hands on your waist as he moves like he could toss you over his shoulder.

Your hands push at his chest. “Fucking fine! Give me a few minutes.” You start towards your room but spin sharply on your socked heel, one foot still in a slipper that skids as your finger points in his face. “Touch my ice cream and see what happens.”

He snorts, crossing his arms. “Big, tough words coming from a girl with chocolate frosting on her chest and ducks on her ass.”

You turn away from him, slamming the door on his call of, “If you ever want to see your precious Ben and Jerry’s again, you’ll be back out here in five minutes!”

When you make eye contact with the chocolate stain in the mirror, you have to suppress your groan.

Eddie’s Jeep tires crunch over gravel before coming to a stop in a homemade parking lot. Tan dust kicked up and floating through the air partially obscures where he’s taken you.

The entire twenty minute drive had been enveloped in stilted silence. He had managed to dump one of the pints while you changed, claiming to have thought you weren’t coming back out, and now he was on the receiving end of one of your finest silent treatments. His hand flexes on the gear, moving the car into park. As his jaw clenches while yanking the keys out of the ignition, you start to rethink your silence. There’s a part of you that wants, maybe needs, to run back to your apartment, lock the door, and never speak to him again. But there’s another part, far larger, and riddled with guilt, that made you follow him.

Staring out the window at the dilapidated bar, your voice feels scratchy from the lack of talking as you push out, “What are we doing-” Eddie’s driver’s door slams, and the end of your question falls into the empty car, flat, as you blink at his back walking away from you, “Here.”

As Eddie makes his way to the building, you hoist yourself out of the Jeep and begin to follow despite the cold shoulder. You’re willing to appease him and participate in whatever this field trip is if it means you can somehow get the apology you definitely owe him out - try to make things right for the mess you’ve pulled him into.

A faint and familiar sound echoes in the quiet and practically empty parking lot. The distinct whip of a ball and the ting and harsh smack of metal meeting it, mix with the crunch of rocks under your rubber soles. Behind the tired and washed out brick building, chain link fencing rises, hinting further to what the sounds are and where they’re coming from. The large red letters above the doorway spell out “Murray’s” in distinct vintage lettering, hollowed out with unlit bulbs reminiscent of an old theater’s marquee lights. You pause beneath the sign, stealing a deep breath because something tells you Eddie has officially pinned you to the table, and the first inevitable cut of the dissection is imminent. Your fingers curl around the gray, metal door’s industrial handle and pull, and you step inside.

Billie Holiday’s voice croons from somewhere deeper in the building. Voice and music crackling and staticky, like it’s playing off a real vinyl. The urge to find out why Eddie’s brought you to a place seemingly stuck in the past draws you deeper down the dimly lit hallway. Rich, red paint on the walls partially covered by framed photographs line the entire space. Black and white film prints of American icons, with individual golden lamps lighting up each from their spots attached to the frames. Your feet carry you past Elvis, Jackie Robinson, then Marilyn, and Michael Jackson before you enter a spacious and circular room.

Red vinyl booths line the curve on one side, small round tables meant for two lit by glowing lamps scattered across the floor. A stage and space for what appears to be a dancefloor sit opposite of you, nestled between the booths and a bar running across the opposite curve. Speckled and worn mirrors behind the bar reflect the wide range of liquor bottles and the different glassware in a variety of shapes and colors, clearly thrifted antiques, hanging above them. Eddie leans against the bar talking to an older man, neither of whom spare a glance in your direction.

This room’s photographs on the walls are covers of Life and Time, clippings from other renowned news outlets - all famous headlines like when man went to the moon and the JFK assassination, the Cubs winning the world series, spanning all the way to current events. As you spin, you see the vintage photo booth, much older than the one you and Steve took photographs in at Replay, and you push the memory away, focusing on the bulletin board next to it instead.

The flier for Corroded Coffin has your attention as the song crackles on it’s end notes, the next from the album playing softly. Billie’s voice sings the familiar lyrics of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ and your heart drops into your stomach, palms sweating profusely. Why the hell are you here? Why this song? Why, why, why.

“Ouch. Who broke your heart?”

The unfamiliar voice asks the same question Eddie had asked you back in September, and this time you’re even more unprepared for it. Your head whips to the side, gaze looking over your shoulders that hunch. Your body turns to face them head on, but your arms cross in defense. The man Eddie had been chatting with now has his focus solely on you. Wire rimmed glasses frame eyes that stare intently at you as he wipes down a glass. His balding head of hair and the confidence he carries, along with the way he tosses the rag over his shoulder before leaning on the bar, has you feeling like you’ve suddenly entered a sitcom.

Eddie continues to ignore you, one foot resting on the metal of stool as his ringed fingers crack peanuts. He avoids your gaze as you turn your frown on the man who seemed to have read your mind. You keep your voice as neutral as you can when you ask, “Excuse me?”

“Written all over your face, kid.” The nameless man, but you have a hunch the name of the establishment and him are one in the same, winces with his words. He pulls down three amber colored, short glasses, then a bottle of vodka. Before you can argue, he keeps going as he pours, “Well, maybe you’re not in love. Not yet anyway,” he muses to himself, “Or maybe he is and you don’t know how to let the poor sap down?”

His eyes lift from the glasses of alcohol to yours and he squints. Pausing before pouring the third glass, humming, “Wait, no, well…maybe.” Keeping his eyes on you as he tips back one of the generous shots before he breathes out with finality, “No.”

Eddie smirks into his own shot, as the man snaps in his face, but technically commands, “Name.”

Your mouth opens to stop this nonsense and analysis you absolutely didn’t ask for, but Eddie beats you to it. Eyebrows raised, mouth pursed as he offers up, “Steve.”

The man behind the bar hovers the liquor bottle above the now empty glass, blinking wide behind his frames. He sets the bottle down, pressing his palms to the bar top. Scoffing with an incredulous tone, “You’re kidding.”

“Excuse me!” You try to interrupt, but the man shakes his hands, ignoring your objection.

“We’ll deal with that little slip in the simulation some other time,” pushing the third glass down the bar towards you as he continues, “So, Steve,” he laughs a little, licking his bottom lip, “Right. So he loves us, maybe, but perhaps it is us who loves Steve? Mm, tragic, because he doesn’t reciprocate? Or are we too scared to tell him how we feel?”

Your shoulders are up to your ears now, arms wrapping around yourself even tighter, trying to make whatever see-through, vulnerable shield this man can penetrate more resilient. Your gaze is harsh on the side of Eddie’s face, death stare glaring and attempting to burn his cheek with only your eyes as you ask again, “What are we doing here?”

“The cosmic question, isn’t it?” The bartender muses, pouring another glass for himself. He raises his eyebrows at Eddie in a silent question who shakes his head no.

“I’m leaving.” You start to turn towards the door, but Eddie’s call behind you makes you freeze.

“Have fun walking back then!”

Your hands go to your pockets, searching, even though you know they’re empty. When you look at him, you see your phone in his fingers and his brown eyes that have turned to stone. “Yeah, I still have this. So either you can participate in the field trip, or you can walk all the way back home to your sad girl cave.”

“I’ll just have him call me a cab.” Gesturing to the nameless man with your solution.

“Murray,” he offers with a toothy grin and head nod, confirming your assumption.

Eddie laughs, cold, tossing a peanut shell on the bar, “Yeah? And pay for it how?”

You’ve been very, very, dumb, because it’s only now you realize the empty pockets would also mean you don’t have your wallet. Your eyes close in defeat.

When you open them, Eddie is staring at you and it feels an awful lot like that scalpel is resting just over your heart, waiting for any final words.

He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he says, “I’ll take those quarters now.”

Murray rolls a tube across the bar to him, eyes darting back and forth between you two like he is watching a ping pong match.

Eddie grabs the roll, storming past you and down a different hallway, out the back door of the bar. The chipping black paint flutters as the door swings closed, a slam as it meets the frame making you flinch. The final notes of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ finish and you release a shaky breath.

“And I suppose I’m to follow him and his mysterious quarters?”

Murray’s lips twitch and he raises his hands in surrender. Your sigh and step towards the door has him dropping his hands though, nudging the still full glass of vodka towards you. Figuring it’s his way of telling you to clean and sterilize the wound before the prodding at it begins, you take a step closer. Hesitating slightly, your finger wraps around the amber glass, a deep breath leaves you as you tip it to your lips.

He nods his head towards you and raises his own glass, and as the liquid flows into your mouth, he toasts, “To Steve.”

The liquor sits on your tongue longer than you’d like it to as you glare at him. Swallowing it down, you blame the harsh burn in your throat for the prickle that’s forming behind your eyes.

Spinning on your heel to follow Eddie, Murray’s voice calls out quietly, making you pause.

“I’d tell him sooner, rather than later.”

Looking over your shoulder, he puts the glasses in a bin underneath the bar, not looking back at you as he quietly adds, “In my experience, there’s always space to dive deeper into the story. Things are often not what they appear to be. And well,” he chuckles to himself, “Harrington’s got a lot more going on under all that hair than meets the eye I think.” Your brows furrow as Murray looks up at you, patting his hand over his heart with a smirk on his lips, “And I’m not talking about the stuff on top of his head.”

Normally, the joke about Steve’s chest hair would have your lips twitch into a smile, a roll of your eyes, but instead, his words float through the air until they arrive in your gut, sitting heavy and dragging you down. They try to ignite that hope again, but you know it’s no use in letting it light anymore.

Your feet push forward, stomping down the hallway without a word back. As the door swings closed behind you, your eyes blink, adjusting to the harsh sunlight you’d forgotten was shining outside. The sounds from earlier now connecting to what’s before you. Several enclosed batting cages sit just beyond a wooden and covered back patio of the bar. There’s two older men with their bags of gear sitting at their feet. Each drinking a beer at a small wooden table, rubbing their shoulders. Eddie is inside one of the cages. His leather jacket hung on the fence, a blue helmet squishing down his curls. The white cotton of his baseball tee stretches over his flexing back muscles as he swings at a ball released by the machine.

As your feet scuff against the deck and then the gravel, you take another deep breath, mouth opening to just blurt out some sort of apology to him. Eddie stops the machine with a harsh smack to a button on the side of the cage. He comes out the door, holding the helmet and bat out to you, chest moving up and down with each ragged breath. He offers a closed lip smile as he says, “Your turn.”

“Eddie, I really don’t…” you trail off until you settle on just asking, “Why?”

“Would you just do it?” He frowns, tone annoyed as he extends his arms towards you further.

Eyebrows raised in anticipation he nods once as you take the items with a huff and stomp into the cage. As you place the helmet onto your head, and stare down the machine, you exhale and press the button. It whirs back to life as your hands wrap around the bat and you step up to the metaphorical plate, Eddie’s voice calling from over your shoulder as you do.

“So, wanna tell me why you’re sad? Talk about anything Murray said?”

Your fingers curl tighter around the grip, shoulders going up in defense again. Your jaw clenches before you grit out, “For the last time Eddie, I’m not sad. I’m fine.”

Eddie snorts behind you as you swing at the first ball released, missing.

Strike one.

“Sure, figured that’d be your answer. So,” he sighs heavily and you hear the fence rattle like he’s kicking it, “Why’re you avoiding us again then?”

You knew this topic couldn’t be dodged forever. It’s true, you’d been pulling away again since Halloween, and getting the save the date was the nail in your friendship’s coffin. As the wedding looms in the not so distant future, it’s easier to pull away from him, from all of them, because you know that they were and always will be Steve’s friends first. Intentions of not letting Steve keep them from you seem futile now, when you know the history and depth of friendship you’re up against. You’re not gonna say that to Eddie though, so as the next pitch is released, you swing and stammer out a pathetic lie.

“I-I’m not.” The ball makes contact, causing your forearms to vibrate from the bad swing. Your grip tightens so the bat doesn’t fall from your fingers as the ball pops up and behind you, rattling the fence.

“Well that’s a load of crap. Wanna know what I think?” Eddie yells, not pausing for you to refute and sarcastically continuing, “Great, I’m overjoyed to tell you.”

Your heel digs into the gravel and your eyes narrow on the whirring machine, waiting for him to sink the scalpel into you, defenseless - trapped from running away from him, stuck in this cage with nowhere to go to avoid what he’s about to tell you.

“I think you are sad. I think Murray was right and you don’t wanna admit it to him, to anyone, and especially not yourself. Instead of an easy fix of talking about it, you wanna sit in your pity and throw a party.” Eddie’s voice takes on a dramatic, high pitched imitation of you as the next ball is released and you swing, “I’m Y/N! Woe is me! I’m all alone! Nobody loves me!”

You miss the ball again, shoulders hunching in, desperate to make yourself smaller with each of the words that he shouts at your back. Turning to look over your shoulder, you glare at him.

Strike two.

Eddie leans against the fence, glaring right back at you with his eyebrows raised as you hiss, “You’re being an asshole.”

“Yeah? At least I’m an asshole who’s got friends,” he gestures towards you, “You clearly think you don’t.” You twist your toe in the gravel deeper, returning your focus to the machine and taking a deep breath as he keeps going. “I’ll have Murray pour you some more vodka and you can sit here and think about how your life is horrible. Truly tragic.”

Your eyes narrow from his bored tone, lifting your chin and elbow, adamant to ignore him.

“You have nothing and no one.”

Another exhale, your chest rises and falls with a deep inhale and your shoulders relax. Straining to hear the hint of the ball being released instead of Eddie yelling at you.

“Maybe you’ll get a cat one day, but ultimately you’re gonna die alone!”

SMACK.

Your bat meets the ball and it soars to the end of the cage and you spin on him. Face hot, your emotions bubbling and ready to explode. Anger mingling with adrenaline coursing through your veins from the hit, amping up how the words fall out of you in an angry cry.

“Yeah! I am Eddie! And that’s what I want! So fucking lay off!”

“Why?”

“Because it’s easier!”

When he yells right back, without pausing, asking you for a reason, the excuse falls out of you easily. Your mouth closes immediately after the words tumble out in your scream, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as Eddie’s narrow. He shakes his head, volume lowering only slightly.

“Nah, that’s just fucking running. And take it from someone who ran for a long time, it feels easy, but it’s the furthest thing from. Eventually, you are going to get tired, and your problems will be right on your heels.

Facing the machine again so you don’t have to look into his eyes any longer, you shake your head no at him, letting a ball hit the end of your bat, popping forward limply as you try to speak with confidence.

“I’m not running from problems Eddie, I’m just…it’s easier to be the one who does the leaving than to be the one who’s left, okay?”

The words float through the air, unable to be taken back, and their weight makes something in your chest squeeze and constrict.

“That’s some next-level, glass half empty, pessimistic, depressing shit. And who the hell said anyone was going anywhere? You’re refusing to see that if you looked back for one second from the door you’ve been half out since you got here, that nobody else even has their shoes on.”

The squeezing in your chest only intensifies, his cut getting deeper as he searches for answers, and your bat hesitates halfway through your swing, sending a ball straight up into the air above you. You breathlessly ask, “What?”

Eddie waits until you look over your shoulder at him, emphasizing each word. “Nobody’s leaving you.”

His words hit you harder than your bat has hit any of the balls. It feels like one was pitched right into your gut, expelling all the air from your lungs and causing the tears that have been right behind your eyes to well up hard and fast. You spin to avoid his gaze again and square up for another pitch.

Eddie doesn’t know that it’s not a promise anyone can make - life doesn’t care.

Your head shakes, tears brimming on your lash line as you argue, “You can’t know that Eddie, not really. It’s better this way.”

SMACK.

A tear slips over your bottom lashes, trailing down your cheek as the bat makes good contact again and Eddie digs the scalpel in for his final cut. “Fine. Believe that. But you need to admit that you’re slamming the door on our faces and pretending like no one is still standing on the other side, knocking and asking to be let back in.”

The machine whirls, it wooshes with the release of a ball as another tear, and then another falls. Your vision progressively grows fuzzy, the world around you blurring as you swing again and his voice washes over you.

“Did you know that Nancy is a freak just like you, and I’m sure she’d be happy to split some Cherry Garcia any time? God help you both for liking such a disgusting flavor.”

You let the tears fall openly, but silently, as you swing harder this time. The weight in your stomach - the knots that have been forming since the very first lie was told - twist and tug harder.

“I know you’re not stupid enough to think I wouldn’t come have a beer with you, or take you to Target to get some new sheets or food that doesn’t have the Frito-Lay logo plastered on it.”

Another ball pops up and behind you as you clear your throat. Refusing to believe what he’s saying, you wonder if he can see the tears hitting the tan gravel beneath you and darkening it like drops of rain.

“And Robin! She’d love to watch Double O Seven with you. You should hear her Sean Connery impression. It’s terrible.” Eddie laughs a little and you twist the toe of your converse into the gravel, covering up a dark spot.

“But no. Instead of any of that, you just gave up. You didn’t give any of us a chance. Steve Harrinngton’s dumb ass is the only thing to blame for all your loneliness, sadness, and problems. So keep ignoring the footsteps running behind you and the knocking, or open the fucking door.”

You want to believe Eddie, you really do. But what happens when you come to rely on someone, need the support to lean on, and they’re gone?

Your head shakes harder, a sob stuck in your throat as you barely murmur, “Eddie, I can’t.”

His voice is softer than it has been all day as he asks, “Can’t or won’t?”

More tears fall past your lashes. The last ball is pitched and you choke out, “I’m sorry.”

You don’t attempt to swing at this one and it hits the fence behind you. The machine whirs one final time then stops.

“Yeah, me too.”

Heavy, suffocating, disappointment lingers in the air around you.

It takes several minutes, even more tears falling quietly, for you to remove the helmet from your head and drop both it and the bat on the ground with a clang. When you turn around, swiping at your cheeks, Eddie isn’t there.

Each drag of your feet inside is an active fight. Limbs heavy, heart even more so, because you know what awaits you inside before it’s confirmed.

Murray looks up from a keg he’s tapping and simply nods to the end of the bar. Your phone and wallet sit there and you know the Jeep and Eddie will be gone when you push out the door crying.

You’ve somehow done the leaving and were left this time.

Strike three.

It’s literally a symptom, or as some like to claim - stage - of grief.

Denial.

We lie all the time. We tell lies to spare or protect feelings, and more importantly, we lie to ourselves, instead of facing truths head on.

Because it’s easier to lie - to avoid, to shut something down, or deny its existence when it’s too hard to look at directly. Which is interesting. Why has there not been some sort of evolutionary transformation from this reaction? And really, the longer you wait to face something, the harder the truth is going to hit you. The time you give a truth to sit untold, unacknowledged, it only grows larger. That truth takes hearty roots, and your avoidance in the form of lies, whether to yourself or others, or both, only allows it to spread more rapidly.

Eventually, you will have to stop lying, to stop running, and that truth will have grown in strength. It has sprouted new truths or problems because your lies only fed it the fertilizer it needed to do so, and now it’s suddenly not the one thing you have to face anymore, but the multiple harder truths.

Which may be why you’re still outside, staring up at Nancy’s brownstone, where all of your friends, or well, the people you hope are still your friends are-

“Out of the bike lane!”

You jump forward onto the sidewalk just in time for a man in bright yellow spandex to zoom past you shouting some sort of curse as you clutch the dessert in your hands tighter.

Grateful you had a firm handle on it to begin with, it's one of the few family heirlooms you held onto along with the recipe it’s holding. Hoping to gain some sort of courage from deep within it, like your mom can offer you some through the dish, you make your way up the brick steps.

The only reason you're here, the only reason you’re facing this day the way you’re feeling just so happens to be the one to open the door before you can even ring the bell.

The door is flung open and her bright blue eyes fight to sparkle behind squinted eyelids that are almost shut she’s smiling so wide at you.

“Happy Friendsgiving!” Robin shouts louder than she needs to and holds her arms out in a dramatic greeting. She’s covered from fingertips to elbows in thick, orange goo, her clearly thrifted oversize old man sweater sleeves pushed up to her shoulders. You smile your first genuine smile in weeks as she goes to hug you and you both pause, rethinking it.

“Fall in a pumpkin?” You quip as you balance the dessert in your hand to shrug off one arm of your coat.

Robin wiggles her fingers and hands spirit and jazz style with a beam that shows off her dimple as she corrects, “Sweet potato casserole.”

“You fell in a sweet potato casserole?” Following her deeper into Nancy’s, you take in a long breath, the tight chest you’ve had since Eddie left you at Murray’s loosening with each word exchanged between you and her. But knowing you have to face him, Nancy, Steve and her, and continue to pretend nothing is wrong while around Robin, has the constricting pressure around your heart returning quickly.

Robin rolls her eyes, turning and walking backwards and making a face at you. She huffs as she turns back around, “No. Steve is making his famous mac and cheese and apparently I was annoying him, can you believe it? So him and Nance put me on mashing duty to keep me busy like a toddler.”

“You said it, not me!” Steve calls, his wine glass stopping before his lips when he makes eye contact with you.

Weeks of not seeing each other after the way you left things was going to be hard, you knew that. But you really weren’t prepared for how he looks today, or how it would affect you.

He’s got a burnt orange, almost brown, thick sweater on with light wash jeans. You’re sure both are from the section of his closet you stumbled upon months ago. That part holding his clothes he doesn’t wear often for whatever reason. He looks comfortable, casual, content. Down to the tube socks on his feet and the worn brown leather of the band of his watch. Your chest aches a little as you wonder if it’s Leigh that’s gotten him to relax into this version of himself. Even his hair, longer than a few weeks ago, is different than you’ve seen from him. Far messier than usual - like it hasn’t seen products or been styled lately, and several days of facial hair evident on his jaw. He looks like a version of Steve designed to torture you - a Steve who you’ve only gotten glimpses of and you miss before you’ve even really met.

“Hi,” he says quietly, smiling closed-lipped at you.

“Hi,” you offer with your own hesitant smile. Your fingers fiddle with the tinfoil over the edge of the dessert from your spot where you linger in the doorway.

“How are you? Do you…wine?” Steve stammers over his questions, cheeks turning pink. He spins and starts pouring you some without waiting for your answer. It gives you a small bit of relief that he’s as anxious as you are, neither of you knowing what comes next. Do you ever return to normal? And what is normal for you and Steve?

“Sure, yeah, good. You?”

Steve nods his head too quickly, spinning to face you again with the wine. “Good, yeah, thanks.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

Steve blinks at you, hazel eyes bright under the soft glow of Nancy’s pendant lighting hanging above her island. As you stare at each other, unsaid words float in the air, it was silly to think it could ever just be over with him. You miss entering a room and not sharing this awkward, palpable, tension - when it was a smile or joke exchanged instead of forced greetings, a warmth and joy felt instead of dread.

You hate that you don’t hate him.

You hate that there’s this horrible ache in your chest, like words want to tumble out but you physically can’t say them - why can’t you both just apologize? Why can’t that save the date be ripped to shreds? Why can’t it all work out?

“You two are acting weird.”

Robin’s voice bursts whatever bubble you were both in, and you clear your throat, looking down. Steve’s fingers adjust on the wine glass and he shakes his head.

Steve stammers, “N-no, we’re g-”

“Good?” Robin questions, eyebrows raised, “Yeah I gathered that.”

Before either of you can say anything in response, Nancy’s voice calls from the front door, “Crisis averted! I found a bag!”

Her brown curls bounce against her cheeks as she jogs into the kitchen. Dressed up in black suede boots and flared jeans, her tan peacoat left open showing off a silky black blouse. She pauses, mid stride, bag of marshmallows held aloft and her smile faltering as her gaze darts around the room.

Feeling warm under Robin’s sudden perceptiveness, you’re grateful when Nancy springs into action, relieving the awkward tension.

“Geez Robin, did any sweet potato end up in the dish? I left you alone with them for twenty minutes.”

Robin’s lips twitch slightly, eyes finally leaving Steve’s as she looks down at her hands, flexing her fingers, the orange goo becoming stiff and hard on her skin.

Nancy gives you a look, her eyes narrowed in a question but smiles when Robin looks back up. She places the marshmallows on the counter and grabs her hand. “Well, Y/N, can finish up.” She directs her next words to you, head nodding to a pan on the counter, “Put those marshmallows on top and stick it in the oven. Steve, your cheese isn’t gonna grate itself. And you,” Nancy tugs Robin out of the kitchen, smiling sweetly at her, “Are gonna come get cleaned up with me.”

Robin’s entire face turns pink, freckles standing out on her skin, from the way Nancy stares at her intently, like no one else exists. You look down, hiding your smile when Robin coughs, sputtering out something that you’re sure is supposed to be a yes. She eagerly nods and Steve huffs loudly, which makes her turn to glare over her shoulder at him, but it quickly turns into a smile as you call out, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” to their retreating forms.

Their footsteps fade and Steve reaches out with one hand, looking at the dessert as he asks, “I can grab that from you?”

As the door to her bedroom clicks closed, you breathe out an exhale, unsure of how much longer you can keep it all up. His eyes are warm as his fingers brush the dish and you pull it back from his reach a bit, whispering, “It’s really fragile.”

Steve’s eyes bounce over your face, setting the wine down, both hands reaching for the dessert as he promises, quiet and sure, “I got it.”

Your fingertips graze each other as he takes it, and the electricity of just one more touch from him is enough kindling for the hope to spark. The heat from his stare has your cheeks warming and his turning pink. Steve’s lips twitch slightly in the corners as he glances down at the dish, then back up at you.

“So, this just from Mariano’s then?”

Your eyes roll hard at his assumption, scoffing as you turn to rip open the bag of marshmallows and keep your back to him. “You would ask if it was from there instead of Jewel.”

Steve knocks the faucet off from washing his hands, shaking them into the sink and flinging water across the stainless steel before drying them. He sucks his teeth with a wince as he turns to the counter, his shoulder next to yours. “Yeah, okay that’s fair.”

You laugh quietly, popping a marshmallow in your mouth in between placing them haphazardly across the orange mixture. Steve sighs next to you and gestures to the dish. “See, this is why I asked. No way you baked something. Didn’t think you could do anything in the kitchen except keep your take out menus impeccably organized.”

“Impeccably huh? That your word of the day on the calendar Robin got you?” You toss another marshmallow in your mouth with a smirk.

“Actually, no today’s word was assiduous.”

The veins in his hands flex as he grates the cheese, and he gives you a look as he says the word with confidence and emphasis, eyebrows raised.

You stall, taking a sip of your wine and hiding your smile in the glass before asking, “What, am I supposed to be impressed or something?”

He dumps the cheese into the pot and turns to you, cocking his head, tongue in his cheek before he frowns. “You’re not?”

Steve’s lips twitch, his facade breaking easily and you both laugh. Your shoulders relax further and so do his. Why does it have to be so easy with him, yet so hard?

“Actually, I think it will be you who’s impressed,” you start, making the marshmallows a little more purposeful and pretty for his sake.

“Oh yeah?”

You hum, nodding, “I made that pie from scratch.”

“No you didn’t.”

Looking up, you see him shaking his head. He makes eye contact with you and he shrugs, adamant, “Nope. No way.”

Your hands land on your hips as your tone turns indignant. “Yes I did! I made the crust from scratch, cold butter into flour and everything. Rolled it out, doctored up the filling in a pan on the stove. Brown sugar, the works.”

His hand stops on the second block of cheese, eyes narrowing at you as he questions, “Really?”

A laugh leaves you from the tone of his suspicion as you slide the pan holding Robin’s dish into the oven. “You sound like my dad when my mom made it the first time.”

Steve doesn’t say anything and your lip tugs between your teeth as you remember the moment between your parents. Maybe it’s the holiday, maybe you’re just tired, maybe it’s the few sips of alcohol that let the story fall out of you so easily.

“She was really awful at cooking,” you laugh, taking a sip of wine and waving your hand in the air, “I mean like, awful. She could serve you a grilled cheese that was somehow burnt but the cheese was cold? She got better, but anyways, I really don’t know why she thought she’d be any better at baking…”

Steve’s eyes meet yours briefly as he takes his own sip of wine and you look away, grabbing some of the cheese and deciding to help as you keep talking.

“I don’t remember how she decided to do this, but my dad was out of town for work, and she wanted to make him something special, and to her that was a pie, I guess? But she was adamant that it be from scratch. Made and baked with love. And so we did. We went and got all of the ingredients, and we destroyed the kitchen, but it was the most fun I’ve ever had with her. We listened to Dolly Parton and drank wine all day, totally got flour and butter everywhere, I told her about classes, and the guy I was seeing…”

Your eyes drift off the counter, remembering it was right before you knew she was sick and your chin trembles as a watery laugh leaves you, “And then my dad got home. Oh my god, his face. He, he…” you blink away tears as you start laughing harder, “He just dropped his duffle bag on the ground and shook his head looking around in shock and my mom yelled ‘We made you a pie!’ and my dad just raised his eyebrows and said ‘Sure looks like you made somethin’.”

The last words come out shaky and it isn’t until you feel a pressure on top of one of your hands that you realize you had been grating the cheese down to almost nothing, stealing it from him. Glancing up through blurry vision, tears continue to fall down your cheeks as Steve quietly asks, “But it was good?”

You snort, more tears leaving you as you shake your head no. “It was inedible,” you laugh harder, “Like raw, but somehow dry and clumpy, so bad.”

Steve squeezes your hand, eyebrows furrowing together as his confusion settles deeper in his face and he starts cautiously, “So…you…made an inedible pie for us tonight?”

Your head shakes more and you take a deep breath, laughter and tears slowing. “No, after that, she, um…” closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and push out, “She needed to keep her hands working…”

When you open your eyes again, Steve’s staring intently at you, waiting. You wonder why he can wait patiently for this story, look at you like he’d wait an eternity for you to tell him the ending, but he couldn’t wait for you. But, would you have wanted him to? When you’re certain that the potential of losing him, all of them, completely, isn’t worth the risk. Would he have waited forever for you to change your mind?

Your voice breaks as you finish, “Her chemo…she started to get neuropathy, and making the crust and keeping her hands and brain busy helped. So she kept practicing until it was perfect. And now it’s one of the last things I have from her. The dish too, we went and searched for the right one…” Fingers of your free hand form quotation marks as you roll your eyes with a laugh, remembering her ridiculous insistence on it and the day of estate sales and thrift stores.

It’s silent as the unsaid ending washes over you both, the importance - the weight - of the dessert and the story. The immediate need to take it all back rises up in you hard, wishing you could put the entire thing back inside yourself and rewind the last few minutes. The vulnerability leaves you cracked open and exposed to him and you’re not sure you can handle his reaction.

“I’m sorry,” your brows furrow, “I don’t know why I just…”

Steve’s fingers wrap around yours tighter and he squeezes. Your eyes meet the moss and honey you want to avoid because you’re sure they’re looking at you with that look. The pitying one, the one that everyone gets before they tell you a sorry that doesn’t help.

But Steve’s eyes shine with something stronger - admiration and amusement as he winces, “So, see, that story tells me that your mom practiced and practiced to make a perfect pie not you and-”

Your hand smacks at his chest lightheartedly, laughing around a protest. Steve holds his hands up in surrender, “Hey, hey, okay!”

Both of your laughter subsides and he smiles, a genuine smile, one side of his lips twisted up as he looks at the pie then you. “I’m sure it’s great. I’m excited to try it. Thank you for telling me that…I wish I could have met…”

As he trails off, your fingers brush against his on the counter, your bodies shift closer, letting the story and laughter pull you into each other’s gravity once more. Maybe it doesn’t have to be hard - there’s a reason you can fall so easily back into each other. A reason you can offer up a story you normally keep close if he’s the one listening, a reason you can forgive. There has to be a reason your body wants to be closer to his, a reason you want to feel his lips on yours again. Maybe there are cosmic connections, unexplainable phenomena of the universe, fate and destiny and invisible strings.

Hope flourishes inside of you, it catches on every bounce of his eyes over your face, the way his finger nudges against yours just like they did in that car ride to a lake so many weeks ago. It sparks and drifts into the air, it floats around you like embers from an actual fire as he breathes your name out and your body takes one step closer, making you chest to chest. One easy tilt of your head, one bend from his and maybe it’d all be okay again.

The doorbell rings, making both of you jump apart. The reality of the situation hits you, like someone dumped an entire bucket of water over the hope as Steve looks toward the door and frowns. You keep letting yourself end up in this position and eventually it’s going to hurt so much you’ll never be able to come back from it.

You’re not his, he’s not yours, and it’s too late. Another girl calls him baby, he calls her honey, and they go on and have the life you were certain you never wanted - all because you can’t let him in the way he wanted you to. This isn’t a movie, there is no rewind, there is no pause, and it’s time to move on.

“I’ll go get that, you have cheese to…uh…”

“Y/N, wait-”

You’re already out of the kitchen, speed walking to the front door. Dreading the girl you’re certain is on the other side, you start to pull your shoes back on. Maybe you could slip out with an excuse and leave. Your destiny isn’t Steve, it’s to always run, to always be alone.

The door swings open and you look up from your crouched position, one shoe on. Eddie is standing in the doorway, holding a bag of Hawaiian Rolls and looking at you, eyebrows raised in wait.

He holds open the door and gestures outside as he asks, “Should I leave this open?”

Your stomach swoops, thinking of the chance he’s giving you, the opportunity to do what you want, no questions asked. But your heartbeat thuds loudly in your ears at the opposite side of the coin - the other chance he’s giving you.

A deep breath is exhaled as you shakily ask, “That depends…are you still knocking?”

Eddie shrugs. “Maybe. Only one way to really find out right?”

Nodding once, you stand. A limped step over to the door with one shoe on, and you close it. Your palm rests flat against the wood as you take another calming breath. The sounds of the others in the kitchen are muffled as you turn around and look up at Eddie. You kick off the shoe, take a step forward, and mime opening a door.

Letting a tear slip past your lash line, you shrug, standing in the metaphorical open doorway and hold your breath.

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Thank god, my arm was getting really tired.”

Another watery laugh starts to escape you and you wrap your arms around him in a hug. “I’m sorry. For everything, for dragging you into all of this and for leading you on and…and…”

He extends his fingers, counting his points as he sighs, “You forgot for being stubborn, for not asking me to be the Inigo to your Buttercup, for-”

“I’m sorry.” You force every ounce of meaning behind the words as you squeeze his waist tighter and he finally meets your hug, long arms wrapping around you.

“We’re all good sweetheart, don’t sweat it.” He pats your shoulder and takes a step back, cocking his head, “But that’s not all…” he taps his finger to your forehead, “What else is going on up there? Why were you leaving?”

“Y/N, please don’t…” Steve trails off as he comes into the entryway. You duck your head and sniff quietly, hoping there’s no evidence of your tears that escaped and break away as Steve clears his throat. “So-sorry. I thought you were…nevermind.”

Steve turns quickly on his heel, back towards the kitchen where the sounds of Robin and Nancy arguing about something echo louder down the hall. Eddie sighs, rolling his eyes at Steve’s back, and gestures for you to go before him, quietly whispering, “We’ll chat later about that.”

“Why does it smell like that? What did you put in it?” Nancy is bent down, looking at the dish you placed in the oven. Her hair is damp, curls weighed down against her cheeks, but her sleek outfit is back on, sans coat, sleeves rolled up.

Robin’s hair has a towel twirled on top of it, though she’s otherwise back in her jeans and sweater, her hands on her hips. “I don’t know! I did exactly what you said!”

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, tossing the bread onto the counter.

“You don’t smell that?” Nancy shakes her head, hand held out to the air in exasperation.

Steve’s back is to you as he dumps cooked noodles into his pot of melted cheese and Eddie shakes his head no. Your nose starts to wrinkle though the longer you sit in the space.

Your hands raise, “I swear I just put the marshmallows on.”

It takes Nancy gagging on a bite she tries to eat of the casserole and Steve going through his spices next to his pot to realize Robin used paprika instead of cinnamon. A lot of paprika.

She throws her hands up in the air as she storms out to the deck, where you’ve all decided it’d be better to eat, bundled up from the cold, than inside trapped with the smell. “You know what, I never asked to cook anything so eat you’ll eat your paprika sweet potatoes and like it!”

As everyone sits at the table, Eddie looks around and asks, “Shouldn’t we wait for one more?”

“What?” Steve asks him, tone a little sharp, sitting down in the seat across from you.

“Your fiance? Isn’t she coming?” Eddie prods, meeting Steve’s cold attitude with an equal sting and rolled back shoulders.

“I’m sure she was earlier,” Robin mumbles into her wine glass, “Ow.” She glares at Steve who kicks her under the table.

Nancy rolls her eyes as Steve shakes his head no, clearing his throat, “She’s…we haven’t…she’s with her family already.”

Robin sighs from her spot next to you and your eyes meet Steve’s before jumping down to your plate. The pressure around your heart squeezes even tighter - maybe it was only easy with him because she’s not here, and that is not always going to be the case. Your fingers itch, neck rolling from the tension. You want to get up and walk away, but Eddie’s knee nudges yours and your shoulders relax slightly.

Nancy raises her glass, changing the subject, “Okay, before we dig in, I want to say that I’m very grateful for you all, and here’s to many more years of Friendsgiving.” She smiles at Robin when she uses the name.

Robin beams, holding her glass up too, “Here, here! Now everyone take two scoops of the potatoes.”

Glasses clink and laughter shared, it's easy for you to believe Nancy. Easy with Steve smiling across from you and Eddie and Robin bickering about the food next to you, with her not there, to believe that you’ll be a part of their stories. Maybe -

“So, Dingus, it’s time to spill all the details about Leigh.” Robin leans forward on the table, her eyebrows raised as Steve’s glass pauses halfway to his mouth. “We don’t know anything and you’re getting married in like five months.”

Nancy and Eddie’s bites and glasses also freeze, not so discreet looks at you from both of them. Nancy finishes swallowing and shakes her head, “Robin, we know enough! Let Steve-”

“No we don’t! I don’t know how you met, or if she’s moved in, and how he proposed and why on earth he didn’t tell his best friend! I have him cornered finally and you’re all gonna help me. Don’t act like you guys don’t want to know either!”

“Robin,” Steve starts licking his lips as he looks at her then you, “Can we not do this right now?”

“Time’s up bub,” Robin frowns, shaking her head, “I promise we like her, she’s cool. But you’ve been dodging the questions and me for weeks now. Start with the easy one, how’d you meet?”

Steve looks at you like he’s in physical pain and you look down at the liquid in your wine glass, swirling the red wine around as you wait for the story that is sure to kill you. You wish he’d just rip the band-aid off, get it over with.

“We, uh, met through my parents.” Steve swallows a large gulp of wine.

Your head whips up at the comment and Steve stares at you, frowning before he looks up at the sky.

Robin’s brows furrow as she asks, “Your parents?” Equally shocked as you are. It isn’t a secret that Steve and his parents aren’t always on the same page.

Steve rubs at his forehead, closing his eyes before he sets the wine glass down. He straightens, rolling his shoulders back, “Okay, it’s all going to come out anyways so…our parents set us up. It’s been arranged for awhile, we didn’t really date or anything, we’re getting married because that’s what we do. She’s from a good family and I’m from a good family, it makes sense. For business and life and…that’s it.”

The table is silent as Steve’s lips twist, waiting for someone to say something.

Your heartbeat isn’t loud in your ears, your stomach doesn’t swoop - it’s like all noise has left the planet. It’s like someone actually hit pause as his explanation and the last few months catch up with each other in your brain until they meet in a loud explosion. It’s an actual glass shattering sound effect. Heartbreak and hope and disbelief and anger swell inside of you like a wave ready to devour anyone who was stupid enough to enter the unpredictable ocean.

It’s surprising to everyone, including yourself, when you’re the one to break the silence. The question leaves you so quietly, you weren’t even certain you asked it out loud until he looked at you.

“So you’re not in love with her?”

As Steve stares at you, the table floats away, it’s just you and him. His mouth parts, but no response falls from it. You stand abruptly, chair scraping against the wood deck harshly as you push back, muttering something about needing to put the dessert into the oven. Your stomach that’s been twisted into knots for months feels like someone pulled one loose thread and it’s unraveling inside of you. A box of bouncy balls released, an unpredictable canon of confetti, trapeze artists, butterflies, boulders, and a deep ocean swallowing you. All of it, finally coming together and creating catastrophe.

It’s like every single moment you’ve been angry with him is turned up to eleven, but so is every look and touch. Every single one feels like a lie, a slap to your face - he was just using you because he was indecisive, scared, afraid to give up his single life. Steve Harrington was just like every other man. Your entire last few months swirl around inside your brain, replaying every moment, every emotion like a favorite movie. But it’s like someone took that film and told you every single thing wrong with it. Like they pointed out how everything you loved was just covering up the real and horrible plot - bright lights and pretty sets to convince everyone they had a good time, when in reality it was cheaply made and not worth it.

Your hands shake as you start to rip at the foil covering the pie, and his voice calls out behind you, “Please let me answer that question. Please let me explain.”

A scoff leaves you, eyes closing as you bite back, “It’s fine Steve. Clearly I was just some placeholder for you the whole time.”

“Placeholder?”

You spin, hands in the air as you search for words to make him see how much this hurts you. “Yeah, yes. Some, I don’t know. Last hurrah!”

“What?” The word comes out sharp, like he truly doesn’t understand what you’re saying. His cheeks are pink, his hair blown from the wind outside, eyes wide and blinking at you like you’re crazy.

“You heard me! I was just some fun fuck before you sealed the deal on your spoiled brat fate.”

Steve’s mouth falls open, then quickly closes, taking a step closer, hands clenched into fists as his brows furrow. His jaw tightens with each word, “I’m not a spoiled brat!”

Another scoff, a cold laugh as you wave your hand again. “Oh please Steve! You used me to bide your time and prolong the inevitable! You were just avoiding looking at the contract you signed!”

Steve stands over you, both of your chests rising and falling in time, the air inside the kitchen warmer from the oven being on all day and your words shouted at each other - the sparks leaping from your bodies and engulfing each other.

“I didn’t use you! You offered! It was all your idea! I’m so sick of this-”

You shove at his chest and he grabs your wrists, as you mock him, voice dripping with fake pity, “Oh, poor Steve Harrington. I have to get married and say goodbye to my single life, but let me use this girl-”

“This isn’t about me, I have to make decisions that affect my whole family, I can’t just say no! And what was I supposed to do? The person I want doesn’t want me!” HIs voice cracks as he drops your hands, fire cracking and sizzling between you both. His admission, the chance to tell him he’s wrong, that you do want him, makes your heart beat turn rapid, like it’s actually trying to punch its way out of your body.

You shake your head, pushing down the flames of hope threatening to burn you alive, pushing him away. “You saw an opportunity to postpone but not fully deny. It’s fine Steve, I get it. It was the safe option.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Grabbing the pie, you sob, “Security. Money. You couldn’t say no to them. And then when I offered to fuck you no strings attached? Man,” you scoff out another laugh around your tears, “You probably thought you won the lottery, huh?”

Steve grabs for the pie, his eyes wet as he shakes his head. Voice hoarse as he argues, “You’re so unbelievably wrong. I couldn’t fucking wait for you to maybe, hopefully, open up one day! I have to move on! And it’s not like she’s a bad person, and I don’t know why we’re arguing about this again, because clearly you’re with Eddie.”

You tug harder on the dish but Steve doesn’t release as you cry out, “Oh! No! Don’t even try that! Eddie and I aren’t together and we never were! You’re using that as an excuse! Tell me Steve. Tell me you love her, that you want to marry her.”

“I-”

“Is that what your future looks like? Huh? Ten years down the road, it’s her? That’s what you imagined and not your parents?”

“Y/N, it’s not that simple!”

“It is! What do you want, Steve?”

You need him to tell you and he needs you to tell him and neither of you will - because you’re scared, stubborn. Two suns burning too hot and close together, and it was inevitable for it to end this way. You both stood on the edge of that cliff and saw the end you’d meet and you jumped anyway. Was it worth it?

“I can’t believe you two.”

This is the moment.

It wasn’t when he showed up at the football game with her. It wasn’t the party. It wasn’t the engagement.

It’s the look Robin is giving you both from her spot in the doorway. It’s the pie and the glass dish hitting the floor in shards of sapphire blue and orange peaches. It’s Steve and you both turning to her, shaking your heads no, saying her name in the same pleading way.

Her bright blue eyes turn to glass as she chokes around a tearful laugh, “I knew, I knew you both were hiding something, I just…why? Why couldn’t you just tell me?”

Nancy reaches for Robin’s wrist, “Robin, they didn’t mean to…”

Robin recoils, swiping at her cheeks. She looks at Nancy, then at Steve whose head falls, his hands in his hair. Eddie looks down too when Robin turns to him and she steps back again. “Everyone knew, huh? You all have been lying to me this entire time? Why? I don’t…” She shakes her head again and runs past you both, down the hall and slams the door.

Steve starts to go after her when a small frame stands in front of him like she’s twice his size, hand pressing to his chest. Fury burns in Nancy’s eyes as she blocks the hallway. Her voice low and far more angry than you’ve heard it be before. “I think you’ve done enough.”

“Nance, come on, that’s not fair,” Steve steps forward again and when she stops him with two hands now, his voice turns sharper, “Don’t act like you’re the only one who cares about her.”

“Yeah, well you’ve got a funny way of showing it Steve.” Nancy looks at you, “I think you should leave. All of you.”

Eddie grabs your elbow, speaking quietly, “I can drive you home.”

Steve laughs, “Oh, I’m sure you can.”

“Steve,” you start and he interrupts you, hands running down his face.

“No. It’s fine. It’s all my fault right? I’m the only one in the wrong?” He pushes past you, shoulder hitting Eddie’s hard and the door slamming even more so behind him. Pictures rattle against the wall, Nancy and her family's smiling faces tilted in their frame. The world turned off its axis.

It’s Nancy’s quiet knock from down the hall, Robin’s shouted ‘leave her alone’ and Eddie’s sigh of ‘fucking, christ’. It’s that there you stand, the door closed behind him, the mess you made, literally, surrounding you.

This, the consequences of all of your actions - is the double tap.

You let the mess build, you let the avoided truths take deeper roots and spread lies to cover them up. All because you wanted the hope to stay - you wanted it both ways - despite telling yourself different, despite lying to yourself for months.

Now, it’s too late. You’re just a girl who isn’t in a rom com with a happy ending. You’re alone, and the hope that maybe you wouldn’t be for once isn’t just gone, it’s ripped from your fingers.

The book is closed. The knife drips in the killer’s hand as the victim’s chest stops heaving. The spacesuit floats through a noiseless and lifeless galaxy. The body doesn’t get up from the mats and a silence falls over the crowd.

“Fuck!”

Your hands smack the steering wheel, a sob leaving you as your forehead falls against it.

You’ve been driving around for hours, hopeless. Your heart hasn’t stopped its erratic and hard beats since you ran out of Nancy’s. Somehow your body still courses with adrenaline, fight or flight still at war inside of yourself. Every time you think about the look Robin had on her face, every time you think about how much you hurt her, or how you may not see her again, you feel real, visceral, pain and panic. Your hands start shaking, the crying starts its cycle over from scratch, and you have to pull over until the snot sobbing stage settles into a calm, sort of silent cry.

This is a mess, and it’s your mess. Despite wanting to put all of the blame on Steve, you simply can’t run from this truth anymore. It was you who came up with the plan. Steve was hesitant immediately, bringing Robin’s thoughts up right away. It was you who came up with the Red Hot Ranch code, who kept going. It was you who called it off and started it up again despite knowing how it would all inevitably end. It feels like you pushed Steve off the cliff and thought it was okay because you were diving after him.

As you stare out the windshield, you know you have to stop running. Eddie’s words ring through the air.

Open the fucking door. Nobody’s leaving you.

You have to at least try, right? You have to apologize to her, to tell her it was all your fault so if she at least doesn’t forgive you, maybe you can offer a crack in the door to her forgiveness for the others. The others who simply got caught up in your lies, tripping over the tangled knot of roots they took.

You’re certain Robin and you met how and when you did not by chance, the universe gave you each other for a reason. You’re certain that there are soul mates, they’re just not in the form you always suspect. And you’re certain that if you don’t try to make things right, you’ll be miserable and truly alone for the rest of your life.

Robin once told you that she was there, and that she would be there when you were ready and you hope the offer still stands. Maybe you can’t make everything right, you can’t rewind, but you have to at least try to make the ending bearable.

When you turn the key in the ignition though, your car sputters. Your face twists into an expression of disbelief, only deepening when it does it again and your mouth falls open in shock when it suddenly starts to rain, mixing with snow that melts immediately on the ground. You laugh, looking out the windshield at the bleak and miserable sky, washing out the city in a dull gray.

“Of fucking course,” you mumble under your breath. Getting out of the car, you sigh as you lock it. You shield your eyes as you stare up at the sky and laugh, “You’re real funny. Great joke.”

Maybe it was a sign from the universe that you needed to really work for it, maybe it was bad karma, maybe you really deserved it, maybe it was even supposed to be a blessing - washing away the past to clear the slate for the future.

Regardless of reason, you don’t take the train, and you make the slow and wet walk back to where you came from.

The buzzer for her place rings with no answer. You know that she’s home because the light is on, and you intercepted her take out.

“Buckley I’ll keep buzzing, your egg rolls are getting cold!”

When she doesn’t answer again, you sigh, pressing your wet forehead to the cold brick and hold it down again, pulling out the big guns. “Okay, Robin, I, listen. I am so sorry. And if you want to hate me and never see me again, that’s totally fine, I understand. Because honestly, I am…I am scum for lying to you. I am pond scum. I’m lower than pond scum. I am the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

You release the buzzer and when there still isn’t a click of her responding your chin trembles. Maybe you really did fuck it up that badly and there is no coming back from this. It was silly of you to think she’d ever forgive you, especially when she has Steve. You’re about to set the food down and buzz again to tell her you’ll leave when the front door opens.

“You’re lower actually.”

A sob leaves you as Robin stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her favorite Hawkins Band sweatshirt. The fuzzy lime green socks with banjos on them that you got her for her birthday on her feet.

You nod, swiping at your tears with a free hand. “You’re right. Lower than the fungus. I’m the pus that infects the mucus that cruds up the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

Robin’s lips twitch, but she rolls her eyes before they look at the ground. “Quoting Julia Roberts is really unfair. You know how much of a sucker I am for her. Cheap shot.”

A crack in the tightness in your chest starts to pry open as you whisper, “I almost bought roses and had this plan to blare classical music from my car but it broke down and…well, here I am anyways, asking for forgiveness and a chance to explain.”

She raises her eyebrows, waiting, and your chin trembles as your voice shakes, “Robin I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to lie to you about it all for so long. And there were so many times I wanted to tell you. I was selfish and wrong and scared I would lose you - that you’d pick his side and shut me out - but I’m here trying now…please don’t hate me forever. And don’t hate Steve. He did nothing wrong. Or Nancy, or Eddie. It was all me and I’m so, so, so, sorry, please let me explain everything and give me another chance to be even half the amazing friend that you are.”

It’s silent, for what feels like forever, until her eyes meet yours. Shining from tears and her nose wiggles as she sniffles, “You were going to Pretty Woman me?”

You nod, tears roll down your cheeks and mingle with the rain that coats them.

Robin sighs, choking on her own tears as she laughs, “You just get me.”

She engulfs you in a hug and both of you cry into each other’s shoulders as she says, “I’m still mad you all lied. You’re not off the hook. I think giving me limitless veto power for movie nights is extremely fair and nonnegotiable.”

Your body feels lighter than it has in months as your arm tightens around her as you agree with a teary laugh, whispering another apology while silently vowing to never let her go. It doesn’t matter what happens next, because at least you have her, and you know you always will.

Robin trips on a heel as she emerges from her closet. Tilting your head at the dress she holds up, your nose scrunches as you shake your head no.

She sighs, throwing it on the no pile and groans, “Ugh! This is hopeless!”

As she flops onto her bed with a huff, you laugh and swap places with her, “No, no, come on. Tell me again.”

Robin sits up, staring at her dresser with a furrow forming under her bangs. “I want to look professional, put together, but not like it’s an interview, you know? I want them to take me seriously, but I want to look like me. Ergo, I am doomed.”

Your fingers trail over her clothes, eyes searching again after they roll. “Ergo, you’ve been facetiming Dustin too much.”

A black dress catches your eyes, velvet and cinched at the waist. Pulling it from her closet you hold it up. “What about this? I’ve never seen you wear it. Is it new?”

Her head tilts, “Huh. I forgot I bought that for…” she trails off and looks at you with a sad smile. “Right. Yeah, you don’t think it’s too low cut?”

You shake your head no, taking a deep breath at her change of subject, thoughts drifting to if she bought it for the wedding or something related to it. Maybe you could ask, but you’ve sort of had a non-verbal agreement to not discuss Steve the last month and it’s been working. After explaining everything to her, including how you felt about him getting married, your complicated feelings, it just felt easier to not discuss anything relating to him.

“Throw a nice necklace on, you’ll be perfect babe,” you make an a-okay symbol with your fingers, “The Wheeler’s aren’t gonna know what hit em.” You smile and look at the clock on her nightstand, handing the dress out to her, “Get to it though, or you’ll be late.”

Robin makes no move to get up, holding the dress in her hands and staring at it.

She shakes her head no. “I can’t do this.”

Sitting next to her, the bed bounces lightly and you grab her hand. “You absolutely can do this. It’s just meeting the parents and siblings, all of whom you’ve met already.”

“But not as her girlfriend. When I met them she wasn’t even out. What if they hate me? What if I spill something? What if I order the wrong wine?”

Laughing, you hold her panicking face in your hands, taking a deep breath to encourage her to do so too. “Robin. Breathe.”

She does, her exhale shaky and you smile, head tilting as you let her face go, fixing a curl you smooshed. “You really love her don’t you.”

It’s not a question, but Robin answers anyway. She nods vehemently, words tumbling out of her like she can’t help it. “God so much it’s scary. But also not? I want to spend every second with her. I want to tell her about every dumb little thought that pops into my head and I want to hear what she ate for lunch every day. I want to wake up and fall asleep next to her and that’s insane! How can you love a person like that so quickly? Like everything in your body is screaming for it? It’s…it’s that kind of love I’ve only heard about before? That kind of love…” she trails off, maroon polished fingers covering her smile before she keeps going, “It’s easier than breathing. It is breathing, you know?”

As she says the words that prick at something inside of you, prodding on thoughts you’d locked away, her skin pales, looking like she’s going to be sick. “Oh my god I really can’t do this. I can’t-”

“Robin. One step at a time. Change your outfit, you can do that right?”

She laughs, head falling to your shoulder, a sing-song lilt to her voice, “We’ve been here before.”

“Yeah and look at what happened.”

Robin sits up, biting her lip, nodding once and standing. “Right.”

As she changes, you assess her jewelry box. Your eyes roam over the mirror of her vanity, smiling at the pictures. You pause at the one of her and Steve that’s new to you. He has his tongue out, her arm around him and your fingers touch the corner, an ache in your chest wondering what they were doing and what stories they’ll have from the day.

“Have you talked to him?”

Her question startles you and your shoulders lift. Clearing your throat, you hold the necklace out to her. “No, um, I haven’t. He’s good?”

Robin starts to hook the necklace as she hums, “I think so. It’s hard to tell some days.” She hesitates, her face pinched into a familiar look to you, the one that looks like she’s physically holding words in, a true test for her. She bends down to buckle her heels as she asks, “Is it always going to be this way? Avoiding talking about each other? Seeing each other?”

“No, I don’t think so. I just need some time. I’ll be okay.” Shrugging with a smile, you grab your purse and coat.

Robin’s blue eyes sparkle under shimmering gold eyeshadow and she tilts her head, a smile forming on her lips as she nods, confident in her words, “You will be. One step at a time.”

“Cute,” you muse, and take a step back. You twirl your fingers for her to spin and she rolls her eyes but obliges. The black velvet dress cuts off at her calves, hugging her curves in a sexy but modest way and the gold pendant on her necklace matches the blocky old-fashioned heels. You yell out, “Ow-ow!”

Robin laughs, waving you off and grabs her phone. “Okay picture!”

“Ew, Robin no! You look so good and I am literally in my sweatshirt with the mustard stain on it.”

She shushes you, “Tough tater tots toots.”

She pulls you in as you laugh, both of you easily falling into a goofy pose as she snaps a selfie. She nods her approval and grabs her coat, “Oh yeah, that one’s definitely going on the board.” She clicks her phone closed and you both head towards the stairwell.

As you step out of her apartment building, Nancy is getting out of an Uber, an emerald peacoat wrapped around her and she stops, eyes only on Robin.

“Hi,” she whispers, smiling, “Wow. You’re so beautiful.”

Robin’s face turns as red as her nails and you duck your head. “Well, I think that’s my cue to leave. Have a good night,” you squeeze Nancy’s hand, “Tell your brother and El hey from me?”

She squeezes it back, confirming she will, and holds the door open for Robin, then jogs around to the other side and you have to smile at her lack of wanting to scoot across the seat or maybe it’s just her old fashioned, secret romantic side coming out.

As you start to walk away, you hear your name and spin back around, Robin is leaning out of the window, smiling wide as she asks, “Benny’s tomorrow? 10?”

“I expect a full report!” You cross your arms over your chest, fore and middle fingers crossed in a good luck to her that she mirrors as the car drives away.

The walk to the train from there is short, your car still out of commission, and you pop your airpods in, debating how your evening will go. Eddie is already home for Christmas with his uncle in Indiana, Robin and Nancy together tonight, and Steve…

Before them, an evening alone like this never would have bothered you. Eating what you wanted to eat, watching what you wanted to watch - you got good at being alone, enjoying it actually. Now, there’s a funny little feeling that pulls at a thread inside of you, trying to unravel the work you’ve done.

As you wait for the train, pulling your winter hat tighter over your ears, you watch a couple come up the stairs. They have shopping bags in their hands, dressed in warm, wool coats. Giggly, pink cheeks, gloved hands clinging to each other. They sit just down from where you stand against the railing when you get on, huddled together as they look at a map on his phone, and you wonder what their story is - where they were, where they’re going, and if they love each other. It seems like they do, and you wonder if it’s the kind of love Robin explained.

How can anyone love like that aside from fictional people in the movies? How can you love someone so deeply and intensely, without fear of it being ripped away?

But maybe people do fear it being ripped away, and they love regardless. Fear doesn’t make love disappear, it makes it stronger. Because what if that person is gone one day? What if you never told them how you felt? What if you never even got the chance to see if you could love like that? Isn’t it better to try than never know?

As you look out the train doors, the sky is turning a soft pink and purple. The sun is setting over the city in one of those perfect nights, slow, like each color being revealed is a purposeful brushstroke, hand painted. A sign.

Sunsets. Steve. A good song. Steve. Your friends. Steve. Your family. Steve.

Easier than breathing.

An undeniable, unavoidable, unforgiving wave of heartbreak rolls over you. But it’s not alone, it’s hope, it’s questions and answers, it’s relief and clarity and you know what you have to do.

You unlock your phone, a desperation and need to get all of it out now, fueling each press of your thumbs to the screen. Maybe the story is wrong, but you’re the main character, narrator, and author and you can change it if you just put in the work to do so. Tears begin to fall down your cheeks, and you let them, unashamed, finally free of the place you’ve kept them locked away. Pressing send on the message, you hold your breath, hoping she’s not already too preoccupied with Nancy.

The train doors open and you rush down the stairs. Each step slams against the sidewalk, sending shocks up your spine, cold air filling your lungs as each stride brings you closer to him, but not fast enough. You have to try to change the story, you have to tell him.

But when his location is just out of your reach, when you see him, you slow down.

Steve stands beneath the gold twinkling lightbulbs of the old brick theater, the white marquee sign displaying the title ‘When Harry Met Sally’. He has a black beanie on, hair sticking out and curling slightly. A dark gray peacoat flutters against the back of his thighs in the wind, open to reveal the yellow sweater he has on and your feet come to a skidding stop. His phone is pressed to his ear as he looks up from where he was scuffing his Nike against the sidewalk and makes eye contact with you.

Your heart beat has thoroughly been replaced again as your hands start to shake, each slow step to him stretched out and lingering, lasting for what feels like minutes instead of seconds.

What if. What if. What if.

The phone slips, hand falling to his side. His brows furrow just under his hat and you want to reach forward and brush the worry away with your thumb. His greeting leaves him quietly, a puff of his breath and the word floating in the air just a few feet from you.

“Hi.”

Gesturing with a trembling hand to the sign above that you can no longer see, fully under the gold lights, you blurt out, “Did you know that it came out in 89’? So technically it’s a bad 80s rom com. I was wrong.”

Steve shakes his head, the twinkle of the lights highlighting the brown in his eyes, warm and sweet and deeply confused as he starts, “What are you-”

“I was wrong about a lot of things, Steve. And I know I’m late in saying that. I know I’m late for a lot more, but I think it’s better to say it late, to say it now, than to never tell you and wonder for the rest of my life.”

Steve’s lips part, your name a whisper on them, but you take a deep inhale and prepare to get it all out fast and without fear of needing a breath akin to the way Robin speaks, just so you can leave yourself open and vulnerable despite knowing that it could, and most likely will, hurt.

“I’m sorry if Leigh is inside or she’s gonna be here soon, but I have to tell you. I…Steve I’m sorry. I wanted to be friends with benefits because I was selfish. You were right. I wanted it both ways. At first, you were just this guy who was hot and funny and knew what he was doing and I didn’t want to lose that. But then, then I got to know you and that’s when it got complicated, because I really didn’t want to lose you then.” You swallow as Steve freezes in front of you, no longer stepping towards you and his shoulders hunch like he’s holding his breath as you keep going.

“I wanted you, but I was scared to commit, scared that if I did commit, I’d lose you all anyways. And I still am scared. Terrified,” you laugh a little as tears start to roll down your cheeks, “But I think being scared is worth it if I’m doing it with you. Because…” Inhaling, you take a step closer as Steve blinks at you, willing the words to keep coming.

“Because I think we could be something special if we gave it a real chance. And I think that we can’t know what’s going to happen, maybe it all blows up in our faces, but at least we tried and we’ll know and we won’t spend our lives wondering what if.” Tears blur your vision as you leave it all out there, words that feel like they’ve wanted to tumble out of you forever just keep coming, faster and faster, your hands gesturing wildly with each one, stepping closer and closer to him.

“And I want to try so badly Steve. I want to hold your hand in public and go on dates and tease you and make memories with you and I think we could fall in love, I think I was already starting to. Like real love. Like that undeniable, scary, kind of love, and I’m sorry you’ll have to wait for me to get there to say it, but if you give it a chance…I think we’re worth the wait. I don’t care that I’m saying all of this too late, I don’t care that you’re getting married because at least I said it and if you wanna stand up there and say I do to her in May then that’s fine, I can move on, maybe, I think, because at least I’ll know I tried and-”

“Woah, woah, woah.”

Steve grabs your shaking hands, interrupting you. Cedar and mint hit your nose as you inhale, his cologne lingering on his scarf. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. One hand leaves yours, fingers curling under your chin as he murmurs, “I’m not getting married.”

“You’re…” you hiccup a laugh through your tears, “What?”

He tilts his head and clears his throat, repeating it as his thumb brushes a tear from your cheek, fingers squeezing your hand. “I’m not getting married.”

“You’re not getting married,” you repeat it again, quieter, letting the words sink in.

Steve shakes his head no, the back of his knuckles brushing more tears from your cheek as he lets out a shaky breath. “I called it off the day after…after everything.”

“Oh,” you swallow, eyes blinking up at him under wet lashes as the reality of the extremely vulnerable words you practically just shouted at him sit unreciprocated still, unable to be taken back.

Steve’s lips twitch on the right, like he’s fighting a smile, eyebrows furrowed deeper as he sighs, “Yeah. Quit my job too.”

“What? Steve, why, what-”

His fingers trace your jaw as he shakes his head again, rolling his eyes but the smile fighting on his lips wins. “This girl that drives me crazy basically quoted The Notebook scene at me and I decided I’d rather have the life I wanted, have her, or have nothing at all. But I didn’t think she felt the same way, and I wasn’t going to push her again.”

You smile, a laugh bubbling out of you as you shake your head, “You’re crazy about me?”

Steve laughs, his hat bumping yours as your foreheads touch. You drop his hand, both of yours pressing to the soft yellow material against his chest. His breath warm against your cheek as you ask, “So what happens now?”

He pulls away, forehead leaving yours and creating a small space between the two of you, you already want closed again. The lights make the green almost disappear from his eyes, golden, sunshine pulling you in and making you beg for more of it to light you up, a tether, your gravity, just like they’ve always been.

Steve clears his throat, hands reaching up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing over the apples of them as he declares, “Well, rule number one, we tell Robin.”

“Deal,” you tilt your head, playing his game. Your hands slowly crawl up his chest, wrapping around his neck, playing with the collar of the coat as you throw out, “Pet names?”

Steve nods dramatically, pinching his eyes closed, “Oh yeah. So many.” He leans in, nose tracing up the line of yours slowly, foreheads knocking together as the tips of your shoes meet. “I’m gonna call you babe and honey loudly at the grocery store for no reason other than I can.”

“Yeah?” Your top lip hits his with the lift of your smile and question.

He nods. “Yeah.”

Steve’s hands cup the back of your head, tilting you open for him as he ducks down, mouth hovering above yours as he speaks like you’re the only two people in the world.

“But right now? Right now I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Which bad 90s rom com you steal that one out of, Harrington?” You whisper against his lips.

Steve smiles, gaze tracing the curve of your lips then meeting yours as he takes a deep breath.

“You liked it.”

And maybe the marquee lights twinkle above you a little brighter as you finally meet in a kiss. Maybe snowflakes start drifting down from the clouds lazily, covering everything in a fresh start right at the moment his hands wrap around your waist and pull you impossibly closer, your back arching from the passion of his kiss. Maybe a terrible top forty song blares out of someone’s car as it drives past, your foot popping off the pavement a little when he pulls away for a breath only to lean and kiss you deeper and slower.

The universe can’t guarantee anything for you and Steve, but it is giving you a chance. There is nothing, not even love, that can keep away the inevitable struggle, heartbreak, or loss life will be sure to throw at you. Which is scary, but doing it together, his hand in yours, makes it less so. Yes, it won’t always be easy, but the hard work you’ll both put in when it isn’t, means it’s real. There is no one other than yourselves who can decide if your relationship could be like the movies. The two of you are the only ones that can calculate if there’s still time for a happy ending in your story. Only Steve and you can be certain that the fear of heartbreak or pain is worth taking the risk, because if you don’t, if you let the chance slip away, you’ll never know if one day you could have called it love.

WCIL Taglist: @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3 @scoopshxrrington @live-the-fangirl-life @eddiesguitarskills @mannstarkey @keepingitlokiii @silkholland @redbarn1995

#we'll call it love #modern!steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington series #steve harrinton fic #stranger things fanfic

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thedrarrylibrarian · 16 days

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When I first started Happy Hour, @crazybutgood made me the cutest origami mug that resembles the foamy butterbeer in my Happy Hour image. I had been so nervous to try something new and write recs instead of just do lists and seeing that someone had enjoyed my rec enough to sit and fold paper into art was really touching to me. Since then, our whole fandom has been privileged to enjoy this unique and creative art that @crazybutgood has contributed. It's a joy to invite her to Happy Hour to give her own rec.

Thank you to @thedrarrylibrarian for this opportunity and for thinking of me!

The fic I’d like to rec is A Christmas Miracle by @sleepstxtic (E, 39k)

Draco is a world-renowned Magi-Diagnostician and Harry is a Cursebreaking Healer, both working in St. Mungo's. They're not- quite-friends, not-quite-lovers, who argue at work and have sex on the weekends. And they're both fine with it, thank you very much. But when a mysterious attack in the hospital leaves Draco trapped in a coma, Harry must do all he can to save him. All the while, an inexplicable, deadly, children's illness is spreading through wizarding London. Oh, and there's some Time Magic thrown into the mix.

A Christmas Carol with a Drarry twist.

Though this 25 Days of Drarry fic is set during Christmas, it’s a perfect read for any season. @sleepstxtic (Kat) uses her own wonderful take on A Christmas Carol to weave together a gripping medical thriller with Draco racing against time to save Teddy, after himself going on a journey of self-reflection as he travels through time with his Ghosts of Christmas. The scenes Kat writes for the time-travel are as emotional and gripping as the suspenseful case in the present, as Draco, moved by his eye-opening experience, navigates his duty – and expressing his feelings for Harry. The characters’ (including great OCs) dynamics, personalities – especially Draco’s growth – and dialogues are deliberate, on point, and a delight to read. Plus, Kat gives an especially wonderful snark and demeanour to Draco that are not only reminiscent of her inspiration of House M.D., but is also uniquely him. Of course, Harry too has his own sassy moments thrown in with his softness towards Draco.

Why I especially rec this fic (apart from Kat's brilliant writing that I always love) is that by December 2023, I had been on-and-off and down about a lot of things, including fandom. Though I wasn't sure where I stood then, one thing I knew was that I could always count on Kat’s amazing stories cheering me up. This one came at a time when I appreciated anything to rely on as an escape and a treat, and adding it to my list of subscriptions to daily updating fics last winter was a joy. The anticipation and thrill of following a daily WIP is something else; I eagerly read as the story unfolded each day, especially mulling over what might happen next after each cliffhanger, which Kat is infuriatingly good at. Her story is a wonderful unique blend of concepts and feelings of despair, fear, hope, and love, gelling into a plot that'll definitely have you hooked. Whether you choose to savour a chapter a day in your free time, or treat yourself to a late-night binge, I hope you enjoy unravelling the mysteries of the puzzling illness, what happened to Draco, and his and Harry’s future.

❤️ As always, if you find a fic you enjoy, please leave the author a kudos or a comment! ❤️

#crazybutgood #happy hour #happy hour rec #happy hour guest rec #friday fic rec #happy hour guest fic rec #lots of love and happy friday

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yougavemeyourheartyouknow · 8 months

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On thin ice (Hockey player! Miguel O’Hara x Figure skater! Fem! Reader)

A/N: Yall know that tiktok sound that goes “My life is the crown, and yours is politics, and I will not trade one prison for another. I’m sorry I looked at Mrs Riley and lightly grazed her left tit.” That’s literally me writing thoughts/ descriptive paragraphs vs writing dialogue. Anyways lol. Not Proofread so excuse typos and gramatical errors, excuse If Miguel is ooc.

(Y/N)- Your name

Cursing, using of cannabis, mentions of throwing up (like nothing serious, but thought I’d mention it.) Miguel being a jerk, (Y/N) being a jealous jealous jealous girrrrl (read that I’m your head like in the unreleased Lana del ray song.)

Word count: 1.3k

Serious Masterlist

Chapter 10: Do I wanna know, if this feelin’ flows both ways?

—

“What a fucking asshole!” You hissed under your breath.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have ignored him for 3 weeks.” Kate snickered as she playfully hit your shoulder, you just shot her a small glare, causing her smile to widen.

“Not funny.” You huffed, tone still quiet, crossing your arms on the dining hall table, and resting your head in your arms.

“Aww, poor (Y/N)..” Logan jokingly cooed, as he began to rub your shoulder from where he sat next to you.

From the other side of the uni’s dining hall, sat Miguel with some of his teammates from the hockey team, which wasn’t what upset you. What did upset you was what he had sitting in his lap, or rather, who. On Miguel’s lap, sat some cute blonde from your English class, she was a pretty little thing for sure, you couldn’t deny that, and even though you knew you had no right to feel the tightness building in your chest, had no right to feel your whole body get hot all over like you could combust into flames at any moment, didn’t mean you didn’t still feel it.

You wanted to find yourself disliking her for something that wasn’t her fault, maybe in an attempt to make yourself feel better about the situation, give yourself a reason to shift the blame onto something, or rather someone else. But despite your best efforts, you know you couldn’t bring yourself to dislike her, you didn’t even know her name, and the thought of hating another girl because of a man? You couldn’t. And much less the man being Miguel??? No way.

You let out a sigh and slowly lifted your head up and took a bite of your food in front of you, trying to zone in onto the conversation that Kate and Logan were having, but you could only do so for a few seconds at a at most. Finding your eyes drifting to Miguel’s table from time to time, a glimpse of him wrapping his arms around her waist here, a peak of him lightly kissing her neck there, it made you feel sick to your stomach. Wanting to make you puke the half of your sandwich you’ve eaten. Your lucky you were too far to hear the girl’s giggling or Miguel whispers in her ear, you felt like if you could have hear them as well as see, you’d have to leave the building in order to keep yourself from getting too-

“Jealous?” Logan’s word’s snapped you out of your thoughts, you let out a hum as you turned to face him, seeing the knowing smirk on his face. “He’s probably trying to just make you jealous.” He shrugged, but Kate’s face scrunched up in disagreement.

“Or maybe he got tired of you ignoring him and he moved on.” Kate said, popping a fry in her mouth. Logan gave her a questionable look, one that almost looked like he was asking her “you seriously think that?”.

“Can we not talk about this anymore? I’m already too busy this month to think about some hockey player.” You spat out last words that came of your mouth like they were poisonous, and although Logan agreed with your hatred for hockey players, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes a bit at your dramatics.

—

“I’ll see you later honey~”

Miguel had to stop himself from cringing, as he opened the girls car door for him, “you too.” He mumbled back with a half-ass smile, as she got in, before he closed her car door and she drove off. “Finally…” he sighed as he rubbed his forehead.

Maybe Miguel shouldn’t have picked a girl that was so clingy to try and make (Y/N) Jealous, but it’s too late now since you’ve already seen him with her around campus, so there was no going back. Okay, that’s a lie, he could totally dump her, but he was too stubborn. He’s thought about it, but then he’d think about how it would make that pretty little face of yours scrunch together in annoyance whenever he’d kiss the blonde on her neck, or how you’d not-so-obviously be glaring at him from across a room whenever he’d rest his hands on the girl’s hips. What was the girl’s name again? He’s been seeing her for a week and he still can’t remember, he should have written it down on a sticky note or something.

I mean he really didn’t care about her, all he cared about was you. He knew he was being a major A-hole, but in all fairness, when wasn’t he?

Once Miguel reaches his dorm, he opens the door to find Peter laying on the floor, a blunt between his lips, and the room covered in smoke, the pungent smell of Cannabis filling the small cramped room despite the window being open and the two lit candles on the nightstand. Miguel quickly steps into the room and closes the door behind him, before fixing the towel Peter had pushed up against the crack between the floor and the edge of the door, to prevent too much of the smell from leaking out.

“How long are you gonna keep this up?” Peter asked as he took a long drag from the blunt, his bloodshot eyes slowly wandered over to meet Miguel’s. Miguel didn’t need to ask Peter about what he was referring to. Miguel opted to stay silent instead, kicking his shoes off and placing them next to the door, before walking over to sit on the floor, leaning against his bed as Peter sat up and took the joint from between his lips into his hand and offered it Miguel would gladly accept it.

Taking a deep inhale, he felt the smoke fill his lungs as they felt like they were being lit a flame, being a hand up to his chest to help soothe the temporary burning sensation as he coughs a bit, puffs of smoke leaving his chapped lips, before he instinctively licked them. After a few more moments of silence that felt longer than it should have, Peter spoke up again.

“You both are acting like a bunch of middle schoolers.” He stated as he took the blunt back from Miguel.

“You don’t know what your talking about, your fucking high Parker. Literally.” Miguel shook his head as he sat back more against his bed, feeling the effects of the joint already start to take effect on his body.

“I don’t need to be sober to see that both of you are into each other, but both of you are too stubborn to say anything.” Peter deadpans.

“Can’t we have this conversation when we aren’t getting stone?”

“If we didn’t you would get too angry.”

Miguel let out a huff, knowing Peter wasn’t wrong. He took the blunt from Peter’s hand and took another hit. If he was gonna have have this conversation right now, he needed to be really fucking high.

“Miguel, as your best friend, and your dorm mate,” Peter places a hand on Miguel’s shoulder, “I want to tell you this in the most honest but respectful way, okay?” Peter raised a brow as he waited for some sort of response from Miguel, which he got in the form of a head nob. “You’re being a fucking idiot. Stop acting like a high school fuck boy that plays mind games and just talk to her. I get you don’t believe in ‘talking about feelings’ or whatever. But you can’t just mess with her and expect shit to sort itself out.” Miguel looked at Peter with a confused look, wondering we’re all of this sudden wisdom came from, maybe it was the wee- “wanna order McDonald’s?” Peter asked with a shit-eating grin, causing Miguel to let out a heavy sigh. That’s the Peter he knows.

—

Taglist: @tayleighuh @cowboylikeevie @coralineyouareinterribledanger @jukioku @loser-alert @migueloharaspookiebear @serpentstarr @littlexscarletxwitch @darksidescorner @sukioyakio

#miguel o hara fanfic #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #on thin ice fanfic #spiderman 2099 x reader #astv miguel #astv spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara au #figure skating au #hockey au #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 fanfic

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foreverisntenough · 2 months

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- YOU’RE MINE -

Summary: While you daydreamed about his face an ocean apart, he had no idea what yours was about to do to him. With a twist of fate and the heat of summer, a new relationship would completely ransack his heart - Everyday heavy with the thought of one another, neither of you were going to let the unexpected love of your life go. You were going to be his, you were his, and you were going to stay his.

Warnings: This series will contain fluff, suggestions, smut love bombing, occasionally sad, and kind of angst- not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: I hope you like it! There will definitely be more parts (don’t know how many just yet though.)

INDEX

Chapter 19 - ‘You’re Mine’

You were not as hopeless as your inner dialogue made you sound. You missed Trent so much your little heart hurt but you could live. You were busy with an array of things, you had gotten really active in local charities in Liverpool and initiatives especially Trent’s latest project launch. You had a degree from university that you didn’t really share with a lot of people around you but Trent obviously knew about it so your skill set came in handy. With the spare time you had you reached out to some contacts from your previous jobs you had put on hold back in New York. At the time you met Trent you were taking a little hiatus to just decompress. You were privileged enough to do that and well aware that is not something everyone could have the luxury of doing so once you got settled in England you started to connect with brands you worked with in the US that had UK offices. You got back into work freelance writing and styling. Your career before was in Fashion Editorial so it was an easy transition to get back into the swing of things. It made you feel better you were able to have a life outside of being Trent’s number one fan, even though that often was your favorite thing to be occupied with. Thankfully the two, Trent and work, were kept separated for the moment.

Before the tournament actually began you found that the little T- Bear Trent left for you just seemed to be with you 24/7. Tucked in bed with you every night, snuggled up on the couch watching television and as wonderful as that was, there was a certain part that this ‘T’ wasn’t able to… how do you put this… fulfill.

You were just about to whine down from the day but your hair and makeup were still done so you decided to take a few cheeky photos. A client, Agent Provocateur, a brand you adored, from an editorial piece you had worked on recently with them had gifted you some pieces of gorgeous lingerie. So you put on a little pink satin trimmed lace bra with a matching thong. The goal was to entice Trent obviously, but aside from that this set was making you feel confident which you seemed to be struggling with lately. You took some photos with the whole set on, some taking it off, some with it barely serving any purpose all while holding your new little bear. It was an incredibly sweet concept but far from innocent. You picked your favorites, ones you knew showed off things he’d enjoy so you sent them in a text unsolicited and unprovoked as you tucked into bed for the night. The little ‘delivered’ popped up under the sent photos and it quickly turned to ‘read.’ You knew he’d be excited to see them but there was always a little part of you that worried about how you actually looked in them, if he’d like them, and then of course about the potential consequences of sending such explicit photos when he’s at ‘work’ so you held your breath. He started to type and the three dots in the bubble appeared but stopped, started again only to disappear once again. The brief moment of confidence you had built started to waver. While you laid in your bed, a little disheartened, you put your phone far away from you to try to forget the situation until you heard the familiar ring of an incoming FaceTime.

“You’re such a tease, baby.” Trent rolled his perfect plump lips into a pout shaking his head but couldn’t really hold back the lustful grin he was really expressing. “I have training early tomorrow and you got me so fucking hard I can’t possibly get to sleep now.” He groaned. You sighed in relief that he did in fact really like your pictures.

“I’m sorry, T. I didn’t mean to bother you. I was just trying some things on and I thought you’d want to see. I didn’t mean to disrupt your night.” You feigned an apology playing coy.

“Nah, nah, nah you got me all worked up, miles away, sending me something I can’t have right now. You’re staying on the phone right now, helping me with this.” He sounded so commanding and it turned you on instantly.

“What can I help with, baby? To help, do you need me to keep this on or take it off?” You pulled the bra strap off your body to let it snap back against your skin.

“I wanna see more of you, beautiful. Take that off…Save that for when I can rip it off you myself and put your phone somewhere. I need to see all of you.” He instructed you so you leaned back against your headboard in front of your now propped up phone.

“This okay?” You asked craving his approval.

“Yeah, baby, just like that. You wanna spread your legs for me? Show me how wet you are.” He confirmed that was what he wanted to see. He began to stroke his cock from the tip to the base. His command had you stifling a moan.

“Fuck, you’re so hot. I miss you so much, T” you whimpered waiting for instructions till he asked for you to touch your clit, and then slowly slide your fingers into yourself. Just watching his cock get harder, hearing him pant on the other side of your phone had you inching closer to your release.

“Keep fucking that pussy,” he groaned. “Yeah, just like that, little faster, baby. Use your other hand and rub that clit again. Tell me how much you miss my cock.” His words had you crumbling. It was a cross between complete desperation, lust, and absence.

“I mi-miss it. I want your cock to fuck me, please. Ple..please I need your cock, T.” You whined. The tension and pressure released all at once causing you to whimper louder as waves of pleasure rippled through you. Your fingers coated in your slick. You couldn’t take your eyes off the screen, Trent repeatedly moaning your name as ropes of his cum spurted from his cock covering his abs. When you both came to, you smiled and wiggled in your bed giggling with him happy to feel the release but also to have achieved making him feel good from miles away.

“Fuck, that was so hot, you’re so beautiful, baby.” Trent said, laughing a little more while he cleaned himself up.

“I love you. Miss having you here with me so much.” You pouted. “Going to be able to sleep now?”

“Yeah, I think I’ll be okay now, thank you.” He chuckled. “I’ll be saving those pictures though, I might need them till I get you back.”

“Yeah, yeah but I think a call may be a little more mutually beneficial.” You giggled. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Love you, pretty girl. Miss you so much. Night.” Pushing his lips out for a virtual kiss before he hung up the phone.

A week later and many similar FaceTimes, you and Dianne were going to the Euro’s. You were traveling for the first match of the tournament. You and Dianne had a great relationship. You had essentially become like a daughter. She spoiled you, she always defended you against the boys teasing, you spent a lot of time shopping together or sitting pitch side. You appreciated her so much for all she did for you since you arrived in Liverpool and loved the idea of a little trip together. You checked into a lovely hotel and settled into your separate rooms but planned to meet up for a breakfast in the morning before you headed off for the stadium tomorrow.

It was the opening match of the group stage and the place was buzzing. You hadn’t seen England play in a big tournament like this yet as Trent’s girlfriend so you didn’t really know what to expect. You hoped you had adapted to life as a ‘wag’ at Liverpool but this was a whole new lot. You had made friends with a few girls you’d met at international friendly matches, the boys you knew on the team, and were excited to be able to see some girls from Liverpool whose partners were playing for other countries. That said as much as you had watched the Euros countless times before, to be there felt so strange. Thank god Dianne was with you. You both had opted to match in Alexander-Arnold white England kit shirts. You kept your outfit pretty casual not wanting to draw too much attention given the mayhem that seemed to be ensuing lately with your every move relatively near a football pitch. ‘Casual’ is all relative though when you are a little bit of a fashion girly so; you paired T’s jersey with R13 Crossover denim shorts, white and gray Prada ‘Downtown’ sneakers, a Mui Mui gray fleece hoodie in case you got cold, your new, very sweetly gifted, navy Dior saddle bag and what felt like just about every piece of gold jewelry you owned; you’d be remiss to not be wearing your prized possession; the white gold diamond Van Clef necklace Trent gave you when he asked you to be his girlfriend. That was always going to be on and the myriad of other little bits and bobs of jewelry he'd given you over time. You liked the look, it felt authentically you: low key but if you looked close enough the finer details told another story and you liked that.

You promised Dianne you’d help up her ‘MaG’ match day fits. You two had started an inside joke considering you were Mum and Girlfriend for Trent in the stands. It was cute and you were elated to help. Outside the stadium, you stopped a girl around your age to take a photo for you with Dianne to keep for a memory and you got that special photo but it also transgressed into plenty of questions because the girl was a fan which was sweet but in turn the exchange was shared to your least favorite part of the internet lately… social football gossip pages.

‘Okay, ICL, Trent Alexander-Arnold’s mum and his presumed girlfriend holding hands walking into the stadium was precious. The mystery girl is definitely no mystery to the fam’

The girl who kindly took a photo for you outside the stadium had also shared with a fan page another photo she had taken unsolicited as you walked away with Dianne.

Dianne held onto your hand still as you walked through the corridors of the stadium while masses of people swirled around you. It was insane. Complete chaos. A familiar chaos, but chaos nonetheless. England had a strong team this year and people were excited to say the least. You made it to your seats and your heart filled with relief seeing the tan skinned pretty pretty boy, smiling beaming, warming up ahead of the match. You leaned onto Diane’s shoulder in repose.

“It’s the best feeling in the world seeing him happy doing what he loves.” Leaning her head on top of yours.

“I know, I feel lucky I get to witness it. Even just to be a small part of the whole experience.”

“Hun, you’re a big part. Things changed when you came to England for him. He’s emotionally never been in a better place.” She cooed.

“I hope so, I just want to be there for him as much as I can. I try not to let my emotions ever sway his, like when I miss him. I don’t know how you’ve done this for so long.” You joked a little because you referring to ‘so long’ was really in reference to from birth to this very moment and having to share her son globally.

“One thing I always know, he does miss us when he’s away. He doesn’t need to tell us but you know he will always, even as focused as he is for work. More specifically, he misses you sweetheart…so much.” She placed a kiss on head. “You make that boy's life outside of all this so much better for him. Easier, happier, calmer, healthier, I could go on… so thank you hun.” Her words had your heart bursting. You always had an open relationship but to get such a verbal confirmation felt really nice.

When a Trent fan account finally published the photo of you and Dianne walking into the stadium together the response was different to the usual wrath of hate you’d receive from the public on the likes of gossip news sites. Instead these fans were enthused by the sighting. Commenting…

‘I feel like she’s probably super sweet if she’s that close with his mum’

‘Seeing her with his family makes me feel like she’s actually a serious girlfriend’

‘Okay, ngl, she actually looks too cool for him lol’

‘Matching with his mum is so precious’

‘Imagine Trent being your boyfriend 😭’

‘She’s with his mum 🥺’

You couldn’t have asked for a better opening match. England dominated and Trent got a decent amount of minutes and during his time on the pitch he managed to assist Bukaya for an unbelievable goal. It was just icing on the cake to see him after a couple weeks, have the result go their way, and to have him play well. When the final whistle blew it was such a special feeling being surrounded by people who all felt just the same as you. It was a big family just supporting boys that had worked so tirelessly to get here, to represent their country. When the team had wrapped up some post match duties they were able to come over to the stands to meet up with their families after the stadium had cleared out. Trent walked over with a smile that made your heart melt. You leaned over the railing to give him the biggest kiss. His arms reached up to grab your face, yours falling around his neck. You both hummed at the satisfaction of being back together. The kiss felt like fireworks for you, your whole body ignited feeling his lips on yours. Trent’s body on the other hand fell into complete comfort and relaxation soothed by your touch.

“Missed you so much, baby.” He whispered his lips ghosting over yours.

“My T” you giggled, pressing one more peck before pulling apart.

“Lemme climb on up, pretty girl.” He needed to get off the pitch over into the stands so he did haphazardly because his body was exhausted.

“You were amazing, sweetie. So proud of you Trenty.” Dianne cooed, giving him a big tight hug. Diane stayed standing but Trent collapsed onto a seat in the stands burnt out.

“T, honestly so good. You were incredible.” Leaning over to give him another kiss. You sat next to him and he wrapped his arms around your waist and laid his head onto your shoulder. He pressed light kisses to it and you did the same to his temple. Dianne stood there talking to you both about the match before going over to talk to Jude Bellingham’s mum, Denise, after spotting her now the match had finished. With the idea of being alone with you, despite being surrounded by friends, family and teammates, Trent sprawled out across a row of seats and laid his head in your lap. You caressed his face and played with his hair while you two gushed about how much you missed each other. He was practically stuck to you. He couldn’t pull his hands or lips off your skin if he tried. Kissing your wrists as they moved over his face, pulling your face down for proper kisses every once in a while, purring as your nails scratched his scalp.

“Trent, come here quick.” Dianne yelled for him evoking a disgruntled face on the boy who had gotten quite comfortable back under your touch. So he stood up and made his way over to talk to the two mums. Despite telling him you’d stay put, he dragged you with him, pushing you in front of him while his hands wrapped around your waist. He kept his chin on your shoulder listening to his mum while his idle fingers played with the belt loops of your shorts. You introduced yourself to Denise who was as kind as her sons were. You’d met and spent a lot of time with both her boys since you moved to England, knowing how polite they were, it made sense she’d be that way as well.

“Going to do a lunch after the group stage with them, five of us, yeah?” Dianne was informing you and Trent about a plan she and Denise had made to go out before the England Team were hosting a little party for all the families.

“That sounds lovely!” You cheerfully smiled liking the idea of getting time together away from other than just seeing the boys from a distance on the pitch. Trent didn’t say anything, he just smiled seeing you smile. He missed the way your cheeks warmed when you did. Jude waddled his way up the stairs of the seats sore from the game coming up to you all, first giving a hug and kiss to his mum, then to Diane and then looked at you, smiled, and then rolled his eyes at Trent who was lost still gazing at you.

“Gonna let go for a minute so we can all say hello?” Jude joked removing Trent’s hands stuck to your body.

“Hi Judey” you giggled giving him a big hug. Lately he and Trent were together most of the time when league play was suspended for breaks and he found himself back in England so you had gotten close. He was coming on your holiday after the tournament. The holiday had funnily become a little bit of a boys trip that included you and your best friend, but moreover Trent obviously, Marcel was coming, Jude, and Jobe, his brother, had decided to tag along, and then a few other boys. You didn’t mind but it was a little comical now. Jude could sense the humor in it and knew your relationship well enough that you just were dying to be laying on the beach with Trent, alone, unbothered, but that more than likely wouldn’t be the case now.

“All good? Ready for this to be over?” You pulled out of his hug rolling your eyes at his comment as he sat down in front of you leaning on the back of a seat a row below you.

“What do you mean! Very excited to be here for the next two weeks” you beamed sarcastically.

“It worries me how good you are at lying. It’s unsettling for my brother” he shoved at your shoulder while glancing at Trent.

“No, seriously! I am actually really excited. This is amazing though. You played so well, lucky to be supporting England.” You clarified.

“Yeah, just don’t open your mouth too much and you might pass as one of us.” Jude teased about your accent but was quickly reprimanded by Denise. She scolded Jude telling him to be nicer and you just smiled relishing in the mum's protection over you.

The boys had to go back to the dressing room after getting to say hello which was bittersweet and came all too quickly. Luckily in a few days time they’d be out of the group stages and would have a few days off so you could see Trent then but right now you had to say bye.

“Call me tonight?” You cooed, draping your arms around Trent’s neck, his arms coming to drop low on your waist pulling his jersey you had on up to caress your skin, dipping his hands into your shorts slyly.

“Course, baby. I’m just so glad you’re here.” He whispered, pulling your body a little closer to his pushing his hips into you.

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else, T.” You quietly said back pressing your nose against his.

“Love you, beautiful” he said with a little peck to your lips.

“I love you.” You sealed with another kiss. Your focus only on each other.

“Honestly, enough. I’m going without you.” Jude dramatically but in, hitting Trent’s arm before proceeding to stand up. Trent said goodbye to the mums, and you again with another swift but sweet kiss and a sneaky squeeze to your ass cheek before hurrying after Jude. He turned and winked at you before disappearing down the tunnel.

Later that evening, the England Instagram account posted a carousel of families reuniting after the first win of the tournament. None directly featured you, Diane or Trent but behind a photo posted of the Bellingham family were you and Trent having a cuddle while sharing a sweet kiss. There definitely was a fair share of comments who caught the affectionate interaction. In turn, cropped images of the photo, zooming in on you two, blew up all over socials again,

‘They’re not even trying anymore lol’

‘I’m happy for them 🥹’

‘Trent, I don’t need to see you cheating on me like this’

‘To kiss that sweaty man, I’d die’

‘Still just avoiding cameras, like fam, we know your together lol’

You and Diane continued going to the remaining group stage matches with England performing well. Trent even bagging a goal so the brief moments seeing him after the games were just so special. Being so close but unable to properly be alone and cuddle or kiss was slightly driving you both insane. So you spent the nights apart FaceTiming only mere hotels, short distances apart. Trent would vent about the games and you listened intently trying your best to not add unnecessary additions to the already noisy commentary he was surrounded by, you’d joke around, if there wasn’t a game directly the following day, things would get a little steamier on the call but overall you just repeated how much you missed being back at home together. More often than not you two just stayed on the phone till you both fell asleep making one of you wake up hours later and having to end the call that had been ongoing for hours of just your sleeping faces lit by phone screens.

As expected the England team finished top of their group so they were to have a few days off before the knockout stage began which meant you got to spend some time with your T. He did have to go to a short morning training session after last night's game but he was coming to meet you and his mum at your hotel to see you both after. You always grappled with sharing Trent but his mom was an exception, she deserved all his time and attention so you were hoping for a little sliver. He met you later in the day after the training session in a tea room of the hotel you and Dianne were staying at and joined you for brunch. Somehow if it was even possible, Trent walked in and looked even more beautiful than he ever did. He seemed to have that effect on you. It didn’t matter if it had been 5 minutes when he’d walk to the kitchen and back or days since you last saw him but when he’d return he somehow looked even more handsome than before. His mum stayed seated and she gave him a little side hug. You opted to stand up to give him a tight hug, you missed his warm embrace. He wrapped his arms around you and his familiar amber smell engulfed you. You could’ve stayed there forever. You kissed his neck gently, subtly, and quietly to keep it hidden from his mum but Trent wasn’t having that.

“Erm…I’d like a proper kiss, beautiful.” He beamed with a big smile, his lips pushing out waiting for you. His hands slid up from around your waist to hold both your cheeks. He placed a heart stopping kiss on your lips and you felt your legs almost give out. He was like a dream all the time. You finally sat and had a nice little meal filled with conversation more so about what was happening back at home than football, he wanted the break from the intensity. When Dianne excused herself to run to the restroom, Trent pulled your chair a little closer to his. He placed another kiss on your cheek.

“What’d you doing, pretty boy?” You cooed, unable to hide the smile he was pulling from you and the flush rising in your cheeks smitten by his flirty move.

“Wanna be closer to my girl” his hand came and wrapped around the back of your neck stroking his thumb over your exposed skin. In your Trents true fashion he had shown up with a little gift for you. “Got you a little something, baby.”

“T!! You don’t always have to do this!” You quipped in feigned annoyance. You gestured to the Dior Saddle bag you were using today again but it still always was a little exciting “I don’t need anything. I just need this.” You said, moving your hand over his resting on his leg, playing with each of his fingers slowly. It was true, just being close to him was enough for you but nevertheless he pulled out a little box.

“Just so you don’t forget where you’re loyaly lies on match days, yeah?” You opened the little jewelry box that had a Monica Rich Kosann locket that opened with two little pictures; one of you and T hugging in the tunnel at Anfield in his Liverpool kit, the other of you and him sharing a cute kiss in his England uniform. It just made you melt. He was so thoughtful and cute. “I know you're technically only half American but don’t you forget whose you are, beautiful. You’re all mine.”

“I’m pretty sure I know who I’ll be rooting for always. Always yours.” You said giggling, “but thank you, baby. I love it and I love you” leaning your head on his shoulder nuzzling into that familiar smell as his arm wrapped around you. He pressed light kisses on your head while you whispered little mushy things back and forth. When Dianne returned she smiled entering the main room seeing that her departure caused your chairs to move inexplicably closer. She liked to see that her very reserved boy found someone to be so comfortable, protective, confident and unequivocally in love with. She sat back down but it wasn’t long until she excused herself again.

“I need a little rest, a shower, and some time to get ready for tonight to keep up my ‘MaG’ looks so I’m going to head up.” She stood up from the table, placing her napkin down, pushing her chair in and placing her hand gently on yours briefly.

“MaG?” Trent questioned, looking between you and his mum for some context on the inside joke he was clearly left out of.

“Don’t worry about it” you laughed in Dianne’s direction telling her if she needed you to text you but she just wanted to let you and Trent to spend some time alone together.

“Thank you hun!” She kissed Trent’s head and squeezed your arm. “I’ll see you both a little later on before we meet with Denise and her boys.” You said your goodbyes but you stayed a little longer cuddled up as close as you can be in a restaurant setting picking at little sandwiches and sweets. Eventually, Trent and you finally left and went up to your room where he dramatically crashed on the bed, rushing to get under the covers like a little boy because he was ‘so tired.’

“T! T! Shoes! Gross!” You squealed, pulling at his arms to get him out and off your freshly cleaned hotel bedding.

“Wowwwww already asking me to take my clothes off. Eager much, baby?” He teased starting to get out of the bed begrudgingly.

“No…no, well” you blushed at his words. “I wouldn’t complain but I just meant if you could not get my bed all dirty I would appreciate it” you gave a genuine smile and a sweet giggle that made his heart falter.

“So you don’t want to be dirty in bed?” he sat up on the bed with a cheeky and devious smile, his legs hung off the side and he held his arms out for you. You moved over and stood between his legs, his hands caressed up your back pulling your shirt up with them, “With me? Not even me baby?” He gave you a look that made you cave immediately. You let him pull your shirt off over your head and after he did your hands reached out to pull his off.

“I missed this body. You’re so fucking beautiful. Been dreaming of this.” He said, dragging the strap of your bra down off your shoulder.

“Dreaming of what, T? What do you need?” You cooed with a sly smirk as your hands played with the waistband of the skirt you still had on.

“I need all of this…” sliding the mini skirt down your legs. “off right now.” He said gently, his words dripping like honey, his hands moving in slow motion. Making your skin burn.

You were standing in front of him completely naked now. He sat back resting on his arms behind him on the bed. The hotel room light cast over you illuminating the dips of your collarbones, highlighting the rise of your tits, the smoothness of your skin. Trent stared in awe just about drooling over his girl.

“Baby, I’m gonna need you here right now.” He said pulling your waist towards him. You sat with your legs on both sides of his and straddled him, feeling his prominent bulge growing harder and harder beneath your wet core.

“And I’m going to need these off, T.” You said pulling off his trousers. In quick motions all clothing was removed, Trent had flipped you over to be on top of you making out passionately, whispers and gasps of ‘I love you’ and ‘missed this so much’ muddled in between messy, sloppy, yearning kisses. You spit a little on your hand and gently gilded it up and down the length of his cock. His fingers slid between your folds gathering your wetness to play with your clit while he dipped two in to help stretch you out.

“Shit, that feels so good, sh-shit, I’m not gonna last very long, it's been a while without you. You’re so fucking tight” Trent was panting, losing focus at just the feeling of you.

“Baby, I need you so bad, can we just ju-just. Please I miss you so much T.” You were moaning as his languid fingers circled your clit begging for him to fuck you. His mouth nipped down your neck before his tongue circled and licked around your hard nipples eliciting a whimper of pleasure from you.

“Yeah, yeah, sweet girl. I’m gonna give you whatever you need.” He groaned. In swift motions he slowly aligned his cock with your core and slid into you. You both gasped at the contact. He moved slowly inch by inch but he just wanted to get as deep as possible. He missed this feeling like nothing else. His thick cock hit your g spot almost immediately once he was in. He felt so deep and the stretch of him being back inside you had your mind turn to complete mush. You lost any control you had when he was fully inside. The force and pace of his thrusts increased and so did the volume of both your moans. “You’re such a good girl, so fucking wet for me.” He said hearing the sounds of your slick as he dragged his cock slowly out of you and watched himself push all the way back thrusting harder. Your legs wrapped around him. You were whining in pleasure. Your lips parted gasping at the sensation of him. You both were moaning inexplicable phrases of praise, love, and adoration. You were completely obsessed with each other and how good the sex was only amplified it.

“Oh my fu-fucking god, T, you feel so good.” You felt tears fill your lash line. His cock rammed deep inside you again and again, hitting a spot only he knew, while his finger pressed rough circles around your clit. He dipped his head a little and played with your nipples more, pulling at them and biting. You could barely handle the sensory overload so you bit harshly onto his shoulder to try to quiet your moans.

“Fuck, baby, your pussy’s so perfect for me. Taking me so well.” He growled moving to nibble at your ear, his hot breath on your skin had your orgasm approaching faster and faster. He pulled back nearly all the way out and hammered back in. Tears started to roll down your cheek. Your arms wrapped around his body so tight your nails were digging into his skin leaving deep crescent marks while Trent continued to fuck you at an inhuman pace.

“I missed you, I missed this. You feel so fucking good. I want this forever.” You babled as your legs started to tremble. Your orgasm was getting closer and closer. Your eyes rolled back as you heard him moan your name again, again, and again.

You were getting lost in the pleasure that your T was giving to you while he was just as infatuated by your body and the sounds you were making had him fighting to not cum without you getting to orgasm first.

“You have me forever.” He whispered barely getting the words out softly in your ear. In a split second you felt your pussy spasm at the tenderness of his words and his rough strokes. You soaked his cock completely when you felt his release fill you up so much, it began to seep out while he was still inside. He laid on top of you for a while before he spoke again.

“I’m so addicted to you, beautiful. Can’t be away from you like this.” He murmured laying on your chest completely exhausted

“I guess we’re both addicts then” you giggled tracing your fingers up his spine. He continued laying there just holding you. You kissed him slowly. You were both so tired in the hotel room. “My sleepy, sleepy, needy boy.” You cooed, pressing your lips on his warm skin. You were so authentic with each other. Being back together felt like a saccharine summertime daydream. Feeling your New York daydream turned into your reality. Your love was undiluted, nothing felt better than being physically connected like this .

“We have to go soon, baby.” Trent finally picked his head up to nuzzle into your neck placing kisses all over your skin. If you could bottle this feeling forever you would, it was worth more than its weight in gold.

“I just want another cuddle, pleaseee” you whined childishly and in turned caused Trent to just let all his body weigh on top of you and wrap his arms so tight around you thought you couldn't breathe but the sound of his joyful laugh had you able to completely disregard the bone crushing pressure and just relish in the moment. You wanted to hear him happy, you wanted to see that beautiful smile pull across his face, the smile lines wrinkle, his little dimples appear so you let it ensue. Eventually you both got up and started to get dressed to meet with the Bellinghams; Denise, Jude, and Jobe at the restaurant and to meet Dianne downstairs at the hotel.

Trent needed to shower but you opted not to because your hair would take too long to do if you did which disappointed Trent because he claimed he needed your ‘help’ but in reality he just wanted another round of messing about to his disappointment you held your ground. Instead you began your skincare and makeup at the vanity in the hotel bathroom before moving back to the bedroom and sitting with a pout looking at your suitcase confused.

“What do you think I should wear? I don’t know Denise that well and I don’t know what people have said about me so I don’t want to like… I don’t know, mess up.” You nervously babbled rummaging through your suitcase on the floor.

“You look beautiful in anything.” Trent picked you up off the ground to give you a hug still wet from his shower.

“That’s incredibly unhelpful, T, seriously.” He placed a kiss on your forehead to try to calm your nerves. “Erm… I’m wearing this,” said showing you the outfit he had layed out of the bed. “If that helps at all.”

“Baby… I picked that out though” so you both started laughing.

Because you were going to the England team’s event after you wanted to be a little ‘on theme’ but not exactly sporting Saint George’s cross. You picked a pair of white linen trousers from Cult Gaia, a navy and white striped knit tank from Kule, paired with a Bottega Veneta mini sunrise bag in red, you also opted to bring a Jacquemus denim jacket in case you got cold. Oh! And of course shoes so red Manolo Blahniks were the choice. Your boobs were on display a little bit from not wearing a bra with the top but having a jacket would be a good cover. The pants fit your waist perfectly and when standing showed off your incredible figure. You wanted to be casual so your shoe choice was flats. Once you were dressed you walked over to help fix the collar of Trent’s shirt. He wore tailored khaki cargo style pants, a white t-shirt, a Rhude button up open overtop and a pair of Louis Vuitton trainer sneakers.

“You’re so so so handsome. It’s a little unfair.” You said as he stood in front of a full length mirror inspecting his outfit and you went and wrapped your hands around his biceps and leaned your head on his shoulder.

“I have to keep up with you don’t I?” He cheekily said, squeezing his hands around your waist and pulling you in for a kiss.

You went to the lobby and Dianne asked if you wanted a photo, well she wanted one of you two, you obliged not particularly upset about capturing memories. Trent and you took a few and Dianne gushed over how beautiful she thought you both were. You had Dianne send them to you and Trent but neither of you posted the photo. Your camera rolls were filled with photos like this that never saw the light of day only when they were printed and hung in the house or a rare occasion where you’d post a more subtle pic of you holding hands walking down the street in your fits like you did tonight.

You held hands as you walked down cobble streets till you saw the Brummie Bellingham family waiting outside the restaurant for dinner. The group of the three boys, two mums, and yourself filed into the restaurant and per usual heads began to turn. Trent was one thing but Jude out in public was another animal… the two of them together; Pandora’s box. You sat at a table nestled in the back of a nice restaurant, you were relieved your outfit of choice was appropriate. To no one’s surprise, you sat close to Trent. One part of the table had a booth for seating and you took his lead so Trent helped you slid in before he followed. Your thighs were touching immediately, one hand wrapped around your waist low with his thumb in between the fabric of your trousers and your skin. The other gripped high on your leg till he needed to use it to look at a menu. Trent, Jude, Jobe honed in on some conversation regarding a referee error that happened in another countries group match. You nodded your head following along, you had seen the story, and Trent had explained it at length. Trent pulled on your waist to get you to be a little closer to him so you gave into his wishes and placed your head on his shoulder. He placed a kiss onto your hair in between sentences. Dianne and Denise were talking about something you couldn’t really hear but they were engrossed in their own back and forth until Dianne tapped at your hand that was resting on the table top.

“Hmm?” You picked up your head with a smile turning towards her. Trent unphased with his hand still gripping you tight.

“Come talk with us sweetheart.” She cooed, gesturing her head towards the other side of the table. You didn’t need his permission but you looked at Trent peeling his fingers off your waist to slide over to talk to the mums before whispering in his ear.

“Okay?” You asked with no real expectation for an answer you just wanted to note what you were doing.

“You can only listen to so much hun.” Denise spoke with a smile you hadn’t really seen her crack yet. Another mum of only boys made you nervous.

“It’s fine, I think when I hit the 15th time discussing the same call, I start to check out a little.” You giggled picking up a glass of wine, bringing it slowly to your lips holding it there a little longer after your sip.

“I understand that, imagine over 20 years of football chaos all day every day. It’ll never end.” Dianne and Denise laughed reminiscing about going from grassroots teams to the biggest stadiums in the world with their little boys.

“I don’t mind. I do actually love football…” you paused and giggled a little before your gaze drifted away from them to Trent. “Maybe not to the same extent of course but it’s nice when people are passionate about something, really love, devote, and care about it.” Your eyes fell back towards them but more so to the table where you played with the rings on your fingers. Trent felt your gaze but missed the connection so he reached over a little and linked his pinky with your hand that was on the seat of the booth before giving you a soft smile. Denise and Dianne watched the exchange and the way your words softened talking about being passionate and what it meant to really love something catching that it wasn’t maybe only about football but about someone sitting at the table who was playing football.

“I heard you followed football before you moved here, is that right?” Denise asked, giving you a sweet smile.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s always been something my dad and I bonded over, had a connection with, I actually played till I was around 16 or so but didn’t really want to play at university so it faded out but when I got older following a team with my dad really kept us close and that’s important to me. We’ve created some of the best memories together at matches.” You rambled a bit, maybe it was the wine, or just panic trying to speak to Denise but you felt a little on edge.

“You did not play footie! That’s bullshit.” Jude’s head turned towards you.

“Jude…” Denise gave a stare that if it was directed at you, you’d probably cry but he just shrugged.

“Sentiment still stands, I don’t believe that.” Jude scoffed.

“Nah, she did! Kept the little secret in her back pocket for a while.” Trent confirmed it was in fact true with a little chuckle.

“Okay, well I wasn’t going to walk up to you people who do it professionally and be like ‘oh I played too!’ That’s embarrassing.” You sarcastically swayed your head back and forth making fun of how ridiculous it would’ve been.

“It still would’ve been interesting to know.” Jobe piped up and it made you smile. You just wanted to pinch his cheeks but he was older than that, definitely not as naive as he played but truly was adorable.

“Thanks, Jobe” you gave him a heartfelt smile. “Jude, you just listening in on our conversation?” You teased picking up your fork and pointing it at him.

“Nah, nah, you’re not all that interesting.” Jude pointed his fork at you emphasizing ‘you’ while he rolled his eyes.

“I’d say otherwise but each their own.” You imitated the same shrug he did earlier.

“You’ve had quite a whirlwind couple of years though sweetheart, at least from what I’ve heard. What did you do before you moved to the UK?” Denise, now interested in how you ended up at this dinner table and that there were things her boys were even still learning about.

“Oh, um, I went to university for a degree and then worked in fashion for a little and in what felt like a blink of an eye I ended up here.” You smiled, oversimplifying your backstory.

“Wow, Hun! Pretty, smart, funny, pushes back against my Jude. Trenty, you’ve got a good one.” Denise cooed looking at Trent whose eyes were still fixed on you from when you were speaking.

“Yeah, absolutely perfect. Worth getting her to move countries innit” Trent gushed eyes still stuck on you before sliding your body back over to him to wrap his arms around your frame placing a little peck on your neck.

“Done well” Dianne cooed, smiling at Trent’s clear obsession while taking a sip from her glass.

“Well then you’ve suddenly become my default to keep all the boys in line on this Greece holiday.” Denise joked a little but it was laced with a bit of seriousness.

“I always do, she’s been looking after mine for a bit now.” Dianne creased, the two mums were having a laugh themselves so you let it play out. The bulk of dinner wrapped up and Denise and Dianne decided they’d let the four of you get up to some nonsense without them so they said their goodbyes, hugs and kisses, and started to walk away from the table.

“Di, he is in love with that girl.” Denise quietly spoke to Dianne as they walked.

“Oh, I’m aware. It’s mutual too, think she’s more shy about the affection because he’s in his element or spaces he’s already familiar with but it’s totally infatuation all the time”

“Think they want to get married?” Denise asked the blatant question.

“I know Trent would, he’s slyly mentioned looking at rings but I keep my mouth shut.” Diane smiled just keeping her eyes forward as Denise glanced back at the table.

“It’s the only way we get any information now, just being quiet I swear” Denise laughed at the reality of their situations.

“She’s so good for him and he’s good to her. They make each other so happy, their house is gorgeous and so warm. It makes my heart full that they built this all from some whirlwind interaction.” She paused having a think. “Oh, god, you know what, yeah I’d really want that for them. Whole family loves that girl to bits.” Dianne babbled getting caught in the idea of what the future had in store for you and Trent.

You and the three boys decided to grab the check but go to the bar, you didn’t really need to sneak Jobe in with you like you normally would with a younger boy just being with Jude and Trent was like going anywhere with a free pass so it was no problem.

On cue, a few girls approached asking for photos with the boys so you happily helped take some for them. They wanted individual photos with Jude and then Trent. When one girl was posing for her photo with Trent she was a little bit more handsy than you cared for but it was only a photo so you bit your tongue. She wrapped her arm around his waist and placed her palm over his chest like a couple may pose. Jobe gripped your shoulder with his hand sensing the tension as you tapped away taking the photos on her phone. Even he knew it was probably a step too far on the girls' part. The other girl waiting for her turn for photos with Jude and Trent squealed a little.

“Literally you look like a couple! You’d be so cute together.” The fan said with a cheeky wink to her friend. Jude was quick to cut the encounter, none of you wanted to make a big deal but it still didn’t make you feel great.

“Alright darling, you want your picture with me too or just Trentski, C’mere” Jude cooed with false flirtation. The girl detached and Jobe said he’d take the remaining photos. You were polite and smiled to the girls and let them know if they needed you to take more you would but Trent walked up to you and draped his arms over your shoulder, his hands caressing the back of your head before you could really do anything else.

“Getting jealous, pretty girl?” Pressing his nose against yours. “Hmm, baby?” His lips pulled into a sly smile. You leaned in and rested your head on his chest before you started pressing light kisses over his shirt up to his collarbone and then his neck, all the way to his ear.

“Don’t like seeing you with someone else,” you quietly admitted. “You’re mine, baby.” You pouted your lips, he couldn’t see but could probably feel them roll against his skin. He grabbed both your cheeks and held your face out in front of his. You innocently looked up at him through your lashes. He teased you a little bit pressing small kisses to your neck now the same way you did to him but his were heavy with a more sensual motive. He heard you purr a little at the sensation so he took it a step further and began whispering against your sensitive skin about what he was going to do to you back in your hotel room; his words interspersed by kisses. You tried to hold back a moan before pulling him in for a proper kiss needing one to hold you over knowing you were in for a long night of cheeky hand placements and sultry kisses until you made it back to the promised land i.e your hotel room.

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#trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold imagines #you’re mine fic #taa x reader

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