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catmiemy · 2 months

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Not All Change Is Bad (Lia Wälti x Reader)

Summary: Now that you know Lia has feelings for you, you have to figure out where to go from there.

The next morning you woke up exhausted, only having managed to fall asleep for a few minutes at a time. You were weirdly relieved when you checked your phone and it was finally an acceptable time to get up.

A/N: Thanks to the long weekend I actually finished this second part already. You can find the first part here.

This got a bit longer than I thought and I didn't even include most of the fluff at the end that I already planned out. So potentially there could be a third part focused more on happiness with a bit of angst. Let me know if you'd liked to read that. :)

Nadine was still sleeping soundly, so you didn’t have to deal with her seeing the mess you were. You headed straight to the bathroom, annoyed with yourself when you saw how horrible you looked in the mirror. There were dark bags underneath your red eyes, spots all over your cheeks from rubbing away all the tears and your hair resembled a bird’s nest from all the tossing and turning you had done.

You quickly went to work to make yourself more presentable. The last thing you wanted was for Lia to feel guilty when she saw you. You would be damned if you made this any harder for her than it had to be, and if the only thing you could do was pretend you were okay you would do that.

In your noble quest you completely forgot to take into consideration that to Lia’s eyes it would seem like this whole situation hadn’t affected you at all. She almost burst into tears when she saw how put together you looked, the only thing saving her from it, was Ana pointing out all the signs that you were actually not fine that were right underneath the surface of your carefully crafted façade.

The whole camp felt like torture to you and more than once you wished it was finally over. But every time you did you remembered that at Arsenal you would still see Lia, who could barely look into your direction anymore and darted away whenever you were anywhere close to her, almost every day. And back home Jessica was waiting for you.

Your girlfriend and you still hadn’t talked or even texted, which wasn’t too uncommon on Jessica’s part after an argument. Her go to reaction was to completely ignore you, while you usually did everything to get your girlfriend to forgive you, sending long, heartfelt texts, buying her small gifts, apologizing over and over again. You had never questioned if this was okay or healthy, and you didn’t really question it now, you just didn’t have the energy to do it, so you didn’t.

Every once in a while you remembered how you had completely ignored her call after you had asked to talk that night and were hit by a pang of guilt. You should reach out to your girlfriend. And you also should talk to Lia, make things easier for her. You should be fine with all of this, you should communicate more and better, you shouldn’t let this distract you from football, you shouldn’t feel like hiding away for the rest of your life.

As the days passed you became increasingly frustrated with yourself and your inability to do any of the things you should do. The only thing you managed to do halfway decently was keep up appearances well enough. Sure, many of your teammates checked in with you, but they accepted your forced smile and your fake cheerfulness as you assured them that you were totally fine.

Ana was a different story. She tried to push a bit harder, but every time she did, you sent her right back to Lia. “Please just make sure she’s alright, yeah? I’m totally fine, don’t worry about me.”

This did nothing to stop your friend from worrying, nonetheless she always listened to your request, well aware that the only person you really felt comfortable opening up to was Lia. Therefore Ana could only hope that as time passed the two of you managed to find your way back to each other again, maybe even as more than best friends. She still held out hope that you actually returned Lia’s feelings and just needed a little longer to figure that out.

As much as you had often wished camp was over when it actually was and you were boarding the plane to take you back to London, you desperately wanted to stay. Going back home meant you could no longer ignore the whole situation with Jessica and how horrible you’d been acting. It took every ounce of your willpower to force your feet to take you into the plane.

Another thing you dreaded was spending the flight next to Lia, although a small part of you also clung to some hope that the forced proximity would do you good, give you a chance to talk. However as you found your seat all that hope was ripped from you, in the seat that should have been Lia’s sat Noelle, smiling at you sympathetically.

All you could do to avoid breaking down right then and there was to sink down in your seat and blast music into your ears. Thankfully Noelle got the hint and left you alone.

Throughout the flight you did your best to keep your mind occupied with doing at least three things simultaneously. Nevertheless, the closer you got to landing the more your anxiety spiked. Poor Noelle was probably getting annoyed by your constant leg bouncing and fidgeting. Not that the gentle woman would ever say anything.

At the airport when you were slowly heading to the exit to catch a cab back to your apartment you were suddenly stopped by Lia’s voice, “Y/N, wait!”

With a racing heart you stopped in your tracks, turning to face your best friend. Although were you even allowed to call her that anymore?

Lia approached you with a worried face, picking at her cuticles, a clear indication to you that she was nervous. This hurt; you never wanted to get to a place where she was nervous to talk to you.

“I know things are weird between us right now and I really want to move past it, I just don’t know how yet. But…I still wanted to check in. Are you okay to go home? I know you left things with Jessica in a weird place and you looked almost scared on the plane and no matter where we stand I’m still always here for you,” Lia rushed out.

Your heart cracked and all the tears you had held back on this day so far gathered in your eyes, blurring your vision. How very Lia of her to still worry about you and ignore her own emotions and insecurities to make sure you were okay when you were the reason she was so miserable.

You shook your head and blinked harshly to chase away the tears, then you plastered a what you hoped to be reassuring smile on your face.

“That’s very sweet of you, but please don’t worry about me, I’m totally fine, and after all these years I know how to deal with Jessica.”

Pain flashed in Lia’s eyes and you kicked yourself for bringing up how long you had been with your girlfriend. Way to hurt her more!

She smiled back at you and you could only hope that your smile had been more convincing than hers. “Okay, but never forget that I’m still always here for you.”

And with a goodbye Lia walked away from you, leaving you with an aching heart. Now that you had spoken with her again, it was even more painful to go back to this weird place of not talking. You wanted to run after her, share a ride like you normally did, and maybe hide out at her apartment for the rest of your life so you never had to deal with Jessica.

In front of the door to the apartment Jessica and you shared you took a moment to hype yourself up. You could do this, you had done this about a million times. Maybe it had never been this bad, but you would just have to grovel a little more.

You entered the apartment, calling out to your girlfriend. Just as you expected you didn’t get a response. Maybe she wasn’t home! Even if that would only postpone the argument for a little while, you still wanted it to be true.

Sadly you were out of luck. You quickly found Jessica sitting on the couch, staring at her phone and completely ignoring your presence.

“Hi,” you greeted her awkwardly, your girlfriend still not showing any signs of having noticed you. “Look I’m sorry I didn’t pick up the phone and haven’t reached out since. This camp has been absolutely crazy.”

It was a weak explanation, and definitely not enough to get Jessica to acknowledge you again. To even have any hope of getting there you would need to apologize and beg. However when you were searching for the right words, you realized that you didn’t want to do it this time. You were tired of these same old patterns that always left you feeling like you weren’t good enough.

You weren’t someone that got mad often, but now you could feel all the suppressed feelings inside of you rapidly turning into anger.

“Can you just cut this crap out and talk to me like an equal human being?” You snapped at Jessica.

At least you succeeded in getting a reaction. She dropped her phone, turning to you, the surprise on her face quickly morphing into anger just as intense as your own.

“Excuse me?! Who has been ignoring me for the last ten days after not picking up the phone when it was you who suggested we talk that night? I think I have every right to be angry,” Jessica yelled back at you.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t be angry, but acting as if I’m air is just plain childish! I said I was sorry and I also said that things have been crazy, but apparently you don’t care about that.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “Okay then, what crazy thing happened that stopped you from contacting me at all? Did the monster under the bed steal your phone? Or did aliens project a force field around your camp, stopping all electronic devices from working?”

Her mocking only made you angrier, so without thinking about it if it was wise to reveal this to Jessica, you told her about learning of Lia’s feelings for you.

After that all hell broke loose, everything the two of you had kept inside for way too long spilling out in hurtful words, ending in a scream match that had neither of you even hearing what the other was saying anymore.

In the end it was you who said the fateful words, “I think it’s high time that we break up! Well it was probably high time years ago and we were just too stuck to notice.

“No, I don’t accept that! You don’t break up with me, I’m breaking up with you,” Jessica retorted.

By now most of the anger had drained from your body, you just shrugged your shoulders. “Whatever, I’m leaving.”

Once you were out of the apartment you just started walking; the entire palette of negative emotions fighting for the lead inside of you. Before too long you found yourself standing in front of Lia’s little house. Just the sight of the familiar building that had been your refuge so often in the past was enough to break down the emotional barriers you had carefully constructed over the last couple of weeks, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks.

Lia had said you could still come over if something happened. So despite feeling more than a little unsure about it, you walked up to the front door and knocked. You needed her right now and if she would send you away you didn’t know if you could deal with it.

Of course there was no reason to worry, Lia didn’t miss a bit, ushering you into her apartment and holding you tightly while you cried your eyes out. You weren’t coherent enough to explain what had happened, but from the bits and pieces you managed to get out, she got the gist of it.

Somewhere in the back of your mind was some immense guilt for making Lia take care of you after everything, however it was drowned out by how safe you felt in your best friend’s arms. You wanted to stay there for the rest of your life, blocking out the rest of the world.

After your crying session you were hit by a wave of extreme tiredness, your eyes fluttering shut every so often. Lia gently massaged the back of your scalp, knowing you were prone to tenseness there, and it was making you even sleepier.

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” She offered.

You should refuse, you should pull yourself together and leave Lia be, maybe call Leah to come over and check up on her after you had once again dumped your emotions all over her. You should be a better person and do that, instead you mumbled, “Yeah, I’d like that very much.”

The two of you got ready for bed. Lia insisted on it, you would have happily stayed on the couch in your regular clothes without brushing your teeth if it meant you didn’t have to move. There wasn’t any need for using a spare toothbrush or borrowing some clothes from Lia, you had left this kind of stuff here ages ago. It was just easier this way with all the impromptu sleepovers you had.

The two of you lay down on your respective sides of the bed, facing each other like you usually did to exchange some whispered words before falling asleep. You were already half asleep, not alert enough to stop yourself from mumbling, “I really really missed you, Schätzi. So stupid of me not to realize I also have feelings for you.”

You drifted off to sleep immediately afterwards, completely missing the way Lia went rigid as she heard your words, an onslaught of different emotions hitting her. The hardest one to deal with was the renewed hope she had mostly buried long ago. For years she had dreamt of you telling her that you felt the same way, she had played out hundreds of different scenarios of how it might happen. And Lia thought it would make her the happiest person on the planet.

However now that you had said the words, she was just scared. Scared that you didn’t really mean it, scared that you were merely confused by the emotional rollercoaster you were going through, scared that you were only clinging to her because Lia was familiar and comforting.

When you woke up the next morning the bed next to you was empty. For one blissful nanosecond you thought this was just a normal sleepover until all the memories hit you with full force. Shame and guilt began eating at you for putting Lia in this position, not only had you shown up here and made her comfort you after your breakup, you had also blurted out that you too have feelings for her at the most inappropriate time possible.

Not that it wasn’t true. The realization had been simmering underneath the surface for a while, not something that you were ready to acknowledge yet, but now that you had, there was no doubt left in your mind. So that wasn’t the problem, the problem was that it absolutely been the wrong moment to say it.

With a rapidly beating heart you finally got out of bed, determined to find Lia and apologize. You found her in the kitchen, staring into her cup of coffee. She looked dead tired, almost slumping onto the table. This only made you feel even guiltier. No doubt had your careless words cost your best friend some sleep.

Despite everything Lia still offered you a weak smile and got up to get you a cup of coffee. You tried to protest, but she simply waved away your words. Lia never trusted you to make your own coffee; she knew you had a tendency to make it too strong which then in turn made you a little hyper.

“I’m sorry,” you said at the same time as your best friend stated, “There are some things I need to say.”

You nodded, gesturing at Lia to continue talking; she deserved to go first and get everything she wanted off her chest.

The brunette took a deep breath and when she began talking it sounded rehearsed, making you wonder how early she had gotten up to prepare and practice this whole speech. “I thought about all this for a long time and as much as I want to be the one to support you through this breakup, I don’t think I can.”

“What you said yesterday before falling asleep…It was everything I’ve wanted to hear for the longest time, but I think it’s important that you take your time to figure things out and make sure that you actually mean it.”

You opened your mouth to assure Lia that you did, how could you not? But one pleading look from her was enough to shut you up. She wasn’t ready to hear it; nothing you could say would make Lia fully believe it.

“So let’s just take some time, yeah? This way you can work through your breakup and everything else,” the brunette concluded.

Once again you nodded, even if it wasn’t what you wanted at all. You totally understood Lia’s request for some time apart and you would give her as much as she needed. After all she had apparently been waiting for you for years, so this was the least you could do.

“I don’t want to kick you out, but I really believe this is what’s best for us in the long run. But I can help you call one of our teammates so you can stay with them if you don’t want to go home?” Lia offered.

She was clearly conflicted about this course of action, still worrying about you. Therefore you quickly shook your head, reassuring the midfielder that you were fine and already had a plan. “Please don’t worry about me,” you told Lia more than once.

However the fact that you got up after saying this and walked towards the front door still in your pajamas definitely didn’t help your case.

“You know you can get dressed and even take a shower first,” Lia said, trying to keep her voice light and joking, when in reality your confusion scared her. Would you really be okay?

After taking a swift shower you felt a little more like yourself and managed to convince Lia that you wouldn’t walk right into a disaster if she let you out of her sight.

Saying goodbye was awkward, both of you looking at each other, unsure what to do. You longed to hug your best friend, but you didn’t think that would be welcome right now, so you merely waved at Lia lamely and told her you would see her at training.

During your shower you had come up with a plan; you waited until you were sure Jessica would have left for work, then you went to the apartment and packed a bg. All of your teammates would have happily let you stay with them, but you didn’t feel comfortable going to any of them, so instead you headed to a nearby hotel.

The moment you closed the door of your hotel room behind you, you sank to the floor, breaking down completely. You had thought you had cried yourself all out last night, but apparently there was an inexhaustible fountain of fresh tears somewhere inside of you.

That’s how you spent the rest your day, crying in various places. At some point you moved from the door to the bed, staying there until you had to go to the bathroom, crying on the floor leaning against the bathtub for a good while.

It was a small mercy that you feel asleep pretty early, exhausted from all the crying and from beating yourself up mentally. You were so angry at yourself for how you had treated both Lia and Jessica, you should have been better!

The next morning you felt like you had a hangover, your head pounding. However at least you were in control of your waterworks again, so you were hopeful you wouldn’t start crying during training. After another shower and a quick breakfast you felt a little better, confident in your ability to pretend to be a normal human being for as long as you needed.

And that’s what you did, not only that day but also the following ones. You acted throughout the day like you were fine, when someone asked you how you were, you stated time and time again that you were fine, no matter how much anyone could see that you weren’t.

The biggest challenge to your composure were the sad looks Lia kept sending your way when she thought you didn’t notice. It hurt you on a visceral level that you were the reason she was so miserable. In reality that wasn’t why Lia continued to look at you like this, it wasn’t because you had made her unhappy, but because she hated to see you take so little care of yourself and quietly falling apart in front of her eyes.

Every day as soon as you could you would go home, declining every invite to hangout from your teammates, because as soon as you stumbled into your hotel room, the tears returned, and all you could do for the rest of the day, was lay in bed, cry and berate yourself.

How had you been so stupid and not noticed Lia’s feeling for you? Why were you so weak and pathetic and ran right to her side after your breakup when you knew this would only make it more difficult for her? Furthermore you also felt horrible for how you had left things with Jessica. Sure, your relationship hadn’t been good for a while, but she deserved more from you!

About a week later you were once again laying in your hotel bed, staring at the ceiling, hating on yourself when your phone rang. You planned to ignore it, like you had been doing for the most part lately, but it kept on ringing again and again. With a deep sigh you picked up without looking at the caller ID.

“Hello,” you croaked, your voice hoarse from crying.

“Y/N where the hell are you?!” Ana almost shouted.

Confused you started at the phone. “What?”

“Where are you?” Ana repeated a little slower, “I know you aren’t at home because the lovely Jessica told me as much and after doing some inquires I also know you aren’t with any of your teammates, so where are you?”

All of this could only mean one thing, Ana was in London and you really weren’t prepared to give up your plan of wallowing in misery to face her.

“I’m at a hotel. Happy? Now go and see Lia, I think she could use a friend,“ you replied, praying that this was enough to satisfy Ana.

You should have known that it wasn’t and you also should have known that your friend would figure out the only way to get you to tell her your location.

“You better tell me right now where you are or I’m calling Lia and tell her that you’re hiding out all alone in a hotel,” Ana threatened.

“Ugh fine,” you huffed angrily, letting her know what hotel you were staying at and your room number. Then you hung up the phone without as much as saying goodbye. If Ana was going to be like this, you sure as hell weren’t going to be polite.

You used the time you had until Ana’s arrival to make yourself look a little more presentable. It only worked semi-decently and the traces of your most recent breakdown were still very much visible on your face when you heard the dreaded knock.

“Oh Spatz,” Ana sighed when she laid eyes on you, guiding you carefully over to the bed and basically pulling you into her lap.

To your great annoyance the tears took this as an invitation to start falling again right away, and it took a good while for them to stop.

“Y/N what are you doing?” Ana asked you gently once you had calmed down.

You shrugged your shoulders. “I’m doing my best to give Lia the time she needs,” you explained.

Ana tilted her head to the side, studying you intently. “Time for what exactly?”

“To get over my stupid behavior, to figure out if she still wants to be with someone as horrible as me, to heal all the parts of her heart that I’ve hurt. Take your pick,” you replied, the anger for yourself making your voice harsh, almost hateful.

“Oh Spatz,” Ana said once again, reaching over to tuck a strand of her behind your ear. “You’re being way too hard on yourself, just because you didn’t handle everything perfectly and made some mistakes along the way doesn’t mean that you’re a bad person”

“And I can tell you that that’s not what Lia is thinking at all. She didn’t propose this time apart because she needs to figure things out. She knows exactly what she wants, she has known for years. You on the other hand just got out of very long term relationship. Lia wants you to take enough time to deal with that and process your feelings before you jump into something new. She’s waiting for you to be ready and at this rate you’re never going to be. You can’t just ignore everything, Y/N!”

It took a lot more reassuring on Ana’s part until you could even begin to believe her. Thankfully your friend was very patient and kept telling you the same things over and over again until a small seed of hope was planted inside of you.

She didn’t leave it at that though, Ana also helped you make a list of things you could do over the next few weeks to help you process everything. Journaling was on the top of the list, as ws eating regular meals and not spending too much time in bed. Furthermore you vowed to contact Jessica and figure out how to proceed with your shared apartment, and on Ana’s insistence you promised to talk to your teammates more and spend time with them instead of holing up by yourself all the time.

You actually followed this list meticulously, and made sure to give Ana regular updates. Especially once you got the sneaking suspicion that she in turn informed Lia how you were doing because the midfielder looked more and more relaxed every day. The first time she smiled at you again your heart skipped a beat and you felt like a lovesick teenager. Then slowly Lia stopped keeping her distance, you still didn’t talk just the two of you but being part of the same group conversation became a regular occurrence.

After about three weeks you gathered all your courage and decided to ask Lia if she wanted to have coffee. It was a weird feeling that something that used to be the most mundane thing ever made you want to jump out of your skin. Doubts were flying around your mind as you walked towards Lia. The big smile that appeared on her face as she saw you definitely helped to make you feel a little calmer.

“Do you want to get coffee?“ You blurted out, mentally face palming at your lack of eloquence.

Lia chuckled, finding exactly this awkwardness endearing. „Yeah, I’d love to,“ she replied to your relief.

After training you met up at a coffee shop you had gone to a million times in the past, but this time felt entirely different, you might as well have been on another planet.

Once the two of you had found some seats and ordered your beverages, Lia looked at you expectantly. You had this all planned out, but now your mind was completely blank and you couldn’t think of a single thing you wanted to say.

Dejected you buried your face in your hands. “Man I’m so bad at this. Sorry, Lia!” You moaned.

Lia gently tugged your finger away from your face, holding on a little longer than necessary. “This isn’t a test, Y/N, just start with why you asked me out for coffee and then we’ll go from there. I don’t expect a perfectly rehearsed speech.”

You did expect that from yourself though because you knew Lia would have been able to deliver one. Sadly you were once again a disappointment to yourself, so there was nothing else to do than follow Lia’s advice.

“I guess the main reason is that I missed you. So much that it’s sometimes difficult to breath and if there’s one thing I know for sure by now it’s that I can’t imagine a future that you’re not part of. I can’t believe how stupid I was not to realize that ages ago.”

At this Lia huffed unhappily, she didn’t like the way you put yourself down at all. Despite this she didn’t interject, she didn’t want to stop your flow of words, knowing how hard it would be for you to get back into the mindset of sharing so freely, even with her.

“So often I was happy to get out of the apartment Jessica and I shared to spend time with you. When something good happened or well I guess also something bad you were always the first person I wanted to share it with. Nothing makes me happier than to see you happy and when you smile at me my entire world lights up. I can’t believe that I didn’t realize that you’ve been more than my best friend for the longest time.”

“And I know three weeks probably doesn’t seem like enough time to get over such a long relationship, but the truth is I’ve been finished with that relationship for a long time, and I think so has Jessica. We just stayed together out of habit. And don’t get me wrong, there’s still some things I need to do, like have a long and honest conversation with her, but I really want you back in my life. I completely understand though if you’re not ready. That’s totally valid of course…”

You would have continued to ramble if Lia hadn’t stopped you by gently pressing a finger to your lips, her eyes shining with love and warmth.

“I think we’re ready for that too. Not start a relationship right away, I need more time before that and I think you do too, but just things like this. Spend time together, hang out, slowly figure out together how our new normal is going to look like. Does that sound okay?”

“That sounds absolutely perfect,” you responded.

Not too long ago you had lain in a hotel bed in Switzerland scared because things between you and Lia would never be the same again, now you were filled to the brim with happiness and hope because things would never be the same again. Just the thought of how your relationship with Lia was going to look like made you feel excited. It was everything you’d never dared to dream of.

#woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #lia wälti imagine #lia wälti x reader #lia walti imagine #lia walti x reader

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wroteclassicaly · 2 years

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She’s Trouble

(Eddie Munson x Female Reader)

Summary: Tired of trailing behind, feeling like you don’t matter much, you decide that 86’ isn’t only going to be your bestfriend’s year.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Word count: 16,185

Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of drug usage, blood, NSFW, smut, drinking, Eddie is angry and sad in this, masturbation, slight voyeurism, breeding kink, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, angry sex, creampie, angst, fighting, rough sex, Dom!Eddie, and MORE!

A/N: I started writing this based off the scene of Eddie smirking at the cheerleaders he lets by after his cafeteria speech. And, well… it’s spawned itself a new life and turned into a whole lot more than I planned. But so is the life of an author, am I right? ;) Eddie is a dick in this, Reader is a lot more vocal than I’ve written before. I wanted to do something a bit different and I hope this accomplishes my mission?

I wanna thank @littledemondani for helping me out of my brain fart on which direction to take this! Also, do check out her masterlist, which is pinned at the top of her blog (it won’t let me link it here). She’s an incredible author and a fellow Eddie Munson slut, and one of my longtime best-friends! ♥️

Side note: I’ve also shifted a few things in the timeline of the show, for obvious reasons. The whole Eddie/Chrissy thing doesn’t happen on the same night as in the series. Chrissy and the reader have a good interaction and Eddie is a dickhead, but his reasoning will be explained. Also, while the reader is wearing a bustier top, this is an all inclusive fic, where the reader can be anything you imagine! I believe anyone can wear anything that they choose to—regardless of their size, so don’t let that bit of the story deter your perception, as I’ve left it open-ended! ;)

Enjoy! I’ve got a lot coming up soon! Part twos of multiple fics, prompts, plus other goodies! <3 - Kristen

~*~

You watch the way that he tries to be cute and coy towards them, attempts to impress with a dramatic wave through of his hand. Short skirts, tight little tops, bouncing ponytails, and a shitload of generic gossip on their painted lips—they pass by, everything included but those damned pom poms. Apparently they are giddy at his little show of calling out every group but your own in the cafeteria. Your eyes roll so hard that you feel a protesting sting, ignoring it to stab your fork into whatever creation is wiggling on your lunch tray. All the guys—freshman to seniors, and you—the only girl since founding, and Hellfire Club’s treasurer/manager to Corroded Coffin—make up the outsider table.

This year, however, you’ve felt so fucking off base with this group and their antics that you’re getting exhausted pretending to care about their shit when they don’t respect you or yours. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike are always the sweetest to you, even with Lucas joining a sport, he’s still quick to always give you a smile and a nod whenever you pass him in the halls. They’re young, unlike Eddie and the older guys. You’re finally a senior this year, but still behind your bestfriend by a year in age. All this used to be okay, Eddie multiplying how much he repeats the grade, you trailing behind him like a lost puppy without any brain of her own, but now—it’s unbearably smothering.

And thus, it’s been building. You’re over bringing chips that are from your personal stash and using your gas to go buy smokes with your small work paycheck, or clean equipment for Eddie’s band, or stay up all night just to design campaign posters for Eddie, only for him to be so fucking stoned that he doesn’t even appreciate it, nor remember it.

“Fucking fake losers,” Jeff mutters.

“So fake,” Gareth agrees, both looking towards Eddie as he settles himself back down, wiggling his brows at you.

It’s an unsettling pressure that boils inside you, crackling, and as soon as you look into your best-friend’s brown doe eyes—it all comes apart. “You wanna talk about fake?” Your chest pumps a rush of adrenaline, helping careen the words off your tongue before you can stop them. Everyone’s attention snaps quicker than you’re prepared for, eyes wide and shocked. Sure, you’re vocal and sassy, but never outwardly angry. “The fact that all of you will condemn the basketball players, but would give up any of your seats at our table for one of the bitches in a skirt that they chase, if they popped their gum or batted an eyelash. You’d all be a bunch of drooling, little horndogs.” You can feel your heart racing with each pronunciation of a word, rising from your seat, knuckles white from gripping the edges of your yellow tray so hard.

You hear Dustin whisper a ‘whoa’, but your vocal vomit doesn’t stop.

“Frankly? I’m fucking sick of all this.” You pick the tray up and slam it down for good measure, unwrapping your messenger bag from around your seat, and you leave the table of gaping young men behind you, not even indulging yourself in Eddie’s bugged out, concerned stare.

You don’t even have time to throw your bag across your chest, when Jason Carver shouts out from behind you, “Damn, look at Munson’s slut go!”

It seems your group aren’t the only ones taking an interest in your outburst. Your breath is engorged in jagged pants of pitiful air, a fire coursing through you faster than you can handle, your skin singing, prickling with goosebumps. Your cheeks redden in humiliation, your feet swiveling and carrying you, fast and quick to their table, you throw your bag off, body like some damned slow motion track. Everyone notices Eddie’s antics, but you’ve never garnered any attention. It’s a surreal high.

Your combat boots click across the cement flooring, your hair like a dead weight across your back. Carver and his entire group are expectant, chairs scraping across to get out of your way. It’s all such a blur that you don’t even know your fist has collided with Jason’s face until you feel the pressure bite into your knuckles, a crunch beneath your force. He shrieks, his friends jumping to his aid, your stance shifting, ready to take anyone on. Your ears are bubbling with a murky static, applause in some direction, shouts in others.

Your name is being shouted from two different directions, the one you see stomping angrily towards you belonging to principal Higgins. He’s calling for help, shoving his finger in your face, motioning to your shirt. “This Hellfire Club does nothing but cause trouble!”

You snort, completely coming off your hinges, shaking the ends of your shirt, before stepping back and flinging it over your head, leaving you clad in your jeans and a leather bustier top no one could ever picture you owning. You’ve always kept your shit to a minimum to draw less attention, but you liked the support it provided your breasts with. You spin around, hands in the air, using the shirt as a lasso, tossing it at your old table. You begin to giggle, honestly wondering if you should visit the school nurse, but uncaring. Higgins is literally sputtering, making you snort, waving a hand. “I’m a slut, I’m trouble. Anyone have anything else to add? No? Yes?”

You bend back over to snatch your nap sack up, motioning to Higgins. “Lead the way to your office, Sir! Please fucking do.”

The pep in your step as your principal is angrily leading you from the masses is such a euphoric feeling, you’re sure you’ll never feel again in your life. You can taste the drama on your tongue’s tip. You don’t even spare your friends a glance, not wanting Eddie to have a morsel of satisfaction. This is your moment. Not as Eddie Munson’s best-friend, not as his groupie. As Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N.

~*~

Eddie Munson has been clutching your discarded Hellfire shirt, doused in your perfume that is brimming his nostrils full, damn near trembling for the past twenty minutes that finish up lunch. He can’t move, that swelling between his legs keeping him glued to his seat, all the images of your fist soaring into Jason Carver’s face, ripping off your clothing in front of Higgins and the entire damned school. He went from concerned, angry at how you acted, to so fucking turned on that his stomach knotted up, sucking him to where he’s seated, his cock throbbing in his jeans. He’s never seen you like this.

The guys are silent, unsure what to say, how to even go about comprehending the you they just saw, that even Eddie himself has never heard of. He knows one thing for sure—okay—two. He has to find out if you’re okay and what’s going on.

~*~

You roll your eyes at the lovely note, signature of a three day suspension secured by Higgins at the bottom. Crumbling it up, you slide it into your back pocket, rifling through your pin tattered bag for a cigarette. You already know where you’re gonna go, and it sure as hell isn’t home. No one is there and no one is gonna care about your minor indecency. You can forge your mom’s signature, much like you do every good grade you bring home that she’s never around to see, or every comment from a teacher about how your folks are missing out.

It’s quiet at your house, your space. You parents more or less sleep there when they’re not gone on business. Pinching the filter, you cup Eddie’s stolen Zippo, that ashy hiss helping beckon that sweet bitter taste in past your lips. You don’t desire that home front solace right now, craving different scenery.

Maybe I’ll get lost…

You feel like Hawkins is your oyster, and you’re eager to explore on your own terms, by yourself. You’ve got your smokes, your pocket knife, and a pen and paper. That’s enough for you to make a decision.

Skull Rock it is.

~*~

One thing about Indiana is the ever predictable bite of hot weather that March brings. Spring is automatically Summer in the Midwest, and this is no different. Your leather top had stuck to your skin in an uncomfortable crunching press, making you eventually discard it, leaving you topless, your only accessories a chain with your birthstone pendant and a thicker silver chain, with a cheesy little guitar charm (a present from Eddie) nestled between your breasts. Your form is shaped against the rock behind your bare shoulder blades, a cool sensation that has you tilting your head back, stretching your neck, treetops breezing above you—tall and luscious. You smile softly, undoing the flap on your bag and seeking out your Walkman and sunglasses.

In moments your eyelids are fluttering closed, shielded from sun rays, your Walkman clicking in place, readying Heart’s Barracuda to nick your ears, coasting in welcomed caresses. It’s not thick heavy metal, but it’s you. And in the serenity of these woods, another cigarette you allow yourself—you begin to drift off in a galactic solitude that is solely your own. You’d learnt how to count beats, read sheet music, even sing a few notes from Eddie, so getting into your song’s groove isn’t hard for you, your fingers wrapping around your chain, tapping underneath the swell of your breast along with the chorus. You’re off the precipice and gone, demolished to the point you don’t hear the familiar footsteps, the sound of your name, or leaves and dirt crunching beneath white Reeboks, nor do you hear a throat-deep groan at his discovery.

~*~

Eddie and you always share this in synch kinda shit, which creeps a lot of people in your circle out. Eddie, however, welcomes it today. When he couldn’t find you after abandoning his lunch, spent what was left of the day attempting, only for Henderson to tell him he’d heard you’d been suspended for a few days—he made it his personal goal to find you. Your parents are gone so he knows the times you do and don’t like to be at home by yourself. And with the way you lashed out at everyone, you won’t go anywhere he has easy access to.

That leaves one place. Skull Rock.

~*~

The drive feels shorter to Eddie this time, but the walk longer. He has to shed himself of his denim and leather, tossing it over his shoulder and clambering up the path towards finding you, keeping your club tee in his back pocket. The more he walks, the more he wishes he brought a drink or his smokes, which remain on his dash. If he’s wrong and you’re not here, he isn’t sure if this is reality anymore. This day has been one big mindfuck.

Thankfully, as he hears a loud tone droning over the clearing, a soft hum, his heart patters in his chest, nostrils inhaling sharply. He rounds the corner’s pathway, already calling your name, his eyes widening, jaw unhinged, fists clenching at his sides. You’re reclining against the boulder’s curve, black shades perched over your eyes, hair draped across your neck, your boot clad ankle crossed over the other, a cigarette perched into your puckering pair of lips, your layered chains swaying, slumbering against your skin, and fuck—your tits, Eddie winces, gripping himself to adjust—frozen.

He can’t not notice how your nipples are reacting to the air. He can’t not detail your shape, how your waist is formed, zeroing in on the baby bat you’d gotten to match his larger ones, inked into your ribcage, and he certainly isn’t forgetting your jeans that are settled over your hips. His eyes glaze over, heat prodding his flesh, shrouding him a veil of desire and raw ache. You don’t notice him, calls of your name falling on mainstream rock’s ears. He doesn’t think approaching you is smart, like a cat and mouse, your behavior for once—unpredictable.

Has Eddie just not been paying attention to you that much lately?

Suddenly, when he’s debating a cowardly retreat, baiting his internal monologue for an excuse, your audible gasp is heard, his name crushed between your gritted teeth.

Fuck.

~*~

In all of his glory—stands your best-friend. He’s balling and un-balling his fists, eyes darting rapidly, tongue sucking against his teeth, feet ready to carry him far away. And the more he avoids your stare, the angrier you get. So what, you’re not good enough to look at because your breasts are out? Modesty to a back burner, you take your crossed arms off your chest, scraping your smoke out on the rock, pushing your glasses into a perch upon your head, body facing Eddie as you stand.

I dare you.

Your eyes complicate a challenge—craving him in your proximity, and hating his grunge blanketed sight. Eddie’s neck is a really pretty thing when he tenses, his jugular agitated against a harsh gulp of air. He answers you by meeting you in the clearing, palms sweaty, scrubbing over his back pockets. It’s a cool damned drink of water, as if you’ve been without, making thee Eddie Munson squirm. But he’s still your best-friend, and you are half naked.

Covering yourself back up so he will look you in the eye, you tuck your arms into a push beneath your sternum, forearms shielding your nipples. It’ll have to do.

“Eddie, what the fuck are you doing here?” You snap before he can voice a concern or a question.

Tethered to deep breathing techniques, Eddie is insulted, and is biting back in his acidic response. “After your own personal talent show antics at school, I was worried about you. Excuse-the-fuck-outta-me, Y/N.”

A bitter laugh comes from you. “Oh, you’re focused enough on my shit to actually be worried about me? How kind of you, Edward Munson.”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be worried about you?” Eddie is raising his voice, sizzling in a cautious rage. He’s usually happy-go-lucky with you, but you’re pushing these fucking buttons he isn’t aware he’s been hiding.

“You really need a list of reasons? Wait,” you say, moving to circle him, pinching your thumb between your teeth, “you’re probably, completely oblivious, because I’m just Y/N. I’m not your club, not your band, not one of your groupies that flounce around for an ounce from you, then leave your ass for their jock boyfriends.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Eddie raises a hand, rings clattering together. “When the fuck did all this start, Y/N?”

Your arms fall back at your sides with a loud ‘thump’. The heating has settled, your high wearing off, truth remaining as to why you’ve been upset in the first place. A caverning hurt carves its place into your chest, igniting an anguish that drowns you. You’re defeated. “It started when my best-friend forgot that I’m my own person and not his servant. Or maybe it began when my person was so stoned that he barely acknowledged a test I fucking flunked to stay up and make his campaign posters—which, may I add—he also gave zero fucks about-“

“So all this is because I didn’t kiss the very ground you walk on for some posters that you practically begged me to make, and wow—your A+ average went to an A. Curse me into the deepest depths of hell, please.” His bracelet slides down his wrist as he palms his heart.

Maybe you’re not the only one who is changing. Eddie hasn’t ever disregarded you in such a crude manner. Your tongue is practically salivating in need to layer on biting and cruel words, things you won’t be able to come back from. You remain silent, mulling over what to say, glaring, docked, stinging prickles of tears. It’s an elating elevation when the words do come. “I’m your best-friend, Eddie. Not your little groupie. I’m tired of you preaching about conformity, when all I do is conform to you. You don’t ever let me pick music, you always take for granted I’ll give you and the guys rides when your van isn’t working, despite if I might have something to do that doesn’t involve an all male ensemble. I spend my money to buy you cigarettes and snacks for the meetings. I manage gigs, I clean your band’s equipment.”

Eddie sniffs, looking pointedly at you, doe eyes dark and growing increasingly fed up. “Didn’t know you were keeping a tally, Y/N.”

“That’s… That’s all you’re taking from everything I just said to you, Eddie?” You can’t keep that hurt out of your tone this time.

Eddie shrugs, crossing his arms, coldly spitting out, “Seems to me like you’re sick of me. And that’s not my problem, that’s yours.”

Your head is swimming in turmoil, all your acting out and emotions swirling into a mindfuck. He doesn’t care. You’re standing here finally pouring your entire soul out in heaps and your person is pouring gasoline on the pieces, dangling a match.

“I’ve never kept a tally, Eddie. I do these things because they make you happy, and that makes me happy, but it fucking sucks when you don’t appreciate them or care about anything in my life, either.”

“That’s what you really think, Y/N?” There’s a flatline in how he’s speaking to you.

“No,” you murmur, “it’s what I know.”

Eddie’s jaw clenches, teeth grinding. He kicks at the ground with the toe of his shoe, brows raising. “Breaking Jason Carver’s nose and my cold, dead heart.” He splays a hand across his chest. Those rings, which are always a comfort to you, reflecting off the sunlight, dripping in judgement.

Your trembling wavers, crackling sentence structure falling apart. “Eddie. Don’t.”

“No. Fuck you, Y/N. Seriously, fuck you!” He shouts, snapping a finger in your direction.

Your hands rub up and down your goosebump soaked skin, finalizing what you need to do. Heaving in a deep breath, a sentence escapes your lips. And you pray, pray Eddie will heed this warning and value what you have enough to understand, to work it out. “Maybe it’s time to fess up to the fact that 86’ needs to be a bigger year for us both.”

Mind reader. A power you’ve never wanted more than in this moment as you claw at the cusp of your best-friend’s reaction. Outwardly, Eddie shifts, Adam’s apple bobbing, thumb swiping underneath his nose. Your mouth waters, throat reflexes threatening a fountain of vomit. And Eddie takes your warning, slaying through it, every bit of ground beneath your boots threatening to cave in.

“You’re right. Hell, Carver is right. You do act like my slut. And you have every right to change it, because it’s only holding us both back. And it probably has been for a long time.”

Kicking you would’ve hurt less. You’re unable to see Eddie’s form longer, muddled to a watery silhouette, your brave bravado dissipating. You won’t beg him. You’re nothing to him anymore, he’s just confirmed. You try not to think about the first time he taught you how to dance before your first snowball, or how you both snuck Jim Hopper’s cigarettes when you’d get in trouble at school and be sent to see him for minor misdemeanors, or Eddie’s pride when he managed to get you on stage to sing one song with the band, rubbing circles on your back the whole time you both sang to a trio of drunks, or splitting beers on his van’s roof and nearly breaking limbs when it started raining and you had to climb down, how he taught you to drive in the fancy neighborhood and you knocked over the mayor’s mailbox, when you watched him buy his ‘sweetheart’, tears in his eyes at a possession so gorgeous and all his own, his hands gentle as they held you the nights you cried from one stupid thing that felt massive to you, when he was your person and you were his.

Your wet, quivering breaths are what you hear. Birds chirping, wind rustling, even Eddie’s heavy breathing drowned out. It takes what feels like eternity, before Eddie is slashing the quiet, guarded and stoic. “You need to put a fucking shirt on.”

Your jeans are covered in tear drops from a bowed head, fingers shaking hard enough that your knuckles roll into a crack at the motions. You wipe your tears in time to see Eddie hold out your Hellfire shirt—second edition—his being the first. His reverie breaks briefly, and you think… maybe. It’s gone in those brown eyes that you can no longer read or recognize. Filled with loathing and disgust at you, his last words imprinting on your psyche, a physical recoil.

“On second thought. You won’t be needing this anymore.” Eddie makes his way around you and finds his lighter atop your bag, flicking a flame to life and nudging it at the end of your shirt. It catches quick, burns fast, like every fiber of friendship with Eddie Munson.

Eddie tosses the tattered, charred remains to the forrest floor, pocketing his lighter, walking away from you and out of your life.

~*~

He can’t stay any longer and watch you fall apart, not when he’s running away from his cowardice. And he does, run. He moves and clambers, stumbles until he’s from you and the cries that he hears pour off your lips. His chest is thumping sporadically, pulse in his blurry vision. His five fingers catch a tree, slamming, splintering, a sob breaking free of his tear soaked lips.

Eddie Munson forces himself to remember how unsure you looked in your dress when he held you around your waist, never feeling more himself in his entire life than he did with you— at thirteen—during some cheesy school dance, how you entertained his tunes so he could teach you the counting method he uses for his music to move your feet to the beat, all your encouragement every time he hit a new note, or your midnight phone calls to ask what he’d like on his posters, your body trusting him to keep you safe on those nights when everything became too much for you in your life, but you had tried to hide it, or when you both snuck in to see Carrie when you were pre-teens and you couldn’t sleep without him, so he made a makeshift mattress next to your bed for a month, about that time you were so tired from an all nighter that he had walked into his room and found you curled up in his bed, using his vest as a makeshift pillow, your nagging him to study more, because he’s always capable of anything he sets his mind to, and those cookies—the only thing you can bake without having to call for Hawkins fire department—a container you’d brought for him and his Uncle, still sitting on his kitchen counter.

He was your person and you were his. And now? You’re gone. Eddie runs away. He keeps running, leaving you to your own miserable anguish, drowning in his own, getting himself in his rust bucket and going back to his trailer to get completely fucked outta his not-so-right mind.

~*~

By the time your suspension is over and you can no longer barricade yourself into your room and finish off another bottle from your dad’s liquor cabinet—it’s sheer dread. You’re not only the freak who broke Hawkins Highschool’s Prom King’s nose, but you’re the freak without anyone by your side—a true and thorough outsider. As you stand outside your school, nails pinching into already weakened threads dedicated to your bag’s strap, you’re really regretting those couple of drinks this morning and how you’d poured more vodka into a flask to take your Tylenol with. Hell, it’s not like you can get a fix from the school dealer anymore, is it?

Those damned double doors are louder, a jolt to your already throbbing headache, fluorescent lights sparkling in your retinas through your shades that cover a nursing hangover and distraught, red and puffy eyes from a three day sob fest. Each step your boots make sounds like you’re walking to your death, your outfit—sans any Hellfire related attire—is all yours. Your two chains limited to one, Eddie’s gift waiting in a cardboard box you’d half-assed assembled, and tossed in random shit he’d given you. The deeper you get into every hallway, making simple turns you know like the back of your hand, your nausea grows as to what might be awaiting around each corner. Or who. It’s a short lived relief upon arrival at your locker.

You pinch your shades off, raw eyes protesting the moment fresh tears staple your skin in brushes. In red letters, diagonally capitalized across your door contains what you haven’t wanted to face since it happened.

The freak got dumped

You choke on your salvia, throat wet and enduring a suffocation strong enough to have you gagging on the piece of toast and water you’d forced your famished form to consume this morning. You barely make it into the toilets before double over and expelling everything, diaphragm on fire, bones vibrating through tosses. Hair dangling in your face, plastered to your mouth, you sniffle and tremble, vision blurring. You ponder getting yourself fucking expelled, but you made this whole ordeal about it being your year. If you retreat now, what will that do? Mustering all your strength, your courage, you flush your bile, clean off your mouth and face, pop a mint, take a swig out of your flask, and make your way to your first class.

~*~

By the ever popular lunch time, you have managed to clean your locker and pinpoint the culprit (an ashamed that a girl broke his nose, Jason Carver), but neither of you speak on it. You keep your head down, you focus on your school work, you take your Tylenol, and you sip on your vodka. Enough to keep an edge off, but not enough to send you down a despairing hole filled with regret and torment. You know you’re being stared at as soon as you hit the line to get your tray. It’s fake smiles and refusal to acknowledge it that gets you in search of an aisle, and hopefully out of sight. You aren’t so lucky…

“Hey, Y/N! Over here!” You hear an all too cheery voice belonging to Dustin Henderson. It halts you in your tracks, a wince causing a physical recoil.

It’s not his fault you and Eddie no longer have anything resembling a relationship, and he apparently has not told them, and they’ve not seen Jason Carver’s masterpiece.

Good.

What isn’t good is that Eddie is very much at your old table and you know it’s unavoidable. You wished you had borrowed some concealer for your under eyes, but it’s too late. There’s a grand staircase cloaked in invisibility beneath your feet, your stomach knotting in crushing vices, your cheeks stained with red. You walk to your former friend group, trying like hell not to side eye Eddie Munson. Keeping a steady focal point without blinking against your scratchy lower lids is damn near impossible. And guys are going to be guys—much to your chagrin. Gareth is drawing further attention where nothing needs to be, popping off with a, “Damn, Y/N lookin’ like she went on a bender.”

“A week long bender,” Jeff chimes in.

Biting the inside of your cheek between your teeth, you shrug a shoulder. Better them having knowledge of your binge drinking celebration than knowing about how messed up you are.

Don’t look at Eddie. Is your mantra for today.

He, on the other two hands, is not prioritizing that same aspect.

“So what if I did? I know of about ten girls who can drink your asses under the table, myself included.” You smirk, gripping your tray’s edge.

“Been holding back on us?” Gareth is grinning from ear to ear. It eases your shouldered weight tremendously, breaking tension in your table’s ranks.

“You gonna have a seat or what?” Mike Wheeler interrupts, his hands flipping towards a desired target, one that you wish you could keep pretending you never knew.

Fuck it.

You really crave for some divine intervention to help you, because meeting those chocolate brown eyes that are distraught, angry, and rimmed red—your heart constricts to painful blows, windpipes crushed beyond speaking capabilities. Eddie’s been somewhere off planet earth with that kinda high, you remember seeing his demeanor that way only a handful of times, including this one. Maybe he does care? No, doesn’t matter, don’t go there. It’s over and done.

Still, that idiotic, massively moronic part that Eddie owns of you—it’s billowing hope. Eddie Munson dashes it in seconds flat.

“No.”

You glance away, jaw twitching to control an automatic quiver. Dustin is laughing it off as a joke, someone else asking why. Eddie reclines his legs in your empty chair, loud enough to get your attention back. He wants me to see.

“No traitors.” It’s a simplistic answer, aggressive, no room to argue.

Ever-the-curious-freshmen, Dustin and Mike peg their leader for questions. You halt it, tone breaking apart, fingers tucking into your shirtsleeve as you balance your lunch on one hand and wipe across raw flesh to clean fresh tears from your eyeline. That’s when Eddie does look away.

Coward.

“It’s okay, guys.” Is what you say.

“What’s going on?” Gareth asks.

“I won’t be around meetings or practices anymore, but I’m still here if anyone needs anything, okay? You know where my locker is, and where I live.” You pat yourself on the back for that robotic but truthful statement.

“Unless you’re sick of everyone else too…” His deep voice rumbles.

Like a deer in headlights— you’re frozen, a blinding rage of hurt and red hot anger pouring over you in a storm. You explode. Picking up the first thing in your sight, which happens to be on your plate—a glob of some chocolate goop (possibly a brownie)—it’s slung directly at your former best-friend’s crisp white Hellfire shirt. Your second cafeteria incident that, yet again, everyone notices. Eddie yelps, shouting out your name in brisk spits.

You further it, abandoning your food in a repeat of days ago, floating to his side and shoving him back two steps. Eddie stops his rapid shirt swipes and immediately presses his form into yours, chests smashed, food squishing through your top. His hair is frazzled from the humidity, his toffee colored irises slowly polishing into a thick black gloss of dilated pupils. He sucks his tongue against his teeth, swaying into you, not touching you with those hands, an air about him that is beginning to swarm your initial reaction and bend it over, fucking it into the next decade. He’s taller than you remember, but you latch onto your own, tasting that cigarette soaked breath, lips hovering over his, hot tears matting your lashes.

Whether it’s regarding his inability to respond to your reasoning for this whole situation, his lack of expression, your self-disappointment for something roused inside you at his huffing proximity, you crown him with a title off a jagged voice box, damp in her sorrows, just as Dustin steps between you two, gently prying. “You’re a fucking coward, Eddie Munson.”

Teachers are starting to flock in, and you shake your head, hand over your eyes briefly, before sprinting in strides from the room in search of a place to collapse.

~*~

If you had told yourself at the beginning of the school year that you’d be in a camaraderie with the girl’s bathroom—you would have laughed. And if your mind had convinced you otherwise, you’d have expected Eddie to be right beside you, arm around your shoulders, sharing his lunch, making stupid jokes, coming up with lame ideas to make you feel better, but in that endearing Eddie Munson kinda way. You let out a soft cry, giving up on that stinging beneath your lids. You’re a hot mess and the whole building probably knows how alone you really are now. When the outcasts cast you out, where else can you go?

Clenching onto the sides of the ceramic sink, bag slipping off your shoulder and onto the floor, you keep your head bowed between your shoulder blades, not noticing someone come in and approach you, a gentle set of fingers laying upon your shoulder. Through foggy vision you can make out the green colors of her uniform and her perfectly straight ponytail, her face seemingly concerned. Your laugh is exhaustion on steroids, expression bombarded with emotion. “Okay, what the fuck is next? A girl craves some independence and the whole school turns against her. Let me guess, your boyfriend sent you to get even? Why don’t I make it easy for you and you can call your friends in here, and… and—“

Great.

Your lungs start to burn, your ribcage pounding with an erratic heartbeat, throat feeling like it’s been dusted with a thick blanket of ash. You’re panicking in front of Chrissy Cunningham. That alone has you feeling more pathetic than ever before in your life, and it worsens your heaving sobs—broken and unguarded. Chrissy’s eyes are drinking you in, irises glossing over with tears of her own. She grasps your other shoulder and squeezes, not releasing her hold on you, her soft voice strong when she speaks, but gentle enough between the expanse of your shared airspace.

“One, two, three, four. Okay, now deep breath in, and release it for me, Y/N.” She’s actually calming you, keeping you steady on your feet, which feel as if they’re sinking into the flooring below like led weights.

“Chrissy…” You aren’t sure how to articulate, still alarmed and attempting to breathe with her.

“I’m right here. Just keep breathing and counting with me.” And you do. And that’s when it hits you.

She has experience with this mind numbing panic too. That otherworldly anxiety. You feel a connective pull towards the cheerleader—seeing—not this persona you’d imagined, but her calming features, her easy going manner towards you, how she lets you find your lifeline, but also lends you her own in case you need it. When your breathing slows, she gives you a look, a silent communication of question. You may be able to breathe a little easier now, but it doesn’t stop the weight of your situation from crashing down and demolishing what’s left of you.

“Can I… I’m gonna hug you, is that okay?” At this point, if she’s going to put a sign on your back you don’t care. You need the human connection, the comfort. You agree and your schoolmate takes you into a light grip, but folds her arms around you and lets you bury your cheek against her perfumed sweater.

You both stand in the embrace, no trace of awkwardness, a sense of kinship and knowing. It’s when you pull back that hint of a questionable concern with her, wiping your sore eyes with a hiss. She notices.

“Are you here because of Jason? I just need to know.”

“Jason was a dick, Y/N.” Her language shocks you, having only heard her be proper before.

You laugh, your first genuine giggle in days. It’s contagious, as she joins in, hip jutting against the sink. “No, I’m here on my own terms. I promise. I saw what happened with your friends…”

“Yeah, I can imagine how everyone must be amused right now.” You bite your lip, facing away.

Chrissy gives you a saddened smile, but attempts to reassure. “I know this is gonna sound incredibly lame coming from me, but you’re stronger than all this, Y/N. The way you’ve stood up for yourself these past several days… I admire it.”

You frown deeply, wondering if this is a trick, because no way is Chrissy Cunningham admiring someone like you.

“You admire a loser that can’t even manage her own newfound independence?”

“No,” she says with a pause, looking down at her French tip manicure, before facing your curious gaze once more. “I admire your ability to stand up for yourself, despite what everyone is saying or doing to you. It’s a good quality to have, one that many of us are afraid of, you know?”

There’s this hollow pain in her eyes and your continued recognition has you pulling her in for another hug—this time for her benefit, rather than yours.

“Looks like we’ve fallen into the cliché trap, Cunningham.” You grin, pulling back.

Chrissy tilts her head, curious. “What do you mean?”

“A freak and a cheerleader thinking the same as what their peers think, and getting each other totally wrong.”

Her sweet eyes light up, her head nodding. “That’s exactly it.”

You share a knowing smile, a newfound bond forming. Chrissy situates her small shoulder bag, pulling out a compact and tugging you by your sleeve. “C’mhere. Let me fix that.”

She takes a gentle hand, not rushing as she speckles your sore under eyes with her own stash of makeup. After she blends it with soft fingertips, she snaps the lid closed and places it back in her bag, turning you to the bathroom mirror, brushing some of your hair through, giving your back a rub. “Is that any better, Y/N?”

Your circles are mostly covered, puffiness disguised enough where you won’t be embarrassed. You look and feel much better, and you’re overwhelmed with gratitude for the blonde at your side. You incline yourself into a swivel, leaning in her direction. “Chrissy Cunningham, I think you’re one of the sweetest people I now kinda, sort of know.”

Her giggle is infectious, and she gives you another squeeze. You drop down to swoop your messenger bag into your arms, grabbing out a your notebook and a pen, scribbling your home phone on it, hesitating, before handing it over. “If you ever need to talk to someone about all the bullshit, whatever it is, consider me your new confidant.”

She holds the simple sheet paper as if it’s another lifeline and you’ve just given her a treasure. Going back into her own bag, she has a cute little pink embroidered stationary paper that she jots her number on, and uses a smiley face to dot the i in Chrissy. Seconds later, her friends and a group of other girls burst into the bathroom, gossip on their lips. You and Chrissy flash each other a secret smile, and you make another hasty retreat.

~*~

Eddie had to hear a bunch of shit from the guys, overly bearing questions sounded off by Henderson and Wheeler. The eventual revealing by a passerby group of cheerleaders about your specially decorated locker, had surprised him too. As if there’s not already a weighted dagger wedged into his ribcage, one interlocking into his heart muscle—he lost control with his bitter mouth again, and it fueled your temper. But deep down, deeper into those subconscious recesses, you both felt that ignition start, a kind of coercing heat that is waging an internal war in Eddie’s head. His sole reason for blocking you out and refusing to talk about anything with you in the woods.

Eddie Munson is in love with you. Eddie Munson needs to fuck you.

It’s something he’s always done—built walls, got high, stayed drunk, coped with humor, hid behind his guitar or his campaigns. And without his right hand woman, he feels naked, too vulnerable to all the bullshit he’s tried to keep out. And your absence has become a set course for his weakening concentration on anything that isn’t you. His ultimate warrior princess is also his Achilles heel. Your feelings in wanting to branch out, they scare Eddie.

His brain is flipping logic into thinking you are seeing what everyone else sees in him: freak, failure, piece of shit, a nobody, a criminal. He pushed you out before he could pull you back in—easy, abrupt. And it’s not just changing him—no—he could smell your vodka soaked breath across the table, see your eyes swollen and glazed—absent. For the first time in years you weren’t wearing your limited edition shirt (thanks to him), and Eddie isn’t sure why he expected you to still have his chain around your neck. It fucking hurts.

As the room slowly falls back into their daily routine, Eddie loses his appetite and leaves his herd behind, urgent to get the fuck outta this building, out of Hawkins. Hell, maybe even the country. Like you, however, Eddie Munson’s retreat isn’t one that is unscathed. In his urgency, he smacks straight into you, stumbling over his own clumsy ass feet, gripping your forearms to keep you both steady. He’s processed your scent before he even takes in your beautiful features.

Fuck…

You look less like you’ve been partying all weekend, but Eddie knows better. Your pupils are dilated to the bright overhead lights of the hallways, making your sclera more visible. It’s bloodshot red, lower lids swollen and tinged a rough crimson beneath the fresh makeup that Eddie now sees. He swallows and looks away, but he doesn’t let you go. His grip isn’t harsh, it’s simply what it’s always been with you two. Easy and sturdy, safe.

You’re the first to downcast your gaze, focusing more on your shoe wear than on Eddie. It kills him. Even through these notions, this fear, whatever anger you’re both harboring, it’s as if this whole damned school and everyone passing you two are mere bodies, Eddie Munson and Y/N Y/L/N floating, tethered. His stomach churns its lunch contents, teeth clenching tightly. You make a brisk dart off, but Eddie attempts to catch you, instead tugging too hard on your shoulder strap, causing your bag to dump and spread out its contents at his sneaker clad feet.

Eddie’s eyes are quick to see it before you realize. Shining underneath hallway lights, scattered amongst notebooks and pens, is a small flask. His brows perch, he crouches first, scooping it away from your jutting hands. Gareth’s words rewind and play on repeat in his head.

“Damn, Y/N lookin’ like she went on a bender.”

The way his heart rate spikes, hostilely spitting that acid all over his lungs, battering his throat muscles with a pummeling storm. He’s already sure what he’ll smell if he presses the lid to his nostrils, but Eddie has to feed his anxious curiosity, unscrewing the cap with nervous hands, sniffing, shrugging off your grabs. It burns his mouth from its strength, his distraction giving you enough leeway to wrap your hands over his fingers and pull. Eddie locks your digits within his own, second thoughts gone. Against everything inside him he is getting angrier by the second, the anger masking itself, easier than being petrified and scared in front of you.

And Eddie is scared. Is he really so fucking stupid to think you weren’t at all affected by any of this?

“What the fuck, Y/N?” Your fingers sliding through his own, flood him, prickling every vein running beneath his skin, cutting off his blood flow—scorching.

~*~

Having Eddie’s hands on you again, his body so close, despite your shame at his discovery, it’s a feeling that comes more natural than breathing. You avoid his question, feeble grasping docked.

“Why do you have a flask full of fucking vodka?”

“Will you keep your voice down!” You hiss the words, finally breaking off him and retrieving the rest of your items on the scuffed up floor, and securing them back into your bag, Eddie holding back your liquor.

“Did you drive to school drinking this crap? Tell me you didn’t, Y/N, cause’ I swear to god—“

You chortle, a humorless boom smacking across your chest.

“Eddie, this faux best-friend act is getting old. Your on and off switch is enough to drive anyone to drastic measures. But don’t flatter yourself into thinking I’d be an idiot and drive drunk. Not even for you.”

His irises that are glossy with concern, they cave to dilating pupils, an animalistic rage priming them. “Oh, you have got to be the most clueless bitch alive, Y/N.” He steps towards you, frame towering slightly. You’re not afraid, never fearing if he’ll do something, because that is not Eddie, no matter what. But, you are very much dripping with rage at his words.

He pockets your flask in his left back pocket, rings clinking against it as he pats it for good measure. You try to dive around him, beneath his arm, but he swoops in on his own, using that strength for his slender frame, literally scooping you into a half bring-away, only discarding you back onto your feet once you’re both outside. You try to shove at him, palms resting on his stained club shirt. The bell has rang to signal your free period, but you don’t give two fucks, giving up and being the one to leave.

“Who’s the coward now, huh? You’re gonna walk away from me when I call you on your shit, Y/N?”

You spin on your heel, dirt and gravel specks crunched beneath your step. “I thought I was a clueless bitch, Eddie? A traitor? Or, your slut.” You scoff, crossing your arms.

Guilt briefly flickers across his features, but he shuts it down tenfold. “Just because we’re fighting doesn’t mean I want you to destroy your fucking liver or your life. Jesus Christ, you really think I’m that big of an asshole?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore!” You fling your hands into the air. “One minute we’re at each other’s throats, the next you’re up my ass. I don’t know what to do here, Eddie.”

“Thought you craved some individuality and independence.” Though there’s meant to be flare behind the words, Eddie’s tone has splintered across each word, voice breaking apart. Your guts sink into your ass, as does a particularly pointed swallow that stabs at your jugular.

“Didn’t say I wanted to be completely independent from my best-friend.” Your own response is gentle, voice soaked with impending emotion.

Fuck. Stupid fucking tears burning again. Not right now.

Eddie’s attention snaps back on you, proximity closing in. His jaw clenches, he moves it from side to side with a closed mouth, sniffing, whistling air through a wet breath. “Feels like you’re leavin’ me and I can’t do anything to stop it…”

It makes sense suddenly. A catapult of truth slamming right into your chest, spreading throughout your body.

He thinks I’m leaving him. That I want to leave him.

As if the last seventy two hours haven’t happened, better yet, as if they haven’t mattered in the grand scheme of things—you’re the one that meets Eddie, reaching to push that curly hair from his eyes, his head downcast and posture sullen. His brown eyes are brimmed with tears that spill over his lash line, a permanent frown creased between his brows, mouth red and spit slick. Those freckles on his nose are suddenly very prominent to you. You’ve never seen Eddie Munson this vulnerable. Your heart shatters, the ache so physically strong that you have to remain close to him to hold on and find that strength again.

How could you have gotten this so monumentally wrong? Maybe if you’d have expressed what you meant more instead of feeding off Eddie’s anger. His communication and yours both need nurturing, but your sudden shift in mood must’ve made him feel like you wanted to abandon him, not just do things for yourself. He may not realize that yet, but you do. And it fucking sucks.

“Eddie. I’m sorry.” It’s all you can say in the seconds that your heart heaves into your throat.

He shakes that shaggy mane. “Don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me, especially you.” He backs away from you and you see his entire expression crumble, tears spilling onto his cheeks.

That pain drowns your throat, seeing him cry because of your lack of explanation and mutual avoidance. You chase after him, running around to block his view, unable to let him go, gripping onto his waist beneath his jacket to keep him planted. Another familiarity. He tenses beneath your touch before relaxing.

“Eddie, will you please listen to me? I think I know what’s going on now.”

“And look who is the one flipping her emotions this time.”

“Because, I… Eddie, I—“

“What lame ass line do you want me to buy, Y/N? You think I’m not used to worthless promises or idiotic reassurances? Yeah, good.” His sentence is fragmented, voice rough and breaking apart on each word. “You know I still care about you, but I don’t need you to lie to me, you don’t owe me a damn thing, I promise you—“

You press a finger to his quivering lips, halting him. There’s a shift in the atmosphere, a pause in the universe, your legs heavy, fingertip stroking along the plumpness of your best-friend’s full, lower lip. Eddie’s chest is moving up and down swiftly, tongue against his teeth, that warning look. You fail to heed it and Eddie’s hands tremble at his sides before he gives up and cups the sides of your face, bringing your foreheads together. His lips part to speak, your finger still on them. “Think we’re in trouble here.”

You can do nothing but nod as his declaring statement, inclining your head further, nose nudging his own. It doesn’t feel as if you’re standing any longer, every mean thing that Eddie has said, every disproportionate attempt of yours to communicate—obliterate, shrouding you both in the process. His breath is hot as his mouth opens and he sucks your finger inside, tongue licking its tip, biting the digit between those milky white teeth. It sends that throbbing nudge, snapping between your thighs, making you arch into your best-friend. You whisper his name and his fingers move along your jaw, across your ear, sliding through your hair and rubbing a pathway to your necks’ nape, sending an army of goosebumps across your flesh, the coolness of his rings stimulating your skin.

“Yeah, you feelin’ it too?” Your lids flutter closed, Eddie using his thumb pad to brush the corners of your lashes, signally for you to open them. “Didn’t say you could stop looking at me, did I, sweetheart?”

You grind against him, unable to stop. Your last several days, everything between you both is on hold, these buried urges able to finally win out. This dominant side of Eddie Munson has you an inward and outwardly quickening pile of mush and hormones, of fucking need. Eddie about loses his cool when you obey him, pupils blown, mouth looking parched and in need of his kisses. He leans, walls starting to slip, resolve crumbling, his pouting mood long gone.

Years of built up tension and confusion, being rightfully by one another’s sides, it all comes apart, the seams, begging to be repaired into what it has to be now.

You envelop his hold on you, hands sliding into slips beneath his jacket, around his waist, tracing over his back, before dipping under his armpits and grasping his shoulders, knuckles pushed down by his leather jacket. One more step and he’ll kiss you. He’s closing a gap, no more breaches, you tapping his shoulders right down to the blades in encouragement. It’s parted mouths hovering over one another, cigarettes and vodka, school lunch and weed, it’s—

“Hey, guys! Higgins is so pissed off right now… After that shit went down in the caf, he’s ready to expel you, Y/N! Pretty fuckin’ sure.” You hear Gareth approach, and just like, Eddie releases you.

You have to steady yourself, want simmering into a slumber in your belly, not yet gone, but still reminding you where it lives. Your glare is directed at your mutual friend. Eddie, feeling as if he’s been doused with ice cold water, and the moment is shattered, you see those walls rebuilding rapidly, and she shrugs off your hand, leaving you and Gareth, and that slickness that has collected in your panties.

~*~

You aren’t sure just exactly what Eddie is feeling, but you’re very aware of what you are. So driving to his place once you know Wayne has left for the night shift—it’s a no brainer. You’d debated bringing Eddie your box of treasures, even your necklace, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Maybe, maybe your best-friend doesn’t want you to…?

Want.

A dynamic shift in your relationship, or what it used to be. You can barely sit still as you wrack your brain through all the levels of hazy blurs. So much has happened in three days, but… today, with Eddie nearly kissing you on the mouth, and you nearly grinding against him in the Hawkins High parking lot—yeah, you two have to talk about all of this. As you squirm in your seat, hands tightening around the wheel, that approaching trailer park sign signals your arrival to his residence. You can’t stop the way your heartbeat feels as if it’s ping ponging around in your throat, or that anxious twitch of your mouth’s corner—forget even attempting to deny your cascading memories of the way his chocolate irises wore an expression unlike anything you’ve ever seen on Eddie Munson.

His trailer comes into your sights, that tickle swooping your guts and holding them hostage. You swallow a thick ball of anxiety, parking next to his van, cutting your engine. The lights are all on and you’ve got no excuse to chicken out. It’s your year too, right? Fucking fuck it.

With your keys clutched in your palm, you make your way to Eddie’s trailer, rasping on his door lightly. You don’t hear his music blaring, so he might be reading, planning a campaign, writing some music he’d mentioned wanting to practice with the guys soon, get a feel for its sound—just last week. You have given about three octaves of knocks and are about to give up, head pressed the door, thinking he was just lost in lust earlier, and maybe you’d fucked up on your end beyond repair. Exhausted by the stampeding pain that brings your insides, you flip the Munson’s spare key off your key ring and unlock the door. A bold move—albeit—a very stupid one.

That familiar scent of Eddie and Wayne’s shared carton of cigarettes hits your nose, along with the leftovers from dinner you see sitting out on the stove. Your cookies, which have been devoured, are missing their note. You panic, briefly thinking Eddie probably trashed it, only to come back from that brink seconds later. It’s not what you’re here for. You glance at the couch and it’s empty, not even Eddie’s usual indent on the cushion is there.

Swinging your keys from your pointer finger, you peek down the small hallway to Eddie’s closed door, light spilling out underneath. He could be sleeping, possibly ignoring you, or he snuck out the back door…

Your feet make an echoing squeak across the trailer’s flooring structure, your fingers twisting the knob and pushing, pausing, deciding to go ahead. If he wants you to leave then you’ll go, if he’s asleep, you’ll go, if he left… You can’t fathom that thought, another ignorance that you partake in. You aren’t sure exactly what you expected, but seeing your best-friend’s tallish frame, with his back facing you, lean leg propped atop his mattress, right arm bent at a very clear angle, his left propped on one of his many amps he’d apparently moved since you’d been here last—is sure as hell NOT it. Eddie’s curly hair ruffles and is jostled across his shoulders with each movement his arm makes, his delicious ass clenching as his body thrusts into his rhythm, the outline of his chain on his perspired neck and damp strands of dark hair—clear. You don’t have to hear the thick, slick and wet stroking to know what he’s doing to himself.

You cross an ankle over the other, squeezing your legs together tightly, trying to bounce on the balls of your heels to get relief. Your fingers white knuckle his banged up door handle, your mouth parting. Whether it’s that bond you two share, or your very visible labored breathing, Eddie’s shoulder blades pinch together, his motions abruptly cut. He turns as if caught doing something he shouldn’t be—definitely something you aren’t prepared to handle. It’s like your mouth is speaking for you, eyes in a trance, enslaved to your lustful abiding.

Fucked out, blown up pupils shave off the color of your irises, your tongue gliding across your teeth, that take a turn to sink into your bottom lip, your toes curling in your shoes. You feel hot, body battered in melting flames that won’t cease, won’t let you get in a normal burst of air flow. You know without having to fix your posture that you’ve made a mess between your legs, panties soaked to hell—completely ruined. You’re honest to fuck not sure if you can make it out of here in an upright position, that painfully strong ache tackling your cunt, breaking off your common sense, leaving you Eddie-drunk. Helping yourself to a swiping look between his legs, he’s still got a ring clad hand wrapped around a very generous girth—shiny—a length that leaves saliva pooling on your tongue’s tip.

His chest is slick with sweat, tattoos glossed beneath, nipples hard from the cool air let into his bedroom. Which, you note, is really fucking hot, and the window is steamed up. Your eyelids flutter in rapid blinks to help you reign yourself in, but all you see are glimpses of Eddie’s fist around himself, that creamy and swollen head, full balls on either side, trimmed curls at the base of his shaft. You want to die. And oh, what a sweet and sinful death that would be.

“Mhm… fuck.” You say through the gap between your panting mouth, words take the opportunity to bust free, joining a high pitched whimper.

Eddie’s chocolate eyes are completely black, leaving no room for anything else but purely raw desire. They widen, a sharp heave in his inhaling chest, abdomen flexing as he holds himself tightly. When you don’t move Eddie takes the initiative, slowly approaching, a softness there beneath the want and knowing. He reaches your space, still giving you enough, but you’re able to still feel that radiating body heat. Neither of you speak, because what is there to say right now?

You’d be a pleading mess of profanities, apologizes, and begging to be taken and used.

Thankfully, Eddie makes another move before you. His spare hand joins your own on the door knob, fingers brushing your knuckles, encouraging, giving you one more opportunity if you’re in distress or uncomfortable. You hook onto his offer and you surprise you both by finding something to say after all, throat parched, yet still damp with wanton rasp. “Start touching yourself again, Eddie. Please?” Fuck, well there’s a beg.

Eddie, assuming you want a show, nerves being dipped in lava and left to forever sizzle and smoke—gives in, both of you shutting his door and closing the two of you off from the outside world. He doesn’t wait for you to back away, pushing his hips to a rise, his cock gliding through his closed fist. You let him lean over you, frame against his door, watching his legs spread to widen his stance, obeying your plea. He almost asks, but assumes it would be too hopeful if you would want to touch yourself in front of him too. You’re out of your mind, common sense obliterated for all eternity, watching your bestfriend practically pin you to the door and fuck himself in front of you.

Those sounds you’ve imagined, pictured, they’re even more pronounced in person. Some low enough that it’s a stifling whimper, a needy sobbing. If you don’t do something about the gnawing throbbing between your thighs, it’ll be total combustion. There’s an empowerment that winds itself around a pulsating set of nerves in one’s decision to masturbate in front of their best-friend. That coolness works itself in your palms, your fingers tossing your keys over and onto Eddie’s dresser, toeing off your shoes, his eyes steamy in their grasp on your every move.

You’d wished you had brought your camera to photograph his expression when you walk over to where he stood in front of his bed, turning to face him, your fingers undoing your jeans and the zipper, a resounding echo in the room, Eddie’s tongue poking out on his upper lip, he holds himself around the base, the urgency to fuck his hand as you take your seat on his mattress and scoot with your back to the wall, hips lifting to help you pull off your jeans and panties. You struggle momentarily, but neither of you are saying a word, gazes steady and unwavering.

Discarding your clothing with a soft thump onto his floor, you’re heartbeat thumps in your throat, ribcage taking an unsteady hammering of its resounding drumming. You heed Eddie’s silent command to continue, agreeing to this turning point between you two. Your thighs fall open and that sticky want strings to your swollen folds, glistening in the creases of your thighs, your cunt sopping wet. You’re dripping, and Eddie isn’t missing it when your arousal finally does drizzle from your neglected pussy and onto his bedsheets. You shift to get comfortable, hand cupping yourself, immediately smothered in your own juices, legs falling into a drop, toes finally able to curl without the barrier of your shoes, bunching Eddie’s sheets.

Eddie watches you from where he can see, still eager to be closer, but unable to stop himself from stroking along his length, teasing that vein that runs alongside his cock. You do it again, rubbing your palm up and down your lips, a crude squelch causing Eddie to almost black out, and you shiver. He releases himself, heavy and hot between slim thighs, and he’s moving. He puffs out a gravelly hiss from pursed lips, stalking towards you and giving a cat like crawl across his own bed, planting himself shoulder to shoulder with you to your left. He must be feeling the overwhelming change that is occurring, as he reaches for your hand to give it a reassuring squeeze.

You gravitate towards your hand, fingers slipping through your slickness, your head bowing in embarrassment. Eddie grips your chin and tilts you his way, shaking his head, that same hand dropping to your thigh and lifting to pull up and to the side. And he looks. He fucking memorizes you between your legs with these little mewling coos of appreciation that cement themselves into your subconscious. You do the same, helping yourself to an up close and personal view of what he’s been hiding.

Eddie leans forward and cups the nap of your neck, his other hand taking your wrist and removing it from your self-touches, shushing your protesting whine. He brings it up to his mouth, which is hovering close to yours, your own fingers pressed against your lips, and he licks a straight stripe up your creamy covered palm, humming underneath his breath as he does so. You want to slap him and ride him on every available surface in this trailer. You’re the one to speak, having to.

“Eddie…” It’s a meek little trail-off.

Eddie lets go of your wrist and uses that hand to pull his cock off his stomach, a wet patch left behind in his happy trail. He still doesn’t let your neck go, his fingertips tapping an invisible beat, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He’s laughing, tufts of air settling across your mouth. You narrow your gaze, moving to shut your legs, Eddie’s hand quickly preventing the action, stroking the meat of your inner thigh. “Only fair if I’m exposed, sweetheart.”

“But… you’re laughing.” And it hits you then, why he’s really chuckling in that Eddie Munson way. It’s an incredulous and mind boggling turn of events. Best-friends that broke up when they were never together, now side by side and in a very compromising situation.

You grin and falter into his embrace, your hand working its way into a wind around his neck, taking sweaty strands in scoops between your fingers, his pick chain draped across your knuckles. Eddie licks across his bottom lip, tapping your hips as he moves, your hands falling, and sprawls his legs into a propped spread, cock neglected and flushed, much like the rest of his skin, that you’ll die if you don’t put your marks on. He’s motioning for you to turn in a slow facing position in front of him, and that’s how you end up—vulnerable, so fucking vulnerable. He’s muttering words, huddled and unintelligible, reaching out and tugging you to him by your ankles, stopping, resting, eyes dark as they do a once over to gauge your mental stability. When you don’t protest, palms splaying out to keep yourself upright behind you, Eddie lets his legs flatten against his sheets, a smirk pattering his lips, indenting its knowing presses beside his mouth.

His exhale catches on a ragged breath, a passionate declaration signing off on what’s about to occur, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he pulls you close, your ass resting on his hairy thighs, waiting, held, his arm wrapping around your lower back and lifting you completely into that ink splattered, silk-slick chest, his skin sticking to your long sleeved t-shirt, ruining it with sex-soaked perspiration. You think that there’s nothing—no—you know that in this entire world, no matter what, that whatever will happen to you is never going to compare to the moment when Eddie’s maneuvering hands glide your wet cunt over his cock, using your drenching heat as his own personal lubricant. Your ankles lock around his waist, no choice from the close band that your best-friend has re-tethered you to him with, leaving no room or space where you’re not touching or breathing in the other. Your arms curl around Eddie’s neck, hands draped down his back as you help yourself to pinching and clawing the flesh beneath, relishing every little grumble and groan off his pretty lips. Your face takes solace in his neck, nosing your way through his curly hair, nose bumping his chain to lift so that your mouth can claim him.

“Fuck.” His throat constricts around a swallow, your teeth sinking into a piece of Eddie’s flesh and biting, releasing, lips closing over that angry spot to soothe, tongue tasting salt, licking it off, indulging.

He lets your have your way with his neck, a particularly harsh slap landing on your ass in following of your mouth on his jugular, letting your tongue following that curvature into his jawline. You don’t stop his wandering hands, you don’t dare fight off his vice grip on the globes of your ass, his kneading, using as them leverage to place you right where he wants you. You let him take control, an unspoken agreement, a having to have. Your head falls back as Eddie rolls his hips beneath, rocking his lap, solid presses that drag his fat cock over your embarrassingly wet pussy, scattering your thick arousal and smearing it across his happy trail, getting caught in that patch of curls at the base of his shaft. You’re dripping all over him, quite literally. Caught on a trapped hum, hung in its hisses between your clenched teeth, you croon into Eddie’s neck, your stomach tightening, that velvety drag of his dick through your swollen folds making your lids flutter closed, colors dotting in their dances—translucent.

You aren’t sure where to move your hands, comfortable with having them shred Eddie’s back and empty out the past few days of frustration and desperation. Eddie encourages, palming handfuls of your ass, creating a cresting twist, a thigh trembling rub of sopping wet desire. He’s merely whimpering, appreciating, not overly vocal until his swollen head catches your neglected clit, and his head drops back, fingers pinching so tightly into your skin that it burns.

“Oh, shit. Dammit, baby.”

You’re simpering on a series of whimpers, agreeable and speechless. Eddie is feeding off it. “Yeah? You needing this too? Little clit feels so good rubbing on my dick, sweetheart. You want me to do it again?”

When you’re not immediately able to be vocal, Eddie pulls back a little, shoving his hand between your thighs and drags his rings directly through your arousal, coating them in a glittering shine. His first real touch where you need him the most. You both inhale sharply. It’s the pain from the cool metal of his jewelry that makes it feel so fucking good. He curses, telling you how messy you’re being, flinging his hand in your sights, dragging you in a pry off of his neck, holding your jaw and flashing his knuckles.

“See what you did, messy little angel. You gotta clean em’ now for me.”

His eyes are so fucking demolished, brown crushed beneath a midnight sea of black and insatiable attraction. You’re mewling, tongue lolling out, licking that metallic onto your tongue, sloppily sloping around his knuckles, lips suckling what your tongue can’t catch, your own taste fresh off your mouth. That’s when Eddie brushes a calloused thumb across your bottom lip, tugging it down to expose your teeth, and he brings your lips to his, a feral groan stealing your breath, sharing your juices in your first kiss. It’s a shift in the energy you share, a no going back, no running away, a fate sealed. Eddie loses all control and flips you off his lap, pinning you beneath him, kissing you with such feverish vigor that your hand tangles into his messy curls, and you pull, hard.

His tongue licks your lips open, greedily removing what’s left of your taste that remains. It’s noisy and nasty in the expanse of his small bedroom—diabolically sinful. One hand caresses your throat’s expanse, the other dropping down with a snapped wrist between your thighs, palm smacking your cunt, a guttural groan vibrating from his mouth into your own. Saliva strings on the break away, Eddie’s gaze switching to watch the hand on your cunt, out of it.

“Your pussy always this wet, baby? Or is it just for your best-friend?”

“Only for you, Eddie. Always you.”

Fallen into the depths of satisfaction, Eddie permits a slender digit to drag down your slit, taking that thick honey with it, a squelch echoing in the room when his finger wiggles its way inside of you. You clamp around him, chest heaving with shaky breaths.

“Jesus Christ. You’re gonna drown my dick when you let me fuck you, aren’t you?”

You’re incoherently babbling, tapping the hand that’s on your throat, hungry for it. “Tighter.”

Eddie’s brow raise is comical, a surprise coating his features. “So miss Y/N likes it rough? Never woulda guessed.”

You gulp a pump of air that vibrates across his hold, trying to gain more depth from his finger. It’s moving in exploration of your softly wet walls, an excess of arousal being pressed out upon that squish. Eddie tightens his hold on your throat, before he taps his fingers to your jugular and releases, hand toppling down your side and caressing, bringing. “Fuck, my best-friend’s got such a perfect little pussy. S’ made to be destroyed and used.”

You’re nodding so hard that the motion causes a cracking pop in your neck, Eddie laughing that noise under a cute breath. He’s thick with it, wiggling in a second finger and causing you drop your hands back behind you and push into the sensation, chasing, hunting it.

“Desperate to get away from me all week, now look at you. What a whore.”

Eddie has a mouth on him, something you’d always wondered about in your daily daydreams and nightly fantasies. As vocal as when he’s singing with his band. He’s saying words to you, snapping your attention, you’re whining as his fingers leave your cunt, and he’s pulling you into him so hard your lips split apart, cushioning his cock, cradling him in that overwhelming slick. He must not have meant for that action to cause it, as he jumps when you do, this feral look flickering behind those heated orbs. You know… it’s time.

Eddie is barely able to stand, clumsily bringing you with him by a laced grip in your hands. He gets you upright and you’re dizzy, his hands taking purchase on your shirt (the only remaining piece of clothing on you), and rips it with gritting teeth and anger, as if he’s pissed it’s not the club shirt, or sickened with himself for destroying yours—you’re not sure. Spit pools at the corners of your mouth as you let him tear off your tattered tee and yank your bra down, impatiently yanking the clasp apart and discarding it, helping himself to your tits, closing those plush lips over a nipple. Your hand wraps around his throbbing cock, fingers barely touching around the width, squeezing him—tugging. His hips stutter and he whines against your breast, teeth biting the flesh with a harsh precision.

Your other hand works its way through his wet curls and massages his scalp, tenderly altering in beckoning strokes, ones that switch off into root tugging pulls. Eddie’s hands keep your breast cupped, switching off to the other, whilst you dip lower and fondle his balls, letting your pinky drop off and scratch into his inner thigh. He’s doing that humming thing underneath his fucked out tone again, and you’re focusing your attention on his cock, thumb pad stroking that weeping slit, spreading it around and over that vein, enchanted with how it causes a thin bright shine over him, your own cream matted into the curls at the base of him, pathed up his stomach. His mouth leaves your chest and those big hands grip your cheeks, both of you watching as you jack him with a sticky tug.

Fuck me.

“Who’s the whore for his bestfriend now, Eds? You gonna admit that half the shit I’ve done this week has gotten your dick so hard you can’t decide what you’ve hated me for more,” You say, pausing to twist your grip, making him fold into your holding hand, “my smart mouth or how much you need this.”

Your powering dominance is short lived, hand falling off his erection, with Eddie kneeing you into a shove until your back collides with his desk, his arm reaching around to push most of its contents off and onto the floor, not caring where any of it goes. He nudges your thighs apart and slots his lean frame between, thumb catching the corner of your mouth, his instruction clear, yet awaiting your consent to cross this no back-stepping boundary. “M’ gonna fuck you right here, and you’re goin’ to watch me take you, Y/N.”

You’re pretty sure you’re gonna pass out at any given moment.

“I’m gonna watch you, Eddie.” You agree, zoning out and sprinting after your pleasure.

“Good girl.” Eddie breaks briefly, mouth on your shoulder, hand winding your hair around his fist and tugging it back so hard that the ache inside of you becomes an inferno. He finds the underside of your chin, voice honey-hot. “Because you’re not leaving this room until there’s a puddle of me running back out of your cunt.”

You launch forward so fast that Eddie falls into you, chest smashing against your breasts, your lips crashing into his for a brutally intimate kiss. You sink your teeth into his bottom lip and tug, biting down so hard you taste copper—licking it up and making Eddie’s cock jump. His ring covered hand attaches itself to your throat and he drags you off your prop against the desk, spinning you around and securing you to it, those hairy thighs pressing into you, wet cock so close to where you need him the most. His hand wraps around your hair again and lifts your gaze to that small opening in the mirror where posters and his most prized possession hangs. You’re flushed and soaked with sweat, mouth swollen and streaked with red from biting into Eddie’s plump lip, your pussy dripping thick strings of your creamy essence, slowly slithering in dangles from your pussy and onto the floor.

“You’re so fucking messy, Y/N. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, baby?” Eddie is like the devil on your shoulder, and you, you’re his angel of eternal damnation.

You’re about to beg, but Eddie saves you the trouble, his fingers tapping in tips down your spine, caressing, stroking, before they spread your lips apart and dip inside, palm flat. “Should fuckin’ split you open, do it raw. Cum so deep inside that you end up pregnant with my baby and have no choice but to always think of me, be around me.”

Though there’s a tease behind his passionate words, there’s this primal exclamation that overtakes you and you clamp down on his fingers. A series of fast paced images are vivid in your mind. Your tummy swollen and breasts heavy, Eddie having you bent over like this—one hand on your belly, the other on your throat, feeling your pulse galavant beneath his touch.

“Y/N… Fuck, sweetheart.” He’s so fucked in his descending tone that the depth is gruff and tipping off his diaphragm, you imagine. He presses his cheek against your own, chin resting on your shoulder as you drink each other in, in the mirror’s expanse, Eddie’s tone weak. “You really willing to carry my kid?”

You meet his eyes in the cluttered mirror, nodding, a softness carving out permanent residence in your features. It’s a topic you’d never shared with anyone else, never banked too much on thinking about, but beyond the idea of how hot this all is, you can’t imagine a scenario like this that doesn’t involve Eddie Munson. Vulnerable and barely above a brisk whisper, you’re answering him with, “Yeah, Eds. Want a family with you.”

At your admission, he lets his hand go in languid thrusts. You groan and let your head shift, but Eddie is jerking you back to stare into the glass, both of you panting and on the cusp of an out of body experience. It causes you to grin, licking your lips as your best-friend pumps those experienced digits to cause a purposeful squelch, his rings clinking together. His hard cock is pressed between his own stomach and your back, that pre-cum pooling onto your lower back and smearing in streaks down your ass. You’ve had more than enough teasing and you’re well aware that Eddie has too.

His look briefly falters, turning to mouth at your chin, a silent question. It’s you who uses your words, or rather, trembles in your feeble attempt. “Eddie, just put your cock inside me, or I swear I’ll—“

He’s smirking wildly at your slack-jawed expression when his fingers slide out of you and stick together with your cum, to which he helps himself to and coats his cock, then lines himself up and presses the thick head into your opening, leaning down to bite at your shoulder and leave an exposed imprint. Your legs feel like jello and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. He’s going to ask you to beg, and you’re an all in willing participant. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t. He inhales sharply, you hold your breath, and both of you watch him sink into your slick and soft cunt, inch by inch, until his balls rest against the globes of your cheeks.

You’re still holding your breath, releasing it when you feel him sigh, grip on your hair loosening a little, too caught up in the fact that he’s where he belongs, after so much time doing without this. Your legs are about to buckle, jerking, toes curling against the carpeted floor, overwhelmed by everything that’s happened, and by your best-friend’s cock throbbing in your aching pussy. “E-Eds…?” It’s a pathetic cry of a question.

Eddie’s brows pinch together, sweat beaded between. He grips your jaw and his fingertips tap you back to meet his mouth, hovering over your lips. “S’ okay, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.” He briefly drops the playful gimmick, reassuring you that he’s right here with you.

It’s more than enough to have you arching back into him, a brash pummeling of his hips that sends you into the dresser, having to reach out and catch yourself. Eddie is quick witted, gripping your wrists with one hand and pinning them behind your back, stepping with you in toe, elongating his arm to snatch those handcuffs on his wall, that cold metal biting into your wrist, that dull noise presenting itself as the cuffs lock you into place, Eddie gripping onto the chains’ excess expanse, using it as a leverage. A sliver of a chalky moan trickles off your kiss-swollen lips, appreciative. The way Eddie is manhandling you has you so fucking euphoric that you’re sure you’ll be in a comatose state before either of you can cum. Your best-friend’s large hand finds purchase in your hair again, drawing his hips back, the other on the chain of the cuffs—steadying himself into a rhythm, riding you like all that matters is your destruction and his ultimate ownership.

Eddie Munson has owned you since the very moment that you two met.

The way he’s executing such precise and rough thrusts, making sure you’re high on the bring up, toes pressing into the carpet, that you’re stuffed full of his fat cock until it hurts, twitching in overstimulation, sore and fluttering walls eager to be soaked in everything he has to give you, that you are taking in every inch, catching every ridge, leaving you a shambled, panting mess, in pieces only being put back together again when Eddie will allow your release. His hair is tickling your shoulder blades, his fingers leaving the cuffs to press into your mouth and curl over your tongue, relishing in how you gag around the digits. You’re weak, so fucking weak for him, and he knows it.

“Can’t wait to hear you gag on my cock, Y/N. If you have trouble with these bad boys?” He puts an emphasis, wiggling his fingers against your tongue, giving them a secondary push to over extend your gag reflexes, his dick twitching inside you.

You bite down on his fingers, sucking them in, accepting his challenge, willing it to happen. His balls slap into your ass, heavy and hot, every movement causing the metal to rut into the skin of your wrists. He’s got a steady tempo going, alternating it by dipping his hips to bring you with him, letting you nearly collide with your chest flush to his desk. He reaches up and shoves that poster back by peeling tape, revealing more of your fucked out forms. Your eyes widen at your disheveled and unrecognizable appearance, Eddie using your cuffed hands as reigns. Riding you so hard that you can’t breathe anything but his hot air curling around the shell of your ear.

“Dammit, you are such a good girl for me, Y/N. Always pictured you takin’ my cock, but you’re not even crying yet, just taking what I give you.”

Yet… Fuck me running.

Your scalp is tingling with a prickling crowd of flames from his harsh grip, his other hand reaching to smack your ass, using some mechanism on the cuffs—albeit—struggling with his spit soaked fingers that were just in your mouth, to unlatch them and discard them at your feet, and he watches the flesh of your ass cheek redden and jiggle beneath his biting palm. You fist your fingers into a strewn pair of his blue denim jeans left on the desk top, dipping your forehead down and arching your back, trying to look between your own legs from this new angle to see Eddie’s cock cradled in your puffy lips. He tuts at your unsuccessful action, forcing you back into watching him doing his hard work—the hardest he’s worked at anything (sans his band or the campaigns, if he’s being honest with himself)—to make this unforgettable for you. He hits that spot located inside, the one you have to strain an arm to barely graze, and you lose all coherent capabilities.

“Eddie… that’s, oh my god, oh FUCK. Right there!”

Eddie’s throat crumbles under a weak pant, which ends up coming out as a whimper. He remains firm, however, still using your hair to keep you right where he wants you, his other hand reaching around to pet his own shaft as he slides out just enough to make you wetter.

“Yeah, baby? That spot gonna make somethin’ happen for you?”

You don’t answer, mumbles and babbling gibberish. He shakes that precious head of his, curls tickling your back and shoulders, a sigh breaking free. “Sorry, sweetheart. Can’t believe we’re doin’ this in front of you. Both my girls right here with me, one of them at my fuckin’ mercy.” Your attentions snap over your shoulder and you see Eddie looking at his fucking guitar, that is one of the only things remaining on the mirror. You gape, but aren’t surprised in the slightest.

He continues on, pretending he doesn’t see your partial seethe. “Makin’ a mess all over me, but I bet you like to see it too, don’t you?” He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, still talking to the inanimate object. “Both my sweethearts are such sluts for their owner.”

You can’t help that rattle that clamps around your bones and slices through your spinal cord, seizing your abdomen, right down into your cunt. Owner? You have zero time to warn him, ask if you can, alarms unprepared, skin slapping on skin, his taste on your mouth, his breath on your flesh, that slippery glide that has cum running down your thighs, and it’s a sudden wave crashing over your insides and drowning them in your painfully interstellar-esque orgasm. Your eyes burn with tears as you watch your best-friend feel what’s happening, realizing. He’s covered in your release, and instead of being mad, he is influencing you like the little devil that he can be, plump lip pressing to your ear lobe with one continuous command. “That’s it. C’mon, Y/N. Drench my dick.”

You wish you could bottle the feeling of your first orgasm with Eddie Munson, your best-friend—forever. Finding yourself growing into that vulnerability that comes with the high, you seek to find solace in Eddie’s arms, whimpering at the overstimulation of his thick cock. With that connection still in tact, Eddie is spinning you around, dick sliding out with a messy mixture of arousals covering you both—his member completely doused in your cream, painting the trimmed curls at the base of his shaft with even more of you, slicking back some more of that happy trail. You want to be embarrassed, but as he’s red faced and struggling to breathe, you know that there’s no need to be. He steers you back onto the bed, falling easily between your spread thighs, drawing them up and around his waist.

He presses his forehead into your own, kissing each corner of your mouth, rings circling in dusting sweeps on the apex of your thighs. His voice is a shivered whisper. “Fuck, baby. You okay?”

There’s words on your tongue, Eddie’s taste on your mouth, things you’ve known for years, but are unsure if Eddie has, or if this is something he needs because he’s afraid you’ll abandon him, but that he doesn’t feel what you do. Your head is spinning and Eddie brushes sweaty strands of hair off your forehead, taking his cock through your swollen folds, pressing that spongey head into your clit—both of you crying out. “Y/N, m’ right here. Care to join me?”

And god help you, the way that you look at him. Really allow yourself to see him this way—unabashed—it stirs all those feelings Eddie has bottled down since forever. You press your thumb into his mouth, your other hand sliding down to grip onto him, gliding your hand back and forth, relishing in how his abdomen tenses, muscles flexing, body gravitating towards whatever you’re willing to bestow. He doesn’t let you touch him much longer, taking what your hand isn’t around and guiding it back into your cunt, that scrumptious burn brimming you, making your thighs drop open, back arch, only to tighten your ankles around him, digging your heels into his ass. He suckles your fingertip into his mouth, licking the digit in until it’s down to the knuckle.

Your head presses sideways, cheek on his pillow, inhaling his shaving cream and that spicy scent. He pauses his movements, making you frown in displeasure. He lets go of your spit tainted finger, gripping your chin, a possessive fire overcoming him. His irises remain completely black, putting you deeper into that comatose trance of agonizing sin. “I want you to fucking say it, Y/N.”

You start a beginning questionnaire, Eddie shaking his head and pressing in harder on your chin, fingers splaying across your jaw, rings pinching your chin in the most delightfully painful of ways. “Say you want me, tell me you fucking need me. That you’re not tired of me, and that you’re proud to be the freak’s slut.”

Your hands wind around his back and you sink your nails in as hard as you can, bearing down on him, sucking him in deeper, both of you in a state of no return. His hand tickles down from your face and grips your neck. “Still sick of me, baby?” He situates your gaze, lifting his hips to a raise so that you can see where you’re connected. You’re inconsolable, that fire already blazing your gut, turning every sense into nothingness.

When Eddie starts back up again, he slams himself into you so hard that your vision goes dark and you shred your own bottom lip open, body moving closer to his wall due to the force. He’s licking beneath your jugular, words sensual and filthy, making your entire body spike in a sudden electricity. “Gonna cum in every hole you’ve got, so you remember that they’re mine.”

This time you’re more than ready to give him a warning, body beginning to shake beyond your control, breaths stuttering in your chest. Eddie reaches down between you, calloused thumb flicking your clit. Everything is so fucking wet and the way it sounds in the expanse of Eddie’s small room, it has you opening your mouth, out of control and greedily begging for more.

“Eds, harder. Please? Almost…”

He’s grinning in that special way that weakens you—heart and soul, body and mind. “So much more than a slut.” His thrusts become choppy, his own babbling tone turning into Eddie-speak. “You are way more than you know, Y/N.”

You fondle his pick chain and bring him into your immediate airspace, mouths hovering. He’s nearing his end, cock getting fuller inside you. “Need you to tell me how much you love me.”

You both completely go slack. Eddie stops himself all together, body trembling, head bowing. Your heart rate increases, feeling as if you’ve skipped a staircase thousands of feet in the air and you’re now free falling.

Love… You don’t have to think twice.

Your hands move to cup his face, holding on, your eyes shining with tears at all overloaded emotions and senses. “I love you so fucking much, Eddie.”

At your admission, those beautiful eyes—dark with remains of passion—they fill, and he gives you his all, driving his cock into you in calculated presses, trying like hell to get you to cum first. When he speaks, his voice cracks apart. “Let me know that you’re right here with me, Y/N.”

“I’ve always been here, Eddie.” Is what you manage, thumping your hand against his wrist and helping him bring his fingers back to your clit.

He doesn’t let you look away, noses smashed together, sticky foreheads pressing, hair curtaining the apples of pink, sex stained cheeks. Your eyes widen as that knot begins to tighten in your stomach, unraveling so violently that Eddie has to grip your quivering thigh in one hand, the other keeping steady on your clit. You dig into his back, other hand tugging on his hair, and Eddie is giving a throaty seduction. “That’s it, be my good girl and cum again for me.”

And you’re coming apart at your very core, every cell exploding and rebuilding, gluing yourself to Eddie to seize the ache that scrambles your insides and leaves you breathless. He’s cursing, keeping his finger on your clit to help you coast over the high, immediately following you with the lowest, sweetest, whimpering moan that you’ve ever heard. Both of your eyes still drinking in the other’s pleasure, tears spilling over your lash line as Eddie’s hips cease and he holds, his cock swelling and that soft, creamy warmth coating your sore walls in spurts. He collapses onto your chest and you hold him there in a vice hug, his hand still trapped between your exhausted bodies. He gently eases it out, groaning around the wetness that he’s all too eager to sample until the layer of shine is off his fingers.

Holy shit and fuck me…

Your legs fall to the side, unable to stay upright any longer, Eddie keeping a hovering hand to soothe your shaking. He kisses your neck with a plush mouth, his chain dangling between your breasts. You’re petting his hair—which is so soaked it’s as if he’s been in the rain or come from the shower—off his forehead, wincing as he slides out and keeps himself by your side. You gasp and he joins, fascinated by your cum and his own seed pouring from your cunt. He raises up a little. “Mhm. Let me see?”

He props your thigh, sliding his fingers back and forth, zoned in on his bedsheets being ruined from the literal puddle of your shared cum that runs from you. Seconds pass and he grins widely, plopping onto his back, his fingertips caressing your shoulder, down to your arm. It’s a comfortable quiet, even with the intense meaning of the words that were spoken, until Eddie starts with a, “So..?”

And you cut him off, trying to get your uncomfortably hot body closer. “So I love you. And I have never stopped needing you, or wanting you, Eddie. I just hope all this wasn’t because we were fighting and you got scared I would leave, and —“

He doesn’t let you finish this time, that chocolate-ly brown ring swinging back around his pupil in a brisk develop, showcasing the moisture in his eyes. “I was scared because I love you so damn much that I would charge headfirst into Mordor, or some alternate dimension without any weapon or any shield, just for you. You gotta know that, Y/N.”

His softness, that glittering fragility, it makes you seal your mouth to his, kissing him full of your feelings. He cups the nape of your neck, drawing in closer, thumb coaxing a shiver from you as it passes over a certain spot behind your ear. On a wet break away, you’re nodding your head. “Guess we spent all week fighting when we should’ve been fucking and talking about our feelings.”

Eddie smirks, then is serious. “Be that as it may, I’m sorry I’ve been shit at showing you I appreciate all that you do for the guys and me. And for forgetting that you are your own person too. S’ not like I meant to, I swear. I just get so fucking caught up and I shouldn’t take for granted anything that has to do with you or with us.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re my best-friend, Eddie Munson?”

While it’s still true, you’re wondering when the words leave your lips. Eddie just fucked you so hard you probably won’t be able to sit down for a week or walk upright for hours, so friendship isn’t exactly the most appropriate term anymore, is it?

Eddie taps his fingertips to your temple, drawing your dazed expression, clinging to the cosmic connection once more. “M’ yours, Y/N.”

“Oh yeah, Munson?” You’re so high that you could fly out of here right now and make rounds around the whole globe. Your chest is aching with a tempo that promises new hope and ease.

Eddie is giddy too, that wide set smile, cheesing. “Just gotta get you a new shirt.”

The memory of your old club attire being one with the forest floor seems like so long ago. Eddie knuckle grazes your cheek, apologetic. You shush him. “I ruined yours, so we’re even.”

There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes and he’s tackling you beneath him, pinning your hands in a lace above your head. “Nah, we are just getting started on bein’ even, baby.”

~*~

Tagging: @littledemondani @prettyboyeddiemunson @gothbitchshit @thisishellfire @ethereal27cereal @likedovesinthewnd

-I really need to form a bigger tag list! I’m sorry :/-

Lemme know if you want on my general tag list, please! :)

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speakergame · 3 months

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Progress Update - 3/4/24

Hello and happy March!

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? 😅 Well, I finally have some good news for you this time: I have some actual news!

I'm happy to be able to announce at last that an update is on its way! I’ve still got some assets to make and code cleanup and testing to finish, but I should finally have something to show you soon.

I’ll put a cut at the end of this and go into more detail about the what and why of what I’ve been working on during this long and unintended hiatus, but the tl;dr is that I hope to have an update out by the end of the month, and that said update will break any saves made in Chapter 4. Unfortunate, but unavoidable, since Chapter 4 had to be recoded from the beginning 😞

I just want to thank all of you once again for sticking with me through my extended silence! Especially to my patrons who’ve put up with me putting everything on pause month after month while I dealt with my real life shit, and to everyone who’s sent me kind and supportive messages to let me know Speaker hasn’t been forgotten. It really means a lot to me.

Okay, enough of that sappy shit! I’m gonna get back to work finishing this up 😁 I’ll put out another update later this month once I have a more definite release date.

Thank you all for reading! I hope you’re having a fantastic 2024 so far, and that the rest of the week treats you kindly. See y’all soon! 💙💙💙

(For those who want a more detailed breakdown on what’s been happening and what to expect, hit the readmore)

I won’t go into the personal life stuff I’ve been dealing with this past year that has slowed down my work, but as far as the actual game goes:

To put it simply, I just wasn’t happy with it. Some of it could be because of how many times I had to reread the same section while I was coding the scenes that would’ve taken place after the last update, but no matter how much I edited or rearranged it, I didn’t like how that scene turned out. There was something… formulaic that had been happening with the way I always laid out scenes, and a bit of stagnation in the story, character, and relationship development that bothered me.

So I rewrote it. And when I still didn’t like it, I rewrote it again. And I still didn’t like it. I thought about scrapping the whole thing on more than one occasion as I struggled to get out of the corner I’d written myself into.

Inspiration finally struck at the beginning of this year, thanks in part to another interactive novel I follow, and I really like the direction I’ve taken it now.

Instead of the RO split scenes happening where the last one left off, Speaker, Seer, and Gavin are gonna have a chat about Things™ to move the next story arc forward. Then Speaker will get some downtime, by themself at first and then in an extended scene split with the RO of their choosing.

All the Big Plot Things that were going to happen in Chapter 4 will be moved to Chapter 5 instead, and 4 will be a bit more of a filler episode. A deep breath before the plunge, as it were.

This split won’t just be a quick conversation/reaction from the RO, but a full on different direction for the rest of the chapter based on who you choose. Most of them will involve leaving the house; all of them will involve actual one-on-one time (or one-on-two time, as the case may be) away from the others. And though romance isn’t required, all of them will have the potential to really move the romance forward if you so choose. One or two might even have a lock-in choice (maybe. I’m not 100 percent on that, so don’t hold me to it)

These scenes won’t be in the next update, because they’re all very complex, but the update will definitely have the Seer chat and at least some of the by-yourself stuff. The update after will have the rest of the alone time stuff (including the clothes/body CC you’ve all been waiting for), and then the one after will start the RO scenes. I think.

I may actually split the RO scenes into separate updates, and let my darlings over at Patreon vote for the order they’re released. That way I can focus on one at a time instead of trying to split my attention six ways at once.

Okay, that’s enough rambling for me today. Time to get back to work! Still got a lot to get done before this is ready, but it’s so close now.

#speaker game #progress update #so happy to finally have some progress to update about XD #maybe I can finally start answering some asks again too and fully resurrect this poor blog

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multifandomgirl08 · 8 months

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Race Day [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Fiancée!Reader (Established Relationship)

Summary: Nico tags along with Max during a race day in Monza, well as much as he can.

Warning(s): Fluff

A/N: Request sent in by @mbappebby. I got to sit on YouTube and just watch a whole bunch of interviews on Max for this. Posting this on Max's birthday today. I will be publishing the last request that I got on Sunday instead.

Words: 2.1k

Previous Part → Next Part Mini Verstappen Masterlist

Max had wanted Nico to spend every minute of the race that he could with him today. He wanted Nico to experience everything that he could. Walking through the paddock with him and even seeing Max talk to the fans and take pictures with them. Nico never asked why people wanted pictures of him. He had just accepted it, even thanking someone for supporting his Papa during the race today.

As they got closer to hospitality before the drivers' parade started Nico waved at Charles and Lando from Y/N’s arms, both drivers waved back. Y/N and Nico slipped into the McLaren garage to say hi to Oscar before meeting Max back in front of the Red Bull garage.

Nico would be with Max during the driver's parade wanting to take him around the track with the other drivers, before you and Nico would both be sitting in your normal seats while the race was going on.

"You sure you want to take him with you?" You asked Max as he was holding Nico getting ready for the driver's parade.

"He'll be fine, mijn leeuwin." Max said to Y/N. “Right?” Max turned his head to Nico seeing the little boy nod enthusiastically.

“Okay. Be good for Papa.” Max kissed Y/N’s forehead before Max and Nico made their way out to the bus that would take the drivers around the track.

Max knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold Nico the whole time they were making their way around the track. Max sat down towards the back, Nico in his lap pointing out little things in the distance, from the other people to the turquoise Aston Martin safety cars that were at the race.

They would be playing musical chairs for the first part of the drive around the track but he hadn’t been called up yet to talk to the reporter.

He enjoyed holding Nico before he was called over to answer a few questions. Nico wouldn’t let go of his hand when he sat down at the front of the car, “Max 14th consecutive pole of the year, congratulations. So what’s the plan for you and the team today?”

“Have fun, the car has been good all weekend. So, hopefully, we can show that again today.”

“Who is this little boy that you have with you?” She asked.

“This is my son, Nico. Wave hi to Mama?” Max asked before Nico waved to the camera and then quickly buried his head in Max’s shoulder.

“He’s quite cute. I’m sure your fiancée feels the same way as well.” Max gave a slight nod at her statement.

“And just a few words in Dutch.” Max was quick to respond rattling off something about having a productive race day and getting a good result out of the car.

“Well, I hope the two of you enjoy the rest of your day together, and good luck with the race.” Max gave a final nod, and then moved to the back of the car to sit next to Daniel and Checo.

“So, decided to take Mini Max with you before the race?” Daniel asked.

Max had never minded Daniel’s nickname for Nico, ever since the moment that Daniel met Nico, he had been Mini Max. He was the first person on the grid, not including himself, to hold his son.

“I don’t know. I guess I just want him with me.” This was the first time that Max had really spent a race day with Nico. Normally on race days, Nico would be with Y/N. They had their little routine of walking around the paddock before getting lunch and then watching the race when the time came.

“Maybe you’re now realizing that he’s getting older. He won’t be a little boy forever.”

Maybe Daniel was right. Nico was getting older, he had already started go-karting this year, almost the same age as when he started.

“Possibly.” He said before he started to wave out into the crowd.

“Does that mean when the time comes, you and Y/N are gonna have another?” Checo had asked.

“Another, what?” He said dropping his hand for a moment.

“Another one of these.” Daniel was quick to gesture to Nico.

It wasn’t that Max hadn’t thought about it. Sure, one day he could see himself and Y/N having kids but he liked that it was just the three of them. She was already an amazing mother to Nico, she would be an amazing mother to any children that they had.

“I don’t know. But not right now. Wedding planning and finding a house. It’s too much.”

“One day, right?”

“Yeah, one day,” Max said with sincerity. Y/N deserved to have her own children, even though she considered Nico her own.

Once they had gotten out of the car, Max was quick to find Y/N in the garage talking to GP while Christain stood by them.

“He’s starting from pole, I’m sure he’ll do fine.” He heard GP say.

"Max always does well under pressure Christian, you know that." He heard you say. Max couldn’t help but smile. You talking Christian down from whatever he was concerned about.

“I know. It’s just another record that could be broken today.”

“He’ll do great, and if he starts to get bored he’ll make jokes about wanting to test the pit crew or something.”

Max couldn’t help but beam. You had that much confidence in his win today even after the issues that they had earlier in the weekend.

Nico was quick to slip out of Max’s arms before running up to Christian, yelling “Grandpa!” capturing the team principal's attention. Christian welcomed Nico with a hug and an exaggerated, “When did you get so big?”

Max couldn’t help but think that Christian was the only grandfather that Nico would have as he grew up.

“I’m not that big,” Nico said, before reaching for Y/N’s hand.

“Not that big?” Christian asked back. “You’re up to here.” Christian gestured up to his hip to demonstrate how tall Nico had gotten since he had last seen him. Nico couldn’t help but laugh before pressing his face into the shorts that Max was wearing.

The small group stayed talking for a bit longer until Max had to go change into his race suit. Nico didn’t want to leave Max until he had to get into the car for the formation lap.

Y/N had been outside while Max was doing his post-race press conference after his P1 finish. She had been so occupied with talking to Alex's girlfriend Lily that she didn't see Nico slip away into the media tent where Max sat between Lewis and Charles.

Max had seen Nico walk into the tent, he knew he shouldn't be around the cameras. Max was able to look past the crowd of people to see Y/N just outside of the tent talking with someone.

The interview hadn't started yet so Max opened his arms for Nico to walk to him. Nico struggled to get on the couch before Max lifted him up and sat him down next to him.

Once the interview had started, Max waited until there was a question to be answered.

"In third place Charles Leclerc, in second Lewis Hamilton, and our winner Max Verstappen. And it seems like we have a guest with us today in Nico Verstappen. To the drivers, if you wouldn't mind telling us about some of the challenges that you faced today." He heard from Tom and fixed his posture toward the cameras.

"Yeah, my first lap was pretty good, was able to avoid a collision after turn 1. Luckily I was able to go wide as to not cause any damage to the car. Things finally looked like they were turning around after I changed to the medium tires given the issues that we had in qualifying. You know, every race is a challenge in their own right. One wrong move and it can change the race at any moment." He rattled off without having to think about the question.

Max saw Nico had tried to get Lewis' attention who was sitting to the right of him.

The question had gone in a semicircle, from him to Lewis and then to Charles before the reporter moved on asking how the car was today.

“Max, 14th consecutive pole this weekend and with a record-breaking 12 wins in a row. How does it feel?”

“It feels good. I never set out to break records. The achievement is something to appreciate and be happy with.” Max rattled off quickly before he thought the reporter would go to Lewis next.

"How do you think your dad did during the race today, Nico?" Max's attention was immediately drawn to the reporter. He never thought that any of the reporters would ask Nico a question.

Nico looked up at him from aimlessly playing with the zipper of Max's suit. Silently asking if it was okay to answer the voice coming from the small crowd of reporters. Max gave a slight nod, encouraging him to speak.

"Papa did well, even if he wouldn't have started from P1." Nico muttered into the mic that Max placed in front of him.

There were chuckles from the reporters.

Max couldn't help but pull Nico in a little closer giving him a proud smile. He loved that Nico didn't care where he was starting the race from, Nico though he did well regardless.

"Would you have changed anything during the race if it was you behind the wheel?" Nico looked back up at Max again.

He would need to ask Christian if he could start bringing Nico to interviews.

"Trying to overtake Uncle Lewis at lap 15. Small gap," Nico said with a shrug of his shoulders. Lewis reached over and gave Nico a little fist bump while Max smiled.

"Smart kid you've got there, Max." Lewis said just loud enough for the mics to pick it up. Max slightly nodded before laughing.

Nico revealing how close he was to the other drivers on the grid wasn't news. He was seen at races much more often now that Max wasn’t hiding his son from the media. It had taken Nico no time whatsoever to start thinking of the other guys on the grid as his family.

"Max, do you agree with that? Would you have tried to overtake Lewis at turn 3 during that lap?" Max couldn't help but laugh. Of course, that's what they'd ask him.

"It's just like Nico said, there was a small gap. But then you have to wonder if it's worth it to overtake or risk damaging the car. I knew that I would get another opportunity so I wasn't worried about overtaking him then."

"Okay, thank you, Max, Nico." Max gave a small nod before looking over the brim of his hat to see Y/N standing in the back behind the reporters with a wide smile on her face.

The reporters asked Charles and Lewis a few more questions. "Last few questions." He had heard.

"My question is for Max." Max moved to sit up a little taller.

"With your son here, do you think he'll follow in your footsteps driving in F1 for Red Bull?"

They were trying to dig deep, huh?

"That's the dream, right." He started before pausing. "No, I mean. If that's what Nico wants, I will support him, even if he decides that he doesn't want to drive in F1. I'll still support him. As for driving for Red Bull, that I don’t know."

Nico tapped Max on the shoulder before he started talking into the mic. "Ask Grandpa Christian." Nico said.

More laughter broke out from the reporters.

Max reached over and tickled Nico’s right side. He broke out in laughter curling up at Max’s side. He loved having his family here.

ynlnusername 📍Autodromo Nazionale Monza

Liked by yourbestfriend and 475,123 others

ynlnusername Second race back after the break. Congratulations to my better half on another record breaking win! You work every day to achieve your dream and I hope that our son is lucky enough to do the same one day.

charles_leclerc Lovely seeing you and Nico around the paddock today!

landonorris The only Verstappen's allowed in the McLaren garage. Don't tell Max.

View all 629 comments

fan76 Y/N calling Max her better half. Babe, you are the better half.

fan46 Was at Monza today. Loved seeing Max spend time with Nico before the race. He's such a cute kid.

fan27 Nico in his Red Bull headphones in the team garage!

wagsoff1

3,472 likes

wagsoff1 Max and Y/N see out in Milano, Italy celebrating after his 12th consecutive win in Monza.

View all 120 comments

fan56 What is this look that Max is giving Y/N? Love?? Respect?? Devotion?? Can I get a man to look at me like that?

fan86 Wondering when the wedding is going to be.

fan29 Probably during the mid-season break next year. Makes the most sense given when Max proposed.

October 20, 2024

taglist: @karmabyfernando, @barcagirly, @sachaa-ff, @iamahallucinationnn, @musingsbyshreya, @glow-ish, @nonsensical-nonsence, @fanboyluvr, @champomiel, @gothicwidowsworld, @lighttsoutlewis, @itsalwaysgay

#mini verstappen series #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #mv1 x reader #mv1 imagine #mv33 imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 imagines #max verstappen x you

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darkbluekies · 7 months

Note

The track runner reader fic w/Silas got me thinking👀

Hear me out okay..

Ballerina reader x Silas

How would he react to see her practice,her shows

Swan lake, Giselle..

Italian fouettés, Entrechat quatre x3 royale, Developpe A la Seconde etc

Yk the high extensions,leg holds the whole shebang

Just a thot👀

Stolen part

Yandere!mafia x fem!reader

Summary: you've finally been granted to do ballet, but when Silas sees you upset, everything turns into a nightmare

Warnings: yandere, mentions of blood, broken bones, a lot of guilt and confusion, panic attack(?), reader just feeling horrible

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: I took some creative liberty with your request, I hope that's okay. And uh, I know 0 about ballet, so take this with a handful of salt<3

One performance — that’s the deal. One single performance and then you’ll go back to normal life. You nearly fainted when he told you that you could do one dance, after months and months of begging, pleading and crying. You almost started threatening him when you became desperate enough.

“Well … we’re here”, Silas sighs as his men stop the car. “You know the rules, don’t you? Do we have to go through them again?”

“No, I know them”, you smile.

You take his hand while exiting the car. Silas smiles and squeezes your hand softly. It’s worth all the trouble, he tells himself. If you’re happy, then it’s all worth it.

When you enter the practice room, you’re met by a dozen other girls wearing the same clothes as you. It’s been such a long time ago that you’ve felt so … included. There’s a certain feeling about wearing the same thing that creates a unity you can’t explain.

“Run along”, Silas tells you, giving you a small push towards the group.

He walks over to the instructor. He can tell right away that she knows who he is. He braces himself. She can either call the police or let him go. If she decides to call the police, he’ll have to create a blood bath and snatch you back in the car.

“Can I have a word with you?” Silas asks politely.

“Sure”, the woman answers hesitantly.

“I can tell by the look on your face that you know very well who I am, so I want to make a deal with you.”

“What type of deal?”

“If you don’t call the cops on me and give my girlfriend an honest chance — because I know that she’s magnificent — I will fund your entire club. All clothes, all expenses, all props, venue, is on me. Fair?”

The woman thinks for a moment. Silas know that the club is underfunded. He knows that she has to agree.

“Okay”, the woman says shortly.

“Good”, Silas replies and waves at you to come over.

You skip over with sparkling eyes. He pulls you in to kiss him, in front of everybody. His kisses are always controlled by him, but they always show extremely much love for you, a deep hunger nothing can satisfy.

“My men will stay to supervise, to make sure nothing happens to you”, he says and gives you another kiss. “Have fun now, little thing. I’ll see you soon.”

You nod. Silas squeezes your shoulder, gives the group of ballerinas a warning stare and then leaves.

You return to the group. The people who knows who Silas is give you nervous gazes and the ones who don’t look at you with jealousy.

Well, this is starting off great, you’ll absolutely make many friends.

Time goes on. Silas enjoys seeing the wise smile on your face every time you exit the building after a practice. Every time you’re in practice, he takes the opportunity to do some errands. He always makes sure to come pick you up clean, never covered in blood.

But one day, you’re crying when you meet him. His heart drops in an instant and he thinks that putting you in ballet was a mistake. It wasn’t worth it at all.

“What happened, baby?” he asks worriedly and takes you in his arms. “What did they do to you?”

You struggle to talk through your violent sobs. He believes that you’re having a panic attack, but you can still move relatively well. Silas grabs your shoulders and waves at his men to come over.

“Y/N, what did they do to you?” he asks and looks at his men. “Did any of the others hurt her?”

The men shake their heads.

“Y/N!” Silas says sharply.

“I-I didn’t … get … the ... lead role”, you manage to get out through your sobs.

You know it’s silly, of course. Honestly. It’s childish to cry over not being the main character, but this was your only chance to be on stage before you’ll get pulled back into capture. You’ll never have this much freedom again. It’s embarrassing to cry about this, and you know that very well, but they don’t know how much you’ve suffered to even be in the practice room.

“You didn’t?” Silas asks shortly.

“No”, you cry.

Silas turns to his men and hands you to one of them.

“Bring her to the car”, he says. “I will be back soon.”

He disappears into the building. The practice room is empty, apart from the constructor who is cleaning up after today's class.

“Oh”, she says, noticing him. “Can I help you?”

“If you're smart, you can”, Silas says coldly. “I heard that Y/N didn't get the lead role. I'm just wondering why?”

“She wasn't exactly what I had in mind for this particular role … I mean, she's extremely good, but just not what I had in mind when I visualized the lead. She's a runner up, though.”

Not good enough, Silas thinks.

“Okay”, he says and nods. “I see.”

Without waiting for an answer, he turns around and leaves. Anger is burning through his chest. Seeing you so upset makes him see red. He would burn down the entire world for you to watch you smile. He walks back to the car where you sit in the backseat and the two men in the front.

“Hey, baby”, he smiles and sits down beside you. “Are you feeling better? Should we get some food on the way home?”

You nod. Silas smiles and wipes your tears. His men are forced to hear how he sucks the air out of you in the backseat. He devours your lips, trying to comfort both you and himself. He holds you in his arms, letting you cry. The more you cry, the more embarrassed you feel. You’re ashamed because you can’t understand why you are so upset over it. It’s just a role, you’ll still be on stage, won’t you? Is it because you think that you’re better than the others? That you deserve the position of the lead? Do you deserve it because you’re so good or because this is your only chance? The others have many more opportunities to get the role you want, why can’t you just get one? You’ll never be seen again, why can’t you get it?

Why are you thinking like this? You’re not entitled to anything. Has Silas imprinted the narrative that you’re so special, so wonderful that deeply into your brain? Do you believe that you’re this special, one of a kind person that deserve everything because you’re so special?

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Silas asks, caressing your cheek. “You look so thoughtful. Let me in.”

“I- … I- …”, you start, but can’t seem to talk — you can’t even formulate your own thoughts.

“Breathe, baby. It’s okay, you’re with me now.”

“I am breathing … I just …”

“Just …?”

You shake your head.

“Just hungry”, you lie. “And tired.”

“It’s okay, you’ll get some food soon”, Silas promises and kisses your lips once again. “We’ll stop by McDonald’s.”

You get your food and you eat together with Silas in your bedroom, but you can’t stop thinking about the lump in your stomach. Why are you so upset? Why can’t you put words on your feelings?

You lay awake the entire night in your empty bed (because Silas is out working) and think. Crying over not getting the lead role won’t make you enjoy the last few weeks in the club. Ballet is your true love, you should do everything you can to enjoy it — specifically because you’ll not get it back. You should be happy with your role — you’re even a runner up! That’s fantastic. You breathe out. Ease sets into your heart. It doesn’t matter what role you get, as long as you have fun.

When you enter the practice room the next time, you can tell that something is wrong right away. The girl who got the lead part … has crutches. You feel a shiver run down your back. Mortified, you shake your head. Silas. He must have done something to give you the lead role, that you so desperately wanted. He never got to know that you became satisfied with your original role. Guilt washes over you, suddenly you feel extremely sick. You need to take a hold on the wall to not fall. One hand presses against your chest to not vomit.

“Y/N, are you okay?” one of the body guards asks as they hurry over.

You nod sloppily.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh my god. This is all my fault.

This is what you had been feeling bad about — finally you can put words on that weird feeling in your stomach. You were scared that Silas would do something to the girl that got the lead without even noticing it. If anything, that shows how close you know Silas.

“He … he did this … didn’t he?” you whisper, feeling distant.

“The boss couldn’t stand to watch you be upset”, one of the body guards answers quietly, only for you to hear. “He made sure to get you the role he wanted.”

You’re freezing. That poor girl. Suddenly you don’t want that part anymore. The part is dirty, and your hands are covered in blood.

Your mind is anywhere but in practice when you dance your stolen part, but your body works for you.

Silas is standing out in the parking lot a wide smile when you walk out. He opens his arms for you, but you don’t walk into them.

“Are you happy now?” he asks.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Silas …”, you say quietly and shake your head.

He tries to grab you, but you jerk back. Silas frowns.

“But you wanted it”, he says. “You had a panic attack. I gave the part to you.”

“Silas, I feel extremely guilty. I stole her part. It’s not fair.”

He grabs your shoulders and force you to look at him.

“The world isn’t fair, little thing”, he says. “If you have some power, use it. I want to use my power to make you happy, baby. You’ll do better than that girl ever could. You should have gotten that part from the very beginning.”

He gives you a kiss and brings you to the car.

When the day for the performance arrive, you refuse to come out of the dressing room. The costume looks horrible on you. You can only see the other girl in the mirror. None of the other girls have talked to you after the lead girl ended up with crutches. They all know why you got the role. And how you got it.

“We start in five minutes, get out!” the instructor tells you and basically pulls you out on stage.

You see a lot of familiar faces in the crowd. Silas has brought as many of his men as he possibly could. Silas himself is sitting in the front row with his right hand man beside him, smiling at you. You look around. All his men are smiling at you. Weirdly enough, it’s somehow cute. They all look like they could kill anyone in any second, but the second you look their way, big, genuine smiles creeps up on their faces. Turning them from killer machines to teddy bears.

You dance to the best of your ability. This is what you’ve been begging and pleading for. Better enjoy the spotlight while you can. You can’t help but feeling dirty throughout the performance. Silas, however, has never looked this proud before.

The second the applauds roll in, you fall to your knees, crying. You fulfilled your childhood dream, but at what cost? A girl broke her leg because of your emotions, you stole her role … you’re covered in dirt that you can’t wash off. You don’t deserve these applauds. You don’t deserve any of this.

“Y/N!” Silas gasps and runs up on the stage with his right hand man by his side. “Are you okay, baby?”

“I want to go home”, you sob. “Get me out of here.”

Silas nods and waves at his men to walk out. He picks you up and follows his men.

“You did so well, baby”, Silas smiles while walking. “I’ma always proud of you, but this was something else. Everyone saw how absolutely fantastic you were. You’re an absolute badass, baby. I fucking love you so much.”

You smile slightly. It’s finally over. You’ve achieved your dream — although you wish that you never had done it — and now, you’re going back to your locked bedroom. You almost long for it.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere mafia #yandere fics #yandere oc x reader #yandere stories #female reader

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wynnyfryd · 6 months

Text

Trailer park Steve AU part 33

part 1 | part 32 | ao3

Chapter 8

cw: period-typical attitudes/language

"Steve," Robin hisses through the phone, and he can practically hear her nostrils flaring. "I have been trapped at Uncle Bobby and Aunt Deb's house for six. days." She drops her voice to a harsh whisper, the tone somehow even more disapproving at a lower volume. "HOW have you not kissed him yet??"

"It's not like I didn't try!" Steve throws his hands up; nearly knocks his broom to the floor. He's finally sweeping up the shards of glass in the living room, because he's tired of wearing shoes in his own house (and because at some point he's going to have to have the kids over whether he wants to or not. He's kind of surprised Erica hasn't shown up demanding to hang Christmas lights yet; that girl is aggressively festive.) "He was all 'ask me in the morning,' so I was gonna ask him in the morning! Not my fault it was Monday morning and his stupid uncle barged in yelling about how he was going to be late for school."

"You really shouldn't call him stupid," she interrupts, "that man is a saint."

"No, you’re right. Wayne's awesome."

It’s true. Wayne walked in on them that morning, like, fully spooning in their sleep — Eddie pressed all along Steve's back with an arm over his waist, their ankles intertwined — and rather than beat Steve's ass and ban him from their house like Steve expected him to, he just awkwardly grunted 'breakfast is ready' and shut the door.

"I'm always right," Robin gloats in his ear.

"You're always the worst."

"You love me." Steve hears shuffling as she adjusts the cord — probably wiggling around to lie on her stomach on the bed and kick her feet up in the air the way she likes — and then she says, "I'm still not seeing how this explains the other five whole days, though."

Jesus. Five whole days. Like she's his unimpressed boss and he’s late with the quarterly reports. "Our schedules kept not lining up! And then he went out of town with Jeff's family for the holiday."

"And you haven't called him?"

Steve glares flatly at the phone; hopes she can feel it through the line. "Literally how would I do that, Robin?"

"Well— I don't know! Maybe..." She hums in thought then snaps her fingers, talking fast. "Ooh! You could ask Wayne for the number? I mean, he'd have to know it in case he needed to reach Eddie, right?"

"Uh huh." Steve loves her solution-oriented brain, he really does, but that's one of the worst ideas he's heard in a while. (And he's including Mike and Dustin's attempted kidnapping last month.) "Yeah, let me get right on that," he snarks, switching the phone to his other ear. "I’ll just call them up and say, 'Hey, Mr. or Mrs. Jeff's Grandparents! This is Steve Harrington, may I—? Oh. Who's Steve Harrington, you ask? Nobody, sir or ma’am, just the kid who stood by and watched while his teammates gave your grandson a swirlie two years ago, so I'm sure he fucking hates me still for that! Anyway, can I please flirt with your house guest now?'"

Robin's whinnying into the receiver by the time Steve finishes his rant, and he begrudgingly laughs along with her, shaking his head as he stoops to pick up the dust pan.

"Okay," she concedes. "You may have a point."

"Thank you."

"But you still have to do something to make up for this when he gets home! Otherwise, he's going to think you're, like, having a straight boy crisis or something and get all weird."

"I'm not having a 'straight boy crisis,'" Steve rolls his eyes. He's having a bisexual boy crisis — at least, according to the three hour phone call he had with Robin the other night (which was humiliating, by the way; he never thought he'd be quietly crying tears of total confusion while saying the words 'I still likes boobies, though' out loud. Jesus Christ. Sexuality is embarrassing.) "And I already have a grand gesture in mind, anyway."

"Oh?" Robin perks up. "Do tell."

"I was thinking we could, like..." Hmm. It's sounding less grand when he goes to say it out loud. "Well, shit, I don't know. I thought we could go to one of his shows together when you get back, but now that sounds kind of lame?"

“No, that's good! That's perfect, actually. We can get a whole group together to go support him, then he'll see that you're not embarrassed to be seen around him with your friends."

"Wait, was that a concern?" Oh, god. He dumps more glass into the trash can; hisses when a little shard gets his fingertip; sucks the wound into his mouth. "Are you sure it’s not-? I mean, I want him to know I mean it in a romantic way, not just a friendly gesture."

"Well, yeah, obviously. But you can't just go by yourself; his bandmates hate you."

Oh, right. “Yeah.” That would be pretty awkward to loiter in a booth by himself all night while Jeff and Gareth and the other kid glare daggers at him. "Do you think you could get a group together? If I do it…"

"…We'll be hanging out with a group of dorky freshman all night?”

"Rude."

"Accurate."

"You know what? Tell Deb and Bobby they can keep you."

"Ah!" Robin gasps. "You would turn to stone like a troll in the sun without me, and you know it!"

Man, he misses her. "Yeah, I know it." He puts the broom back up on the hook. "When ya comin' home?"

"Soon, I hope. I swear to god if I have to hear Deb and Patty fight over the leftovers one more time—!" She cuts herself off with a strangled noise, and Steve laughs at her plight. "Anyway, yes. I'll ask some friends at school—"

"—Is one of those friends Vickie?"

“I can multi-task; shut up."

"I love you," he smiles.

"Love you, too, dingus.” Her voice dips soft and sincere for just a second; there and gone. “Hey, I have to go, Carrie wants the phone.”

“You have too many relatives.”

“Ugh, I know. Okay. Leaving for real now; can't wait to see you for Operation Woo Your Man!”

"Robin, no-!”

“Got to go byeeeee.”

“We’re not calling it that!” He holds the phone out with both hands so he can yell into the receiver. “Robin? Robin!"

The line's already dead.

—

part 34

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #my writing #my fic

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sykostyles · 3 months

Text

let you love me 1.2 (final)

wc: 15.6 k (listen, i'm sorry okay)

summary: in which y/n is a 26 year old bakery owner and she can't quite get this whole "love" thing right; settling on finding solace in being alone. One day, Jackson Cole: an egotistical, but oh so charismatic professional quarterback comes along and swears he can change her mind.. and for a while he does. nearly two years of breaking down her walls.. but they seem to argue about one thing a lot. y/n's "negativity". she swears she's not trying ro be a pessimist.. it just works out better for her if she keeps her expectations low. But what happens when she meets a handsome stranger, who wants nothing more than to see her smile? Will she push everything away again or will she finally accept the love she deserves? or ; tldr sunshine! harry x grumpy! afab reader part one, two

a/n: here we have it, the last part of my first story! thank you all so much for the love so far. I can't tell you what it means to me. I can't wait to see what's next. I know this is super long but there was so much I wanted to include with harry and y/n. I hope you all enjoy!

cw: this story contains suggestive and explicit language, minor descriptions of violence, and verbal abuse. please do not continue if these topics upset you!

Never once did you think that your handsome stranger that you met nearly five months ago would still be stopping in your bakery every day. His antics lately have been amped up, he’s very determined to treat you to a night out, but you’re constantly refusing; not quite ready to let yourself be vulnerable again.

“When will you let me take you out, love?”

“When pigs fly, Harry. Doing the same as yesterday?” You say gesturing to the case.

“You wound me, but I know I’ll change your mind. Yes, same as yesterday.”

“Ya know, Harry, the last guy said the same thing, and here we are.” You say, sliding his box over for the hundredth time at this point.

“Ah, but I am indeed not the last guy.” He glances down at his phone, “Give me one moment, I need to step out for just a second.” Harry says before excusing himself out front, Though he isn’t gone long, returning holding something behind his back.

You do often find yourself daydreaming about letting yourself be happy again. It’s a feeling you crave constantly, just the desire to feel heard, feel seen, feel loved.

But, you know that in the long run, it’s better this way. You can’t get hurt if you don’t let yourself get put in that situation. Even though you’re just hurting yourself, you'll just keep pretending you’re not.

“Hopefully this will make your day go a little better,” Harry says, revealing the secret behind his back.

You stare at his hand for a moment. “How did you know?”

“Pardon?” Harry asks, his hand still extended holding the cup of coffee out to you. From your favorite coffee shop down the street. The exact way you like your coffee.

“This. How did you know?” You inquired, taking the cup from his grasp.

“A true magician never reveals his secrets, love. But Ryan just picked it up for me.”

“Har-” you start,

“I know, you say you don’t like the nickname. I’ll make a liar out of you, though. Just give it time.”

“Thank you. For the coffee” You almost whisper.

“Course, love. I’ll bring it to you every day if you’d like.”

“Oh no, I couldn't ask you to do that.” You say, waving your hands back and forth.

“Well, it's a good thing you’re not asking. I’ll see you tomorrow, Love. Have a good rest of your day.”

“Bye, Harry.” You smile to yourself after he leaves.

“And you say you’re not interested in him.” Jesse says leaning against the doorframe leading to the back room.

“I’m not. He’s just being friendly.” You say. Your nose would be growing if your name was Pinocchio, that’s for sure.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, girl. Just give in, you never know what you might be missing out on. He seems to really like you.”

“He does.” You concur, “But so did Jackson.” You whisper, leaving him up front.

Nearing the end of the summer, you finally decided to switch up your answer with Harry. After many conversations with Carly, Jesse, and even Mr. Henry had something to say much to your surprise, you decided maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just see where it went. You didn’t have to sign your life over to him or anything. You were just scared. Harry knew that. “Whenever you’re ready, love. Just know I'll be waiting.” Everyone knew that. They were all just waiting for you to come out of the hole you dug yourself into out of self preservation. They can’t really blame you for being weary, Harry is doing almost exactly what Jackson was doing when he was pursuing you. Although, you do have to admit it feels different this time around. Harry feels different. Harry feels.. Real.

Of course, you were still planning on making him work for it. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t. But like Carly said, if he was deterred by your sharp tongue and witty comebacks, he wouldn’t keep pressing on like he has been. Even though you attempted to throw out the “Jackson was the same way.” excuse but she deadpanned “Not everyone is a egotistical, meathead football player that’ll do anything to get his dick wet.” You weren’t entirely sure if you should have been offended by that statement. But after she showed you all of the headlines Jackson has been in over the last six months regarding his failing love life you both had a few good laughs.

“Good morning, Love. How are you today?” Harry says, sliding the daily cup of coffee across the counter.

“Mm, it would be better if i didn’t have to get out of bed to talk to people like you, but here we are.” You say, bringing the cup to take a sip.

“Such arrows come from that pretty mouth. What will I do with you?” He says with a smirk on his stupidly handsome face.

“You could pick your flavors for the day and move on? There’s an idea.”

“Ooh, and the sass. I’m already practically in love with you, you don’t have to try so hard, love.” He says, turning to the case. “Do you still have that one with the marshmallow in the middle? Ryan really liked those ones.”

You pause, taking a look inside the case to check, “I don’t anymore, those were limited. But tell Ryan I'll make a special batch just for him.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that. We’ll do the chocolate peanut butter then. Those are a close second.” He says, mirroring your words from the first day he stepped foot in your bakery. You box up the order, and make your way to the counter. He hands you his normal black credit card, but when he goes to pick up the box, you stop him.

“No. Send Ryan in here to get them” You say, pulling the box back towards you.

“I beg your pardon, love?”

“Oh, don’t beg yet. There’s plenty of time for that later..” You smirk, “I just want to properly meet Ryan without your.. Influence.”

“Anything you want.” Harry states, making his way to the door. “See you tomorrow, Love.”

You can see Harry telling Ryan what’s going on. Ryan looks ever so confused, and maybe even a little anxious as he makes his way inside.

“Hello, Ryan. It’s a pleasure to officially meet you. I’m Y/N.” You say, holding your hand out.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Miss Y/N.” He says, taking your hand in his and giving you a delicate shake. “Your creations are delicious. Stopping here is the highlight of my day, as well as Mr. Styles out there, He quite enjoys your company.”

“So I’ve noticed.” You say, picking up a marker. You pull the box towards you once more, writing a note on top before sliding it back to Ryan on the other side. “Have a great day, Ryan. See you tomorrow.”

“You as well, Miss Y/N. Enjoy the rest of your day.” He says, making a swift exit.

Staring out the shop window after him, you see him hand Harry the box. Harry’s eyes immediately take in the note you left on top.

“Pick me up after we close at 6 tonight, Mr. Styles.” You signed with your phone number at the bottom. You can see his smile from here. It’s so contagious even Ryan starts to smile. Even YOU start to smile.

Unknown: very cheeky, love. See you tonight.

You: you shouldn't have expected anything less. See you tonight, Mr. Styles. What should I wear?

Harry: I honestly expected a little more from you. But, I accept your defeat.

Harry: And I’ll take care of everything, Love.

You: Defeat? Hold on there just a minute, mister. I haven’t lost anything.

Harry: I remember a certain “When pigs fly” phrase coming from your mouth. I told you I always get what I want. See you tonight, Love

"Shit. What did I agree to? Should I cancel? Should I close early and hide somewhere? Well then what excuse would I have when he comes in tomorrow? I could tell him I’ve got a case of food poisoning? Or a migraine?"

Just as your thoughts begin to spiral for the umpteenth time in your downtime, the bell on the door chimes. You look up to see Carly, holding a garment bag, and Jesse standing behind her.

“Uh, what are you two doing here?” You say, confusion very evident on your face. “Jesse aren’t you supposed to be like three hours away in some lecture hall?”

“Oh sure, just question why he’s not where he’s supposed to be.” Carly says, laced with a fake offended tone.

“Bitch, did you forget I went to college with you? I know you’re prone to play hooky every now and then.”

“Okay, fair.” She laughs, “But, I received a phone call so I’m doing my end of a deal I made.”

“Same here.” Jesse says from behind her. “I’m here to take over and close up for you.”

“And I’m here to help you get ready!” Carly erupts with excitement. “I’m so excited for you.”

“Wait a second, what deal?” Now you’re even more confused.

��Ah, can’t reveal anything else. Now, upstairs you two go. I got my own date with one of these cookies and cream cupcakes as my reward for helping you get laid.” Jesse says, guiding both of you to the staircase.

“Jesse!”

“Have the best time!” He says before closing the door behind you.

Carly refused to explain anything to you, other than she was given directions to be at your place to start helping you get ready at 4:30 pm sharp. She was just doing what she was told.

“Stop it.” She says, starting to remove the curlers from your hair.. “I know that look. You’re going to have a great time. He’s already head over heels for you. I can tell.”

“That’s what I’m scared of, Carls. I’m so scared.” You whisper. “I don’t know how to accept love anymore.”

“You accept my love. Jesse’s love. Mr. Henry’s. I know it’s different when it’s a romantic situation, but you’ve gotta have a little faith, babe.”

“You say that like it’s easy.”

“It’s not easy, but that’s what makes it worth it.”

“What if he ends up being just like Jackson?”

“Don’t you see how different he is from him already? He’s made all of this effort just today. He made sure I was out of work. He made sure Jesse was here on time, when Jesse’s supposed to be at school. He literally had an outfit picked up for you, Y/N. Jackson would never include me in a date plan, let alone plan anything with this level of thought behind it. I don’t even think he’s capable of deep thought, but that’s just my opinion.”

“Jackson never planned anything beyond a dinner reservation.” You half laughed. “See what I mean! I know you’re scared, babe, I know. It’s scary being vulnerable. It’s so scary. But it can be so rewarding. But you have to at least try. You won’t get anywhere if you don’t try.”

“But what’s so wrong with being alone?”

“Don’t even start with me right now. I love you, but I will kick your ass.” She says, totally serious.

“Okaaaay, jeez. I get it.”

“Good. Now, bring me your face.” She says, setting your makeup on the counter.

You never thought you’d be walking out your apartment door to meet a man you face planted into in a parking lot. For a date!

You see him leaning against the building opposite yours, dressed in a more casual outfit than you’re used to seeing him in. But you swear you might just prefer this look. His outfit compliments yours; the detailed color in the sun dress he picked out for you emulates the color of his sweater. He’s got his sunglasses pushed atop his head, one hand in the pocket of his jeans, the other hand holding his phone; and a bouquet of yellow tulips tucked under his arm. He looks divine. The casual sexiness just drips off of him.

“Well hello there, stranger. I almost didn’t recognize you.” You say, causing him to look up from his screen.

“I’m sor- woah.” He clears his throat. “You look.. Wow.”

“Well, that’s one way to put it. I guess I still got it.”

“I don’t think you could ever lose it, Love.” He says, sauntering over to you. Grabbing the flowers from under his arm, he extends them to you, “For you, milady.”

“Okay, seriously, which one of them told you everything about me?” You say, taking the bouquet from his grasp. “Yellow tulips have always been my favorite.”

He smiles down at you. “I would never throw your friends under the bus like that. But they all do love to talk about your interests and seem to have your best ones at heart.”

“They do. I appreciate them so much.” You say quietly. “Thank you. Let me put these inside real fast and we can go.”

“I’ll be right here, Love.” He says, kissing your hand before you walk away. You immediately felt your cheeks get warm.

You step inside the bakery and see Jesse standing at the counter with a vase of water.

“Oh, so you knew about these too? You’re the mole, huh? Do you know everything related to tonight?” You say, setting the flowers inside the vase.

Jesse looks at you with a smile and pretends to lock his mouth and throw away the key.

“I hate you.” You say walking back to the front door. “Thank you, Jesse. For everything.”

“You know I always got you, girl. Have a great time.”

“So, where are we going?”

“Ah, that would spoil the surprise.” Harry says, checking his mirrors before switching lanes. “But I have a feeling you’re going to enjoy what I’ve got planned.”

“Cutting me up and spreading the parts out across a fifty mile radius?”

“You’re a little morbid, you know that?” he chuckles softly

“So I’ve been told. Does that bother you?” you’re grinning at him.

“What do you think?” He smirks at you, sliding his hand over to rest on your knee.

The car comes to a stop outside a brick building. “Pottery Painting Class Tonight 8-9pm” Reads on the small marquee board.

“Okay now I know you talked to Carly.” You say excitedly as he helps you out of the car, “I’ve always wanted to do one of these!”

“I had a feeling.” He chuckles. “We are a little early, but there's a diner I love across the street. Come,” He says, holding his hand out to you. You gladly take it and begin to walk hand in hand to your destination.

Settling into a corner booth, your waitress comes and takes your drink order before leaving you to look over the menu. She returns and you let Harry order for you since you were stuck on two options.

“So, what made you finally cave?” He inquires, a heavy smirk upon his face.

“First of all, I didn’t cave. I figured if you’re going to kill me, I might as well get a date out of it.” You quip, leaning your chin onto your hand.

“Always so quick with the comebacks.” He teases. “I don’t think I’ll have time for that this time around, but there’s always next time.”

“You think there’s going to be a next time?” Your eyebrow raises, a smirk tugging on your lips

“Oh, I know it.” He states without even thinking about it.

“I do have a few questions for you, though.” You say, your tone somewhat serious.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Why me?”

“Why not you?”

“You don’t even know me.” You start, “Well, besides what you got out of my friends. You ran into me one day, and then just started showing up out of nowhere. Which doesn't make sense to me either. How did you find me?” Your tone started to seem kind of accusatory. You don’t even let him answer before you start again, “Don’t get me wrong, I love the daily business, but it just seems too calculated to me. It’s been plaguing my brain since the first day you walked in my shop. So, Why me, Harry?”

“I know how weird this all seems, and I profusely apologize for making it seem like my intentions were anything other than good.” He starts, reaching his hand across the table, his way of asking for yours. You hesitantly oblige. “But I will explain everything to you from my point of view, if you’ll allow me.” He says, thumb gliding over the back of your hand.

“Well yeah, I’m here aren’t I?” You smirk at him. “But, I’m also here because you got a stamp of approval from my entire peanut gallery. So be grateful to them.”

“I’ll be sure to send them a thank you card.” He says. “But let me start from the beginning, Love.”

Harry had just arrived at the stadium. Head coach Johnson requested his presence to show Harry just how far their dead last draft pick Jackson Cole had been improving. Harry was less than thrilled when his decision was overruled when it came to drafting Cole, he wanted a different pick from the University of Miami, but they went with majority ruling and thus here we are.

So needless to say, Harry didn’t really want to be here right now, but he knew it wouldn’t take too much of his time. Watch the kid throw the ball a few times and gauge his performance from that. Or so he thought,

“Are you kidding me? Star quarterback kid forgot his practice bag? His practice bag, for the championship game he should be grateful he’s even getting the chance to play in, since my first string is out with a torn ligament? Why am I here wasting my time?” Harry states, business mode turned all the way up to ten.

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Styles. He says his girlfriend is on the way with the bag.”

“If the bag isn’t here in ten minutes, I’m leaving. And something will be done about this.” He says, pulling his phone from his pocket.

The ten minutes pass, and Harry’s irritation rises. He stands from his seat in Johnson’s office and turns to Ryan on his right, “Call for the car, we’re leaving.” Looking to Johnson sitting behind his desk, he points at him, “We’ll be looking to extinguish your contract. If you can’t get your players to remember their gear, why would I think you can get them to remember plays?”

“Mr. Styles, I plead with you to thin-” He’s cut off by the sounds of yelling in the hallway.

All three men make their way out the door to see what the commotion was all about.

“You have got to be the definition of ungrateful. For the greater part of two years I have given you everything and you still think you can talk to me like that?” Harry hears from down the hall.

He turns and sees Cole’s back facing him, and just over his shoulder he sees a woman. A woman with tears in her eyes and shock and terror all over her face.

“Is that your star quarterback over there, verbally abusing that woman?” Harry inquires, turning to Johnson. “I swear on your life, i will remove you from this office myself if that boy over there causes any kind of uproar in the media, Do i make myself clear?”

“Crystal, sir.” Johnson says, fear laced in his voice.

Harry turns back towards the scene unfolding before him, but the woman was gone.

“Mr. Styles, the car is up front.” Ryan pipes up from behind him.

“Right, let’s go then. Don’t make me repeat myself, Johnson.” He says before they take off.

“Wait a second, you were there for that?” You question him. He nods, picking up a french fry.

“I was. I heard the whole thing. Right pissed me off. I wish I would have stepped in instead of threatening Johnson.” His jaw ticks.

“You don’t really seem like you could have that kind of scary demeanor.”

“I only show it to people that need to see it.” He says matter of factly. “But, you don’t get very far in business without being like that. At least sometimes. But outside of my business, I’m nothing like that. Unless you want me to be.” He smirks at you.

You blush, but a realization comes into your head, “Hold on, I completely just let this go over my head. Who are you, exactly, Harry?”

He smiles. “I was waiting for this. I’m the majority owner for the team, Love.” Your face goes pale.

Wait. Huh?? The Owner? This is the owner you embarrassed Jackson in front of?

“Jackson said I embarrassed him in front of you that day.” You say, looking down at the table.

Harry laughs, “If anybody embarrassed Jackson, it was Jackson. What grown ass man forgets his work gear? This is his job after all. And, who then verbally assaults the person who brings it to him? In front of everyone, nonetheless.”

He takes in the frown on your face, and decides to shift the direction of the conversation. “You really had no idea who I was this whole time.” He says, more of a statement than a question.

“Was I supposed to?” You respond quietly, still not sure what to do with this information.

“No, I don’t mean it like that. I’m honestly more surprised than anything.” He says, holding his hands up like he's pre-defending himself, “And i don't mean this in any kind of derogatory way against you, but normally I have women lie, saying they don’t know me to get closer to me. But you really had no idea this whole time. It’s honestly refreshing.”

“You seem really full of yourself.” You say, taking a bite of your pancakes.

“There’s a fine line between confident and cocky, and I know how to keep myself on the right side. But, let me continue.” He says before continuing his story.

Harry made his way out of the elevator with his band of associates behind him. Ryan was giving him the run down of his next meeting as they walked to the car.

“We have a 1:30 pm meeting with Lyons, but I can resche-” Ryan is cut off by the sound of Harry huffing.

“Woah there love, I gotcha.” It's her. It’s the woman Cole was belittling. She looks so.. sad. I should offer to do so-

“Sorry. You can let go now.” Nice one, Styles.

“My apologies, Love.”

“Don’t call me that.” She says, rolling her eyes at the man before her.

He continues to recount your first meeting exactly as you remember it. He throws in the detail of asking Ryan to look into you, wanting to be fully transparent with you.

“So you knew who I was before this? How is that fair?”

“I suppose it’s not, but I only requested your name and where you worked. I didn’t want to learn anything else before I heard it from you.”

“Say’s the guy who made a ‘deal’ with all of my friends in order to get me here today.” You chuckle.

“Okay, fair. But in my defense, how you take your coffee, what your favorite flower is, and something you’d be interested in doing for a date isn’t entirely sensitive information, Love.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Styles. I happen to take my interests and passions very seriously. These are very sensitive topics.”

“I’ll gladly discuss any sensitive topic you’d like, Love. But perhaps we should save that for when we’re alone, no? Unless you’re into that.” He teases.

“You know, Harry, I just might have met my match with these comebacks of yours, and I don't appreciate being threatened.”

“Is that a challenge?” He says, leaning closer to you across the table.

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” you say, matching his movements.

Just as he’s about to seal the deal, his phone buzzes letting him know your class is about to start across the street.

“Ah, but I guess that will have to wait until later.” You say, standing from your seat.

Harry ran his hand along his face, covering his mouth and breathed out a laugh. “This girl.” He thinks. He takes your hand after throwing more than enough cash down on the table, and you make your way back to the brick building that will be housing your date for the evening.

Throughout the course of the rest of your date, you learn more about Harry. He’s 30. His favorite color is orange. “Wait no blue. No, orange. Orange.” He’s an Aquarius, though he swears he doesn’t understand why that’s relevant. He was born in England but moved here when he was 22 to run the US branch of his company. He has his hands and feet in all kinds of different baskets. He’s in the market of construction, publishing, restaurants, real estate; you name it. He’s worked every single day since the day he graduated and he’s turned his business into what it is today. His successful business is what made it possible to be the majority owner of the team Jackson plays for. His parents and sister are still back in England and he misses them terribly, but he travels back as often as he can to see them. Especially now that he’s an uncle! He loves all sports, but American football just really spoke to him. He says soccer is his second favorite. Or the true football according to him.

“But why did you decide to pursue me so intricately? I was so rude to you both of the first real times we spoke.” You question, sweeping your paintbrush across the teapot you chose.

He ponders for a split second, “I got fixated with how it made me feel inside to be the one to make you smile” He says without looking up from the bowl that he chose to paint. “Plus, I saw your disdain for me as a challenge. And I love a challenge.” He smirks, still not looking up at you.

You stare at him in awe, taking in how his brows furrowed together in concentration. He answered you with such an easiness in his tone. “I just don’t know how someone like you could be interested in someone like me.”

“How could I not?” He says, finally looking up at you. ”You’re so determined, and incredibly talented. You’re undoubtedly the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. But you looked so broken and exhausted when I saw you for the first time at the stadium. It broke my heart. I wanted to do everything in my power from that moment on to put a real smile back on your face. I didn’t know you then, but I wanted to. I wanted to take all the pain you were feeling away. That’s all I know.” He says, setting his brush down.

You thoroughly enjoyed yourself tonight and you probably told Harry how much fun you had about 13 times in the time it took him to drive you home. It made his heart swell to know he’d made you so happy tonight. Harry walked you to your apartment door, before turning you to face him, his hands finding purchase on your lower back.

“I had a wonderful time with you tonight, Love,” He says, reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear; his touch ghosting your skin, giving you goosebumps.

You roll your eyes. “You won’t ever let up with that nickname, will you?”

“Never. Not when I get this reaction out of you.” He smirks, looking down at your lips. “May i?”

You don’t even hesitate before you nod. He immediately leans down and covers your lips with his. The feeling of warmth, and desire seeps into every pore across your entire body. His kiss feels like everything you’ve ever longed for. You feel safe. You feel at home. A feeling you hadn’t felt since you were twenty years old and lost the only two people you had left you were willing to call biological family. He made you feel alive again.

“Mm, exactly how I imagined.” He says in between rushed kisses, lips moving perfectly in sync.

“You imagined this?” You say breathlessly.

“Only every second of every. fucking. day, Love.” He says after he reluctantly pulls away. “But, I need to stop myself before I get too excited. I want this to be right.”

You shake your head, “You’re just fine.” You say before cupping both of his cheeks and capturing his lips with yours once more. “This is just right.”

“As much as I want this with you right now, we shouldn’t.” He’s gripping your wrists and gently pulling them from his face. “You have no idea how bad I want this.”

“So let’s go upstairs.” You say, trying to free your arms from his grasp.

“Love, look at me.” He says, now grabbing the sides of your neck to angle your head up at him again. “I want nothing more than to take you upstairs and give you everything you deserve.” You’re nodding along with his words, a desperate smile on your face. “But I want to take my time with you. Will you let me take my time with you and do this right?” He asks, sliding his hands up and caressing your cheeks with his thumbs.

“I guess so.” You say, voice echoing disappointment.

“Hey, none of that. I’ll take care of you soon, I promise. But for now, I want you to take your cute butt upstairs, and call your friends. I’m sure they’re all waiting to hear how much fun you had tonight. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Harry.” You say, rolling your eyes.

“Good girl,” He says, making your breath hitch and cheeks flush. “Now, Up you go. He says, not before pressing one last kiss to your pouty lips.

“See you tomorrow?” You say, turning towards him one last time.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Love.” He waits until he hears your door close behind you before making his way back to his car. He feels his phone vibrate in the cup holder.

You: Thank you for tonight, Mr. Styles. I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

Harry: The pleasure was all mine, Love. I would enjoy doing that again with you sometime soon.

You: Whenever you want, Harry.

Harry: Ah, I did mention getting what I want, didn't I? How about this weekend? Saturday after you close? I’ll pick you up.

You: It’s a date. Goodnight, Harry.

Harry: Goodnight, Love.

Throwing yourself down on your bed you call Carly. Of course she’s answering on the first ring because she’s as nosy as the rest of us. “GIRL YOU BETTER TELL ME EVERYTHING!” She says as soon as the lines connect.

“Why else would I be calling? I have so much to tell you!” You recount the night's events to her with as much detail as you can. Although that doesn’t stop her from trying to pry for more.

“What do you mean he rejected you? I am so confused.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. He just wants to ‘take things slow and do this properly’ as he said in his fancy accent.” You tell her.

“What a gentleman.” Carly muses. “I want one.” She huffs through the phone. “Is Ryan single?”

Saturday’s business hours come and go before you can even process them. I mean, you did close two hours early to get ready but you still didn’t think you weren’t that close to your date with Harry.

Although, you haven’t seen Harry yet today. Ryan is the one who stopped in at lunch time. Ryan claimed it was because Harry was taking care of some business he needed to attend to before your date tonight. Harry told Ryan to make sure you didn’t worry, that you were still on for tonight and that he was sorry he couldn’t be there today. You made your way upstairs and began your getting ready process. Which included a hot shower, exfoliating, shaving every inch.. You know, the everything shower. Carly asked if you wanted her to help you again, but you declined; wanting to take your time with your self care.

Checking your phone for the hundredth time this hour, you finally get the message you’ve been waiting for.

Harry: I’m on my way, love. Can’t wait to see you.

You felt immediate goosebumps all over and butterflies in your stomach. “Oh god.” You think. “I already like him. maybe too much.” You could hear Carly scolding you now, “Bitch, knock it off. You’ve been miserable for long enough.” You think maybe she's right.

Harry’s there to pick you up at 6 pm on the dot. His black Range Rover settled behind him as he watches you make your way across the street. He reaches his hand out for you to grab once you’re close enough and he pulls you to stand between his legs, hands settling on your hips.

“Hello, Love.” He smiles down at you, eyes peering over his expensive sunglasses.

“Ello, govna. Fancy a date wiff meh?” You choke out, in your worst accent possible. He chokes on his own spit at that.

“Oh my g-, what was that?” he says, unable to hold his laughter.

“I thought I'd give your accent a shot.” You say, shrugging your shoulders.

“It’s a good thing you’re talented in other areas, love, because impressions are not your strong suit.” He says, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Shall we go, then?” He says, nodding towards his car.

“We shall.” You let him guide you around the car and open your door for you. (Jackson would never btw) He makes his way back around before sliding into his seat and taking off.

Your second date ensues without a hitch. He took you to a record store! He perused the entire store with you for hours. You both showed each other different albums and explained what they meant to you. He showed you his favorite Pink Floyd record and you showed him your favorite band's sophomore album that had gotten you through some really dark times. He kept eye contact with you and nodded along with your words, expressing his condolences for you having to experience so much already in your life. The fact that he even remembered you mentioning you enjoy vinyl hunting had you sure of one thing, you’re certain you like this man more than you should. And you’re terrified. But in the best way.

Harry gets you home around 10 pm, and walks to your door again.

“I would like to ask you a pretty important question.” Harry states, placing the palm of his hand against your cheek. You lean into his touch and nod, letting him know to continue. “I know this is rather sudden, but I would like to start seeing you. Officially, I mean.” Maneuvering his hands to tilt your face towards him, he presses a kiss to your cheek. “Call you mine.” The other cheek. “Make you happy.” Now your forehead. “Treat you with the utmost respect, like you deserve.” He kisses your nose. “Will you let me do that, sweet girl?” He pauses, gauging your reaction.

You nod your head like a mad woman, a massive smile on your face, “Oh god, yes!.” You say. And it feels like an entire weight has been lifted off your shoulders. You never imagined all those months ago that you’d be standing here with your handsome stranger agreeing to start a relationship with him. Who are you? What have you done with Y/N? Is Y/N even in the room with us?

Harry smiles a smile that can only be described as.. painful looking. “My sweet girl, gonna treat you so well. The way you deserve. Been waiting months for this.” He says, pressing his lips to yours. You reach your hands up, tangling them in his soft curls, and pull yourself to your tippy toes, attempting to meet his height. “Please,” You whisper against his lips before kissing him again. He leans down over you, trying to pull you as close to him as possible. “Please what, sweet girl?” He teases, “Gotta use your words for me, pretty.” He says, tilting your head back and placing featherlight kisses along your jawline, heading towards your right ear and taking your lobe into his mouth.

“Oh my god, Harry–Fuck.” You groan out. “Please, don’t make me wait again.” You plead, pulling his lips back to yours.

“Is my girl sure this is what she wants? I thought we agreed to take this slow.” He teases again.

“I changed my mind! Please, Harry. Please.” You plead, making him chuckle.

“Who am i to deny you, Love.” He says.

You clumsily make your way upstairs, the both of you too damn stubborn to attempt to break your kiss. Layers of clothing are shed as you make your way into your bedroom. He pauses one more time at the end of your bed, both of you only left in your underwear, “Are you sure about this Love? We can stop right now and it wouldn’t change anything.” You shake your head and push him down, straddling his lap. “I seem to remember a promise you made about taking me upstairs and giving me everything I deserve. I’m waiting for that promise to be kept, Mr. Styles.”

“Well then, allow me to demonstrate.” He says, flipping you both over so you were under him, eliciting a shriek of laughter from you.

1.2.1 (please mind the tags before you read!)

A couple months have passed and it’s cold out again. Harry’s been making good on his promise to treat you well, treat you how you deserve. He still makes his daily stops to get his cupcake and drop your coffee off, and he makes sure to give you the dozens of kisses you demand before he’s allowed to leave. You feel like a different person; you would never be caught dead showing this level of affection to a partner, let alone in a semi public setting. All of your friends are so immensely proud of you, but nobody says anything lest to make you feel embarrassed. Harry claims the title of your biggest fan and your number one supporter. Although he and Carly like to “argue” over that title. You were thrilled to finally have a relationship where your boyfriend and your best friend actually got along.

When Mr. Henry stopped in the day after your first date, you feigned ignorance.

“Good morning, dear. How was your evening?” He inquires, a smirk evident on the elderly man's face.

“Eh, it was pretty boring. I tried out this new recipe for a chocolate ganache to put on a cake. Turned out pretty well. I’m kind of excited.” You say, boxing up his normal order, plus some extras as a thank you for him to find later.

“What do you mean? I thought yo-, wait a minute. You’re being a smart ass aren’t you?” He asks, brows furrowing together.

“What was your end of the deal? I already got it out of the other two. What’s your excuse, huh?” You tease him.

“You little shit. Haha, alright. You got me there. I didn’t agree to get anything in return. There isn’t anything he could give me that I need, dear. I have all I could ever need right here.” He motions to you and Rocco. “I just wanted you to have a chance to be truly happy, like I got to be. I want you to find someone to eat peanut butter cookies for after they're gone. That’s all I asked for from him in return. He said he would do his best to make me proud. And I believe him, dear.”

The tears well in your eyes before you can even process what’s happening.

“Well, now I didn't tell you that to make you cry.” Mr. Henry picks up a napkin and hands it to you, “I’ve told you before, no time for that. You’ve got cookies to sell.”

Jesse has returned from school again for winter break. He’s been keeping tabs on you while he’s been gone though. He was so excited for you when you informed him you and Harry were officially an item.

“Yeah, and you tried telling me you weren’t interested in him.” He says, spinning a rose nail between his fingers like you taught him.

“Ooh, see! now, twist it back and start where you left off.” You said, encouraging his progress. “Ya know, Jesse, I never claimed to be perfect.” You joke.

“I know, girl. I’m just glad you’re letting yourself be happy again. It right hurt my heart to see you so sad. Mr. Henry and I were about to start scheming together.” He picks the rose up off the nail, and sets it down where you have it marked on top of the cake.

“I think all of you did plenty of scheming, don’t you?” You say, raising your eyebrow at him.

“Okay, you got me there. But can you blame us?”

“I suppose not.” You say checking the time on your phone. “Hey, Harry asked me to make his cupcake drop at the stadium. Are you okay if I run these to him real fast? I’ll be back in no time at all.”

“Go on, girl. I got this. Go get your man.” Jesse says, starting another rose on the nail. “Still can’t believe you bagged a team owner. Badass — seriously.”

You make the drive to the stadium and you’re surprised to see the team in the parking lot doing drills. You don’t think anything of it and pull into one of Harry’s parking spots near the gate like he told you to do. Gathering your various items, you step out of your car and turn to close the door.

“What are you doing here?” You hear behind you. Jackson.

“Mm, I don’t really think that’s any of your business.” You huff before continuing on your way.

“We haven’t been together for nearly a year, I have no desire to see you here.” Jackson says, rather angrily, following hot on your trail.

“Well, it's a good thing I’m not here to see you. So if you’ll excuse me.” You make a hasty exit from the conversation and let your feet carry you to Harry’s office.

“Hello, my love.” Harry says upon your entrance. “What do you have for me today?”

You half smile at him, “Um, there’s a cookies and cream for you, and the marshmallow filled for Ryan.” You say, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” He inquires from his seat.

You nod, even though it’s a lie. He shakes his head at you. “Come here, Love.” he says motioning for you to join him on his side of the desk. He pulls you to sit in front of him on the desk, he cages you in with his arms “Now, you know I don’t like dishonesty, Love.” He starts, “What’s bothering you?”

“I hate that you can read me like a book.” you mumble, your eyes beginning to well with tears.

“Mm, Have been able to since the beginning. Are you gonna tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“It’s just Jackson.” You mumble, fidgeting with your hands in your lap.

“Did he say something to you?” Harry says, his tone serious now.

“No! I mean — kind of. The guys were all in the parking lot doing drills and when he saw me, he asked why i was here, I told him it was none of his business, and then he told me he didn’t want me here.”

“I hope you gave that punk an earful.” He says, running his palms over the tops of your clothed thighs..

“I told him that it was a good thing I wasn't here to see him, and to excuse me.” You said, recounting what happened.

“Good girl. That works too. I’ll deal with him. Wanted him gone a long time ago”

“No, please, just leave it be. I don’t want to give him a reason to hate me even more. He still scares me. I didn’t recognize him that night. H-he grabbed my face and told me I n-needed to be m-more obedient to him. Please don’t make it any w-worse, Harry, please,” You plead tears beginning to stream down your face.

“Woah, pretty, let's calm down, yeah?.” He coos, pulling you off of the desk and onto his lap. He rubs soothing circles on your back and guides your breathing. “It’s okay, my sweet girl. Nobody can hurt you. I’ve got you, baby. Everything will be okay.”

Harry holds you for a while longer while he continues to do some of his work at his desk. He glances down at his watch, taking in the time. “I’m sorry, Love, I’ve got a meeting in 15, I would cancel again but that would be three times in a row.” You sit up slowly before you say, “Oh, it’s alright. I’ve gotta get back to Jesse.” He tucks your hair behind your ears and kisses you softly. “Will you be alright getting back? Should I send Ryan with you?

“No, I’ll be okay. Will I see you tonight?” You inquire, standing from his hold.

“Well, of course. I expect my nightly dose of attitude when I get there, too.” He says before giving a light pinch to your ass, making you squeal. “Let me know once you’ve made it back, my love.”

“Yes, sir.” You mumble out and you swear you almost hear Harry groan.

“Keep it up, sweetheart. You might like what happens.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you.

You make your way to the door and he opens it for you, letting you step into the hallway before him. You’re trying to be cute when you attempt to leave without a proper goodbye, but he isn’t having any of that. Harry reaches out and spins you to face him, arms immediately wrapping around your frame, making you giggle.

“And just where do you think you’re going without my ‘see you later’ kiss, hm?” He inquires.

”I’m sorry, who are you?” You say, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Oh, baby, allow me to remind you.” And he's kissing you again, making you whimper, but not for long before he’s pulling away.

“Nooo, one more.” you plead, chasing his lips with yours.

“Who are you begging for a kiss from a stranger? Naughty girl.” He teases, making you giggle again. “Off you go, my love. I’ll see you tonight.” and he sends you on your way.

You begin to make your way to your car, unaware of the following eyes. You start to hear the echo of footsteps behind you, so you peer over your shoulder and see Jackson at the end of the hall trailing behind you. You panic and begin to speed walk the last bit to your car before locking your doors once inside.

“You know, I thought you were pathetic, but this is ridiculous.” You hear through your driver side window.

“Go away, Jackson.”

“How long have you been fucking him? Huh? How long have you been plotting this? Was this your plan all along? Sleep your way up the football hierarchy? I gotta say, you made one hell of a jump; quarterback to owner? Damn girl. Could’ve at least started with an offensive coordinator, or one of the coaches.” His words were coming at you so fast.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you wanted me first, remember?” You say, starting your car.

“You’re a right bitch, you know that? He’ll realize it soon enough and leave you in the dust like I did.”

“Did you literally forget that I’m the one who left you, genius?” You said before backing out, and pulling away.

Jackson stood and watched your car leave the parking lot, a scheme brewing in his big ass head. “I’ve got just the way to make you crumble, princess, don’t worry.” He says, laughing to himself before making his way back into the stadium.

Christmas is coming, really fast. Like in three days fast. You realize you have nothing for anybody besides Jesse. You’d gotten him a figurine of his favorite character from his favorite anime. With the promise to Jesse of as many cupcakes as he wanted, you asked him if he’d cover by himself for a few hours while you attempted to get something for Harry, Carly, Mr. Henry, Rocco, and Ryan of course. Jesse of course accepted, settling on the idea of continuing his cake decorating. You dress yourself for the cold and make your way to the mall you know has everything.

Carly, Mr. Henry, and Rocco are all very easy to shop for. Carly loves wine, makeup, and the show Sex & The City. Mr. Henry always enjoys extra cookies of course, but you also like to get him a new set of cold gear every year. He wears them until they’re worn out until the next Christmas. He says he always appreciates it because his wife used to do the same, and that it really makes him feel cared for. That man just loves to make you cry by being sweet, and then tell you to knock it off for crying. You can't ever win with him. Rocco of course loves a good treat bag and a new toy. But you always make sure to get him a doggy scarf to match with Mr. Henry’s.

You’d even surprisingly found something for Ryan, well two things. One of them is just a tie in a very specific color he mentioned liking, and the other is a pen that makes a sound when he clicks the top. It says “Yes, Mr. Styles.” in Ryan’s voice. You swore you’ve heard Ryan say those words more than you’ve heard him say anything else. Makes sense since he is Harry’s right hand man. But now, here we are. Nothing for arguably the most important person.

Taking out your phone on your journey back to your car, you tap on his contact. He answers the phone on the second ring. ”Hi, sweet girl. You okay?”

You giggle, “Of course I’m okay, why wouldn’t I be?” Reaching your car, you set your bags in the trunk and slide into the driver's seat.

“Well, you never have time to call me in the middle of the day, so I thought something might be wrong.” He says, his voice seeming calmer now.

“Oh, yeah, I’m out shopping. I guess I actually do kind of need your help.” You make his heart rate pick up at him hearing you needing him for something. He knew how hard asking for help was for you, no matter how small the act in question was, so he was proud of you.

“I’m all ears, baby. What can I do for you?”

You hesitate for a moment, “What is something you think you’d like for christmas?”

You can hear him sigh a laugh through the phone. “Baby, I don’t need anything from you. I have all I could ever need. You gave me everything the day you agreed to be mine.”

His words make you tear up, but your bratty side still takes over 99% of the time. “Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are?” You say, tone feigning attitude.

“Mm, sometimes my girlfriend does when she’s pretending to be pissed at me.” He quips back at you.

“She sounds like a handful.”

“She’s many things, but never that.” He’s doing that thing again where he talks about how easy it is to love you. “She thinks her words are sharp enough to cut.” He starts again, “But I think she’s just deflecting.”

“I hate you.” You whisper, but he can hear your smile through the phone.

“Are you sure about that, Love?

“Yes, you still didn’t answer my question. I asked what you wanted, not what you needed.” Attempting to steer the conversation from where it was going.. But that didn’t work out very well.

“Sweet girl, I don’t think you want me to tell you what I want over the phone when I know what I’d tell you would leave you an achy mess for the rest of the day.” there’s not a single ounce of hesitation in his voice.

“Like you’d pass up an opportunity to make me squirm.” You say, a real attitude prevalent in your tone. Since he wants to go there.

“Is that a challenge? I can start listing all the ways I plan on making you squirm once I get my hands on you. You want that?”

“Y-yes.” You breathe out. Until you realize you’re sitting in your car. Sitting in your car in a public parking lot. Y/N, get a grip. “I mean, n-no. No. Stop distracting me.” You clear your throat. “Tell me something you want for Christmas, I’m serious Harry.”

“You really want to know?” He says quietly, but you know that voice.

“Nope. Bye.” You say hanging up on him. You knew exactly where that was going. He immediately calls you back but you send him to voicemail. Putting your car in drive, you take off after the perfect idea popped into your head. You just hoped this place still had what you were looking for. Harry’s still trying to call you but you’ve turned on DND. You start to get excited wondering what his reaction will be to that.

Making your way back to the bakery, you’d called Jesse ahead of time requesting his help with the big box while you got the bags. “Where do you want this box?” He asks walking in after you.

“Would you mind taking it upstairs? Pretty pleaaaase?” You say, setting your bags on the counter.

“You got it, girl. Be right ba-, wait, keys? Oh, I see them. Be right back.”

You turn to see the cake he was working on, thoroughly impressed by his progress. His roses are damn near perfect at this point. Now if he could just get some not dude looking handwriting, he’ll be golden! You’re turning the cake to check out the other side when the doorbell chimes. Without taking your eyes off the cake you begin to speak, “Welcome in, give me just one second.” Lifting your hands up you begin to slide the cake off of the lazy susan before turning to place the cake in the cooler. But when you turn around, you’re met with Jackson; standing at your bakery counter with a blue folder in his hand, and a devious smile on his face. He has you cornered. And Jesse is still upstairs. The cake falls from your hands right onto the floor in front of your feet.

“I finally have a way to make you pay for what you did to my career, you football ladder climbing slut.” He sneers at you, waving the folder back and forth.

“I-I d-don’t, wh-what?”

“You. You ruined me when you left.”

“I didn’t do anything to you. I didn’t say anything about you. I don’t even think I unfollowed you for heaven's sake, Jackson.” You say getting louder, hoping Jesse will hear and come back down. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’ve played like shit since you left. You fucked with my head and I haven’t played the same.”

“I fucked with your head? You’re joking right?”

“Dead serious, princess. As serious as this folder right here. Here, this is your copy anyways." He says, sliding your bags off the counter, sending the limited edition Pink Floyd album that you had just bought Harry for Christmas onto the floor. Completely shattering it. The album was a first edition pressing from 1975 when the album came out. Harry wouldn’t let you buy it for him the night of your first date. “Haven’t got a turntable, Love. I wouldn’t be able to appreciate it properly.” But that’s what Jesse was taking upstairs. You’d bought him a turntable and his first record. That was now shattered on the floor. “Oops.” Jackson says, feigning an apology.

“What do you want, Jackson?” You say, snatching the folder from his hand.

“I now own this entire building, and you have one week to get all of your shit and get the fuck out.” He says, inching closer to you over the counter.

Your eyes widen. “W-what, what the fuck are you talking about? Jesse! Jesse, come back, please!” You scream, flipping through the pages of the folder.

“Jesse, come back, please!” Jackson mocks you. “Jesse can’t do shit.” but that's when Jesse comes barreling down the stairs.

“Ah ah ah, pretty boy. I will own everything you own in the matter of seconds once you lay a finger on me. Let me explain to the both of you — since you demanded an audience — how this works.” He says, sauntering over to the table by the window and plopping down in the chair. “You own this business, not the building.” That is true. Your business is a part of a strip of brick buildings and they all have apartments above them. You paid rent every month like everyone else did along the strip. “The building was owned by Jeff Walker, who just so happened to get a pretty nice cash offer from yours truly. And now I’m the owner. How does that make you feel, princess? You wanna sleep with me again now that I own something?”

His words make you want to vomit. You’re thankful Harry has never called you princess.

“Dude, get out of here. Don’t make me call the cops.” Jesse says, stepping in front of the counter.

“Oh, I’m not staying. Just gotta let my tenants know who their new landlord is. You got a week, princess. And you’re out.” He says, flinging the door open before leaving.

You’re frozen. You’re staring at the papers saying Jackson owns your building, and you’re frozen. You can’t move. You can’t think. You almost can't even breathe. You don’t even hear Jesse calling your name. Not until he grips your shoulders and shakes you.

“Y/N, come on, come back to me.” He pleads. But you’re sinking to the floor, pulling your knees to your chest. He panics. Looking in your bag, he grabs your phone and calls Harry.

“Oh, now you want to continue what you started earlier? I see how you are, Naughty girl.” Harry says when he answers the phone.

“Look man, I’ll pretend like i didn’t hear that if you please get to Y/N’s shop as soon as you possibly can.”

“Did something happen? What’s wrong?” Panic rising in Harry’s tone.

“Jackson was here, there’s some folder. I don–, just get here, please. She needs you.”

“Fuck, Okay. I am on my way right now. Thank you for calling me, Jesse. Tell her I’ll be there soon.”

Jesse gets down on the floor with you and wraps his arm around your shoulders. “Hey, you’re good. Harry’s on his way, alright?”

Harry gets to your shop in record time. Pushing the door open and rushing inside like his life depended on it. “Baby? Where are you?” he asks, not seeing anybody.

“We’re down here!” Jesse claims from behind the counter. Harry walks around the counter taking in the sight before him. You’re cradled into Jesse, absolutely shaking.

“Oh no, my girl. Come here, baby.” He says.

“She says she can’t stand.”

“Oh, I know she can. She’s strong. C’mon baby, let's go upstairs.” He says, placing his hand on your shoulder. “C’mon, I know you can.”

You shake your head. “H-he b-bought the building, H-harry.” You cry out, “I’m going to lose ever—” Unable to speak, your sobs take over.

“What is she talking about?” He asks, looking at Jesse, not wanting you to try to talk anymore.

“It’s all in that folder.’ Jesse nods his head towards the counter next to Harry.

He picks it up, flipping through the contents. “Hah, that fucker.” He says, folding the folder in half and tucking it into his jacket pocket. “Alright, Love.” He says, leaning down to pull you up and into his arms. “Up we go.” He tosses you slightly to get his arms in the right spots under your knees and across your back.

“I’ll take care of everything down here. Thank you for coming, man.” Jesse gently grabs Harry’s shoulder.

“Of course. Thank you for calling.” Harry responds before he disappears with you up the stairs.

He walks you into the bathroom and sets you down on the counter before trying to step away from your hold, but your arms remained locked around his neck. “No. Stay. Please.”

“I am, baby, I want to run you a bath.” He chuckles, “Promise, I'm coming right back, yeah?” he presses his lips to your temple to soothe you. You nod and let him go. Harry walks over to the bathtub and turns the knob. Setting his arm out to test the water until it’s warm enough for your liking, and drops the stopper in the drain. Before returning to you, he drops some of your lavender bubble bath that’s placed on the side of your tub. He stands between your legs again and places his hands on your hips. “Alright, my girl, arms up.” He says while grabbing the hem of your sweatshirt.

“Will y-you get in w-with me?” You ask as he reaches behind you to gently undo your bra.

“Of course, If that’s what you want.” He’s reaching down to unbutton your jeans and you slide down off the counter so he can pull them down your legs along with your underwear. “My girl. I hate seeing you so sad. Let’s get you relaxed. Deal with what we can right now, yeah?” You nod, trying to even out your breathing. He pulls his clothes from his body before settling in the tub. Harry holds his hand out to help guide you, “Careful, don’t slip.” he says as you set your foot down into the warm water. You sink down and Harry pulls you to lay on his front, wrapping his arms around your waist before sinking so you're both covered by the water. “Alright, sweetheart, you’re safe now. I’m here with you,” He says, rubbing soothing circles where his thumbs rest on your hips.

“He’s ruined everything, Harry.” You cry.

“Baby, he hasn’t ruined anything yet. He’s got a piece of paper saying he’s giving Walker some money. We can’t solve anything about that right now. Let’s focus on what we can solve, okay? What can we solve right now, even if it’s small?” He asks you, reaching up to rub his hands all over your back.

You shake your head, “Can you just hold me, please?”

“Course i can. We can talk later if you want?”

“Can you just talk? Distract me?”

“Absolutely, love. About anything in particular?”

“Talk to me about your tattoos.” You say, running your fingers over the ones you can see on his chest.

Harry goes into his story about when he started getting his tattoos. He tells you the stories behind the ones that mean the most to him. He explains his tattoos as a collection of memories of instances in his life that he never wants to forget. You think that sounds wonderful.

“Would you get one for me?” You ask, partially teasing.

“Of course I would. I’d do it tomorrow.”

“Wait, really? I wasn’t serious. That’s permanent, Harry.”

“Really? They are? I had no idea.” He teases you. “Better get my money back. I was wondering why they weren’t coming off in the shower.”

“You’re so annoying.” You huff at him, making him breathe a laugh through his nose. “What would you get for me?”

“Hm, hard to tell. Perhaps the outline of a cupcake?” He muses at you.

“I quite like that idea, Mr. Styles.”

“I enjoy any idea that keeps a piece of you with me forever.” He says placing a kiss on your forehead.

“You know, you give my cupcakes a run for their money with your sweetness.” You say earning a chuckle from him.

Harry continues to hold you until you begin to stir. “Are you ready to get out?” He’s looking down at you, continuing his ministrations with his hands on your hips.

You nod, “Yeah. Will you keep holding me though?” You ask.

“Anything you want, baby.” He assures you.

Harry gently dries you off before helping you brush your hair, and put a set of your pajamas on. You’ve seen every inch of this man but these actions here feel so much more intimate to you. You’ve never felt so cared for in your life. He slides into a pair of his clothes that you keep in a drawer for him in your dresser--He melted when you told him that it was his drawer– and he gets into your bed with you. He curls himself around you, face tucked into your neck, an arm sliding under your shoulders, and the other across your waist, and he pulls you as close as he possibly can.

You’re soothed by the soft thump of his heartbeat against your back, and the warmth of his even breaths against your neck. Your breathing finally begins to fully calm, and you slowly stop shaking.

“M’ so tired, Harry.” You whisper. He places a soft kiss on the nape of your neck.

“You wanna take a nap, baby? I’ll stay with you.” He says, breath tickling your throat.

“That’s not what I meant. I’m tired of everything going wrong.”

“Everything hasn’t gone wrong, sweetheart. I will look into this first thing in the morning, okay?”

“He broke your christmas present.” You say, turning yourself in his hold so you were facing him. “I found you the perfect gift and it’s gone. Shattered, Harry.”

“Baby, I told you, you’re the best gift I could have asked for. Material things are great, but I’d rather have you.” He says, cradling the side of your face.

“You have me all the time, Harry. Why do you always have the right thing to say?” You roll your eyes at him, trying not to smile. He makes it so hard to be upset. He looks at things with such a positive outlook and it’s so contagious.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” He quips, sliding his hand under your jaw and lightly squeezing, eliciting a whimper from you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You say, blinking your lashes at him.

“Sure you don’t, pretty.” He says, placing a chaste kiss to your lips. “I’m sorry you had such a rough day. We’ll start over tomorrow, okay? Is there anything else we can do tonight to make you feel a little better?” He says while peppering kisses all over your face, making you giggle. “Anything at all, baby?” You know exactly what he wants, how he wants to distract you.

“Nope, not a thing.” You say as he slides his other hand further down your body, teasing the hem of your sleep shorts. “Can’t think of anything else I n–eed toni–, ohh.” The tips of his fingers find that spot, and you’re at a loss for words; He stole them right from your mouth and replaced them with his tongue. You reach your hands up, winding them in his hair and pull him off of you, “Please, don’t stop.” You say before connecting your lips again.

“Oh, but I thought my girl didn’t need anything else from me?” He teases.

“Harry, I swear to god I'll kill you.”

“Ooh, she’s feisty now, everybody.” He says while gently turning you two over so he’s leaning over you. “Sure you can’t think of anything else you need?” You shake your head, trying to pull his face to yours, and hooking your leg around his hip to pull him closer, but he’s not budging. “Gotta use your words for me, baby.”

You pout at him, “I hate you.”

“Sure you do, sweetheart. Gonna tell me what you need?”

“You. Need you. Please.”

Harry wakes up a few hours later to the feeling of you wrapped around him. If you asked him, he’d take this version of waking up every day. But he'll have that conversation with you later, when he knows you’re ready to have it.

Slowly, he peels himself away from you, it warms his heart to see your sleeping frame frown at the loss of his warmth. “I’ll be right back, baby. Just need to make a call.” He whispers against your forehead before pressing a kiss. He knows you’re sleeping, but just in case a small part of you wasn't, he didn't want that small part to worry. Harry quietly pulls your bedroom door shut before making his way into your kitchen. He finds his jacket and retrieves his phone, immediately calling Ryan.

“Yes, Mr. Styles?” Ryan says as soon as he answers the phone.

“Ryan, I need you to do something.” Harry breathes into the phone. “I need you to get a meeting with Jeff Walker. As soon as possible.”

Stretching your arm to the right, you feel the cold sheets of your bed. You sit up and notice your door is slightly ajar, and faintly you can hear the clattering of pans in the kitchen.

“Harry?” You call out, slipping out of the comfort of your bed. You wince at the ache in your legs once you pull yourself to stand. Harry’s sweatshirt is laying on the ottoman at the end of your bed, so you slip that over your head and make your way towards the sounds in the kitchen.

Taking in the sight before you, a shirtless Harry standing at the counter, whisking something together in a large bowl. His sweatpants are hanging dangerously low on his hips, and his hair is wildly unkempt looking. But you’d wake up to this sight every day if he asked you to. He’s still unaware of your presence, so to really get his attention you saunter over behind him and slowly snake your arms around his middle, laying your cheek against his bare back.

“Good morning, pretty.” He says placing one of his hands over yours on his chest. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mm, like a baby.” You hum against his back. “My legs are sore though, you menace.” He chuckles at that, turning himself in your hold, wrapping his arms around you.

“Are you complaining?” He asks, placing a kiss on your temple.

“No, not at all.” You roll your eyes at him.

“Rolling our eyes this early? You a masochist or something?” He teases you, pinching your ass and making you jolt.

You shake your head and press your face into his chest. “No. You’re just annoying.”

“Mm, mhm. So annoying, baby.” He says before kissing the crown of your head. Harry then reaches his hands down the backs of your thighs and lifts you onto the counter.. “Let me finish this, and then I’m all yours until we have to get ready for work. How’s that sound?”

“I don’t think I can do it today, Harry. I’m so mentally exhausted. I don’t want to open my shop if I won’t be able to open it a week from now.”

“Oh, my sweet girl. Everything will fall into place, I promise.” He says cupping your cheek; swiping over the surface with his thumb.

“How can you stand there and say that? How can you know that?” You say, not accusingly but with a pleading tone. You want nothing more than to believe him, but you’ve lost so much in your life, it's hard to believe in any kind of positive outcome.

“I don’t. But you have to look at it that way. You have to give yourself something to hope for. You’re just making yourself miserable by expecting the worst.”

“It’s easier if I expect the worst and then the worst happens. I prepared myself for it at least.”

“No, baby. That’s not healthy.” He says tilting your head back to look into your eyes. “I know you’ve been through so much, and it always feels like life is out to get you. But I promise it’s not all bad out there. There are so many exciting things for you to experience, but you have to try. You have to have hope. Can you try for me today?” He asks, pressing a kiss to your nose. “Please, my girl?” You slowly nod your head in his hold, but he shakes his. “Nuh uh, baby. I need to hear you say you’re going to try for me today.”

“I pr-promise I’ll try, Harry.” He smiles at you.

“Good girl.” He says, stepping back to the stove, but not before pecking your lips.

He continues to make breakfast and serves you at the island. As he places the plates down, his phone vibrates next to him. A message from Ryan displayed on the screen.

Right Hand Ryan: Good morning Mr. Styles. Walker agreed to a meeting this morning at 10:30. I’ll see you when you arrive at the office.

Harry: Thank you, Ryan.

Going about the rest of your morning routine with Harry feels so domestic and right to you. You still can’t believe that a stranger you met in a parking lot would mean this much to you now. You’re certain of how you feel, but you won’t let the words come out. But Harry knows. He can see it in how you look at him. He just hopes you can tell he feels the same in the way he looks at you.

The two of you make your way downstairs, just in time for Jesse to make his way inside to help open.

“Good morning you two. I wasn’t sure what the plan was but I was gonna show up either way.” Jesse says from the doorway.

“We’re gonna milk this for all it’s worth and go from there.” You say, squeezing Harry’s hand beside you. He squeezes yours right back. “Everything will fall into place.”

“Hell yeah. I like the sound of that.” Jesse says, pumping his fist in the air. “I’ll get my stuff set up then. See you later, Harry. Thanks again for yesterday.” He says, giving Harry a fist bump before he goes into the back room.

“What a lovely pep talk, baby. Sounds like you’ve got a great life coach.” Harry says leaning down to kiss you.

“Mm, not sure about a life coach. But I’ve got a pretty good boyfriend.”

“Can he fight? Because you’re mine, in case you forgot.”

“Not sure about that. I’m sure he can though. He’s good at everything he does. Especially this one thing with his ton-,”

“Okay, pretty, I really have to go, and if you finish tha-“ you cut him off with a kiss.

“Off you go, my sweet boy.” You say smiling up at him. He’s got hearts in his eyes at the moniker. You haven’t called him anything but Harry all these months.

“I’ll be back for you later,” he grumbles before kissing you once more, and then he’s gone.

Jesse does his best to distract you throughout the morning. He kept showing you how well he could form a rose now on the nail. It was so nice seeing him so proud of himself. You felt so happy knowing that the knowledge you taught him was making this kind of impact on him.

It’s Christmas Eve. Harry asked you to spend the holiday with him at his place, but you begged him to spend it with you at yours. You said you wanted to spend as much time in your place as you could before it was no longer yours. It tugged at his heartstrings and he folded. You had no idea of the trick up his sleeve anyhow. So the place he presented it to you was of no matter.

“Baby, can you help me with this real fast?” You say from the living room. Harry nearly slices his finger off at you calling him ‘baby’. He still hasn’t stopped thinking about you calling him your ‘sweet boy’ the other day. After hearing both of these names you’ve chosen for him he’s certain he never wants to hear you call him Harry again.

“Y-yeah, of course.” He says setting the knife down and walking over to you. You’re setting up the christmas tree you had tucked away in the closet, but you can't quite reach to set the star on top. “What’s up, pretty? Oh, you’re being vertically challenged, eh?” He teases, taking the star from your grasp and placing it atop the tree. He turns and looks at you and chuckles at the frown etched all over your face.

“Shut up. It’s not like I can help it.” You huff. “Not everyone is a big, tall, pain in the ass of a man.” You say as he inches closer to you, winding his arms around you and pulling you closer with every word that left your lips.

“I know, I’m sooo annoying and such a pain in the ass. I know, baby.” He coos at you, placing a kiss to your forehead. You spin in his hold and take in the state of your christmas tree. “Looks beautiful, my girl. He places another kiss to your temple.

“Does it? Is it good enough to be our first christmas tree?” You ask quietly. Placing your hands over his arms as they lay across your chest.

“You kiddin’? Course it is. You did it, so it's perfect.” He says, making you roll your eyes. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me. It’s true.” One of his hands travels south to pinch your ass, again.

“How would you know I rolled my eyes? You can’t even see my face.”

“Mm, on the contrary, my love. I see your face every time I close my eyes. But I know you rolled your eyes because I know you.” Harry says, spinning you back around in his hold. “Now, come. We have much to do in the kitchen.”

“Harry, I’m not kissing you every 30 seconds because you bought yourself a ‘Kiss the Cook!’ apron.

“No, no. None of that in my kitchen right now. We’ve got a meal to prepare. Now, follow my lead.” He says placing your hands on his hips and guiding you to the kitchen.

Harry had two different gifts to give you, but he had to wait until early Christmas morning to get one of them. He wooed you with a delicious home cooked meal, some wine and another bath that wasn’t so PG rated thanks to said wine, and a good cuddle session before bed.

Harry stirs awake just a little before the sunrise. He eases himself from your hold and sneaks his way into the living room. Looking for the item in question, he places it into the gift box and sets it under the tree with the other presents, and then tiptoes back to your bedroom to lay with you until you wake up. He sets himself back down on your bed and inches his way towards you, careful not to wake you before you’re ready. (He made that mistake before) You stir slightly in your sleep and turn towards him, placing your hand on his chest. He takes the opportunity to take that hand in his and position himself under you so you could rest your head on his chest. He studies your face and takes in how serene you look. How at peace, how happy you look. It makes tears burn at the seams of his eyes, but you begin to move and he wipes them away.

“Too early.” You mumble, pulling your comforter up over your head.

“Ah, but baby, Santa was here and I think he wants you to open your presents.” Harry coos at you, slowly pulling the blanket off of you.

“Santa can fuck off.” You huff.

“Such language. You kiss your man with that mouth?” He quips at you, placing a soft smack to your ass.

“Mm, all the time. Says he loves my filthy mouth.”

“Oh, I do, sweetheart.” He concurs. “But, I do really need you to get up. We’ve got a breakfast to make and presents to open, my sweet girl.” He says placing his arms under your legs, and your back before lifting you from your bed.

“Harry! Stop, I need pants.” You say as he leaves your bedroom.

“Oh, I beg to differ on that one, love.” He says setting you down on the couch.

“It’s cold in here, you horn dog.” You scold him.

“Ah, but I can think of so many things we could do to warm you up that don’t involve pants.”

“Oh my god, down boy. Take your bone and chill.” You say making your way back to your room.

Upon your return, Harry is waiting for you on the couch, quite literally looking like a kid on Christmas. “Come sit with me.” He says holding his hand out to you. Taking your seat next to him, he pulls your legs to rest in his lap before reaching over and grabbing the two gift boxes he has for you.

“Oh, yours is that big box right there.” You point next to the tree. He smiles and grabs the box and places it in front of him. He hands you the first of the two boxes he wants you to open. Pulling the ribbon from the top of the box, you pull the top of the box off and open it to find a singular key. “It’s a key.” You say. “I’m lost.” You laugh out.

“That, my love, is a key to my house.” He deadpans, searching your face for a reaction. “If you want it, of course.” You snap your head to look at him. Tears have formed in your waterline and your lip begins to quiver. “Oh, baby. This wasn’t meant to make you cry. I’m sorry.” He says pulling you into his embrace.

“No, No, it's fine. Really. I’m happy.” You assure him. “I’m so happy.” You say pressing your lips to his. “So, so, so happy.”.

“So you’ll move in with me?” He asks excitedly.

“Of course I will.” You say, grabbing his hand and leaving a kiss on his palm. “I’d love nothing more, baby.”

“You keep calling me that.” He mumbles.

“I’m sorry, do you not like it?”

“No, I don't like it.” He deadpans, making you sweat a little. “I love it. Please keep going.”

“Oh, okay you narcissist. Your turn to open something.” You say lightly pushing him off of you.

“Alright, alright.” He slides the big box closer to him. “I thought I told you I didn't need anything from you.” He says.

“I thought I told you to shut up and open your present.” You scold him

“Okay, down girl.” He muses at you. Harry starts tearing the wrapping paper to get to the present beneath it. He’s met with the words ‘Audio Technica’ and a smile breaks onto his face. “A turntable? You got me a turntable?” He looks to you with adoration in his eyes.

“Yeah, thought you might like to start your own collection since you liked going through mine so much.” You say smiling at him.

“My sweet, sweet girl.” He says, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “Thank you, baby. I absolutely love it.”

“There was another part to it, but that’s the part that Jackson broke.” You whispered out. “I went back to that record store you took me to on our second date and got you that limited edition Pink Floyd record. I wanted to get you your first record too.”

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. I love this without the record. We can always find another one someday.”

“I guess you’re right.” You huff.

“Course I am. Now, I believe you have one more present to open.” He says handing you the other little gift box. He keeps his arm wrapped around your shoulders as you pull the top off of the box.

“It’s.. my keys?” You say pulling your keys from the box. “What is it with you and keys?” You ask him. He just stares at you with a shit eating grin. “Well?”

“Allow me to explain.” Harry says before his story begins.

The morning of his meeting with Jeff Walker, he’d been determined to change the outcome of this purchase no matter what it took. He was certain things would go in his favor; they always did. It also helped that Walker was a past associate of Harry’s so there was already a mutual respect there.

Walker knocks on Harry’s office door and Ryan lets him in. The men shake hands and proceed to take their respective seats. “Harry, you old dog. I must say, I was surprised to get your meeting request, old friend. How long has it been?” “Too long, Jeff. How’s the wife?” Harry muses from his seat.

“Ah, Janet is lovely. She’s actually in Japan right now, but she is not the reason you wanted this meeting. So, my good man, do enlighten me.

“Nothing gets by you, Jeff. I indeed do need your help.”

“Well, I am all ears. Always willing to help an old friend in need. What can I do for you, Styles?”

“First, let me ask you this, what exactly is your business with Jackson Cole?” Harry asks, fiddling with the pen between his fingers.

“Ah, that boy. He came to me a few weeks ago asking if he could buy a property of mine. Says he wants to delve into the realm of property owning.” Jeff begins, “But at first I wasn’t budging. That was until he offered to pay in cash. So I accepted his offer.”

“See, that’s where my problem is.”

“I’m not following, Harry.”

“Jeff, I met a girl this year and she’s turned out to mean more to me than anyone else on this planet.”

“That doesn’t seem like much of a problem to me.” Jeff laughs from his seat.

“No, that’s not the problem.” Harry chuckles, “The problem is that she used to be in a relationship with Cole. A toxic one; He was horrible to her. And now Cole is planning on using the building he’s purchasing from you to try and ruin her life. Her business is in that building, and he’s told her she’s got a week to get out.”

“Well, the sale isn’t even finalized until next week.” Jeff says from his chair. “And I don’t like the sound of this kid. I’m surprised he’s still here.”

“That’s being handled once we’re done here,” Harry muses, “So there’s time then? To cancel the deal?”

“Indeed, but i quite liked the idea of selling that building, Harry, i can’t even lie to you.”

“I’ll buy it then. I’ll give you what he was going to give you. I’ll even throw in covering the cancellation costs and a stipend for you.”

“You really like this girl, huh, Styles?”

“You have no idea, Jeff. Do we have a deal?” Harry asks, reaching his hand across his desk.

“Of course, old friend.” He grabs Harry’s hand in a firm shake, “Let’s try to not let as much time pass before our next meeting, Harry.”

“Agreed, Jeff. Have a great trip back to the city. I greatly appreciate your time today.”

“I hope you make that girl's day when you tell her.” Jeff says before making his way out. Harry lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. He was certain he’d be able to get what he needed from this meeting, but it still shook him to his core to know that Y/N’s business was on the line. He was willing to do whatever it took, but he was thankful Jeff was so willing to help Harry out. Although it might be because Harry had been Jeff’s biggest donor when he was starting his company. But Jeff would never admit that.

“Are you going to tell Y/N?” Ryan asks from his desk in the corner.

“Soon, yes. First, I need you to get Cole in here. Tell him I’m not asking.”

“Yes, Mr. Styles.” Ryan says before leaving the office in search of Jackson.

“Y-you bought this place?” You ask him, unable to contain your tears anymore. "I thought you said Walker backed out of the deal."

“He did, out of the deal with Jackson and into one with me. It's all yours, Love.”

“Wait. Harry, I don’t know how to be a landlord.”

“Ah, not to worry, love. I’ll take care of all of that. You just worry about making your sweets and running your business. But I still want you to come home to me every night.”

“Harry.” You say. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, baby. You don’t have to say anything at all.” He says cradling you to his chest.

“I just can’t believe someone would do something like this for me.” You say cupping his face with both hands.

He reaches up and grips your wrists lightly and looks into your eyes, “I would do anything for you, my perfect girl.” He kisses you softly. “I love you.. So much.” He says, happy tears streaming down his face as he looks at you with such adoration.

Those words. Those words you’d been so desperate to hear for the longest time, and for someone to mean them? You’re a mess. Harry showed you that it’s okay to get your hopes up, because he’ll max out your expectations every time. You’re sure you’re bawling but can’t seem to care. You’re certain you feel the same. “And I love you so much, my sweet, perfect boy.” You say before kissing him with more fervor than you ever have before. He pulls away and he’s looking at you like you hung all the stars in the sky. “Merry Christmas, Baby.” You say to him.

“Merry Christmas, Love.”

Bonus:

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Styles?” Jackson says as he enters Harry’s office.

“Indeed, son. Have a seat.” Harry motions to the chairs across from his desk. Jackson takes a seat and glances around the room warily.

“Now, I’m going to explain this to you very quickly and carefully, Cole. You are going to walk out of this office, go into the locker room and clear your shit out.” “Wait a sec-” Jackson begins to speak, but Harry’s quicker.

“Silence. I’m speaking.” Harry says, waving his hand. “As I was saying, after you’ve cleared out your locker, there's a plane waiting for you at the airport. Your apartment is in the process of being sold and all your items are being packed at this very moment. The plane will be taking you to Los Angeles where you will join their 53 man roster as a third string quarterback.”

“Third string? What is the meaning of this, sir?”

“I am so glad you asked.” Harry muses. “It seems you can’t leave alone what’s mine. So I'm removing you from the situation in a way that keeps you alive, me out of prison, and my girlfriend's mind at ease.”

“Mr. Styles, with all due respect I’m of more use to you here.”

“Really? A dead last draft pick that cant keep his feet on the ground is of use to me here? How does that make any sense? The same dead last draft pick that fumbled the ball more times than I could count in last year's championship game?”

“Sir, please, I’ll do anyth–”

“Enough. The decision has been made, Cole. You’re free to go. Say goodbye to your teammates and be on your way.” Harry says, making Jackson stand from his seat. “One more thing,” Harry starts before Jackson can leave, “If you ever try to speak to, bother, or even breathe the same air as Y/N again, I will have your career. You’re lucky you still have one. You can thank her for that. She wouldn’t be able to live with it if I’d gotten to do what I actually wanted to. So, count your blessings, boy.” He pauses briefly, taking in the look of anger and desperation all over Jackson’s face. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Y-yes, Mr. Styles.”

a/n 2.0: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR COMING ALONG WITH ME ON THIS JOURNEY!! THANK YOU AGAIN TO MOTHER @freedomfireflies FOR THE ENCOURAGEMENT AND LOVE. I really owe so much to you!! I absolutely adore you 🫶🏻🩵

please like &/or reblog if you enjoyed <3

taglist: @stylesfever @olipoli21 @hermionelove @st-ev-ie @mrs-anna-styles211994 @hannah9921 @velvetballaspark

#harry x reader #mdni & dividers both by @/cafekitsune #harry imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry edward styles #harry styles one shot #harry smut #harry styles

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