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trashmouth-richie · 1 year

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eddie x fem!reader. [vol i] [vol ii]

summary: Eddie’s shenanigans continue, a heavy conversation leads to revealing factors of how Eddie and reader know eachother.

tw: no minors, mentions of drug use/ abuse, death etc. heavy heavy flirting (eddie) eventual smut

wc: 6.4k

a/n: we made it! Another week another volume to our disgusting eddie series. I’m still blown away by the likes, reblogs, and comments this series is receiving— thank you all so much I appreciate it.

s/o: @pinkrelish @sweetsweetjellybean @jo-harrington + @agentmarvel for helping me bring this fic to life! whether that’s beta reading, me bouncing ideas from to you or just talking me through the pacing- I love you all, this fic would be dog shit without you 🤍♥️💋

You wake to the buzzing of your alarm, your hand reaching through the dark across your night stand, slamming down hard on the smooth cold snooze button, but it doesn’t stop.

You hit it again.

Nothing.

The beeps get louder. Your eyelids open a sliver to reveal the numbers 3:42 in red on your alarm clock.

Your alarm usually doesn’t go off until 6, and it’s Sunday so it was never set.

Fuck.

You fly out of bed, disregarding the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra, and open the door. A light haze of smoke fills the hallway, white and dreamy, almost pretty like smoke on the water after it rains.

The smoke detector in the kitchen is alarming, letting you know that the potential of a fire is a great possibility with its ominous beeping. You spring into action, throwing open the kitchen window above the sink.

Where is it coming from?

At first you think it’s from the oven, maybe Eddie left a frozen pizza in too long. The older oven was fussy anyway, burning things one day and the next taking forever to heat up to 375° to make a batch of cookies. But the oven was cold, the smoke seemed to be coming from the living room, a quick glance shows you exactly what was going on.

The couch was on fire.

The hum of the vacuum and the clinking swirl of jagged edges of chips and popcorn kernels sucking up through the cylinders into the bag invade the small living room. It took Eddie almost an hour to find where you kept the cleaning supplies. Turns out the smaller door across from the basement was a closet, housed with everything you’d need to clean a home.

Each item was stacked neatly, brooms and a floppy white mop hung on hooks, the vacuum tucked into the corner. The top shelf had bleach, and a green can labeled ‘comet’ that looked like it could be mistaken for Parmesan cheese. Judging by the bottle with blue liquid and a window on it, called Windex, Eddie figured that probably wasn’t for spills on counters. He settled for a bottle of 409 and a roll of paper towels. Grabbing the vacuum with him.

After vacuuming the living room and wiping up the spills in the kitchen, he sits down. A lit joint between his lips, contemplating on what the actual fuck happened tonight. He couldn’t believe your bitchy attitude or the way your lip trembled after he called you out.

You weren’t the girl he used to know. You had changed, grown into a bitter woman, hating everyone and everything.

He falls into a dreamless sleep. Waking later to stumble into the bathroom to take a poorly aimed piss in the dark and falling face first into his mattress.

You grab the first thing you can think of to extinguish the flames ablaze on the couch. Where the hell is Eddie? What the fuck happened!? Filling a popcorn bowl with water that doubled as a puke bucket when you were sick with the flu back in March, you run back to the couch throwing the water on the flames. For good measure you refill the bucket and douse the couch again— putting the flames out, leaving a soaked charred couch that once was a staple in the Wheeler basement for the better half of a decade.

To say you are enraged would be the understatement of the year, possibly the century. You didn’t have much to your name— not anymore, he had made sure of that. But this!? You open all the windows, letting the dewy air of an early summer morning seep through the house, a slight breeze moving the thin curtains.

You weren’t a great physics student but you are almost certain that a couch wouldn’t suddenly combust into flames no matter how old it is. A red plastic lighter on the coffee table confirmed your suspicions.

You don’t waste time trying to wake him up by yelling, you fill the bowl of water immediately and charge into his room. It was as if you put the fire out but the flames were still burning inside of you, you were fucking irate with Eddie. Hate bubbling inside of you as you stomped into his room, water sloshing all over the carpet and onto your socked feet.

He’s laying on his stomach, a loud snore rippling through his body, the last bit of calm before the ice cold water hits his bare back. Soaking his bed in return.

A loud screeching gasp leaves his dry mouth, cottonmouth having his tongue feel like sandpaper on a sidewalk.

He turns over to face you, annoyed and confused at what the hell was going on.

“Y’know,” he says, standing abruptly from his mattress and shivering when the fan oscillates onto his freezing back, “there are more humane ways to wake someone,” he takes a deep breath through his nose, inhaling the smoke and the burnt fibers of the couch, “smells like you burnt breakfast so how may I help you at this ungodly hour?”

“You son of a bitch,” you seethe, “I swear to everything holy and your satan worshiping ass that I’m going to kill you!”

Eddie doesn’t bat an eye, “ooh baby, are we role playing right now? Shit I’m not prepared, gimme a minute.” He stuffs his hand into the front of his boxers making a jerking motion.

“Jesus Christ! I didn’t come in here to fuck you! Have you seen the living room?!”

“So hostile in the morning—“ he says rubbing his eyes, letting a yawn escape his slack mouth, “why what the fuck are you accusing me of now? I cleaned up my mess so if we’re not fuckin’ I’m going back to b— “ you drag him by the arm to the living room. Unable to speak. Unable to breathe properly through the lingering smoke.

His eyes land on the charred mass of the couch. Panic settled on his face for a brief moment before he discarded it for humor. “Damn Tooty, if you wanted a new couch you could have just asked,” he says, letting out a yawn, and stretching his arms out.

He cringes at the way his full name falls from your lips. The spinning rage of fury throwing yourself into a hissy fit.

“I can’t fucking believe you! How goddamn high were you to not realize the couch was on fire before you passed out?”

“Oh fucking relax, it was an accident!”

“Accident? Spilling milk on the counter is an accident. Knocking over the shampoo bottles in the shower is an accident. This.” You say seconds away from full on losing your mind, “is arson, destruction of personal property, a credible offen—“

“Credible offense? Didn’t know you joined the police force, officer Tooty..”

“Eddie!”

“… you probably have those swat grade handcuffs, the ones that won’t break when your wrists are bound to my bedpost, shit I’m hard just thinking about it.”

It takes everything in you not to look down, not to see the way he’s swelled up in his boxer briefs. Not to see the stretch of the fabric or the outline of his length.

You let out a frustrated groan, dragging your hands down your face. “God you are so fucking infuriating! You really moved in here and just thought you could do whatever the fuck you wanted because you’re Eddie the freak Munson huh? Twenty-six and still pretending that rules and doing shit in a normal way don’t apply to you.”

You think back to how he was in high school, ranting and raving on the cafeteria tables or giving a presentation about how Dungeons and Dragons was in fact not a cult when the assignment was supposed to be on the Holocaust.

He did whatever the fuck he wanted, when he wanted, and how he wanted to do it. He didn’t give a fuck about anyone but himself. Never did, never would.

“I fucking hate you,” you spit, “you’re a filthy bastard and I hope you rot in hell.”

He’s heard it all before, so it’s not a surprise when your words turn sour, trying to break him down. But he won’t stand for it.

“Oh baby,” he tuts, twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers, “you think you’re the only person to ever hate me?”

He crosses his arms and leans forward, inching towards your face, “if you wanna compete with the big dogs, you better get in line. Heard they sell tickets at the high school for the ‘we hate Eddie Munson fan club’.”

He chuckles at the idea of the whole town hating him, small minded inbred losers, clutching to their cross necklaces whenever he walked past them.

“Probably more fans there than Corroded Coffin has right?” You provoke, eyes raised and a smirk twisting your lips.

“That attitude of yours…” his words are lost when he looks at your lips, he shakes his head and sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes scan over your body. Tiny little tank top with one of the straps hanging off your shoulder. Your baby blue pajama pants low on your hips, no panty line suggesting you’re commando under them, “Fuck.” He breathes mostly to himself.

“Listen, I’ll replace the couch, but you seriously need to get a fucking grip and relax, you’re gonna have a brain aneurism if you keep this shit up.”

Only Eddie could turn a disaster of almost starting your house on fire to a joke about you being crazy and him getting horny in return. It had to be a talent to be so aloof from reality. So unphased by shit happening around him. Just placing a bandaid on things hoping they would work out.

But for you, it never came that easy.

You decide the only reasonable thing to do was to move the couch to the garage and try to rid the house of the lingering smoke smell. Thankfully the carpet and the coffee table were fine, but the couch was obviously a total loss. Eddie was surprisingly strong, maneuvering the couch almost by himself all the way to the garage, with your help of opening the doors. The way his muscles worked in his back as he lifted the couch and pulled it through the threshold made your stomach flutter. And you were pissed at the thought of it.

“Get some sleep,” Eddie ordered, after you got back into the house, yawning loudly and rubbing your eyes, “we can figure this shit out later.”

Normally you would have argued with him about not telling you what to do but you were exhausted. You climb back into your bed, and fall asleep quick. Dreaming of your entire house on fire and Eddie standing outside, pissing on the flames.

“What about this one?” Eddie asks, laying on a large brown sofa, sinking into the cushions like he’s submerged into quicksand.

He woke up around 9 AM, barging into your room, blaring Judas Priest and singing Love Bites at the top of his lungs. Scaring the absolute shit out of you and having you reach for the nailed bat Steve had given you after Nancy had moved out.

“Let’s roll butthole,” Eddie laughed as he sat on your bed, munching on a piece of toast, “ooh, and maybe skip the bra like you did this morning, that was so fucking hot.”

Jesus Christ.

“Get out,” you hiss, covering your chest with your blanket.

Eddie stands up and jumps on your bed pouting, “seriously you’re so boring, let them titties out and come jump with me.”

“I swear you get more immature by the minute. Now get the fuck out before you break my bed.”

“You wish I’d break your bed, oh my god!” He stops jumping immediately, “Tooty! Am I the first guy to be in here?”

You get up immediately, wrapping your throw blanket around you and grabbing Eddie by his foot trying like hell to yank him off your bed.

“Ow, stop you’re hurting me,” he jokes in a mocking, deadpan voice.

You’re slapping him anywhere you can reach him, throwing your pillows at his head, anything to get the perv out from your sheets. He’s laughing rolling around on your bed, moaning your name loudly.

“Eddie Munson I swear, I’ll slash the tires on that shit box van of yours out there if you don’t get out of my room!”

“Oooh, felony charges? Goddamn you’re gonna make daddy cum.”

You grab your clothes from the closet and retreat to the bathroom. Huffing and stomping the whole way, slamming your door so hard the windows in your room rattle.

You’ve been looking around the Big Boy’s furniture mart for at least three hours. Eddie insisted on trying every single couch they had. And you weren’t talking about just laying on them or testing their firmness.

“Hey, can you lay down and I’ll get on top so I can see how it feels? I need to make sure I can reach the right angles if ya catch my drift,” he says with a shit eating grin and a wink. “Or better yet, I’ll sit and you get on top, gotta make sure the ladies knees are comfy too ya know?”

You swat at his arms, “you’re such a fucking pig, Munson.”

“With a fat—“ interrupted by the sales clerk asking if everything was okay, you smile awkwardly and sit down next to Eddie, testing the enormous brown couch, “wallet.” He finishes, a smile on his lips as you roll your eyes.

“This one is good, c’mon sit down and try it out.” He purrs, wiggling his eyebrows.

You’re standing beside him clutching your purse, his long legs are bent at the knee and spread out wide. Arms on the back of the couch, claiming his space, spread like a king.

“No,” you complain, “If you like it, get it, I’m tired and I just want to go home.”

“Why? The Virgin Mary got a big date or something?” he says, with a mean laugh.

He’s such an asshole. If you weren’t playing his little games he’d turn into such a fucker.

“Jealous?” you say, invading his space, voice dipped low, tracing circles on his denim knees.

His breath hitches in his chest at your light touch, but you don’t stop there. Sauntering up to the sales counter you work your magic.

With a little flirting and the perfect placement of your arm under your heaving chest while leaning over the counter, chewing on your pen and running it down your neck and into the slit of the one too many unbuttoned buttons on your blouse with the dorky sales manager sporting a receding comb over, you get free same day delivery, even on a Sunday.

Impressed, and shocked Eddie asks, “Now how did you manage that one Tooty?” he asks his head dipped by your ear as you walk towards the door, “thought you were the head nun at Saint No Fun.”

You lick your lips, laying the charm on thick, “Think you’re the only one who can flirt and make someone uncomfortable?” You ask, looking up at him and batting your lashes.

Wrong.

That was the wrong thing to say to him. And you walked right into it.

A smug smile spreads against his lips, accompanied with lowered eyebrows and a deep groan to his voice, intruding on your personal space, “so you admit that I make you uncomfortable?”

Your cheeks heat and you slither away from him, buttoning your shirt higher and mumbling about how disgusting he is while walking fast out of the store and making your way to Eddie’s van, your sandals clicking on the asphalt.

Walking through the door to outside feeling the sun beat down on his curly mess of hair, he can’t help but laugh at you storming away.

“Don’t run from your feelings, sweetheart,” Eddie calls from the parking lot, “I’m a give— oh relax bitch I’m not talking to you!” He yells to a woman ushering her two children inside the store as she glares back at him, frightened when he places the infamous devil horns on his head and flicks his sinful tongue out.

He climbs back into the van, laughing maniacally and blaring Metallica’s Wherever I May Roam. He looks over and sees you shrunken down in the seats, covering your head with your arms trying to make yourself as small as possible. Avoiding being seen with him with all your might.

“At some point in time princess, you’re gonna have to give up this facade that you’re some high and mighty broad.”

“I don’t think that—“ you say sitting up right and forcing the heat from your cheeks, “I just don’t want to be seen with you in public anymore than I have too, plus I really think seeing you humping the furniture burned a hole in my brain.”

“It was quite a sight wasn’t it, wait until you experience it first hand— you’ll have to go to church begging for forgiveness.” he finished with a whisper.

You roll your eyes, disgusted with his constant perverted mind spewing sexual comments.

“Do you ever, just— I don’t know, have a normal conversation that isn’t based around your penis and all the things you’d fuck if given the opportunity?”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes, turning down his music, “When did you get so boring? I swore you were never like this when I knew you. Eyeball’s little sister. Thee Tooty. Meanest girl in her grade. Stealing cigarettes from the gas station. Sneaking out at night to catch a ride with the freak to the nearest party, you were cool back then. Now you’ve joined the fucking convent in virgin town capital of Lame-ville, USA.”

You had forgotten about Kev’s nickname, Eyeball. Eddie had made it up after he had gotten a fishing hook through his eyelid back in their sophomore year. Eddie was at your house almost all the time, him and your brother were as thick as thieves, and sometimes they were just that. He always invited you along, telling Kev it was alright. After he had graduated in ‘85 and Eddie stayed behind, Eddie became your outlet, bringing you and his hellfire idiots, your own classmates, to parties because you didn’t have a car. Swearing to Reefer Rick, that you little goons were cool. ‘Specially Tooty’ he’d say, announcing that you were Eyeball’s sister with a toothy grin.

Seems like such a long time ago that you were all just stupid kids, living for the weekend and a shared bottle of strawberry hill Boones Farm on the way to a party, now half of you were in serious relationships, or college. But you were still here in Hawkins, cutting the hair of the rich while you could barely balance your mortgage and utilities.

People like you and Eddie never got out of small towns. Live, breathe, die.

The end.

No happy endings.

“I’m not a nun, you inconsiderate prick,” you yell at him, “I just don’t think fart jokes, or shitting with the door open and belching contests are funny.”

Eddie pulls his eyebrows together annoyance splattered on his face, “yeah, I’m pretty inconsiderate, just dropped hundreds of dollars to get princess Tooty a new couch, how fucking dare I?”

“You’re the one that burned the other one down!” You holler back at him, losing any shred of self-control you have left, “ I wouldn’t have asked you to do that and you’re the one who volunteered to buy it in the first place!”

“Well, you didn’t really give me a choice standing there with those sad fucking eyes acting like I just fucked your sister and shot your parents in the face.” He sneers back, nostrils flared, driving like a bat out of hell through Hawkins.

You’re pouting, crossing your arms and huffing loudly as he continues.

“I swear to God there’s not a single fucking thing that I can do right for you Tooty,” he snaps, knuckles tight against the steering wheel. “It doesn’t matter what it is what I will, or won’t do you just have it in your head that I’m the worst fucking person in the world.”

You sit there stunned, face crumbled into anger as you stew pissed off beyond belief at his bullshit remarks. He pulls into the driveway, stomping on the brakes and having you lurch forward as he throws the van in park.

He turns to face you. A ringed finger pointing in your face as he gets closer.

“Like I said earlier, sweetheart, you want to hate me? Get in fuckin’ line, this whole goddamn town hates me and I don’t give a fat rat’s ass what anybody thinks of me, especially a stuck up brat like you.”

You’re both breathing heavy, the tension between you both thicker than oatmeal. You can feel his breath on your face, your cheeks are heated and his are tinged pink. His eyes dip down to your lips for a split second before he shakes his head. He jumps out slamming the door hard with a loud thud, stomping his way through the garage.

You mull over your emotions, here you were again, but this time you got the best of him.

Eddie: 1

Tooty: 1

In all the years of knowing Eddie, you’ve never seen him that pissed off. Sure he got worked up about stupid society norms in school but this was different. He was pissed, yelling in your face in the van.

You were never afraid of him, the whole town might be but you had no reason to be. Not from a guy with split ends and in serious need of a deep conditioner. He was just as stubborn as you were. Refusing to bend.

The couch was delivered in record time, your tits really putting the delivery boys to the test when they said you were their only delivery for the day, marked mandatory.

When Eddie arrived from the doorway of his bedroom, arms above his head hanging onto the frame, a cigarette hung between his lips, he was still mad but truly astonished at their arrival only twenty minutes after you had gotten home.

He flops on the couch as soon as they leave, the delivery idiots still drooling over you working up the courage to ask for your number until Eddie made a sadistic comment about getting the cat out of the freezer for the ritual sacrifice had them running back out to the truck, whispering Hail Mary’s and making the sign of the cross as they ran.

“Fuck,” he exhales, kicking off his boots and putting his stinky socks on one arm, his head on the other unzipping his jeans, and slotting a ringed hand down the front of them, Al Bundy style, “can’t wait to break this thing in, need’ta christen the whole house yet too.”

Oh for fucks sake.

“Were you this nasty while you lived with your uncle?”

He closes his eyes as he answers you, snuggling his head and hips into the cushions, a leg thrown up on the back. “He works nights, but my neighbors knew that when the trailer was rockin’, don’t come knockin’.”

You scoff, “I just have a hard time believing that anyone would willingly want to fuck you.”

“Well believe it baby, they don’t just call me ‘the freak’ because I’m into metal and have long hair,” he says, opening his eyes for your reaction as he grabs his dick through his jeans at the base and wiggles the length around.

Your stomach burns as you walk away, half disgusted at him for being so crude, and more disgusted with yourself for looking.

The only way you can combat the lingering heat of turmoil in your stomach is by keeping your hands and your mind busy. You change your clothes into some cotton pajama shorts, the old ratty Garfield slippers you’ve had since the 8th grade, and a baggy shirt with the Marlboro logo on the breast pocket and printed fully on the back. You start with baking a loaf of banana bread, the same recipe Karen Wheeler passed down to Nancy, and Nancy passed down to you.

You begin to whisk together the flour, baking soda, salt and cinnamon. A sense of calm takes over your body as you remember the days of having Nancy as a roommate. A vast difference to the hellion who’s snoring on the couch right now. Your mind wanders, questioning why the tension between the two of you in the van could have been cut with a knife.

You despised him, the thought of him making your stomach churn like curdled milk. He was skating on thin ice and if you were stronger, you’d have kicked his ass out by now. But Eddie was right about a few things. After Kev left for college it was just you at home, but Eddie stayed around. Watching out for you at parties, threatening to kick anyone’s ass who got too close to you.

You mash the bananas and set them aside, using the handheld mixer you had been gifted to beat together the butter and brown sugar. The light pales of yellow swirling with the chestnut granules of the brown sugar.

You remembered how he was dating Chrissy during his senior year. How Chrissy, yourself, Eddie and Chad would go bowling on Sundays after brunch at the Cunningham’s or how sometimes Chrissy would drive the three of you to go to Eddie’s shows at the hideout, sweet talking her way to the owner so you could all support him. How messed up he had been after she broke up with him. To this day you don't know the reason. You wondered if he knew what happened between you and Chad.

You add the dry ingredients to the wet ones. Adding the eggs one at a time, the soft plump yolks slipping free from the shells and landing gently on the forming mixture.

So many things had gone unsaid. Different aspects of life taking you both in opposite directions but now suddenly back again, but under very diverse circumstances.

The banana bread mixture is scraped into a loaf pan, and tossed into the oven, the timer set to sixty minutes.

You had to admit that having Eddie around gave you a small inkling of comfort. Almost as if you weren’t alone. Something you hadn’t felt in years.

You really must be crazy. Eddie Munson giving you comfort? What kind of dream land were you living in. Clearly the banana bread hasn’t given you any sort of calm, better make muffins next.

Later that night you’re lining pasta noodles in a baking dish, layering them with ground beef sautéed with an onion and pasta sauce, and ricotta, mozzarella and Parmesan cheese. The small kitchen smelling delicious, and the counters full of chocolate chip muffins and the banana bread you had made.

Turns out there’s a lot you can get done in the 5 hours Eddie has been passed out on the couch. Turtle waxing the bathroom floors, scrubbing the baseboards in the living room, reorganizing the fridge and wiping everything down.

He’s still sprawled out on the new couch, his long hair wrapped around his face, soft snores whirling through his nose.

Another hour later and supper is done, you’re standing at the stove cutting short horizontal lines through the lasagna opposite of the way the noodles are laid, when Eddie comes up behind you, warm crumbles of muffin between his lips as he whispers, “shit Tooty, did’ya take home-ec? This is delicious.” You jump almost ten feet high, shrieking and cutting a horrible diagonal line through the lasagna.

“.. I failed ya know.”

“High school?” You answer after catching your breath, “Eddie, everyone in the Tri state area knows that.”

“Nah,” he mumbles through another bite, more crumbs falling from his mouth, “well I mean yeah, but home-ec. That’s why I didn’t graduate on time.”

You soon around with an incredulous look on your face, “how the fuck do you fail home-ec not once, but twice?”

He leans his long frame against the counter, hip jutting up against it as he crosses his legs at his ankles, you note that his pants are still undone.

“Well chef,” Eddie starts, licking his fingers clean from the ooey chocolate that melted onto them, “I kept burning everything. I couldn’t even get the eggs to boil right. I burnt the sleeve of Jason Carver’s letterman jacket while trying to make crème brûlée,” He says with a laugh. “That might have been on purpose, after he stiffed me for over 3 oz and two full bags of pre rolls.”

You chuckle, “not a loss there, that douche probably deserved it.”

Jason Carver would remain in Hawkins to run his dad’s business. Last time you had seen him he was at the salon, flirting with you while you trimmed his hair. Still a douche.

“Ah, he was just mad I stole his girlfriend,” he says with a little sigh, referring to Chrissy, “High school, what a blast!”

“All six years?” You ask with a raised eyebrow, your teeth biting down hard into your lower lip to hide your laugh.

Pushing himself off the counter and stealing another muffin he leaves the kitchen with a grin and yells over his shoulder, “piss off.”

Eddie’s on his third plate of “flat noodle pasta thing” or to anyone living on the planet for more than three years would call it, lasagna, and your homemade garlic bread chewed up between his teeth.

“Christ,” he exaggerates with a sigh, “I feel like this is my last meal on death row or some shit.” He smacks his lips and licks his fingers like a primate. Moaning with each swipe of his tongue like a porn star with a huge bush in the 70’s.

“Did you just compliment me on something other than my body or insinuating that you want to fuck me?” You say with a false shock, “I’m honored.”

“Yup, write it down in your little diary, ‘Eddie Munson said something genuine to me, made me feel pretty, maybe I will stop being mean and let him see my titties xoxo’.”

“…and we’re back to your regularly scheduled programming.” You announce in a monotone voice, pushing your lasagna around with your fork and taking a bite of the garlic bread.

Eddie turns his head and looks over at you confused on how this nice little night— not arguing, for once, eating the best thing he’s had in his mouth bedsides the pussy that was in it last weekend, could turn into you silently stewing, mulling something over that he had zero idea on how to understand.

“So— what ever happened to Eyeball anyway? Should I go ahead and assume he’s buried in a shallow grave somewhere?” Eddie asks, taking another mouthful of lasagna, “seriously, I haven’t seen or heard from him since he graduated and left this shithole town.”

You take a deep breath and let out a sigh, you couldn’t hide this from him, not when he’s here in your house, on the couch he just bought since he burned down the other one.

If you were going to tell him, there was no better time than right now. You take a sip from your Fresca and set your plate down on the coffee table.

“Kev went to the east coast. Full academic scholarship to John Hopkins.” You say curling your knees up to your chin, facing Eddie.

“Yeah, I think he mentioned that— I bet your parents were proud,” Eddie says, eyebrows raised, fingers hanging loosely over his knees, the last remnants of the garlic bread in one hand.

“Of course they were, he’s the golden boy, Mr. Perfect. He could do no wrong in their eyes.”

You weren’t just being a jaded little sister, it was the truth. Your parents favored him over you. Once it was let on that he was smarter than most kids his age, and a certain level of genius— that was it for you, you were casted aside like a wet paper towel, tossed to the heaping flow of garbage. Their whole life revolved around him.

“So what happened?” Eddie pressed, setting his plate down and twisting the rings around his fingers.

“Well, he went to college in August of ‘85 and at first was excelling in all of his classes, as if he were to ever do anything else. If you ask my parents, what happened next was out of character for him, and he was coerced into it, the wrong place at the wrong time kind of a deal, but you know how he was. He had a wild side to him.”

Kev was wild indeed. He was the one who convinced Eddie to borrow Wayne’s truck at thirteen and take it driving through Hawkins on a joyride to the gas station that led to all of the mailboxes in Forest Hills to be backed over and almost a gas pump. A smirk forms on Eddie’s face as you continue.

“I always thought it was his way of escaping— trying to be normal. Anyway— he made friends with some guys who were kinda like the Hellfire guys at home. Ya know nerds, who need haircuts.” A small laugh escapes from your lips.

“Easy, now.” Eddie jokes, shaking his mane, “This takes time and patience, ain’t built for the weak.”

You roll your eyes and keep going, “one of them was involved with dealing but it wasn’t just joints and half ounces like you did in high school. This was crack, and heroin.”

Rubbing your eyes with the heel of your palms, dreading this more than Eddie could ever know. “He started using—heavily. One thing led to another and he was eventually kicked out of school, turns out you actually have to show up to class and get good grades to keep an academic scholarship.”

“My parents tried to get him to move home, go to rehab, but he refused. He moved into a house with some other “friends” if you would even call them that.” You take another shaky breath, voice wobbly as you continue, “w-we aren’t exactly sure what happened— all we know is that he was driving down a one way, going double over the legal speed limit and he struck a woman— in broad daylight, killing her instantly.”

Pain is evident in your face as Eddie stares into your eyes, leaning forward on the couch, the venom of his words from last night and earlier this afternoon twisting like a knife in his chest. “Holy fuck.”

“He had been tripping out on whatever it was he was snorting, or smoking—I have no idea, for days, according to him, and he doesn’t remember anything. The woman was from a very well off family in Maryland— so they went for murder instead of vehicular manslaughter— and won. There were two other people in the car with him… they were both killed on impact. He’s currently known as inmate #90045, serving a life sentence and a sling of other charges in Roxbury Correctional in Hagerstown.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide at the thought of Kev in an orange jumpsuit, face behind bars. The fingers he was spinning his rings with stops, mouth agape.

You pinch your eyes shut and throw your head back, avoiding Eddie’s eyes. “My parents sold the house the following year and moved out there to be closer to the golden son, still to this day refusing he did anything wrong, blaming it all on anyone but him.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie breathes, shocked, “I can’t fuckin— wow.”

“Yeah,” you say, bringing your head forward, dipping into your chest. Sniffling quietly and rubbing your nose.

Eddie is dumbfounded by your admission. He thought for sure that maybe Kev was married and had kids so your parents went to help them out to be supportive grandparents. He would have never guessed that he was in prison doing hard time with a heroin addiction. And he certainly can’t believe that they left you here like discarded mail.

“But you stayed in Hawkins? By yourself, this whole time?” he says in disbelief. Outer corners of his eyes turning downward as his face frowns.

He feels like shit, he had been here the whole time in Hawkins and he didn’t have a clue that you were alone.

Shaking your head you answer slowly, shame on your lips. “The Wheeler’s ended up taking me in.”

“Tooty,” Eddie rubs his hand across his face, stubble catching on calluses as he thinks about the times he saw you at school. “Fuck man, why didn’t you say anything? Jesus, why didn’t any of them mention it?”

“I told them that if they told anyone I’d shave their heads,” you say proudly. A sense of pride present across your face, as you hold your head high.

This explains a lot, why you were bitter and downright miserable. He couldn’t believe this shit, how your family just left you, discarding you like you weren’t their only daughter. You were dealt a shitty hand, and all you had left to protect yourself was you. Eddie knew all too well how that felt.

His eyes are full of concern, wet with tears as he realizes how lonely you must have been.

“By the way,” you say, stretching your leg out and nudging him with the toe of your slipper, “that head shaving thing, goes for you too Munson.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart. ” Eddie said, throwing his hands up in innocence. “I wouldn’t risk losing these curls over that, the ladies love this.”

Later that night Eddie laid in bed. Still completely blown away by the fate of his old friend. Not only that but what happened to you as well. When his dad went to prison, he had Wayne but you? You didn’t have anyone. Moving in with the Wheeler’s like you were a charity case, an orphan, with Ted Wheeler being the not bald Daddy Warbucks. He didn’t sleep worth a shit that night. His mind constantly running over the millions of conversations you had up until his graduation— not once did you let on that you weren’t okay.

🤍

HOPE YOU ENJOYED 💋 SEE YOU IN VOL IV

vol iv

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

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gingerjolover · 3 months

Text

The Love Nest - Julien Baker x young!gf

read the blurb here!

synopsis: young!soft!gf has a bad day but julien is always there to make it better

g's notes: oh heyyyy.... this is a small installment in the controversially young!gf universe, she is lowkey soft!gf coded - i am really going to try and push out more fics now that things are falling into place for me and my life doesn't feel so out of control :-)

warnings: RPF, age gap (both consenting adults!), young!gf is 20?? in this fic, bad day vibes:/, talks of internet bullying, smoochin/lovin/the works, no fundamental physical descriptors except hair that can be tucked behind ear??

The frantic succession of pings had woken Julien up from her post-studio haze, her body half laying on the couch when the panicked texts came in. She didn't even hesitate to get up, changing out of her recording clothes into a pair of boxers and a big t-shirt, moving around the house like a zombie, the routine is one she could do with her eyes closed.

20 minutes later, she sits on the porch, messy hair and slippers on, half exposed to the neighbors by the gaps in her landscaping. She's only lived in the house a few months, having narrowed down what she wanted right around the time you both fell in love almost 8 months ago. It's a small Spanish-style home, close enough to her friends but far enough away from the city that she doesn't feel suffocated. Phoebe relentlessly teased her about the renovations she made, "Oh, so your girlfriend gets to choose the color of your backsplash... it's a love nest!" she had squealed, poking Julien's side as Lucy and Jo admired the palette you had chosen for her kitchen.

She'd hated the teasing, the constant (but loving) making fun of how she worships the ground you walk in, bending to every whim needed to make you happy. Her friends could see it was reciprocated, having finally gotten to know you enough to feel comfortable teasing you about your relationship, your skin thickening with every lousy comment, but smiling at everything from Julien's friend's mouth, laced with admiration for you.

It scares Julien, despite being on the same page about your love, often having deep talks before bed about how the love between you feels like the only thing to ever exist; it scares her just how much she loves you. There's something natural about you flittering around her house, an old ratty band tee adorning your figure as Julien playfully mocks you about not knowing the song blasting throughout the house despite it singlehandedly getting her through her sophomore year of college.

But the best thing, the most natural thing of all, is seeing you pull up into the driveway. Julien envisions when you're done with school, following your dreams full time, and coming home to her every night. Normally, she'd stand on the porch, smiling wide and staring dreamily at you as you park your car. The dog at her feet would wag his tail, ready to pounce when your Converse hits the first step.

But the dreamy eyes are replaced with concern today. She can see your blotchy cheeks through the windshield, eyes bloodshot and streaming. "Oh shit," she mumbles under her breath; every nerve ending is on fire, worry flowing through her veins as she makes her way down the steps to you.

You've barely parked the car before flinging the door open, jumping out, and rushing into her arms. She catches you with ease, one hand moving to support your bottom as you wrap your legs around her, the other tight on your back.

"Hi baby," Julien murmurs, lips pressed to your cheek, your skin warm and damp. Your tears leak down Julien's neck, her hand rubbing up and down your back over your t-shirt, hot and sticky from the sweat, no doubt a result of your anxiety.

"I'm sorry," you mumble, rubbing your nose against her skin as she walks you back to the steps.

"You never need to say sorry for coming here, you know that." She gave you a comforting squeeze before walking you to the porch, the soft glow from inside the house and a few small lights outside were enough to illuminate the whole yard, a warm glow in the incoming darkness.

"Careful buddy, be gentle, mama's sad," Julien says gently, sitting you both down as her dog excitedly moves to you, as if knowing you need comfort, licking your cheek, pawing at your back.

A small giggle and a succession of pets give Julien some hope, her eyes watching your face. Cheeks flushed and puffy, eyes brightened by tears, lips bitten and red, you look so innocent and clearly hurt, but despite it all, approach everything with kindness and gentleness.

“I just needed to see you and I know you have an early session in the morning and I’m not supposed to be here until Thursday but I—“ you start to ramble, knowing that you and Julien both have strict schedules.

"Baby... breathe. It's okay, okay? You're here and safe," Julien says softly, seeing your eyes descend into panic once again when trying to be considerate of her schedule. Julien presses kisses into the crown of your hair, mumbling against the skin, "Besides, I missed you, except I hate seeing you sad, so talk to me; what's happening?" Julien says, pulling away, thumb coming to wipe away tears under your eyes.

“Everything that could’ve gone wrong today went wrong, and I’m so tired,” you breathe out, almost like you couldn't get oxygen back into your lungs. The sobs start up quickly again, heading towards dangerous territory quickly.

Julien's worried frown deepens slightly, but she squeezes you reassuringly. This wasn't good. Not at all. You were usually a ray of sunshine, but the way you breathed out, having such a pessimistic view, sounded... it sounded terrible. She rubbed her thumb against your back in a gentle rhythm. "Slow down. What happened?"

You let out some shuddering breaths, sobs broken up between sniffles before you explain, “I slept through my alarm which I never do, so I missed my meeting with my manager, and then on my way to class my smoothie spilled all over my bag and laptop, and thankfully I backed it up b-but I need a new one, a-and I haven’t gotten the checks from my shop yet so I’m stressing about rent and then all of my paints dried out so I couldn't even work, and my lunch ended up being spoiled so I haven't eaten and I walked to my car after class and there was a fucking p-parking ticket and then when I got home and tried to shower a-and the water was ice cold, and then I stupidly went on instagram and I just—“ you sob gently, all your words like mush, coming in out in only a few breaths.

The more details you explained, the more worried Julien's expression grew. This was a bad day. Worse than most. Her brow furrowed as she took it all in, a frown settling. She kept stroking your back gently as she pulled you in closer, legs interlocking as you sat on the steps. "Okay. Okay. One thing at a time. You don't have to worry about rent. I've got you. Let's just breathe for a sec and figure all of it out…"

“And I failed that stupid philosophy test! He’s making me retake it because my answers were “plagiarized,” according to Turnitin,” you cry out, the elective you were so excited to take because your girlfriend's enthusiasm is a main stress point this semester.

"Hey, hey, let's not worry about that right now. We can deal with your philosophy professor later. Right now, you just need to take some slow breaths, okay?" Julien's voice was soothing; she gently rocked you as she spoke. "Now… the laptop. You said you backed everything up?"

"Yeah, I- but I have so much homework due on Thursday and I— I won't have time to get a new one or even have time to go to the library,” you whine gently, leaning into Julien's affections.

"Hey, look at me." Julien holds your chin gently but sternly; she looks more serious now as she speaks. "You don't need to worry about all of that tonight. You're not going to the library. You'll have some dinner, then we'll crawl into bed and watch a movie, and you can just rest, okay? We'll figure all of that stuff out tomorrow."

“I— I don’t have the time, and I—" you try to explain, tears coming down faster.

The gentle tone in Julien's voice disappears as she shakes her head. "Princess, listen to me." She looks at you firmly and takes your hands into hers, her thumb rubbing your ring finger softly. "You can skip the library. You can tell your manager everything's all right. You can fail one test. You can sleep. We will figure out the laptop situation tomorrow, and everything will be okay. You're safe here, okay? I'm not gonna let anything happen to you right now. You're just gonna relax. I'll take care of everything else."

"But the parking ticket-" you sob softly, cheeks heating in embarrassment.

"I'll deal with that tomorrow." Her tone was more definitive, her eyes locked into yours. "You can just focus on getting some rest right now. Okay? I promise it's gonna be okay."

Julien searches your eyes, watching you nod. Her heart cracks when she sees the tears streaming down, a more profound pain behind your eyes. Her face fell instantly, her hands touching your cheeks as she pressed her forehead to yours. She breathes with you, trying to figure out how to approach what's clearly not a bad day but a breaking point. She gently strokes your hair, "You wanna tell me what's really bothering you, sweet girl?" Julien speaks softly.

“Why are you with me? You’re like— older and successful and isn’t this just— all so stupid, I mean I’m in college and I—“ you whispers, your words riddled with shame as you stare into her brown eyes, feeling small.

Julien's stomach drops; that definitely wasn't a response she was expecting. All of their friends joke about it, but you've never asked the question directly like this. Her mind reeled of every interaction she had witnessed that your relationship was the topic of conversation, wondering which comment was the nail in the coffin, one she didn't even know you had been preparing. She hesitates for a long moment, her brows furrowed. Her expression grows tender again as she pulls you into a hug and squeezes you softly. "Because I love you. And I'm proud of you. And I'm here to support you with everything."

“You shouldn’t have to deal with all of this; it’s all— childish, you’re like—taking care of me,” you say sadly, sniffling again. Julien notices specific language, the rhetoric not like your own, it sounds like a direct comment and not a narrative you've created for yourself.

Julien's eyes widened as she listened; she definitely heard those exact comments on social media, blocking most of it out for the sake of your relationship. "You're not childish. I'm not taking care of you. We're a partnership. We're taking care of each other. You take care of me too. Everything's gonna be ok," she says sternly but gently, tucking some hair behind your ear. "Can I ask you something?" she says softly.

"Mhm," Julien smiles softly at your hum, thumb rubbing your cheek gently. "Did something else happen today? Did someone say something about our relationship? Or have you been reading comments again?" Julien's eyebrows knit together in worry as she looks into your eyes. The trolls were nasty enough as it is. The thought that you might have been rereading their bullshit was heartbreaking.

You look into her eyes guiltily, bottom lip between your teeth as you open your mouth, but nothing can come out, just a sheepish blush crossing your cheeks.

"Sweetheart..." Julien groans, her voice more concerned now. She takes your hands and holds them more tightly in her own. "That's a terrible idea; we've talked about this, okay? You know not to read those comments. They don't know anything about you or us. They're just assholes with a keyboard."

"I couldn't help it, I-" you whine softly, dropping your head low to hide from any disappointing looks Julien might shoot your way.

"Look at me, come on." Juliens pulls your chin up, tilting it so her eyes meet yours. Her expression is soft as she strokes your cheek. "These trolls are just miserable people who have nothing better to do than make other people miserable. We've discussed this: you can't let their opinions take over your life. You can't let them affect you like this."

“I just— had such a bad day and I felt like I couldn’t get my emotions under control and— I just was on there for fun I swear, but then I saw the post from Saturday that Katie posted of us and some of the comments were just so mean, and I started to wonder why you would wanna deal with me? Deal with all of this stuff when you graduated like 6 years ago and I don’t have my shit together, I’m not even 21 so—“ you start to ramble, getting worked up again as the panic floods your chest.

"Hey. Look at me." Julien's voice is gentle as she strokes your hair, holding you close. "I'm not dealing with anything. It's called being in a relationship. There's nothing to deal with. What other people think doesn't matter, remember? Not a damn thing. All that matters to me is that you're here. With me. That's it."

Julien cant help but look down, your lips in cute small pout. She smiles lightly as she wipes your cheeks, kissing your lips quickly.

"Promise me you won't read through that garbage anymore, okay? You know it isn't good for you. It's not good for us. We're good. Just us. Don't let them get in your head. And you never have to justify why you're with me. That's not how this works."

You nod gently, chest lighter at Julien's reassurances. The heavy weight of people's comments still weighs on you, knowing this is something to discuss later, but for now, having Julien dote on you is enough.

Julien's lips curl into a soft smile as she brings her forehead up to yours, eyes still locked into one another's. She whispers softly, "That's my girl. You're gonna rest and I'll deal with the parking ticket and everything else. Okay?"

You nod softly, thanking everything in the universe for the woman sitting before you. You lean in, kissing Julien's cheeks a few times, the corner of her mouth, and then her lips.

Julien hums when you kiss her, your soft lips against her chapped ones. Julien's smile grows wider, her eyes gleaming softly in the dim glow of the porch light, the sun almost set. She closes her eyes and lets out a happy sigh as she pulls your body closer, wrapping her arms tightly around you.

"Are you happy?" you mumble out, tone laced with insecurity, silently face-palming yourself for how you sounded.

Julien's expression grows soft as her hands rub up and down your back, those words tugging at her heartstrings just a bit. She swallows before her voice comes out gentle and sincere, "I am the happiest I've been in a very long time, baby."

Julien's arms wrap tighter around you, and she pulls you into her lap, her lips meeting yours gently and tenderly. Her hands hold your head, mouths softly brushing together, the warmth of your breaths mingling against and into one another's.

She can't help but giggle when you pull away, cheeks flushed and your face moving to her neck. "Can we shower?" you mumble against her skin, Julien's hand rubbing your leg softly.

The blush spreads further up Julien's cheek as she leans in to kiss the top of your head. "Of course we can, pretty girl. I want to get you all cozy," Julien says softly, placing you back on the step as she pats the dog's head, quickly stepping down and towards the car.

She moves to grab your overnight bag, favorite pillow, and purse. Carrying the items in one hand, she locks the car and walks back towards the house, sticking out her opposite hand.

"Thank you," you murmur, kissing her cheek as you grab her hand. "S'no biggie, baby," Julien smiles softly, pushing you through the door first, locking up behind her, and following you straight up the stairs.

You make their way upstairs to the bathroom. The bathroom is dark, except for the light from the bedside lamp nearby that casts an orange-yellow glow. Julien runs the shower, watching you slip into the tub with a small smile. The shower is quick, like any other, Julien tending to you gently. She washes your hair and massages your scalp as you rest against her, a low song coming from her lips.

Wrapped in a fluffy towel, Julien grabs a pair of pajamas from your drawer in her room. Her hands move gently as she works lotion into your back, attempting to relieve the tight muscles in your overworked body. She kisses your neck and shoulders as she moves, her eyes locking into yours in the mirror, her expression so loving and caring, just wanting you to feel better.

“Thank you,” Julien's eyes shine brightly when she sees your soft, tired expression, your sweet thank you music to her ears. She pulls you closer to her chest, rubbing her thumb against your cheek gently and kisses your forehead. "You're welcome. You wanna order food?” Julien mumbles against your skin.

“Mhm, only had half a smoothie today."

Julien's eyes glow softly with admiration as she watches you lean into her. She kisses your forehead again and hums soothingly. “That’s not good,” she breathes, running her fingers through your wet hair. "Poor baby. You wanna lie down in bed while I order? I promise I'll be quick?"

“Yeah,” you say, eyes closing as you allow yourself to enjoy Julien's tender touch.

Julien's smile grows a little more, rubbing your back reassuringly. She pulls out her phone and pulls up the delivery app, watching you cross into the bedroom. She also moves into the bedroom, turning on the bedside lamp and pulling the curtains across the window, dimming everything to a soft, cozy glow. The room is warm and tranquil, any space in Julien's house can achieve this with just a few alterations.

As you snuggle into bed, reaching for the remote, Julien crosses in front of the TV to plug in your heating pad, setting it across your lap.

Juliens watches your face, taking in your exhausted expression, puffy eyes, and the way you're sunken deep into the blankets. Her soft, loving look changes into a teasing one, she can't help but to gently nuzzle her face into your hair as she leans down to you. "I know it was a hard day, baby, but try not to fall asleep before the food gets here," she whispers softly and playfully.

You squint back teasingly, “What’re you ordering?”

"Probably from that Thai place? That okay? That coconut curry could do you some good... it should warm you up and ease those muscles too."

“Is that the one that Phoebe got for me last time?”

"Yeah... think so," Julien's tone reflects the fond memories of Phoebe and Lucy trying to impress you and how cute and sweet it all was to them. "She said she did a little research for the best spot in town. It was so nice of her to do that, wasn't it? The food was really good too."

“Yeah, it was good. I haven't had it since that time with them, like 6 months ago," you say, looking up at Julien as she stands next to the bed, one knee resting on the mattress.

"That’s when I thought Phoebe and Lucy hated me,” you snort softly.

"Oh, definitely not. Lucy and Phoebe are probably both a little in love with you if you want the truth." Julien's tone is teasing; she knows how much her bandmates and best friends appreciate you, even if you don't see it yourself. Her tone grows kinder and softer as she continues. "Phoebe just wanted to feel out the vibe and get to know you better,” Julien says.

Julien's expression softens as she rubs her thumb against your mouth, arm sticking out in front of her, "Yeah, they were probably a little skeptical of you when they first met you. I don’t think they were sure what to make of you."

“Was because of my age, right?” you ask softly, eyes shining with insecurity when the 7-year age gap reappears.

Julien's expression grows warm and apologetic, feeling a lot of guilt over your anxiety about the age difference. She sits on the edge of the bed, tattooed hands running up and down your leg reassuringly. "That may have played a bit of a role, but honestly? I think there was a bit of jealousy there, too. You’re smart, pretty, and funny, and I was pretty smitten instantly. I think they might have felt a little threatened by you," Julien says with a twinkle in her eye, her smile moving to the side with jest.

“Shut up, Jay,” you groan, covering your face with your hands as you lean back into the pillow.

Juliens chuckles slightly at your reaction. "What, it may have been true. I mean, have you seen you?" Julien says playfully, pinching your cheek playfully.

“Flattery will get you nowhere."

Julien's playful expression grows a bit more mischievous. "Oh, it'll get me somewhere, alright. I have a certain spot in mind for that flattery." Juliens nuzzles her into your neck, leaning over you, her body half off the bed, as her lips land near your ear. "You know which one I mean."

“Jules!” you laugh loudly, pushing her off.

Julien's grin grows even wider as she's pushed off of you, leaning back toward you, kissing your lips playfully. "Sorry, angel, I can't help myself. I see a pretty girl, and my hands get a little excited."

You cock one eyebrow up at Juliens use of “a pretty girl”. Julien's eyes narrow playfully at your reaction knowing she's been called out for her choice of words here.

"Okay, okay, fine. I see my really, really, incredibly stunningly gorgeous girlfriend, and I just can't help myself. Better?" Julien chuckles.

“Better."

Julien moves to finish ordering the food, patting your leg quickly before going downstairs to get her laptop to try and get some of the things that went wrong in your day sorted. She lays on the bed, resting against the headboard, your back slightly towards her as you focus on the TV. One of her hands moves back into a gentle massage on your back, trying to relax you, your muscles still somewhat tense.

Julien works on setting up an appointment at the Apple store to get you a new laptop, highlighting and noting which options would be best for your current needs. She also makes sure to transfer enough money for your portion of your rent, knowing you will pay her back as soon as you get paid. And you didn't ask, she knows you would do it eventually, but she goes ahead and orders some replacement paint (and a few other things on your wishlist), knowing you need to get prints done.

Julien's fingers move up to your scalp, trying to commit to memory to ask you tomorrow about the parking ticket information so she can pay it as soon as possible. Her fingers move rhythmically, each stroke a gentle massage of your head. She hums softly as she continues, her eyes moving back and forth between the TV and her phone, watching the delivery time on the door dash.

Her fingers slow down and stop in place for a moment, taking a deep breath and realizing despite the hardships, she's never been more fulfilled and content. She can’t help but smile with tender affection as her mind is filled with thoughts of the girl in her bed, this sweet, smart girl who's taken up an unexpected home in her heart.

“Can I take a power nap?” you mumble, already half asleep, Julien's tattooed fingers to blame.

"You want to take a little power nap until the food gets here?" She asks with a smirk, lifting her arm and widening it, a signal beckoning you to her side.

“Mhm,” you nod, moving on your side and snuggling into Julien.

Julien's face is loving as she watches you settle into her side. She pulls a bit of the blanket over both of you, "Go on, baby, take your nap. I'll watch out for the food."

g's notes: does this suck? i feel like its somehow so long and yet nothing is happening lol

g's notes again: yes its 1 am, i- i don't have an excuse actually

#julien baker x reader #boygenius x reader #julien baker fluff #julien baker x fem!reader #controversially young!gf universe #julien baker x young!gf #julien baker x soft!gf

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deathbecomesthem · 6 months

Text

You Can't Go Home Again

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | 8.1K Words

Hawkins, Indiana - 2006. Reader and Eddie are both 40. The Reader has a 19 year old daughter that is mentioned.

Summary: You're both in town for a funeral. This is a love story.

Contains smut, death, love, booze, and weed. Just like all the best things in life, you take the good with the bad or your ass misses out.

+18 only. No one under the age of 18 has my consent to interact with anything on my blog. I am old enough to be your mother.

If you like this story, please let me know. Reblogs are strongly encouraged. If it doesn't get passed around, it dies in this spot. Thank you @jo-harrington and @br0ck-eddie for reading this over and telling me it's worth publishing on this blog. I love you both more than words can express.

---

You can’t go home again. Or so you’ve been told. Yet here you are, zooming down the familiar stretch of highway that leads back to that place. You turn the thought over in your mind while your hand surfs against the wind outside of your car window. You aren’t going home, not really. Hawkins isn’t your home anymore. It hasn’t been since you pulled out of your parents’ driveway over a decade ago.

At least he had the common decency to die as the leaves started changing color, you think to yourself while your hand surfs in the wind outside your open window. The view is really spectacular. The trees look like they’re on fire as the sun begins to dip below the canopy. Indiana is flatland, but it’s still pretty in its own way. Wide open, it bares itself to you. It is what it is. There are no hills to hide behind. Not in these parts, anyway.

As you cross the county line, you flip on the radio and tune to the local country station. Might as well acclimate, you think, but really, you’re happy to hear Bonnie Raitt’s bluesy voice as you pull off the highway. She’s singing about how she can’t make someone love her, and you hold up an imaginary glass to toast the sentiment. That’s something you’ve learned the hard way.

I’ll close my eyes, then I won’t see.

The love you don’t feel when you’re holding me.

You don’t realize a tear has escaped your eye until you feel it rolling down your cheek. You wipe it away angrily and wonder when every little thing will stop making the tears come. It doesn’t matter, not right now. Not this week. Tears are appropriate for a funeral, and it’s what everyone will expect to see from you. Even if they’re borrowed tears.

At the stop sign at the corner of Elm and Maple you sit longer than the 3 seconds required by law. It’s not until a BMW pulls up behind that you push up the indicator to hook a right. As you pass by the entrance to Forrest Hills, Deanna Carter is singing about Strawberry Wine and being 17. You can feel heat rising in your cheeks when you let your own memories flit across your mind. It’s true, the hot July moon really did see everything the summer of 1985.

You chuckle at yourself and turn the wheel, left this time. The old motel is up on the right, just at the Hawkins line. You’ve spent too much of your life thinking about a time that only existed for a moment. And it doesn’t matter anyway, because despite all of the daydreams you’ve had about running into him throughout the years, it’s never happened. And you’ve never taken the time to look. You’ve only seen him in your dreams, and what a delight that’s been.

The gravel crunches under your tires, and the feeling that something’s been forgotten rises like a wave. Every couple of hours, it comes unbidden. No, you haven’t forgotten her, she’s in her new apartment on the other side of town from your own. Right now, she’s probably out to dinner with Janey. It’s discount movie night, and that’s something every college student knows to take advantage of. You’re not forgetting her, but her absence leaves a hole that can only be filled with anxiety. It’s something no one really tells you, something that you wouldn’t be able to understand from words alone - your children are a piece of yourself that moves freely in the world. The further you move from them, the deeper the cut.

You’ve already decided you’ll try to call tonight, hoping against hope that she’s still at her place when you ring in. Hearing her voice will fill you a little, and maybe at least make sleep easier. Maddy told you she’d miss you, and you know that’s true. It’s a good thing to hear each other every day, even if it’s only for a moment.

When you come around a wide curve in the road, you’re pleased to see that the bar next to the motel is still standing, and that the lights are on. You’re getting drunk tonight. Why not? For the first time in a long time, you’re only accountable for yourself. Hawkins can swallow you up for the week, and no one outside of this place will see it. And then you’ll never step foot into Indiana again.

—

It’s stupid, and he knows it. He hasn’t been back here in years, and the only reason he’s doing this is because he liked the old guy. Wayne taught him to respect that. To show up for the family. Always go to the funeral, he’d told him, it eases the pain for the loved ones and makes ‘em remember there were people in the world that gave a shit about ‘em. When Eddie was a kid, he remembered how it felt to look out into the church and see so many faces with tears in their eyes. He remembered thinking that it was important that so many people turned out to say goodbye to his Mama, even if they were people that he never got to know outside of that mourning space. Wayne was right, it does matter. It does help. And he’s showing up, even if the thought of seeing you makes his stomach dip and his heartbeat faster.

It’s not about you, you fucking idiot. The words have been surfacing in his mind over and over this last week. It’s not about him, and he knows that. At least, his brain knows that, but there’s a place deep inside of him that can’t help but think about the possibility of something. Of what? Well, if he thinks too hard about it, his dick takes over. There have been many times over the years that Eddie let his mind wander back to his 18th summer, when the heat of your bodies rivaled the heat of the sun beating down on the two of you. Many times he’s touched himself, trying to find the right way to move his fingers to replicate the way your hands felt on him. He’s ashamed of it. He tries not to think about it, but the news of the funeral seems to have lit that spark inside of him again, just as he thought the old smoldering embers were finally snuffed out.

He told Wayne he’d be driving up for the services, hoping the old guy would be able to bring the rambler to meet him in Hawkins. It would save him the cost of a motel room, and the death of the old man’s friend is an unwelcome reminder that everything comes to an end eventually. But Wayne isn’t going to make it. Eddie should’ve known. As much as Wayne taught him about being there for the family, Wayne was closer to Jim than his blood ever was. Especially you. Wayne would be the first to admit that Jim made his bed, and now he’ll spend his eternal rest in it. Wayne will mourn in his own way, he’ll come down when no one knows he’s there to pour one out on his buddy’s grave. That’s alright. It’s how Jim would want it. The funeral will be a farce. People saying goodbye to an old bastard that no one really liked.

When Eddie passes the southerly Indiana border, his ass really starts to get sore. He should’ve flown in and rented a car. He’s getting too old for these long bike rides, and the Indian’s seat isn’t made for this kind of trip. He’s never seen the need to replace the warehouse installed seat, his daily commutes to the construction trailer are short, and he takes a work truck out to the job sites. Maybe it’s time to think about investing in a vehicle that allows for a little more comfort. His ass is only going to spread more from here on out. Turning 30 was like hitting a brick wall, all the years of fun have finally caught up. Now that he’s passed the 40-year mark, every day is a new opportunity to feel aches in parts of his body he never thought about in his younger years. Sometimes he would swear that he could feel his small intestine groan when he caught a whiff of something greasy. And sometimes he can’t go through the night without having to hop out of bed to take a piss. The most obvious reminder for Eddie is looking in the mirror and seeing the way his old tattoos have turned gray over the years, especially his beloved bats. Working outside in the sun has made them fade, and no amount of touch ups can bring them back to their former glory. Sometimes he thinks about you running your fingers over them, the way you ran them along the outline of the wings.

Time passes, and tattoos fade like memories. He knows too. He got to watch Wayne age, see the lines dig deeper and deeper into his face while he made sure Eddie kept a roof over his head. It’s amazing for him to think about the old guy, not really as old as he used to think. Eddie’s got more years than Wayne did back in those days. Close enough to be brothers more than father and son, but neither of them got a choice when it was time for his own Mama to go into the ground. The only one choosing in those days was Al, and every decision was a wrong one.

Eddie hates coming back to Hawkins, it stirs up the old shit he doesn’t think about anymore. It’s easier to see those times through rose colored glasses when he isn’t smack dab in the middle of the town that cut him so deeply in so many different ways. But he’s showing up. He’s doing this thing because it’s right. It has nothing to do with the minute possibility that he might get to find out how the years have treated you. Especially since he knows how you left Hawkins. But time does heal. Eddie’s proof of that.

—

The roadside motel is in better shape than you expect, so you strike your mental chalkboard on the pro side. At least you have a clean bed to sleep in for the next 6 nights. At least you won’t be forced to sleep on Uncle Jim’s couch. You think about what it will feel like being in his little shack. You think about how his own kids won’t show up to sift through his shit belongings to pull out any hidden treasures before the bank throws it all in the dumpster. You’re doing this thing for your father, because he asked you to. You need to make sure the stuff that ended up with Jim when your grandma died doesn’t get lost forever. No cash value to any of it, but it’s worth something to your dad, and he can’t face the ghost of his brother. Not even for his mother’s wedding band, or the family bible.

Your first thought when you opened the door to your home for the week was that you could still smell the faint scent of bleach hanging in the air. Good. These kinds of places have more personality, but it’s always a roll of the dice about cleanliness. The bed is soft, and the comforter smells of Snuggle. Also good. The scent is nostalgic, you can feel the muscles in your shoulders relax. You’ll be able to sleep here. You think that’s exactly what you’ll do. The heavy shades are drawn, so it’s full dark and quiet. You’ve got the room at that butts against the woods, but it doesn’t matter anyway, your car is the only one in the small parking lot tonight.

You’re sinking deeper into the mattress, and you begin to float away. You sit on the edge of sleep, about to topple over it when your ears begin to register a distant sound growing closer. It’s a purr that grows into a deep growling rumble. You stumble to your feet to peek your head out from behind your curtain. It’s full dark now, but the orange glow of the lights at each door along the row of rooms illuminates the parking lot enough for you to see the bike and its rider. Leather clad, head to toe, he’s wearing a small bucket helmet - the kind your daddy used to say they’d have to scoop your brains out of if you wrecked - and sunglasses. You watch him make his way to the door next to your own and let himself inside.

Well, you can think of a worse neighbor to have. At least you know you’re not alone out here. Maybe you’ll make a friend while you’re stuck in the hell that is Hawkins, Indiana. Maybe he'll let you bum a smoke or two.

—

You think about your call to Maddy while you walk down the street to the Hideout. She’s fine. All good. She got her new set of pots and pans from the big Sears out at the mall, and she didn't even need your help picking them out. Her dad did a good job. You’re happy for her. A girl doesn’t forget her first move away from home, and you suspect she's more nervous than she's been letting on. You can almost feel the butterflies beat in your own belly at the thought of rent checks and overtime while making it to class every morning. You hope she knows she can talk to you about it. You hope she remembers that you promised to help her if she gets into any jams. Maybe. Maybe not. She deserves to keep her secrets if it's how she wants to go about life. You'll be there either way.

Before you even open the door to the bar, you can smell the smoke and booze wafting through the cracks. That’s perfect. It’s why you’re here. You look down at your black jeans and smile. It took a few good jumps to get into, but your ass looks fantastic in them. You think you might even manage to get a drink out of someone, as long as the clientele is the same as it was when you were here last. Tammy Wynette is coming through the speakers of the jukebox, and the old curtains are pulled across the jury-rigged stage at the back. No band tonight. Just a couple of old drunks passing time at the sticky counter. You take the stool at the end, back facing the door, and think about what song you’ll choose for the room.

“Hello, ma'am,” a bright eyed 20 something from behind the bar greets you as you shift your weight to get comfortable on the cracked cushion under your ass. Ma’am. You decide to let that one slide and give him a big smile. “What can I get for you?”

“Oh, I think I’d like a whiskey sour, kind sir.” The words escape your lips without much thought. You haven’t had one in ages. Possibly the last time you had a drink as sweet as a whiskey sour was in this very bar. It wasn’t hard to get served with Big Dave behind the bar, especially when Eddie and the boys played.

The boy nods at you and gets to work on your drink. You see him flip through a rolodex of cards hidden under the bar, cheat sheets. He likely spends his nights pouring pitchers of Budweiser, rarely having to figure out how to make mixed drinks. Especially when the customers are good ole boys between the ages of 35 and 70. Even back in your day, the girls only showed up when there were boys their own age on the stage. You wonder if Bev is around somewhere. If she’s still kicking. The way the place still feels the same as it did back in '84 tells you she's still the owner of this shit stain of an establishment. But it's her shit stain, and good for her.

The bartender sets the glass in front of you with a cocktail napkin under it, fancy, and you feel a draft when the door at your back swings open. The drink isn’t bad, but you wouldn’t know if it was wrong. You don’t do mixed drinks. You’re a neat bourbon drinker. The sweet liquor does what it’s meant to, because you swear you can almost smell something familiar from the past as a figure goes past you. Like smoke and Old Spice with a hint of weed. This place is full of ghosts, you think, returning your focus back to glass coated in ice sweat.

“Hey, man. Three Wise Men and 3 fingers of Jim Beam.” The voice of the newcomer at the bar makes your head snap up. You watch his profile for a second. You see his hand disappear inside his jacket and come out with a pack of Camels. With a flick of his Zippo, his face is illuminated by the glow of the flame. You’ve seen it so many times, but even from this distance you catch sight of the creases that didn’t exist the last time you saw him. You wonder if you really did fall asleep if you’re really back in your motel room having one of your dreams again. The too sweet liquor on your tongue is real, and so must Eddie Munson be real.

You can’t peel your eyes from him, so you don’t try. You keep your gaze fixed to his face and wait for him to notice you. There are no words in you, and you’re afraid your legs will buckle if you try to stand up and walk over to him. You look at his hand, black lines decorate his knuckles. The ring on his left hand is silver, and you’re happy to see it sit on his middle finger. You banish the thought and break your gaze for a second to shake your stupid head.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Eddie’s voice echoes through the room, and everyone looks at him, even the drunk in the corner that can barely keep his head up. “Jesus Christ.”

Blood rushes to your head as he stands and makes his way over to you. Your heart is in your throat. You’d refused to let yourself believe that seeing Eddie this week was anything more than just a fleeting fantasy. The same fantasy that’s been playing through your mind for years. Pinch yourself, you fool. Too late, you’re standing on wobbly legs and giving him the kind of awkward hug reserved for old classmates - and apparently old lovers.

You break apart slowly, and sink down into your barstools, eyes never breaking contact. You think if you look away right now, he might turn into smoke and escape through the air vents. Your hands are on your lap, body still turned towards Eddie, Eddie Munson, and you pinch the skin between your thumb and index finger on your left hand until it hurts. This is real.

You’re both brought out of your shared reverie when the kid behind the bar slides Eddie’s drinks down to his new spot, along with the ashtray holding his still smoldering cigarette. Without a thought in your head, you pick it up and take a long drag before pinching it between your fingers to hand it back to him, filter out.

“So.” You exhale smoke through the word and let it hang for a second while Eddie brings the filter to his lips. The smoke of a kiss between the two of you hangs heavy in the air. “Eddie Munson, what brings you here tonight? Is Corroded Coffing playing a set later?”

Eddie’s crooked grin sits on his lips the same as it ever has, but it’s complemented by more fine lines at the corners of his eyes. You think it would be something to run a finger along them and feel the texture of his skin there.

“You know, I had this-” Eddie shakes his head and makes a noise like a huff of incredulity at what he hasn’t even said yet, “-I had this idea that I might see you here tonight. I’m sorry about Jim.”

“Oh,” you can’t hide the surprise on your face. The sudden presence of Eddie has scrubbed your mind clean of your purpose in Hawkins this week. Uncle Jim is dead. You try for a small frown, but decide against it and say, “yeah. I’m here for the funeral. Also, I promised my dad to go through the house before everything ends up at the dump.”

Eddie nods. His eyes dart across your face and then down to your hands. You’re suddenly very aware of the way your ring finger on your left hand still holds the indent of a band that’s been missing for months now. You think it may never truly leave you. You wonder if he’s seen it.

“Well, I think this is fate.” Eddie slaps his hand down on the bar, still as sticky as ever, and waves over the bartender that’s drying a glass with a bar towel. He turns back to you and says, “We’re drinking to that old bastard tonight.”

—

“Do you remember,” Eddie’s voice is too loud, but the only person left in the bar other than the two of you is a drunk with his head resting on the counter. He doesn’t seem bothered enough to lift his head, “breaking into the abandoned warehouse? Oh god, you were shaking like a leaf ‘Eddie, we should leave. What if someone’s hiding out in here?’” Eddie’s impersonation of your 18-year-old voice is both insulting and wildly inaccurate.

“You fucking asshole, you were the one that hauled ass out of there when a squirrel crawled out from under a desk. The noise you made,” you snort at the memory, “you sounded like my mom that time she found a dead mouse in her sugar dish.”

“That little fucker went straight for me, you can’t deny it.” Eddie’s finger is pointed directly between your eyes in an accusation. On instinct, you grab it with your fist and twist his arm. This is an old routine, one that the two of you had down pat all those years ago. Except now, Eddie’s a lot stronger, and he’s able to twist his arm back. You find your wrist in his strong grip, and you have no idea how it got there.

This is when you notice it. This is Eddie in front of you, but he’s not a boy. It’s not just your body that’s changed since the last time you were together. With his jacket thrown on the stool beside him, his forearms are bare before you. Sinful. Old ink and new, black lines and gray. But right now, it’s the flexed muscle that’s caught your eye. Oh, to be held by him.

The laughter in your chest dies and Eddie releases you. He waves the bartender down before he can call out a last call. One more round for the road, and you’re wishing you had a way to freeze this moment in time and keep him here.

But you can’t, so you take your final shots and hug each other. Jackets are thrown over shoulders, and you make your way side by side to the door.

“I’m staying at the motel on the corner. You should stop by sometime, I’ll be here all week.” You shove your shoulder into Eddie’s playfully and find that the booze has made your feet a little unstable. He puts an arm around you to keep you from stumbling.

“Well, let me walk you home then.” His arm doesn’t leave your side. You’re both hyper aware of the way his thumb strokes against the patch of soft exposed skin at your waist while you wander up the sidewalk, a little zig zag to your movements.

It’s been a night of sharing memories with no talk of the present. No acknowledgement of that indent on your finger where a ring lived for so long. You let yourself drink in the cool autumn air with Eddie’s arms holding you close to him. You let yourself feel held by him. You let yourself imagine that maybe this is real, and you let a sliver of moonlight pierce the darkness you’ve been hiding yourself in for these long months.

“This is my stop.” You pull away and lean your back against the door to your room at the end of rooms that line the facade of the old motel. It’s dark out, and the pale orange glow of the light above the door frame does little more than cast shadows across Eddie’s face. He could be mistaken for that boy if not for the way his shoulders stand wider than you remember. “Will you come in, Eddie?”

He tastes like whisky and smoke, and that’s just how you remember him. Gods, his mouth. His tongue moves swiftly across your lips, and your knees begin to sink. Those strong arms hold you up, they keep you in your spot so he can take his fill. This is the kind of kiss, one that makes you weak in the knees, that you thought was a thing that only existed in your past.

“So, yes?” You break apart from his kiss and rest your head in his chest to catch your breath.

“Yes, please.” Eddie kisses the top of your head and breathes in your hair before spinning you around to face the door. “Open the door, Sweetheart.”

The clicking of the door, and the snap of the deadbolt. Those things are clear, the anticipation of what comes next makes you laser focused on the feel of the metal under your fingers. And then it’s a flurry of mouths and hands. Teeth clicking, noses bumping. A stumble over a shoe in your shared path. You fall to the bed in a heap, it’s surprising how many articles of clothes have been discarded in the short distance between door and mattress.

“Is this real, or am I dreaming?” Eddie whispers into your neck, hot breath on the spot that he remembers makes you keen. His teeth test the skin, and you reward him with a gasp and a roll of your hips. “Fuck, I don’t care if I wake in a mess like a teenager. If this is a dream, I never want to leave it.”

You’d forgotten the way Eddie uses his words, but your body remembers the steps. Fingers waltz along your wider curves, they’re a quick study and map out the places that make you whine. Make you catch your breath. This is what he thinks about so often, the way you get lost under his touch. Your trust in him is still alive, and his need reaches a fever pitch.

“Eddie, please.” It’s all you can say, but it’s enough to snap Eddie out of his reverie. His hands are stroking the valley at your chest while his cock throbs against the cotton fabric of his boxers, hypnotized by the way your skin gives under the pressure of his fingers.

As above, so below. Hot mouths reach into one another as he spreads your legs and sinks his length into your heat. For a fleeting moment, it's a perfect union of bodies. Two as one. You need your breath as he reaches deeper inside you. He rests his forehead on yours and snaps harder into you. His open mouth takes the groans that leave you as he hits that tender and hard to reach place inside.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. You feel so good.” Eddie’s words float around your face as you reach your peak. It’s the words, not the ecstasy, which draw the tears from your eyes. Beautiful. You believe him, how could you not? You want to tell him that he’s beautiful, because he is. Instead you wrap your arms around him and kiss him while he cums. The last rocks of his hips move in rhythm with the languid kisses you share.

—-

You wake in the morning to find crumpled sheets in the space that was occupied by Eddie Munson as you drifted off to sleep. It really was a dream, you think, but the stickiness between your thighs tells you that there was a man in this bed last night. The idea that he’s left without a trace doesn’t even pass your mind, because not Eddie. He doesn’t do that.

You ignore the pounding at your temple and drop your feet to the carpet. A full bladder is an urgent thing that can’t be denied. The freezing tile under your toes jolts you to attention. You map your next steps while you piss, and then wash your hands. You take the time to brush your teeth before heading back into the dark bedroom to find an outfit for the day. It doesn’t matter where Eddie has wandered off to, you need to head over to Jim’s. Eddie can find you later. Eddie will find you later. That’s something you know. Right now? You need coffee. It’s when you go to put your shoes on that you see it. A tiny scrap of paper on the side table next to your keys.

I didn’t want to wake you. I had some business to take care of while I’m in town. Dinner? I’m staying in the room next to yours. I’ll be back by 6.

You shake your head. Your boozy brain missed it last night. Of course it’s Eddie in the room next to yours. The thought of him on that bike makes your head spin. Makes you throb. Dinner, sure. Food is fuel and you’re gonna fucking need it. In the meantime, you have a job to do.

The way to Jim’s house is familiar but strange. Like trying to hold onto a dream as you’re starting to wake. The roads have the same names, but the trees are taller. It feels smaller, the houses closer together. In no time, you’re pulling up the drive to the shack that stands at the far end of Oak Street. It’s easy to forget it, set a little farther back than the other homes, hidden in the shade of the oaks the road is named for.

With a deep breath, you step out of your car and move swiftly to the front door. The smell hits you immediately. It’s not overwhelmingly awful, but it’s not good. Mildew and smoke. It smells empty. So you fill it with the fall air by opening every window. You’re happy to keep your jacket on to replace the smoke with the smell of the dry oak leaves that litter the yard around the house.

The soundtrack to your day digging through the life of your Uncle Jim is provided by the records stacked up by the player in his living room. Bob Dylan, CCR, and Pink Floyd. It could be worse, so you’re grateful. The treasures you discovered hold no true financial value, but they are priceless. Photo albums of long-lost family members, depression glass cake stands and punch bowls, and the piece de resistance - the family bible. You run your fingers across the leather cover and smile. You did good, kid. Grandma’s ring, though. You’ll come back at least one more time and truly tear the place apart before you hit the road. If it’s here, it’s going home with you.

—

Rick’s place is still home for Eddie, more so than the trailer park ever was. Wayne’s home was never Hawkins, and it served him well to be back in the wild mountains of West Virginia from where the Munsons hail. But Rick is a Hawkins institution, and he’s only ever had love for Eddie without the pressure of the constant concern that weighed on Wayne and Eddie’s relationship. That’s how it is with a father and son. Rick is the fun uncle that taught Eddie a way to bring in cash without being under the thumb of some asshole. It’s served him well throughout his life, even now. Eddie can find work anywhere, he carries his skills in his hands.

Rick is expecting Eddie, and he’s sitting out front when the Indian hums up the road that hugs Lovers’ Lake. It’s still pretty out here from Eddie’s perspective, especially with the trees still hanging on to the leaves of various colors. Eddie’s already thinking about getting you to come out here with him before you both leave town at the end of the week. As soon as he caught sight of you last night he had decided to wring out as much as he could from this brief reunion. No time to waste, especially if maybe there’s someone you’re going home to. He’s not going to ask that question. He doesn’t want to know. For now, you’re both here, and that’s more than he thought could ever be possible.

“Eddie! Oh man, it’s been too long, brother.” Rick’s on his feet and meeting Eddie in the driveway for a bear hug. “Sight for sore eyes.”

They sit outside on the back deck for hours, talking about the old days and the new. They watch the sunlight dance along the ripples in the water when the occasional fish comes to the surface for a waterbug. They pass joints back and forth, and sip on the instant coffee that Rick swears is better than that overpriced bullshit the coffee houses try to con people into buying. And then they get down to business for a few minutes over a game of pool. Like the old days. It’s healing to remember there is a place in this godforsaken hellhole that Eddie can feel like himself. It was never all bad, but nothing ever is. Eddie knows this, his own life is a mixed bag. He has to take the bad or else lose out on the potential good.

The sun is starting to sink down below the trees when Eddie swings his leg over the seat of his bike to head back to the other side of town. He’s glad. He’s hoping that you’ve decided to accept his dinner invitation. The memories were fun to relive, but his mind is whirring with questions about who you are now. He’d like to hear it. He’d like to tell you about the bands he plays with on the weekends back in Charleston. Last night was nice, but he’d like to spend some time with you while the lights are on. He let his cock carry him away too quickly last night, he hopes he gets a chance to take his time with you tonight. His thighs vibrate from the hum of the engine while he weaves down the streets. He’s half hard remembering the way you smell and the sound of your voice when you get lost with him.

—

“You’d really like her. She’s a natural musician, like her dad. I’m just glad she’s sticking close to home for college. I worry enough even with her living less than a mile away.” You’re rambling on about Maddy while Eddie watches your lips move. He’d had a feeling there was at least one kid back home, he’s dated enough moms to recognize the signs.

“Oh, a girl after my own heart. I already love her.” Eddie’s thumb strokes the back of your hand, his arm reaching across the table. Your plates are empty, and your glasses are drained. Your concern about telling Eddie you have an adult child is forgotten now, and you’re gushing. Just as it should be.

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop talking about Maddy for a while. She’s the sun my life orbits around.” You tip back your martini glass, searching for any last remnants of gin. No luck.

“Yeah, you’re a good mom.” That thumb rubs again. “Of course you are.” Eddie looks around the restaurant and watches as the servers very purposely place chairs on top of tables, inching ever closer to the one where the two of you are seated. “I think we should probably let them shut it down, head back to the motel.”

Head back to the motel. That sounds really good, because Eddie’s wearing a tight black t-shirt that leaves little to the imagination. You can just make out the farmer’s tan that starts at the middle of his biceps. You hadn’t noticed it as much last night, but Eddie’s skin is sunkissed from years of working outdoors. A contract carpenter, he told you, and you could almost smell the sawdust and varnish when he explained about his special word working projects. You want to see them. You want to touch them. You have no doubt that they’re unique and special pieces. Eddie’s always had the ability to pull beauty out of the mundane.

“Will you drive, Eddie? Take me the long way home?” You’re already handing him your keys before he can answer. Of course he will. He’ll do anything you want, it’s always been that way. He’d stop the world if it would make you smile.

“Let’s go, Love. You can rest your head on my shoulder.” And that’s what you do. The walk to the car is slow, but Eddie’s arms need to stay around you. It’s where they belong.

He does take the long way, hooking a right when he pulls out of Enzo’s parking lot and heading for the back roads. One hand sits on your thigh. Your head can’t reach his shoulder in the car, so you lean it back and close your eyes. Linda Ronstadt’s been cheated and mistreated, she’s wondering when will she be loved? Some day, Linda, even if it’s for just a fleeting time. The idea pricks your chest, and you push it down. We won’t think about the end until it gets here.

“Will you be my date for the funeral, Eddie? I might not go if I have to do it alone.” You keep your eyes closed, and he squeezes your leg. He’ll go with you, you already know that.

“Yep. And then we’ll go back to the bar and get shitfaced. Bev will love it. Give the old gal something to be pissed about.” You snort at the thought of Bev trying to wrangle two 40 somethings trying to relive their youthful dalliances. Poor woman. But she would probably love it.

“I like your plan, Ed. Now tell me, did you smoke it all, or do you have some weed back at the motel?” You turn to face him, you want to see that crooked grin of his. “I’ve gotta call Maddy when we get back, but I think it’d be nice to sit outside and get nice and toasty.”

“Yeah, well, I might have a little. Can I ask you something?” Eddie turns the wheel and you’re looking at downtown Hawkins. You nod, but your mouth is dry thinking about the possibilities of what he wants to know that you haven’t already told him. “What kind of an asshole wouldn’t hold on tight to someone like you when you’re so fucking perfect?”

“Christ, Munson. Are you high already?” You pull a cigarette out of the pack sitting on the dash and light it. Just a drag before handing it back over to him. You’re both giggling, it was too much. “Well, you might have been the first to let me go, but you weren’t the last. But look at us now, hm? I think it’s better like this. Makes you realize that the grass isn’t always greener, ya know?”

Eddie blows smoke out of his nose and quietly mutters, “I was blind.”

“Nah. What I told you back then is still true, I’ll take what I can get from you, Baby. Any time, any place. It doesn’t have to be forever.” Eddie bites the inside of his cheek at your words but keeps his response in his mind.

—

Eddie sits in his room rolling joints while you’re on the other side of the wall talking to your daughter. All that talk about the kid, and no mention of the dad. Eddie knows who Maddy’s dad is because word travels fast. He’s never really thought about the guy much, but Eddie’s pretty sure he’s the one responsible for the sadness living behind your smile.

Eddie pulls the comforter off his bed. He’s taking it outside with him to wait for you on the bench that’s at the entrance to the cemetery across the street from the motel. There are no streetlights out here, and the dead won’t mind the company. They never do. The plans he had for this week are fading into one persistent thought - be with you as much as possible before it’s too late. The threat of Sunday coming too fast hangs over every second that ticks past.

It’s harder for Eddie to push those thoughts away than it is for you, because of the regret. He can’t help but feel it, even though he knows that 1984 Eddie is not the same as Eddie today. He’s learned how to spot a good thing, and that’s you. The idea of holding onto you with both hands doesn’t send a lightning bolt of fear through his guts like it did when he was 18. This couldn’t have happened then, whatever this is. It’s a battle in his mind, trying to see through the haze of the memories, how real can it be when everything is shrouded by the past.

The inward battle halts when he sees the door to your room open. He focuses on your form growing larger with each step closer to him. He watches each step of your feet until you’re looming over him, blotting out the weak light from the motel across the street. You have a soft smile on your lips, and he memorizes the way those lips feel on his forehead before you flop down on the bench next to him. He spreads the comforter over your lap, and pulls you into his side.

“This is so romantic, Eddie. You, me, and the sleeping dead.” You sigh and nuzzle your nose into his neck. “You smell nice.” Your lips brush against his skin and the hair stands up in answer.

“What time are we leaving tomorrow?” Eddie asks as he places a joint between your lips. “I’m hoping to wake up next to you again, but I don’t wanna make any assumptions.” Sparks fly out from his Zippo, and you breathe in the weed smoke before answering.

“Baby, as far as I’m concerned, you could cancel your room for the rest of the week and move into mine. You don’t even need to ask what I want. This is it.” You look up at him and place the joint in his mouth. It’s hard to see his features in the dark, but you think his eyes look a little misty. “Hey now, don’t give me sad eyes, Eddie. We’ve talked about this already. I’ll take what I can get.”

“That’s bullshit.” Eddie’s voice is low and you’re already feeling a little lighter. It’s been a long time since you’ve smoked, and you can feel the cloud starting to creep across your thoughts.

“Oh? Well never mind then. Fuck you, Munson.” Your retort, but there’s no bite. You pluck the joint out of his fingers.

“I just mean, you deserve better than that, and I’m sorry.” Eddie kisses the top of your head, an apology of sorts.

“We all deserve better than we get, Baby. You should know that. It’s easier to accept it than to try and demand what other people can’t give.” You think the words came out right and can’t muster the energy to care if they didn’t.

“Yeah, but it’s still not right.”

Right or not, it’s a truth you accepted a long time ago. It doesn’t stop the pain, but it kills the resentment. What more can you do? Life is hard enough.

—

The light stays on in your room tonight. The weed slows down time. It swallows you and Eddie up, and gives you the space to study each other. The rough calluses on his fingertips travel along the lines of your body, creating a roadmap in his memory. He needs to remember how to find you again, even when you’re a thousand miles away. He needs to taste you on his lips.

The hunger is as strong as the previous night, it’s why your center on Eddie’s face. It’s why your nose leads the way down his torso, inhaling the smell trapped in the dark hair at the base of his cock. He tastes how you remember. Your mouth wraps around him while his tongue and fingers make you sing. He keeps one wide palm planted on the fat of your ass, his rip is hard enough to bruise. He keeps you in the spot until hot tears spill down your cheeks with the intense pleasure of it all. He keeps you there until he spills himself inside your mouth. And you drop, head on his hip, looking at his softening cock in front of you. You lean over and kiss its tip.

Eddie’s giggles are music to your ears. He suddenly needs to see your face, but your legs are still spread in front of him. He slaps your ass, hard enough to sting, but it works. You slowly move your legs over to the side, freeing him so he can crawl down to the end of the bed. He can taste himself on your lips and is surprised to feel his cock jump. You need a little more time than that, Bud.

“I need to tell you something.” Eddie’s arms are wrapped around your sweaty body, and he’s peppering kissing along the bridge of your nose. You release a questioning hum, trying to focus on his words. Sleep is calling to you. “I’m going to the funeral with you tomorrow. I’m going to Jim’s with you to finish the scavenger hunt from hell. I’m spending every fucking second with you until we both leave this shithole. But I don’t want that to be the end.”

“Everything ends, Baby.” You mutter into the skin of his chest. You feel his breath hitch and wonder if there are tears to match the stutter. “But it doesn’t have to end so soon if you don’t want it to.”

“I want to hold onto this, Love. I think we both know this -” Eddie points a finger between the two of you, “- is something special. It always has been. I’ll fucking pick my shit up and move to wherever you are. I won’t even complain about the snow. At least not the first year.”

“I’ll complain enough for the both of us. I always do.” You kiss his chest and look up at him. There are tears, You reach up to rub them off his cheek. You look at the hair at his temple and see the way the gray hair threads through his dark curls. You think it would be something, wouldn’t it? To see the gray overtake the black over the years. And you know Eddie doesn’t say anything to you that he doesn’t mean. It’s not something he’s capable of doing. “For Eddie Munson, my door is always open.”

“What about Maddy’s dad?” Eddie chokes on the words a little, but he gets them out along with a fresh tear that leaks from the corner of his eye. That’s something you’ve always loved about Eddie, he’s never hidden the tears when they show up.

“That’s been over for a while, Ed. I should’ve told you that.” You stroke his cheek and smile. “You’re down bad, old man. Wow, that’s really something, ain’t it?”

Eddie’s laugh rumbles through both of you. The years in front of you don’t look so bleak when you picture Eddie’s arm around your waist. The tears won’t sting so much if you have each other to wipe them away. It’s not too late, you’ve got two feet above ground. You’ve got two hands to hold onto this thing, and Eddie’s hands are holding on just as tight now. The memories and the future swirl together, and you thank god for those years apart. It’s so much sweeter this time around.

You fall asleep with Eddie inside of you. I love yous breathed into your mouths. Eddie’s going to have to replace that seat on his bike if he expects you to ride on it with him. He’s adding it to the mental list he has running. Tell Wayne he’s moving closer. Pack his shit up in a Uhaul. Drive a couple hundred miles. Replace the bike seat. Wrap his arms around you and never let go.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #thanatos writes #stranger things smut #wayne munson

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oopsimbug · 5 months

Text

in which… y/n is stubborn, and harry is still an asshole

a.k.a. regency harry pt. 2

a/n: gah… i literally dont know what to say… how about: oh my god i am so sorry for taking so long! school, two jobs, a lack of inspiration and literally hating my own writing made sure i was unable to post for an entire YEAR AND FIVE MONTHS!!!! i DEEPLY apologise. i hope this is alright? let me know what you think! and yes, there WILL be a third part, hopefully out before the earth is enveloped by the sun?

pairing: regency era! harry styles x reader, enemies to lovers

summary: again, think little women, but with you instead of jo and harry instead of laurie… but harry is an asshole… a RELENTLESS asshole

warnings: harry is still a GIANT ass, all enemies no lovers, lots of really mean things said to each other, they literally truly hate one another like i have my work cut out for me trying to redeem this couple :’)

word count: 10.8k (smaller than my first chapter, but god did i struggle getting over the 9k mark… i literally hate myself)

read part one here!!

Money…

It was what made the world spin around.

Unfortunately, the L/ns did not have as much of it as they used to.

This was why, when their mother needed money to visit their father, who fell very ill, Y/n set out to find a job.

Replacing her mother at her job in the nurse's office wasn’t going to work- she was horrible with sitting still for too long. Besides, her hands were far too shaky to hold silly little fiddly needles. No, there was no chance she would do that.

She could try to get a job at a shop- a bakery possibly? But no, she had little patience for old people, who were always either very interesting and passionate, which she loved, or very snooty and cold, which she despised with every cell of her being- and unfortunately, the majority of customers were the elderly, who shopped when they had nothing else to do during the day, and they were predominantly of the latter kind.

Y/n was positively puzzled- stupendously stumped and magnificently muddled. She knew she was talented, but what job would she fulfill that would be of use and make a substantial pay? She pondered that all morning as she completed her chores- tending to the animals and picking up more wood. Once inside, she stoked the fire, made two cups of tea and sat at the dining table.

“Saf!” she called to her sister upstairs. “Bring your packet and come to the table- it’s 9:30!”

At the age of 13, girls were forced to graduate school. Ma and Y/n, who didn’t believe this was enough of an education, devised a plan- once graduated, the L/n girls would do tutoring sessions with Y/n, who was passionate and proficient in all areas of English, which was what the girls would require the most to function in the world. She would also help with arithmetic- though it was not her strong point, she was confident in the skills they would probably need. Safia was under the tutoring of Y/n, as would Ula the next year.

As she waited for the pitter-patter of Saf’s feet down the stairs, she thought to herself. Unfortunately, all natural thoughts seemed to lead in the same direction lately- all pertaining to a certain tall and lanky individual with brown hair. She was not moping, that was for sure- Y/n did not mope. She was not even upset about him choosing a different woman over her- that was a fleeting insecure thought held only in the heat of the moment that night. No, she was mad. Furious, in fact. How dare he- how dare he?! He strung her along, purposefully got her hopes up for the mere sake of making fun of her- he embarrassed her and then had the utter gall to smirk and wink about it afterwards! Y/n always had a temper, but this was anger on a whole different level. This was searing, hot, burning, blood-red vexation. Her hands began to ball into fists- she wanted to hit something, break something, hurt him and only him.

However, before she could fantasise about all the ways she would cause him pain, she felt a soft arm on her shoulder. She must’ve been caught in a trance, unable to hear her sister come down the stairs and call her name once she reached the bottom and found Y/n unresponsive, as Safia’s face held deep concern, eyebrows knit together as she repeated her question.

“Are you okay, Y/n?” her tentative and soft voice carefully asked, placing a hand on her forehead to check her temperature, ever the sweetheart. “You’re not feeling ill, are you? I know Liz was rid of her sickness a few weeks ago, but it may have lingered around the house.”

She smiled up at her younger sister, who moved her hand to feel her cheek, after finding no suspiciously hot temperature on her forehead. She shook her head and let out a small laugh, all of the rage for him leaving her thoughts.

“I’m okay Saf… just thinking…” she replied honestly. She was just thinking… thinking of how she would pelt that damned boy with logs of firewood. Or maybe she should let Flynn at him- she had already told the Clydesdale of what had happened. Maybe he could stomp him down till he quivered and shook with fear, begging both of them for forgiv-

“Thinking about what?” Her sister’s voice pulled her out of her reverie once again.

Y/n looked up at her face, smiled brightly, pulled out the adjacent chair and patted it lovingly, before replying with a jolly tone.

“Nothing that you should worry about… Now, are you ready to venture into the world of Hedda Gabler?”

Her sister smiled sweetly before sitting down, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Of course I am!”

“Great! Because today, we are going to be analysing gender and how it influences power within our passage!” Y/n was always so excited to teach her about the books, poems and plays that she liked- there was no way she would teach her sister boring and dull theory, or pieces that only reflected a man’s perspective. No, she had an opportunity to open her sister’s mind and hopefully make a lasting impact on it- one that encouraged her to pursue her dreams without needing the opinion or permission from a man. And she wasn’t going to waste it.

“Now, open to our bookmarked page, and let’s begin…”

*****

After finishing classes, Y/n got dressed and ran out the door before her sisters could follow her, unable to take all of them to the village on Flynn, and not wanting to upset anyone. She buckled the saddle into place and hopped on before riding the path all the way to town. After tying Flynn up with hay and water, she straightened out her dress and apron and began walking, dodging men who gave her glances of annoyance for her slightly messy loose hair, mussed on the fast journey on the Clydesdale. She had bigger things to worry about, despite what Liz would say…

She was picking up some lemons from the market, which Ula insisted on getting, convinced that they were necessary to her social status in her school, where pickled lemons were the talk of the town. While the need for lemons didn’t sound dire to Y/n, Liz benevolently gifted her extra loose change, justifying it with something about “knowing what it was like to not fit with others at school”. And while Y/n didn’t believe money like five whole dollars should go to waste on lemons, she still searched the shelves intently, looking for some that weren’t too costly. While leaning forward, she walked through an aisle, scouring the lowest shelf for them, unaware of the person she was about to bump into. Curse her clumsiness!

She walked right into the unsuspecting person before standing to full height, apologies spilling out of her rapidly as she helped the older lady regain balance. Y/n had never seen her before- an older woman, around her own mother’s age, with brown hair that was greying from the roots and forest green eyes that twinkled, reminding her all too much of a certain boy, but she pushed those thoughts away. She also looked of money, with her elegant dress, shoes and shiny jewels.

Y/n began spilling out apologies as it was her own fault for the collision, and the kind lady forgave her each time with a “That’s all right, my dear”, with calming energy radiating from her. Once the two women had settled they let out breathy chuckles at the incident. Beginning to move back to her search for cheap citrus was halted, however, when Y/n noticed the woman seemingly struggling to find what she was looking for. Y/n observed covertly as the lady would gingerly pick up a bottle of what looked to be cologne, look at the label for a few seconds, squint as if to make out what it was saying, before putting it back nervously and repeating with the next.

Y/n noted that when she would “read”, her eyes didn’t stop to comprehend the words. She needed help, and Y/n was not one to shy away from that fact.

“Hello,” Y/n began.

The lady smiled sweetly as she replied, her green eyes twinkling with curiosity.

“Hello, love.” she gently replied.

Y/n wanted to help without seeming patronising, so she was careful with her words. “So, what brings you here, Ma’am?”

She looks around, then down at the glass bottle in her hand before looking back at Y/n. She fumbles and hesitates as she answers.

“Oh- well- I am looking for this shoe polish, but… I seem to be having a bit of trouble…”. She went beet red before she whispered in a meek and quiet squeak only fairies could hear. Fairies or those who had experience with shy sweethearts as Y/n had with her Saf.

“You-“ she slightly huffed a bitter laugh through her nose. “You probably can already tell, but… I can’t read…” she confessed, thoroughly embarrassed.

If Y/n wanted to help the woman before, her holding cologne that would most certainly tarnish leather while shopping for shoe polish convinced her utterly and completely. She did not hesitate- not even for a beat, determined to show that there was nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing at all!

“I can help you! I never use shoe polish- my shoes are always getting muddy anyways, and it would only be a pain to scrub them for nothing, so I don’t have any suggestions in mind, but if you have an idea of the type of polish you wanted, I could help you out!” She dropped personal anecdotes into the conversation, as she often did when conversing with strangers, finding it easier to comfort others to relax around her when they knew she was an open book.

“Oh thank you, my darling! I am looking for a dark brown and black coloured polish that would work best for making leather loafers shiny.”

And with that, Y/n began her search, starting with going to the correct section, before beginning to scan the tiers of the shelves carefully, looking for what the lady wanted. The woman followed her and began a friendly conversation with her as she searched.

“My nephew needs new polish for his shoes. I would have told him to do it himself, but he’s out of town, you see. Went out of town, about a week’s trip away. I couldn’t send my maid either- I wished for her to take some time off while there were less people in the house, you see. So here I arrived, figuring I could just find it myself. Ah, how foolish.” She then sighed once more after simmering in laughter for a bit, looking wistfully at another tin she could not decipher the contents of.

Y/n found the two tins of shoe polish, holding them out to her while responding firmly. “Ma’am, you are not foolish at all. At least you tried! And look, here you are helping your nephew who’s out of town, after letting your helpers take a break! That’s not foolish, that’s compassionate,”.

The lady smiled warmly, the wrinkles next to her eyes crinkling and creasing beautifully as she did. “Oh, darling, you are very sweet for using your gift to help those who cannot. Thank you!” She lightly squeezed Y/n’s cheek playfully before walking to the counter, Y/n following after her before placing the tins on the table for the cashier to process.

“You are very welcome Ma’am.” The lady began to pull open the small embroidered coin purse she had in her slightly wrinkled yet sturdy hands, fishing for a coin before dropping it into Y/n’s palm and winking.

Y/n’s eyes went wide as she attempted to hand the coin back.

“Ma’am, I couldn’t possibly. I was just trying to be of service, truly. Please take your money.”

But the woman was not having a lick of it. Her face grew stern, her eyes fiery as she quickly snapped back. “Don’t you dare try to give that back, it’s yours!”

Y/n reluctantly smiled and nodded gratefully before walking back to the shelves to continue her search for lemons as the gentle tinkle of the doorbell indicated the sweet lady’s exit. She could not stop thinking about her, however. Why was it that men were taught to read and write and build and farm, but women were only taught how to be good mothers and wives? That woman could learn to read- anyone could, really. All she needed was a teacher…

Suddenly, Y/n had an idea. One that caused her to drop everything she was doing and run out the door to look for the woman. Teaching! Y/n could teach the woman and in return, get a bit of money! After looking around, she found her walking down the cobbled street, seconds from entering a very expensive and fancy carriage.

“WAIT MA’AM!” Y/n cried, weaving past the people and carts on the busy street as she ran to her. The lady’s ears perked and she looked back, locked eyes with Y/n and froze with concern, allowing the younger girl to catch up.

“Yes, my dear?” She asked, once Y/n had caught up and was attempting to catch her breath. After a few deep, embarrassingly wheezy breaths, Y/n finally calmed herself down enough to respond.

“Icouldteachyou-”, she said exasperated all in one sentence before punctuating it with a heaving breath. After taking a lungful or two of air, she clarified to the poor confused woman.

“Ma’am, I could teach you how to read! If you would like!”

The woman’s eyes opened wider in astonishment before her face brightened with a radiant smile. “You would teach me?” She asked, almost flabbergasted.

“Yes, of course!” Y/n responds, enthusiastically. “I am currently teaching my sisters how to read, so I know how to do it! I could help you too if you would like!”

The woman’s warm and grateful smile shone brighter than the sun. And Y/n’s heart stuttered with excitement when she asked to exchange addresses for further communication.

This was it… she was finally going to help her family.

******

It was four days later when the L/n residence received two letters, both with express stamps on them, signaling their importance. One was a letter from their father, which the girls were keen to read immediately, but waited for their mother to come home so they could unveil it together. The other, however, was mysteriously addressed to and only to Y/n. How peculiar!

“Y/n you must open it in front of us- what if it is a secret admirer hoping to eagerly profess their love to you!” Ula whined. Liz shook her head and looked at the youngest girl.

“If Y/n wants to keep this to herself, she exercises her right to do so”. Liz’ eyes drift to Y/n’s slowly as she continues. “…However…”, before finally running and springing onto her. “You MUST tell us if it is!”

Y/n rolled her eyes at her sisters, despite Liz’s best attempts to put an end to the “unladylike” and “brash” behaviour. “Come on, there is no way it will be a boy… have you ever even seen me with one? I would run circles around them in every sense before their tiny minds could even get a singular word out!”

Y/n, though thoroughly believing in her statement that yes, she probably could outshine any boy in the town, also- in the back of her mind- registered that yes, maybe she was overcompensating and exaggerating just the smallest bit in order to shield her heart, still sore from the events of Tilly Hughes’ ball and that wicked boy. Her sisters chuckled at her musing as she made herself comfortable on the sofa chair next to the fire, all three of her sisters huddling behind her in order to get a good view of the elegantly folded and wax-sealed letter that Y/n began to tear open. Once the pristine paper was unfolded, she stood up and began to pace as she read- her sisters giggling and breathing over her shoulder was doing no good, and she needed to focus. It read:

Before Y/n could process the words written on the paper, Liz narrated the letter to Saf and Ula- the latter began to squeal mercilessly, while Liz grinned from ear to ear, pores radiating with pride for her sister.

*******

The house was astonishing. It was grand, it was elegant, it was pristine.

Above all, it was capital!

The trek down the natural and lush path of trees and fields was all a ruse- Y/n knew Ms Ophelia was a rich woman, but she but any preconceived notion of what her house may look like while trekking the trail was completely, utterly, jaw droppingly decimated. Once reaching the end of the driveway (walking ever so slowly to take the majesty in), Y/n and Flynn were met with pristine hedges that bordered the entire property. Two large white marble columns with oil lamps attached signaled the beginning of the courtyard. In between them, was a large opening where Y/n could see the greenest grass she had ever witnessed, a center hedge path, and behind it, Ms Ophelia’s grand home. Y/n’s mouth was hung open as she approached the large, stark white building, with its covered entrance, wide expanse and huge windows.

It was a stretch for it to even be called a house. It was a mansion- a manor. Y/n resolved that there must be a plethora of family members that justified the sheer volume of space there was to occupy. She stepped off of Flynn, held the end of his reign, and walked through the grassy courtyard and to the front door. She would have taken Flynn to the stables, not wanting her first introduction to her well-paying student to be interrupted by the attention-hungry Clydesdale, however, the house was so grand she could not even begin to wonder where the hell the stables could be. Instead, she smoothed the light wrinkles out of the frock that Ula picked for her, slightly disgruntled when remembered the lack of a waistcoat she had on. She attempted to fix and flattened the now slightly frizzy hair that Liz had spent almost an entire hour to style, mussed a tad due to the breeze created while riding Flynn, before taking a deep breath in... and rang the doorbell.

She heard some muffled clattering, before hurried footsteps approached, growing louder and louder before they reached the mahogany door, pulled open to reveal a positively ecstatic Ms Ophelia- her brown hair pulled back with a hair pin, but similar in frizziness to Y/n. Her eyes squinting with her warm closed lip smile, the green irises truly dazzling with excitement. She was dressed in a simple yet elegant green and white silk dress, her chest adorned with a single thin gold necklace threaded through a small locket.

"Y/n!!! So nice to see you!” The lady took Y/n and Flynn in with a charming smile, cooing at the latter before stepping forward to give the Clydesdale a stroke down his white blaze and a scratch on his chin, causing him to preen, closing his eyes a soft huff of pleasure. She then looked to Y/n. “Please, my farmhand Thomas will take this handsome boy to the stables out back."

She looked past Y/n to the front garden and called to the man Y/n hadn't noticed had been planting flowers. He had shiny blonde hair, short from the sides while the top was long and messy, slightly damp with sweat. He pushed the golden mess out of his face and smoothed it back, revealing a bit of dirt on the sun-kissed skin of his forehead. Descending down, there were thick eyebrows, hazel brown eyes squinting in the glare of the sun, a strong nose, and full lips that were pursed and curved into a sweet and friendly smile. He stood, brushed himself off, approached Y/n, and wordlessly took Flynn with a charming smile, nodding to her before walking around to the side of the house. After losing sight of him, Y/n looked back to Ms Ophelia, who opened the door and gestured Y/n in.

"Please do come in!" As Y/n stepped through the threshold of the house, Ms Ophelia continued.

"I was just about to make myself a cup of tea- I warmed up enough water for the both of us. How do you take it?" The older woman began walking, Y/n trailing behind her as they entered the beautiful eggshell white kitchen with purple accents.

"Oh, well if it isn't a bother, I take one sugar and only a bit of milk" Y/n watched as the woman poured the boiling tea into the two mugs.

"Huh!" Ms O looked at Y/n funny, before looking down at the cups she was working on. "Me too! Just enough milk to make it a very dark brown?"

Y/n’s eyes begin to light up incredulously. "Yeah! That's right! My sisters all think that I never put enough in!"

"My nephew does too!"

The women looked at each other and smiled- they both knew there was some sort of connection that brought the two of them together, and that they would be kindred spirits.

*******

The lesson went swimmingly, as agreed by both Y/n and Ms Ophelia (sorry- just Ophelia, the older woman had been very adamant about that). They had sat and begun with the alphabet, and while Ophelia was quite bashful when Y/n corrected her, they knew that with time, they would become more comfortable. Eventually, despite her consistent imploring that she stay for dinner, Y/n insisted she must go home.

"But my nephew will be home soon! He is such a charming, well articulated boy! Loves reading and the such- You two would get along so delightfully!" She clapped her hands eagerly at the thought, however, Y/n, softly stroking a saddled Flynn- thanks to Thomas, who wordlessly passed her the reins before walking off- looked at her new student and friend with a soft smile.

"I'm sure anyone who grew up around you would be a wonderful friend, Ophelia, however I really must get home. My family will be expecting me soon."

Once goodbyes had been exchanged, they agreed to meet once again in a few days. And with that, Y/n mounted Flynn and began to ride the now dusky ride home. She may have dawdled a little- the sun was still so warm, and the breeze was beautiful. Flynn moved at a comfy pace as she appreciated the beauty of the world around her.

However, that beauty was soon not in her focus when Y/n noticed someone riding towards her in the distance. She continued her pace, and as the figure approached, ready to return a polite nod if they were to greet her. As the figure continued on further, she squinted and began to make out a mop of brown hair, and a black blob of a coat, before all too quickly she recognised those sharp green eyes and the nose and those stupidly plush lips as he trotted closer and closer and god- oh no…

Y/n began to feel her stomach drop.

"Well well well! Look who it is!" That snide voice, that blasted smirk that taunted her.

It was her arch nemesis.

His horse slowed down while she did nothing to stop Flynn, walking completely past him without even acknowledging him- her eyes forward and steely. She thought she had escaped him but she heard footsteps coming closer, however, and soon, Y/n was walking side by side with none other than Harry Styles.

"What's with the cold shoulder, sweetheart? Have I done something to upset you?" He taunted in a teasing tone.

"I am not your sweetheart, and don't you have a party to crash, loverboy?" She rolled her eyes and kept moving forward, him keeping an identical pace beside her.

"Ooft, take it easy darling, you’re going to hurt my. Large. Throbbing. Swollen. Red. Hot. Heart!" He punctuated each word with a beat, and Y/n's face became hot; she began to scrunch the sweaty leather reigns harder into her palms at the obvious innuendo. Harry saw this and grinned wickedly for getting to her, a malicious giggle even seeping out of him- he enjoyed this. He enjoyed relishing in her awkwardness. Once his giggles calmed, he shook his head and continued. "What are you doing out so late anyways? Meeting up with a secret lover?"

Y/n couldn't even dignify that with a response, and merely scoffed and rolled her eyes again at the preposterous accusation. He noticed and continued.

"Hey, you scoff at that now, but who knows. It seems to be the quiet, pure ones that surprise me the most. The most proper girls always turn out to be the dirtiest. So, no- I don't think it's out of this world for a little thing like you to be getting your hands or mouth sullen for a bit of pleasure. Did you see the way you trembled for me the night we met? And the way you cried when I was paying attention to that little French girl? Don't lie, you were charmed, and seeing me with someone else broke your fragile. Little. Heart."

He was unbelievable for bringing that up again… Y/n felt her rage boiling now. She responded bitterly and slowly. "Please, you are so full of yourself…. And of course you would know all about women and their sexuality, now wouldn't you"

"Hard to scorn someone for being likeable, isn't it, Grumpy?"

Y/n had to stop her horse fully and glare at the idiot. She looked deep into his eyes, calmed down and began to smile. She was in complete and utter disbelief. She shook her head and giggled a peal of bitter laughter. Harry’s face darkened in irritation.

“What’s so funny, huh?”

Y/n’s smile didn’t reach her eyes as her giggles quelled. "It's funny that you think you are likable, Harry. You see, there is a difference between being desirable, and being easy. And it’s only the thoughtless ones like you who seem to be incapable at telling the difference. Not a thought behind those eyes, is there?... I wouldn't be surprised if you'd thought with your cock so much that your brain had atrophied due to the lack of use. You're not likeable, Harry Styles... you're just a plaything for widows and repressed virgins who wish to piss off their fathers to use and discard. And I cannot help but feel sorry for you for being the only one who cannot see that."

If she was not mistaken, Y/n believed she saw a bit of surprise and possibly even hurt in his eyes before they hardened, their playfulness completely drained. She did not think she was going to say that at all, and in any other situation, she would have thought that to be such a mean thing to say... But she had been sitting on that for far too long, and he had pushed her over with the teasing and the cockiness. She had had enough. Harry Styles needed to be brought down a peg or two.

They stared each other down fiercely, neither wanting to stand down. Then, he quickly shot at her. "You are nothing but a poor virgin with a gabby mouth that you wish was stuffed with my cock." he spat with nothing but poisoned malice.

Ouch… He was trying to catch her off guard, an attempt to garner some pride back, and while it immediately hurt Y/n, the wound of embarrassment growing in her heart, she knew she could not let him win. She quickly locked and loaded, before pulling the trigger without thinking.

"And you are nothing but a dirty harlot who wastes his privilege of manhood on being a tart to women who don't even want him." she spat back at him.

Targets acquired and shots fired, the two needed to go home and lick their wounds, crudely bandage their bullet holes and hope the sharp pain of the words spoken were only a temporary detriment to their own health, but an everlasting hellscape to each other. Both wanted to see the other in pain. Both wanted to win.

So with that, Harry made a big show about rearing his ashy grey horse up and around, before both of them spurred their horses forward into a gallop and away from the other- both carrying furrowed eyebrows, slightly hurt feelings (that they would never admit to), and a newfound degree of ire for each other…

He won’t get away with this.

********

Once tacking up Flynn, Y/n stomped her way to the house, still unbelievably enraged by the verbal warfare engaged with that brunette ass. She knew she wanted some alone time to calm down, but once entering her cosy home, she was bombarded with questions from her sisters- mainly Ula.

“Was the house big?!”

“What kind of dress was Ophelia wearing?!”

“How many servants did she have?!”

“Did she have lots of paintings on the walls?!”

“Any handsome sons?!”

“Did she tell you if she’s been to any exotic places like France or Switzerland?!”

“How was your day, Y/n?”

The last question was asked, of course, by her angelic sister Safia. Y/n lovingly rolled her eyes at the incessant questions from Ula and answered Saf’s tenderly. “My day was alright Saf, thank you for asking.”

“That’s good- I wished hard on all the dandelions I could find outside that you would come home safe and sound.” Y/n’s heart melted- she walked over to the younger girl and kissed her forehead with so much love and passion.

Ula observed the tenderness of the exchange and rolled her eyes. “Safia is perfect”, she taunted with a roll of her eyes before returning to her previous exercise of pulling up on the septum of her apparently “hideous” small aquiline nose to shape it into a more button nose, which she believed to be more elegant. Y/n looked back at Saf and whispered lovingly in her ear.

“Never stop wishing for the people you love the most, okay Saf?” Y/n gave her one more kiss before moving to the youngest sister with the most spunk besides Y/n herself. She gently swatted her hand away from her nose before lovingly stroking the bridge as she pulled Ula in for a hug from behind.

“And you, little missy! Stop trifling with the features your parents so lovingly passed to you. That nose isn’t a curse, it’s a gift. Treat it as one.” She kissed Ula’s head too before heading further into the house to greet her older sister and her mother. But as they had dinner, Y/n could not stop thinking about how much she hated Harry… little did she know, however, that her older sister Liz observed her suspiciously throughout the night.

Once in their room, hair and teeth brushed, dressed in their respective pyjamas- Liz’s a dainty white nightgown akin to the one Harry so scandalously described, and Y/n’s a mismatched patchwork buttoned set that Ma had made out of Y/n’s old clothes that she was too big to fit into, yet could bear to part with. Tucked into their beds, Liz turned to face Y/n and began.

“If Ms Ophelia was so very nice, what is the problem?”

Y/n turned to face her with furrowed brows. “What problem? There is no problem”

Liz rolled her eyes and shot back. “Yeah yeah, I don’t believe that for a second, Y/n. You can fool Ula- which isn’t saying much, but you can't fool me, so why don't we pretend like I tirelessly needled it out of you and you skip to the bit where you tell me what’s wrong”

Y/n sighed a long, hard, tired and frustrated sigh, before ultimately giving in. “I ran into a sworn enemy on the ride back home today…”

Liz shot up, eyes wide and mouth agape.“Who?!?”

“Harry Styles.”

Elizabeth stared incredulously at her sister, propped her pillows so she was sitting up, and began needling Y/n for more information. “What did he say? What did he do? Why is he your enemy?”

Y/n sighed. There was no way she was going to get to sleep until she told Liz everything. So she began…“You know of his reputation, yes?”

Y/n’s older sister gasped again. “Y/n… don’t tell me… he… with you?”

Y/n immediately understood what she was insinuating. “NO! No way! Never! Not in a million years! You know I hate everything to do with boys. I cannot believe you would think that of me!”

Liz sighed and sunk into herself in relief. “Thank god! I didn’t think you would but… unfortunately his reputation is quite… damning to say the least. Why, it was only last week he was with Amelie… did you see the way he returned her to the group? He didn’t even bother to wipe her lipstick from his lips! What a brute!”

Y/n brought her blanket up even closer to her face until only her eyes were visible, and mumbled her confession. “I know… I told him exactly so today…”

The older sister slowly started at her, tone changing completely to one low and testing. “What...That he is a brute?”

“Yes of course!” Y/n immediately shot back, exasperated.

Her sister stared at her with her mouth agape and eyebrows intensely furrowed. “...WHY?! Haven’t you heard of his family?!?” At Y/n’s confused face and shaking head, Liz took a deep breath and began. His father lives all the way in New York… Ma told me it was because he was absolutely dreadful to his wife and Harry all the time. Kept money from them, abused them, hit them- so much so that eventually they had to run away from him when he was only 10. They fled to a safe place- some cottage in the middle of nowhere? But get this- once there, his mother contracted scarlet fever and passed away. He had to walk all by himself to the nearest village to call for help- by the time medical assistance arrived, his mother was long gone. And with no other relatives bar his wicked father, he was left in the care of his devilishly deviant, yet disgustingly rich aunt.”

Y/n went completely silent. She didn’t know any of this… Of course this was deeply traumatic and saddening- but Y/n could not help it- her stubbornness was a curse, not a gift. And the curse would not allow even a tale so sorrowful allow Harry a free pass.

“Liz- of course this is deeply tragic and traumatic- however, circumstances can only explain actions. They don’t justify them. What has happened to Harry should mean that he spends his time helping women, not putting them down… which, I guess he does by pleasuring them, but God I wish he wasn’t so smug and pompous about it… He was so- well, not nice, but normal and cheeky and charming, when we first met- it was like a switch flicked in his head and that man no longer exists”

“Of course- if he is as cruel as you say, I 100% agree. Although he has a right to hold trauma, it does not change the fact that he is but a wicked man”

The girls sit in silence for a second, contemplating. Then, ever the know it all, Liz jumped right back into her Styles Family History Lesson, giving Y/n the run down.

“But anyways, his aunt is apparently a very influential figure! She’s rich beyond belief, and could probably control this entire town with the pulling of some strings and some money, which she most definitely has! Do not fool around with them, Y/n… especially not Harry…” Elizabeth brought her hands up to her temples to sate her sudden headache, a frequent occurrence when having to feel stressed for Y/n whenever she inevitably threw herself into apparently unacceptable situations, such as whistling in public or not wearing gloves, and had no apparent regard for the consequences.

“What am I to do then?! He is my sworn enemy- if I see him in my general vicinity, my whole body and soul tells me to rip him to shreds! How am I supposed to see him at balls, and on random walks back home, and NOT rip my hair out of my head?!” Y/n complained with a whiny tone.

“Avoid him! Completely and utterly avoid him”

Y/n harrumphed. “...Fine…”

“Good idea- I know… plus… you know what they say.” A lilt of cheekiness entered the previously stern tone.

“What?”

A wide smile grew on Y/n’s older sister’s face, unable to hide her amusement. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Who knows- maybe he just fancies you? You know… like likes you”

Y/n immediately threw a spare pillow at her sister’s head and groaned, before burying her hot face under the covers, completely and utterly embarrassed. Elizabeth dodged the stray pillow as she laughed raucously at how annoyed her sister became.

Y/n shook her head vehemently. “Never in a million years, Liz…”

Never in a million years…

*********

“Make sure you avoid making the “Z” look like the number “three”. Remember, small angled curl, then draaaaaag down to make a bigger and longer angled curl. Other than that, Ophelia, I must inform you that unfortunately my work may as well be over… because these have to be some of the best cursive letters I have ever seen- I know that I have only ever taught my younger sisters, but I am nothing short of confident that you are the fastest learner I have ever had, ever!”

Ophelia put her hand up to her chest and let out an exasperated breathy laugh that combined a giggle and a sigh of relief. “Stop it Y/n… you nearly gave me a heart attack! Anyways, it’s not that great.” She emphatically waved her hand as if to physically shoo the thought away. “I believe that as long as I am able to write and read, who cares about the blasted handwriting. As long as it is- at the very least- legible, I don't mind a thing.”

Y/n could not emphasise this enough: she loved Ophelia. She was sweet, funny, sarcastic, naughty and brash enough to understand all of Y/n’s jokes as simply that- jokes with no malice. Y/n admired her face thoroughly in amazed silence. Ophelia glanced at her and continued. “Now, would you like a cup of tea before you go?”

Y/n was shaken out of her trance and began to pack up her books as she responded. “No, thank you. I'm okay- I really should get going though. The wind is picking up and as much as I would love to stay and chat, I don’t really think being cold and wet is how my mother wants me to return home!”

Y/n bids Ophelia farewell from inside the house before going out back to meet Flynn at the stables. However, she sees another figure tending to him, and as she arrives closer, she notices not Thomas’ blonde messy hair- but instead a soft brown colour.

Jesus Christ, this guy will just not leave her alone, will he?!

Y/n is about three feet away when the figure finally turns, and she is once again met with the cheeky smirk of Mr Harlot Styles. He looks her up and down carefully, making her insides all squirmy under his inspection- she hated the way he made her feel so uncomfortable in her own skin. Once finding her eyes, he began.

“Grumpy…”

“Harlot… Leave Flynn alone. He doesn’t like jaded asses.” Y/n crossed her hands over her chest and stood with a cold hard stare.

“Flynn? Pretty name.” Harry looked at Flynn and continued. “Does the angry little lady dump her frivolous complaints and girly problems onto your poor back, my friend?” Harry looked back to Y/n and continued. “ And hey, he might hate jaded asses, but apparently, he loves temper tantrum-throwing toddlers if he’s your horse.”

If she didn’t know how horrible of a person he was, she would classify the way he was scratching Flynn’s chin as lovingly- but Harry wasn’t loving, and he certainly wasn’t capable of loving. He was a beast. Just another man who thought Y/n spent her hours with her equine companion complaining as if juvenile… and what the hell are “girly problems”?!

Harry chimed in again, breaking her out of her frustrated train of thought. “Huh! Would you look at that, Grumpy- your jaded ass-hating “noble” steed’s loyalty can unfortunately be bought by absolute strangers!”

He smirks up at her as he pulls a sugar cube from his pocket and holds it out to Flynn, who eagerly licks it up, jutting his snout into Harry’s hand to spur some more pats out of him. Y/n let out an angry huff. “Greedy traitor…” she mumbled under her breath to her horse, before taking a deep breath and got straight to the main issue, not wanting to spend any longer talking to him than she had to.

“What are you doing here? Are you stalking me?”

“God, I was just wondering when I would be in your lovely company again- you know- should I call a doctor for your hysteria? Because it is you, girly, who is consistently following me. I would be surprised due to your incessant reminders that you hate me, but I’m not. Your infatuation with me seeps through your shoddy disguise completely. Face it, Grumpy… you’re obsessed with me.”

Y/n wanted to slap him so hard. Or at least shoot back some equally damning response, but Liz’s words echo in her ears to simply ignore him. So she simply comes closer, walking to the opposite side of Flynn and begins strapping her bag to Flynn’s side saddle pouch.

“Your silence is deafening, Grumpy… Is this it? Are you finally admitting that you have been just another precious little schoolgirl obsessed with me this whole time? I bet you would look out your window and pray to every shooting star that floated by that you would see me again. Did you giggle with your little friends while braiding each other's hair about how much you want me? I bet you squirm under your covers in a little pure white virginal nightgown dreaming about my fingers and my tongue and my cock. I bet you're stupidly in love with me, huh Grumpy?”

Y/n hated the way he would describe typically feminine stereotypes with such condescension. She hated being treated like a little girl. Throwing Liz’s advice completely out the window, she couldn’t help but mumble under her breath- just a little something to hurt him. “What would you know about love, Daddy’s boy?…”

If Y/n looked up from the saddle pouch she was working on, she would see Harry’s eyes blown wide with surprise. He looked so vulnerable- almost childlike- as if her comment transported him back to his father’s house. Before she noticed his silence, though, he schooled his face and began to round the horse, his eyes darkening. “And what would you know about anything? You’re just a pathetic little girl. You act as if you have experience with the world, as if you will be anything more than a boring old housewife, but you never will be…”

Y/n stared daggers into Harry as he stalked closer and closer until he was less than a foot away from her, their outerwear brushing against each other. If he simply wrapped his arms around her waist, their bodies would be flush against one another completely. Y/n had never felt so degraded. She was just another girl to him. She was just another girl to all other men. Her biggest fear was being forgotten- for her loving family- her creative sisters and amazing mother- to be forgotten… For all of the amazing women that she encountered at balls to be forgotten. To be married off and treated as property.

Harry continues on his poisonous tirade in an unwavering cold and calm voice, striking the deepest of Y/n’s insecurities and fears with pinpoint accuracy. “You look down on my hobby of pleasuring married women, but what you don’t understand is that when you are unhappily married off within the next few years, you will be writing letters to me, begging me to relieve you. You will wish I wanted you… You will wish your husband wanted you… You will wish any man wanted you… You will wish you were special… But you're not.”

Y/n held her breath as his hands raised up from his sides, ringed fingers lightly trailing over her skirts, her waist, her arms, her shoulders. Higher and higher, they softly glided over the fabric of her puff sleeves, before reaching her face, and cupping her cheeks. Harry’s eyes slowly flitted back and forth between Y/n’s eyes and her lips. His brows furrowed and his mouth slightly opened, before lifting his right thumb to slowly pull down at her bottom lip...

…then release the pressure created with his hold, watching- almost studying, its fullness intensely as it bounced back into place. Voice now barely above a whisper, rumbly and deep, he continues.

“You’re just another silly little girl who will be nothing but a wife someday.”

Harry’s hands moved from her cheeks to her neck, cupping her head, thumbs delicately tracing circles on the skin behind her ears, sending shivers up her spine.

What was this? And why was it sending Y/n’s knees wobbly? She needs to snap out of it- remember her anger for him. All of her interactions with him, even this one, were merely strategies to throw her off- to dominate her. And she would not allow that.

So as Harry moved his hand to cup her neck, leaning in closer, she opened her mouth, ready to dismiss all logic and decimate the animal standing before her, attempting to kiss her just to intimidate her. Fuck everything- fuck him, fuck Liz’s advice, fuck men and their incessant need for girls to be prim and proper. Fuck all of them.

About to fire her biggest blow, all while he leaned closer and closer, his lips ever so close to touching hers, they were suddenly halted in their tracks by someone calling her name.

“Y/n!...” the voice was urgent but far away. Both Harry and Y/n looked out of the stable to see Ophelia running towards them. Y/n and Harry looked at each other and took a big step away from their close proximity as Ophelia finally reached the stables and held her hand on a wooden panel as she caught her breath, panting heavily.

“Th-Thank-” A wheezy heave interjected her sentence. “GOD”. Another heave. “You hadn’t left yet!” She stood up straight and wiped the light sweat from her forehead with her wrist before straightening her back and walking closer to her. She raised her right hand, which held a small handkerchief, tied into a lovely little package.

“I packed some hedgehog slice for you in case you get a little hungry on the way home!” She sighed exasperated, before looking between Y/n and Harry.

Y/n’s heart melted a little- she came bounding all the way down just to give her a little snack? She was the sweetest woman in the world! And now Y/n was going to see her in action against the intruder to her property that was Harry Styles… Y/n was ready to see some ire and some spit hurled at him once she explained exactly what Harry had said about her and all womankind, really.

But that is not what happened.

Not at all.

Ophelia smiled warmly at Harry before looking at Y/n. “Ahh, I see you have already met my nephew, Harry!”

What. The. Hell?

Harry looked smug as anything as Ophelia continued. “He is the lovely, well articulated bookworm I was telling you about the other day!”

Y/n gritted out a very hesitant “Nice to meet you…” as he looked at her, full of ego.

Harry then opened his mouth, presumably to tell his aunt about the intrusion that was Y/n’s presence on their land, but Ophelia quickly shut him up too.

“And Harry, this is the bright and wonderful tutor and friend I was telling you about! Y/n is teaching me how to read and write!”

Harry’s mouth shut immediately. It was Y/n’s turn to smirk smugly as he gritted out an “A pleasure to meet you” back. The two stared at each other steely, as if they were in a stand-off of the mind, all while Ophelia unknowingly watched on with a large smile.

“I am sure you too will be fast friends! Don’t you agree?” Ophelia had so much hope in her voice. The two grit their teeth, not wanting to make a scene or displease the sweet Ophelia-

“Certainly…”, they manage to comment, in unison.

And after Ophelia hugs Y/n goodbye one more time, before turning and leaving, Harry tails after her, but not before giving a final glance back to Y/n. He smirked, the smile filled with boyish playfulness, but Y/n saw his eyes- those blasted green eyes clouded with taunt. He was challenging her. To what exactly- she didn’t know. To see who could hurt each other the most? To see who would win in the overall war between the two? Or was it just a smirk at her begrudging fate? That she would have to put up with him now because although Ophelia is a sweet woman, Y/n’s connection to her will never trump Harry’s- he’s her nephew.

As Y/n saddled her was going to have to do what she wanted to the least in order to maintain both a professional and personal relationship with Ophelia, who she admired both as a student and as a friend…

She was going to have to be civil with Harry.

**********

Y/n believed wholeheartedly that it was punishment enough; that she was forced into both proximity and (at least) faux politeness with her sworn enemy- but evidently, fate had more to give. And damn, could it pack a punch!

It was almost silly that she hadn’t thought the universe had been through with her… When Y/n made the one-hour trip to Ophelia’s house, she just had to not bring her large, rainproof jacket. She just had to decide not to put Flynn’s horseshoes on, which would prevent him from slipping and sliding in the wet mud… Why would she do any of that?! It was perfectly sunny, and even a little bit warm on that Friday morning…

But no… of course, the moment she begins to wrap up her lesson with Ophelia and ride home- where she would tuck into a well-deserved late lunch and spend some time with sisters- of course it is only two days after she has discovered that her student raised and lived with her sworn enemy- it is then and only then that she finds herself stuck at their house, as a giant thunderstorm magically appears and begins raining hellish hail and pouring water from the sky.

“Y/n, there is no way I am letting you ride home in this weather! That simply will not happen under my roof. I will send an urgent telegram to your mother to let her know you are safe and warm, but you are staying over for the night and that is final.”

There was no arguing with Ophelia. So no more than five minutes later, Y/n was being escorted through the maze that was her student’s mansion, and to a guest room she would be occupying for the night. She was sprawled on the giant, fluffy bed when she felt her skin crawl at a particular thought- though he had not appeared during her lesson, Y/n knew that Harry was somewhere in the house- Ophelia said so herself, as they walked to her room. What if they bumped into one another?

“Harry is somewhere around here- I am sure that you two will be the bestest of friends- you have so much in common!”

Y/n had to awkwardly laugh and smile at that, agreeing as politely as possible so as to not arouse any suspicion- however, Ophelia seemed to take this for genuine interest though and began doubling down.

“Hey, why wait until dinner- I can call him now!? Maybe Harry can give you a tour of the house- the gardens, the gallery, the library! Give me two seconds and let me go fetch him-”

Y/n had never had such a visceral reaction in her life when she shouted a clear and desperate “NO!”... It took her a few seconds to recollect her thoughts before she attempted to save face; she halfheartedly dismissed the idea with a feeble excuse that she didn’t want to impose, and that she and Harry would have plenty of time to chat at dinner. Despite the suspicious glint in Ophelia’s eye, she did not press any further and left her to rest and unpack as she went to have a bath and take a relaxing nap before supper.

Thus bringing us back to Y/n- sprawled on her bed, deciding that she would not leave the room until supper. There was no way she would risk bumping into Harry while wandering around his house. What if he had another sultry guest for the evening?! What if he shooed her off as if she was nothing but a fly?! Heaven knows he had done all of that before- and all on the same night! She began rummaging through her bag to retrieve her book, content on sitting down and reading as she waited for dinner, but as she rummaged, it dawned on her…

Her novels, her personal pens and paper? All of them were either at home or in Flynn’s side saddle pouch, hanging in the stables- she had been carrying her personal books and papers for the past few lessons but found the weight quite heavy, and all for very little payoff- she rarely got a moment to read when she was in the middle of a very interactive, collaborative lesson. The reality of her situation collapsed on her as she brought her hands up to her face and let a frustrated groan into them- she was going to be stuck here in this room with no entertainment for the next four hours - Ophelia was occupied, her books and pens were with Flynn, and there were no reading materials in the beautiful yet empty chest of drawers and side tables of the elegant guest room.

There was no way she could sit quietly like this… She began to get cabin feverish already. She needed to get out…

Harry wouldn’t be strolling about his own house, right? It was 2:30 pm on a Friday- surely there must be some work he had to complete? Y/n resolved that there was no way she would be able to continue to live if she didn’t have something to stimulate her mind, and the thought of passing up an opportunity to explore the various forms of entertainment in Ophelia’s vast house seems daft, even verging on sinful…

So, with a deep breath, Y/n stretched her arms above her head, took a deep breath, and lifted herself off of the plush linen-covered mattress. She ever so slowly opened the heavy, beautifully intricate mahogany door and peeked out of the minuscule crack she created.

Left, right, left again, right again.

The coast seemed to be clear- she opened the door wider so that she could stick her whole head out of it. She looked left, right, left again, right again. You could say that she was maybe overreacting by being so very cautious, but she would rather not run into Harry and be forced to return to her room before she had acquired some entertainment and had a good look around the place.

Once she was completely sure that the coast was clear, she stepped out, gently closed the door behind her, and, with her hands behind her back, began to stroll the hallways curiously. Soon, her fascination with the grandeur of the mansion quelled her alertness and she found herself enamoured by the architecture as she walked down the hallways.

She wished she could dip her head into every room she saw, but she wasn’t that daft- that would be one surefire way to overstep her welcome, especially when she was essentially stuck until the storm cleared up.

She continued slinking around in a manner similar to Fennec’s- she took a right, and found herself walking down a hallway she would guess was near the back of the house, as the large windows to her left illuminated her pathway and showcased a beautiful array of pruned trees along a cobblestone path, with steps that led down to a beautiful, large pond filled with greenery. There was a small path that also winded around the pond and ventured into a beautiful, lush green forest. The rain pattered so beautifully onto the glass, creating beautiful shadows on the otherwise dim hallway. The house truly was magnificent.

Once reaching the end of the hallway, Y/n was greeted with two very tall and wide arched wooden doors. She hoped and prayed she wasn’t about to walk into a personal room, before pushing in to peek at the contents.

A large expanse of beautiful oak shelves befell her- filled to the brim with books. Books upon books upon books! Nestled so tenderly, they were wrapped in beautiful leather casings.

Bingo! The infamous library!

Though there was a main seating area in the middle of the room- with comfy juniper green couches that looked a dream to rest upon, there were also many bay windows and little reading nooks to curl up in. Tucked into the corner was a desk, a chair and a reading lamp. In fact, there were lamps all around the room, however, most of the light came from the warm roaring fire that blazed in the fireplace. Y/n could imagine sitting in front of the fire on a pillow, a soft throw around her and a mug of tea between her crossed legs as she read Dickens.

Y/n wove through each shelf, looking at all the amazing titles there were. There was everything here! Shakespeare and Dickens were classics, to be expected in most regal libraries, but looking closer, Y/n found Bronte and Austen too! Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Hans Christen Anderson’s fairy tales. This place had every book Y/n had ever read or wished to read!

But something lingered in the back of Y/n’s mind…

If Ophelia cannot read, whose library is this? Who has so tenderly placed every book in alphabetical order, as well as sorted them by genre? Who has spent their time tediously gluing library cards to the inside of the back cover of seemingly every book, and has jotted down when they have been borrowed? Why would anyone ever do that, considering that most of them are read by assumedly the same person, judging by the ever so similar font and pen used to log the date of when the book was picked up and when it was finished?

Before she could finish her thought, the door suddenly opened. Y/n immediately cringed at the situation she was in- she could be caught snooping by Ophelia, oh how mortifying! As the heavy footsteps walked closer and closer to where she was, she weaved through shelves, attempting to find a spot to hide. She tiptoed through before flattening herself against a shelf at the end of the room, far from where the footsteps were heard. The unknown person’s gait was too heavy to be Ophelia’s and-

Damn!

If it was not Ophelia, there was only one other person it could be…

She took a deep, silent breath before creeping her way to the edge of the bookshelf. She went to take a peek and see where the British bastard was, however, when she took one more step and stuck her head out, she was met with his body no more than five inches from hers.

“AHH!”

“Shit!”

The pair jumped and shrieked for a quick second, not expecting the other to be so damn close. Y/n looked up to see Harry looked down at her with surprise and confusion. Her gaze panned down to his hands, noticing him carrying a brown leather bound book- it was smaller and very worn in. It looked beaten and bruised, like it had been read thousands of times. She couldn't see a title at all, but it wouldn’t matter- the moment he followed her eyes, Harry shoved the book behind his back. Her gaze snapped back up quickly enough to watch vulnerability flash in his eyes, before they set in his usual hardened gaze, infected with scorn.

He barked. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

This wasn’t nonchalant Harry- this wasn't a Harry that was prepared for her attacks. This wasn’t the Harry that used his suave and unaffected demeanour to torment Y/n as he coolly fired shot after shot at her soul. No, this was a more frantic Harry- a more aggressive, threatened Harry.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here!” Y/n explained, her brows furrowing and taking on a defensive tone, hands flying emphatically.

Harry did not reply at all. The pair stared at each other sharply. It was as if they were having a battle telepathically, staring deep into one another’s unwavering, unblinking eyes, lips pressed shut into little frowns, brows knit, each daring the other to say something more. To poke the bear more. To continue the fight. They stared and they stared until Harry looked her up and down, shaking his head and scoffing, before walking further into the library.

He seceded first! HA! She won!

This victory wasn't savoured for long, however- she soon realised how foolish she would look just standing there in Harry’s dust. She didn’t look back to see which way he went and she didn't care- she kicked her body into motion and strode out the front door. Once she was out, however, she pathetically scurried her way back to her room, mortified. Once through the door, she slammed it shut and laid back against the cool wood. She took a couple deep breaths in the safety of the guest room. Now alone, she was able to regain her ability to think.

Harry was holding a book in his hands, before shoving it behind his back? Was he… bashful? What book would have made Harry feel embarrassed?

Further, if it wasn’t Ophelia’s library, there realistically is only one other person it could belong to…

Y/n shook the idea from her head immediately. It definitely couldn’t be Harry’s- not only was he too brutish to read for leisure, but also, the books there were too beautiful, too tenderly cared for- many filled with little annotations. No, Harry could not treat a human decently, let alone a book. He wouldn’t know how! The one in his hand, however. Her heart just couldn’t let that go…

Maybe that was his? The small, beaten and bruised book. What kind of text would prompt Harry to read it over and over and over again. What words moved him so much that he felt embarrassed to show Y/n. Ofcourse, this was probably for the best- realistically, the pair should both provide as little information of their identities to each other as possible. Less ammunition that way.

But Y/n, head against the downy pillow filled to the brim with the softest stuffing, lulled by the gentle nose of the lavender oil spritzed on top of the sheets, could not help but innocently wonder if Harry had a favourite book. She always wanted someone to share her love of reading- a simple friend that she could rant and rave to other than her sisters who, despite not possessing the same fire and passion as Y/n when it came to literature, attempted their hardest to understand her speeches and monologues of theory.

It was not a question- Harry could never be that friend to Y/n…

But God, did Y/n wish that stopped her from imagining a version of him that could be.

#regency!harry #regency!harry x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fic #harry styles enemies to lovers #regency!harry enemies to lovers #by bug

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oneforthemunny · 11 months

Text

what used to be mine |older!dilf!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: gina finds out that you and eddie got married.

age gap relationship. everything is consensual. set a few years after the initial series so the reader is 29 and Eddie is 45.

gina is eddie’s ex. brielle is his daughter with gina.

contains: older!eddie, dilf!eddie, language, gina, jealousy

Gina sat on the couch, coffee steaming on the table beside her, phone held lazily in her hand as she scrolled mindlessly through her phone. She could hear her mother's voice nagging her in the back of her mind, telling her she was so obsessed with other people'd lives, and maybe that's why she was so bored in her own. But Gina didn't care. She had to look, to be in the know.

Everything was typical, scrolling bored past the birthday posts, memes, and other updates about people she didn’t give two shits about on Facebook.

Then Gina saw it.

She stopped, eyes widening in disbelief.

Brielle Jo Munson was tagged in a photo!

Some person Gina didn’t recognize- someone who didn’t have her blocked like most of Eddie’s friends did- shared a string of photos, the caption reading.

‘Congrats to Mr. and Mrs. Munson! Wishing you both a lifetime of joy and happiness!’

There were the photos, Eddie and her walking down the aisle, some trendy, aesthetic venue. Her dress was stunning, and fit her like a glove. Gina gaped, scrolling, seeing Brielle in her bridesmaids dress, walking beside them, posing in photos with guest. Even having a dance with Eddie.

But none of that compared to the unexplainable rage that Gina felt when she saw the last picture. Eddie and her, he had her dipped down, a classic pose for a kiss, others waving sparklers for a photo op. Gina zoomed in, a stranger gasp leaving her lungs, heart rate rising, hammering in her chest.

The ring.

When Gina and Eddie had gotten married, he’d saved up and gone to a pawn shop, getting the best ring he could buy. A tiny diamond that she snarled at when he presented it to her- he’d worked countless hours overtime, even going back to giving guitar lessons and a night shift as a janitor at the plant to afford it. He’d promised her it was just until he could get a better one. They didn’t make it long enough for that to happen.

Though they weren’t together long, they were together long enough that Gina knew how close Eddie was to his mom before she passed. She’d seen the pictures at Wayne’s, and the one's Eddie kept in his wallet. She'd heard the stories, bittersweet and endearing. They'd even made Brielle's middle name Jo, in memory of departed and beloved Josephine.

Most importantly, she’d seen the ring- the ring he didn’t give her. His mother’s wedding ring, diamond cut and small. It was her mother’s before her, and her grandmother before that. Passed down to Eddie, a little under a carat, and on a dainty gold band. It was special. Eddie guarded it and protected it like Gollum, refusing to even take it out of the safe at Wayne’s except to show her once.

And there it was. On her finger.

Gina didn’t even register what she was doing until Henry came running in, frightened and concerned.

Gina screamed, hurt and angry, her chest heaving and cries spilling out with rage. She’d thrown her phone, leaving a dent in the wall where it landed. Pulling at her hair, she saw red, her vision blurring and dark.

Henry’s voice sounded distant, he was terrified. “Gina, honey, what-“

Gina rocked herself, deep heavy breaths that only fueled her rage, gas to a fire.

How could her have given her the ring? The ring that was hers! She had his child, and- Oh, that child- their child. Brielle. How could her daughter, her own fuckin’ flesh and blood, do this to her? Let her be blindsided like this! She could’ve talked to him! Convinced Eddie not to do it, she could convince him of anything. He didn’t love her. No, he couldn’t.

He loved Gina, Gina was sure of it.

Well, until those pictures. The love in his eyes, on everyone’s face. The fact that Eddie even had a wedding that big.

He never wanted that with Gina.

They’d had a shambled, put together wedding at the Hideout- the fuckin’ Hideout. Gina's parents hadn’t even showed up, and Jeff and Gareth were telling Eddie not to go through with it moments before she walked down the aisle. Brielle was in a carrier next to Wayne, and Gina had to leave to pump after the ceremony.

No one looked at them like that. Congratulated them, celebrated them.

Gina felt surges of jealousy, hurt, anger tear through her. She pushed past Henry and his rambling, scrambling to find her phone.

She picked it up, ignoring the crack down the middle from where she’d thrown it, clicking Brielle’s name.

The line rang, and rang, and rang.

“Hi, this is Brielle. I can’t get to my phone right now, but-“

Gina growled, huffing angrily as she hung up. Of course Brielle didn't answer. She hadn't in nearly two weeks. Gina twisted her lips furiously, pacing back and forth in the living room. She clicked on Eddie’s name, gripping the phone in a white-knuckled vice.

He picked up on the third ring.

“Yes, Gina?” Eddie sounded tired, annoyed already.

Gina laughed humorlessly. “You stupid, stupid fucker!” She roared.

Eddie winced, pulling the phone back. The two of you were packing for your honeymoon. You looked up, brows furrowed in confusion.

“How dare you? How fuckin’ dare you?” Gina boomed.

“Gina-“

“You get married, and you don’t tell me?” Gina screamed so loudly, static filled on the other end.

“It’s really not your business.” Eddie snapped. “You didn’t tell me when you and Henry-“

“Oh, don’t you dare.” Gina seethed. “Brielle told you, you sick fucker! Where is my baby, huh? What did you do to her?”

Eddie blinked, confused. “What?” He asked. “Gina, what are you talkin’ about?”

Gina scoffed. “My daughter! My daughter, not your child bride’s!” She screeched. An unfair low blow, sure, but she wanted to hurt him. Have him hurting like she was.

“My Brielle didn’t tell me shit! She didn’t tell me she was in town, or-or that you two were getting married! I found out on Facebook, Eddie!” Gina roared, but her heart ached. “Brielle hasn’t called me in two weeks! Two!”

Eddie’s face fell, running a hand over his scruff. He knew Brielle was distancing herself from Gina, he didn’t blame her. She had been too toxic for too long, but it still didn’t make his heart hurt any less at the ache in her voice. He didn’t want her to hurt like that, not with Brielle. Maybe if he was crueler, more like Gina, he would say it was her own fault, but he couldn’t.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to her, or-or what your little Lolita fuckin’ wife has done to brainwash her, but you’ve crossed a line, Edward!” Gina heaved. “That is my baby! My daughter, and you’ve taken her from me! What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything, Gina, Jesus!” Eddie screamed back, throwing his hands out.

You looked at him pleadingly. Eddie’s jaw was tight. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe she didn’t tell you because she knew you’d react like this?” Eddie snapped.

Gina faltered. Eddie never spoke to her like that. “Brielle is a grownup now, Gina. She can make her own choices. Neither one of us told her not to tell you. She made that call.” Eddie continued.

Gina felt her breath catch, heart hammering. She wouldn’t let him catch her vulnerable, hurt. “She’s not talking to me, Eddie, and that’s happening for a reason.” Gina snapped. “Is your new wife trying to replace me as her mother? You can tell that bitch she’s got another thing coming-“

“Hey,” Eddie barked. “I’m not doing this with you. You’re not going to talk about her like that, you got it?”

Your heart swelled slightly at his fierceness, protectiveness. Primal and strong, it made your legs clamp.

“You wanna know why Brie didn’t tell you? Ask Brielle. I don’t control what she does.” Eddie snapped.

Gina tilted her head back, keeping the tears that were threatening to fall. She clenched her jaw, breathing in deeply through her nose. “I told you,” she hissed, jaw still clamped shut to contain her emotions. “She’s- She’s not talking to me.”

Eddie fist loosened, looking at you. Your face shifted sympathetically, moving closer to hear the conversation better.

“Can you just tell me if she’s there?” Gina snapped, but even for her it was desperate, pitiful.

Eddie hesitated. “She’ll be in town for a while.” He said reluctantly. “Her and Madeline are house sitting for us while we’re gone.”

Gina felt her heart squeeze, ache. The honeymoon, it was the unspoken word. She never got a honeymoon with Eddie. Steve and Nancy had agreed to watch Brielle for the night so Eddie and Gina could have a night to themselves. That night was by far the best part of the entire wedding.

Gina took a deep breath in, pinching her eyes shut. “Could you-“ she stopped herself, fist clenching. She was embarrassed, begging Eddie like this to have him talk to her daughter. Having him hold control like this made her sick.

“Could you tell her to call me, please?” Gina asked, covering her mouth with her hand. “I-I won’t… Just tell her I want to catch up. I miss her.”

Your heart dropped, looking down the hall where Brielle sat, happy and contently catching up with your little sister. You didn’t blame her for wanting space, in some ways it was the best thing she could’ve done, but your heart still ached for Gina.

Eddie sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll tell her, Gina.” He said softly. “But I can’t promise anything. She’s not little anymore.”

“I know that, Edward.” Gina’s biting tone had returned, making you roll your eyes. There was a pause. “Fuck, just-just tell her to call me. I won’t…” Gina didn’t finish her sentence, but you all knew what she was going to say.

“Fine.” Eddie said. “I’ll tell her. Anything else?”

Gina scoffed, hanging up the phone. The line beeped and went dead, Eddie looking at you with wide eyes, exasperated and drained. Gina had that effect on people.

“Well,” You chirped. “That went better than I thought it would.”

Eddie chuckled, collapsing on the bed. “Yeah,” he nodded. He looked out towards Brielle, then back at you hesitantly. “She’s real upset about it all, but…” he took a deep breath. “I know she’s most hurt about Brielle.”

You ran a hand down his shoulders, squeezing them softly, your wedding bands glimmering in the light of the room. You pressed a kiss by your thumb, nuzzling into his back.

“I know.” You hummed. “That’s her daughter. I’m not saying Brie is wrong, but… I get it. Maybe she needs to be a little hurt to get better. Repair their relationship.”

Eddie nodded. “You don’t think I-“

“Eddie, don’t you even start.” You snapped sternly, pointing a finger at him. “I’ve watched for years as Gina was so horrible to me, and you, and everyone else we cared about- everyone Brielle cares about too.” You gave him a knowing look. “There’s only so much you can deal with before you don’t want to anymore.”

Eddie sighed slowly. “Yeah,” he agreed.

“You don’t know what happened when we weren’t around either. What Gina said to Brielle. Remember when she was so horrible to me when we first started dating? Because she didn’t want to upset Gina.”

Eddie nodded. “You're right.” He said slowly. “I’m not going to force Brielle, but… I’ll tell her Gina misses her.” He looked at you as if for your approval. “She asked me to, and I think that’s fair.”

You smiled, leaning forward to kiss him sweetly. “I think you should.” You whispered, your nose on his. “Then no more Gina talk. Get it out of your system now, because if I hear her name when we’re in Aruba, I’ll throw you in with the sharks.” You grinned.

Eddie smirked, hands gripping your waist and pinning you on the bed. “Oh, will you, Mrs. Munson?” He teased, tickling your sides. “Think you’re gonna get my retirement that easily, huh? My life insurance? I think you’ll be a little disappointed, bunny.”

You giggled, squirming out of his touch. “Stop!” You laughed, head tipping back in laughter. “Mercy! Mercy!”

Eddie grinned, his lips on yours, deep and passionate. Hands finding each other, gripping and squeezing, clinging to each other.

“Oh, God, not this again.” Brielle groaned.

“Ew!” Madeline retched dramatically. “Shut the door you freaks!”

You laughed, Eddie’s nose resting on yours. “Yeah, did you not learn the first time?” Brielle snapped teasingly. “I’m still traumatized.”

Eddie scoffed, leaning up. “You learned to knock before coming in, didn’t you?” He asked with a grin. She rolled her eyes.

Eddie looked over at you, pleadingly and you took the hint. “Hey, Maddy, can you help me pack a few things?” You asked, getting your sister away from Brielle so she and Eddie could talk in private.

Eddie shot you a thankful smile, arms wrapping around Brielle’s shoulder as they went into the living room. You rolled your clothes, chatting excitedly with your little sister about your trip. You wondered if Gina and Brielle would talk.

Gina was at home, Henry anxiously handing her Xanax and trying to pry her phone away from her clutches, terrified of the wrecked woman in front of him. Gina started blankly ahead, her own wedding with Eddie playing in her mind.

Her mind kept flashing back to the ring. The smiles. Every photo she’d seen of the two of you.

Gina grit her teeth, fist balling. She was angry, hurt. Not just because Brielle hadn’t told her she was in town, but because it was official for the first time in her delusional mind.Eddie wasn’t hers anymore. He was yours.

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moth-nana · 7 months

Text

Night time talks

Bonten!Sanzu Haruchiyo x gn!reader

Summary: Sanzu seeks shelter at the bookshop where you work from a shooting. You take a liking to him and apparently so does he.

Not proof read!

Words: 2.3k

You had gotten a new job in a bookshop. The bookshop you worked in was cute and nice but it was in an area that was not that safe for women nor anyone really. The unsafe environment was mostly connected to all the bars and clubs that were owned by different gangs around Tokyo.

You had seen your fair share of violence when you were in your teens and successfully removed yourself from all that after highschool ended and you started to study literature and arts. You were happy when you got your new job but the place had raised your concern. Even though the shop was at the outskirts of the street where there were hardly any clubs and people mostly walked past to get to all the clubs and bars. You had had some girls come in before closing to seek shelter from some creepy individuals and you had been nice enough to keep them company and escort them to the nearest bus stop.

Today was different. You had a good amount of customers and when the late evening came along you started to prepare to close after a long day and many customers. Before you knew it someone ran into the shop. He had a pink mullet and formal suit west. He jumped over the register and crouched behind it. Then you heard bullets being fired not far from your workplace.

"Fuck this." You mumbled to yourself. You were too tired to even care to hide with the stranger.

"I advise you to get down." He whispered loudly. You looked at him. Your eyes directly caught his scars on the corners of his mouth. He looked like he could be a character from a book or a tv show that you would enjoy.

"I think I'm good. I have no reason to hide." Your answer was heard but the stranger didn't care. He yanked you down to his level. You landed on your but hitting your tailbone to the floor. You whined from the pain.

"I said I was good." You snapped at him. He gave you a side eye.

"I normally don't care if someone dies but right now I have no energy to clean up any blood from my clothes." He snapped back. At that moment you glanced at his right wrist and saw a tattoo that you wished to never see, a Bonten tattoo.

You heard some shots that were not as close anymore. You started to wake up more and realize the situation you were in. Should you get up and run? That would not be a great idea. Staying and waiting seems a more stable way to go from this.

You glanced at the pink haired man who was typing something on his phone. He huffed frustratingly and looked at you.

"The shooting is going to be over soon." He said this time quietly but he didn't necessarily whisper.

"Good, I need to get home." You moved to lean on the wall on the opposite side of the counter.

"Why?" He asked you. He seemed to be bored.

"I have a cat who I don't like to leave alone for too long. He tends to destroy my stuff when I leave him home for more than eight hours." You told him and he nodded.

"Do you have any pets?" You asked to be polite and for some reason you wanted to know more about him. He seemed dangerous and compelling.

"No, I don't really have time for pets nor do I really like those furballs." He replied to my not so creative question.

“You seem like a guy who keeps a really cool snake but I guess not.” you shrugged your shoulders and he looked at you. His pupils were slightly dilated. Your guess was that he was on drugs.

“How much have you taken?” You asked without actually thinking about it more. You acted stupid with no filter from the lack of sleep that had followed you for weeks now. You were too tired to mostly care much.

“Little enough for me to have a clear head but enough for you to get into hospital.” He stated with a smirk and then added, “You want some?”

“No thank you, keep whatever you got to yourself.” you waved your hands to show that you were declining his offer that most likely was a joke. You hoped it was a joke.

“Nice, more for me then.” He was taking something from his pocket that looked like a pack of pills but you stopped his hand by grabbing it.

“I would really appreciate it, if you wouldn’t take any substances in my presence.” He gave you a stare and you stared back.

“Fine.” He snapped and took his hand away from your grip without his precious drugs. You heard another bang and then it was quite like there was nothing outside. No people, no cars, no wind, nothing.

His phone lit up and he read the message he had received. "We are good to go." He informed you and rose to his feet. You followed his lead and rose from the floor. You dusted your jeans and gave him a nod.

“Next time warn me…”

“Sanzu”

“Sanzu” You gave him a smile. His face had carried almost no emotion other than annoyance or boredom since he had run into the shop but now he looked like he was unsure of something.

He shook his head and started heading out. With a wave of his hand as to say goodbye.

“Nice tattoo!” You yelled after him just before the door closed behind him. He turned to look at you and narrowed his eyes before walking away.

“He has some beautiful eyes.”

Youfelt like you were drowning in your own work. Everyday since the shooting had been exhausting with no help from the owner. It was like they had disappeared after you asked him if he could hire someone else to work with you.

You had to manage all the new books that came in and every decision that came with it. You liked to have your freedom but having no one to ask what they thought or was something you did a good idea made you feel exhausted.

You were stoking up new manga that came in yesterday afternoon. You heard the door opening and someone walking in. You didn’t turn to look who it was since your hands were full of new volumes of one of the most liked and bought manga.

“Hi,” a greeting just beside your ear made you jump a little and drop three volumes you had in your hands to the floor. You cringed as you thought how the cover might have gotten damaged.

“Oh fuck,” You whined before greeting Sanzu. You picked the dropped mangas up and checked their quality. They were still in pretty good condition so you put them to their place.

“It’s rude to ignore your customers.” Sanzu snickered behind you as you loaded the shelves quickly.

“Sorry for doing my job. Anyway, how can I help you?” You turned to look at him. He looked to be in pretty good shape. He looked at you with a subtle smirk on his lips.

“I wanted to come and ask you to recommend a book for someone like me.”

“Seriously?” You asked him and lifted your right eyebrow up a little.

“no,” he leaned towards you, “I needed a reason to talk to you.”

“Interesting, what do you need?” You leaned your upper body a little closer to his. You could feel the building up tension between you two.

“Your name and your number would be nice.” His voice sends shivers through your skin.

“My name is (Name), but you need to put on more effort than that to get my number.” You leaned back to your original position.

“Is that so?” His lips were curved into a big grin.

“Surely it is, I would like to have you on a date after my shift is over.” You felt daring with him standing before you like that. He scanned your face with his eyes for something. A small laugh left his lips as he straightened his back.

“Then that is what we’ll do.” He gave you a wink. He turned away from you to leave.

“19.15!” you shouted after him while he was walking out again.

“See you soon!” He yelled before stepping out of the store.

You were really waiting for the closing time. Not many customers came after he left and it made your time fly by slower than before or maybe it was because you were excited. You were cleaning up the counter when you saw him. He walked in front of the shop and you greeted him with a smile and held your finger up to tell him without words that it would take a second before you would meet him outside but he came in.

“Can you wait up a few seconds?” you asked before putting all the counted money where you should before closing. He was waiting without a word next to the door of the shop. He was leaning on the window with his hands in his pockets and a smirk playing on his face. He looked really handsome.

You finished with your closing and the last thing was to lock the place up and it would be all done. You had shut all the lights and the small shop had become dark. Only light that came in was from the streetlights outside. You walked towards the door and he opened it for you and let you walk out before him. You thanked him and locked the place up.

“Where to?” you asked Sanzu while he started walking towards all the clubs. “I was thinking of taking you to one of our restaurants to eat and then we would go and enjoy a few drinks in a club.” He summarized his plan and your nose crushed up. He seemed to take notice of that and stopped walking and so did you. He seemed amused before asking, “What would you like to change about my plan?” You had to think for a while before answering him. “I would like to do something that doesn’t involve money since I can’t afford anything fancy… Also I would like to do something memorable for both of us.” He seemed taken back by your words. “Then what would you like to do?” He asked and you took his hand. “Follow me.” You started to pull him by his hand to the closest bus stop.

That night you had taken a bus with Sanzu to the closest grocery store and bought ingredients to a dish you liked very much. You had welcomed him into your apartment and let him pet your black cat, Niko, and cooked you two food.

He had enjoyed the food you made and you two had talked about anything you two had thought of.

He didn’t really tell you much about his work, but he told you about stupid shit his coworkers had said and done that had annoyed him. You told him about your studies and your boss who had just left you with the bookshop. He listened well and asked questions. You too listened to him and liked to hear him talk. In the end he left around two in the morning.

You were at awe how he acted more humane than you thought. He didn’t seem so scary after you had pulled him into the bus and partly forced him to go to the grocery shop with you. He seemed so out of place sitting at your dining table keeping you company while you cooked and after that sitting next to you on your couch.

After that night it became a habit for him to visit at your place at evening at least once a week. He seemed to be more at ease when he got to talk to you while you made food or did some studying.

He had found some paintings in your room once and had begged for you to let him keep one so he could have something to remember you by at his place.

You had one picture of him. It was a polaroid picture of him sitting on your dining table head leaning on his hand while partly falling asleep with an actual smile.

Sometimes when he came by he had blood on his hands and a wicked grin on his face. It did scare you a bit at first but after a while of him showing up like that on your doorsteps it also became a part of your reality. It wasn’t all new, you had been a part of a delinquent world before but knowing that the things he did were more than fights in a parking lot that left bruises on both parties made you feel weird. It felt like Sanzu was easing you into his world bit by bit.

“You know that I love you, right?” You asked him as he had come out of your shower with clean clothes he had brought to your place a few weeks prior.

“Oh, really?” His voice was playful as the look on his face. “Where did this come from?” He tilted his head and you shrugged. “I just wanted you to know.”

“I love you too.”

Bonus: Before he was supposed to take you on a date.

“Take them clubbing!” Ran earned a few approving nods.

“No, take them to eat in one of our restaurants or something more expensive.” Koko disagreed with Ran and sat with his hands crossing his chest.

Kakucho was shaking his head. “Ask them. By what you told us before they most likely will not like clubs.” He was ignored by most and Sanzu decided to go with both Koko’s and Ran’s ideas. But Kakucho knew better.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #sanzu haruchiyo x reader #sanzu x reader #bonten sanzu #bonten x reader #tokyo revengers x gn!reader

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pro-logue-epi-logue · 6 months

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I can guarantee this, that Emmy didn't ask for his coat Will just saw weather's getting bad so he took off his coat and gave it to Emmy so she didn't get sick.

Will is a GENTLEMAN but only for Emmy( no one else).

#i love these 2 #the devil's night #the devils night #devil's night #devils night #the devil's night series #will grayson iii #emory scott #willemmy #the devils night series #jo read's fire night #fire night

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abeautylives · 1 year

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Just Ours, Tonight

a/n: Part 2!! Read Part 1 here, and if you’ve made it this far, THANK YOU thank you thank you for reading ❤️

pairing: Joshxfemale!reader

word count: somewhere around 7.5k

summary: He’s your best friend, but that may be about to change.

warnings: 18+ minors stay far away, language, more friendly fluff, allusions to sexual situations, graphic sexual content, oral (f. receiving, I am a slut for cunnilingus, sorry not sorry), unprotected penetrative sex

Outside, unbeknownst to anyone else, Josh had just told Jake the first secret he’d ever been successful in keeping from him. He’d also told him the only secret he’s ever kept from you.

Inside, you’re blissfully ignorant as the casual after-dinner chit chat has turned into a party. Sam and Joy are fighting for control of the music, which has created a pretty interesting playlist, and you’re feeling loose from the bottle of wine you’ve now finished. You've been dancing with Jita in the living room, switching styles to match the vibe of each song, laughing loudly at how ridiculous the mix is. Where’s Josh?

It hits you that the twins have been outside for a long time. Way too long for the smoke they’d apparently left for. You have Jita’s hand in yours, your arm wrapped around her waist, and you spin her away from you just as the current song ends.

“I’m gonna go find our boys, we need to switch up dancing partners!” She waves you off and sits to catch her breath as you move toward the back door.

You catch a glimpse of Jake’s face through a window in the living room. He’s got one of those huge smiles spread across his lips, curled up at the corners, pretty as can be. When you turn the doorknob and step over the threshold into the night air, his smile drops and a matching pair of guilty faces snap to yours.

“Whoa, what am I interrupting boys?” Your tone is playful, you haven’t imagined they’ve gotten up to anything too serious out here. Glancing at the ashtray you see they’ve gone through almost half a pack of Jake’s cigarettes. “What the fuck guys, you couldn’t invite anyone else?”

“You don’t smoke, princess. You’re a fraud, a fake, a phony if you will,” Jake offers up in reply. Josh hasn’t looked away from your face but guilt and… fear? still remain in place on his.

“What have you been doing to him, Jacob? He looks like he’s seen a ghost,” you’re still joking with them though anxiety has settled in your stomach. What have they been talking about?

“Ah, he has seen something my dear, but a specter it is not.”

“Okay Captain Jake Sparrow,” your eyes roll. “Let me guess, it was your dick. A: that’s gross, you’re brothers. B: I’ve heard from your girl that it is scary. And not scary big, scary weird.”

They both laugh out loud at your teasing but the only sound you comprehend is Josh. When he laughs, it’s loud and abrupt and when you look down to him in the chair, he finally looks normal again. The huge smile splitting his face shows all of his teeth and most of his gums and it’s definitely reached his eyes. Your anxiety quells but doesn’t disappear completely.

Jake returns fire, “I can prove to you right now that that is simply untrue, darling.” He’s moving as if he’s gonna drop his shorts right here on the deck.

“Shut up Jake,” Josh finally speaks, fixes his face into an expression resembling amusement, but he hasn’t quite achieved it. The giveaway is his mouth, his smile now looks forced, his eyes slightly narrowed in Jake's direction.

“I’m kidding, Jesus lighten up.”

“You all need to lighten up, come back inside and dance with us before I steal your girlfriend and make her mine, Jakey,” you can’t take the awkward tension out here any longer.

“Oh fuck that,” Jake says as he pushes past you to re-enter the house. You watch through the window as he makes his way through the living room to Jita, grabs both of her hands and hauls her body out of the chair and into his arms, instantly beginning a sort of swing dance with her. They’re both laughing wildly.

Left in silence on the deck, Josh hasn’t moved from his seat in the Adirondack. You step over to stand in front of him, knees bumping his.

“Hey handsome.”

He lifts his eyes to yours, his expression is strange and you have trouble placing it. “Hey princess.”

You hold a hand out to him and he reaches up and grips it tightly.

“I don’t know what’s been going on out here but… are you okay?” Your smile is soft and encouraging, your friend’s discomfort is turning into your own and you’re trying to suppress it for you both.

“Um.. yeah. Yeah I’m good.” He lifts his other hand to rub nervously across the back of his neck. You use the hand holding his to pull him up out of the chair and his body collides with yours, arms going around you, face tucking into your neck. He takes a deep breath there through his nose before mumbling against your t-shirt, “I’m great actually….” His head lifts and he pulls it back to look into your eyes. “Are your tits out? Lemme see.”

There he is.

On a laugh, with a hand slapped to the center of his chest, you giggle out, “You’re sick! But yes they are, dummy. And no you can’t see them. Now come dance with me.”

Taking a hand in yours again, you tug him along with you back into the house and through to the living room where a hip hop song that sounds vaguely familiar is playing, the beat encouraging your body to move, the boys sitting this one out. Joy bounces over to you and you dance with her, bodies pressed together, her ass pushed into your hips, your hands roaming down her ribcage to settle onto hers. All eyes are on the two of you until the song ends.

“Hot. That… was hot, get back over here,” Sam grabs Joy around the waist and pulls her back against his own body as the song transitions into one of his choosing. It bleeds out of the speakers slowly, smooth and jazzy, they sway together with it. You watch Jake pull Jita to him in a similar fashion and her arms wrap around his neck, their noses almost touching.

Turning to Josh, who had planted himself on the couch as soon as you came inside, you again extend a hand to him. “Dance partners?”

“M’not much of a dancer.”

“Bullshit, get up here.” He obeys, grabbing your hand and standing to move in close to you. You don’t give him time to hesitate, pulling him flush against you, arms thrown over his shoulders and cheek resting on one as he wraps his own arms to rest loosely around your lower back. Your chests are pressed together and he can feel the bareness of yours through the thin material of your t-shirt, but he resists tightening his hold on your body. From the outside, the two of you look like you’re sharing an affectionate but friendly hug, it’s not all that intimate and your hips aren’t even touching as you rock slowly from side to side. It’s hardly a dance, but every pair is doing their own version of the same movements. You watch over Josh’s shoulder as the actual couples steal moments alone, though you’re all in the same space. Sam is whispering into Joy’s ear, something that makes her grin and blush a little before hiding her face against his chest. Jake and Jita are completely silent, swaying softly and sharing something with each other that’s being conveyed simply through their eye contact.

Maybe that would be nice.

The thought enters your brain but confusion clouds it just as quickly, you can feel your eyebrows knit together with it. You and Josh are not together, have never even given each other the impression that this is more than it is. Ever. Josh has been pushing for a few weeks now to tell the others that you’ve been sleeping together, but only so you wouldn’t have to be so sneaky about it when you wanna get off. Right?

The song comes to an end and you can feel how your mood has shifted. Lowering your arms from his body, you take half a step back from Josh. He hasn’t released his hold from around your back yet as you meet his eyes. They’re immediately searching yours as he can tell your mood has changed too.

“I think the wine has gotten on top of me, I’m super tired all of a sudden,” you lie. “I think I’m gonna take a shower and head to bed.” He unlinks his arms from around you and watches you deliver a general “goodnight” to the room and then turn to leave it. As the bass of an upbeat tune starts to boom through the living room, he turns to say his own goodnights, that he’s gonna clean up and do the same, but no one’s paying attention.

Except Jake.

It’s not lost on him that his twin is eager to follow you, and he wonders if it’s about sex or love. Probably both. Communicating without words, as they do half the time anyway, Josh catches Jake’s eyes before turning out of the room.

Are you gonna tell her?

Josh offers only a slight shrug of his shoulders before leaving to follow you up the stairs.

You’re only a few steps ahead of him and he picks up the pace, taking two at a time to reach the landing at the top just after you. You’ve heard him following and turn to face him there, going to speak but your words are stopped behind your lips as his crash into yours, a hand already ensnared in the hair at the nape of your neck. The kiss is instantly deep and all-consuming, and you’re ready to melt into it and just make out with him there in the hallway, but he breaks it quickly.

Speaking lowly, words only for your ears though the music downstairs is loud enough to drown out any sounds from up here, he says, “Go take a shower. I’m gonna do the same, then I’ll meet you in your room. I owe you an orgasm and I will be fucking you in a bed tonight.” Even without a light on up here, you can see his devilish grin in the darkness. He doesn’t await a response, simply turns your body and pushes it away from him, toward the opposite end of the hall. You move that direction but glance back at him over your shoulder as he disappears into his own room.

You shower quickly but thoroughly, washing the residue of salt and sunscreen from your skin and letting your conditioner soak in as you scrub. When you’re done you feel like a new woman, having let some of your worry and confusion slip down the drain with the bubbly suds of your body wash. Wrapped in a towel secured around your waist, the top half of your body remains bare as you run a blow dryer over your hair for a minute, knowing you don’t want to climb into bed with it soaking wet. You don’t hear the light knocks at the bathroom door, and jump slightly when it swings open, switching the dryer off and moving an arm to cover your chest.

It’s only Josh. You drop your arm.

“You scared me, you idiot!” You’re doing the same whisper-yelling he had heard from Jake out on the back deck. He’s dressed similarly to how he has been all day, a pretty tiny pair of sleep shorts now slung lowly on his hips, no shirt to be found. He closes the door behind him, though your bathroom is an en-suite.

“They can’t hear you babe, they’re still engaging in the festivities downstairs,” he laughs as he speaks, his eyes locked onto the reflection of your naked breasts in the mirror as if seeing them for the first time. You notice how he looks a little mesmerized and keep your eyes on the reflection of his face as you set the dryer down on the counter. You watch him as he watches closely, bringing your hands to your own body and running your fingertips up from your stomach and over your ribs before cupping a breast in each hand and pushing them up attractively.

“Enjoying the view?” His eyes meet yours in the mirror and he swallows before speaking.

His voice now comes out as a near whisper, “I am… please let me touch you.” He’s already moving towards you, hands reaching.

“Oh I actually insist that you do, don’t you owe me something?” There’s a smirk on your face but he doesn’t see it, he’s directly behind you now, hands on either side of you and fingertips trailing over the skin exposed just above the towel still hanging at your waist, eyes closed and face once again pressed into your hair and breathing it in. His fingers move to the front of the towel where it’s tucked into itself at your navel, and though you’re ready for him to snatch it off of you he hesitates and speaks again.

“Need to see you, it’s been too long.”

“Josh we had sex in the shower outside, you’ve seen me.”

“Not enough… You’re so pretty right here,” he finally tugs the towel open and drops it to your feet, stares directly at your cunt in the mirror, chin now propped on your shoulder. Your gaze drops to it too. His hands connect with your hips before he moves one across the front of your body and slips it down between your thighs, tucking it there and cupping it against you. When he pulls it back, he drags his middle finger against your skin before moving both hands to knock yours away and replace them with his own over your chest. Both sets of hooded eyes follow his movements.

“Pretty here too. Gorgeous everywhere, really.” He shifts to press a kiss into the shoulder he’s been resting on, doesn’t take his eyes off of his hands on you.

“What’s with the flattery Josh? Trying to butter me up for something? Oh my god, I’ve already told you you can’t put it in my ass,” you end on a giggle and he offers you one in return, the sound makes your heart flutter.

His hands are moving again, slowly back down the front of your body before finding their home back on your hips. He uses them to push you forward, closer to the mirror, until the cool surface of the edge of the countertop meets your skin. His own hips are pressed against you, you can feel his dick, already hard and tucked into the cleft of your ass.

“I’m not convinced that I couldn’t persuade you into that, eventually, but no. No ulterior motives. Just want you to know you’re beautiful and that I’ve always appreciated it.”

“Always, huh?”

“Always.”

You turn in his arms and loop yours around his neck, the counter now pushed into the flesh at the top of your butt. He watches in the mirror as it presses into the skin there before meeting your eyes. “You’re pretty too,” you’re whispering again, not in fear of being overheard, but the words feel special and significant as they float off your tongue. He leans in to kiss you, starting at your lips then trailing them back over your jaw. When he reaches the spot hiding just behind your earlobe, he murmurs into your skin.

“Jake knows.”

You’ve heard his words but the significance escapes you. “Jake knows what?” It comes out a little airy, breathless as he continues to work his lips and now his tongue against the sensitive skin at the base of your neck. In between kisses, he answers you.

“He knows we’re sleeping together.”

Your body jerks away from his mouth and your eyes snap to his face, which he hasn’t lifted but he’s looking up at you through his eyelashes, a small guilty smirk on his lips.

“Josh, you told him? I told you I wanted to wait.”

“He sort of figured it out. He didn’t seem that surprised, honestly.”

You can’t really tell how you feel. You’re not… angry. Surprised, maybe. A little sad. This is over.

“Hey… don’t do that. I’m sorry, I know you didn’t want them to know yet. He promised he wouldn’t say anything. You know he keeps his promises.” Josh watches your lips, set into a small frown, as you begin to work the bottom one in between your teeth. His hand raises to your face, cups your jaw and he uses his thumb to pull that lip free. He kisses you sweetly, soothing the bruise that threatens to bloom under the mark your teeth have left behind.

“Are you mad?”

“No. No. Not mad. I guess it’s not our secret anymore… maybe we should tell the rest of them.”

“Tomorrow. It can still be just ours, tonight.” He punctuates the sentence with a firmer caress of his lips against yours and you give into it, not wanting to linger on the uncertainty creeping up your spine. Josh can feel how tense you are in his arms though your lips are relaxed and moving against his fluidly, a dance you’ve perfected together over time. Your arms are still around his neck and he reaches up to tap one, signifying that you should hold tighter. When he feels your hand move to grip your opposite forearm, he grabs you at the waist and lifts you to sit on the counter. A hiss is sucked between your teeth as the cool granite hits your skin but he doesn’t break the kiss, instead taking the opening to slide his tongue past your lips and connect it with yours.

You’re lost to it now, thoughts of concern pushed deep down and taken over by thoughts of more, more, more. You haven’t even realized that his hands have found your thighs until they move inward and slide down between your knees to push them further apart. You spread them even wider than his hands have demanded and he hums against your mouth before pulling away to look down at what you’ve presented him with.

“Mm, have I told you how pretty your pussy is today?”

He makes you laugh, like he always does.

“You have, just recently in fact. Tell me more.”

His eyes are still on it, you both watch as he brings a hand back up your thigh toward you and slips his thumb between your folds, through the slick moisture that’s dripping from you, then up to press light circles into your clit. Your eyes close as the subdued pleasure blossoms from your core and moves through you, amplified by his next words.

“It’s perfect, really. Pink and soft, always wet for me” His ministrations against you stay soft but never waver as he continues. “Do you really just always need me that bad?”

His dirty words sound like poetry in your ears. You only nod your head and hum your approval. More.

He seems to know what you want, quite often actually, and he continues. “No matter when I call, you’re wet and waiting for me. Then you let me do whatever I want to your body, so good to me all the time.”

In truth, it’s usually you who calls, but he’s not completely wrong otherwise. You call when you’re horny, empty and needing to be filled with him. And it’s usually you telling him what you want done to your body. But you also call when you miss him, his presence is comforting and his company has always been enjoyable. He might be your favorite person.

His thumb has found its way back to your entrance, your arousal is dripping onto the granite and he gathers it and spreads it around, coating your folds with it before tucking that finger just inside you. A low moan rolls up through your throat and past your lips. More.

“Can I have a taste, princess?”

“Don’t call me that, not right now,” you’re practically panting the words. “Your brother calls me that too, ya know.”

“I could call you something different, something that’s just mine.” I could call you mine.

He pulls his thumb from your cunt and you watch as he brings it to his lips, slipping it into his mouth without hesitation, sucking the taste of you from it.

“‘Babe’ is fine, I like it when you call me that, when we’re alone.”

“Hmm but you’re sweet, like peaches, or honey. I could call you honey.”

You don’t love the way it sounds, despite his voice coating it in sugar and making it even sweeter, but you need him to keep touching you, to taste you like he’d asked to, so you agree.

“Call me whatever you want, just don’t stop.”

“Of course not honey, not gonna stop.”

With that, he drops to his knees between yours and wastes no time getting his mouth on you. No teasing, no build up, his tongue is lapping at you, his lips sucking you into his mouth. The sound is graphic and indecent and driving you wild. Both of your hands find their way to his hair, fingers laced into his curls that are now soft from his shower, keeping him close. Not that he needs assistance, he has no intention of stopping, not until you’re whimpering his name and cumming on his tongue.

Focusing his attention to your clit, he’s already got you pretty close. Alternating between flicks of the tip of his tongue to it, and sucking it past his lips to roll the flat of his tongue against it, you’re already whimpering. He has to fight against your hands to pull his face away just long enough to make a request.

“Let me hear you.. No one else can, tell me how good it is.” You pull his head back to you as you let his name escape your mouth.

“It’s so fucking good Josh, you’re so good. Please don’t stop, I’m almost there.”

He doesn’t change a thing, maintains speed and pressure, he knows exactly how you like it and he’s tailored his talents to suit you. Anything for you. He also knows you’re right there on the precipice, and he’s drawing your pleasure out as you teeter on the edge, selfishly, just so he can hear his name on your gasps and moans. When it comes out on a long drawn out whine, he knows you’re bordering overstimulation. He brings the same hand up that’s already been on and inside your cunt twice today, and taking only a moment to swirl the tips of his first two fingers through the mixture of your slick and his saliva, he plunges them into you.

“Josh,” he sucks your clit back into his mouth, hard. “JOSH!”

There she is.

He doesn’t know what he loves more, the way his name sounds when you’re screaming it or the shape of your body, the way your back arches when you cum. The combination has him straining against the soft fabric of his shorts.

His lips and fingers haven’t left you as you ride out and come down from your orgasm, and once it’s faded away he’s leaving kisses across your pussy, featherlight over your clit, as he eases his fingers from you. Your hands have dropped to your sides, your back leaned up against the mirror. The glass is cool against your hot skin. When he’s standing again, still nestled between your legs, you open your eyes.

His are dark, pupils wide and locked onto yours. His hair is unruly again, disheveled by your hands and it looks good on him. You must be in a similar state.

“You look positively fucked, honey.” The name is growing on you.

“Mm, I’d like to be.” You drop your eyes from his, trail them over the skin of his chest, then his stomach. All of it looks soft, edible, and you know that it is. When your eyes reach his shorts, they widen just slightly. He’s hard, which you’d expected, but there’s a small wet patch in the material right at the tip of his cock. You know he hasn’t cum in his pants but the size of the spot lets you know that he’s been leaking, desperate for you.

Without words, you slip off the counter and take his hand to lead him into your bedroom. Walking ahead of him, you reach the bed first but before you can climb on and turn to him, he’s pushing you gently onto it on your hands and knees. You stay in the position he’s put you in, but look back over your shoulder. His shorts are already pushed to the ground and he’s looking down at his dick in his hand, stroking it slowly with a loose grip. It looks painfully hard, the tip is red and still leaking precum. On an upward stroke he rubs his thumb across it, spreading it over himself. A tiny sound comes from his throat, a whimper.

“Josh…” You’re whispering again. The sounds from downstairs are quieter than before, the music seems to have stopped but a movie may be playing in the living room.

“Need you, babe. Come on.” You wiggle your ass, still on full display for him.

He moves forward, hand still around his cock, and kneels onto the edge of the bed behind you. Silently, he glides himself through your folds, gathering the wetness there before pressing his hips into you just enough to tuck the head of him inside.

“Jesus,” He pulls out of you completely before doing it again, this time sliding into you slowly, watching as he disappears into your cunt.

You release the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding when he’s seated inside you to the hilt, unmoving.

“You can move Josh, fuck me, c’mon.”

“Yeah, yeah… I will.” His emotions are waging a war within his head. He needs to fuck you, he’s actually aching for it, but he wants to love you. Show you how he feels, if he can’t tell you.

Pulling his hips back, he watches himself retreat from your body before slamming back into you. “Yes! Keep going!” He leans over you, chest pressed to your back, supporting himself with one hand on the mattress and the other wrapped around your hip. He pulls back and thrusts sharply into you again before leaving a kiss to your shoulder, then he uses his hand on your hip and his own body weight to maneuver you off of your hands and onto your elbows, lowering your chest to the bed. You’re sure he’s going to lift himself back up and unleash on you from behind but he doesn’t. He continues to push your body down with his hands and his weight until you’re flat on your stomach, legs spread and straight out behind you. He leaves you again and does lean back long enough to push your legs together and straddle them. He hasn’t done this before and you’re a little disoriented.

“Hey… what are you…?” You let the words trail off as he grips himself and runs the tip of his dick down the crack of your ass before pressing it against the entrance of your pussy with his thumb. Pushing his hips down and forward, he slides into you slowly until he’s pressed firmly against you. Oh.

Leaning forward, he brings his body over yours, propping himself up on just one elbow. He watches his other hand smooth down the soft skin of your back before sliding it up the sheets and grabbing yours. You tangle your fingers together as he places his lips to the skin of your shoulder again and begins rocking his hips against your ass. He’s buried himself so deep inside you that you can feel him nudging your cervix, then dragging just over that one spot with every shallow backstroke. The pressure is building again slowly and it’s clear that he’s in no hurry to get you there. Your cheek is pressed to the mattress, both arms bent at your sides, one hand gripping the sheets and the other joined with his.

“J-Josh,” It comes out quietly, almost muffled by the bedsheets. It hasn’t ever felt quite like this before.

“Yeah honey..” His voice sounds strained.

“Harder.” Just a little bit.

He doesn’t respond with words but with compliance, pumping into you with just barely deeper strokes. You bend your knees, lifting your feet and crossing your ankles and they’re bouncing lightly against his ass as he moves inside you. With the leverage of your knees against the bed you arch your back, your hips lifting to meet his strokes. The sound of his hips colliding with the plushness of your backside fills the room.

“Oh god just like that,” the slight change in angle is delicious.

Voice still tight, he asks how it feels. Kisses your skin again and leaves his lips against you. He’s all around you, pushing you into the mattress and you can barely move aside from where your bodies connect. It feels amazing, but something feels different. His behavior seems off, he’s quiet.

“It’s s-so good,” a sharper thrust punches the words from your lungs on a soft moan. “Talk to me, please…”

He grunts once, twice as he pumps into you just a little harder before speaking.

“You feel like heaven, so fucking tight around me like this. Can you feel how deep it is?”

You nod your head wildly against the mattress, “Yes, fuck it’s so deep, you’re so good.. keep going.”

“M’not gonna stop, never wanna leave you ever. Could live here forever…” His voice trails off as he imagines it, his cock twitching. Suddenly he’s shifting, lifting off of your body.

“Josh?”

He pulls out of you slowly, watches himself do it, before he’s flipping you over. You assist him, propping yourself up and rolling to your back. He pushes your knees up, almost to your chest and he’s back inside you immediately with a deep thrust.

“Shit!” He’s pumping into you with more force now, eyebrows knit together but a small smile on his lips and he looks down at you.

“Cum again for me, touch yourself. I wanna watch.”

You’re smiling back up at him, hands wrapped around his wrists where his are still holding your knees. You let your eyes move down his body for a moment, there’s a sheen of sweat glistening over his chest, the muscles of his stomach are flexing as he moves, the V of muscles that lead to his dick are taut and prominent right now. This is what you’re used to, your fun and ridiculous best friend who’s also dirty and sexy and worships your body behind closed doors.

One hand drops it’s hold on his wrist and you raise it to his face, his lips already parted and waiting. Pushing two fingers past them, they land on his tongue and he swirls it around them quickly. He’s close to his own release and needs to feel yours around him before he lets go. When your fingers leave his mouth, so does, “Touch your pretty clit for me, babe. Cum with me, I’m almost there.”

Your fingers are on it before he finishes the sentence, rubbing swift circles into the sensitive flesh. A low whine slides up and out of your throat, past your lips and into the air between you.

“That’s right.. Feels. So. Good. Doesn’t it?” His words huff out of him as his hips meet the backs of your thighs, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room.

“So good- fuck Josh, I’m there I’m gonna cum, cum with me please!”

He opens his mouth to ask, but you’re already answering. “Inside, wanna feel it inside.”

You almost always say that, but he loves it every time.

He feels your cunt squeezing him, tighter, tighter, he watches in what feels like slow motion as it hits you and your back arches off the bed, head thrown back. When you scream his name this time, it sounds muffled in his ears, his head is buzzing with the curses that follow it. His hips stutter and he cums, still fucking into you, pushing it deep. He drops his chin to his chest, eyes closed as he slows to a stop and you both drift down from the high. When he opens them your body is relaxed again, limp on the mattress and he lets your legs fall around him.

He stays inside you, softening but not ready to leave. Your arms are weak but they lift and reach for him, he leans into them easily, settling his weight over you again.

After a quick kiss to your lips he tucks his head into your neck and kisses you there too. Both of you are breathing heavily still, the sound of it is all you can hear and you realize it’s gone quiet downstairs. Shit, they definitely heard that.

You lay in silence for a few moments, arms around his back, fingertips tracing circles and swirling down his spine until he speaks quietly into the hollow where your neck meets your shoulder.

“Jake knows everything.”

Okay?

“I know, you already told me.”

He shakes his head against you. “He knows more than you do, he knows everything.”

You push yourself up to your elbows and he moves with you, propping himself up to look at your face. “You’re not making sense. What are you talking about?”

His eyes scan your face, take in what he can see of your fresh freckles in the dark, lit by the moonlight coming in from the window. He can make out the small scar on your forehead that you’ve had since you were three. There’s a tiny, almost invisible hole in the side of your nostril from where you’d worn a hoop that you had when the two of you met, but you’d soon decided the look wasn’t for you. He had liked it though. He meets your eyes again.

“I told him the truth. The whole truth.”

“And nothing but the truth?” You chuckle, the seriousness in his tone is making you nervous.

“I told him that I’m in love with you.”

You freeze with the shock of it for a moment, his eyes haven’t left yours and he watched as they’d opened wide, as your jaw dropped just slightly. You realize you’re just staring at each other and he’d just said… There’s no way.

Scrambling, you sit up further and push him away from you, out of you. He moves to sit back and tucks one leg up and underneath himself, the other flat on the bed. He looks so casual but you can feel yourself on the verge of freaking out. Before you can move too far away, he reaches out and grabs one of your hands.

“Please don’t run away. Not yet…”

He’s pleading with you, but there's no fear in his voice. The relief of saying it out loud for a second time has him feeling weightless, free, and he trusts that you’ll hear him out. You’re his best friend.

His hold on your hand is tight, and he tugs it lightly asking you again to stay. You settle onto the mattress, legs folded beneath you and you wait for him to say something. When he doesn’t right away, you whisper, “Josh what are you talking about?”

Before he answers he reaches his other hand out to grab your free one, now holding both of yours in his. He rubs soft circles into the backs of yours with his thumbs and watches the movement for a second before looking back into your eyes. The eye contact is intense and you almost look away but he squeezes your hands lightly.

“I love you, Y/N. I always have though, you’re honestly my best friend.” He pauses, in case you have anything to say but you remain silent so he continues. “But things… changed, for me.”

“When?” You say it without thinking, but you figure it has to be recent. Maybe that’s why he’s been pushing you to tell the others, because he’s been feeling something more. He doesn’t answer you, just smiles softly and shakes his head.

“When.” You repeat yourself, but it’s more of a demand than a question.

“The party we threw, at my parents’ house…” he starts, but it tells you nothing. You’ve known each other since you were nineteen, you’d thrown countless parties, celebrations of birthdays and after parties when they’d wrapped up a bar gig, parties for no reason just because their parents were gone. When the band started to gain traction and they started traveling, there was a party every time they came home. You’re still flipping through the events in your mind, trying to pinpoint a moment you may have missed.

“Our birthday,” he says in reference to his shared birthday with Jake, and you think he’s probably referring to three months ago. It would make sense. You’d already been sneaking around awhile, stealing kisses around corners and fucking almost every time you found yourselves alone.

“You pulled me aside to give me my present. I don’t know if you were embarrassed or you thought I would be embarrassed that you were giving me jewelry,” he laughs but your throat is tight. “But it was my favorite thing that I got that year. Because it was from you.” It was a necklace, just a pendant on a simple chain but it had reminded you of him when you saw it.

“Josh.. that was thr-“

“Three years ago,” he interrupts and drops his face to look back down at your joined hands. “Three years, three months, and four days ago.”

“You’re not serious.” You’re struck with disbelief but you know he wouldn’t lie to you, he never has in the past. But he has been hiding things from you.

“I have probably not ever been more serious, honey.” The name feels like what it is, sticky and overly sweet. You can taste it on your tongue and feel it creep down your throat and coat the inside of your stomach. It covers the wings of the nervous butterflies that have been fluttering there, calming them. He lifts his gaze back to yours, whispers, “Say something.”

“I- just… Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well… I mean, we’d known you for less than a year at that point. But you were always around, hanging out with us. I loved knowing you, you were already one of my closest friends. I liked you better than Jake.” You both laugh, it’s always been easy.

“I didn’t want to ruin it. And believe me, when I made a joke about fucking a rockstar, even what, two and a half years later, it was still in my head that you’d run screaming from the house and never come back.” He’s smiling, remembering how you’d laughed when he said it but he’d watched you turn it over in your mind, consider the possibilities.

“I still can’t believe you went upstairs with me that night. I was fucking nervous, felt like my first time all over again.”

“It didn’t seem like it,” you chime in. “I was impressed. Why do you think I kept coming back for more?”

“Yeah I couldn't believe that shit either, trust me. Things stayed the same after that first time, and I was so fucking relieved. After the second time, I knew I wouldn’t be able to get enough of you. That’s why I called you and asked you to come over… the third time. And, well, here we are.” He gestures to the room with his hands.

“Here we are…” You’re not sure what to say, or where you go from here. You’d literally just accepted the idea of revealing that you’d been having sex with him.

“Y/N… I love you. I have loved you, for a long time. If you tell me now that this is done, then it’s done. If you tell me this is just sex, fine. I’ll do whatever you want. Just promise me you won’t leave us.” Now he does sound worried, but the thought of leaving them behind hadn’t even crossed your mind.

You think for a moment before your next words. “Ya know, when we were dancing earlier? I was watching them. Sam and Joy, Jake and Jita. And I thought to myself, that could be me right now. We could have that. I don’t even know where the thought came from, I hadn’t considered it before.”

His expression drops a little, sadness clouding his features at your admission that you hadn’t even thought of him that way.

“Don’t do that, please. Let me finish.”

“I always let you finish. Unless you force me not to.” He raises his eyebrows in reprimand, referring to the shower stall, but then he’s smiling again.

“When you’re right, you’re absolutely right. Josh, I hadn’t consciously considered it before… but I think I had wanted it. Deep down, with you. I love being with you, I always have.”

“But you’re not in love with me.”

“No, you can’t do that to me, that’s not fair. I can’t change the way things have happened, the way I felt.”

He doesn’t offer a reply, because you’re right. Maybe if he’d had the balls to tell you sooner, even before you started hooking up, this would be different. He’d been hoping that if everyone knew what you’d been doing, if he could show you how he cared for you in the open, you’d start to feel the same for him.

“But we’re here now. You’ve just told your best friend you’re in love with her, and she didn’t flee into the night. I’m here. How do you feel?”

His hands haven’t left yours this entire time, but he releases them now to bring his up to your face. Cupping either side of it, running his thumbs across your cheekbones, you’re both moving in slowly, matching smiles stretching across your lips. Before they meet, he tells you, “I feel really fucking good about this.”

Me too.

You laid in bed together, ending the conversation there for now and just kissing and giggling about nothing for a long while until Josh asked if you wanted to go out on the deck and “fuck under the stars again”. The rest of the group had long since gone quiet, you assume they’d gone to sleep, so you agreed.

He slept with you in your bed afterwards.

The sun beating through your window wakes you up in the morning, and the first thing you sense is Josh still wrapped around you, an arm around your waist and one leg tangled with yours. He’s already awake and he presses a kiss to the top of your shoulder as you turn your head to face him.

“Mm, morning handsome.”

“Good morning babe.” His voice isn’t laced with sleep, he’s been awake for some time.

“Not ‘honey’? I was starting to like it.”

“Oh yeah? I will definitely keep that in mind… Should we get up? Greet the day and all that?”

You groan, “Ugh, five more minutes.”

“Whatever you want, princess. We should tell them today… like, sooner rather than later…” He wants them to know that you’re, whatever you are. He wants what they have, the freedom to touch and kiss you whenever he wants.

“We will, I promise. I want it too.”

When your five more minutes have turned into ten, you drag yourselves from the bed and get ready to head downstairs. Together.

At the top of the stairs you can hear voices and smell food cooking, and you’re not sure why you’re nervous.

Josh grabs your hand and squeezes it. “They’re not gonna care Y/N, it’s fine. Plus, Jake already knows and who gives a fuck about what Sam thinks?” Your favorite thing about him is the way he never fails to make you laugh. He takes the steps ahead of you and doesn’t let go of your hand. When you turn the corner into the kitchen, all heads turn in your direction.

Except Jake’s.

He’s standing at the stove cooking scrambled eggs, and he’s been expecting this. Waiting for it actually.

Sam is the first to speak. “What the fuck is this?!” You’ve known him since he was barely sixteen, and he hasn’t changed all that much.

Josh turns his head to look at you, letting you know with his eyes that he’ll say it, if it makes it easier for you.

“And good morning to you too Samuel. Um, just to get this over with and clear the air, Y/N and I-“

“Josh and I have been fucking each other. For a while,” you blurt out. Everyone’s eyes go wide. Josh just laughs, he laughs until tears are rolling down his cheeks while you stand there embarrassed and mortified at your delivery. The rest of them join in and Jake just keeps cooking and plating eggs, his shoulders shaking as he chuckles to himself.

When Josh catches his breath and wipes his tears, he grabs you by both sides of your face and places a smacking kiss to your lips, shaking you out of your stupor.

“I was going to say that we’ve been sleeping together and have decided to make things official, sort of.” Jake turns around at that, looking over his shoulder with his eyebrows raised, huge smile on his face. “I’m also hopelessly in love with her and would like her to return those affections at some point, so I need the rest of you to behave and not scare her away.”

Plating the last of the eggs, Jake sets his spatula down and leaves the stove. He comes around the island to stand in front of you and Josh, then pulls you both into his arms. With his face between yours in this group hug, he says quietly enough for only the two of you to hear, “I’m happy for you, I love you guys.”

He pulls back and announces to the room, “But I will never behave. Fuck that. Who wants a Bloody Mary?”

Part 3

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ginabaker1666 · 5 days

Text

This Is Always

From the Love Letter Series

Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal x Josephine Harris (OFC)

The holidays are usually a time to be spent together, cold noses warmed by the fire, and joyful cheers as the New Year approaches. This year, Rosie is struggling with being away from Jo, and acknowledging the future that he dreams of sharing with her. A heart to heart with Crosby helps put things into perspective for both of them.

Read Part 3 Here Follow along with the Love Letters Playlist

January 1944

My Dearest Jo,

Happy New Year, honey pie! It’s just after midnight here, and though I wanted to be the first person to wish you a Happy New Year, I know that by the time you get this, it will be after the fact. I guess by writing this now, while it’s still ‘43 back home, I’m letting myself be greedy in being the first to send you those wishes. I hope you’re doing something fun tonight, and getting all dolled up to paint the town red. Your last letter came just after Christmas, but I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you just how happy it made me to hear that you were still doing all of your usual Christmas favorites, even if I’m not home to carry all your shopping bags back to Brooklyn after a full day in the city. Believe me, I even miss doing that, no matter how heavy some of them are.

I got Ma’s last letter just a few days before yours arrived, and she mentioned that you went by the house to celebrate Hanukkah with her and Jeanie. I know that made her really happy, and I can’t thank you enough for keeping an extra eye on both of them for me while I’m stuck over here. My sister would argue that she doesn’t need anyone keeping an eye on her, but I’m sure she appreciates your company, and will rub it in my face after the fact that she got to spend so much time with you. That’s what little sisters do, isn’t it?

We had a small thing in the Officers Club for the holidays; nothing too fancy, but there was music, and some good liquor that someone managed to scrounge up for the occasion. The Red Cross Clubmobile girls pulled some resources and, even with rationing, managed to bake a few cookies for us. They were good, but they couldn't hold a candle to yours.

I have never wanted one of your Christmas cookies more than after reading your letter, and to know that Jean Crosby took over as the official taste tester this year; oh it broke my heart darling. But, I’m glad to know that you two girls are keeping each other company, and I know that Croz is happy knowing that she’s not alone. I do hope you two aren’t causing too much trouble while we’re away. Knowing you the way that I do, I know that’s a bit of a pipe dream, but one of the reasons I adore you the way that I do.

At the risk of sounding melancholy, I’ve spent most of today wishing I could take you dancing; spin you around until we’re both dizzy, until finally we can ring in the new year with champagne. Crowded on the dance floor at Minton’s, wrapped up in each other. Maybe it’s bold of me to ask, or maybe it’s the whiskey, but would you have allowed me a midnight kiss, Jo? I can’t picture kissing anyone else as the clock strikes twelve, nor do I want to, on this holiday or any other day. I hope that by next year, we'll be able to spend the evening together, and not have to send holiday wishes in letters that take too long to get there.

I dream of you every night, sweetheart, and every night these sweet dreams end with a kiss before I’m pulled back to reality. I’ve been dreaming of the future, and if the real thing is anything like my dreams, I can’t wait for those days to begin. I wonder,do you dream of those days too? Of building a home together, a life that’s just ours. Living in the city, maybe somewhere near Harry and Jean. We could go to the pictures on Friday nights, and sleep in on Saturday’s, warm under the blankets until we peel ourselves from the sheets only because we need to make coffee. I’d spin you around the kitchen while we made breakfast, a record on the Victrola, the two of us tangled together while the eggs burned. The more I think about it, the more it all sounds like a dream come true.

Maybe it is the whiskey talking, but it’s getting late here. Or early depending on how you look at it, and even though we aren’t flying tomorrow, I’m sure the rest of the fellas will be returning from the Officers Club soon enough. I’ll be dreaming of you tonight, sweetheart, and counting the days until we’re together again.

Sending you millions of hugs and kisses, and all of my love.

Yours for always

Robbie

Rosie took a deep breath, and without giving himself a chance to second guess anything in his letter, folded it up and slid it inside the envelope. He’d address it in the morning and drop it off at APO so that it went out with the next mail call; tonight it would remain on the nightstand next to his bed, with Jo’s photo. He was still in his uniform, not having bothered changing after he returned to the Officer’s hut, and was about to take advantage of the empty shower stall, when the door swung open and Harry walked in.

“Thought I’d find you in here.” Harry spoke, hand coming up to loosen his tie.

“Yea, I uh, wanted to get a letter out to Jo,” Rosie signed, dragging his hand down his face. ‘Or at the very least, written.”

“It’s rough around the holidays isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question. Harry knew as well as he did, and he knew his friend was giving him an opening to get his feelings off his chest.

“Probably the most difficult part of all this. We’ve spent every Christmas and Hanukkah together since we met.”

“She celebrates Hanukkah with you and your mom?”

“Jo is the best gift giver in our family, according to my sister.” Rosie grinned.

“Sounds like your sister will be the disappointed one if you don’t put a ring on Jo’s finger when we get home.” Harry chuckled, dropping down onto his own bed, across from Rosie’s.

“She’d have to fight my Ma for the top spot, if I don’t marry Jo.”

The two shared a quiet moment as their thoughts drifted to a place far from England. Far from flak and casualties and torn fuselages. No thoughts of missing friends, mission counts or that damned red light never blinking off.

Rosie knew that Harry understood better than anyone; how it felt to be so devoted to someone, and yet, he felt compelled to ask the one question that, if he had to wager, everyone asks at some point.

“How’d you know Jean was the one?” He asked after a moment, gaze turned upward to meet that of his friend.

“She wanted nothing to do with me when we met,” Harry balked so loudly that it seemed to echo off the walls of the Nissen Hut. “But I knew. I didn’t want to spend another day without her.”

“Just like that, huh?”

“Oh yeah, you just know,” Harry nodded. “When did you know Jo was the one? And don’t tell me you didn’t…”

“Let’s just say I should have opened my mouth a long time ago.”

“Well, better late than never.”

“What if I was too late, Croz?”

Harry stood from his bed, moving around the front to lean himself against the footboard. With a determined gaze, he made sure he had Rosie’s full attention before saying what was on his mind.

“You can’t think like that. You need to believe you’re going home to her, that you two will have a life after all this.”

“God, I hope so.”

“I don’t know Jo as well as you do,” He started. “I only know what Jean tells me in her letters, but it sounds to me like she’s really something. And I’m not just saying that because she went out of her way to befriend my wife.”

“I told her I want a life with her, a future, our own place, Saturday mornings in bed, lazy days…”

“You want the dream.” Harry nodded in understanding.

“Told her maybe we’d move to the city, leave Brooklyn, get a place near you and Jean.”

“Sounds like we’ll be in trouble if that happens, Jo and Jean a stone's throw away from each other?”

“I think the two of us are going to have our hands full when we get home, Croz.”

“I bet they’re saying the same thing about us,” Harry laughed. “And I wouldn’t blame Jean. I’ve been a real handful as of late.”

“Oh yea, you’re causing lots of trouble all the way over here.” Rosie chuckled, propping his legs up on the bed, feet hanging off the edge so as to not dirty the sheets. He didn’t miss the slight look of distress that flashed across his friend's face.

He regarded him carefully; he looked like he had something on the tip of his tongue. His face looked worried, like he had something weighing him down exponentially, and Rosie would allow his friend the moment if he needed it. After all, it was the holiday’s and they were the best source of camaraderie that they had; friends should be there for each other. No one understood that better than he did.

“No, I’ve been a handful…” Harry finally continued.

“Croz?”

“Remember after Munster? When Harding sent me to Oxford?”

“Yea…”

“They double you up when you’re at those conferences, and my roommate, she-”

“Ah jeez, Croz…”

Harry sighed, dropping his head, too ashamed to look his friend in the eye. The moment had turned in the blink of an eye, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it, or get his friend through it. But he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

“I don’t know how to tell Jean.”

“Is this why you kept disappearing up to London? To see her?”

“How do I tell my wife that I slept with another woman?”

“You just do, Croz.”

“That’s the worst possible thing to write in a letter. ‘Honey, I miss you terribly, by the way…’”

“Alright, I see your point. But you need to tell her.”

“This fucking war,” Harry sighed. “I swear, it peels the humanity right from your bones.”

“Then you fight it.”

“More than we already have? More than what we’ve given and lost?”

Rosie knew he was referring to Bubbles, and for a moment he let his mind wander to Nash, and that first mission to Bremen. It would be easy to fold; to pack it up and let the fight take from you more and more. But he would be damned if he’d let it take more from him, and if he had to fight a little extra to make sure it didn’t take any more from his friend, he’d do that too.

“You’re not fighting it alone, Croz.”

“Feels like it most of the time.”

“And you’re fighting for something back home, even if you feel like you don’t deserve it at the moment.”

“I don't deserve her.”

“Yea, you do. And you’ll tell her everything, whether you write it, or tell her when we get home. And Jo and I will be there for you both.”

Harry looked like he was about to respond when the door to the Officers Hut swung open. He turned, half expecting a replacement officer, but was surprised to see Blakely and Douglass, the former with a cigarette tucked behind his ear, and Douglass swinging a bottle of something in his left hand.

“Nightcap, fellas?” Douglass lifted the bottle, and Rosie could just make out the label. Vat 69.

“Where the hell did you get that, Dougie?” Harry’s eyes went wide at the familiar label from back home. A very expensive label.

“Been saving it, so come on, let’s have a drink.”

“No, seriously, who’d you steal that from?” Rosie asked, watching as Blakely gathered four of the glasses the boys kept on their side tables for brushing their teeth.

“I won it in a bet, if you must know.” Douglass grinned, pulling the wax seal from the neck of the bottle before pulling the cork out.

“The details are not of importance,” Blakely chimed in, swatting Rosie’s legs off the bed to take up the space next to him. “What is important is that we’re here, and alive, so stop asking questions and have a drink would ya?”

Douglass poured for the four of them, dropping himself down on the bed next to Rosie’s, while waiting for Harry to join them.

“Any day now, Croz…” he groaned, glass between two fingers as he held it out for the navigator. “It’ll be ‘45 by the time you move.”

“Dougie… fuck off.” Harry stood with a laugh, brushing off his slacks before snatching the glass and taking the seat next to him. “And anyway, we’d all better be home by ‘45.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Blakely nodded, holding his glass up to cheers his friends, the only ones left that weren’t replacement crews, or trapped somewhere in the Stalag.

The foursome sat silently as they sipped their prize whiskey, thoughts turned presumably to home and memories of Christmas and New Years’ spent with people they loved and missed.

“Alright, what would you be doing if you were home right now?” Ev broke the silence, leaning his elbows on his knees, gaze landing on Harry.

“His wife, dumbass.” Douglass chuckled.

“Woah hey, none of that.” Rosie looked between the two, the rules immediately being put into place without having to say them.

They didn’t talk like that, but he assumed it had been a bit too much whiskey already for Douglass, and with there no mission on the horizon for tomorrow, their guards were all down a bit.

“Right, right, sorry Croz,” Douglass held his hands up in apology. “For real, what would you and Jean be doing if you were home?”

“We’d go out for dinner, but I think we’d probably be home for the bells,” he closed his eyes wistfully, and Rosie knew his friend was simply hoping that he’d be able to do that next year. “Dance in the living room, and yea, off to bed.”

Blakely nodded, reaching across to drop his hand to Crosby’s knee in a gesture of good faith, that he felt for him in a way, and was hoping he’d get that moment sooner rather than later.

“What about you?” Ev turned to his right, finding Rosie sitting quietly.

“What about me?” Rosie brought the glass to his lips, taking a small sip and letting the taste linger on his tongue a moment.

“Would you and Josephine be out on the town?” Douglass asked, gesturing to the photo on Rosie’s side table.

“Oh yea, we’d be at Minton’s, dancing until they kicked us out I’m sure.” Rosie laughed.

“Together at the club then?”

“Every year we go dancing on New Years,” Rosie started. “Christmas and Hanukkah are for family, New Years is for friends.”

“She’s more than a friend.” Harry looked at him pointedly.

“She is, and a fella can dream that she’ll say yes when I get home.”

Blakely, who had been pulling the cigarette from behind his ear to light it, fumbled, dropping it to the ground at Rosie’s confession.

“You got a ring?!”

“No, but, that’s my second order of business once I’m back stateside.”

“And the first?”

“To kiss the hell out of her.” Rosie confessed.

“Good man.” Blakely slapped him on the shoulder, a smile on his face.

It was absolutely the whiskey talking this time, but he was among friends. The trust was insurmountable. Between the confessions that had taken place before Ev and Dougie had joined them, and the warmth flowing through his veins, Rosie lifted the glass to his lips to drain it, before standing from his place on the bed. Swiping the envelope from earlier, and a clean sheet of paper from the table, he glanced at his friends with a grin, and offered a two fingered salute.

“Gentlemen, I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going! We still have more whiskey!” Douglass hollered after him.

“Save it for another occasion!” Rosie called back as he pushed through the doors and out into the chilly January air.

He walked until he found a spot under one of the lamp posts, the bench undoubtedly cold as he sat down, but he wouldn’t be out here for long. Just enough time, and privacy, to get the thoughts swarming around in his head out on the page before he lost his nerve.

Pulling his pen from his breast pocket, he carefully let the paper rest on his thigh before he began scrawling his extra note.

Hi Sweetheart,

I know this is coming with no context but, I want you to know how much I adore you. I know I’ve said it in different ways, and a few times by now, but, I mean it. Truly, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m sorry it took me so long to say it. And to say it from thousands of miles away, with a war on no less. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to hit me once I’m back home.

Just know that I’ll always, always, carry your heart with the most careful of hands. I’ll keep you safe, and treasure every moment we have together. Anything you want, it’s yours, Jo. A quiet life together, or a herd of children that jump on the bed on Sunday mornings. I’ll make sure you have it honey.

Just know, I’m yours for however long you’ll have me, Josephine. I’m hoping for forever, but that’s a question for another day.

I love you,

Robbie

A/N: Thanks for reading! This series will continue for Rosie & Jo, so if you enjoyed this, please like, comment, reblog- whichever is your poison. Feedback is always welcome & my ask box is always open. If you want to be added to my tag list, or removed, let me know!

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#masters of the air #love letters: rosie & jo #mota fanfic #rosie rosenthal x ofc #rosie rosenthal fic #robert rosenthal x ofc #rosie rosenthal x oc #nate mann #hbo war #gina baker writes

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goldencherriess · 10 months

Text

Soulmates.

Masterlist || Main masterlist

Pairing: Young! Remus Lupin x McKinnon! Fem! Reader

Word count: 3.5k

Summary: Y/N McKinnon and Remus Lupin are the definition of soulmates. Best friends since forever, they know each other to the smallest detail. But a Wizarding War threatens to tear them apart.

Warnings: canon-compliant, major character death (oops!), angst, fluff, best friends to lovers, love confessions, soft eyes, lots of hand holding, Jily

"What's a soulmate?"

"It's, uh, well it's like a best friend but more."

Y/N McKinnon was a soft soul. Remus knew this much, from the twinkle in her eyes to the shy smile on her lips. He knew that she was quieter than her sister, Marlene, but was never afraid to voice her beliefs. He knew that she liked to read classics, burrowing them from him. She always returned them as though they hadn't even been read feverishly. And he also knew that she was a lover of jasmine tea and of stars.

And she was also his best friend.

“Do they end up together?” she asked one morning as she sat beside him in The Great Hall.

Remus frowned. “Who?” he replied, putting down the still steaming cup of tea on which he was sipping. The sweet aroma of jasmine still lingered on his tongue. Her tastes were rubbing off on him.

Y/N huffed, rolling her eyes as she did so and thrusting a book in front of his eyes. Curved, intricate letters spelled Little women. “Jo and Laurie.”

A crooked smile blossomed on his lips. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“No,” she said, as she turned to put some toast on her plate along with a few eggs.

Comfortable silence settled between them as Remus resumed enjoying his tea.

“I think they should,” she eventually voiced, after biting down on a toast.

“What?”

“Jo and Laurie. I think they should end up together. They’re best friends.”

Remus’ throat tightened and it seemed as though the world stopped moving. Best friends. He told himself that he shouldn’t read too much into it, they were just discussing a piece of literature, but then Sirius’ voice popped up in his head (“You’re really thick, Moony. She fancies you!”) and he was suddenly hyper aware of his thigh touching hers, and of his elbow touching hers and he slid away a few millimeters just to breathe. “Right,” he croaked out.

Maybe Sirius was right after all.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“It’s the one person in the world who knows you better than anyone else.”

Y/N could tell from the wrinkles in his eyebrows and the dark circles under his eyes that Remus didn’t sleep the night before. It was often that she found him in this state, staring blankly at the flames dancing in the fireplace of the Gryffindor Common Room. She never questioned him, she figured that if he ever felt the need to support his weight he’d come to her, letting his tears fall onto her shoulders.

She was patient, sitting beside him on the couch and watching his chest rise and fall with every breath he took. She counted them, listening in to his breathing and to the crackling of the fire.

At the tenth one, he spoke up, his voice resembling that of a broken glass. “I’m sorry.”

Y/N let her eyes roam across his side of the face. There were a few new scars slashing across the freckles. “What for?” she replied quietly.

Remus’ shoulders slacked. He opened his mouth to reply but no word came out.

“You don’t have to say anything. I know you’re going through something.” She let her cold hand fall against his warm one. He was always the one with the warmest hands. “Take all the time you need, Rem. I’m not going anywhere. Whenever you need me, I’ll be here. Always here.”

Remus thought at that moment that he was lucky to have her. He wanted to tell her that, but words failed him. So, he settled on giving her a kiss on her forehead. A waft of roses tickled his nostrils and he immediately recognized her shampoo. Sweet and soft. Just like her.

She smiled, squeezing his hand. “I brought you something.”

Remus chuckled, turning his hand to wrap his fingers around hers. He was pretty sure his heart would burst out of his chest anytime now. “Really?”

She hummed, getting something out from her pocket. A silver wrapper rustled in her free hand, glimmering against the orange of the flames. A saccharine smell rose and enveloped them both. Chocolate. “I know how much you love chocolate and I saw how down you looked this whole day, so I just bought some from Honeydukes.”

Remus felt his blood rushing to the top of his head, his hands got all clammy and he feared that Y/N would figure him out. He lifted his eyes to meet hers. She bore a soft smile on her lips. “Wanna share?” he asked.

“I’d love to.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“It's someone who makes you a better person. Actually, they don't make you a better person, you do that yourself - because they inspire you.”

More than once, Y/N found that being with Remus made it all so much easier. Being with him erased the tumultuous barriers of the approaching Wizarding War. The Daily Prophet brought dark news every morning. She usually skimmed through those, before giving the newspaper to Remus, knowing he’d read it thoroughly. She’d then turn to exchange some girly gossip with Lily, Marlene and Dorcas (“Potter asked me out again,” Lily would say for the fourth time that week). Afterwards, Y/N would turn to throw a smile towards Remus, just so he could know she was still there with him.

This time though, she gripped the newspaper until her knuckles turned white. More than three muggle attacks occurred in the past few days and she was growing anxious. Remus got ahold of the newspaper, lowering it before lightly touching her hand. “Hey, you alright?”

“Do you ever wonder if we’ll turn out like him?”

Remus dropped his gaze to the headline of the Daily Prophet: “He Who Must Not Be Named strikes again, dark forces on the rise.”

“No. Do you?”

“Sometimes,” she sighed, slowly letting the newspaper fall into Remus’ hand.

His eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

The newspaper was now on the table in front of them, the headline screaming at her, black letters taking up most of the page, a moving picture with houses on fire staring at her. “I’m just afraid that one day I won't be able to recognize myself. That I will look into the mirror and see a stranger, that things beyond my power will change me.”

Remus’ voice reached her ears in the form of a soft whisper. “I’m sure that’ll never be the case, Y/N.”

She turned to look at him, eyes glossy. “How can you be so sure?”

He smiled, meeting her gaze. “Because I know you. You’re one of the kindest people I know. If you are ever to get lost, I’m sure you would find your way. And if you don’t, I’ll be there to guide you.”

Her smile mirrored his, cold hands meeting warm ones.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“A soulmate is someone who you can carry with you forever.”

Years passed and soon enough, Y/N received the wedding invitation of James and Lily. The redhead delivered it to her in person, insisting she had to tell her something. Marlene was off to the Ministry with some work that day, while their parents were taking the tea in the back garden. She was just putting another kettle on, intending to make jasmine tea for herself, when Lily apparated at her doorstep. A knock was heard at the door, and Y/N was pulled from her wandering thoughts. She took wide strides, passing the moving pictures on the walls of her and her sister from when they were little, and opened the door. A kind smile and a mop of red hair greeted her.

“Lily! Hi! Come in, I was just making tea!” she said as she hurriedly hugged her.

“Thank you,” replied Lily entering the house and taking a seat on the couch.

“I’ll be right back! You sit here, alright?” said Y/N, just as she took off towards the kitchen. She pulled out two cups from the cupboard, intricate flowers gleaming on the porcelain. The kettle whistled and she took it off the stove, pouring the tea in each cup. The sweet aroma of jasmine enveloped her in warm embraces. “Would you like sugar or milk for your tea?” she yelled, hoping that Lilly heard her.

“Just sugar for me, please! Two cubes!”

“Coming right up!” She put two cubes in Lily’s cup and three in hers, before she turned to leave the kitchen, hands holding steaming cups.

“How’s Marls?” Lily asked as she saw her entering the living room.

“Oh, she’s alright. Busy with work. How’s James?” Y/N smiled as she took a seat across from her, in an old armchair.

At that, Lily blushed and gave her the envelope she was hiding in the pockets of her dress. Y/N threw her a confused look, before opening it, sparkling paper soft against her hands.

James Potter and Lily Evans cordially invite you to their wedding

Y/N gasped, before looking up at Lily, meeting her emerald gaze. “Oh, Lily! This is amazing! Congratulations!” Her gaze slipped towards Lily’s left hand, wondering how she didn’t notice the ring sparkling there. The stone had the same colour of her eyes. Emerald.

“I want you to be my maid of honour, Y/N,” Lily replied with eagerness, taking ahold of Y/N’s hands. “Please, will you be my maid of honour?”

“Of course I will!”

And this is how Y/N found herself giving the Maid of Honour speech in front of one hundred people (most of the guests were from James’ side, family and relatives. Lily only invited her sister, who unfortunately didn’t show up). She was growing hot under the attentive gazes of everyone, her dress starting to itch. Her eyes slipped across the crowd, until they met with honeyed ones. Remus. Her best friend. He gave her a reassuring smile. She cleared her throat. “I’m not going to say much. There isn’t really much to be said, when everyone can see how hopelessly in love they are with each other. I’m only going to say that I had the honour to see how their love blossomed, it took James six years to finally get a date with her, and another three to marry her but he did prove to be successful.” The crowd roared in laughter. Y/N’s eyes didn’t stray away from Remus. “Here’s to forever!”

The guests whooped and clinked their champagne glasses together, while Y/N got off the stage, knees buckling. Remus met her halfway, touching her arm. He was bearing a wide smile, his eyes twinkling under the low light. “That must have been the shortest Maid of Honour speech I have ever heard.”

She rolled her eyes. “How many did you actually hear?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

“None. Yours was the first.”

She smirked before a slow song started to play, couples shuffling to the dance floor, champagne long forgotten. James was bowing to Lily, asking for a dance and she laughed before getting ahold of his elbow and dragging him to the dance floor. Y/N smiled at the sight before turning to look at Remus.

He looked so achingly beautiful. His sandy hair was ruffled from the many times he ran his hands through it, honey eyes shining under the fairy lights, white shirt unbuttoned at the top and tie loosened. He was softly smiling at her and she felt herself melting. “Would you like to dance?”

She blinked before nodding. “Yeah,” she whispered, but she was pretty sure he heard her nonetheless. His warm hands touched her cold ones, guiding her towards the dance floor while walking backwards, not once taking his gaze off of her. They stopped at the edge of the dance floor, one of his hands slipping to hold her waist, the other still gently touching hers. He started leading them in a slow dance, humming under his breath.

It must have been the champagne getting to her head, because she found herself boldly asking the question that’s been plaguing her mind for years now. “Do they end up together?”

Remus twirled her before holding her closer. “Who?”

“The best friends.”

“You mean Jo and Laurie?” he asked, remembering their conversation from a few years ago.

“No, I mean us.”

Remus’ breath was caught in his throat. His hand tightened around her waist. “Do you want us to?”

She sighed, before meeting his gaze. “I thought I made this obvious, Rem.”

He blinked in an attempt to clear his mind. “When?”

“During our school years. Everyone caught on, except you.”

He suddenly felt out of focus. The lights were blinding him and he felt his feet dancing on nothing. The only thing grounding him was Y/N. “How long?” he found himself speaking up, his voice foreign to him.

Y/N remained silent for a second in his arms. “I think it must’ve been the third year.”

Remus almost choked. “Oh, love, we could have saved so much time,” he replied, before leaning down to capture her lips with his. She was softer than he ever imagined, her signature roses shampoo reached him in waves, getting him drunk and lightheaded. There was a hint of jasmine lingering on her lips and he almost melted when she wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him closer. He pulled away to catch his breath, before leaning his forehead against hers. He was still drunk on jasmine and roses. “Forever?”

She smiled against him, pecking his lips. “Forever.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“It's the one person who knew you and accepted you and believed in you before anyone else did, or when no one else would.”

Dawn was just breaking through when Remus Lupin stumbled through Y/N McKinnon’s front door, blood seeping through his shirt. She was awake, thoughts and worries of The Wizarding War weighing her down. She was just putting a kettle of jasmine tea on the stove when she heard Remus’ harsh breathing and screaming of pain. She stumbled out of the kitchen, knees melting at the sight of him so disheveled. “Merlin, what happened?!” she said as she rushed to him, supporting his weight on her shoulders and guiding him to the couch. She gently lowered him on the soft pillows.

He breathed in through his nose, wincing when his back made contact with the pillows.

“Stay right here, I’ll bring some water and a towel to clean those wounds for you, alright?”

He nodded in response but she was long gone. He let his eyes wander through the living room, gaze catching sight of several moving childhood pictures of Y/N and Marlene. There was one in which little Y/N was biting down on little Marlene’s golden hair. The sloshing of water and the rapid steps of Y/N brought his attention back to her. She knelt beside the couch, unbuttoning his crimson shirt and wetting the towel into the bucket of water. Her hands were shaking. She was trying to hide it, but Remus still saw. “This is gonna sting,” she mumbled, a tremor in her voice.

The wet and cold towel touched his slashing wounds on his chest and Remus felt as though a thousand needles pierced his skin. He hissed through his teeth. “I know, I know, I’m sorry,” said Y/N worriedly. “How did this even happen?”

He shyly met her gaze. “It was a full moon last night.”

Remus expected her to react differently, to widen her eyes and back away from him, to kick him out of her house, to break up with him. Instead, her eyes saddened considerably, casting down to the wounds. “Oh.”

He was surprised he found the courage to speak up. “Do you– do you think less of me now?”

She raised her head in a whiplash, eyes wide. “Why would I? You’re still my Rem, are you not?”

Remus’ lips parted and he stared at her, taking in her wild hair and noticing her tired eyes. Somehow, she still looked beautiful. “I love you,” he blurted out. “I love you, Y/N.”

She released a breath, leaning down towards him. Her lips met his in a short lived kiss. “I love you,” she replied just above a whisper. “I always will.”

The smell of jasmine traveled all the way from the kitchen to the living room, embracing them both in a sweet blanket of aroma.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“ And no matter what happens, you will always love them. Nothing can ever change that.”

The Order of the Phoenix was meeting for the third time that month. Remus bore a skipping in his steps, despite the weight on his shoulders. He would see Y/N again after a whole two weeks of not seeing each other. He left for a mission, while she remained in London, a promise held between them. He apparated at the Order’s Headquarters, before knocking on the door.

“Password?” Alastor Moody's voice came through.

“Lemon sorbet.” Albus Dumbledore was in charge of the passwords.

The door was opened for him and he greeted Moody with a smile. The man just acknowledged him with a nod of his head. “Come on in. The rest are inside.”

Remus advanced through the dark, dingy house before entering the rather poorly furnished living room. His smile weakened at the heavy atmosphere in the room. Everyone looked sullen at best. His gaze searched for Y/N but he didn’t find her.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asked, a worry starting to seep into his voice.

“You haven’t heard?” a glossy eyed Lily asked him.

“Hear what? And where’s Marlene? I don’t see her either.”

“The McKinnons are gone, Moony,” James spoke up, coming near him.

Remus awkwardly laughed. “Gone where? They stayed in London, didn’t they?”

“They’re dead, mate,” a tired Sirius said. “Voldemort got to them.”

Remus felt as though someone stole the earth from under his feet. The room was darkening around him, spinning in circles. His chest tightened and his vision stung and clouded. “No, that can’t be. Just two weeks ago, they were here. I talked to Y/N, she promised we’d get a house somewhere in the countryside and I promised her I’d buy her a proper ring and we’d–” his voice left him. “And Marlene too?”

No one answered him. It was understood.

He fell into a dusty armchair and cried. He let the darkness cloud his mind.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

1995

Harry Potter was following his godfather in an abandoned waiting room at the station. “Sirius, what are you doing here?! If somebody sees you–”

Sirius turned to look at Harry. “I had to see you, didn’t I?”

“I don’t want to see you get shut in Azkaban,” Harry replied, taking a seat beside him on an old, tattered bench.

Sirius waved him off. “Oh, don’t worry about me.” He reached into the pocket of his old coat, which reeked of naphthalene. “Anyway, I wanted you to have this.” He handed him a yellowed photo. Familiar faces smiled up to him. Harry took it in his hands and studied it, recognizing his parents. “The original Order of the Phoenix,” Sirius went on explaining. He pointed to a blonde in the corner of the photo. “Marlene McKinnon. She was killed two weeks after this was taken. Voldemort wiped out her entire family. That’s her sister right there, Y/N.” Harry’s eyes took notice of a petite woman, holding onto Remus’ hand and smiling up to him, before turning towards the camera. Remus leaned down to plant a kiss on her forehead before posing for the camera.

“Did Remus know her?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

He heard Sirius sigh beside him. “Oh, yes. They were the best of friends. Soulmates. It broke him the day she died.”

Harry’s gaze slipped towards a couple in which he saw too much of his housemate and herbology enthusiast friend. “Neville’s parents,” he acknowledged.

“They suffered a fate worse than death, if you ask me,” replied Sirius. He then smiled sadly, looking at the photograph image of Lily and James Potter. “It’s been fourteen years and still a day doesn’t go by when I don’t miss your dad.”

Harry regarded the photo a few more moments, a pang in his heart at the sight of his parents happily together and still alive. “Do you really think there’s going to be a war, Sirius?”

His godfather pondered the question, before replying slowly. “It feels like it did before.”

The raven haired boy went to give him back the photo, but Sirius beat him to it. “You keep it! Anyway, I suppose you’re the young ones, now.”

Harry smiled, looking down once more at the forgotten faces of the original members of the Order of the Phoenix, his eyes again catching the sight of a red faced Y/N and a smiling Remus, before putting the photograph in his pockets. The Hogwarts Express was announcing its departure.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A/N: Hello! Thank you so much for reading! Just for reference, the soulmate quote isn't mine, it's from a TV show called Dawson's Creek, which I found interesting and sweet so I kinda built this fic around it.

The last scene of this fic used for inspiration is from the fifth Harry Potter movie, even though Alastor Moody is the one who shows Harry the photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix, not Sirius, but it was more accessible to me this way because I haven't reread the books in a long time.

Let me know your thoughts! Every kind of feedback is highly appreciated!

Also, if you'd like to be added to my tag list, just comment under this post or send me an ask! Lots of love xx

Tag list: @bohemianrhapsody86 @andreead

#Spotify #young remus lupin x reader #young remus x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #the marauders #the marauders x reader #angst #fluff #soulmates au #fanfic writing #my writing #masterlist #laura writes

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stusbunker · 19 days

Text

Spotless: Pizzicato

Chapter Nineteen

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela, Dean/Cas (unrequited)

Other characters: Miriam Talbot (OFC Bela's mother)

Word Count: 2567

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, putting out other people's fires, and old baggage, unbeta'd

A/N: Castiel and Trouble's friendship is something I didn't realize she had been missing until he was in front of her. There are a couple of big truth bombs in this chapter and I hope I handled them respectfully. This is an AU and it is not indicative of this author's feelings on canon or any other fandom shipping practices.

Series Masterlist

Posting on Dean’s instagram account was par for the course as the band’s publicist. You bothered to know what a hashtag was, for one. For another it also allowed you to check traffic on posts and actively moderate things to help the comment section look best for Dean’s image. Afterall, Dean trusted you, you weren’t going to leak anything or make him look like an idiot.

You were a goddamn professional and this wasn’t the hardest thing you’d done in the last year, but Jesus fuck were you pissed.

Dean hated tattoos. Really, he hated needles. He was black out drunk when he and Sam got their matching flaming pentagrams. He actually had a panic attack the next morning after realizing he let someone “sew ink” into his skin. By sheer force of will and through the bond of shared grief, you got him to go with you for Jo’s memorial tattoo on the tenth anniversary of her death. It was in your all-time top five ultimate Dean-Y/N memories.

And now it meant jack shit.

You edited and cropped the photos, sent two back to Bela to post on her account and then posted the lion’s share onto Dean’s, making him look like the diligent boyfriend while Bela was busy in the chair. You thanked Billie for taking care of “his girl” and made sure the shop was the location and tagged. You wanted to punch something, it looked so good. Then you sat back and let the interwebs do its job.

Okay, in actuality, you emailed about twenty different people, had a conference call with the tour management marketing team, scheduled radio station drop ins and followed up with Meg on the expected release of Dean’s photoshoot and interview. These days it may just end up online, but you hoped she was able to score him real physical print space.

It was just as you were winding down for the night, when your phone rang. It was past any reasonable business hours and you were already done with your skin care routine, but then you saw the caller id.

“Miriam! Hi!” You tried to sound pleasantly surprised.

“Don’t Miriam me, young lady. What is going on out there? Is it drugs? I thought we missed this stage when she quit acting for college. You’d tell me if this hoodlum was pressuring her into risky behavior wouldn’t you?”

Which was a lot to unpack right off the bat like that, luckily you had experience dealing with Bela’s mother.

“It’s just a tattoo. She’s not on drugs, I promise.”

“And what about this Dean? I knew they were seeing each other, but this seemed a bit more intimate— not exactly in the public eye.”

Oh, she was good.

“He’s not on drugs either. And—- he actually isn’t thrilled with tattoos. This might be all Bela, if I’m being honest.”

“Have you seen the things they’re saying? The things they’re calling her, Y/N?”

You rolled your eyes and heaved yourself out of bed, you needed your laptop if you were going to continue this conversation rationally.

“Let me look into it— what site were you on?”

“Oh, I’m not sure. Olivette, one of the boardmember’s wives, told me she read about it online during dinner.”

You inhaled deeply and started your usual rotation of sites, you’d have to add some new tags to follow Bela’s buzz more closely going forward.

“And you’re sure this wasn’t just bad blood from Olivia? I’m not finding much besides general surprise.”

“It’s Olivette. And yes, I’m certain. She wouldn’t make me worry without a reason.”

And then you realized what you were missing, it wasn’t just People or TMZ you had to worry about. You went to Hello!’s twitter and you found what had Miriam Talbot’s friend in a huff.

You started scanning the comments, gathering the most common complaints and judging their amount of influence via cursory glances. You did not know a lot of the news personalities or celebrity bloggers in the UK. You were going to have to meet with Bela and figure out a better approach going forward.

“Okay, Miriam, it’s almost eleven here. I know you probably called me as soon as you woke up, but consider me on the case. Alright? Bela’s fine and this is just a minor hiccup.”

“If you’re sure, Y/N, dear.”

You sighed. “Of course. I would warn you if there was anything to worry about. But please just let this run its course. You know how the tabloids are.”

“Unfortunately I do, that’s why I called. Please keep me updated if anything else comes up?”

“Will do. You have a good ni-day!”

“Goodnight dear— and thank you.”

You smiled at your lap. “Anytime.”

You let her hang up. Then you promptly pulled up your contacts list and warned Bela that her mother was sniffing about online and to call her at a decent hour. And finally, you spent the next four hours (or so) online until you had swam to the bottom of the cesspool and decided it wasn’t worth your time. At least not right then, not so exhausted.

Three days passed since the snobby UK gossip rags’ judgment rained down and, as expected, it had already just about fizzled out. You sat in a cafe with a quad shot flat white, waiting for your lunch date to arrive. Not truly a date, though it wasn’t a meeting either.

It was a diplomatic mission.

Then you spotted him and your stomach swooped, feeling the loss of his presence in your life all over again.

“Hey, Cas.” You stood and held your arms open for a hug, which he accepted with a timid smile.

“It’s good to see you, Trouble,” his gravelly voice murmured in your ear. He still smelled the same.

You pulled back and looked him in the eye, searching for anything but the sincere blue reality in front of you. He held no grudges, not with you, without even discussing it you knew he was still your friend.

You then punched him squarely in the shoulder. “That’s for ghosting us all for the last nine months, assbutt!”

He grunted, and rolled his eyes. “I can accept that.”

“Good. Because I missed you. We all miss you.”

He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows in challenge.

“So— heard you have a kid, huh. That’s —- weird.”

Castiel exhaled and shook his head. “Who told you?”

“What? Nobody. I have eyes. And spend enough time online to draw some conclusions.”

“Kelly told you.”

“She didn’t have to. She’s amazing by the way— are you a thing now, now that you know he exists?”

Castiel looked affronted. “Me and Kelly? Oh, no. That was a teenage mistake. We were young. And we’ve both matured into vastly different people. But I respect her and I think— I hope I’ve earned her trust.”

“Tell me about him—- he’s what? Twenty-twenty one?”

“He’s twenty three and very talented. Kind, impossibly optimistic even.”

“Yikes, tough combo out here.”

“Tell me about it.”

You shared a look and he smiled at you like he knew what you were thinking about. Like you were reliving the same joke.

You blinked away the sting in your eyes.

“Go get your dark roast and get back over here, we’ve got things to discuss.”

His eyes softened, but Cas didn’t argue with you.

You sipped your drink and tried not to let all of the questions that had been building for months run away from you. He was back both too quickly and too slowly. You cleared your throat, the awkwardness you had been fighting back rushed to the surface.

“So— I presume there is more to you calling to get lunch. Not just asking about Jack and goading me about my latest tattoo?” Cas wasn’t one for small talk.

You nodded and swallowed around another perfect mouthful of milk and espresso.

Castiel’s face went through a journey when you didn’t quickly reply. “He doesn’t want to see me—- he made that quite clear.”

“And what about since everything?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know Dean’s called you. He might not have been big enough to actually apologize in a voicemail, but I know he wants to fix things— he misses you as his friend, too.”

“Then he should be able to suck up his pride and make the effort,” Cas snipped, the first sign of the lingering anger from his and Dean’s fight.

“I haven’t exactly seen much of your effort. Do you not want to fix things?--- And I’m not talking about coming back to the band— that ship has sailed. I’m talking about twenty years of friendships you just walked out on.”

Cas stared at his coffee, his eyebrow ring arched with his bitchy expression. He hated being corrected, you knew that. But this had gone on long enough.

“I’ve spoken with everyone but Dean,” Cas explained. “It’s not perfect, but it’s progress.”

“You never spoke to me,” you spat.

Cas’ eyes softened again. “I always knew where your loyalties lie, you took your time, too.”

“Wait— even SAM?!”

“Sam and I haven’t lost contact this whole time.”

You sucked in air. “Oh, he is so dead.”

“Y/N. It wasn’t like we were plotting or anything. He was worried about me, I was worried about Dean.”

“Yeah, but if Dean knew—”

“Ask Sam, but I don’t think he could hide anything from Dean if he wanted to.”

You knew he was right. Ever since Sam got sober, transparency had been something Sam put into his closest relationships anyway. Beside Dean being ruthless and stubborn, well, you supposed Cas was right.

“Why do I feel like this band just doesn’t want me to be able to do my job?”

“Your position as group therapist is fairly tenuous. Especially with Pamela involved.”

“I meant my real job. If I had known you were on decent terms with, well, everyone but Dean, it would have made things a lot easier, young man.” You couldn’t help but smile now. Sure you were hurt, but the eggshells you had been stepping over for so long really only took up a single corner of the floor.

It was freeing.

“I never meant to cause you any distress.”

“That doesn’t make it go away, Cas.”

He bowed his head, but popped back up to meet your gaze. “I know. I apologize. I didn’t want you to think that I was done— with any of you.”

You pinched your eyes closed quickly and then reached over the table to squeeze his forearm. “Okay. So— you’ll come to Dean’s birthday party, then?”

Cas patted your hand with his left and sat back, breaking the contact and sat with the invitation for a heavy moment.

“What makes you think he’d want me there?”

You glared at him, all tattooed and handsome and absolutely clueless about how much his absence has affected Dean. Sure, Dean got to keep the band, but it wasn’t the same without Cas. Cas has had to start over entirely, become a dad and rebuild his career all without any of the support Dean has had around him through his own troubles.

“Look— I know you’re Mister Independent and I don’t want to set back any of the progress you’ve made without him needing you around. But he still looks for you whenever we all go out. And hanging out with Kevin, made it abundantly clear to him that you were available— you just weren’t interested.”

“Why do you always make it sound like we were an item?”

You rolled your eyes. “Look, we all know Dean has attachment issues. I’m not saying anything was kinky between you guys— that’s not my business. But, as friends, you guys deserve to at least get some answers— closure or forgiveness can come later, if you get there.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Really? You’re not just saying that to get me off your case?”

“Yes, really.”

You smirked and Cas’ smiled with his eyes, fidgeting his lip ring with his tongue.

Cas cleared his throat and took a sip of his coffee before changing gears. “So, your friend Bela and, uh, Dean?”

You groaned and hid your eyes in your hand. When you looked up he was laughing at you.

“What?!”

“Stop— we both know what it’s all about.”

“Kevin seems to think Dean’s whipped.” Mischief continued to dance in Cas’ eyes.

“Well, it’s about time.”

“I told him, the only one who has had Dean whipped in over a decade is you.”

You choked on your spit, sputtering at Cas’ bluntness.

“They don’t know it’s for show do they?”

You inhaled deeply. “Sam knows. Dean and Bela have their own private agreement about it all. But, uh, yeah, you pretty much guessed right.”

Cas watched you thoughtfully, futzing with his lip ring with his top teeth now.

“How are you holding up?”

“Me? I’m fine, why?”

Cas nudged your ankle under the table with his combat boot.

“As someone who was definitely in love with him for most of my life— I know the symptoms.”

You sighed and shivered at being seen and having your long held suspicions confirmed. You rubbed your upper arm, trying to fight the goosebumps. “I’m fine. Nothing has changed. He’s just been working on himself and that is— distracting.”

Cas hummed, head cocking to the side as if looking at you with a different angle would give him more insight.

“I mean it. He’s in therapy and everything. Sam and him are working out. He’s been insanely focused on the latest album—”

“He’s doing penance.”

“Maybe. But he wants to be better. It’s not just guilt. I don’t know how to explain it. But, you’ll see what I mean.”

Cas eyebrow popped up again.

“You will,” you insisted.

“You always were able to read me weren’t you?”

You chuckled at the back of your mouth, short and knowing. “Guess it comes with being stuck with each other for so long.”

“Shared trauma response,” Cas teased.

“Or that.”

You finished the last of your drink and looked around the cafe.

“So, where we going to eat? I think we’ve had enough heavy— sushi?”

“You buying?”

“Phantom Traveler is covering this as a business lunch.”

Cas stood and pushed in his chair. “Okay, well then, bring on the seafood.”

You stood and let Cas walk you outside, his hand on the small of your back until he could offer you his elbow on the sidewalk. You smiled up at him and pulled him tight to your side.

“I’m glad you’re back, Cas.”

“Well, we’ll see if everyone agrees with you, won’t we?”

The afternoon passed quickly, catching up and sharing memories that were now tinted with the grief of the last lost year. Things made more sense the longer you thought about how the band had been acting, especially way back at the Animal Shelter where Cas’ niece had been more than willing to put in her two cents. You texted Sam while you waited for your meals, warning him where you were and what you knew.

‘Have fun.’

His only response. Asshole.

But everything kept from you, kept from Dean, wouldn’t last forever. It couldn’t. Now you at least could control the narrative a bit more by being in on it all. Or most of it at least.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

Chapter Twenty: Arpeggio

#spotless series #rockstar au #slow burn #dean winchester fanfiction #dean angst #dean/reader #dean/bela #friends to lovers #it's no longer a love triangle or maybe it was bela who made it a square

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