#warning sign 1985

[l-ultimo-squalo]

Warning Sign (1985)

#warning sign #warning sign 1985 #thriller #disaster movie #sci fi #science fiction #horror #Sam Waterston #Kathleen Quinlan #yaphet kotto #Jeffrey DeMunn #Richard Dysart #G.W. Bailey #movie screencaps #film screencaps #my screencaps #my screenshots #movie screenshots #Hal Barwood

[moviesludge]

#Warning Sign #1985

[caesium-55]

—seven days [ epilogue ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

warnings: mentions of death and suicide.

author's note: here's the epilogue and the end end of the seven days series. thank you everyone for showing love to this fic! i was honestly so overwhelmed by the sheer amount of all of you. also, i apologize for all the broken hearts i caused after posting chapters 4-7. stay safe yall! i'll rest my fingers for real now. my doctor wasn't very happy with me. NOT BETA READ. NOT EDITED.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore @formulaal @landorris @onecojg @leclercdream @vicurious28 @c-losur3 @spookystitchery @0710khj @strollnstroll @justab-eautifulmess @ssrcsm @seasonswinter @kravitzwhore @mycure156 i hope i didn't forget anyone

masterlist.

Julio [Name] was not an ambitious person. He didn't have dreams or concrete plans in life. But in 1985, his first dream was born. He wanted to be an F1 racer after reading about the Portuguese Grand Prix in a local newspaper where he saw a Brazilian racer even younger than him participate in it and winning it. Ayrton Senna was the racer’s name, twenty-five years old. At that time, Julio [Name] was the same age.

He immediately searched for the nearest karting track. He brought his then girlfriend, Sally Kingston, a dental student in USC, to the kart zone for their date. It was safe to say that driving was not exactly his forte. He crashed his rental kart and had to pay the damages. He was afraid that he made himself a loser in front of the Sally Kingston, the richest, prettiest, and nicest girl from L.A., and that she wouldn't wanna go out with a bumpkin like him anymore, but she had only laughed at him—her eyes turning into little crescents, showing too much teeth and gums—and from then and there, he knows he’s going to marry Sally Kingston one day. He might not have become a F1 driver, but he ended up marrying the girl of his dreams.

Him and Sally welcomed a son in 1991. They named him Damiano and he turned out to be a carbon copy of his beloved wife, not that Julio was complaining. When Damiano turned five, Julio brought him in the kart zone and let him try driving the kart. Damiano adored it so Julio signed him up for racing school. Three weekends later, Damiano got sick of driving around in circles so he stopped. Sally gave birth to a daughter in the same year—1996.

Five years later, he brings [Name], his mija, into the kart zone. He expected that you’ll be like Damiano, too, getting sick of the thing after three weekends or so. You didn't. You loved karting and going fast, almost dangerously so. You lasted five weekends so Julio signed you up for the kart zone’s junior racing school and you were their first female member. You won your first race when you were six, only seven months after you officially joined.

“She was born to race,” the team head told Julio. Julio then decided that he’d do whatever it takes so you could become a F1 driver.

Like his initial dream, his dream for you couldn't be brought to reality. When you were nine, you had to stop karting for financial reasons. Damiano was in high school, Rafael had leukemia, and Dominic had just been born. When Julio told you the news, you were sad but you understood why the decision was made so you never complained. You learned how to play billiards instead and your Abuelo was the one who taught you. It's cheaper than karting so Sally and Julio gave you their full support.

Julio [Name] was pleasantly surprised when you told him that you got accepted in USC’s engineering department years later. He half expected that you’d be like Damiano, who took an interest in dentistry, and was attending dental school. He was going to be a dentist like his mother. He was a perfect copy of Sally.

“If I can't be a racer, I’ll become a mechanical engineer,” you declared, head held high. Julio couldn't be anymore proud. You were living his dream.

If you asked Julio [Name] if he had lived a happy life despite not reaching his dreams, he would say yes without hesitation. He married the love of his life, Sally Kingston, now Sally [Last Name]. His first son, Damiano, had topped dental school and followed in his mother’s footsteps. His daughter, [Name], graduated with flying colors, a mechanical engineering degree under her belt and entered the motorsports industry, the first in the family to do so. (You even got him Fernando Alonso’s autograph! That's his second favorite driver!) Not only that, she volunteered at the LAFD during her college years and competed in a billiards tournament in Vegas, Australia, and the UK. You had the potential to be an international-level pool player but you didn't pursue the sport because you wanted to be an engineer. Rafael didn't let leukemia beat him and now, he’s finishing up his last year in CalTech, pursuing mechanical engineering like his older sister. A research team in Sweden had been eyeing him for a while now. Dominic, on the other hand, is steadily building a career for himself in volleyball. He was offered a sports scholarship in Harvard so, despite the fact that he’s going even farther than his siblings with no relatives near him like in L.A., Julio pushed him to pursue what he wanted. His children are his pride and joy. He spent every single day bragging about his children to his colleagues. The others had expressed their envy to him. Did Julio save a country in his last life to have such great children?

Furthermore, he’d been promoted to be the captain of Station 131 in Austin. Julio may not have driven an F1 car but he wouldn't even trade this family over anything in this world, not even the life of luxury and thrill of a Formula One Driver.

(What Julio didn't know was that Damiano had serious depression in dental school that he carried even after graduating, that you weren't accepted as an engineer in F1 and was stuck in a managerial position for the last five years, that Sweden found a better researcher than Rafael so he’s stuck suffering physically and mentally in a degree with his future unclear and cloudy, and Dominic was slowly losing passion in volleyball but it's the only thing putting him through college right now so he grits his teeth and put himself on court. No one told Julio. Julio got enough of his dreams broken already.)

Truthfully, despite working for Red Bull for half a decade, you never liked its taste. You were always the Monster Energy type of girl. It's the one drink that kept you functioning through all the all-nighters you pulled in engineering school. However, you kind of lost the palate for Monster Energy so now, here you are, standing outside a gas station mini mart in the middle of the dusty highway that leads to El Paso. You hold the chilled can of Red Bull against the side of your neck, satisfied with the feeling of something cool pressing against your skin. The temperature in Texas is going absolutely crazy this time of the year. In your other hand, two cigarette sticks balance in between your fingers. You crave the deadly nicotine. Desperately. But you're not stupid enough to smoke at a gas station because of your cravings.

Your phone vibrates and you pull it out of your pocket to see who messaged you. You snicker when you view the barrage of pictures from the Austin Grand Prix that Leo sent. A stolen shot of Logan, meme faces of Alex, the air show, a selfie with THE Fernando Alonso, and a Tiktok video with the other Williams mechanics.

You watched the race from the stands today and truthfully, you prefer watching the race in the garage than on the stands. It's unbelievably boring to be there. People pay thousands of dollars to sit under the excruciating heat of the sun and catch a glimpse of very fast cars for a nanosecond. You wouldn't even catch sight of if you blink. Nevertheless, you're happy that Leo is having the time of his life. You wish you share the same shoes.

leo: so so sad that u have to go

you: id be flattered if u actually mean it

leo: *rolling eyes emoji*

leo: i hope you choke on your beer

you: i hope you choke on the celebratory champagne

you: and i dont drink and drive

leo: good to know ur not stupid

leo: on a serious note make sure to drive to el paso safely

you: aight aight

leo: u know i have something to confess

you: if it's something stupid, don't bother

leo: ur stupid

you: fuck u

leo: shut up

leo: just wanna say i didn't break up with u bc u gave max too much attention

leo: i know that's what i said but i only said that bc i knew that u needed max to achieve ur dreams

leo: and idk i just thought max wouldn't give it to u not when im still dating u

you: that's stupid

you: max isn't like that

leo: hes in love with u

Your heart stutters. You ignore it.

you: liar

leo: i could tell u lil shit

leo: idk he looked like someone who’d hold a grudge

you: he does hold grudges

leo: and i cant allow myself to stand in between you and the one person who can give you your dream you know?

leo: i loved you enough to let you go to him

You choke on your saliva. You don't love Leo romantically anymore and you are sure that the feelings are mutual but his abrupt confession is enough to bring back the pain of loving him and letting him go all over again.

leo: u sure u won’t stay to see him?

leo: he’s the one who wants to see you the most

you: his ig messages makes me think otherwise

You're a fucking coward. A pussy.

leo: you didn't see the man [name]

leo: you don't know how empty he looks now

A shadow of guilt darkens your eyes. You quickly shove your phone into the pocket of your jacket. You open the Red Bull and take a large swig, almost draining the entire can. You exhale loudly after drinking, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You stare at the vast expanse of the dry earth before you, starting to understand the appeal of aimless road trips in the southern roads.

The world seems to be turning in slow motion now.

Ever since your father died, time feels like it was moving too fast. You arrived at the hospital half an hour after Julio was officially pronounced dead. At that time, you felt like the world was ending. Your knees gave out in the middle of the hospital hallway. Your mother’s wail echoed in your ears. Damiano and Dominic were trying to console her, both of whom were crying terribly. You stare at them, face empty despite the hurricane brewing within you. Rafael wrapped his arms around you and you held onto him as he cried uncontrollably.

Your mother possessed a weak heart. She’d grown weaker and weaker day by day after your father passed. Your father’s station held a ceremony for him to pay tribute to their fallen captain. You were the one who carried his helmet all throughout the ceremony because the entire station knew you were his most prized child. When you flipped the helmet, there was a photo taped on it. A photo of the entire family at your graduation ceremony in USC. You maintained that tired and empty stare during the entire procession. In the middle of the ceremony, your mother collapsed.

Your father’s death was the first domino to be tipped. Your mother’s collapse during the funeral was the second. From then on, everything turned to shit. Your mother had always been frail and prone to sickness so it didn’t surprise you when she had grown so weak in a matter of days. She couldn't sleep. She didn't want to eat. She lost her will to do anything else. You took her to the hospital after a week because you were afraid she was beginning to become malnourished. Damiano suggested moving your mother to El Paso, to your Abuelo and Abuela’s farm, so your mother could recuperate there, and you agreed. The entire family moved to El Paso quickly, leaving the house in Vista Del Pueblo empty and celebrated the New Year there.

You opened your phone for the first time since you landed in ATX on the 30th and a barrage of messages had been sent to you. From Daniel, Logan, Leo, Kendall, Julia. You freeze when you see Max’s name. Your finger hovers above it, hesitating. Your mind trailed back to the five years you spent in Red Bull, to all the memories with Max in it, to what happened inside his penthouse in Monaco, the jet, the night you spent in his sheets, the shoes and—

Fuck.

“Kelly,” you mumbled to yourself, typing her username in the search box. You began typing up a message. You're not mentally equipped to write a long message of apology. Your mental dictionary was not ready to use so you decided to half ass the entire message and hope for the best.

you: sorry about the breakup

you: i didn't know about the shoes

you: i didn't take it

you: im so sorry

you: i hope you're not too hurt

In truth, you loved Kelly for Max. You never had problems with her. At first, you were concerned about the great age gap between her and Max as she was even older than Danny but then you figured that you did not have a say because Leo was also younger than you, born in the same year as Max. Then, you saw how she was so caring to Max, so patient in dealing with his misplaced anger, so supportive. You saw how Max transformed into a better version of himself, something you are not even capable of doing, because of Penelope and Kelly. How he became the world's most massive girl dad without trying. You ignored every bitter feeling that sprouted on your chest because you saw Max was happy and his happiness always came first. And now, you’re here, apologizing to Kelly for taking Max away from her.

kelly: i think i’m the one who’s been taking him from you

kelly: take care of him for me

you: thank you for loving him

You can't imagine how hurt Kelly was. Imagine dating and preparing a man so he could be perfect for another girl.

you: but i can’t do what you're asking

you: not anymore

“Not anymore,” you whisper to yourself, as if uttering it to the wind would cement it as the truth.

Not anymore, Max. I’m sorry.

Rafael and Dominic told you that they want to drop out of college to help you out with Mama a few days after New Year’s. You quickly told them no, to finish college and that you could handle taking care of two senior citizens and your sickly mother and help out on the farm since you’re essentially jobless at the moment.

The third domino is Damiano. You were always aware he’d been clinically depressed, taking medications to help him get better. Whatever he went through in dental school, he carried it with him until he was working. You believed he was getting better. He was seeing a therapist for years now and you were checking up on him every day. Then, like Mama, he just…. became worse. Rafael found him submerged in the bathtub in his apartment, red painting his wrists. Had Rafael not been there at the right time, Damiano would have followed Papa Julio.

The fourth domino is Dominic. He ruined his hand in March. The doctor told him it was dangerous for him to continue playing volleyball competitively. It was either he learned how to set with only his non-dominant hand because his dominant hand is partially crippled or he stopped playing all together. He’d choose the second option with no hesitation as he had lost his passion for the sport but if he’s not playing for Harvard anymore, no one would be able to pay his fees until graduation. Not when Julio died, not when Sally was too sick to continue working, not when Damiano was currently unstable, not when you’re the only one who had been supporting the entire family through your entire savings account. Red Bull must have paid you a lot of money because you’ve been keeping the entire family afloat for months now.

The fifth domino is Rafael, who got his entire thesis overhauled so now, his graduation was out of the picture. It sucked. He’d always been expected to follow his older siblings’ footsteps, both of whom are academically excelling individuals and Rafael had been studying and studying and studying. So why was this happening to him? Why was this happening to his family?

The sixth domino was yet to be tipped over.

You refuse to fall.

You blink, suddenly back in reality when you hear a loud caw of a bird flying above your head. You shake your head, tossing the Red Bull in a nearby trash can and returning inside the mini mart. The amount of caffeine in a Red Bull isn’t enough. You need more. You need fucking coffee.

Gas station coffee sucks but you’re never the type who complains. El Paso is still eight hours away and you’re sure you're going to be driving your motorcycle the entire night just to reach the farm the next morning.

You walked towards the Yamaha XSR 155 parked in front of the mini-mart, a styro cup of coffee that’s as black as your soul and as bitter as your life in your hand. Hypnotizing swirls of steam rise from the cup. In each step you take, the key that is attached to your hip jingles.

It's a little past four in the afternoon but the darkness of the sky makes you think it's around six PM. You pocket your cigarettes and stand beside your motorcycle, hand on your hip while the other brings the cup of coffee to your mouth. A car suddenly arrives, coming to a screeching halt in front of you. You flinch in surprise, almost spilling your coffee in your hands. You hiss loudly, brows furrowing, a curse sitting on the tip of your tongue. You hear the sound of a car door opening and slamming shut and when you look up—

“Max.”

He’s still in his Red Bull overalls, drenched in sweat as if he ran to the gas station instead of driving. His hair is windswept, sticking out in multiple directions almost attractively so. He looks simultaneously distraught and relieved when your eyes met. The longing in his eyes. God. You unconsciously take a step back and turn around—a flight response—when he charges in your direction.

A strong pair of arms wrap around you from behind, stopping you from your tracks and causing your coffee to spill and fall down pathetically on the floor. You avoided the puddle, hands reaching behind you to guide Max away from the steaming liquid. But it’s too late. You saw the hot coffee touch his skin.

“Max!” you exclaim, eyes going wide. Your hand wraps around his forearm, pulling it but his grip on you tightens so you resort to tapping his arm in hopes that he’ll let go and you can inspect his injured hand and make a quick run for the mini mart for first-aid supplies.

“Max, let go,” you say, panicking. “Your hand—”

“Don’t leave,” his voice cracks.

“I won't go, okay? Let go and I’ll—”

“No,” the hug tightens and you suck in a breath. “You’ll leave again. I know you’ll leave again.”

“I’ll fix your hand. You can’t burn your hand—”

“I can endure it. Let me have this please,” he pleads. You pull his hand but Max remains stubborn. Resigned, you sigh. It turns out that you’re still the same, giving whatever Max wanted.

“I’m sorry for getting angry,” he begins. “I’m sorry for stopping you from going to Renault. I’m sorry for promising that I’d talk to Christian. I’m sorry that I didn't. I’m sorry that you had to break up with Leo because of me. I’m sorry that I realized that I fell in love with you while dating Kelly. I’m sorry for the shoes. I’m sorry for getting drunk. I’m sorry for being so selfish. I’m sorry for not considering you. I’m sorry for loving you. I’m so, so sorry, [Name]. For everything.”

His words come rapidly and frankly, you don't want to hear Max like this. Max rarely apologizes. You're not used to hearing him apologize.

“Max—”

“I called, [Name].”

You freeze.

“I called so many times. Not once have you answered. Not once—” a loud sob erupts from his mouth, interrupting him. “You always come when I call.”

You close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

“I sent you a message,” he continues. “To wait for me. I know I’m selfish but can I have five minutes please? Just….five?”

A pause.

“Okay,” you whisper. Max’s body trembles against yours and you stand still for a few minutes,

“Hey,” you say gently, suddenly reminded that you're standing in an open space and Max is still in his Red Bull overalls and he doesn't even have his usual cap on and this compromising situation you're both in was going to be bad for Max’s online reputation once the wrong pair of eyes manage to catch sight of you. You can already imagine what the headlines would be.

MAX VERSTAPPEN AND HIS FORMER MANAGER CAUGHT HUGGING IN A GASOLINE STATION AFTER AUSTIN GP.

MAX VERSTAPPEN AND FORMER RED BULL MANAGER IN A RELATIONSHIP?

FORMER RED BULL MANAGER POTENTIAL REASON FOR BREAKUP BETWEEN KELLY PIQUET AND MAX VERSTAPPEN?

MAX VERSTAPPEN CHEATED ON KELLY PIQUET WITH FORMER MANAGER?

MAX VERSTAPPEN, FULL-TIME WORLD TIME CHAMPION, PART-TIME CHEATING ASSHOLE.

God. You can already imagine the headache splitting the entire PR team’s skulls. The world already hates Max because of how good he was at his sport. You can’t allow people to shit on him more because of you.

“Max,” you try again, tapping his forearm so he can loosen his hold on you and you can turn around. “Max, baby, cooperate with me for a bit, yeah?”

You tug on his wrist and you can't help but sigh in relief when his arms loosen a little. He’s beginning to choke you a little bit. With his arms still around you, you pivot on your heels so you’re face-to-face with his broad chest.

When you look up to Max’s face, your heart shatters into a million pieces. His tears continue to flow and violent sobs wrack his entire body, robbing him of the ability to speak and barely allowing a breath to be drawn. He’s going to hyperventilate. Fucking dammit.

“Max,” how many times have you said his name in the last few minutes? “Hey, breathe with me.”

Your hand cradles his jaw and your eyes focused on his blue ones and fuck, they’re as insanely beautiful as you remembered.

“Breathe.”

You perform exaggerated inhales and exhales so Max can match your breaths, his hands settling on your shoulders. His palms feel heavy against your shoulders and his fingers dig deep into your skin.

“I’m here, Champ. I’m here,” you assure him. “I’m here now.”

You wait until he calms down a little and when he does, your right hand searches for his, intertwining your fingers together to assure him that you’re not going anywhere just yet. Your other hand comes up to hold the area below his neck and you slowly guide him back to his car. It’s a little difficult, Max obviously has no intention to let you go, but you know how to make things work.

Max sits on the driver's seat with you standing outside of the car. He's still clinging onto your hand and you use the other hand to hold the roof of the car for support. Max stopped crying now, staring blankly at you with a sad pout on his face. His tears are now dry, staining his cheeks.

“You okay now, Champ?” you ask, never failing to sound gentle. That's what Max needs now. Gentleness. God forbid you pull a Jos Verstappen.

Max shakes his hand, making you sigh deeply. Your eyes trail to the hands, the pale skin now an angry red.

“Max,” you call his attention. He looks up at you and you have to avoid his gaze because if you look at his face, your heart hurts. “I’ll get something from the mini-mart for your burn, aight?”

He shakes his head and his grip on your hand impossibly tightens. If he keeps this up, he’s going to break your bones.

“No.”

If you were the same person that you were in 2023, you would have let Max do what he wanted. What Max wanted, what Max shall get—that’s the philosophy you lived by. But things are different now. Leo told you that you’re allowing Max to take too much from you and Max needs to learn to actually listen to you.

You’ve been taught to treat even the most minor of burns as if it’s a major burn. That's what you are planning to do right now.

“Max,” you say, a little firmer now. “Gonna grab somethin’ in the mart real quick, you stay here, aight?”

“No—”

“Not askin’, Champ,” you interrupt him. “I'm not leavin’ yet, not goin’ anywhere until I make sure you’re okay. So stay here and wait.”

You swiftly remove the key attached to your belt and force it into his palm, “Here are my keys. I’m not goin’ to drive off and leave you here, aight? Do you trust me?”

You have a feeling that this anxiety of his might have stemmed from that one incident in his childhood where Jos left him at a gas station. Fucking son of a bitch that man was.

Hesitantly, Max says, “I do.”

“Good,” you ruffle his hair, dampening your palm.

You can see he does not like what you're doing now but he does not have any choice so he sits in the car, looking as pitiful as ever. You jog up to the mini-mart, immediately going to the beverage section to grab a bottle of water and passing by the hygiene shelf to snatch a handkerchief. You go to the counter and the middle aged guy manning the register obviously does not look impressed that you’re in his shop for the third time in the same hour, which is stupid because he should be glad that he has a customer. You put everything on the counter, pulling out some bills from your back pocket.

“You happen to have neosporin?” you ask.

“Do we look like a drug store?” he retorts. You roll your eyes, toss the bills to the cashier, and grab your items without even waiting for the guy to wrap them all up in a paper bag. You jog back to Max’s car.

“Excuse me,” you lean inside the car, opening the compartment to search for a burn cream you left inside there last year. Your eyes land on his keys, stiffening when you notice that Max kept every single gift you gave him. The bead keychain from 2020, the bottle opener keychain from 2021, the clay figure keychain from 2022, and the bracelet from 2023 sway slightly, staring back at you. You shake your head and resume doing your original mission. You find the burn cream and you immediately search for the expiration date. January 2025; it’s still good to use.

You straighten, take hold of Max’s wrist gently, and roll up his long sleeves up to his elbows. You open the water bottle and tug Max’s hand towards you so he won't get water on his car as you pour water on his burn. Once the bottle is nearly empty, you apply the cream on the reddened area of his skin. Then, you use the handkerchief, which you dampen using the leftover water, to dress it.

Max is silent the entire ordeal, watching you work your way meticulously and carefully around his hand. The same meticulousness one can expect from a former firefighter paramedic volunteer.

You step back to inspect your work, but Max’s hand stretches out towards you, grabbing the hem of your jacket.

“Sorry,” he says and yet you see his knuckles slowly turning white, which makes you unsure if he truly is apologetic or not. “Just…yeah, sorry. Can you stay for a while please?”

“Have to leave soon,” you say. “El Paso’s still hours away. I have to be there by morning.”

He nods, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, “Okay.”

“Thirty minutes, Max,” you decide. “Thirty minutes.”

You pull out your phone from your pocket to check the time and see the multiple notification bars. You type the password and direct to the message app to see the flurry of messages Max sent earlier. You have not noticed them.

max: i heard you came

max: where are you

max: please

max: can you give me ten minutes

max: just

max: please

max: wait for me

max: i’m not angry anymore

max: im begging you

max: or five minutes [name] im okay with just five

max: or even less

max: i just need to see you

“Who told you I was here?” you question, brows knitting together. There are currently two names in your head. They both start with the letter L and they both work at Williams.

“Leo called me and told me you were here.”

“Of course he did,” you roll your eyes. Logan will never dare betray you like this. You made Leo promise not to tell Max where you were in El Paso and the bitch told him where you were the moment you stepped out of El Paso. He didn't break his promise technically, but it's still a very bitch move for him to pull. You're going to have a lengthy conversation with him later.

“So you’ve been in El Paso?” he asks.

You nod.

“My grandparents’ place.”

He nods.

“Sorry about Julio, by the way.”

You sigh. God, you want to cry.

It's truly unfair how God decided to take away Julio [Last Name]. Death should happen to assholes and shitty people. To people who abuse their children every day. To people who waste years of their lifespan on nicotine and alcohol. To people who kill people. Death shouldn't happen to heroes, who risk every single day of their lives to save other people. Death shouldn't happen to Julio [Last Name], a firefighter who died saving a kid in a burning building. At least, not this early. Not until you fulfilled his dream for him.

(His last words: I don't regret doing what I did. I have kids, too. I want someone to save them the same way I did that kid if they ever get stuck in a situation like this.)

“Did Leo tell you that, too?” you hope that he didn't notice that your voice slightly wobbled.

“No,” Max shakes his head. “We—Logan and I came to Vista Del Pueblo in December. Your neighbor told us that…”

He doesn't need to finish his sentence for you to know what he’s trying to say.

You nod, “So that's why there was an article that day…”

You remember Damiano showing you the news article in his phone—AN UNLIKELY FRIENDSHIP: MAX VERSTAPPEN OF RED BULL RACING AND LOGAN SARGEANT OF WILLIAMS RACING SPOTTED DRIVING AROUND AUSTIN. You shrugged it off at that time.

“How are you?”

You turn to Max, raising a brow at his question.

“How am I?” you echo, sounding a little bewildered.

You see, Max has never asked this question. You're used to “Are you okay?” but not this. Not this question. You can easily lie to an are-you-okay. You can say yes even if you’re not, and you won't give yourself away because you only uttered one word. But with how-are-you, it’s different. It's not a question that is not answerable by yes or no. You actually have to explain how you feel. That's why Papa Julio only asked, “How are you, mija?” rather than “Are you okay, mija?” Papa Julio wants to know how your day went even if you're okay or not.

Yeah. You're definitely going to cry at this rate.

“How have you been after Julio?”

“You really wanna know?”

“I wanted to be there for you at that time,” Max confesses. “When I learned that Julio was gone, I wanted to go to you. But Leo stopped me. He said I was not what you needed at that time and I agree. I was too angry at you for leaving me. I’m glad he didn't tell me where you are, despite how painful it was. I was selfish and immature that I cared about my grief and forgot to consider yours. I reflected on my actions a lot. I am not sure how different I am now from that version of me but I think I changed a bit. So yes, [Name], I want to know, because I want to know how you felt and help you in any way I can.”

You stand there, stunned at what Max has said. And perhaps it was his sincerity or the way his determined blue eyes stare into your soul that caused the sixth domino to tip. You break into tears, a raw cry escaping your mouth. You are so fucking tired of carrying everything on your shoulders.

Max is quick to engulf you in a hug and you don't hesitate to pull him into you, pressing your face against his shoulders as you let everything out. You claw his back as if you're trying to mold himself into you. Your nose turns red, snot drips out of your nose. You sob too loud and too heavily that you can hardly draw a breath. You don't cry pretty and this is the first time you allowed yourself to cry with another person bearing witness to your fragility.

When you calmed down, you found yourself sitting beside Max, shoulder to shoulder, in the backseat of his car, playing with the drawstrings of your jacket.

“Sorry.”

“Don't be.”

“Sorry, I was just so tired,” you tip your head upwards. You can feel Max’s eyes on you. “Things have been hard since Papa died.”

“Do you want to talk? I’ll listen.”

You chuckle humorlessly.

Jesus, what did Leo feed this guy?

It feels like the roles are reversed now.

“Everybody's been takin’ it pretty hard so I'm trynna to be strong for them, you know? But I’m not that strong,” you begin. “I’m just as lost as everyone else and it's hard pretendin’ like I’m not. I’m not really sure what will happen with my life now so I wander around and do car repairs for a few folks in El Paso.”

“What happened to your dream? The job?”

“Well, it's gone,” you say, making Max’s eyes widen. “Not my time yet, I suppose. Or rather, I’m never supposed to have time. I guess I’m just not meant to be an engineer.”

“No,” Max turns to you, clasping your hands in desperation. “No, no, no. You always wanted to become an engineer. You can't just—I’ll think of something. I’ll ask Christian. I’ll ask the other teams. Renault isn't in Formula One right now but I can—”

“Max,” you smile sadly. “Let it go.”

“But—”

“Do you know what my Papa’s dream was?” you interrupt. “It’s to be a Formula One racer.”

You smile, remembering all the times you’ve seen your father watch the races on the television since you were younger. He’d wake up even in the ass crack of dawn just to watch them live. He’d be so tired after a 24-hour shift at the fire station but he’d refuse to even catch a wink of sleep until the Grand Prix broadcast is done. He always received a beating from your Mama because of it.

“He saw Senna in the newspaper and decided that he wanted to be like him, too. Sadly, Papa never vibed with a steering wheel so there was no future in that industry. He's always so disappointed in himself, sayin’ he can do the most unhinge shit at work but can't even drive a car. When Damiano and I turned five, he brought us karting. I could tell he was disappointed that Damiano didn't share his love for racing and I hated seein’ him sad so I learned to love karting. He signed me up and I did my best to win. I think I was good. Good enough to make him proud of me. Papa looked so happy when I won my first trophy. He cleaned it every week.”

You smile fondly at the memory.

“Then, shit happened and I have to stop. Papa looked even more disappointed than me that I had to stop. It hurts. Disappointment from your parents, I mean, even if I know that it's somethin’ beyond my control. I figured that if I can't be a racer, I’ll work in a pit stop. That's close enough. When I told him that I got accepted into USC and how I wanted to be an engineer, it was the proudest I have ever seen him since I won my trophy. I was livin’ his dream. I applied for Red Bull and Renault because those are Papa’s favorite teams and the rest is history.”

You pause.

“He’s never got to see me become an engineer,” you choke out, wiping the stray tear that fell from your eye with the back of your hand. “It was his dream. He always had his dreams broken and I was gonna reach his dreams for him but he’s gone before I can do so. Now, I’m so lost because I realized that I was shapin’ myself to become an extension of Papa and now that he's gone, I am an extension of no one. I was reaching for dreams that I don't own. I’m so tired and I’m so lost, Max.”

Max stares at you sadly.

“I should have talked to Christian sooner. Fuck, I hate myself for not talking to Christian. Fuck, why was I so selfish?” he presses the ball of his palms against his eyes in frustration. You chuckle, shaking your head.

“That’s okay,” you say. “I’ll find my way.”

You look at the scenery outside of the window. Night has fallen. You should have left for El Paso by now.

“I need to go,” you say, heart heavy.

“So soon?”

Max is panicking again.

“Jesus, Champ, calm down,” you pat his shoulders.

“Will I see you again?” Desperation laces his question.

“Dunno really,” you shrug.

“Can you wait for me?”

Your brows furrow.

“I’ll retire by 2028. No, that's still long. 2027. Ah no—2026? Can you wait for me? I—” Max’s hand trembles. “I love you. I love you, [Name]. I—I love you even before Kelly. I can’t. I can't lose you.”

The world stops.

“I am stupid, I am selfish, and I think I’m asking too much. If you can just wait for me, I’ll—I can even retire next year if you think it's too long—”

“Hold up right there, Champ,” you stop him. “You're not retirin’ early.”

“If you want me to, I will.”

You sigh in exasperation.

“Max,” your voice is low. “That’s your career. I’m not gonna—Jesus, Max don’t retire, okay? Not even for me. Retire only when you want to.”

This man is just…

You don't know if you want to choke him or kiss him.

“I want you to have me, [Name]. I… I want to be with you, to love you, and if retiring is the only way I can do that then I will,” he says. “I love you.”

You purse your lips.

“I love you, too, Max,” you confess and now, your chest feels lighter now that you've said it out loud. “But not now, I can't love you like this. I’m too… I can't pursue a relationship with you right now. Not when…”

“It's not our time,” Max nods. “I understand.”

He really did change.

“I want to find my way through life first," you tell him.

Max smiles and he pulls you again in a hug. He has tears in his eyes again and he sniffles, chuckling at himself for crying again. He pulls away from the hug slowly and hands you your keys.

“See you around?"

“See you around.”

You exit the car and you notice that your heart feels lighter now compared to the time you left Monaco even though you are doing the same exact thing—leaving Max to go home.

At the end of 2023, you grace the paddock with your presence—your signature YSL heels is back on the tracks. You wear pants now, instead of the corporate pencil skirts, matched with a Prema Racing polo shirt. The label at the back indicates: AERODYNAMIC ENGINEER. By the end of 2024, you are promoted to the strategy team. By 2025, you become a race engineer of an up-and-coming racing superstar and you kept the job position until now.

The world didn't end just because your Dad died. It took you a while to realize that your Papa didn't own your dreams. It was always yours to begin with. He just played a part in inspiring them.

Max Verstappen became the 2024, 2025, 2026, 2027, and 2028 WDC, marking history as an eight-time consecutive champion. He retired after the 2028 season and disappeared from the face of the Earth. He had stopped going home to his penthouse in Monaco, had put his private jet on sale, and had cut ties to his father, Jos, who was very disappointed that his son had retired too early in the sport. Max retired willingly—he had achieved more awards than most of his seniors and it's time to give room to the younger ones. Rumors say that he had established a racing program somewhere in Belgium. Charles Leclerc, Max's friend, refuses to update the media regarding Max's whereabouts and only says: "He's happy. Don't worry."

Years later, a thirteen-almost-fourteen year-old girl named Emiliana Julia Verstappen, racing under the American flag, become the youngest driver in history to join the ranks of the F1 academy and later, she becomes the youngest driver to ever drive a Formula One car, racing for Scuderia Ferrari as second driver, at only seventeen and a hundred and fifty days old, overthrowing Max Emilian Verstappen, retired eight-time F1 WDC, whom the world has not seen since his retirement, from the list.

#max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #f1 imagines #fanfic #manager!reader #mv33 x reader #mv1 x reader

[supernovafics]

•*⁀➷ ❝ 𝐈’𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔. ❞✧∘ ✭・.✫・゜·。.

supernovafics!

✭•*⁀➷ a bestfriend!steve harrington roommate au slightly inspired by the tv show “friends” ·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

a year in the lives of you and your best friend steve harrington. you never thought that you would be living with this guy you’ve known since you were ten— although it was a hypothetical topic that was discussed at length during the many sleepovers you had over the years. but somehow on a hectic day in august, the stars managed to align, and the next thing you know a lease is being signed and the two of you are moving into a two-bedroom apartment. so far it’s been two months of countless late nights and too many really early mornings where you’re running late to class or steve’s rushing to get to his shift at family video. for the most part, though, it’s a perfect situation. until the lines that felt as if they were clearly drawn in the sand— and had been there from perhaps the moment you and him met— start getting blurrier and blurrier

warnings: bestfriend!steve, roommate!steve, childhood best friends to (eventual) lovers, two idiots in love (but neither wanna admit it), Big Big slow burn, besties being besties, minimal angst, mainly just a lot of fun vibes, eventual smut (minors dni!), many familiar faces (robin, eddie, sometimes the kids), no use of y/n, specific warnings will be tagged per chapter

important note! this will be a very “low stakes” series (there’s not really a super specific storyline happening in this), and i’m really just gonna post for it whenever i’m in the mood/feel inspired for it. i already have a bunch of random ideas for this universe that i wanna eventually do, but requests are open for anything you wanna see with these roommates/besties<333 (also oneshots/blurbs will be posted non-chronologically but will be listed chronologically, so you can pretty much read in any order you want to!)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

fall 1985

love is a game (the one where you and steve have a “housewarming party”)

let’s forget it (the one where steve sees you naked)

third street (the one at the diner in the middle of the night)

silly promises (the one at dairy queen)

take a picture (the one with batman & robin)

from the dining table (the one with the early thanksgiving dinner)

never talk about it (the one where you see steve naked)

just a feeling (the one with steve’s date)

winter 1985/1986

the first fall of snow (the one where the kids spend the night)

care for you (the one where you’re both sick)

maybe this year (the one with the bet)

closing time (the one at family video)

while you were sleeping (the one with steve’s epiphany)

only for you (the one where you and steve play basketball)

in the middle of the night (the one with the ski trip)

worth waiting for (the one after the ski trip) (18+)

spring 1986

between you and me (the one where you and steve are secretly dating)

tell me a secret (the one where everyone finds out)

take my hand (the one where you and steve are chaperones at a school dance)

stay with me (the one where you come home drunk and steve takes care of you)

much better (the one with the "celebratory dinner")

summer 1986

#steve harrington series #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things fluff #steve harrington #stranger things imagine #stranger things series #stranger things smut

[ash5monster01]

Cold Spring Harbor

Chapter One - She’s Got A Way 🎶

Pairing: Steve Harrington x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, instant attraction, invisible string theory, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of death, coping mechanisms

Summary: Just when Steve figures he’s bound to be alone the rest of his life, somehow he finds you, and for some reason just being near you makes him feel much less alone in the world.

word count: 2k

→ Two

Masterlist

Spring 1985

She's got a way of showin', how I make her feel

Steve hated being sad. Yet for the last six months that was all he had felt. He should be over it by now. He wished he was over it, but everyday he went to school just to see Nancy with Johnathon and know everything that he lost. He had given up his friends for her, and when she gave him up for Johnathon, he had no one left. No happy family to come home to, and no friends to spend time with, especially no girlfriend to love. Maybe that was why it was so hard to get over her, because she was the only person he had left and she left him too.

So he woke up on the first day of spring break, no parents, no plans, no one at all. It didn’t matter that the first warm sun was shining through his window and the birds chirped happily outside. He figured he would always be alone and he was still just as miserable as before. The only person he did have was Dustin but how many times can you ask a middle schooler to hang out before it gets weird? Steve didn’t want to find out.

He wasn’t going to last all of spring break like this so he was going to do the only thing that made him feel better. The only thing that gave him enough motivation to get out of bed and get ready for the day. So it’s not long until he is walking out the front door and towards his car. Yet before he unlocked it he stopped, eyes glancing into the bright blue sky, and deciding against the drive. It was sunny and almost seventy, plus a walk would be good for him. So he stuffed the keys back in his pocket and started down the road.

Town was half empty once he got there, signs showing that the new mall being built was already taking away business. It was sad to see the town that once was so busy become a shell of nothing. Kind of like him he supposed. Yet the sight of the familiar blue door eased his mind as he pushed in the one place he hoped would be here forever.

“Hey man, long time no see” Ron, the owner smiles from behind the register. Steve matches the smile right back even though he doesn’t feel it. He wished he did.

“Hey Ron, how’s business been?” he asks, eyeing the various shelves throughout the room.

“I wish I could say busy, but ever since word got out that Sam Goody was being built in the mall, no one really cares about Ron’s Records anymore” he says and Steve nods, his throat tightening at the thought.

“I’m sorry about that man, you know I’ll be a customer for life” he tells him and Ron nods, smiling at the boys kindness.

“You and your Grandpa both” Ron says kindly and Steve has to look away before tears form in his eyes.

“I’m gonna check some records out” Steve tells him and Ron nods as he moves to the section he knows it will be at.

Finally reaching the B’s his fingers start skimming the records. It feels like he’s passed a hundred Barry Manilow records by the time he reaches exactly what he’s looking for. Smiling to himself he scans which ones are there, determined what would be the best to listen to. Something that for an entire forty minutes could make him feel much less lonely in this world.

“Billy Joel huh?” Steve looks up and nearly freezes. There you are, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and something about the world stops. He’s not one to be shy but it’s as if the words somehow can’t leave his mouth. There was just something about you. “Since when do boys your age listen to Billy Joel?”

“Hey, he’s still rock n’ roll to me” Steve defends, and it’s cheesy. He knows that, but it doesn’t stop you from laughing. You’re wearing the most perfect smile he’s ever seen and he wants to make you do it again.

“I’m not saying he isn’t, just most guys these days don’t know good music anymore” you say, pulling the record out of his hands and he almost gasps at the way your fingers feel against his.

“Well good music to me is just Billy, always has been” he says and you give him a small nod, smile still on your face. He briefly wonders what it could be about you that makes him suddenly so content.

“Cold Spring Harbor? I don’t think I’ve ever heard it” you say and Steve’s heart clenches.

“It’s his first album, he was only 22 when he wrote it. It’s one of my favorites” Steve tells you and the mischievous grin you give him makes his heart stutter in his chest.

“Well let’s listen to it” you tell him, hand grabbing his own, and leading him to the front of the building. In the front window there’s two chairs and small record player in between. They had been there for as long as Steve could remember, he had sat in them hundreds of times. He sits in his, the one chair he always sat in, and you sit, well in the other. His throat dries as he sees you sit across from him in the chair that had been empty for many years.

“What’s your favorite track?” you muse, hands delicately working to pull the record from its sleeve and place it on the player.

"The first one, She's Got A Way. It was my Grandpa's favorite, the first Billy song he ever played me" Steve says, looking off onto the rows and rows of records. Remembering a time when he was just short enough to be the same height as them. Rushing around and looking for the most colorful covers while his Grandpa went straight to the B's. Then he'd sit in the very chair he was now, ankles just barely hanging over the edge as his Grandpa played him song after song, in the very seat you were sitting in now.

"So that's where it comes from" you muse, the record spinning as you turn on the machine. Steve watches as you set the needle on the record, sratching till it finds its groove, and fills the silence between you both.

"Why is it his favorite?" you ask after a few moments, watching the boy as he let's the words sink in.

"He claimed it was the only song he ever heard that perfectly described how he felt about my Grandmother. How the right women could completley turn you around and heal you when you least expect it" Steve smiles fondly as he repeats those words he hadn't in a very long time.

"A charmer, I'm sure you are too" you say and the shocked look Steve wears has you laughing lightly. It takes Steve only a second to laugh along with you, realizing just how quickly you had revealed him. It's when your laughter calms he realizes the smile on your face has eased his heart more in the last six months than anything else.

"If you must know" Steve says and you giggle again which has Steve wanting to spend more and more time with you.

"Where is this Grandpa of yours, I have a few questions for him?" you ask and Steve freezes, not expecting the words to leave your mouth. It takes him a moment to respond and you sense the discomfort and place your hand on his own. Steve nearly jumps at the electric touch that comes from it.

"He passed away when I was fifteen, right before high school" he tells you, throat tightening around the admittance.

"I'm so sorry, that's awful" you try to comfort but Steve just smiles.

"You would have loved him though. Everyone did. He was my best friend, the only family I really had that spent time with me. Since my Grandma passed when I was ten, me and him made sure to spend all of middle school together" Steve isn't entirely sure why he is telling you this, he just knows your the first person he has been this comfortable around since his Grandpa and he didn't even know your name yet. He didn’t know what it was about you but he figured there didn't need to be a reason.

"That's so sweet, he sounds so special" you tell him and Steve nods, recalling memories he hadn't allowed himself to think about for years.

"He was, just wish he was still around. He was the only person to ever be there for me, front row at every swim meet and basketball game. Was hard going through highschool knowing he was no longer in the stands, but Billy. Well that's all me and him ever talked about. So sometimes, on days like today when I miss him a little extra, I find him in the lyrics of a song" and your heart soars for the boy in front of you. A boy with a deep sadness buried within him. A boy the world hadn't given a chance yet.

"Is he there right now?" you can't help but ask, the last few lines of the song coming through the speakers on the machine. Steve listens, can practically see his Grandpa yelling at him for not making a move. ‘At least ask her name’ he groans and Steve chuckles lightly to himself.

"Yeah he's here. He always is" Steve says and you give him a smile that somehow heals him. "I'm Steve by the way"

"Nice to meet you Steve" you tell him before offering your own name and Steve finds it rattling through his head, the most beautiful name in all of existence, and somehow it belongs to you. The very girl who showed up while he was feeling down and has inspired him without a sound. The beginning notes of You Can Make Me Free fill the silence between you both and Steve sits up, realizing your hand is still atop his own.

"Sorry for spilling my guts" Steve says and you shake your head, wanting him to know that he had done nothing wrong this entire time.

"Don't be, it actually happens a lot. I seem to make people very comfortable. Guess I just got a way about me" and Steve agrees because somehow in just this short exchange you have inspired him to keep on going, reminded him that this is not the end and it won't be all bad. It is like you have some bright light around you and it gives him the strength to keep going.

"Would you maybe want to go get something to eat?" Steve finds the confidence to ask and you beam a smile brightly back at him.

"I'd love to Steve" you tell him, using his name like it now somehow belongs to you and Steve wishes it does. A million dreams of love surrounding you and for the first time since Nancy he finds himself feeling something for a girl he never thought he'd feel again. He just knows he no longer wants to live without you.

"Have fun you two" Ron calls out as you both exit, the record still playing as you both leave it behind. You talk the whole way to the small diner in town, Steve just smiles and listens, loving how everything sounds the way it comes out your mouth. It's as if every word lifts him up as you are walking.

For the rest of the day Steve does his part getting to know you. Making you laugh and flirting where necessary which never fails to make you blush. The sight of your red cheeks alone make his heart soar for you. It's cute the way you show it, exactly how you feel about him. In return you do find yourself charmed by the very boy you couldn’t resist talking to. You wondered where a sweet boy like him had been your whole life and for the first time you aren't as embarassed by the blush on your cheeks as you normally would be.

"I really like you Rosy" he says matter of fact, the nickname falling easily from his lips. You blush at his words again, shaking your head at the boy you figure you aren't getting rid of anytime soon.

"I like you too Steve"

Taglist: @slvtforstve @keerygal @goosy-goose @livsters @blckburd @loveshotzz @ohwauwdoritos @superblysubpar @southereads @amataadriana @violet2022 @mxrcjqckspnchqsc @madaboutjoe @thunderstomp-and-tequila @justdamnpeachy @micheledawn1975 @fangfatale @kingstevesgf @notlilyyyy @eddiesguitarskills @palmtreesx3

Comment if you want to be added to the taglist :))

#steve harrington series #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington #steve stranger things #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x femreader #joe keery fanfiction #joe keery fic #joe keery steve harrington #joe keery x reader #joe keery imagines #joe keery stranger things #joe keery imagine #joe keery #joe keery series #joe keery smut #stranger things s5 #stranger things imagine #billy joel

[fiveraccoonsinatrenchcoat]

Quiet My Fears (With The Touch Of Your Hand)

Steve Harrington x f!reader

Description: It was Steve's fault you got hurt last time, and it's Steve's fault again this time, too.

Warnings: pregnant!reader, mentions of being sick, blood, mentions of s3 events, lots and lots of crying

Word Count: 4409

Notes: Hello everyone I kinda poured my heart and soul into this pls enjoy

My Masterlist! - Series Masterlist!

Next Chapter!

July 5th, 1985 - 4:05 am

Steve had already decided what he was going to tell his parents about the state of his face. He was at a party, he’d say, and got into a fight with some drunk asshole who was hitting on you a little too hard. He tried to tell him to fuck off, but the guy got mad and threw the first punch. Steve won, of course.

A semi-believable story that involved zero Soviet torture doctors. 

You’d made it out of the night without any black eyes or broken noses, but there was a sizable gash peeking out from under your hairline. The blood that had dripped from your temple down to your neck had been wiped away by one of the EMT’s, so the cut was really only visible if you already knew it was there. It wasn’t bad enough to warrant stitches, thankfully, but that did very little to quell Steve’s incessant worry. He didn’t like the way your whole body was trembling. Or the way your tights were ripped. 

It took hours for the two of you to be able to go home, made longer by the mountains of contracts and NDA’s you were forced to sign. Steve had already gotten the super secret security rundown twice before. “You’ll probably end up with a good chunk of hush money, at least,” he had joked with you. “All of us did.”

You trailed behind Steve like a lost puppy as he unlocked his front door. He was just happy that you were alive at all.

You, for whatever reason, hadn’t made it into the same interrogation room as Robin and Steve. You weren’t there when Dustin and Erica arrived to get them, and you were nowhere to be seen during the big fight. Steve hadn’t even realized that you weren’t with them until whatever he’d been injected with was out of his system, but he was plunged into an ice cold panic the moment that he did. He begged Hopper to let him go back and look for you, though the idea got shot down immediately (‘Because clearly, you did so great down there the first time!’). Funnily enough, it was actually Murray, of all people, who found you first. He said you were about two seconds away from breaking his nose, if not for the fact that you were chained to the steel bench built into the wall. 

The house was empty. Steve’s parents were spending the holiday weekend with his aunt and uncle two states away; thankfully, Steve hadn’t been dragged along this time. He always thought his dad’s brother was a creep anyway. Your parents were across the street, most likely sleeping soundly at the thought that their daughter was just out at a house party like a regular 18 year old. Of course, nothing about any of this was regular.

Steve’s usual post-saving-of-world routine was to down two doses of ibuprofen, take the hottest shower known to man, and sleep for a day, and there was definitely a part of him that wanted to do just that, but you were still hovering behind him like a ghost. Steve clicked on the lamp on the table next to the sofa as the two of you entered the living room.

“Sit, okay?” he told you. “I’ll find you some pajamas or something.”

You nodded to him, sullen and shaky, and lowered yourself into the pristine couch. It was cream colored and satiny, like it was designed to be easy to stain, and Steve had never actually been allowed to sit on it when he was little. 

His whole body ached, but he trudged up the stairs anyway. He ducked into his own room to quickly strip off his decidedly disgusting uniform and put on a too-big sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants before picking out something for you. Steve came back down to find you wincing as you slowly pulled off your shoes. 

“Jesus,” Steve remarked at the state of the white socks that slouched around your ankles over your tights. The backs were drenched in angry red, spread all the way around the heel and down the sides, and the nylon of your tights had big holes worn through that exposed just how ripped up the skin of your heels had become.

“I decided to put on new shoes this morning,” you sighed. “Hadn’t broken them in yet.”

While humiliating, he and Robin’s Scoops uniforms were actually pretty comfortable. The sneakers Steve had worn to work that day had held up wonderfully to all the walking (and running for his life) that he’d had to do all night, but you worked at one of the fancy department stores. You couldn’t wear sneakers or comfortable shorts, you had to wear smart, grown up clothes. You’d been running around all night in a pair of brand new, shiny black mary-janes and a skirt. It made Steve feel just a little bit sick to his stomach to think about. 

“Fuck,” Steve huffed out. “Alright, hold on. There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom.”

Steve bandaged up your ankles, carefully cleaning the wounds with the softest cloth he could find and cursing himself when you made a noise at the pain. 

God, this was all his fault.

“You can take the room next to mine, if you want,” Steve said after you’d changed. “My parents won’t be home until Monday, so we won’t have to worry about them at all.”

“Okay,” you said, voice mouseish. You’d been to Steve’s house a million times before; you grew up across the street, the only other person his age in a neighborhood full of elderly couples and houses for sale. Even before Steve de-assholed, you’d still sneak out of the house to come drink stolen beers on the roof of his garage on the nights when he couldn’t stand to sleep. 

That being said, ‘welcoming’ was not really a word you’d use to describe the Harrington household. The guest room next to Steve’s was, similar to the living room, untouched and pristine. Perfectly made bed, easily palettable decor, somehow devoid of dust despite the fact that it was clear no one had used the room in a very long time. The bed had a pink comforter, a dusty-rose kind of color.

The two of you had only been apart for an hour, maybe less, before Steve heard a knock on his bedroom door. He opened it to find your teary eyes on the other side.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Steve asked. He couldn’t either. 

“I can’t-” you stuttered out. “I don’t think I can be alone right now.” 

Steve knew the feeling.

He stepped out of the doorway to make room for you to come in. The pair of you stood too close to one another in the middle of his room in heavy, suffocating silence. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered.

“Don’t be,” you replied. You stepped forward and pressed your forehead against his shoulder. 

“I am, though. I got you wrapped up in this fucking mess,” Steve said as he wrapped you up in a hug. “And now you’re hurt, and it’s my fault.”

“I’m the one who wanted to help you guys. I could’a just gone home, but I chose to stay. You didn’t do that, I did.”

“I still think you deserve to be mad at me.” 

You stayed quiet for a moment, with Steve above your head wishing he could go back in time and fix all of this before it had the chance to get back to you.

“They told me you were dead,” you admitted through the quiet.

“What?”

“After they pulled me away,” you explained. “You and Robin, they told me you were both dead.”

“Oh, my god,” Steve huffed out. “Oh, my god, I’m so sorry.”

You muttered his name into his collar bone, and Steve pulled away just enough to be able to look at you. You were crying now, but so was he, and fuck, he wanted to kiss you. Kiss all of the tears away, and pull all of the horrible, fucked up things that had happened to you out of your memory, and as you stood looking at him, Steve realized that you had gotten the memo.

You leaned up and kissed him, so incredibly soft, making sure to be careful of his split lip. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut as his hands came to meet the junction of your jawline and neck. 

You pulled away from him first, tears still silently spilling from your eyes, and he touched his forehead to yours. 

“I’m really happy you’re not dead.”

February, 1989

Steve was entirely zoned out behind the counter at Family Video when the shrill ring of the phone broke through his trance

“Thank you for calling your local Family Video. My name is Steve, how can I help you today?” Steve regurgitated the same spiel as he does every time he picks up the phone. 

“What time do you get off work tonight?” you asked him. Steve knew your voice in an instant, and even through the crackle of the phone, he could hear that something was wrong.

“Eight. Why?” Steve inquired.

“I need you to come over,” you said. “It’s an emergency.”

Steve’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“Should I be calling Hopper?” he asked you. If something. . . upside down-ish was happening again, he was gonna lose his shit.

“No, nothing like that,” you clarified, and Steve let out a silent breath of relief. “It’s an entirely non-supernatural emergency.”

“Do you want me to come over now? I’m the boss-man. I can leave whenever I want,” Steve joked. He was trying his damnedest to hear your laugh come from the other end of the line.

“You’re a shift lead, Steve.”

“Yeah. Boss-man.” 

There was only silence on the line for a moment. 

“I don’t want you to get in trouble, is all,” you explained, and it made Steve's heart ache just a touch. 

“It’s fine, I won't,” Steve said to placate your worry. “Twenty minutes, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” you said, though you didn’t sound thrilled. It made Steve worry even more as he hung up the phone. 

Steve knew the two of you were wildly codependent on each other. Believe him, Robin had been reminding him constantly over the past year since she’d caught the two of you in a house party bathroom. 

The fact that the pair of you hadn’t actually made it official yet, despite the fact that you’d been sleeping with each other with relative consistency for three and half years, definitely didn’t help matters at all. 

‘You are in love with her,’ Robin loved to point out. ‘And pretending to not be in love with her while also sleeping together is going to destroy your brain!’

She was right, of course. It absolutely was destroying his brain, but if he had to pick between having a destroyed brain but also having you, or not having a destroyed brain but also not having you, he’d pick a destroyed brain anyday. Even if he thought (knew) you didn’t necessarily feel the same way he did.

Steve parked his car in the empty space next to yours in your apartment building’s lot. He knew the code to the building’s door by heart now, and he’d had a spare key to your apartment for the last six months.

He let himself in, making sure to lock the door behind him once he was inside, and saw you shaking like a leaf on the couch. 

Steve paused for a moment before he dropped his car keys onto the little table by the door. He was instantly plunged into crisis-management mode. 

In recent years, Steve had become quite familiar with crisis management mode; put all the feelings to the side, and deal with the situation at hand. Was it healthy to stub out all of the mushy shit like that? No, probably not, but emotional healing was a lot easier to do when he didn’t have the threat of  interdimensional horror hanging over his head.

Though, over the phone, you had promised him there was no interdimensional horror at the moment.

He toed off his shoes and rounded the coffee table to crouch in front of you. Your eyes followed his every movement, wide and glassy and enough to make Steve’s rib cage feel like it was about to cave in. He took your hands in his.

“What happened?” he asked you. 

You shut your eyes, forcing more tears down the slope of your cheek. A small, quiet sob escaped your lips as you dipped your forehead onto Steve’s shoulder. He brought a hand up to graze over the back of your head, holding you close to him. 

You were tougher than you looked, always had been. That wasn’t to say that Steve ever thought you were weak, but you were timid and quiet. Shy since birth, you never really stood out to Steve as a fighter until he saw you crack a Russian soldier over the back of the head with his own gun. You’d had a fire in your eyes that could’ve rivaled Nancy’s that night, before you had all been separated from one another. That fire was decidedly missing right now, though. Your tears seemed to have extinguished it.

“Hey, hey. Tell me what’s going on, yeah?” Steve asked.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered into his neck. You sounded small and, more pressingly, fucking terrified. Steve did his best to place a hand on either side of your face and pull back to get a good look at you, though you clearly didn’t want to be pulled away from your spot tucked into the collar of his crew-neck. 

“Sorry for what, baby?” Pet names had previously been reserved for dirty-talk purposes only, but you’d started calling him ‘handsome’ a few months back as a joke (which quickly became much less of a joke), and now that rule had been thrown out the window. One more blurry boundary line in your relationship. “I wanna help, but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“Steve,” you murmured.

“You’re scaring me,” Steve told you, and it was true. “Is it something with your mom? Did she call?”

“No. She won’t. You know she won’t.”

“Then what’s happening? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this upset, and I will do everything I can to help, but-”

“I’m pregnant.”

You whispered it and Steve swore he felt his heart stop. 

“What?” he whispered back. Surely you didn’t mean it. Surely he had to have misheard you.

“I’m pregnant.” 

Definitely hadn’t misheard you, then.

“You-” It felt a bit like his brain had been replaced by cotton balls. “How sure are you?”

“Uhm, I took a test here, and it came back positive, but the box said that you can get false results sometimes, so I waited a couple days and took another one, but then that said the same thing,” you rambled. “So then, I went to that clinic on Poplar and got a blood test, and they called me earlier today and said that that one was positive, too.”

“Very sure,” Steve said in response to your onslaught. 

You only nodded in agreement.

Steve could hear the drip drip drip of your leaky kitchen sink, the sound of your cat batting around his favorite toy mouse, your neighbors downstairs fighting like they did most nights. He could hear your ragged breathing, and the beginnings of your quiet sobs, and his own heartbeat in his ears. He didn’t know what to say to you, how to get you to calm down, and he didn’t think he had the mental capacity to figure it out right now, so he didn’t say anything at all. You stayed quiet too, tucked away in your own little world of the smell of Steve’s cologne and the soft of his hair. 

Steve was about two seconds away from completely shutting down when your pitiful voice sliced through the silence.

“Steve, I don’t know what to do.”

That kicked his brain back into gear. 

“That’s okay,” he said from his spot on the floor. His emotions get tucked underneath the floorboards so he can deal with yours first. “It’s okay. You don’t have to know right now.”

And you two stayed there, you on your couch and him with his back pressed against the hard edge of  your coffee table, for a good long while. Your sniffles had graduated to full on bawling and you were clinging to him like he was a liferaft. You were petrified. His head was swimming and he felt a little bit like his heart might explode, but he wasn’t about to let you know that. 

Logically, the next step would be to talk about. . . all of it. What you wanted to do, and what that would look like, and all of it, but you weren’t able to get a word in. Even though Steve knew it was what needed to happen next, the thought of actually having to face the music made him feel sick. 

“We’ll figure it out, alright?” Steve said into your hair. “We’ll figure it out. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

You just sort of fell limp against him once you had run out of tears. Steve’s back was starting to cramp up from being squished against the table, and when he moved to plant himself onto the sofa next to you, you stayed adhered to his side. 

“Steve, I don’t-”

“I know. It’s okay.” I don’t know what to do had become your mantra of the evening. Steve was in the exact same boat, though, and the best idea he’d had all night was distraction, so distraction it would be. He paused for a moment before asking you, “are you hungry?”

You tilted your gaze to him, looking confused.

“How ‘bout I go and get us something to eat from that diner you like, and we can watch a movie or something. Then we can talk about it in the morning, yeah?” Steve suggested. You didn’t seem all that on board with the idea, though. “Is that okay?”

“I can’t keep anything down,” you explained after a moment.

Oh, yeah. People get sick when they're pregnant. Steve hadn’t really thought about that part yet. 

“Right. Well, have you tried at all today?” he inquired. You shook your head.

“Not since last night.”

Great. You’re already terrified and now you can’t even eat.

“Look, I’ll get you a grilled cheese, and an extra large Sprite for your stomach in case the sandwich doesn’t work out, and I’ll stay here with you all night,” Steve said. 

“Okay,” you said with a nod and a sad smile. You seemed to understand what he was doing, though you showed no signs of protest. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, it’s okay,” Steve said as he got up and slipped his feet back into his shoes. He scooped up his keys and shot you a smile before opening the door. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

You nodded, giving him the green light to leave. He half-jogged down the stairwell and out into the parking lot, and he barely made it into the driver’s seat before he started crying.

Guilt settled in his chest in an instant at the thought, but the first thing that popped into his head when he was finally alone was that his dad was going to fucking kill him. And not just in a figurative, ‘oh no I scratched the car, dad’s gonna kill me’ kind of way; his father was going to pick up a weapon and actually kill him. Then, Hopper was gonna kill him after his dad did. You two weren’t even actually dating; how was he going to explain any of this? ‘Hey, dad! I accidentally knocked up my not-quite-girlfriend/best friend with benefits!’  That’ll go over splendidly. That’s two people added to the list of people who wanted to kill him. 

What was going to happen next, then? He was having difficulty figuring out the answer. 

Whatever you wanted to do, obviously, but you didn’t know what that was, and yeah, he was scared shitless, but you were beyond terrified. Scared in a way Steve had never seen you before. That made him feel about a million times worse.

‘Cause he was still just a shitty kid, who still lived with his shitty parents and worked a shitty job, and even with his shitty promotion, he still made a shitty wage. A shitty wage that definitely wouldn’t be enough to raise a kid, and-

He was spiraling, he could feel it, and he’d never been more grateful to see the glowing neon of an OPEN sign in his life.

He parked the car. He got out of the car. He opened the door to the restaurant. He walked up to the counter and a girl he used to know from high school took his to-go order. If he remembered correctly, she was a tattoo apprentice.

“You alright?” possible-tattoo-apprentice ask Steve after ringing in the food. “You seem a little, I don’t know, freaked out.”

“Yeah,” Steve replied with a tight lipped smile and curt nod. “Yeah, no. I’m good.”

She looked right through his lie, but moved on to a couple of older men sitting at the counter with coffee refills anyway.

 Steve, in the ten minutes it took for the food to come out, stood leaning against the wall in utter silence. In that silence, he allowed himself to live in what was probably an irresponsible thought; the one where the two of you actually did have a kid, and a house, and maybe a dog if he’s lucky. Something that maybe was a lot less far off in the future than he thought. Steve used to want kids, when he was younger. Maybe it was just the fact that he’d had every single stereotype of the American dream shoved down his throat his whole life, but he really had wanted it at one point. That was before everything, though. Before the monsters, and the chaos, and all the awful shit he’d roped you into. Before it all came back, and then came back again, again, again. Any dream of a family had been stubbed out by the fear that it could all one day be ripped apart. 

Despite that, despite the fact that he knew every single reason that it could never happen like the back of his goddamn hand, he did nothing to try and save himself from drowning in the fantasy. The image of you holding his baby made his chest go tight and he wanted it more than anything in the world, but fuck, what happens if everything goes to shit again? He had done a pretty awful job at keeping you away from it the first few times, you had the nightmares to prove it, so how could he possibly protect his kid from it, too?

The food came out and he was rocked back into reality.

He left the restaurant, stopping on the way back to your apartment at a 7/11 for the Sprite he had promised. He grabbed some anti-nausea medicine too, but it wasn’t until he got into the car that he realized there was a big warning on the back of the box: ‘Do not take if you are pregnant or breastfeeding.’ 

Awesome.

He did his best to scrub any evidence of tears out of his eyes in the rearview mirror, and got out of the car.

You were waiting for him on the couch, just as you had been when he had left. You smiled at him when he walked through the door, still the sad self pitying kind, but a smile nonetheless. 

“I come bearing grilled cheese,” he said as he placed the bag on the coffee table. The joke didn’t land.

“You were crying?” you asked once you were able to get a good look at him, the shake in your voice back once again. Clearly he hadn’t done a good enough job in the rear view. 

“N-no, no. I wasn’t, I-”

“You were,” you interrupted him, and Steve knew better than to try and deny it. You looked like you were about to start crying again, too, and Steve could feel the twist of the knife in his side. He rounded the table to sit next to you, and you drew yourself into him in an instant. Tucked into his arms, you did start crying again (how you had any tears left, Steve didn’t know) and just barely whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey. No sorries, okay?” he said. You wouldn’t look up at him, just shook your head. “Look, if we’re gonna blame anybody, it should probably be me, right?”

Thankfully, that line was enough to finally bubble a laugh out of your chest.

“I’m serious!” Steve took the joke and ran with it in a desperate attempt to lift your spirits even in the slightest. “I mean, it was my, y’know. . . fluids.”

“Oh, gross, dude!” you exclaimed, playfully slapping his shoulder as you sat up straight. “Don’t say it like that!”

“That’s just biology, babe.”

“I know that, I just don’t want to have to think about your fluids when I’m trying to eat,” you quipped at him as you pulled the styrofoam boxes out of the bag on the table, opening the first of the two and passing it his way. It seemed like you were feeling better, and even if you were faking it, Steve would take it. 

“Hey,” Steve called to you through the quiet chatter of the TV after a moment. You turned your face to meet his and the moment his eyes locked on to yours, it seemed like every word he had wanted to say to you had slipped out of his mind. Your voice reeled them all back in, though.

“Yeah?”

“Whatever you wanna do, okay?” he stuttered out. He was pretty sure he might start crying again.

“Right. Yeah.” Your smile faded in an instant at the reminder of the situation.

“And whatever that, y’know, looks like,” Steve continues. “I’ll be right next to you, holding your hand the whole time.”

You give him a pitiful, heart crushing smile, and the pair of you didn’t bring it up again all night. 

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x you #joe keery #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x y/n #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x you #stranger things imagines #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington x f!reader

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 12

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 12/? 10.7k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Grades are high, but stakes are higher.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter warnings: flirting, play fighting, heavy angst, drinking, pregnancy mention, a heaping helping of family tension, mild fantasy blood/gore 

Special thanks to @storiesbyrhi for the beta reading on this one.

Monday, November 18th 1985

Hawkins felt different this weekend. 

Perhaps it was the ashen sky that hung over the scattered remains of a brilliant fall. The way it bathed the world in a pale, sullen wash. The way it made the rust on the signs outside the gas station seem more corrosive, the streets seem smaller, the storefronts seem older. Perhaps it was because everywhere you looked, you saw him. 

You were used to hearing Eddie in the cars that billowed smoke and blasted music as you pumped your gas. You had grown accustomed to seeing him in the crushed beer cans and cigarette butts that littered the weeds along the sidewalk, in the remnants of a good time. Those things were not unusual. But this weekend you saw him under the harsh fluorescents of the grocery store. On the crinkled label of a 99 cent can of soup. In the faces of small children as you stood in line with a cart that you could never fill alone. You saw him in the windows of subsidized apartments. Heard him in the squeak of wire hangers against the pole at the secondhand store. Felt him as you drove past the huddled rows of trailers.

On Monday after school when you sensed a tall figure in the doorway of your classroom, you half expected to look up and feel those grey skies again. To see those weed littered sidewalks and pothole riddled roads that led nowhere. But instead you saw something much brighter.

Eddie was smirking, rapping his ringed knuckles against the doorframe as he leaned into it. A look in his eyes like he was keeping a secret.

His dirty white Reeboks squeaked against the tile as he padded over to his spot in the wooden chair beside you and dropped his backpack irreverently to the floor. The gust of air that followed was painted with base notes of skin and leather, top notes of cigarette smoke and a bright hint of shampoo. Not a trace of rain.

You gathered the papers in front of you, shuffling them into a pile in the corner as you glanced over at him, unable to suppress the smile breaking out on your face. “What?” 

The smirk twisted deeper on his lips. “I read your story.” 

It was like he said he’d seen you naked. Heat crept up your neck. “All of it?” you asked with a nervous chuckle. 

“Not exactly.” Eddie grabbed the seat between his legs and walked it closer. “I’m at the part where they’re, uh, cooking over the fire outside of Grimhold and Cybelle takes her mask off for the first time. Well, in front of Lazarus anyway.” He shrugged his leather jacket off to drape over the back of the chair. 

It was strange to hear him say those names. Names you hadn’t thought about in years, dusted off from where you shelved them in your mind. It was like he was speaking a dead language, breathing new life into it. 

You swallowed. “Oh, that part. Yeah, that’s an important moment.”  

“I had a hard time putting it down, if that tells you anything.” 

“I take that means you like it then?” 

“Like it?” he said in a breathy chuckle, leaning closer. “I’m blown away.”

Your stomach turned to mush, unable to tear your eyes away from the soft earnestness of his features. “Really?”

Eddie gave a deadpan look. “Look, I’m a huge fantasy geek, but this world you’ve created is…” he shook his head as a soft puff of air left his lips, “unlike anything I’ve ever read.”

There was a weight to his gaze, so heavy that you needed to break it. “Oh wow, um, thank you,” you said, glancing at the paperclips on your desk as heat made a home in your cheeks again. “It’s been ages since I’ve read it myself honestly.” In the same span of time you still never learned how to take a compliment.

“Yeah—no, I mean it. It’s really good.” He tipped his head towards you, searching for your eyes. “I like that it’s, uh, based in a sort of… reality, if that makes sense. Like the whole thing about illness being a problem and how the change in the atmosphere makes Cybelle dizzy. The gold and how it powers machines. Stuff like that. It’s clever.”

You found the courage to meet his gaze again. “Well, thank you. I mean I’m definitely no Tolkien, but…”

 Eddie scoffed. “Honestly? Tolkien takes three pages to describe a door. You never need to and yet the world is crystal clear.”

The ease that washed over you escaped through a chuckle. “You know, I always thought that killed the pacing.”

“It does! God, I mean don’t get me wrong, he is the grandfather of fantasy but Jesus Christ.”

Your laughter mingled, soft and easy, coloring the air in the space between you. It echoed off the tile floor and concrete walls as beams of golden sunlight poured in through the row of windows to your right. The rays made a halo of his hair, catching the frizz that escaped the pattern of his curls. 

Eddie’s eyes sparkled, and you would search for the hurt in them. You knew it was there, hiding somewhere deep in those pools of molten chocolate, but in this moment there was no trace to be found. 

“Hell, maybe I should consult you for my campaigns,” he said scooting his chair impossibly closer. Close enough to feel his aura. To feel the hair on his arm tickle against yours. 

“Jeez, don’t flatter me.” You were surprised at how steady your voice came out.

“No, I’m serious,” he said, his eyes drifting toward your lips. “Okay, don’t tell the boys but I’m actually kind of stuck on this one part coming up.”

You snorted. “Right, because I have such a good rapport with the boys.”

The smile lines deepened around his smirk. “Ok, so… the final boss is coming up and I kind of want there to be a plot twist but I’m not sure how to like, make that work.”

“Alright, well what’s happened in the story so far?”

There was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes before his voice dropped to a theatric narration. 

“There’s a dark, evil force in the village of Hammerfall,” he began with a wave of his hand. “Crops are withering, livestock perishing. The villagers say it’s a curse put on by a spurned old crone who vanished into the forest, never to be seen again.” 

The gooey smile breaking out on your features could not be contained. A new color in the lexicon of hues you knew his voice to be. Rich with iridescent animation, reaching deep enough to turn your heart to putty.

“Six brave adventurers investigate the cause and venture deep into the nearby woods where they encounter harpies,” he emphasized, flourishing his fingers, “dryads, and a forest teeming with dark activity. There’s something deeper going on…” he paused for dramatic effect, “or at least I want there to be,” Eddie chuckled, breaking character as his voice snapped back into its normal cadence. “Originally I was just going to have it be that the old crone is a kind of sorcerer but we already sort of figured that, you know? I feel like that’s too predictable. I want it to be something, I dunno, more interesting?” 

You blinked as you willed your dopey mouth to move. “So she’s, um, going to be the final boss I take it?”

“Yeah, but that’s like, totally predictable right?”

“Hmm.” Resting your elbow on the desk and your finger between your lips, you thought for a moment. “What if she’s like, I dunno, possessed by something else? Like maybe there’s an even darker force at work and it’s just using her as a puppet or something?”

Eddie’s eyes lit up like Christmas. “I like the way you think.” His voice was tinged with a playful darkness.

You tucked your fingers behind your ear in reflex. “I mean I have no idea what it would be, but…”

“No—no that’s a good place to start. I think I actually have an idea of who could do that sort of thing, like in the monster manual. He’s a sort of… necromancer.” 

You nodded. “Oh yeah, that sounds plausible enough. Maybe there’s some sort of clue that gets left behind when she dies or something. Maybe there are like, markings on her body or some sort of strange amulet or… something that would lead to clues about who might be behind this.”

Eddie nodded along, his eyes growing wilder with every word. “Hey uh,” he began, leaning in like he was about to share a secret. “I don’t… know if anybody’s told you lately but…” his soft breath feathered your cheek, “you’re pretty brilliant.” 

It was the way he said it. Soft in tone, heavy with intention. Peering under his lashes like he wanted to kiss you. You swallowed, hard, as your heart pounded into your throat. “No uh,” you choked on your laugh, “not lately.” Breaking his gaze, you fiddled with your green grading pen and pressed your thumb nail into the gummy gripper. 

With startling animation, Eddie grabbed a spare piece of paper from the pile on your desk and snatched the pen out of your hand. 

“Hey!”

“Not like you were using it,” he teased, swiping your attendance clipboard to prop the sheet against. 

Your mouth fell open. “Well… no… but—”

He turned the pen over in his hand and clicked it a few times. “So much power in this little tool.” Putting it to the paper, he etched a green mark that would form the first letter of your first name. “Hmm what grade am I going to give you?” he tapped the pen against his lips.

You raised your eyebrows. “Oh you’re grading me now?”

“Well you definitely have attention to detail down, so A for that.” His hand hurried across the page, flourishing as he marked the A.

You sat back in your chair, thoroughly amused. “How generous of you.”

His eyes crinkled as he scribbled against the paper, clipboard cradled in his left arm to shield it from you. “Let’s see, what’s next… oh I know. Creativity. A plus for that one.”

You rolled your eyes, a weak diversion for how hot your face was getting. “How ‘bout I give you an A plus for being a total cheeseball?”

“Ohh wit — A for that one too.” His tongue darted out, nimble hand dragging your pen across the page. 

It was almost uncomfortable, the grip he had on you. How he could make you feel with a gesture, a word. “Ok enough flattery, give it back,” you said, reaching for the clipboard.

Eddie jerked it away. “Sense of humor, hmm, might have to give you a B for that one.” He shot you a smirk.

You balked. “Oh come on!”

“…B minus.” 

A laugh escaped you. “Eddie!”

His eyes were full of mischief as he scribbled frantically against the paper. “What, never got a B before? First time for everything, sweetheart,” he jested with a firm shake of his head. 

It was hard to be offended when your brain was short circuiting. 

“Maybe we can work on it together,” he offered, biting back a snicker.

Your brain clicked back on with the glare you shot him. “Okay, that’s it.” You lunged for the clipboard, but he was slow on the juke this time. Your fingers made purchase with the masonite slab.

Gripping it like a lifeline, he practically dragged you across his lap as he lurched away. It all happened so quickly. The swift tug he gave, your hand jutting out to brace the first thing in proximity — his denim clad thigh.

There was a pause in the movement. Heat lit up your whole body, radiating from the point of contact. 

His leg was warm and solid under your palm. So too was his shoulder nestled into yours as you reached across his lap, deeper into the bubble of his scent. You didn’t dare look him in the eyes, but in your close peripheral you could see his mouth; gaping just as yours was. 

Recovered from shock, the tension resumed in his tugging, and you responded with equal and opposite force. Your hand remained planted. For balance.

“So serious!” Eddie teased, wild hair bouncing as he jerked.

“I am serious, give it back.” Maybe it was your bright, airy giggles that gave you away, but he didn’t seem convinced.

God he was strong. You could feel the tremble of his arm emanating through the clipboard. Feel the flex of his bicep against yours as you fought his strength. You allowed yourself, for just a moment in the struggle, to glance at the one furthest to you. To follow his white, angular knuckles down to his wrist and see tendons flex against blue veins. To trace the curve of his inked forearm, to the bend of his elbow, to the bulge of his bicep. Your eyes lingered there. At the swell under his velvet skin. It surprised you, how large the muscle was, so much that it caused your grip to slip for just a second. 

It only made him tug harder, but not too hard, you noticed. Gentleman he was, trying to play fair. It was, however, hard enough to draw you further across his lap, further into his scent, close enough to slot your chest into his outstretched bicep and feel it tremble. You fought to regain your hold, hooking your fingers over the top and yanking back with an invigorated fervor. 

“Wai-wai-wait I’m not finished! I haven’t even gotten to ‘plays well with others’,” he wheezed, breaking into a warm, bubbly chuckle right against your ear.

You could barely eke out words. Sweat dampened your hand against the denim as his thigh flexed with every tug. A large, strong muscle that glided and stiffened under his heated skin. “Give it back,” you gritted weakly.

Soft curls tickled your cheek, feathered your lips and nose. You could smell it deeper than ever; that bright shampoo, that warm musk radiating from his neck. 

“What, you gonna give me detention?” he quipped, turning his head to steal a glance from you. 

Your mouth hung open. It was the way he said it, so defiant and cocksure. Daringly taunting for someone whose face was blotched pink. “Yeah, write you up for being a smartass,” you choked out with a pointed tug while your other hand burned a hole in his thigh. 

He gasped dramatically, pausing in the struggle. “You think I’m smart?” His tone was comically serious. It was scary how easy he could feign it on a dime. 

You deadpanned. “I’ve been telling you that this whole time. Maybe you should pay more attention.”

“Oh I’m paying attention.” 

“Oh yeah, to what?” 

It was all you could do not to stare at the ridges of his neck as his Adam’s apple bobbed, pink lips twitching, eyes darting between yours.

“That’s what I thought.” You seized the split second opening in his defense and snatched your dignity back.

His fingers clung desperately to the clipboard. “Ok—ok, I’ll give it back, I promise, just answer one question for me… about your book,” he panted, ghosting your lips with it.

It was those goddamn Bambi eyes that defeated you. Large, almond, pleading. His last, pathetic line of offense. “Fine,” you sighed.

“Is this a love story?” he murmured, close enough to taste his words.

They hung like a cloud. Heavy and potent. Threatening to burst. Hovering in the fractional distance between you.

“I—” you balked, voice trapped in your throat. 

The tugging ceased. Arms went slack. Fingers dampened masonite and paper. Eyes flicked back and forth. Yours caught the dip in his lids as they lowered to your lips, the long, gentle curve of his lashes as he peered at you from under them. 

You could not will your hand to move. It was glued there like his eyes were on you. Clammy fingers twitched against warm denim, itching to snake them further, to pull him closer, to commit each aching second to memory. 

Your eyes dipped next, quick enough to see his nerves make subtle twitches in his smile lines. To catch the parting of his plush, pink mouth that drew you like a magnet. Your heartbeat drowned out any sounds of pinballs. 

You could have done it. Moved your chin two inches. Snatched his pout.

Instead you swallowed and summoned a whisper. “You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

______

Your childhood home had gone rather unchanged since you had moved out of it. A little one-story ranch built in the 50s. Looking at it from the outside, it always amazed you that it could fit three bedrooms within its four walls. Plain and unassuming. White exterior, green shingled roof, a brick flower bed underneath the big bay window in front. Your mother had planted a tidy row of mums in it for fall. There was hardly a stray leaf to be found fluttering across the small, manicured lawn.

Inside you were greeted with the same paneled living room walls, painted powder blue now. The same family portraits from when you were seven, another from when you were ten, and then thirteen. Clean white carpet. Neat and orderly. Your old room had become a craft room soon after college. There was hardly a trace of you left. The Led Zeppelin and Beatles posters were the first to go, replaced with more tasteful decor like cross-stitched landscapes. A singer sewing machine was now perched on the desk you spent countless hours huddled over in study. Nick-knacks took up residence in your bookshelves. The purple walls were painted over with a powder yellow.

Mickey’s room remained largely unchanged. Bigger than yours, though you never had the heart to move over. It served as a guest room now, the full size bed still dressed in the quilt he used, the one your grandma made. Same cobalt blue walls. Your mother still dusted his trophies. 

What was most different was the table that stretched from the small dining room part-way into the living room. It was decorated with candlestick holders that looked like turkeys wearing hokey pilgrim hats. Those were definitely new. You wondered where your mother picked them up.

Both you and your mom would assume your roles — hers as host, and yours as helpful. You would busy yourself with the little things first. Details like folding linen napkins just how she instructed; in cascading triangles. You would sit at the end of the table and press daydreams into them. Quiet fantasies of warm nights and summer winds. Folding in details like the scent of leather and smoke inside the van, the sweet country air gusting through the windows. Details like how you imagined freedom would taste — slick and hot, hungry and lazy with room for seconds.

Once finished, you placed your folded secrets where they belonged — under the dinner forks.

You were making yourself useful with a can of cranberry sauce when your relatives arrived. The kind with whole cranberries. Clamping the gummy handles of the can opener and twisting as the teeth bit into the metal lid. Last year you’d made your own. Simmered sugar and orange juice in a pot over a real flame in your own house, added plump red berries and heated them until they burst. Dan’s mom said it was her favorite thing on the table.

This year you scooped cold, jelly chunks into an plain glass bowl, running the spoon down the ridges like a washboard. You were tapping off the bitter excess when the front door cracked open, ushering the sound of familiar voices colored in casual pleasantries. 

They would find you there eventually — in the kitchen putting rolls into a basket. It was effort, to smile and laugh and act like you were doing great. It was easier to act like you were busy. 

You hadn’t seen them since Connie and Cameron’s wedding. A sweltering day in mid-July. The last place on Earth you wanted to be. You’d spent most of it swallowing your feelings. Washing down saccharine cake with acrid mimosas. Sitting at a vacant table littered with party favors and sweating, half-empty glasses while your relatives slow danced to I Want To Know What Love Is by Foreigner. 

Your Aunt Helen and Uncle Larry spared no expense for their daughter and her new husband, from the country club venue to the live band. From the four course dinner to the three tiered tower of a cake.

Connie’s dress was beautiful. An ivory silk with princess puff sleeves and a train that stretched down the aisle. Like a limited edition Barbie still inside the box.

You hadn’t said much to her then — a tepid congratulations from behind a tired mask. It was all you could offer besides cash in a Hallmark greeting card. You doubted she noticed. She was busy anyway, as all brides were on their wedding day. It’s not like you were really that close to begin with. Not close in age with her being seven years your junior, not close in interests or hobbies. Not even close in proximity for most of her adult life, until recently. 

What you remembered more than anything was the way your grandma looked at her that day — like she’d hung the moon. She’d looked at you like that before of course — adorned with sashes in the parking lot as you clutched your first diploma. In the shade outside the the stadium as you cradled your second. When you reached across the table to present your ring to her.

You were reaching across the table to place the steaming basket of rolls by the cranberry sauce when you caught that look again — at Connie, the Sears catalog between them blanking the napkins you’d placed so carefully.

“See, I was thinking about this matching set with the dresser and changing table. See how it’s sort of built in like that?” Connie explained, leaning in toward your grandmother at the head of the table. 

Your stomach did a sinking somersault, eyes magnetized to her pastel pink fingernail tapping against the full spread of baby furniture. 

“Oh my, well isn’t that convenient. Yes I do like the natural wood grain of this one, the lighter color,” your grandma added.

You tried to swallow it away. Pretend like you didn’t even notice. Like the cheering coming from the living room was summoning you. You could still hear them as your stocking feet crossed over the divide from the hard wood to the plush carpet.

“I was thinking the same thing. It’ll go nicely with the paper we’ve picked out for the walls. Oh shoot, I meant to bring the sample. Sorry, I’ve been so spacey lately.” Connie’s sticky sweet chuckle clung to your hammering ears.

Suddenly your mother’s Precious Moments collection had never been so fascinating. Looking past your anguished reflection in the glass cabinet, you drank in their big, dopey eyes. Vignettes of little cherub hands clutching flowers, posing as firefighters and dentists. Droopy eyed children sitting on see-saws and garden benches. Frozen in their perfect little worlds.

“Oh that’s quite alright dear,” your grandma’s gentle reassurance echoed from the dining room. “I can come over and see sometime after my knees are healed, plenty of time between now and April.”

You tried to blink away the image — your old craft room on Clementine painted pastel pink or blue, filled with furniture from the pages of Connie’s catalog. It probably was at this point. Your eyes burned a hole in a ceramic cherub head as heat rose in your veins.

The sound of a whistle drew your attention to your uncle and cousins crowded around your family’s meager television. 

“Oh COME ON!” Larry bellowed as the plastic cushions squeaked under his shifting weight. “There’s no way that was a foul, you see that, Kevin?” he gestured to his son, slumped against the couch half asleep. “Total baloney.”

Cameron adjusted his glasses as he shifted forward. “Oh yeah his foot was totally on the line, I bet we can catch it on replay.”

“Where do they find these damn refs anyway? The academy for the blind? HA!” Larry sat back in his seat and cracked another beer, amused with himself.

You raked your eyes over the blurring sea of dolls again, drowning in your thoughts until one of them pulled you to the surface. On the middle shelf behind the one in the lab coat and stethoscope, this one stood in front of a big desk with a stack of books and an apple on it and held a large slab in front of her. You crouched down to read the fine print.

Report Card

Kindness…A

Mercy…A

Love…A

Faithfulness…A

Your stomach twisted into knots. Phantom touches ghosted over your hands and arms, wrapped themselves around your heart and squeezed. You caught your own eyes in the mirror behind the dolls — sad and droopy just like theirs, only painted with shame and longing instead. 

Uncle Larry’s voice boomed through the room again. This time it was coming from the television while the Larry on the couch shushed your cousins like they were even making noise to begin with.

“At Bessler Ford we’ve always got the best deals, and this Thanksgiving we’re practically GIVING these cars away!”

“Hey you guys seen the new one?” Larry called out to the rest of the house. 

The question was met with weak replies from Connie and Grandma looking up from the catalog in the dining room. You wondered if your parents even heard him from the kitchen. With lukewarm enthusiasm, you humored him with your attention, mind swimming with pinball thoughts, eyes glazing over as you stared at the screen. Then, like a sudden apparition, your mother emerged from the kitchen and snatched the remote from the end table.

“ZERO down, ZERO interest, we’re prating BEGGING you—”

Like a Wild West gunslinger quick on the draw, the TV blipped off with a fizzle.

“Aw come on!” Larry protested.

“Dinner’s ready, time to eat,” she stated firmly, her expression unamused.

As your family peeled themselves off the couch and shuffled over to the table, you found your seat on the carpet side of the divide. 

Even with the extra leaf there was no fitting nine at a six person table, so there had been some improvising. The two tables were covered in linens you didn’t recognize. Starchy and stiff, a cream brocade with a fall leaf pattern that shimmered in the light. Your mom must have steamed them to get the creases out from the packaging. Though matching, they couldn’t hide the fact that they were different shapes. 

Your side of the family took their places at the smaller square table, and your cousins found theirs at the rectangle.

Aunt Helen’s green halo of fruit jello jiggled as your dad triumphantly plunked the carved turkey in the center of everything. 

It rested awkwardly on the seam between the two tables, a sloping butterball bridge. 

You watched the juices gather at the lower end of it as everyone around you lowered their heads to utter the words of a half-hearted prayer, the meaning long forgotten with tired repetition. 

Barely a second of silence passed before a manicured hand shot out from your left, reaching to steady the platter so it favored her side. “You know, it really was nice of you to offer to host,” Helen said to your mother across from you, “but perhaps next year we can have the honor. We have plenty of space for it.”

The suggestion was met with a tight lipped smile. “Next year we’ll be back at mom’s,” she quipped at her younger sister.

The tension was thick enough to slice. A heavy backdrop to the clinking of silverware against ceramic as servings were doled out. You busied your hands with the nearest thing to you — a warm bowl of mashed potatoes, dolloping a generous helping onto your plate and pressing a crater into the center with the back of the spoon. You passed the bowl toward your right to your dad at the head of the smaller square table.

It was your grandmother who broke the silence. “Helen you do have a lovely home, if you really wanted to host I wouldn’t be opposed,” she said, breaking the molded perfection of the green halo with her serving spoon. “Less work for me to do anyway.”

You caught it. The flicker of dejection in your mother’s eyes, cast down at the crisp table linens. Fleeting and momentary before her shoulders resumed their rigid posture, before she corrected her expression and reached across the table to usher a thick slice of turkey breast onto her plate.

Helen looked delighted as she plucked a roll from the basket. “Well thanks, mom. Besides, this time next year there will be ten of us.”

You stared down at your plate, shuffling your green beans with your fork. 

The conversation would lighten up over steamy, buttered rolls and Betty Crocker stuffing. It would soften to a casual cadence about Cameron’s new accounting job at the dealership. How the pay raise from his previous job could afford he and Connie a house on Chestnut street. How the decorating had been going. How your dad was managing the hardware store this time of year. 

You would sit there in silence and unfold your secrets; smooth the linen against your lap and feel your sweating hand on his rigid thigh; the ghost of his breath at your lips when he asked you if this was a love story. You would prod at your potatoes and indulge in the fantasy of closing the gap. Conjure the cradle of his plush cupid’s bow and taste his wicked grin. Swallow the sensation of how it might feel to have a belly full of him.

Your spoon broke the gravy dam, flooding your plate.

“Dear, aren’t you going to have any liver dressing? You’re the one who made it after all. It’s quite good, isn’t it?” Your mother asked you, glancing at your grandma.

You choked on your daydream. “I—um…”

“It’s kinda chunky,” Kevin commented through a mouthful. “I mean compared to how grandma makes it.” 

Your grandma offered a sympathetic smile. “It’s a tricky recipe.”

She wasn’t wrong. It was tedious to put it mildly. It involved bread crumbs, cooked liver and ham, and a food processor. But it was a family recipe and she just had knee surgery so your thoughtful mother volunteered you to take up the reigns. How generous.

“It’s still quite good, isn’t it?” your mom asked her before turning back to you. “Why don’t you try some, you’ll see.”

You stared down at the square, pyrex dish. You never liked liver dressing. It looked like cat food cut up into little squares, the crispy edges making it only slightly more appealing. It was the texture that always got you. Mushy and homogenous. Admittedly you’d never actually tasted cat food but you wondered how it compared.

“No thanks, my plate’s already so full,” you said through feigned laughter.

There was that flicker in her eyes again, like the flames above the new ceramic turkeys. 

“Mom, come on, I don’t…” you glanced around at your relatives, busying themselves with the contents of their own plates. 

Your mother set her fork down. Her gaze flicked toward your grandma tucking her spoon happily into Helen’s jello. “Why don’t you try just one bite, sweetie.”

Huffing through your nose, you stared down at the dish, then back up at her. There was only one way this was going and you didn’t want to cause a scene. With a placid smile, you picked up the serving spoon and scooped a bite-size portion onto your plate, giving a single, solemn tap against the ceramic before setting it back in the tray.

You glanced around the still silent table, then back at your mother, still watching you intently from across the flickering candles. Defeated, you started down at the lump of mushy cat food on your plate. Scooping it up with your spoon, you brought it to your lips with a resigned sigh before opening your mouth. 

It wasn’t terrible. The rich umami of the fat and the seasonings almost made up for the texture, and quite honestly, the chunks helped. You still didn’t like it. You would never like it. You’d been forced to eat it your whole life and your opinion still hadn’t changed. Whether your mother could accept that was another subject.

You swallowed, finally, to your relief and probably everyone else’s, if they were paying attention. “I’d give it a solid C,” you stated flatly. Your mother was not amused.

“C’s get degrees,” Larry added, laughing at his own joke.

Your dad tipped his head to you. “Well I’d definitely give it a higher grade than that, but I guess you are the expert when it comes to grades, huh?” 

You humored him with a soft, pained smile, tucking into your stuffing again in hopes of replacing the taste in your mouth. You washed it down with a swig of champagne and the sweet tingle cleansed your palate. 

They left you alone after that, with thoughts too loud for your beverage to drown out. Pinball thoughts and summer thoughts. Echos of bright laughter off tile flooring. A rich, warm hum at the shell of your ear. Words like timeless and sweetheart. Loud enough to drown out dull conversations for the duration of the meal. 

“Mom can I go to Vinnie’s after this?” asked Kevin.

Helen shot him a stern look from across the table. “You may absolutely not go to Vinnie’s. I told you I don’t want you hanging out with that boy anymore.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Come on, it’s not a big a deal.”

“It absolutely is a big deal. I said no, and that’s final,” she said, punctuated by the stabbing of her fork into white meat.

Candles wavered in the tension as orange wax dripped down the sides. Not a sound aside from chewing and silverware against ceramic.

It was your dad who broke the silence. “Ok, I gotta know what Vinnie did.”

Connie bit back a smirk, eyes shifting around the table. “Vinnie got suspended for bringing,” she glanced at your grandma before mouthing, “pot to school.”

There was an audible stir from the table.

Your grandma clutched her chest. “At St. Michael’s?”

You bit your lip at her reaction, cheeks quivering as you struggled to keep a straight face.

“I know, mom. It’s appalling,” said Helen, “I really thought we could have avoided this sort of thing by choosing a private school.”

It was then that Larry turned to you. “Yeah, I bet you see this kinda stuff all the time at Hawkins, don’t you?” 

It was a dig. You might have been polite but you certainly weren’t stupid. “Not as often as you think,” you said flatly, taking another bite of cranberry sauce to busy your mouth before something regrettable came out.

“You know, Kevin, I had a friend in high school who smoked pot, you know where that got him?”

Just what everyone needed, Uncle Larry’s wisdom. You sighed and stared blankly ahead. It was everything you could do to keep your eyes from rolling back into your head. 

“Flippin’ burgers at Benny’s, that’s where,” he concluded before taking a swig of his beer. He set it down with solid thud, as if that made his point.

Kevin huffed and sat back in his chair looking more disappointed than convinced.

You thought about Eddie Munson again, perfumed with cigarettes and covered in tattoos. Thought about him at this table and wondered where he’d fit. Between you and your Aunt Helen? Across from your mother pretending to enjoy liver dressing? At the seam between the square and the rectangle?

There used to be ten at the table. Before that there were eleven.

Your most secret daydreams wafted in on summer winds. They hinged on the changing of seasons and circumstances. You thought about this table without your chair. Of the flickering candles in your mother’s eyes; the way they hinged on you. 

Your hands toyed with the linen in your lap. As far fetched as a future was, you wondered, desperately, if both ends could ever meet.

If the two of you would ever have a place among the dolls.

______

Thanksgiving was Eddie’s second favorite holiday. After Halloween of course, for obvious aesthetic reasons. Having no extended family in Hawkins, his Thanksgivings had always been small. Some better than others. There was the one shortly after his dad went to jail for the first time. He was only six, but there were a few things he remembered — that there was no yelling at the table, that his mom seemed happy for once, and that it was his first Thanksgiving with Wayne. 

Nowadays Eddie and Wayne were like passing ships. Wayne would come home from work after Eddie left for school and go to sleep shortly after he returned. The weekends were a little better, though Eddie had a tendency to sleep in late, so that left them a few hours for early dinners together when he wasn’t galavanting around or getting into trouble.

Over the past nine years, the two Munson men had developed their own Thanksgiving traditions.  

Wayne wasn’t much of a cook, but each year he would go out and get the smallest turkey he could find and gather some essentials. The thing Eddie loved most was that Wayne always made it fun. He would always encourage Eddie to help in the kitchen, even when he was younger. 

The first staple dish was a green bean casserole. It was easy enough even for an eleven year old to open a can of cream of mushroom soup, to scoop out its contents and mix it with shredded cheddar and green beans. Simple enough to sprinkle crispy onions on top and pop it in the oven. Eddie always felt like a chef putting it together.

The second staple dish was a baked mac and cheese. Wayne picked up the recipe from a coworker in West Virginia. It was pretty simple too. More hearty than your traditional stovetop Kraft. It involved heavy whipping cream, eggs, and three different kinds of cheese. Nothing compared to baked Thanksgiving mac fresh out of the oven. It was thick, and rich, and the cheese was browned to a crisp on top. The noodles had just the right amount of chew and the center was melted perfection. 

As Eddie got older some new traditions developed. Wayne started letting him in on the beer when he turned 18. Something about “I know you’re doin’ it, might as well be doin’ it safe under my roof.” Wayne was pretty lenient about most things. More than anything, Eddie got the sense that Wayne just wanted him to feel like there a place he could call home. 

There was one Thanksgiving tradition that stood above them all — the sacred text, the soundtrack to every Munson Thanksgiving — Alice’s Restaurant.

Every year like clockwork Wayne would dig the record out of his collection and Arlo Guthrie would accompany the two of them as they strained pasta, cracked eggs, and opened cans. He would spin his long-winded sermon, his odyssey, about one fated Thanksgiving and the trials and tribulations of dumping trash where it shouldn’t go and how it can spare you from getting drafted. The song was nearly twenty minutes long and took up one full side of the record. Wayne would play it over and over to the point where both of them had most of the damn thing memorized, which was difficult to do considering it was mostly just Arlo rambling a story over chords with the chorus thrown in here and there.

Tucking his legs underneath him, Eddie cradled his heaping plate, shifting his balance so that it didn’t end up in his lap when the couch cushion dipped as Wayne took his spot. 

“Damn boy, I sure do hope your stomach’s as big as them eyes. Mine’s hurtin’ just lookin’ at all that.”

Eddie cracked a wicked smile and leaned in like he had some kind of secret. “You know, you can get anything…”

Wayne raised his eyebrows, playing along. “Anything?”

“Anything you want,” he quoted Arlo before shoveling a heap of stringy mac and cheese into his mouth. 

Wayne brought his broad, calloused hand down on top of his head and gave his mop of curls a playful ruffle. Eddie chuckled through a mouthful, balancing the plate in his lap.

It was good like this. Sitting on the couch with a heaping pile of food. The B side of the record spinning with fuzzy familiarity as Charlie Brown’s Thanksgiving played quietly on the small TV in front of them.

He didn’t need a table to enjoy it. Besides, the couch was way more comfortable than any stiff chair. The paper towel tucked underneath his plate did as good a job as any to wipe his mouth. Eddie was thankful for moments like these, and Wayne more than anything.

“You still doin’ game night tomorrow?” he asked.

“Nah, school’s closed so I guess they get a pass,” Eddie answered, “I mean I thought about making everyone get together anyway but I dunno where we’d meet. Still gonna do band practice on Saturday though.”

“Oh yeah? Whatcha been practicing?”

“Uh, been kinda on a Sabbath kick lately. Hand of Doom, War Pigs, early stuff,” he said, barely denting his mashed potato mountain.

Wayne took a stab at his turkey. “Y’all sound pretty good. An’ I’m not just sayin’ that.”

“Well… thanks.” Eddie toyed with his food, running his fork along the solid, jelly ridges of the of cranberry sauce.

“You guys oughta play more places, maybe after you graduate.” 

He raised his eyebrows as he chewed. “You sound awfully confident about that last part.”

“I am,” Wayne started, “after last Friday anyway. Got to meet that teacher of yours who’s been givin’ you all sortsa help.”

Eddie choked, shielding his mouth with his fist as he hacked mashed potatoes from his windpipe.

“Y’ ok Ed?” 

“Yeah—yeah, just uh,” he wheezed. He met you? Jesus. He wasn’t sure if his head was spinning more over the lack of oxygen or the implications. 

“Y’ know, she sure had an awful lotta good to say about you.”

“Did she?” Eddie asked between coughs. A deep embarrassment bubbled in his gut. 

“Sure did. You really lucked out this year. She really seems to… I dunno. Get it. Get you. Real sweet young thing, I’ll tell you what.”

Eddie thought his mashed potatoes might end up on the carpet. 

“Ain’t hard on the eyes either,” Wayne muttered before taking a sip of his beer.

“WAYNE.” Eddie wanted to crawl out of his skin. Dig a hole. Bury his own skeleton in the back yard between the laundry posts.

There was a glint in his eyes, like he was catching onto something. “What? A fact’s a fact.”

“Ok enough, please.” Eddie ran his hands down his heated face, certain he was absolutely crimson. 

Wayne just chuckled harder, like the torture entertained him.

Suddenly he was eleven years old again. Standing outside the auditorium with his guitar slung over his shoulder as parents and classmates filtered out in droves. 

“Come on boy, time to go.” 

Eddie fussed with his stiff pleather jacket, looking left and right with a growing desperation. “Can we wait just like… five more minutes? I wanna tell Chrissy good job.”

Wayne’s eyes sparkled with a curious mischief, “Oh I see. Got a little crush huh?”

Eddie hardened his lips into a line and fumed. “I do not, I just wanna say good job. God.” He glanced around,  growing claustrophobic, jacket suffocating him with heat. “You know what, let’s… let’s just go,” he huffed as he marched toward the glass exit.

What was he going to do? Storm off? Slam the door like a fucking child?

No. Instead, Eddie just sat there, staring a hole into his heap of Thanksgiving as the plate grew heavy in his sweating hands. Suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore.

“Oh come on, Ed. I’m just teasin’.”

There it was again. The heat that lit his skin like fluorescent lights as he stared down problems he was too stupid to solve. 

“It’s fine,” Eddie muttered, vision blurring as Snoopy doled out helpings on the television. The record skipped with a steady rhythm in the silence of its end.

You had met Wayne. He knew now, who you were to him. There was no unknowing that. What did he think? That he was going to bring you by some day? Introduce you as his girlfriend? Would Wayne even believe it or would that be a joke to him too?

In the countless visions of you that played out like tapes in his mind, this part always came in fuzzy. Now it was prickling static. 

He wanted to get up; to wrap his plate in tinfoil and throw it in the fridge; retreat to his bedroom like he always did. But he was already doing a piss poor job at playing it cool and he knew that would only make it worse.

So he sat there and ate it. Swallowed his shame and frustration, chased it with a solemn resignation. 

Sometimes he could almost forget. When the books sprawled out on the big desk came from his home and not his locker. When the names on your tongues were from fiction and not history. When impulse took hold of his hands and they took hold of yours. 

Sometimes his visions were more unbelievable than his wildest campaigns. You, hammering your next novel into a keyboard. Him, surprising you with kisses and a sandwich prepared in a kitchen you both shared. A home together in some far off place that neither of you knew the name of yet.

Sometimes, in the bubbling laughter that clouded the space between you, he could almost forget his place.

By the time the credits rolled on the TV, he couldn’t stomach another bite. 

“I think, uh,” Eddie looked down at the half-eaten mess on his plate, “I think my eyes were too big for my stomach.”

He got up without another word, dumped the scraps into the garbage, and resigned to his room.

______

Eddie fluttered open his heavy lids, adjusting his eyes to the darkness that swallowed him. It had been light out when he’d closed them, though he barely remembered doing so.

He wiped the drool from his face and peeled the now silent headphones off his sore ears. The clock on the nightstand painted his vision with a red neon glow; a tether back to reality. 7:07 PM.

Reaching toward his right, he pawed the air for the cord to the hanging lamp beside his bed and flicked it on when he made purchase with the switch. 

Before the turkey’s tryptophan took hold, he had been enjoying the cool breeze at his face as he drove his wagon leisurely along the trail through the Ashmar forest. 

Eddie squinted against the light and rubbed his eyes as he glanced down at your world in his lap, still open right where he left off. The weight of it was like an extra blanket; heavy like a hug. It beckoned him to stay in the toasty cocoon of his bed. Though he had half a mind to get up and take a piss, the world outside was steeped in November’s chill, so instead he took the path of least resistance and dove right back in.

As much as Cybelle was concerned about illness, it was difficult for them to travel together and still keep their distance, but they seemed to have figured it out. They picked up a small tent and collapsable cot while in Torgaard which worked well enough for sleeping arrangements. While on the move, Lazarus had his place; in the driver’s seat, and Cybelle had hers; in the caravan. She would busy herself over the wood stove, crafting strange food and concoctions while Lazarus tried his best to stay alert and steer the horse.

Sometimes she would peek her head out the large window atop the singular door and talk to him. He enjoyed those moments most of all. Lazarus was learning all sorts of new things; what daily life was like in Myrne, what the city looked like and how agriculture worked for them. What Myrnish people thought of the world beneath and what had surprised her about it so far. Namely the flora and fauna. The weather. How diverse it all was. The people too. He would often catch her studying plants when they stopped to camp; taking samples and storing them in jars, pressing them to pages, sketching little drawings in her thick leather book.

“You know I would love to visit Myrne,” he turned his head and called to her, “once this is all over anyway.”

Small, russet fingers curled around bottom of the ornate caravan window frame, followed by a pensive, crescent moon face. “Many people want to visit Myrne.” 

“Right, well, not many people actually know someone from Myrne,” he added, “and I just happen to be so lucky.” 

Cybelle’s eyes crinkled in a soft, sad smile. “I would love to show you,” she began, “but I know they will forbid it.”

The wheels of the caravan creaked along the dirt path, shifting their weight with a soft thud as they drove over a rock. “Even just one person? What if I wore a mask, like yours?”

Cybelle shook her head, “The council is very strict. Even merchants are not allowed beyond the docks. There have still been plagues, even with these rules. One in my lifetime. I was quite young but I still remember… more than I would care to. We lost… so many people.”

He could hear the sorrow twinge her voice. Lazarus gave a solemn nod, staring down at the worn leather reigns as they plodded along. “I’m sorry,” he offered, “I’m sure you knew more than a few of them.”

Cybelle hummed softly, folding her arms across the bottom of the window to cradle her head. “I know just about every family in Myrne.”

Sunlight laced through the trees, dappling the road in patches of shade and light. They hadn’t seen another soul in miles. Perhaps he was becoming a bit stir crazy from all the driving but the further they plodded, the louder the questions that rolled around in his head became. 

“Forgive me if this is, uh,” he searched for the word in the leaves, “inappropriate, but with such a small population, how do you prevent, um,” his fingers toyed at the nape of his neck, “like, accidentally marrying your second cousin?”

To his relief, it earned a big, bright laugh from Cybelle, “We are not that small, around three thousand. But yes, sometimes you must be careful,” she chuckled, propping her head against her arm. “We do keep records of such things.”

“Ah,” he confirmed with a single nod as his face bloomed with heat. 

It encouraged a glimmer of mischief from Cybelle’s umber eyes. “There was a… how you say… practice, I suppose, long before the plagues when we were more open to outsiders where—”

The words were snatched out of her mouth by a sudden halt of the caravan, jerking both of them backward with startling force. The horse cried out, rearing to her hind legs in shocked protest.

“Woah—woah!” Lazarus braced himself against the wood panel in front of the driver’s seat and whipped his head around. Unable to see anything behind the mass of painted wood, he stumbled out onto the dirt to get a better look. “Just keep Turnip calm!” he called to Cybelle as she clambered off the floor.

He scanned the perimeter of the wagon. There was nothing he could see right away, that was until he looked down. Two thick vines, moving like snakes, were actively coiling themselves around the spokes of the wooden wheel. They were covered in tiny, glass-like thorns, and they seemed rather perturbed. He imagined it might have had something to do with running them over. Lazarus cursed. “We’re gonna need uh—a blade of some sort,” he shouted. 

“There’s the knife I was using by the stove,” Cybelle called back, running her hand gently along Turnip’s dapple grey neck.

“Uhh, I think we need something bigger, come take a look at this.”

Cybelle gave Turnip a soft, final pat as she turned to follow Lazarus’ voice around to the back of the caravan. She gasped when she saw it.

“Ever seen one of these… monstrosities in your books?” he asked, gesturing to the vines.

Cybelle crouched down, looking more fascinated than horrified, marveling at the way they moved, like prowling serpents. “No,” she whispered. “They must be very strong though, to stop us like that.”

Watching them coil around the spokes filled Lazarus with an eerie dread. He shuddered to think what he would find if he followed their length into the forest. That was when he remembered the wood axe. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Please just… keep your distance.”

The axe was on the floor when he found it, as was the kettle, and the utensils, and dozens of other objects that had been launched from their careful placement. Lazarus left the caravan with a heavy sigh.

“Alright, step aside,” he said, tapping the handle of the axe against his open palm.

Cybelle scurried backward, clearing a safe distance. 

Gripping the smooth wood, Lazarus approached the vines. He shuffled his boots into the dirt as he widened his stance, taking aim about a foot from the wheel as the menacing serpents continued their slow coil. He swung with his full force, and just like chopping wood, he let the weight of the axe do its job. It severed the vines with a clean chop. Like snakes without heads, they recoiled into the forest. He swore he heard them hiss. 

Leaning against his long axe with a proud flourish, Lazarus glanced over at Cybelle. She seemed more captivated by the what remained of the plants than his demonstration, much to his quiet disappointment. 

Cybelle shuffled over to the wheel, fascinated by the green, glassy specimens. They had fallen to the  road in a heap upon severance.

“Maybe we ought to invest in a sword when we get to Fenwood,” Lazarus half-joked, “More dangerous out here than I—”

The vine that shot out from the forest snatched the words right out of his mouth, morphed them into a scream as it seized his forearm with a searing sting. In an instant he was on the ground, clawing at the dirt with his other hand as the vengeful, severed serpent lurched him from the road. 

With startling quickness, Cybelle stumbled to her feet again. She snatched the axe from the ground and chased after him.

The pain was blinding as it dragged him. Small, glassy hooks like a fire in his forearm. It made the sticks that scraped his body feel like tickles. The rocks that raked under him like a dull massage. Though his other hand flailed desperately at ferns and the damp, dead leaves that blanketed the forest floor, there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t pull back. He couldn’t stop. All he could do was scream and panic. It was hard to tell how fast he was really going, how much time had actually elapsed. The seconds felt like agonizing hours. But when he heard the dull thud of footsteps by his head, there was a glimmer of hope for his misery to end. 

A guttural scream proceeded a loud THWACK.

It would seem Cybelle had decent aim, because he wasn’t moving anymore. Clambering off the forest floor, he righted himself as quickly as he could in his spinning, pounding world. It was anyone’s guess how long they had before the next retaliating strike, and he wasn’t about to play the odds. 

“RUN,” Lazarus shouted, bolting toward the caravan as Cybelle kept pace. The axe seemed even larger clutched in her small hands. Under any normal circumstance he would have been a gentleman and taken back the burden, but this was anything but normal.

He didn’t even look at his arm. He didn’t have time. He didn’t want to. He could feel it though — the blood as it trickled down his wrist, the sting of the thorns that were likely still lodged there. 

Both he and Cybelle were barely on the driver’s platform before he was at the reigns, commanding Turnip to move with a quick snap of the leather. The dappled grey horse trotted forward with a rare sense of urgency.

Lazarus leaned back against the driver’s seat, chest heaving, more grateful than he’d ever been in his life to feel the cool wind at his face. They were a fair distance up the road before he even looked down. The sleeve of his white linen shirt was completely saturated in a wet crimson that clung to his skin.

Cybelle emerged from the caravan with an armful of bandages and jars and took the seat to the left of him on the other side of the door. 

Lazarus stared blankly ahead, mind still numb from the ebbing panic. 

“Let me see your arm,” Cybelle said gently.

He met her large eyes, now brimming with a soft concern. Slowly, he raised his trembling arm to hover in the space between them; the gap between the seats. 

Cybelle’s fingers twitched above the soaked linen. Gingerly pinching the cuff of his sleeve, she peeled it back to reveal his angry wound. 

Lazarus turned his head toward the forest, unable to look. “How bad is it?” he asked dejectedly. 

Cybelle paused for a moment, assessing the damage. “There are still some thorns, I need to pull them out. They are not too deep though,” she reassured. “You will be alright.”

It was the warmth in her voice that made him turn his head to face her, to face his wound — the mangled trail of lacerations that encircled his arm. Some of them did look quite deep, to him anyway. The bleeding seemed to have stopped on its own for the most part, thanks to his shirt. 

Shifting so that her feet now faced him, Cybelle scooted forward in her seat so that her lap was below him and grabbed a pair of tweezers. Her hands hovered above his arm, and for a moment Lazarus wasn’t sure if it was the rocking of the wagon or her proximity to him that caused her hands to tremble. There was a deep fear in her eyes, and not just from the wound.

His palm faced up at her, close enough to feel the heat of her body. 

In their brief time together they had always kept their distance. Lazarus in the driver’s seat, Cybelle in the caravan. Separated by walls and windows, tents and masks. At night, she would indulge him with her naked smile from across the campfire. Blinding and brilliant, like the crescent moon above them.

Lazarus held her eyes from across his offering; a bloody bridge that hovered in the space between them. 

With hesitant acceptance, she lowered her fingers slowly, then her eyes, guiding his arm to rest across the bandage in her lap.

The wink of her tweezers in the sunlight encouraged him to study the trees again. He gripped the leather reigns to brace himself.

Her touch was delicate and tentative as she steadied his arm, like his skin was a hot iron, and hers at risk to burn.

He flinched when she pulled the first thorn.

“Sorry,” Cybelle soothed.

He flinched again when she pulled the second. And the third, fingers writhing against the warm silk of her dress. 

“I know it hurts, but you must stay still,” she quelled. 

Lazarus allowed himself a glimpse back at her large, uneasy eyes that shone over the crescent moon. “H—how many more are there?” He didn’t dare lower his gaze to count.

With deeply furrowed brows, Cybelle scanned his arm, “Perhaps…fifteen?” she guessed. “They are small, it is difficult to say.”

Lazarus gave a heavy sigh and slumped into the seat, straining to find some comfort in the greenery that passed them. His head bumped dejectedly against the wagon as it swayed along the path. Fifteen. He tried not to think about it, but instead found himself wondering how badly it would scar. His fingers trembled as he braced himself for the next sting.

Instead he felt a hand.

Featherlight touches at the heart line of his palm. 

Lazarus glanced over his shoulder, expecting to find fear in those deep, upturned ovals. Instead there was something much softer. 

It was hiding just under the curve of her lashes, in the tender brush of her fingertips — a quiet fascination. 

His chest rattled, with more than just adrenaline. Her eyes would surely raise at any moment and he braced himself to meet them, but instead she did something much bolder.

She lowered her palm. 

It nestled into the groove and slope like it belonged there. Her skin like warm, russet earth against the vast, snowy landscape of his. When her fingers got brave enough to curl around the back, he allowed his pale digits to follow suit. 

They sat like this a moment, staring at the knot of palms and fingers with a gentle awe. Her cheeks dimpled under the ivory crescent, and despite the radiant sting, Lazarus found himself smiling too.

Finally, Cybelle met his eyes and readied her tweezers again. “Are you ready?” 

Lazarus tightened his grip. “I am now,” he said softly.

There were sixteen thorns. Lazarus counted. They fell one by one to the floor of the caravan. He didn’t flinch at all this time. 

She was quick and methodical, and when her work was finished, she painted his wounds with a soothing balm that smelled of mint and fresh green herbs. The sting faded to a tingle. 

What he noticed more than anything was how her fingers lingered as they left his hand to wrap the bandage.

“Thank you,” Lazarus uttered, running his hand along the neatly spiraled ridges of the dressing.

Cybelle gave a singular, dutiful nod and shyly gathered her supplies. She resumed her place, inside, and got to work reestablishing order in the mess of objects strewn about the floor. It was quiet the rest of the ride into Fenwood. 

As they approached the city, the trees grew denser, the path grew darker. Moss hung like tapestries over lichenous limbs. Frogs croaked in chorus from every direction. A peaty moisture hung heavy in the air. 

All signs pointed toward the same conclusion — they were entering the boglands. 

Eddie sat back against the heap of pillows and rubbed his arm. The one with the puppet tattoo. 

He would always wonder what you said about him, to Wayne. The words you used. Verbatim. You were always so good with them. He would watch you wield them every day, like a weapon or a spell. You could paint worlds for him as quickly as his eyes could gather them. 

It was when he was next to you that you seemed at a loss, like the concrete walls were listening, like they would shatter the illusion the two of you had conjured. It was safer to speak with your eyes, your hands, your laughter. 

Despite the volumes left unspoken, the questions left unasked and unanswered, the volume in his lap had answered one:

That it was, in fact, a love story.

______

A/N: I want to thank everyone for their patience and support while I wrote this chapter. I fought a lot of inner dragons to bring it to you, but I’m in a much better mental place now. I’m learning so much about myself in the process of writing this story, my first one of this length, and how best to keep my inner flame alive. It can be scary when it dims, but it's bright as ever now. 

I was admittedly very nervous about including so much family backstory for Teach, but I felt it was important for the telling of the story. The Precious Moments teacher doll does actually exist. It’s called “Love Never Fails” and it came out in 1984. I couldn’t have conjured it better if I tried.

As always, nothing encourages me to continue writing this story more than hearing what you think about it in comments, reblogs, and asks. It's truly the most rewarding thing for me as a writer.

I’ll be serving up some piping hot drama in 13 so stay strapped, folks!

Taglist:  @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @mantorokk-writes @loveshotzz @trashmouth-richie @carolmunson @wordscomehither @munson-blurbs @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @bibieddiesgf @idkidknemore @alizztor @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @alienthings @eddiemunsonsbitcch @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @ruby-dragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson older reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x teacher!reader #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson angst #don't stand so close to me

[mrsbbradshaw]

Who's the better Kazansky ?

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x fem! Kazansky reader

Warnings : Top Gun Maverick Spoilers, Character death, angst if you squint, fluff

Synopsis : When the news of her father's death arrived, of all people that turned to her comfort, Bradley was the last person she expected to console her.

"You're joining the navy ? Are you insane ?"

"Like father like daughter ?" She raised her brows, smiling at the admiral.

Tom "Iceman" Kazansky stroked his chin, eyeing his daughter who he knew had so much potential in becoming a pilot. He had always wanted his daughter to figure out life on her own, it was against his parenting rules to push her into following his footsteps but there she was in front of him, telling the 1985 Top Gun graduate that she wanted to be just like him.

She's a wild with a free spirit, the admiral's daughter was always breaking rules, she was always getting into trouble, getting into fights, going home with injuries and cuts here and there made her earn a few scoldings from her parents, especially her mother saying things like "you're a girl for God's sake !". Tom Kazansky knew she got that from him and as she grew older, he knew there was nothing he could do to change her as a person.

He would always scoff, his daughter was a living copy of his friend, Maverick. The only difference between those two is their ego.

A smile began to form on his lips. Standing up from his seat,

"It's gonna be a long journey ahead, Kazansky"

"Tom ! What are you thinking ? She can die out there ! She's not like you !" His wife complained, practically shouting to him to change his mind, only if he knew how many sleepless nights his wife has suffered over the years with the fear of the naval officer pilot not returning after a mission.

"I think you underestimate the power of the Kazanskys" He chuckled snakily, pulling his daughter into a hug.

"You're gonna be one hell of a pilot, sweetie"

'Y/N Kazansky'

'Frosty'

A call sign that slightly resembled her father's.

People in the navy said she got it from her 'cold' personality, but she would always disagree. In fact, she gets comfortable with people easily, except one man.

Bradley Bradshaw, AKA "Rooster".

She could remember being the best of friends with him throughout middle school, at some point she had a crush on him. That was until he sold her out to the principal, earning a suspension from school when she was defending a bully.

"Violence is dangerous, Kazansky, YOU'RE dangerous." He told her.

They became sworn enemies ever since, exchanging snarky remarks and insults to each other and by the time the two of them applied to the navy, she didn't want to lose against him.

But, there was a turning point.

Her heart dropped hearing that Bradley's papers were pulled from other applicants. She had thought that they would've been in the navy together.

In terms of who pulled his papers were kept from her. Admiral Kazansky and Captain Mitchell did not want her to find out that Maverick was the cause of Bradley's career postponement.

She remembered staying in the corner of a room alone after the news of the successful applicants came out.

'Bradley didn't deserve this' she thought.

They were enemies, yeah, but it was only to his eyes. Did she hate him ? no. Does he hate her ? probably.

She was over the snitching thing after a month, but it looked like Bradley doesn't want to be her friend anymore as he gradually started avoiding her.

That's when she thought that he was going to make himself regret for letting her go and the competitiveness began.

On the other hand

There was only one person Bradley hoped would see him. He thought that she was at least going to comfort him and put their problems in the past. He was ready to start fresh with her but she never came to see him.

Y/n had only stopped being competitive because there was no one left she wanted to beat so bad. Never once had she ever meet him during those times she was in the Fighter Weapons School.

This was the point which made Bradley think that their friendship was done for good. He had developed this mindset that the only reason why her papers weren't pulled was because of her admiral father.

He scoffed at the thought, 'It's a good thing she has a father'

Little did he knew, when she let her guard down because of him, he ultimately became ahead of her over time.

Lieutenant Kazansky eyed her name tag, sitting inside the locker room alone with a drooped posture, her face turned downwards towards her uniform.

The news of her father's incurable illness had just reached her.

She closed her eyes tightly, releasing a deep breath. A tear slid town from her eyes, her hands still grasping her uniform.

Crestfallen, she realised that her father's days were numbered.

"It's okay if you want to take some time off and spend the rest of the time with your father, Kazansky"

She wiped her tears, hearing her superior's voice. Turning to face him, she quickly stood up and replied him.

"No sir, with all due respect, I have a duty and a country to serve, I would appreciate it if I have the chance of continuing my job, sir"

"Very well Kazansky"

She rarely see her father after the news broke out, she didn't want to see him in that state, even speaking hurts, her mother told her while begging her numerous times to come home and she did, sometimes.

Each time she gets home and meet her sick father, They would always have a heart-felt conversation and the proud smile on his face would always reappear when his daughter comes home.

He would always smile looking at her in her uniform, eyeing her name tag which resembles to his. 'Frosty' and 'Iceman'. And she would always break down after each visit.

She went home again the time she was called back to Top Gun for a mission.

"I've been called back, Dad"

Tom Kazansky turned his body to type

'I know'

"So you were the one who recommended me to them ?"

Tom furrowed his brows, typing onto his keyboard again

'Of course not, they wanted the best of the best'

"So you didn't do anything ?"

'I told you, you're gonna be one hell of a pilot'

"What if I don't come home ?"

Tom immediately shook his head

'you must. I put my trust in someone I know who will make the mission a success and bring you all home in one piece'

"Will he be there ?" She asked her dad, He raised his brows and in an instant he knew who she was talking about.

"You still like him don't you ?"

"Of course not !" The younger Kazansky knitted her brows, glaring at the man in front of her. She was in denial, lying to herself and everyone but she knew that deep down she had feelings for Bradley Bradshaw

"You can lie to everyone, but not me."

The admiral stood up from his seat, walking towards his daughter who was still in uniform, Y/n stood up to help her father which he declined.

Iceman patted his daughter's shoulder with his palms, smiling again. The proud look that would never disappear whenever he saw her. He grabbed her hand to stroke it.

"you two...should...rekindle"

"I want...a grandchild...before I go"

Y/n playfully hit her father, earning a chuckle from him.

"I have a question, dad"

Her dad eyed her, to ask what it was

"Who's the better Kazansky ?"

Iceman chuckled, opening his mouth to answer

"We'll answer that...when you get home...."

He then pulled his daughter into a tight hug, a hug so warm and welcoming that she did not want it to be over.

"Good luck....sweetie"

-----

The moment that she saw him enter from the Hard Deck's entrance, she could immediately recognise his face even when he was wearing sunglasses.

He became more attractive over the years she didn't see him. He definitely grew taller and his shoulders grew broader. He had a clean, neatly trimmed and tidy moustache that suited him, and the Hawaiian shirt that he wore only made him even more charming.

It was the same for him, when he stepped into the bar, the first person he could spot was her. She became more gorgeous, her striking features of her face were captivating, her smile is magnetic, making himself almost forget the time when his heart raced when she smiled at him.

He hate to admit but he missed her, so much.

"Bradshaw" she greeted first

"Kazansky" The flat tone that he used to reply to her was a sign that he still didn't like her. He was nice to everyone but her...and Hangman.

Years of not seeing each other, They were still avoiding each other.

"You got beef with Bradshaw ?" Hangman asked her, opening a bottle of beer then passing it onto her

"Just some old stuff" The two of them eyed the man who was heading for the piano.

"Well it doesn't look like 'just some old stuff' when he replied you"

"Get off my ass, Hangman" she rolled her eyes at him when she could recognise the familiar chords on the piano that Bradley was playing.

She knew this song anyway.

'You brought my wheel, but what a thrill'

'Goodness gracious great balls of fire !"

The whole bar cheered up as they started singing the song which included Kazansky who stood close beside Bradley. For a moment, for one night

Every differences between them were put aside, enjoying themselves for one night, one night before they were snapped back into reality.

One night before their training for a highly intense mission started with Maverick as their instructor.

That night was before Hangman decided to expose Bradshaw and Maverick that he was flying with Nick Bradshaw AKA "Goose" When Bradley's father died.

"That's enough !" Maverick yelled, attempting to break out the fight that almost occurred.

She was one of the people that held Rooster back. They weren't on good terms, neither were they talking to each other but Hangman was out of the line.

The night at the Hard Deck was before Phoenix, Bob and Coyote almost lost their lives.

The evening that they went to the infirmary, She decided that she needed to get closure from Bradley, she thought that they should be working as a team and having beef in between them in highly unprofessional and childish.

She overheard a heated argument between Maverick and Bradley that hindered the two of them from having a conversation.

"Kazansky" Her superior, Warlock called

"yes sir ?"

His face was gloomy, full of sorrow. He had this look of sorrow that was written all over his face. With a heavy heart, he broke the news to her.

"It's your father"

She knew. She instantly knew what had happened. She immediately knew that he was going to tell her that her father has passed away.

A hush fell as she hung her head lowly, her eyes filled with tears that escaped, staining her cheeks. She blinked away the tears, only for it to blur her vision, letting out a deep breath, replying to Warlock

"Thank you...for telling me sir..."

Her superior then went to the room beside where they were standing to break the news towards Maverick and Bradley.

The two men stepped out from the room after a heated argument with a tragic news.

He could see her from the corner of his eyes, she was standing still, eyes looking at her foot with her fist closed. His eyes softened, he could only imagine what she must be going through. He knew what it was like to lose a father. Bradley knew how close Y/n was with her father.

She turned to face him with her tear stained face, His heart ached to see her like this, to see her miserable face. Y/n walked away from Warlock, Maverick and Rooster towards the locker room where she would be alone, isolated.

The atmosphere of the locker room which used to be light and bright became so silent. Seating alone in darkness, she recalled her last moments with her father .

"Good Luck, Sweetie"

That was the last time she could ever meet him, talk to him, hug him...

She knew that his days were numbered, she knew that he didn't have a lot of time left but what she didn't expect was death being so cruel.

Bleakness completely engulfing her. She felt her throat closing up, sighing heavily, letting her head drop, She buried her face into her palms, the tears continued to stream down.

Tom "Iceman" Kazansky is dead.

-----

She wasn't a soldier that day. She was a daughter.

The tears that were on the edge of her eyes only dropped when her mother received an American flag and when his casket was lowered down.

Then she was alone again after the funeral, she said she wanted to be alone to her mother.

"You'll always be the better Kazansky, dad..."

Looking at his grave stone, she could hear a familiar voice rung through her ears

"Still here ?"

She wasn't alone then...

"Spare your insults for another day, Goddamit Bradshaw"

"I'm not here for insults, Y/n" He took of his peaked cap, taking a step closer to her.

"Your father was a good man"

"He was..."

His eyes observed her facial expression, the wind blowing on her face, the weather, dark and gloomy, he could see her clearly and up close after years of not seeing each other.

Grief.

That was the only thing he could see from her.

The two stood by beside each other, there was a moment of silence between the two of them before she spoke up, still looking at the admiral's headstone.

"Why are you still here ?"

"I don't know" He answered

"You don't know ?" she scoffed, asking him a question

"You know what were his last words to me ?"

"'You two should rekindle' was what he said" It was only at this time did she turn to eye him.

"I tried to understand it, I tried to...I knew he didn't- he didn't have a lot of time and I-, I didn't want to see him so much after finding out, I couldn't- I couldn't-"

Bradley listened to her, his eyes were soft and he was attentive. He noticed that her eyes were getting wet with tears.

"Shit, I didn't get the chance to say goodbye to him" she chewed her lower lip, then she just mumbled incoherent things through her hands and choked on her sobs.

Bradley gambled his whole life on the next thing he was about to do.

"Come here" he walked towards her, closing the space between them with a hug from him. Bradley stroked her hair gently as an act of comfort.

His mother did this to him when his father died, it was his turn to comfort someone he cares about.

"Let it out, let it all out" He spoke tenderly while she began to sob harder on his chest, tears of pain running down her cheeks.

This was the first time that they hugged in probably a decade. No, this hug was different. All the times they hugged before, it was playful, this time she felt warm, like a blanket wrapped around her, a feeling of complete comfort. She felt safe around his arms.

"I'm here...I'm here even when I can't make it better..."

"Don't go anywhere, Bradley"

"I'm not...day or night, I'll always be here..."

#rooster #bradley bradshaw #rooster x reader #top gun maverick #top gun #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun fanfiction #pete mitchell #hangman #phoenix #miles teller #pete maverick mitchell #maverick #Bradley Bradshaw #rooster top gun

[waynes-multiverse]

Plastic Hearts – Part 25

Pairing: Director!Dean Winchester x Actress!Reader

Series Summary: Los Angeles, 1985. Y/N’s a young actress without any success, hopping from one failed audition to the next until one desperate mistake brings her to her breaking point. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, is a grade A asshole and washed-up director at the end of his career, known for his godawful slasher movies in the 70s and his love for blow, booze, and women. Lost in the toxic Hollywood life, their paths cross when one hopeless little wrestling show changes their trajectory.

Chapter Warnings: +18, a tinge of angst, FLUFF

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: I'm not sad... 🥲 Honestly, I don't have words beyond gratitude and cliché goodbyes, so let's end this journey together 🤍

<< 24 || Spotify Playlist || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

25. Dare

“Ugh, I can’t believe you convinced everyone to come out here,” Jo groans and raises her flat palm to her brows, shielding her eyes from the scalding desert sun. “What the fuck is wrong with Palm Springs, huh?”

“C’mon, we’ve always wanted to go to Joshua Tree together since we moved to LA. This is like the perfect time,” Y/N argues cheerfully and nudges her friend with her elbow. “Look! It’s so peaceful.”

“There’s a dead carcass over there. Looks like a symbol of my marriage,” Jo deadpans.

Y/N purses her lips before compelling another positive smile to her face. “We can get rid of that. The girls really needed this after the whole Crowley debacle.”

The group left straight after the network meeting in Dean’s office this morning, which didn’t go as planned, to say the least. While several executives were surely interested, Crowley and H-ELLTV put an abrupt end to it. Apparently, they sold their fucking souls by signing a contract with the devil. Crowley’s words still rang in her ears on repeat.

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, ladies, but H-ELLTV owns your characters, which means you can’t sell them to another network. You all signed a contract and made a deal. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, fucking asshole…” Jo huffs her agreement but then throws her friend a suspicious sideways look. “What’s up with you, though? Why are you so chipper and cheerful like a fucking Disney princess? I thought you of all people would be fucking depressed and devastated about the stupid show ending.”

Y/N shrugs. “I am. I’m just trying to make the best of our last weekend together. Can’t I be happy?”

“Fuck no.” Jo shakes her head. “Something’s up with you. Usually, when you’re like this, it’s overcompensation ‘cause you’ve fucked something up. If I were still married, I’d think you’ve fucked my husband all over again. So, what did you do?”

Y/N shrugs once more and keeps her eyes trained on the sprawling desert landscape in front of her. “Nothing.”

“Dean also was a bigger asshole than usual this morning. So, I’m asking again, what shit did you fuck up now?”

“Nothing, okay? Dean’s always an asshole,” Y/N deflects defensively. Although, even she has to admit – those were some spectacularly icy green eyes this morning. Not that he ever looked directly at her or spoke with her even once. She probably would’ve turned to stone if he did.

“Fine, don’t tell. God knows I don’t fucking care,” Jo says indifferently and joins the other women as they set up their tents on the campground.

Y/N lets out a small sigh as she stares at the bluest sky she’s ever seen while the hot desert sun beams down on her. She watches the girls for a while, her heart slightly cracking at the thought this might be the last time they all hang out together. This year has been the best one she’s ever had.

But then, her heart stings even more when she thinks about the one person who isn’t here, wondering what he’s doing right now. If anything, she owes it all to him.

Dean nurses his beer with a sigh, his green eyes barely paying attention to the half-naked girl who’s winding herself up and down a silver pole in front of him. This used to bring him joy – day-drinking at a strip club and watching tits bounce. But now all he thinks about is how that girl looks nothing like Y/N. None of them do.

“Hey, son. Startin’ early today,” Bobby notes with a chuckle as he sits down next to him.

“Yeah, they canceled the show.” And while that’s certainly true, it’s not the reason why Dean’s sulking at a titty bar.

“Too damn bad. I loved the show!” Bobby tells him enthusiastically. “It was insane. Good insane. It had everything – comedy, drama, heartache, tits, violence, a fucking wedding? There’s something for everyone there.”

“Well, uh, thanks, Bobby. Really appreciate it,” Dean tells him politely. He likes the guy, but he’s not in the mood for chitchat. He’s barely in the mood for naked women, for crying out loud. This is a deep fucking depression.

There are only two promises he’s made to himself: One, he won’t slump like he did after his last divorce. There will be no excessive drinking, which leads to excessively pathetic crying, which leads to a myriad of bad choices out of sheer desperation. Remember that awful dating videotape he made? Yes, there will be no more of that. And then there’s of course two, no drugs – no matter how much he tells himself he wants or fucking needs them. A tiny dot of hope seems to be still dormant in his plastic heart, reminding him that she might come back, and he doesn’t want to risk disappointing her once she does.

Dean has worked fucking hard to be the best version he can be – a version she doesn’t seem to give a shit about. But even he has to admit: He likes himself a lot better now, so he refuses to turn back to old comforts, albeit it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

“You guys interested in doing a floor show?”

Bobby’s words pull him from his reverie. Dean arches a brow at him, straightening a bit in his seat. “What? Here?”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “No, idjit. My wife Ellen has some stakes in a club on the Vegas Strip. She manages the hotel there, too. They’re looking for a new headliner. Just do the exact same show, night after night, 300 miles east. Vegas is where the money is. Headliners make at least 25 grand a week. You think that gym is big? We have to fill 1,100 seats.”

Dean stumps and blinks at the old man a bit baffled. “Well, uh… I’ll think about it. Talk to my partner, the girls…”

Bobby smiles and pats his shoulder as he gets up. “You do that. I’ll call you tomorrow. Now, how about a lap dance? On the house. Can pick any girl that fancies your heartache. You ain’t foolin’ an old man like me.”

Dean chuckles. “Nah, I’m good. But thanks. Think I’m gonna head home and drink myself into a coma there.”

“It’s getting dark soon. How much longer?” Jo’s brown eyes dart to Y/N as she drags her feet over a rocky path. The sun stings less than it did when they started their little hike, but her skin feels perfectly tanned by now and the water is running low.

“Uh, I think it’s supposed to be just up ahead that hill,” Y/N muses and swirls her head around the formation of rocks that all look the same, squinting her eyes into the distance.

Jo sighs, and her stare intensifies. “You’ve been saying that for over an hour. Are we lost?”

“Noooo…” Y/N doesn’t sound convincing and surely doesn’t fool Jo with her reply.

“Alright, gimme the map.”

“I don’t have the map. I gave it to Meg.”

Jo groans and rolls her eyes, throwing her arms up in exasperation.

“What? Meg’s the trail leader. Trail leader gets the map,” Y/N defends her faux pas with reason.

“Great! So we’re fucking lost in the desert,” the blonde huffs.

Y/N chuckles lightly, mostly out of uncomfortableness and panic she tries to hide behind it. “No, there’s a trail marker right over there,” she says, pointing to a pile of rocks. “That looks manmade.”

Jo quirks her brow. “You mean like that pile of rocks? Or that one over there?”

Y/N follows her friend’s gaze, only to realize that there are lots of piles of rock that all look too fucking similar. She purses her lips and scratches her head before resting her arms on her squared-off hips. “I think we’re lost.”

“Yeah.” With an exhaustive sigh, Jo plops down on another pile of rocks and watches as the orange sun dips behind the horizon, shadows of blue slowly crawling across the desert floor and swallowing the light.

Y/N clumsily lowers herself down next to the blonde. Her leg hurts like a bitch, and the desert sand that has wound its way into her cast itches a good deal. Her hands and arms hurt as well from clinging to her crutches all afternoon. Maybe Dean was right, and this was a bad idea, after all. Why does he always have to be fucking right about everything? How can one person be so annoying and frustrating all at once?

“Well, you finally get your wish,” Jo deadpans. “We’re gonna die together.”

“I’m sorry,” Y/N says ruefully and looks at the first stars appearing in the night sky. “Maybe the stars will guide us home.”

Jo just looks at her, unamused and unsurprised. “You’ve never been camping, have you?”

Y/N twitches her shoulders apologetically. “It was only supposed to be a three-mile moderate beginner’s trail to a beautiful vista. It’s what the guidebook said.”

Jo shakes her head and blows a raspberry, hugging her knees. “Joanna Wesson, 27, found dead near a random cluster of rocks that might have looked like a trail marker. She was best known for playing Beth Crowne on the soap opera Paradise Bay before trying to revive her career on an unsuccessful wrestling show. She is survived by her son, Sammy, and her bitter ex-husband Sam with his secretary Jessica.”

“Well, at least you get an obituary,” Y/N quips. “Mine would just read: Soap Star Found Dead Next to Unidentified Woman in National Park.”

Jo even snorts at that. “Well, I’m sure Dean would cut and edit an adorable video tribute with a bunch of B-roll about you at your funeral.”

“Yeah, maybe…” Y/N pensively licks her lips, her heart doing those painful twinges again whenever she thinks of him. “You know yet what you’re gonna do next?”

“No, I-… I think I wanna produce,” Jo announces with determination in her hazel eyes. “I don’t wanna ask permission. I’m so tired of it all. For once, I wanna boss people around and tell ‘em what to do. You know, you were right.”

Baffled, Y/N raises a brow. “About what?”

“Men,” Jo says simply and then spits with fire, “I fucking hate them all. The Crowleys and the Dicks and the Cases and the Sams and the Deans… They make the choices. They dictate the terms… I’m sick of it all. I just hate asking them for anything.”

“Dean’s not so bad,” Y/N says quietly but doesn’t look at Jo. Her heart stings for the millionth time. “I got that role for the Sondheim musical. They called this morning.”

Jo’s lips curve into a soft smile that reaches her eyes. “Congrats. I’m not surprised. You were really fucking good.”

Y/N’s heart flutters a little at the compliment. Tears begin to sting her eyes. She can’t remember the last time Jo was nice to her. “Thank you.”

“You don’t seem happy about it,” Jo notes attentively.

“No, I am,” Y/N manages to choke out, but the sniffling betrays her intentions.

“But?”

Y/N bobs her head, swallowing. “I think I’m ready to talk about it now.”

“Fucking finally,” Jo huffs and rubs her cold and goosebump-littered arms as the heat disappears, the nightly air bringing a fresh breeze.

“Dean told me he loves me,” Y/N confesses. “He’s in love with me.”

“Yeah, no shit. Kinda obvious,” Jo says without a twitch of surprise. “Don’t feel bad for not loving him back. That’s what they want… For us to feel bad about every single fucking thing.”

“That’s just it. I don’t think that’s how I feel,” Y/N replies and lets out a jittery sigh.

Jo’s head turns to her, eyeing her friend up and down. “And how do we feel about that? I can’t tell. It’s too dark to see your face.”

“I-, uh, I don’t exactly know,” Y/N says, which is partially true. She might know how she feels about the green-eyed director, but not how she feels about the situation overall.

Jo purses her lips and nods. “Alright, here’s a couple of options: happy, excited, scared, or… repulsed?”

“Well, uhm… scared,” Y/N admits slowly and gulps. “And excited… happy.”

Jo throws her arms up, shaking her head at the stars. “Jesus fuck! Then what the fuck are we doing here?! Is that why you dragged me all the way to the fucking desert? Because you’re running from your feelings?”

“Kinda. I thought the peaceful quiet and beautiful nature would bring me some much-needed clarity,” Y/N explains.

Jo lifts a brow but tries not to seem too annoyed. She’s accustomed to her friend’s theatrics, after all. “And? Did it?”

“The hike didn’t, but facing death kinda does,” Y/N jokes and begins to laugh a little, Jo soon joining her. When their laughter dies down and the desert sounds of chirping crickets and screeching eagles remain, Y/N exhales a shaky breath. “I’m in love with him, too. He makes me really fucking happy. But… I finally feel like I’m on the right track with my career. I am where I’m supposed to be, you know? I don’t wanna throw that away for a guy.”

“Who says you should?”

“I don’t know… Isn’t that how it goes? You did it,” Y/N argues.

Jo licks her lips and clicks her tongue. “Yeah, ‘cause I chose the wrong fucking guy. Sam made me give up everything I ever loved and told me what to love instead. If you pick the right guy, he won’t make you do that.”

“How do I know it’s the right guy, though?”

Jo smiles softly. “Look, I’m not Dean’s biggest fan, but he’s yours. You know that, right? He’d never hold you back. He adores the ground you walk on. Yes, he’s an asshole with so many fucking issues, and he’s goddamn annoying most of the time, but he’s always had your back, even when he pretended that he didn’t. The guy would probably sell every limb and his fucking soul to see you get everything you ever wanted, Y/N. He wouldn’t be a mistake. You know what would be a mistake? Not trying because you’re too scared of making one. Don’t be fucking stupid.”

Thoughtfully, Y/N nods in agreement and grabs her crutches, rising from her rocky seat. “I need to see him. We have to head back to the city.”

“Finally! Thank fucking God.” With a grunt, Jo jumps to her feet and helps Y/N to steady hers. “Maybe the girls made a fire bright enough, so we can find our way back.”

“Shit.”

“What? They have matches, don’t they? I’m sure these bitches can manage a simple fire, right?” Jo then notices Y/N’s hand curling around her bicep, her grip tightening. And then, Jo glances in the direction of Y/N’s eyes and sees the same damn thing. Her brown eyes widen.

“Mountain lion.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” the blonde hisses and holds on to her friend as well. Both women freeze on the spot. “What-, uh, what should we do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should throw a stick?”

“A stick?” Jo arches her brow. The big cat snarls and stalks a little closer, making the two women jump back. Their hearts are thumping in their throats at this point. “It’s not a fucking dog, Y/N. It won’t play fetch with you.”

“I know that. How about you come up with a better idea, then?” Y/N snaps through gritted teeth. The lion hisses again, causing the women to tremble down to their bones and hug each other tighter. “I think I should jump it.”

“Are you nuts? No!”

“Look, while it eats me, you can flee. I can’t run with my cast anyways. This is the best option,” Y/N insists, but Jo vehemently shakes her head.

“Fuck no! You’re not sacrificing yourself. We die together. You’re not leaving me behind,” Jo maintains. “I always knew my death would be your fault. Don’t ask me how, but I knew you’d get me killed somehow.”

The wild cat takes another step forward and lowers to the ground as if to get ready to jump its prey – them. But then a few tumbling rocks and breaking twigs draw its attention behind the women. Is there an even bigger cat here?

And suddenly, Meg leaps forward from above them with a loud howl and snarls at the cat, which hastily tucks its tail between its legs and flees down the hill into the dark night. Y/N and Jo expel a big breath of relief and a shaky laugh as they find Meg.

“Meg, what the fuck? Did you just scare away a mountain lion?” Y/N gapes at her friend in utter disbelief.

Meg only shrugs her shoulders. “I hate cats. What are you guys doing out here so long?”

“We got lost. Couldn’t find our way back to camp,” Y/N explains.

Meg furrows her brow and thumbs behind her. “It’s just over there. You guys have been hiking around the same hill for five hours.”

Jo shoots Y/N a small glare of annoyance and blows some loose strands of blonde hair out of her face. “Of course we did…” she mutters.

“We have to get back to LA!” Y/N declares eagerly, trying to climb the small rocky hill with her crutches, foregoing the more suitable pathway.

“Right now? It’s probably 3am when we get to Burbank. Can’t this wait till tomorrow?” Jo says as she attempts to climb after her friend.

“No! I almost died! Twice… Dean needs to know how I feel before I get bit by a rattlesnake, too,” Y/N reiterates passionately.

“It’s probably for the best,” Meg chimes in. “We kinda forgot to pack food. I was about to hunt something for us when I ran into you guys. We have tons of drugs and booze, though.”

Y/N’s knuckles thunder persistently on Dean’s door and conjure up a storm. She has jumped out of Ruby’s limo so fast, the girls are still scrambling out and flooding Dean’s front lawn one by one. They’re loud and obnoxious, but the ringing in her ears makes their chatter barely noticeable.

The lock clicks and the door opens. Dean stands in front of her with weary green eyes, heavy with sleep, tousled bed-head, and a furiously scrunched brow. He half yawns and half grumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Once he feels clearer, minus the soft buzz of whiskey remnants in his bloodstream, he blinks at the young actress in front of him and then tilts his head at the circus show behind her.

God, between his punk rock daughter and this, his neighbors must really hate him.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you guys supposed to be camping in fucking Joshua Tree?” His voice is a gravelly bark. He doesn’t mean to sound so harsh, especially when he just woke from a dream about her, but he’s not as masochistic as he used to be. He’s not a fan of torturing himself with the image of her any longer.

Y/N’s heart somersaults as soon as she sees him, even though his apprehension hurts a bit. “Look, I almost died tonight. We got lost in the desert and then a mountain lion almost fucking ate us.”

Dean licks his lips, nodding. “Yeah, I’m not fucking surprised. Told you Palm Springs is the better option. So, did anyone fucking die? What’s the head count?”

“No one died.”

“Huh. Then why the fuck are you here in the middle of the night, Y/N?” Dean bites, his brow creasing in anger. He can’t even fucking look at her for a second without his heart being on the brink of an explosion. Even saying her goddamn name hurts like needle pricks in an abused vein.

“I–” Y/N swallows thickly. Her drumming heart is stuck in her airway along with her words.

“She’s here to tell you she loves you!” Ruby hollers behind her before several girls tackle her and clasp her mouth shut.

Dean’s heart twists upon the sick joke, his frown deepening. But then he glances at Y/N and thinks he can spot the truth in her eyes. He thought that once before, though, and was terribly wrong.

Y/N gives a shrug of one shoulder with tears brimming in her eyes. A small smile forms on her lips. “What she said.”

Dean nods and drags a hand over his freckled face, feeling the tears well in his eyes, too. Fucking whiskey. Always renders him goddamn sentimental. “Look, uhm, you kinda gotta tell me this yourself. Otherwise, I won’t believe it, okay?”

Upon his request, Y/N takes a deep breath and looks him into his eyes. “I’m in fucking love with you.” As soon as the words are out, she starts crying and the tears fall down her cheeks. Meanwhile, Dean’s heart tumbles into free fall, and he’s sure not even a parachute can stop it. “I’ve never said that to anyone in my life. Is-, is it too late?”

Dean snorts and shakes his head, grinning brighter than the California sun on the longest day of the year. “Fuck no. Even if it had taken you thirty years, I still would’ve taken you back. That’s kinda how once-in-a-lifetime love works, sweetheart.”

“Okay. Sounds like a good movie,” Y/N jokes between her tears, her fingers tingling to touch him.

“Yeah, best one there is.”

His hands grab hold of her and pull her into his embrace. He claims her lips, Y/N eagerly parting her mouth as his tongue slips between. The kiss is rushed and fervent and perfectly desperate. They’re both so gone they can’t even hear the girls cheering and applauding them in the background.

“You’re gonna come inside?” Dean asks in a murmur against her lips, barely letting her breath.

“Uhm…”

“Hey, Lothario, you got space for us, too?” Cassie shouts with a wide smirk.

“Yeah, we’re fucking starving,” Ruby adds with an impatiently arched brow.

“We, uh, forgot to pack food,” Y/N explains with a chuckle.

Dean sighs and smiles knowingly. “Of course you did.” He then turns to the women waiting on his lawn. “Alright, get in. I’ll order some pizzas.”

The women then proceed to brush past the couple and filter into Dean’s house. Missouri pinches his cheeks, Ruby pats his head, Cassie fist-bumps him and sends Y/N a flirty wink, Meg tousles his hair, Charlie shrugs apologetically, and Jo offers an annoyed eye roll.

“I’m never gonna get rid of them, am I?” Dean looks down at her and tightens his jaw, even when a grin is visible.

“No, I’m afraid not. It’s like you’ve adopted twelve strays. One of which actually turned out to be your long-lost puppy. They’re gonna be here until you die and then eat your corpse,” Y/N quips.

“Funny.” Dean clicks his tongue, his dimples itching to form a grin.

“Oooo! Let’s call the guys!” he hears Ruby exclaim from inside his living room. “It’s a fucking wrap party at the boss’ house!”

“No! No party! Guys, c’mon!” Dean storms inside after them, leaving Y/N giggling on his doorstep.

“Let’s call Garth, Kevin, and Benny!” Donna suggests, ignoring his protests. It’s like they can’t fucking hear him.

“I’ll call my husband, too!” Bela adds and eagerly dials Cas’ number on his landline.

“Oh, right, Cas…” Dean mutters with an eye roll as he remembers the impromptu wedding. “No fucking Benny!”

Y/N joins his side and rubs his back in comfort as he watches his house sink into female doom. “You okay?”

The deep trenches in his brow flatten into soft valleys as his green eyes lock on her. He dips his head and pulls her to his lips, kissing her slow and reverently. “Better.” He smirks. “Just gonna have to sage the whole house tomorrow.”

That earns him a playful slap on his chest. He laughs and pulls her closer with an arm around her waist.

“Hey, uh, speaking of party…” Dean mumbles before he addresses the whole room, grabbing their attention with an authoritative clear of his throat. He’s still got it. “You guys wanna do shows in Vegas?”

“What?!”

Dean’s eyes find Y/N’s gaping face. He chuckles a little. “Yeah, uh, Bobby offered me a deal. There’s nothing in the network contract about live shows. I already went over it with Cas this afternoon. It pays well, too. You guys interested? It’s not like any of you have actual jobs lined up, right?”

Y/N closes her mouth. “I got that Sondheim musical in San Diego. It’s a workshop production, but if it goes well, it could go all the way to Broadway. I could end up in New York.”

“Good,” Dean says and smirks. “You’re fucking fired.”

“WHAT?!” Y/N’s mouth falls open again. “You said you’d never fire me!”

“Yeah, well, this is for your own good,” Dean reasons. “You think I’m gonna let you quit Sondheim for some stupid wrestling show in Vegas? You gotta be fucking nuts! This is what you fucking wanted. Don’t make me kick your stupid ass onto that stage. It’s gonna look embarrassing for you again…”

Y/N bites her lips to conceal her grin. Her eyes meet Jo’s, who mouths ‘I told you so’ at her. “Thank you,” she tells Dean and kisses his cheek. He furrows his brow at her in suspicion. “But rehearsals don’t start until June. Still gonna need a job till then.”

“Oh.” Dean’s brow shoots up in realization. “The June in nine months?”

“Yeah, the June in nine months,” Y/N confirms with a laugh.

“Whoops. Well, consider yourself rehired till June, then,” Dean relents.

“So, if I ever have to work in New York–”

“Then we’ll go to New York. Big fucking whoop-dee-doo. You know I hate LA.”

Y/N giggles, nodding. “What would you do in New York?”

“Same I do here, just on a little balcony instead of a backyard. I sit with my typewriter by a table and smoke and drink,” Dean retorts. “I’ve actually been working on a new script. I’m moving away from horror and into Western.”

“Got inspired by the motel’s wallpaper, huh?” Y/N teases. “What’s it about?”

“Father-daughter storyline. Thought I’d give that a shot…”

1990, 5 years later…

“Dean! We’re gonna be late!” Y/N reminds him and holds the blindfold in place over her eyes as he drags her somewhere by the hand. Her heels can barely keep up with his fast pace. “You know, check-in at LAX is the worst. Our flight departs in two hours. I’m nominated, Dean! I can’t reschedule! The girls are all flying in, too…”

“I know! I’m fucking hurrying, okay?” Dean assures. However, she can hear the stress and tension in his gravelly voice. He then suddenly halts and positions her into place by her shoulders before carefully taking off the blindfold. “Alright, here we are.”

Y/N blinks her eyes open and recognizes blurry shapes of purple and gold. She lifts an eyebrow as ornaments on the walls and a big stage come into view as well. “The Aztec porno theater?”

“Mayan,” Dean corrects her and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he gets down in front of her on one knee and tries to fumble out the too-big ring box from his too-tiny suit jacket pocket. “Son of a bitch!”

“Dean, wait!” Y/N stops his endeavor with raised palms, her eyebrows meeting her hairline when she realizes what he’s about to do.

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N!” Dean frowns in frustration and rises to his feet with a huff and a shaking head. “I know you’re against marriage and the patriarchy and all that bullshit, but c’mon… We’ve been dating for five years. We have a good thing going, right?”

After spending a whole year in beautiful Las Vegas – the Paris of Nevada – the two of them moved to New York. Dean sold his house in Burbank and opted for a Brooklyn apartment instead. Claire also studied film at NYU before she graduated last Spring. But every few months, the couple finds themselves back in LA – for interviews, for business, for friends.

“Dean–”

“No! You know me. I’d make a great fucking husband. You love it when I make reporters laugh on the red carpet. I’m an awesome trophy husband, okay?”

“DEAN!”

“WHAT?!”

Why the fuck is she angry now? He should be the one that’s angry. She’s turning down the best opportunity of her life. She should consider herself lucky he wants to spend the rest of his life with her. He even had an amazing speech prepared to knock her right off her feet, but does he get to say it now? How he wanted to grow fucking old together and support each other? How he wanted to marry her all those years ago when she told him she was pregnant? Nope...

“I’m fucking pregnant!”

Dean blinks at her in confusion before his eyes begin to wander around the familiar theater. Did he take something? Drink too much? Did he actually travel through time or is this a weird fever dream on his deathbed?

“What’s it with you and this theater? And why do you always yell that?”

“Because you never listen.” Y/N giggles and bites her lower lip. “And I’ll gladly marry you if that’s what you were going for. I just figured I’d tell you before in case you wanna change your mind and bail.”

“Why the fuck would I bail?” Dean’s brows knit together, close to offense.

She shrugs and holds up her palms in surrender. “I don’t know! I didn’t want you to feel trapped.”

“Why? Isn’t it mine?”

Y/N rolls her eyes, a grin twitching on her pink lips as she slaps his arm. “Yes, of course it’s yours.”

“And you’re keeping it? You sure?” Dean throws her a quizzical look.

Her brow furrows. “Why, you aren’t?”

“No, I am!” he assures her swiftly, realizing how it sounded. “Hell yeah, I want another kid! You know I always wanted to make up for missing out on Claire so much! I finally get to change a diaper, go to the park, or the fucking zoo while my wife works… It’ll be so fun!”

Y/N tries to stifle her laugh. He seems happy, judging by the joyful glint in his green eyes. They resemble sparkling emeralds.

“But are you sure, y' know?” Dean checks with a deep look into her eyes. “I mean, I do what I can to support you and keep the thing alive in your absence, but you know you’re still gonna be benched for a couple of months, right? I’m not a fucking seahorse.”

Y/N laughs a little at that. “I know. I’m fine with sitting on the bench for a little while. I’m kinda exhausted. I did two Broadway musicals almost back to back, three off-Broadway shows, all the workshops and the rehearsals and Matinees and the dancing and the singing… Not to mention I’m nominated for a fucking Tony tonight,” she says and is close to out of breath by the time she finishes her list of accomplishments.

“Which you’re gonna win,” Dean reassures her persistently. He’s been telling her since the nominations were announced (and even before that when he first saw her in the role on the first night).

“We’ll see,” she brushes him off, although her blushed cheeks betray her words. In her heart, she hopes so as well. “Anyways, I could use the break,” she admits and takes his hands in hers, interlacing their fingers. She places a loving kiss on his lips. “Right time, right guy, right baby,” she says, smiling.

Dean squeezes her hand happily and pulls her to his lips for a searing kiss. “So, where did we land on that whole marriage thing?”

“See? You’re never listening,” she teases, laughing. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Under one condition…”

Dean smirks. “I've had the same exact thought – Vegas. It’s perfect!”

“What, no! I don’t wanna get married in filthy Vegas, you dork!” Y/N frowns playfully, shaking her head. “I wanna get married in Nebraska. I want my dad to marry us."

Dean’s brow creases. He chuckles in amusement. “What, like a shotgun wedding? Could be fun… Pastor marries pregnant daughter to older man. Is this gonna make headlines in the townie paper?”

Y/N snorts, shaking her head at him. “No, it’s a shotgun wedding. It’s very common,” she deadpans.

“I’ve never met your parents,” Dean realizes then. “Why have I never met your parents? It’s weird they never come visit you,” he ponders.

“Oh no, they do,” Y/N tells him, pursing her lips as she twirls her hair around her finger. “They’ve seen me both in Into The Woods and Gypsy.”

“Really, when?” Dean narrows his eyes at her.

“Whenever you were in LA, visiting Claire,” Y/N admits ruefully. She never told them she was dating the director, not sure if they’d approve – not that she gives a shit, but she wanted to spare herself all the sermons and the exploring of the Sunday school dating pool. Whenever they asked who owned the men’s clothes in her apartment, she lied and said she had a gay-but-in-the-closet roommate. “But you can meet them now,” she promises with a reassuring smile on her lips. Thank God she’s an excellent, Tony-nominated actress. “I’m sure they learn to love you just like I did.”

“Learn to?”

“I love you.” Y/N smiles mischievously and shuts up any further comments by kissing him.

Dean grins and relents with a blissful sigh. “I love you, too.”

THE END 🌅

Thank you all so much for reading and making me laugh with your comments and screams throughout! 🤍

Are we done with these two for good? Probably not. I've left gaps and doors open on purpose, so I'm sure they'll make an appearance again at some point in the future 😉

TAGS:

Everything Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70

#plastic hearts #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #director!dean winchester #director!dean winchester x actress!reader #actress!reader #glow au #supernatural au #dean winchester au #dean winchester series #dean winchester x you #dean winchester reader insert #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #hollywood au #80s au #jensen ackles #jensen ackles characters #jensen ackles reader insert

[billys-pretty-babe]

The Proposal

Pairing : Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Summary : Billy loves everything about you, besides one thing. Your last name, he's ready to replace it with Hargrove, he just needs to get you on board with it.

Warnings : Swearing, illuding smut at the end

Word count : 856

A/N : Dacre's engaged so Billy deserved to be engaged as well

October 1985

Billy laid beside you in his apartment in Anaheim. You had moved in over a month ago and he wouldn't have it any differently, he loved waking up next to you every morning and holding you as he slept, just to do it again the next day. Something has been irking Billy, the legal documents you sign, they always had your last name.

Sure, the two of you had only been together a mere ten months but in Billy's mind, the time didn't matter because he knew deep down that you were it for him. You read your book, eyes dancing across the page, brow furrowing slightly as you reread a paragraph. Now was as good of a time as any in Billy's eyes.

He leaned over to his bedside drawer, sliding it open as quietly as he could and he grabbed the black velvet box, prying it open quietly, the small ring staring back at him. He felt bad because he couldn't buy you a large diamond ring, instead he had to opt for a small diamond ring considering he used his entire salary from his lifeguard job in Hawkins. He studied the ring and he glanced at you, eyes still on your book. He was asking himself questions silently, trying to think of how to do it.

You flipped the page of the book before a weight had appeared on your breast. You expected to see your boyfriend's hand but instead it was a black box with a ring inside of it. Your heart rate quickened and you put the book down. "Will you marry me," you looked at Billy, a nervous smile on his face. You quickly nodded, your throat felt like it was constricted.

"Yeah?" You smiled, "Yeah." He took the book from your lap, gently putting it on the floor as he held you close, getting the ring out of the box and he slid it onto your finger. "I would've gotten you something bigger but that's all I could afford." You looked at him, "Billy, I didn't even need a ring. We could've gone to the courthouse and I still would be happy. Thank you, it's pretty." He smiled and leaned in, kissing you gently, completely different than the times he has kissed you, laying in this exact bed.

You both laid down and he held your hand, twisting the ring around. "Can you cry at the wedding?" He glanced at you, "No." You groaned and he laughed. "Please?" He shook his head, still laughing. "How long were you holding onto this for?" He hummed, "I've had it picked out since April, I started making payments in May and I finished paying it off at the end of July." You nodded.

"What kind of wedding band do you want?" He shrugged, "I don't know, something silver." You nodded, "Okay." You made a mental note. "Can I start driving your car now?" He shook his head, "You know, you have a lot of requests." You laughed, "And you're declining all of them." He looked at you, blue eyes trailing down to your bare legs considering it was too warm to wear much to bed, especially when you knew your boyfriend, now fiancé, would be taking everything off anyways.

"There's something I wouldn't decline." You grumbled, "I'm not having sex with you right now." He huffed playfully, "Why was that the first thought that came to your mind?" Your eyes lowered into a soft glare, "I dunno, maybe it's the fact that your eyes are boring a hole through my underwear." He mocked you, knocking his head into your ribs gently.

His left arm circled around you, pulling you close to his body. "So, when are the Hargrove babies coming?" He laughed, "As soon as you let me go in raw." You rolled your eyes, bringing your right hand up and messing with his hair. "Thank you," you said again. He raised a brow, "For the ring?" You shook your head, "For everything, all the love you show me, every single experience we've had together, choosing me, showing me a side of you that I didn't know existed." Billy smiled, "I should be the one thanking you, you didn't give up on me through the tough shit, you loved me at my worst." Your right hand lowered until it was on his cheek.

"I'll always love you through the shit you go through, I'm not gonna leave when it gets hard." He nodded, head moving a little as he kissed you again, his left hand pressing your back into him. "So, should we start on those babies?" You laughed against his lips, "Think you can keep up?" He laughed, moving so you were flush between the soft mattress and his warm body. "Me having to keep up with you? Oh baby, you're the one that struggles after two orgasms." You laughed as he bent down to kiss you again.

The night was filled with love, lust and everything in between. Sure, the two of you were young but you both knew one thing, that neither of you could live without each other.

Part 2

#billy hargrove fanfiction #stranger things billy #william hargrove #billy hargrove x f!reader #billy hargrove x female reader #billy stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove

[moviesludge]

my audition tape for ghost rider

#Warning Sign #1985

[hellfirenacht]

Reader ==> Get A Job

START HERE <<-- FIRST CHAPTER HERE

Fic Summary: Through no powers of your own, you end up in Hawkins 1985, in a tv show that you once saw on Netflix. Slow burn, Eddie Munson x Reader will be canon, choose your own adventure to a degree

Recommended Previous Chapter: Reader ==> Move into Benny's

Chapter Summary: You explore Hawkins and find a place to work.

Tags: no warnings needed. Eddie Munson x Reader, references to Flight of Icarus events, no use of y/n

Reader ==> Get A Job

Things were cheaper in 1986, and you had been lucky that the bills you had used to pay for some new clothes and some food had fooled the bored and tired cashiers, but it wasn’t gonna last forever and you needed a way to make money. 

With all the walking you had been doing over the week of living at Benny’s, you were sure that within a month you’d have legs of steel. You really should invest in a bike at some point to make this go by faster, but for now it was you and your beat up sneakers that you had thrown on when you had thrown yourself out that window. 

Early mornings were spent at the library, using their resources to try and find listings. Without the internet, it was a lot harder to find job listings or really any information. The first priority for yourself was to just learn how to survive without the internet or anything from 2023. Not having a valid ID was the trickiest part to navigate, your current one expired in 2030 and anyone with half a brain here would instantly throw you in jail. You assumed as much anyway. 

An afternoon of looking through the papers didn’t do much for you, and the librarian wasn’t the most helpful. You needed to find a way to get a fake ID soon, or you were absolutely boned. 

You found yourself walking more through the day, mapping out the town in your mind because you didn’t have a phone to tell you where things were. You had a handful of time appropriate ones that you spent on a cheap meal at a local fast food joint. 

There were a few places that you found to be familiar. If you turned left at this street and then a right and then another left you’d be at Hawkin’s Public school, and if you went straight instead you’d end up in Mike’s neighborhood and the pool. 

You turned right, expanding your map and unlocking more areas of the town. For saying that it’s a small town, it sure didn’t feel like that on foot. The further you walked in this direction, the less shops were appearing and you found yourself in what you assumed was the edge of town. A large cornfield stretched out as far as you could see, and you were half tempted to grab an ear for the road before remembering you had no way to cook it right now anyway. 

The middle of Hawkins, Indiana felt like Anywhere, USA. Here by the cornfield you were now very aware just how mid-western you were. The only buildings around seemed to be factories or abandoned steel mills, and with the sun setting, they cast long shadows along the near abandoned streets. 

It was going to be dark soon, and you didn’t have the best confidence that you could make your way back to Benny’s in the dark but there wasn’t much you could do at this point. Besides, it’s not like anyone was waiting up for you, or that you had anywhere to go tomorrow. You didn’t exactly want to be out that late, but being back at Benny’s actually felt worse. You didn’t know if you wanted to spend another night alone like that. 

There were a lot of run down and boarded up buildings, and you were about to just turn around when you noticed that one building did have a sign on, flickering weakly in the fading light. THE HIDEOUT. The i in the sign was fighting for its life to stay on. 

Fuck it, it’s not like you had anywhere to be tonight. What’s the worst that could happen walking into a shady dive bar at the edge of town with no one knowing where you are and what you’re doing. 

The Hideout was a very small building, with bricked windows and no natural light. Inside there was only one person at the bar, and a small older woman behind it. This was definitely not a place that you’d come to socialize, but then again if it was it probably wouldn’t be called ‘the Hideout.’

There was a small alarm bell going off in your mind, but there had been alarm bells going off since you showed up. 

The woman behind the bar gave you a cursory nod as you hopped onto the stool. You knew you were over 21 maybe? But you doubted that you’d be able to order an actual drink with your ID. You didn’t even know why you bothered keeping it around, it’s not like it was doing you any good anyway. 

You ordered a soda, handing over two crumpled one’s and looked around. The place looked like it was under some sort of permanent construction. A patch of carpet in the corner looked like it was being ripped up, revealing some old wood flooring and there was what looked like a stage pushed against the wall, haphazardly made out of two by fours. It looked like it would fall apart with one wrong move.

“A bunch of kids play up there sometimes when I let ‘em.” the barkeep said, messing with some bottles behind the bar and handing a beer to the man a few seats down from you. Her voice was loud, and it made you jump in surprise that such a small woman could project so hard in such a quiet space. 

“Play music?” you asked, turning back to the woman. 

“If that’s what they wanna call it.” she shrugged, which made you snort. It felt nice to talk to a real person and not an imaginary one. 

“Bunch of damn noise is what it is.” said the other man, taking out a newspaper and flipping through it. . 

“This place doesn’t seem like the open mic type.” you said. 

“It’s not, but I’m too nice sometimes.” She looked you up and down. “You’re dressed weird.” 

“Yeah, I guess I am.” you agreed, still unsure how to style yourself in this time and town. Her jab came out as more of an observation than an outright criticism. 80’s adjacent style had been in when you left your own time period, so you probably looked off center of what was expected. 

That was the last of the small talk for a while as she left the bar and stepped outside, leaving the place completely unattended. Your drinking buddy wasn’t paying you any mind and you probably came across as someone who wasn’t about to rob the place. You took a sip of your soda, which tasted stale but you get what you pay for in a quiet dive bar like this. 

The woman came back just in time for the man to get need another beer and set his newspaper aside, looking more irritated than before and muttering something about horses under his breath. 

You took the opportunity to turn to him “Mind if I take a read?” you asked, pointing to the paper and he pushed it towards you without a word and a muttered ‘thanks’ from you. 

The whole morning had already been filled with looking over papers and listings for jobs but you might as well check again to see if there was anything you might have missed. 

...After checking the funny pages and the entertainment section. You deserved some entertainment, right? 

A after a nice half hour of reading the comics and glancing over the astrology section- (‘You are valuing security and comfort in your life. Be patient and it will come’)- you turned back to the job listings, reading the same handful of words over and over again that you’d seen this morning and sighed. 

“Lookin’ for a job?” you jumped hearing the woman speak again, her voice was so loud. 

“Oh, yeah. I’m trying. I don’t exactly have, uh...” Papers? An identity? Any legal way to work here? “I’m new in town so I don’t have my shit together yet.” 

The woman set her bussing tub next to you and looked you over. “Can you bus tables?” she asked, and you responded by placing your empty glass into the tub, which earned a nod from her. “Any hour restrictions?” You shook your head. “What’s your name?” You told her. 

“I only pay cash.” she said. “And the hours aren’t great but it’s something.”

“I’ll take it.” you said instantly, heart pounding. Any job was better than no job, and if she was willing to not ask any questions, and pay you under the table you weren’t going to turn your nose up at it. “When can I start?” 

As you and the barkeep (who finally introduced herself as Bev) hashed out the details, you felt at least a little bit of weight lift off your shoulders. You’d be working about four nights a week, and she’d pay out on Wednesdays weekly. 

“Since you don’t have a phone, let’s just call it Saturday through Tuesday for now.” she said. “Might schedule on Wednesdays if you’re good. That’s when I do fifty cent beer nights and you can make tips well enough.” 

Good enough. You’d be there, come hell or high water and shoved a napkin with her name and phone number in your backpack. 

“I’ll have Junior train you when he gets here.” Bev said, looking at her watch. “He’ll be here soon. He’s about your age.”

As thankful as you were that you were starting right away, you partially wished that you didn’t have to start after walking around in the Indiana heat and summer all day. You felt gross and like you really needed a shower and you made a mental note to try and sneak into Mike’s house tomorrow to try and shower. You made your way to the bathroom and attempted to clean yourself up a bit for your first night of work. 

You could handle bussing tables and serving beer. If there was one thing here you could handle, it was that. 

When you exited the bathroom, Bev motioned you behind the bar and handed you an apron and the bus tub. There were a few extra people around now that it was later and you assumed that these blue collar workers were now off for the night in the surrounding factories. 

Somewhere in the back, you heard a door close and footsteps approach. 

“You’re late, Junior.” Bev said, as you turned towards the door to see your new coworker. 

“I told you, Bev, It’s Eddie.” 

Oh fuck. 

Reader ==> Meet Eddie Munson

He has a pimple on his chin. Was what your brain supplied as your first thought about seeing Eddie Munson in front of you. And he’s not wearing his club shirt.

He didn’t even have a jacket on, which shouldn’t surprise you with it being summer and yet it did. Seeing Eddie in anything other than what you had seen on screen was like a shock to your system. 

Your grip on the bus tub was causing your knuckles to turn white as you listened to Eddie tell Bev for what seemed like the hundredth time to not call him Junior. 

“Right right, old habits die hard.” Bev said dismissively. “Anyway this is your new co-worker and you’re gonna train her.” 

It’s like he didn’t even notice that you were there until Bev pointed it out. Large doe brown eyes looked over at you, and your heart was pounding in your throat for a second. You weren’t ready, you weren’t. Your plan had been to learn to survive here and then try to find a way to deal with canon events.

Eddie’s eyes darted between you and Bev, looking surprised “I didn’t think you were hiring.” he said. 

“I’m not, I have you two.” Bev said, ignoring Eddie’s real question which you were sure was something along the lines of What the hell, Bev? You tried not to take it personally. “Anyway, I need to step outside. I’m sure you can show her the ropes.”

Bev then turned and stalked out back, cigarette in hand. 

“Uhh... hi.” you said as Eddie turned back to you. You offered up your name and he offered up his. “I take it Bev doesn’t hire often?”

Your fingers were starting to hurt with how hard they were digging into the plastic edges of the tub. He was here, Eddie was right here, and you didn’t know what to do. What could you do? Start yelling about how he was going to die if he ever did a drug deal with a cheerleader? 

“No, she rarely accepts help around here.” Eddie said, now turned towards you. 

A decision had to be made, and you took every memory you had of Stranger Things Vol. 4 and shoved it in a crumpled heap in the back of your mind. You wouldn’t acknowledge it, you couldn't. There would be a time and place to process this and if you did that right now, you were sure to freak out. Again. 

“Guess I’m lucky.” you tried to keep your voice calm, and gave a small cough to cover any wavering. 

Eddie reached out and pulled the tub from your vice grip and you rubbed your fingers, thankful you didn’t drop it. 

“Lucky? We’ll see how you feel about that after working a few shifts.” he shook his head. “Not many people would consider a part time job in an old dive bar lucky.”

“I have limited options right now.” you explained, following Eddie as he led you around the dining area, the two of you picking up random glasses. “A shady dive bar that doesn’t ask questions and pays under the table is kind of perfect for me right now.” 

Did that sound suspicious? Maybe, but it was already out there. To your surprise, Eddie nodded. 

“This shithole isn’t much, but it’s one of the few good places around here.” He explained. “It’s the only place in town that has a stage at least.”

Right, of course. You should have put two and two together when Bev mentioned a band playing on occasion. Eddie’s band. 

It was actually unnerving how you kept running into characters people you recognized. You had literally run into Steve Harrington and now Eddie Munson while actively trying to avoid them. Someone out there must be fucking with you. 

“The stage looks like it’s this close to being more floor.” You said, glancing over at the slight riser against the wall. 

Eddie snorted. “Yeah, but it holds up surprisingly well. It hasn’t given out on me yet.” 

“So, I take it your band is the one Bev was talking about?” You asked, feigning ignorance. 

“Corroded Coffin.” he said, reminding you of the name of the band. “We mostly do covers or metal and rock songs but we have a few original songs.” Then, as an afterthought he added “We play on Tuesdays usually. If you were curious.” 

You smiled at the can of beer you were crushing and tossing in the bin. There wasn’t anything subtle about the hint he wanted you to come. With how empty the Hideout was, you decided it was less personal and more about him being interested in anyone hearing them play. 

“I’ll bring earplugs to my shift then.” you said, glancing at him with a smile that you hoped let him know you were joking. 

Thankfully, Eddie laughed at that and led you back to the bar. “Good luck, Bev’s single amp has only two settings, ‘loud’ and ‘louder.’”

“You two better be talking about work and not just socializing.” Bev said as she walked back in. 

“Just telling her all about how the Hideout has a long standing history of being a patron of the arts.” Eddie said, giving her a wide smile. 

“No, you can’t play on Wednesdays.” Bev said, “Now go get Sam another drink.”

Eddie didn’t seem phased and took the next few minutes to show you the back of the bar and the different beer and handful of mixers. 

“I wouldn’t touch any of the sodas, they fell off a truck in ‘82 and I think they expired in ‘79.” He joked. 

“Would have been helpful to know about an hour ago.” you replied. 

“Don’t worry, you probably won’t get sick off of rum and croak here.” Every time Eddie looked at you, your heart jumped up into your throat.

Self, you gotta chill. Yes, he’s a cute guy doomed by the narrative but that’s no reason to be weird about this. There’s a thousand other reasons to be weird about it. Just pretend he’s not... him... and that he’s just your co-worker. Not real. Not real. Not real.

‘Not real’ was starting to become your survival mantra.

Eddie didn’t offer up too much information about himself and you held back as well. With Bev watching you both like a hawk, there wasn’t a lot of time for small talk except when she went for a smoke break. When it was Eddie’s turn for a smoke break, you declined stepping outside with him, not ready to be alone with him. 

Then again, could you confidently say that you’ll be ready for anything now? 

As it approached ten, Bev decided to let you go. “No need for you tonight, and Eddie’s given you the rundown. Be back Saturday at 7.” she instructed. 

You jotted down the address of the bar and thanked her again, and you looked over at Eddie and gave him as genuine a smile as you could. “Nice meeting you... Eddie.” 

Eddie waved you off as he popped open a beer for another patron. 

Reader ==> Go Home

You can’t. Home hasn’t even been built yet and you have no idea where it is. 

Reader ==> Go Back To Benny’s

You don’t really want to, but you were exhausted and really wanted to go to sleep. 

When you stepped outside it was a lot cooler out now that the sun was down and you tried to reorient yourself as to where you were. If you could make it back to town you could probably make your way back to the diner. 

There were a few cars in the gravel lot but one stood out; a van. 

You should leave it alone. 

Reader ==> Check Out Eddie’s Van

You should leave it alone but curiosity got the best of you. You casually made your way over to the van and checked over your shoulder to make sure Eddie wasn’t about to kick down the doors and demand you step away from the vehicle. 

When he didn’t you peered in the driver side window. It was dark so you couldn’t get a good look at the inside but you saw a few tapes and fast food wrappers scattered along the front seats. The center console was closed, and the interior of the van looked worn but relatively stain free as far as you could tell. 

Slipping around to the side of the van, you peaked in the back windows. The back didn’t have any seats, and seemed pretty empty aside from a backpack, some scattered papers, and more trash. 

It was just a van owned by a young adult man. You could have seen this van anywhere and not thought twice about it. 

Reader ==> Go Back To Benny’s  

It took you a long time to make it back in the dark, but you finally slipped in the back door of the diner, checking around the building once for safety, before finally collapsing on your futon as passing out, digesting the events of the day, 

----

Tumblr User ==> Leave A Prompt

RULES

-I’m not writing in a liner way

- Current timeline I’m wanting to write is between August-December 1985. We will get to ‘86 later

-You can suggest reader do anything, there is no guarantee that I will pick your prompt!

-Prompts must be submitted through ask, as “READER => Do something” If you know, you know.

-Reader is a weirdo, a freak, and is not shy or popular. Reader probably has really bad ADHD.

-If I need to add more rules I will, if I change rules that’s allowed because it’s my fic

#nacht fic #Isekai Chronicles #eddie munson x reader

[breckstonevailskier]

"Jumanji" speculation

This is the synopsis for the upcoming sixth episode of Gen V (source).

My guesses are that:

"Emma goes to find Sam" - Seems like she probably returns to Godolkin's campus since we last saw her in episode 5 with Sam at the drive-in, calling the others to warn them about Cate.

"Marie, Jordan and Andre are forced to see things from Cate's perspective." My guess is this will be a limelight episode for Cate with a fair number of extended flashbacks that illustrate just how Cate came into Shetty's control, and also probably give us more Golden Boy as well as tell us just how Brink fits into this all (and why exactly Golden Boy killed him). Since Cate clearly is wracked with guilt about wiping their minds, it would make sense that she'd want to divulge everything she can to regain their trust. There was a preview shot in episode 6 of Cate's eyes looking pretty bloodshot, suggesting she restored all of their memories, not just Andre's.

"Dr. Cardosa makes a breakthrough with a mysterious virus, and Shetty makes a terrifying request with dire consequences." We're definitely going to be seeing follow-up to the scene that Shetty had with Cardosa in the Woods corridor. Definitely seems like he wants Marie's blood to perfect his virus that can control Supes (which I personally think might also tie in with why Cate was under Shetty's control, given her particular powerset).

Edison Cardosa: [Sam] nearly killed my family, Indira! He's far more trouble than he's worth, and Golden Boy is dead anyway. The point is, I'm done with Sam. He's not my problem anymore. I'm tired of babysitting psychopaths. Indira Shetty: Babysitting psychopaths is literally your job. Edison Cardosa: Those kids found out about him! Indira Shetty: Those kids have been handled. They won't be a problem. Edison Cardosa: Come on. You know it's just a matter of time before they find out about everything else we're doing down here. I am this fսcking close to perfecting the virus, a viable way to control them for good. But if they discover that? I'm not paid nearly enough to die for this shit. Indira Shetty: So you want a raise? Edison Cardosa: No, that's not what I... Indira Shetty: So why don't you tell me what it is you do want? Because we both know you're not going anywhere. Cutting up Supes and seeing how they tick is a skill that won't quite shine on your LinkedIn profile. Edison Cardosa: I want the girl. Marie. Her abilities are the rarest I've ever seen. She doesn't understand how powerful she really is. She's the perfect subject, could speed up my timeline. Indira Shetty: She is special. But no. You're not the only one interested in Moreau. She has a benefactor, and because of that, she's strictly off-limits. For now.

This will probably include some explanation as to what Soldier Boy might be doing in this show. But then there's the question of who Marie's benefactor is. It's probably not Shetty herself because I don't see why Shetty would refer to herself in the third person, so it's probably someone else within Vought or associated with Vought. Could be Victoria Neuman (since we will see her in person in one of these episodes), but I like the theory that Marie's benefactor is Stan Edgar. As New Rockstars pointed out, he's got a history of taking interest in orphaned Supes from Red River who accidentally killed their own parents (can't be a coincidence that we actually saw Marie's picture briefly on the computer screen when Hughie was at Red River investigating Victoria's past and uncovered her connection to Edgar; Victoria's and Marie's parents also died in similar fashion); he'd want a new asset in the wake of Victoria's double cross, and seeing as Edgar was the one who signed off on Payback betraying Soldier Boy to replace him with Homelander back in 1985, it would make sense for him to have a contingency plan up his sleeve (and be secretly coordinating with Shetty and the many other insiders he probably still has within Vought).

#gen v #marie moreau #emma meyer #cate dunlap #andre anderson #jordan li #gen v spoilers #indira shetty #edison cardosa #soldier boy #stan edgar #victoria neuman #the boys #godolkin university #sam riordan

[acewritesfics]

Hot Summers Day | Eddie Munson

⚠️ THIS IS A REPOST FROM MY MAIN BLOG @/DLMLUFICS. UNFORTUNATELY, I HAVE TO DO IT THIS WAY. MORE INFO IN MY PINNED POST.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Request: No

Warnings: Implied friends with benefits relationship, swearing, swearing, smoking, mentions of drug use, mentions of alcoholism, underage drinking, stealing a paddling pool.

Word Count: 1,906

Tag List: Open - acewritesfics taglist sign up

Stranger Things Masterlist

Summer 1985 

Today is unquestionably the hottest day of the year. Y/N’s trailer’s air conditioning unit has broken again, and the local handyman is unavailable to repair it due to the numerous other air conditioning units in the trailer park that need to be repaired. She exits her trailer in search of some form of relief from the heat wave after deciding she can no longer endure it anymore. She finds the Ashburn children’s paddling pool to be empty and begging it to be used. 

Since the children’s mother is too inebriated to even notice where her kids are right now, Y/N is confident that she won’t even notice that the pool is missing. Sonny, the oldest of the three children, frequently takes her younger sisters out for the day, not wanting them to witness their mother’s utter stupidity in choosing the drink over them. She also knows Sonny wouldn’t mind if she “borrowed” the pool because they never use it since they are gone most of the time. 

She drags the paddling pool to where she wants it and grabs the hose, rinsing it out before leaving the hose in it to fill it up with water. She returns to her trailer and changes into the peach-colored bikini top she borrowed (but never returned) from her sister and a pair of light blue Daisy Duke denim shorts she cut up from her favorite pair of jeans to wear during the summer. She slathers on sunscreen, not wanting to deal with a painful sunburn that she could have easily avoided and gathers everything she needs to go outside. On her way back from her bedroom, she grabs her two deck chairs and a can of coke from the fridge and heads back outside. 

Y/N arranges the chairs, one of which serves as a table for her cigarettes, the book she’s currently reading, her Walkman, and sunscreen. She walks over to the outdoor tap and turns off the water before returning to the paddling pool and sitting on the empty chair as she dips her feet in the cool water. She takes a cigarette from her pack and puts it between her lips before lighting it. She picks up her Walkman and puts the headphones over her ears before pressing the play button. 

She closes her eyes, a cigarette in one hand and her can of coke in the other, as she loses herself in the soothing raspy sound of Ozzy Osbourne’s voice. 

Y/N loses track of time until she is startled by someone flicking water in her face. When she looks up, she sees Eddie Munson standing in front of her. The young man has a mischievous glint in his eyes and a smirk on his handsome face as he looks back at her. 

“What the hell, Munson?” She glares at him and removes her headphones. 

Smirking, he shrugs his shoulders, and holds out a can of beer to her. “Can you forgive me?” 

“You know, it’ll take more than a beer,” she quips as she takes the beer from him. “But please join me,” she says, shifting her belongings from the chair she’s using as a table. 

“I have some more stuff if you want to come over later,” he says. He’s referring to the weed he gets from his supplier, Reefer Rick. 

“Can we hang out at my trailer tonight?” she inquires. 

When she last stayed with him, they nearly got caught the following morning when Wayne arrived home early from work. They had just finished having sex, when they heard Wayne’s truck pull up outside the trailer. It had been a mad dash to gather their clothing and rush into Eddie’s room before Wayne walked inside. After almost being caught by Eddie’s only father figure, Y/N thought she’d die of embarrassment. Her embarrassment grew as she realized Wayne knew exactly what they had been up to when they finally emerged from Eddie’s room, her cheeks flushed and Eddie wearing a large smirk on his face after all his teasing. Wayne only shook his head and mumbled something about deep cleaning the trailer. 

Her embarrassment grew as she realized Wayne knew exactly what they had been up to when they finally emerged from Eddie’s room, her cheeks flushed and Eddie wearing a large smirk on his face after all his teasing. Wayne only shook his head and mumbled something about deep cleaning the trailer. 

“Are you worried we’ll almost get caught again?” he teases, picking up her sunscreen and puts some on himself after taking off his shirt. 

“No, I need you to fix my air conditioning unit again,” she responds, her gaze darting to the tattoos adorning his chest and arms. 

From the moment she met Eddie, she knew she was fucked. She was attracted to every part of him, from his tattoos, long wavy hair, brown eyes ripped jeans, and the hellfire club shirt he wore religiously. His big brown eyes revealed that he isn’t a complete asshole like most of the guys she knew that had his same style. Deep beneath that tough exterior is a sweet man with a kind heart who always makes her feel comfortable and safe, who can always make her laugh and smile, that gave the best hugs and makes her feel wanted and special. He isn’t overly confident, or obnoxious and arrogant. He knew how to read the room and could figure someone just by observing them. There is so much more to him than just being some freak with tattoos, that plays guitar in a band, and loves metal music and Dungeons and Dragons, with a family who was well known to the local police. If people took the time to get to know him, she knows they would like him. 

Eddie takes a seat in the empty chair, kicking off his shoes before dipping his feet into the water too. “Does Ashburn realize you stole her kids' pool?” 

“As if she’d be sober enough to notice it missing,” she scoffs, taking a drag from her cigarette and handing it to Eddie before opening her beer can. 

A silence falls over the two friends as Y/N considers the possibilities for tonight. They will undoubtedly get high, eat whatever snacks she has in her pantry, and possibly even cook something. They’ll watch a movie or listen to one of the many vinyl's she kept from her father’s collection.  

One of them will make the first move and they'll end up fucking on the nearest surface. There will be no foreplay in this first round, just rough, hard, and fast sex. Before the next round, they’ll move to the bed and share a cigarette. 

Eddie will put her needs ahead of his own in their next round, which will be a little gentler but still rough, and will last longer. When they first slept together, he paid close attention to all her reactions, learning about what she loves and hates. No matter what the situation or how he does it, he always makes sure she gets off before he does. 

He always makes her come more than once the second time, hoping to delay his own orgasm for as long as possible. Following that, he will take care of her, being as gentle as possible, cleaning her up before himself, being mindful of her sensitive areas, and ensuring she is comfortable, especially after a rough round. 

The third round will occur after they’ve slept or napped, whether for a few hours or all night. Their morning routine is always slower, and lazy with their bodies entwined and sleepy kisses exchanged in between soft gasps of pleasure. Eddie is at his most gentle during this time. 

What began as a bit of fun has evolved into something more for her. She wants to believe that she is the only one who sees the intimate side of Eddie. In their relationship, there was no commitment to each other and thinking of him with another woman hurt her. They both agreed at the start that they weren’t looking for anything serious, but as she got to know Eddie more intimately, not just physically, she found herself completely in love with him. She knows deep down that she needs to end it, and that tonight wouldn’t be a good idea if she’s going to try and distance herself from him. Eddie is her drug. She knows she’ll succumb to him as soon as he touches her. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t hang out tonight,” she says, her chest tight and her heart hurting hearing those words coming out of her mouth. “We shouldn’t do this anymore.” 

“What are you on about?” She feels his gaze on her, his beautiful brown orbs filled with confusion. 

“Forget it,” she says as she rises from her chair. She steps out of the pool and into the trailer, shutting the door behind her. 

Eddie, perplexed, worried, and irritated, throws away the finished cigarette before standing up and following her into the trailer, allowing the door to slam behind him. He finds her in the kitchen, with her hands braced on the counter and her head bowed.  

“What the fuck is going on?” 

She looks up at him, her eyes sad. “Nothing! Just-” 

“Don’t give me that bullshit!” he exclaims. 

“What do you want me to say?” she asks, her own voice rising. “That I think we should stop screwing around because it’s getting a little too serious for me?” 

“What are you trying to say?” he asks, puzzled by her words. 

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in and out, then opens them again and locks her eyes on him. She notices the concern and frustration in his eyes. Her heart begins to pound against her chest once more. “Eddie Munson, you have completely captured my heart and I’ve fallen madly in love with you.  I can’t do this friend with benefits bullshit with you because it means so much more to me. Just save me the heartache and just leave.” 

Y/N turns away from him, so she doesn’t have to watch him walk out the door. 

She doesn’t hear the front door open and close; instead, she is surrounded by Eddie’s distinctive scent of old spice, cigarettes with a hint of weed and the spearmint toothpaste that he uses. She bites her bottom lip to keep from gasping as she feels Eddie’s warm chest against her mostly bare back. His rough hands grip her hips as his soft lips kiss her neck before whispering in her ear. 

“I’m not leaving, baby, because I’ve fallen madly in love with you as well.” 

She turns her head to the side, coming face to face with him, his lips barely an inch from hers. Her gaze shifts from his lips to his eyes, searching for any hint of trickery in his eyes, but all she finds is relief and so much love that her heart soars. She twists her body in his arms as she presses her lips ferociously against his. He kisses her back with just as much love and passion as his hands move to her thighs. He slightly bends his knees and lifts her onto the kitchen counter. 

“I am fucking in love with you,” he says, pulling back enough to look her in the eyes. 

“I’m in love with you, too,” she says as she pulls him back into the kiss. 

TAGGED: @rainydayteacups - @alexxavicry

#acewritesfics repost #stranger things #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader

[averagewriter-inthedark]

She’s Still Preoccupied With 1985 🎤 | Bob Floyd x Rockstar!reader Imagine

Takes place after the events of TGM

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Lt. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x modern-day rockstar!reader (childhood best friends/romantic), dagger squad (platonic), Bob x female!oc (past romance), male!oc x reader (past romance), The 1985’s!BandOCs (platonic)

Content Warnings: major fluff, angst, profanity, canon divergence (Bob is born in 1985 in this, making him roughly 34 during TGM & 37 in the year 2022), pop culture references, second chance romance troupe, suggestive content and light smut + implied smut (MINORS DNI!!) inspired by the song ‘1985,’ by Bowling For Soup | Female!reader—afab!reader (she/her) | wc: 17.2k

Premise: Join Lt. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd as he looks back on his fairytale love story with childhood best friend and real life rockstar, who’s set to perform one last time on the country’s most iconic stage, in her band’s final show of their farewell tour.

Note: so after I wrote ‘It’s A Long Way To The Top’ with Maverick x 80sRockstar!reader, I had inspiration for someone from the dagger squad x modern-day rockstar!reader. I was going back and forth between Rooster and Phoenix, but this anon suggested Bob with a rekindled childhood best friend and I thought that was the bullseye. Once again feel free to imagine your friends as your bandmates, I just gave names to make it easier to write. I do not own any of the song or pop culture references, this is for fictional purposes. Let me know what you think! - Bee 🐝

Songs that are real life songs, but are used as ‘your’ songs in this imagine: ‘1985’ by Bowling For Soup, ‘Iris’ by the Goo Goo Dolls, ‘Some Nights,’ by Fun, ‘Pompeii’ by Bastille, ‘Payphone,’ by Maroon 5, ‘Let’s Get Lost,’ by Bats for Lashes & Beck, ‘Where Do Broken Hearts Go’ & ‘Little Black Dress’ by One Direction.

——————————————————

Lt. Robert Floyd had seen a lot in his 37 years of life. Growing up on the plains of Montana, there wasn’t much for him until it came time to leave for college. There, life seemed to pass by quicker than the night sky. He’d experienced the hype of a Navy vs Army football game, getting wasted to the point he hated alcohol. Endless nights of studying that paid off when he received not only his diploma but also the rank of Ensign in the U.S. Navy. Then there was that time he nearly married his college sweetheart only to end things weeks before the wedding because he realized his heart belonged to someone else. In his career Bob pulled Gs with his pilot against the speed of sound in an F-18 and most recently, dogfighting SAMs out of enemy territory.

But no words could describe what Bob felt as he stood on the floor of Madison Square Garden with the people he called his best friends, waiting for the appearance of his one true love on stage.

The love that was once thought to be impossible, until fate was like, “These souls belong together. Once the time is right, I will work my magic.”

17 years prior in 2005, Bob was certain he’d never get the chance to tell Y/n L/n he had loved her since they were fifteen years old after hearing her voice on the radio.

“That was Kelly Clarkson’s ‘Since U Been Gone,’ part of her Grammy nominated album Breakaway released last summer. Clarkson is the favorite to win the award for ‘Album of the Year’ at next year’s Grammys. Up next is a new group recently signed to Capitol Records….here is ‘1985’ by, funny enough, The 1985s”

Something about the name of the group and title of the song had an odd feeling swirl through the then college student. Driving the car he was in was his roomate Derek and their buddy Adrian along with Derek’s girlfriend Willow.

Nothing could’ve prepared Bob for the voice coming through the speakers, the lyrics bringing back the memory of when she showed him the paper with them written down in her semi-sloppy handwriting.

“Debbie just hit the wall, she never had it all.”

“One Prozac a day, husband’s a CPA.”

“Bob, you okay?” Adrian tapped him on the shoulder, “You look a little pale.”

“Her dreams went out the door when she turned twenty-four.”

“Only been with one man, what happened to her plan?”

“This has a good beat,” Willow bopped her head.

“She was gonna be an actress, she was gonna be a star.”

“She was gonna shake her ass on the hood of Whitesnake’s car.”

“My mom could definitely relate to that,” Derek joked, stopping at a red light. He too was enjoying the song. It gave that classic rock feel that the 80s music his parents listened to had. Nowadays Hip-Hop and Pop are becoming the main genres of music on the radio.

“Her yellow SUV is now the enemy.”

“Looks at her average life and nothin’,” *guitar riff* “has been,” *guitar riff* “alright.”

Bob, who’s eyes were wide and heart racing, breathed in awe, “No way.”

“Since Bruce Springsteen, Madonna,”

“Way before Nirvana,”

“There was U2 and Blondie,”

“And music still on MTV.”

“Her two kids in high school,”

“They tell her that she’s uncool.”

“‘Cause she’s still preoccupied,”

Tears spring in Bob’s eyes, wiping them away before his friends could see when Y/n sang the final line of the chorus.

“With 19, 19…1985.”

That was how the future naval aviator discovered his childhood best friend had accomplished her dream. Breaking into the music industry. It’d been nearly four years since he’d seen Y/n, the two parting ways after her father took an accounting job in California, uprooting the teenager and her family from their home state of Montana.

They’d grown up on the same street, both their moms teaching at the elementary school. The two had pretty much gone through every grade together considering their school was small with few teachers. Every year they were in the same class, often sitting next to each other and spending time after school on the playground while their moms finished up for the day. Bob spent nearly every moment with Y/n as kids, becoming best friends when they were only five years old. But it wasn’t until the boy was twelve that he realized what a crush was….and boy did he have one on her.

Cherishing their friendship, poor Bob didn’t say anything about his surfacing feelings for his best friend. Even when the news of her moving was announced when they were 16, Bob remained quiet. It pained him to do so but he’d rather have her in his life than risk losing her if she didn’t feel the same.

In all the years Bob Floyd knew Y/n L/n, music was her life. It consumed her entire being with the young girl always humming a tune or singing along on the radio. When she was given a keyboard and guitar for Christmas, Y/n self-taught herself how to play until they could afford to put her in lessons. Then there were the notebooks.

At first it started as sticky notes with a verse or two, then it turned into loose pages of lyrics before finally the teenager wrote them all into notebooks. Anytime inspiration came to Y/n she was writing it down on whatever she could find. Napkins at a restaurant, receipts from her mother’s grocery run, hell even on her arm Y/n was writing lyrics so she wouldn’t forget. Sometimes she’d have the whole song complete before settling on a title, or a catchy title would come to mind but the lyrics would take time. Bob would always get annoyed when she’d steal his pen from out of his hand, but would let it go, understanding she had to write it down before she lost it.

At a football game he witnessed her unable to find a pen in time to write something on her arm before the lyric faded away. The teenager nearly sobbed right there in the middle of the stands, face in her hands as though to will herself to remember. “Are you okay,” Bob whispered, to which he received a sad groan.

“No….please don’t interrupt my thinking. I’m having a crisis, Robby.”

Y/n’s mom, who mentally still lived in the 80s, was the inspiration for her song ‘1985’, Y/n wrote at 15. Bob could still remember the day she raced up to their reserved lunch table, planting the paper in front of him, “Read this,” she was out of breath, but smiling nonetheless. Picking it up, Bob adjusted his glasses and let his eyes read over the words scribbled down that were separated into: intro, verse 1, chorus, verse 2, chorus, bridge, chorus, & outro.

“Wow,” he reads over the lyrics again, brows raised and feeling a connection to the song. It wasn’t hard to pick up on the fact it was likely titled ‘1985,’ which also happened to be the year they were born. “This is amazing, Y/n. Almost like….wait is this about your mom?” As her best friend growing up, Y/n’s mother was like a second mom to him….so Bob knew her obsession with the 80s and how she had plans to be an actress before she and her high school sweetheart, Y/n’s father, got married after college and had Y/n when they were 24. Then they had her siblings afterward and both changed their course of careers in order to raise them. The line that said ‘husband’s a CPA,’ is what really gave it away considering her father was an accountant. Debbie wasn’t her mother’s name, but even a rocket scientist could piece it together Debbie represented her.

Glancing up, he sees her guilty expression, offering a light shrug. “Is it that obvious?”

Bob never forgot that song. Even with all the ones Y/n showed him afterwards and when they lost touch two years after she moved, he never once forgot the song, ‘1985’.

It was a sad day when she told him the news. They were halfway through junior year, college applications around the corner and setting up for SATs/ACTs when she dropped the bomb, “My dad’s being transferred to California.”

The Coca-Cola he’d been drinking nearly went all over his steering wheel when he coughed, her words sending him into shock. “W-what-you’re moving?!”

“Next month,” she mumbled, head down to hide her face from his view. “My dad is there now looking at places for us. In the meantime Mom is dealing with the house while also applying to schools in the area my dad’s gonna be working.”

“Where?” Bob asks after a moment of silence, allowing him to fully process the news.

His best friend—who he was in love with—was leaving him.

Y/n sighed before replying with a sad chuckle, “Los Angeles. You know I would feel excited, seeing it was my plan to move to L.A after graduation, but I just can’t bring myself to.”

“Why?” Bob says softly with a frown, “This is your dream, Y/n. All you’ve wanted was to go there and audition for American Idol—or whatever that singing show is.” He was trying really hard to cheer her up, pushing down his heartbreak all the while. “This is your chance.”

“Yeah, but….” She glanced out the window, “what if it doesn’t work out? I don’t even know if I wanna go to college—which my mom still scolds me every time she gets the chance because she thinks I’m a fool to wanna pursue music. You know how it is,” Y/n gives Bob a knowing look, “she thinks of her life and wants me to go to school before selling my life away to a 9-5. I know she’s looking out for me, but God, let me make my own mistakes.” Her head leans on the window, “If it doesn't work out then that’s on me. But I’m not gonna give it up just because it seems out of reach. That’s what back up plans are for.”

Silence fills the car, the two letting their thoughts wonder. “Promise me something, Robby.”

“Anything,” he doesn’t hesitate.

“Promise me that even though I’m leaving, we’ll still be best friends. We’ll still write letters or talk on the phone…just don’t give up on me.”

Taking her hand in his, hoping she doesn’t feel the slight tremor as the words he so desperately wants to say are on the tip of his tongue, Bob gives her a look of love which she likely would believe is one of sincerity, “you’re my best friend, Y/n. I believe you will accomplish everything you set your mind to. When you make it big, I’ll be cheering you on every second and until then, we’ll talk every day if we have to,” he makes a face after thinking, “though maybe narrow it down to once a week so my mom doesn’t kill me for the phone bill.”

That makes Y/n laugh before reaching over the console to hug him. Arms go around his neck while his one arm awkwardly wraps around her side.

“I love you, Robby,” she tells him, sending his heart soaring. “You’re the only person I can count on in this whole damn world.”

“I love you too, Y/n.” ‘More than what you could possibly know.’ “I’ll always be here for you. Forever.”

He never thought he’d break that promise. But around the time of graduation things became so hectic in Bob’s life on top of the fact he was hurting. Hurting because he loved Y/n, and anytime they would talk on the phone or send letters he was reminded of the fact she was in California while he was stuck in Montana and they could never be together. Bob felt the only way he could save his heart and move on from that love was by cutting contact. It was his fault and he knew it when the letters eventually stopped coming and the phone stopped ringing every Friday. His mother could only relay an excuse to the girl so many times before Y/n eventually gave up. The last letter she sent him came two months after their last phone call, “So much for always being there, Robby. Have a good life, I hope it treats you well. -Y/n.”

He didn’t know what happened to her until two years later when ‘1985’ played for the first time on the radio for the whole world to hear. Tears lined his eyes, the man having to look out the window away from his friends. The flooding of emotion was overpowering, forming a sob in his throat.

She did it. She’s on the radio like she always dreamed.

“That was ‘1985’ the debut single of incoming rock band, The 1985s. Hits the nostalgia I gotta say—I feel we’re looking at some fresh new faces to the scene. Can’t wait to see what they have to offer in the future.”

The prediction of the radio host came true, when in 2006 the group released their debut album Established in 1985. Like their name, it referenced the year all members were born in which included frontwoman and occasional guitar player Y/n L/n, bassist Thomas Quinn, guitarist Farrah Cortez, drummer Xavier Hernandez, and keyboardist Pepper Renolds. All met at the University of California Los Angeles, and funny enough none were students in the music program. They were all in STEM/humanities with Y/n studying sociology with a minor in music, meeting the others when they formed a study group after they all had the same prerequisite classes their second semester.

It was at one of their meetups that Y/n couldn’t help but sing along to Journey’s ‘Faithfully’ and The Who’s ‘We Don’t Get Fooled Again,’ as they played on the little radio in the corner. “Damn Y/n,” Thomas looked amazed, “You got a voice, girl. How come you’re not studying music?”

“Same reason why you aren’t—don’t give me that look, Quinn, I saw that bass in your place when we were there last week.”

Next thing they knew Pepper mentioned she was a pianist who was progressing onto keyboard. Then Farrah said she played guitar and Xavier smirked, “all y’all need is a drummer and you can be a band….oh wait, have I ever told y’all I play drums?”

And thus, the 1985’s were born.

Months were dedicated to them building their sound and learning to be a band all while keeping up with their school work. Y/n was the brain behind all their songs, literally dropping the pile of notebooks onto the table one day saying, “I’ve got at least four albums worth of songs in these…maybe even more.” Working little by little they eventually got the tunes for several that they knew they’d want to release first if they managed to get discovered. MySpace was just starting out and Y/n took it upon herself to be bold, creating a profile for them. She listed her information since they didn’t have a band email set up. That would hopefully come in the future.

It was on MySpace that their lives changed forever.

Roughly after a year of working nonstop to create songs and develop their sound, the band uploaded a video onto the platform for ‘1985,’ in May of 2004. It almost looked like a music video, teaming up with students from the drama programs who were in need of doing their end of semester project. They had someone play Debbie, her husband, the two kids, and a group of extras. Even the yellow SUV Y/n’s mom drove was used as well as a poster of Duran Duran for the line in the second verse. The band would be in clips throughout the video, Y/n singing and playing the guitar. It took them the whole night spray painting a makeshift logo of ‘The 1985’s’ onto Xavier’s drum set.

When they first uploaded the video they were all like, “Even if no one sees it, this was still fun as hell to make.”

But little did they know it was going to be seen by many eyes…..including an executive of Capitol Records.

Y/n was just coming home from her shift at a local diner when she checked her email, dropping the water bottle in her hand and letting out an ear-piercing scream that woke her roommates.

“Y/n, my name is Martin Plaza and I’m a talent exec at Capitol Records. A member of my team came across your video on MySpace and we were impressed by your band and song, ‘1985’. We’d like to set up a meeting if you all are interested and please bring any demos you may have. Email me back as soon as possible or give me a call using the number listed below. Hope to hear from you soon. Regards, Martin Plaza.”

Y/n and the group could hardly contain their reaction at the meeting when Martin and a few members of Capitol Records were visibly pleased with what they were hearing. With so many songs they had recorded, they settled on bringing five, including ‘1985,’ and ‘Some Nights,’ which they were planning on uploading to MySpace next.

Martin and the team had excused themselves briefly before returning with the offer: a six year contract with Capitol Records releasing at least three albums during that period.

You can bet your ass they agreed. Signing their names before the sun could set on the horizon.

Champagne popped that night with Y/n crying against the receiver of her pink Motorola as she informed the news to her family. Her mother cried with her, her dad celebrating in the background while her siblings were like, “Don’t forget me when you become famous, sis.” What made her sad though after the call ended was when she went to dial Robby’s number, only to close the phone with a sigh. It’d been over a year since they last spoke, Y/n unsure where he even was or if he had a cell phone. The only number she knew was his home phone.

Curiosity and slight anger rising, Y/n dialed the number saved as his home landline, not surprised when his mother answered. “Y/n! Why hello, darling, I wasn’t expecting your call tonight.”

“Hi, Mrs. Floyd,” she sniffed, feeling tears prick in her eyes again. Y/n was not used to addressing the older woman by her last name. It felt awkward now to call her by her first. “I know he’s probably not going to come to the phone…but if Robby—Robert is there, could I…could I just speak with him please? It’s important.”

“Oh honey,” that was enough to indicate it wouldn’t happen. Y/n looked up to the sky, heart breaking in two at the fact her so called best friend, who she loved more than anything in the world, had completely discarded her. “Robert is uhh—he’s at the Naval Academy, sweetheart, I can give you his email or cell number—.”

“No-no-no,” Y/n interrupted, stunned by the news. “It’s fine. Uh, just never mind.”

“Honey—.”

“Sorry to bother you so late, Mrs. Floyd. Take care and thank you for your help.” Placing the phone in her pocket, Y/n allowed the tears to flow freely before moving back inside to where the party was. Only she could hardly enjoy it now. Instead she let her feet carry her over to the notebook placed on her backpack, removing a pen hastily from the pencil pouch and scribbling down the lyrics that were screaming in her head. The words that took over the paper went onto become their Grammy award winning singles, ‘Iris,’ and ‘Payphone.’ Iris became so popular it was used in several movies and tv shows after its release in 2006, earning the band the Grammy for ‘Record of the Year,’ to go along with their ‘Best Rock Performance by a Duo/Group’ and ‘Album of the Year’, three MTV moonmen including ‘Video of the Year’ and the American Music Award for ‘Song of the Year.’ Payphone was just as successful, topping the Billboard Hot 100 for 20 consecutive weeks and winning just as many awards as Iris.

Anytime the songs played on the radio or wherever he was, Bob had to change the station or frown until it ended. Deep down, he could feel they were about him—hurting him even more at the realization Payphone was basically saying how Y/n loved him and was trying to move on. Just in the way Y/n sang combined with the lyrics telling a story, it was obvious he had broken her heart. And they weren’t even together. They were just best friends…..who were too stupid enough to not admit their feelings for each other.

His senior year of college Y/n and the group were starting to become big, all the members taking a break from college in order to build their careers as musicians. Often Bob would check in to see how Y/n was, tuning into award shows to watch them perform. Pride and awe filled him watching her sing, living her dream just as he believed she would. He hated that he broke his word to her, and it seemed to affect Y/n whenever she performed Iris and Payphone, putting every ounce of emotion into each lyric.

At 21 Bob had finally entered a relationship with a nice girl from the Naval Academy. The possibility of him reuniting with Y/n was long out of the picture and his friends were getting on him to finally break out of his shell. They had no idea of his connection to the rockstar, but they could tell anytime they were on the radio Bob’s demeanor changed. Abby, a sweet pre-law student at the Naval Academy, was his first serious commitment, the two bonding over similar interests and plans for the future. Hope rose at what it could hold.

Until she and their friends decided they wanted to go see The 1985’s concert.

It was 2007, they’d just graduated and were commissioned to the rank of Ensign’s waiting to be shipped off to their respective duty stations. And Bob was engaged…..but he hadn’t really proposed in the traditional way. It was more of Abby pointing out if they wanted to get stationed together then it was best for them to get married and he just agreed. But a big part of him was hesitant to go through with it.

The news of Abby and their friends' desire to go to the concert made his stomach drop and head spin. Still in Maryland, they had gotten tickets to the show in New York at Madison Square Garden which was only a couple hours away. Abby had went ahead and got them as a surprise for Bob, not telling him until the day before the show.

“You guys go,” Bob initially said, praying she couldn’t pick up on the anxiety in his voice. “I—uh—I’ve got some things to get done—.”

“What things?” She scoffed, shaking her head as she laid out the outfit she planned to wear. “School is over, you aren’t planning to see your family until next week, and you don’t leave for flight school till the end of summer. What could you possibly do tomorrow night, Bobby?” He mentally cringed at the nickname, unconsciously thinking of how Y/n would call him Robby.

This wasn’t a good idea and he knew it. Already he was starting to think of her again. More and more by the second. Feelings were resurfacing, and Bob was fighting them hard. If he saw her on stage it was only going to confirm what he already knew.

That Y/n owned his heart. And no one else would have it. Not even Abby.

In the end, Bob found himself on the floor of Madison Square Garden of all places, wondering just how the hell their friends managed to get the area. The band was touring for their debut album, selling out within seconds and what made it more historic were they managed to get The Garden in their first ever tour. Usually groups/artists had years before they played at the Garden, settling for smaller venues in New York, but the 1985’s had become sensations.

The entire time they waited for the band Bob’s hands were shaking, the man unable to contain his tremor with each minute. Abby asked at one point, but brushed it off as him being excited when he didn’t give her an answer.

He was a little excited….but mostly fucking terrified.

Especially because they were very close to the stage. Like if one of the members happened to walk close to where they were standing they’d be spotted.

Bob should’ve fucking knocked on wood.

When the band came out Madison Square Garden erupted, Y/n belting out the lyrics to their opening number, looking like an actual dream. Her look was more of a modern take on rock n roll but still looked classic. Black leather adorned her body with cutouts to showcase some skin, arms covered in ink from the various tattoos and hips rolling to the beat of the drums causing the crowd to go crazy.

Y/n really knew how to work the stage and make it her bitch.

Bob was mesmerized. Utterly speechless as his eyes glued to the woman he once called his best friend. All he could do was stand there and stare, while willing his heart to calm down by how fast it was beating.

It was to be a two hour show at the least, and Bob didn’t know if he wanted to leave as quickly as he could or wishing the show would last forever. Seeing Y/n up close and performing before a crowd made him feel things he didn’t know were possible. Her dazzling smile, dancing across the stage and playing the guitar was everything he could’ve dreamed for her.

He loved her. Bottom line, Bob loved Y/n like no other.

When their eyes connected 30 minutes before the concert ended, causing Y/n to drop the microphone and throw her off for the remainder of the concert, Bob knew he couldn’t marry Abby.

He wasn’t sure if Y/n recognized him at first, but the rockstar had approached the side he was standing at to interact with the crowd when her gaze landed on his. Eyes widening, Y/n literally dropped the microphone causing the impact to echo through the speakers. Bob’s cheeks went bright red, unable to look away in their 2-second staring contest until Y/n blinked rapidly and cursed.

“Shit,” he saw her mouth as soon as the microphone hit the platform, bending down quickly to pick it up. “Sorry about that guys,” she nervously laughed, eyes glancing at Bob as though to make sure they weren’t deceiving her. A sharp intake of breath indicated she realized it wasn’t a trick. Walking backwards until she was back to the middle of the stage where the band was, Y/n’s tone became flustered, “U-uh, we only got a couple songs left in the show. We’re gonna take a quick five minute break so just hang tight.”

Bob could see the looks of concern from her friends/bandmates as she ran off stage, the group following behind. His heart dropped, rubbing a hand over his face to calm down the anxiety in his veins.

“What the hell was that about?” Derek laughed, “It was like she saw a ghost or something.” Everyone besides Bob agreed, none seeing the way Abby was staring at him with an unreadable expression.

When the band returned for the final act Y/n did her best to not look at the section Bob was in. Unlike everyone else in attendance, the Navy officer could pick up on the fact she was more tense than at the start of the show. Her voice shook lightly when delivering the lyrics to ‘Iris’, although it was as though she was putting more emotion than ever into the song, bringing tears to Bob’s eyes. Y/n also appeared to hold back tears, quickly transitioning the song to their next to avoid breaking down.

‘1985’ was the last in their set, everyone in MSG jumping up and down to the chorus and screaming the lyrics. Y/n smiled the entire time, finally letting a tear slip when the concert came to an end. To everyone it may have looked like the rockstar was overwhelmed with emotion at the fact she just played Madison Square Garden before a sold out crowd. But for Robert Floyd, he knew those tears were because of him.

Especially when they connected eyes again, Y/n’s lip quivering before turning away to hide her face. When she walked off with the band Bob felt his heart go with her.

“You’re hiding something,” Abby said with a soft tone when they arrived back home late that night. It was nearly 3 in the morning, the concert having ended at 11.

Bob tilted his head back, eyes closing to block off the rest of the world, “Please, let’s not do this.” He just wanted to go to bed and sleep the night away.

“You know, I always wondered why your knuckles would tighten around the steering wheel when their songs played on the radio, or why you look like you wanna cry anytime I sing ‘Iris’ at karaoke, why you can’t even look at me when I do,” she lists off, voice slightly rising. “Then there’s that box of letters you hide in the closet. And….and the photo album you won’t even let me look at. We’ve been together for a year, and you have not once told me you loved me.” By now Abby’s voice wavered, sniffing as she continued.

“I’ve been a fan of The 1985’s for close to a year now, but it wasn’t until tonight I actually read up on them. On Y/n…..” she saw how his body reacted, confirming her suspicion even more. “How she was living in L.A when they got discovered, but she grew up somewhere else…..She’s from Montana. The same town as you, Robert.”

“That’s just a coincidence—.”

“She went to the same high school as you!” Abby shouted, pushing off the wall she was leaning against. “You told me your town had less than four-thousand people—and only one high school. She would’ve gone there, Robert—in fact it said her mom was a teacher at the elementary school. The same one your mom taught at!”

By now Bob had enough, mouth tightening as he spoke calmly to his ‘fiancé’, “What do you want to know, Abby?”

“Who was she to you? Don’t fucking say shit like ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’—I saw her look at you,” tears pricked in her blue eyes. “How she looked like she’d been punched straight through the heart. She fucking dropped the microphone—and looked like she wanted to faint! Like you were a walking ghost. And you….you looked the same.” Pausing, she thought back to his face at the concert. There was no doubt Y/n and him had locked eyes, she heard him audibly react despite the noise.

“You looked like someone with deep regret. Someone who longed for a second chance. You looked like someone in love, Robert. Never have you looked at me that way.” Abby waited for him to respond, but Bob was unable to speak, expression unreadable causing her heart to break.

“Just please,” she breathed out, “tell me the truth, Bob. What was she to you?”

Silence filled the room, causing the tension to rise. It stayed that way until Bob finally sighed, face falling as he admitted what she already knew.

“She was everything. She is everything.”

When it came time to ship out two months later Bob was not the married man he expected to be. In all honesty, he was relieved. That night the argument had ended with Bob telling Abby he couldn’t marry her—he’d be hurting her even more if he followed through with it. Never could he love her the way he did Y/n and wouldn't put her through that. Going their separate ways was for the best. Even though he’d likely never be with Y/n, no one could compare to her.

Abby was angry as one could expect but part of her knew it was for the best. What good was it getting into a loveless marriage? She almost resented the rockstar, feeling like she could never enjoy the 1985’s anymore knowing the man she thought she spent the rest of her life with was hopelessly in love with his former best friend, who was the frontwoman of her favorite band. But then Abby took some time to think, and felt her heart break for Bob. She couldn’t imagine what it was like loving someone you couldn’t have.

Ending their engagement and agreeing to be friends, Bob told stories about growing up with Y/n—even bringing out the letters and photo album for her to see. It amazed the woman, flipping through the pages to see the singer when she was a child and teenager. It was almost funny to see how polar opposites the two best friends were, Y/n with her 80s band t-shirts and ripped jeans next to a Bob in his cowboy hat and flannels. As teenagers Y/n dabbled more in the grunge makeup. One photo made Abby laugh as it showed Bob with black eyeliner and glitter on his cheeks.

Coming across the end of the album was a half of a ‘Best Friends Forever’ necklace taped to the page. Abby frowned, “What happened between the two of you?”

This was a question he never thought he’d answer, thinking he’d go the rest of his life without anyone finding out his history with Y/n.

“After she moved we stayed in contact for about two years. We’d call every Friday—send letters from time to time ....” He paused, biting his lip as the frown took over. “But I stopped responding and answering.”

“Why?”

“It hurt too much,” he admitted, hating the way his heart clenched. “I never said anything because I didn’t want to lose what we had,” he looked to the ground, “but then it just became too overwhelming and I thought if we….if we drifted apart then I eventually could move on.”

Abby is silent, glancing at the picture of him and Y/n before looking back at the necklace, “Wanna hear something, Bob? Something you probably won’t believe, but I promise you it’s more likely than you think?” He looks up from the floor, brow raised slightly.

“What?”

“I think Y/n loves you.”

“Not in the way you think, Abby,” Bob deflects with a shake of the head. “And she definitely doesn’t anymore—she hates me no doubt.”

“No, listen to me,” she closes the album, setting it aside. “When did you two stop talking?”

“Around fall of 2003,” he tells her, look of regret in his visage, “in 2004 was the last time she phoned the house.”

Abby thinks back in her research of the band, shoulders dropping slightly, “That’s when they got signed to Capitol Records. ‘Payphone’ and ‘Iris’ came out last year, but Y/n said in an interview she wrote them the night they were signed—which had people confused because they’re sad songs that were written on a night that was supposed to be happy. Don’t you see?” She waves her hand at his now confused gaze, making her huff. “She probably had called your house hoping to tell you the news! Anyone who hears those songs knows it’s about heartbreak. And not the type of heartbreak you get by a friendship disintegrating, Bob. That’s the heartbreak when someone you love with your entire soul hurts you.”

“Abby please,” Bob pleads with her, water lining his eyes. Falling silent the woman leans away, solemn in her expression.

“All I’m saying is she loved you more than you think. And judging by her reaction to you tonight, I think I’m right when I say Y/n would give anything for you to talk to her again…..”

For years Bob thought about what Abby had told him that night they broke up. It kept him up at night especially when The 1985’s came up that day either in conversation or on the radio. There were times he was tempted to write a letter, but life would get crazy with the Navy and then in 2011 he was invited to Top Gun.

Devastated couldn’t even be the right word to describe how Bob felt when it was revealed Y/n had eloped with a Hollywood heartthrob. Not a fan of social media, Bob had just returned back to his squadron after graduating from Top Gun to turn on E! News where they were covering the story.

“Wedding bells are in store for rockstar Y/n L/n of The 1985s and actor Enrique Lorenzo from The Walking Dead. The two have been spotted throughout the year looking cozy at award shows and Lorenzo attending The 1985’s concerts in L.A and Atlanta. An inside source has gotten word the two applied for a marriage license two days ago and earlier this morning had a private ceremony with close friends and family in West Hollywood. Neither has confirmed if they have in fact tied the knot, but I would keep your eyes out. In the meantime, congratulations to the happy couple and we’re looking forward to seeing Y/n’s ring.”

It seemed like all the air had left Bob, turning off the tv in a flash but still pointing the remote as he stood stunned. Then his phone buzzed with messages.

“Honey, just checking in. Call me when you get home,” was from his mom, trying to avoid the obvious elephant and would rather discuss it over the phone.

“Have you heard the news?” Abby wrote. “I’m so sorry, Bob.” He actually appreciated that she wasn’t walking on eggshells. That she was upfront with him. Though it’d been over four years since their breakup, and Abby was now married with children, the two remained friends and often checked in with each other occasionally.

“It was bound to happen some time,” he replied before turning off his phone so he couldn’t receive any more messages.

The rest of the night he was pretty much a walking shell, then as the years went on Bob closed himself off. Hardly did he date, and when he did they only lasted a few months before the girls realized he was not ready for the commitment they were wanting. Some understood, others were more aggressive when spitting out their feelings. Never did he admit why he couldn’t love them the way they wanted. The only people who knew who his heart belonged to were Abby and his family.

2015 Bob was transferred to Lemoore when the news broke that Y/n and Enrique had divorced after nearly four years of marriage, however, they had been secretly separated for almost a year before it was finalized. Cursing mentally, Bob couldn’t help but feel a slight relief—which was completely fucked up knowing Y/n was going through a difficult time and here he was silently celebrating, as though he really had a chance now to make things right.

That should’ve been his sign to call her mother and ask for Y/n’s number, with the hope she’d give it to him. But then Bob felt it was too soon. Her divorce had just been finalized, he didn’t know the exact reason despite the former couple citing irreconcilable differences. Whatever it was, Bob wasn’t sure he wanted to know but at the same time couldn’t help but be curious.

He’d get his answer almost two years later in January of 2017 when he flew home to Montana to celebrate his birthday. It was his 32nd and his mother literally begged him to come home so they could all be together now that Bob’s sister had recently had twins and were there to visit. Wanting to meet his nieces, the WSO relented and booked a flight for the weekend after confirming his leave.

Suspicion filled him with the way his family was acting when he arrived. Almost like they were excited but nervous, which only confused the officer. He was in his service khakis, pulling his cap off when they got inside and removing his windbreaker before setting it on the coat rack.

That’s when he saw the black suitcase in the corner.

“Who’s is that?” He asked with a raised brow, noticing his mother slightly tense. It wasn’t a luggage he recognized as one of theirs, and it was as though it had just been placed there.

And his sister had already unpacked in her old room. So it wasn’t hers.

Blushing, his mother tried to find the right words, “Oh-um, It’s—.”

“It’s mine.”

32 years had gone by in Bob’s life and never did he think he’d experience anything close to cardiac arrest. But hearing Y/n’s voice, so close as though she was behind him, made him think he was about to die right then and there.

Then he turned around, slowly, heart beating so fast it was about to explode from his chest, and she was there. Standing at the end of the staircase in a beautiful black leather dress with matching knee high boots, her hair slicked back into a bun and minimal makeup showcasing her gorgeous face.

She was ethereal. Absolutely breathtaking.

The last time he saw her in person was when they were 22, before that was 16. Here she was a grown woman who’d been through a hell of a life. She looked beyond gorgeous, and Bob felt the heat rise to his cheeks.

Only her gaze was not as warm as the emotions Bob was feeling. Honestly he felt like he could be six feet in the ground with how she was looking at him. Betrayal, heartbreak, anger, but underneath it there was love and hope.

“Hello, Robert.”

He didn’t even know how to react. All he could do was stand there, speechless with his mouth slightly agape. Eventually he just breathed out, “Y/n.”

Stoic, Y/n glanced at his mother, “Mrs. Floyd, could you please give us a moment.”

“Of course,” the older woman nodded, bidding her son a glance, “We’ll all be out on the porch.”

Nodding in thanks, Y/n waited until she and everyone in the house had moved outside before facing Bob again. Chills ran up his arms when she let her eyes trail over his figure, remaining emotionless.

An awkward silence passed, neither really knowing what to say. Bob was hesitant to break it, hoping she would but Y/n just continued to stare at him. Both unable to form the words.

Finally he tried to say, “y-you uhh, wow.” He swore he heard her scoff under her breath.

“Yeah, wow,” her tone broke his heart, but then again Bob couldn’t blame her. After all, he’s the reason they drifted apart. When he didn’t reply, instead glancing to the ground, she scoffed louder, “That’s all you can really say? ‘Wow’? After thirteen years, Robert, all you have to fucking say to me is ‘wow’? No, ‘I’m sorry,’ no ‘I can explain everything.’”

Anxiety rising, Bob sighed which only made her angrier. “Y/n, I-I—.”

She couldn’t stop herself, “Why?” The question haunted her for over a decade. “Why did you just throw me away like trash—a-after everything we’d been through? You owe me the reason why you broke your word to me and made me feel like shit. I have waited and waited for years, Robert, hoping you would call or send a letter but now I’ve had enough so you can’t run away from me now. So start talking.”

“Y/n, I didn’t mean for y-you to feel like that,” he tried to explain, but the words were not the best, causing her to explode.

“How else was it supposed to make me feel!?” She threw her hands out. “That’s how it came off as to me! ‘All always be here for you,’ my ass, Robert. You remember telling me that? It was only two years—two years of us doing so well with the distance—I was even planning on surprising you for fucking Christmas and then it was just gone in the blink of an eye,” snapping her fingers, Y/n emphasized her point. “No explanation, no warning. Nothing to tell me you didn’t want to be friends anymore, having your mom give me excuse after excuse why you wouldn't come to the phone.” She pauses to calm herself, her tone kept rising with each word.

Bob takes the moment to speak, “It’s…Y/n, you have to understand it was never my intention to hurt you,” when she made a sound of, ‘yeah right,’ he rushed out, “Please! I fucked up, I know I did and I’ve regretted every second of it since then—and as much as I wanted to reach out and apologize, explain to why it happened…I just felt so ashamed and then I heard you on the radio,” a sad smile comes to his lips, seeing her stiffen at the mention of her debut. “And when I heard your voice, I just thought that was it. You didn’t need me anymore and believed you would forget about me eventually.”

“Forget about you?” Her tone went soft, eyes glistening. “You were my best friend—since we were fucking five, Robert!” He flinched, shame filling his veins. “We did everything together, I shared everything with you. My music—some of which were inspired by the fucking things we did,” the confession had his eyes widened a bit, “You think I would just forget all of that? Thirteen years worth of friendship down the drain? Sorry, but I’m not like you—I wouldn’t just ditch the only person I trusted most in this world because I was starting to become something. Did your mom tell you I called?” She suddenly asked, not letting him answer before she was ranting again, “It was almost a year after you threw me to the winds. The night I fucking met with Capitol Records and got offered the opportunity of a lifetime….I wanted to share that with you. Despite the fact we hadn’t talked for almost a goddamn year, I desperately wanted to hear your voice and tell you I did it,” her voice cracked at the end, causing tears to prick in Bob’s eyes at the sight she was fighting back her own.

“That I did it,” Y/n held back the sob threatening to escape. “You were the only one who believed in me, and I couldn’t even share that with you. Because you didn’t want me in your life anymore—and you know what that’s okay. Friendships come and go, but you couldn’t even give me the fucking respect to tell me. And then you come to my show!” Now she was shouting, “Yeah I know that was you, don’t even try to deny it. It may have been four years at that time but I know damn well that was you in New York. I cannot fucking believe you would come to my show and not even tell me! And then to not reach out after was a fucking slap to my face.” Her breathing was starting to get heavy, the woman pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t even recognize you honestly. The Robert I knew would’ve never hurt me like you did. He would’ve at least shown me some respect. He wouldn't leave me to wonder what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said sternly.

“Well it doesn’t feel that way now does it?” She said just as harsh, “Why?”

“Y/n, it’s complicated,” he put his hands to his neck, looking at the ceiling as he started to lose composure.

“Then tell me why!”

“Because I fucking love you that’s why!”

The words had left Bob’s mouth before he could stop himself. Silence ignited, the WSO covering his mouth with a hand as he went pale, staring at Y/n whose own mouth was parted. The confession had hit her full blast, causing her to stumble back as though she physically felt them possess her. A shaky hand came to her own mouth, looking away from the man when her eyes closed allowing the tears to spill on her cheeks.

“I love you,” Bob whispered, mirroring her expression. “I’ve loved you since we were fifteen, Y/n. I knew I felt something when we were twelve, but I just brushed it off thinking I was confused. But then I couldn’t stop thinking about you—and what we could have. But I didn’t want to lose you if you didn’t feel the same.” Opening his eyes, they locked on hers. God even when she cried she looked beautiful. “When you left…I thought it would be easier to move on. But then we talked every week and the feelings wouldn’t go away. No matter how much I tried. You took my heart with you to L.A. and you’ve had it ever since.”

He waited for her to respond, chest on fire with how bad his heart was racing. Fingertips were going numb as Bob stared at her with pleading eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t go back in time and change it as much as I wish I could. Please know, Y/n, I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so fucking sorry for hurting you. I won’t ask for your forgiveness because I don’t deserve it. I won’t blame you if you walk out that door and we never see each other again. But just when you do, know that I’m truly, deeply, sorry.”

Time seemed to slow now with the two adults staring at each other. Now that it was all out in the open, Y/n seemed to be processing the whole thing. Bob couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Unbeknownst to him, Y/n’s brain was screaming, as was her heart. Lips quivering, the woman sniffed.

“You love me?”

“I do,” Bob signed after a moment. He no longer could keep it in, feeling the immense relief at being able to finally say it aloud.

“For years?”

“Almost seventeen.”

“Seventeen,” she repeated with an unreadable tone. “Y-you, I thought—your mom told me you were engaged.”

“That was in college,” he explained softly. “She was at the show with me that night. Saw how we reacted to each other and realized things I tried to hide. I ended things with her—I couldn’t trap her in a marriage that would make her unhappy—make me unhappy. She understood after a while and we stayed friends.” Bob rubbed his jaw, adding, “everyone else that came along was the same. I couldn’t love them the way they wanted me to. My heart wouldn’t allow it.”

Y/n leaned her head against the wall behind her, gazing at the ceiling, “A-and you were just going to go through life alone? Never planning to settle or be happy?”

“What good would it be hurting someone by committing to them when I couldn’t offer everything they would give me in return. They could love me, but I couldn’t love them, Y/n, and that’s unfair.” He wiped away a tear that slipped from his eye, no doubt his irises were red, “I’d rather be alone than do that to someone.”

She took a sharp inhale at that, more tears falling. “You should’ve told me,” her voice cracked, making him look away. Only to freeze when she said in almost a whisper, “Because we could’ve had all this time.”

“Wh-what?” Was his mind playing tricks on him? Or did she really just say what he thought she did?

Y/n chuckled, but it was more of laughing at how sad the situation was. Shaking her head, her eyes stayed on her boots as she said, “Did you ever wonder why I rejected Tyler Davies when he asked me to homecoming junior year, insisting I wanted to go with you instead?” Tyler was the quarterback of their high school football team. A senior, who asked Y/n to the dance and became the talk of the school when she said no. Many were jealous she even got his attention, riddled with shock she would reject the star player.

“Because you felt sorry for me I didn’t ask anyone?” He asked like it was obvious, causing her to huff.

“Because I wanted you to ask me,” his heart skipped again, “And whenever Melinda Perry would flirt with you in government I would literally send her daggers because of how jealous I was. Why do you think I warned you not to go out with her when you asked for my advice? Yeah I knew she was a snake to most of her boyfriends, but I was also selfish because I didn’t want you dating someone else. God, Robby, you were so blind. Even with your glasses you still couldn’t see that I loved you.” It was though he was on cloud 9, disbelief at what he was hearing.

Y/n loved him. At least she did when they were teenagers.

The next question couldn’t even form in his mind before she was lifting her head back up, shrugging when allowing the confession to fall from her lips. “And as much as I want to hate you right, I can’t bring myself to. Because I’m still hopelessly in love with you, Robby.”

Now he was the one stumbling back. “Y-you do?”

“I do. I’ve loved you since I was sixteen.”

He didn’t recall much that happened after that. Just that his feet were carrying him over to her, cupping her face in his hands and moving their faces close together. Lips just barely brushing over, he waited for her to make the next move. Y/n wasted no time, pressing her mouth to his and the two felt the eruption of warmth and love consume their bodies. Her arms around his neck, her fingers ran through his blonde hair causing Bob to groan. The sound made her gasp, allowing Bob to slip his tongue past her lips and heat up the kiss.

“I love you,” he whispered against her lips, bringing them back together.

“I love you too.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” His arms went to cradle her, pressing her against the wall. She simply nodded before kissing him back, “I forgive you, Robby.” God he missed that name. Only she could make him feel some type of way when she said it. He chuckled when she added, “Even though I should slap the fuck out of you.”

It was a miracle they made it up the stairs and into his childhood bedroom which was now a guest room. He had to remember to lock the door after setting her on the bed, praying to God his family would stay outside. There was music playing from what he could hear through the window so it made things easier when the two got lost in each other.

Clothes scattered the floor, kisses and hushed whispers shared between the two. Bob worshiped Y/n, letting his mouth kiss along every inch of her, trailing down any tattoos that coated her skin and paying extra attention in the places that brought her the most pleasure.

When he entered her they both sighed in bliss, moving as one until they reached a climax that brought them both to tears. All the time Bob whispered how much he loved her, Y/n repeating it each time. She moaned with each thrust and whenever she pleaded with him to do something Bob delivered it without hesitation. With her leg over his shoulder, chests pressed and mouths attached together the officer believed if he died right there it would be with a smile on his face. They came together, Y/n gasping his name as he eased them through their climax. When it was over Bob leaned down to capture her lips, wiping away her tears before removing himself to clean her. They basked in the afterglow, Y/n laying her head on his chest while he lightly traced the tattoos on her arm with his finger.

“Can I ask you something?” He asked, making her humm in response. “Enrique…”

The woman made a sound, lifting her head to gaze at him. “Enrique and I had been friends for some time—and we did drunkenly hook up once to get the sexual tension out of the way but that was it,” Bob controlled his reaction, though he couldn't say anything for he too had his fair share of one night stands. “The band’s contract was renewed and The Walking Dead was just starting out. The label and his producers thought it was a good idea for us to be seen together. Just to bring in some press for our upcoming album and the show. But we never felt anything more than friends for each other.”

Bob sat up a bit, causing her to lean on her elbows as she rested on her stomach. His expression was unreadable, “but you two were married.” Again Y/n let out a sigh.

“Enrique and I were friends so we shared things. He confided in me, I confided in him—Enrique was in love with someone who he couldn’t have. Ring a bell?” She raised a brow at him. “I was in the same boat. Just like how you said you couldn’t bring yourself to love anyone else, I couldn’t either. But at the time I thought you were married, Robby.” That had his eyes widened. “I called your mom after the concert that night, hoping to get to you and she told me you were engaged. So when I met Enrique and we both were going through the same thing, we thought ‘instead of being miserable alone, let’s be miserable together.’ Our publicists hated the idea, but we both believed we wouldn’t get our fairytale ending.”

Something in the way she said that last sentence had Bob think about Enrique Lorenzo. Most recently it was revealed he was in a relationship with fellow costar Simon Zahir, coming out as bisexual to the world with an instagram post of the two sharing a kiss.

“So you married him even though you didn’t love him?” Kinda like how he almost did with Abby. It made Bob frown thinking about it.

“I did love him, just not the way a wife should love their husband. And he understood because he couldn’t love me the way a husband would their wife,” she sadly smiled, “It was a mutual understanding where we would go and support each other at premiers and award shows, kiss for the cameras, all that was needed to show the media we were a happy couple. But behind closed doors we actually lived separately.”

Hesitant to ask, Bob waited a moment before saying what was on his mind the last couple years. “What made you two divorce?” The question made her give a small smile.

“Simon confessed to Enrique he loved him after they finished filming season four, and that he and his wife were divorcing. When Enrique told me… I could just see the hope in his eyes, and who was I to deny him his chance at happiness just because I didn’t want to be alone. It would have been selfish of me to. No, I told him the first thing the next morning we’d file but our publicists called and asked to wait until Simon was divorced before we went through with ours. That’s why we were ‘separated’ for a year,” she put quotes around ‘separated’. “We didn’t want to cite irreconcilable differences since it was a mutual decision, but the lawyers thought that was the best route to go.”

Bringing a hand up to caress her cheek, Bob asked the second question he wanted to know, “What made you come here?” She leaned into his touch, “you said you thought I was married. How did you even get here?” The last question was more due to the fact The 1985’s were currently on tour. It was another reason why he was so shocked to see her there when he arrived.

“We played in Helena last night. After the show I had this feeling I needed to come here, so I called my mom to get your mom’s number. That’s when she told me you were flying in today.” Her face turned to one of guilt, “I sorta feel like a bitch because tomorrow is your birthday and I came here knowing there would likely be an argument. Even though I thought you were married, I just really wanted to know the truth. It was eating me up. And with that feeling I needed to come here again after so many years, it sorta felt like a sign—if you can call it that.”

Leaning more into his hand, Y/n added, “I didn’t come with the intentions of winning you over or anything—especially under the impression you were married. I wanted answers, that was all. Although,” she kisses his wrist, “I’m not complaining with how things turned out.”

“Me either,” he agreed with a laugh. As he moved in to kiss her, a knock on the door interrupted causing the two to look like deer in headlights.

“If you two are presentable,” it was his sister, “then we’d be happy if y’all joined us for dinner sometime soon. But by all means, take your time.” She ended with a cheeky laugh before footsteps indicated she had walked away.

Bob let his head fall back into the pillow with a groan while Y/n giggled. She went to get up, but the man wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled into her neck. “I’ve waited too long for this.” Humming, he felt her hands go to his air, maneuvering them so he was on top of her.

Y/n gasped at the feeling of him becoming hard again, causing Bob to smirk as she wrapped her legs around him to offer assistance. “Me too, baby. Me too.”

In the haze of it all and as the weeks passed, the two began to live the life they dreamed of with each other. Neither realized they had forgotten protection that night….until Y/n was puking on the tour bus and counted the days since her last period.

“Look at me,” Bob held her hands. They sat in her hotel room in Sacramento, the band finishing out their tour in California before setting to work on their next album. When she called him that morning about her possibly being pregnant Bob got in his car and drove straight there. Thankfully it was a Saturday so he was off and had great timing. Pepper was kind enough to give her a spare pregnancy test she had on her, so Y/n waited until Bob arrived to take it.

Relieving herself on the stick, she kept it in the bathroom to wait for the results while she sat with him on the bed. She was crying, unsure how to feel. Part of her was excited at the idea of being pregnant and having a baby with Bob, but also feared it was too soon. They had just started dating, she was on tour until the end of the month, and they had been keeping their relationship quiet from the public so she was scared of what could happen.

For the WSO, he was going to be happy regardless of the outcome. “Look at me, Y/n. Everything is going to be okay. I am not leaving you—I swear to you, baby. If that says positive, then believe me when I say I will be the happiest man alive,” she whimpered, making him press kisses her cheek lovingly, “We’ll get through it together. You’re gonna be done with the tour in a few weeks and then we can take it from there. And if it’s negative then that’s completely okay too.”

When the results did come, the stick reading in small letters pregnant, the couple cried together with Bob pulling Y/n into his lap. “I love you—I love you,” he kissed all over her face, her cries turning into giggles. “It’s going to be okay, Y/n. I’m so happy, darlin’. So so happy. I want nothing more in this world than to have a baby with you. You’re going to be the best momma ever. I know it.”

October of 2017 brought Marcel Brandon Floyd into the world. Keeping her pregnancy a secret, no one besides the band and their families had knowledge of the birth of their son. Thankfully Bob’s identity was still hidden, both very careful to not let paparazzi catch them together. Especially with Y/n being pregnant they didn’t want to add on the stress of the media discovering their relationship. They planned to announce it on their own at some point once the baby had arrived.

It wasn’t until Marcel was roughly a month old that Y/n posted an Instagram picture with his tiny hand wrapped around her finger, ‘my world has arrived 🤍 10.20.17.’ The announcement had Y/n trending #1 on Twitter and talk show hosts calling to have her on the show. Y/n declined, she only really made television appearances with the band if they were performing, but that was only when they released new music.

Around the holidays was when Bob proposed. They were sitting by the fire, Y/n in his lap with Marcel in her arms when Bob simply said, “Marry me.”

At first she thought he was joking, but then he removed a velvet box from his pocket. Her eyes watered, “Are you serious?”

“More than I’ve ever been. You’re my person, baby. I’ve waited for this moment my whole life—and I won’t waste another second. Marry me, Y/n. Be my wife and I promise to love you even after death.”

He truly meant it when he said he didn’t want to waste another second. After she said yes, they put Marcel to bed and Bob made an appointment at the courthouse, both agreeing to get legally married and wait for a big ceremony some other time. They made love all through the night until the sun rose. In the morning the little family and the band gathered in the courthouse and tied the knot.

Y/n already knew the media was going to have stuff to say about her when the news broke. This was her second marriage, also happening in the spur of the moment like her first one. Only this time around it was with her soulmate so the rockstar couldn’t give a fuck what they had to say. She and Bob were coming up on a year, had a child, and planned to spend every second of their lives together. She loved him with every ounce of her being.

On instagram the picture posted was of their rings followed by one of them kissing where his face was hidden. “I’ve been keeping a secret from all of you. In January I reunited with my childhood best friend, who I was in love with way before The 1985’s were even thought of. Things happened in life causing us to drift apart, but we recently found our way back to each other and I plan to never let him go. He is my second half. The person I was meant to grow old with. I can’t put into words how happy I am and with the birth of our son, our little fairytale seems to be working out. Some of you may think this is all too fast but let me tell you this, we’ve waited a long time for this moment. I ask that you please respect our privacy and thank you to all who have supported me over the years. Much love, Y/n ♥️”

For almost two years the two kept their relationship under wraps from the media. Then in October of 2019, just before Marcel’s birthday Bob was called back to Top Gun. It’d been several years since he graduated from the program, surprised they even wanted him for the mission. With how timing was the WSO would have to report to Fightertown a couple days after his son turned two. Y/n had a beach house in San Diego, deciding her and Marcel would stay there while Bob was in his detachment and what made it better was Xavier and Farrah—who fell in love over the course of their years as a band— were both from San Diego, both currently there while the band took a small break. Bob would have to stay on base with candidates, but after training ended he’d come to the house to be with them.

Pepper and Thomas were back in L.A, but we’re working on beats for their upcoming album and sending the three what they had for them to add on or scrap if they felt it didn’t fit. They had a meeting with the two Zoom with Xavier and Farrah and their two young kids at Y/n’s place the day she got the call Bob was in an accident.

“Hello?” She answered the phone, moving to the side away from where Xavier was drumming. Marcel was in his little playpen, a pair of baby earmuffs over his ears to protect them from the loud noise.

“Hi….” The guy on the opposite end let out a soft chuckle. “I’m looking for uh, Y/n L/n?” His tone was that of someone who found it funny he was asking for someone he definitely thought wouldn’t be on the other end of the phone. Like he saw the name on the card and said, “there’s no fucking way this is the guy married to Y/n L/n,” but because of his job he had to call the number anyway.

“This is her. Who am I speaking to?”

The man went silent for a moment, before clearing his throat. “This is Lieutenant Royce from NAS Miramar medical group,” Y/n’s heart picked up as dread filled her, “Can you confirm you are the spouse of Lieutenant Robert Floyd.”

“Yes,” she rushed out. “I am. Is he okay? Did something happen?” Closing her eyes, she prayed she wasn’t about to receive the worst news imaginable. No, Bob had to be okay.

“There was an accident with his F-18 this afternoon, he had to eject—.”

“Excuse me one second,” she apologized before bringing the phone back slightly to yell at the drummer, “Xavier! Stop drumming for five seconds—I need to fucking hear right now!” The man winced as he mouthed, ‘sorry’ catching the ashen look on her face. Both he and Farrah set aside their instruments, watching Y/n turn away to speak again, this time more calmly. “Please repeat that for me, Lieutenant.”

When Royce heard the name of The 1985’s drummer being shouted at, the Lieutenant nearly forgot what he was calling for, “U-uh, yes. There was an emergency ejection in your husband’s F-18 this afternoon during training. He is okay minus a few bruises, but he will be staying overnight in our facility for observation.”

“Oh my gosh, okay,” she breathed in relief, bringing a hand to her mouth to calm herself. “Is there any way I can see him?”

“Do you have a dependent ID card?” She tells him yes and he says with a light cough, “Then yes you can come onto base and see him.” Royce gave the address, still finding it hard to believe he may have been talking with the frontwoman of the most popular rock band in the last 15 years. He really thought it was just someone who shared a name with her. But then again, they sounded very alike.

Thanking the officer, Y/n wrote down the address and rushed to grab her purse. “I have to go to base—something happened with Bob. Can you guys watch Marcel until I get back?”

“Of course,” Farrah told her, “go go, we’ll stay here and clean everything up.”

Practically speeding onto base, it was the first time she ever had to use her military ID, which had the guard at the front gate jaw drop. He maintained professionalism, scanning her card and nodding to the rockstar. As much as he wanted to ask for a photo the guy could tell she was in distress and it wasn’t a good idea. “Have a good day, Ms. L/n.”

“Thank you, sir. You too.” She waved apologetically, recognizing the look she often got from fans. Had the situation been different she would’ve happily chatted a little longer.

It was the same when she got to the infirmary. The receptionist, who looked to be in her mid twenties, dropped the apple in her hand while other young servicemen were doing double takes and whispering. “That’s fucking Y/n L/n.” “Are you sure?” “I’m serious! I had a huge crush on her in college. I’d recognize her anywhere.”

“Hi,” she offered a small smile, aware the guy to her left had his phone out trying to sneak a picture, likely tweeting the fact she was in a Navy hospital. “I’m looking for my husband, Lieutenant Robert Floyd. I received a call from a Lieutenant Royce saying he was here.”

Upon hearing his name, the gentlemen seated behind the girl with his back to her spun around, eyes bulging when they landed on Y/n. The chair almost fell when he stood abruptly. “T-that’s me. Yes I’m the one who called you, Ms. L/n. If you would follow me I’ll take you to him.”

“Thank you,” she walked behind him, ignoring the whispers and comments made by those around. By now TMZ probably got tipped off, she could already feel her phone buzzing—no doubt from her publicist wondering what the hell was going on. She made a mental note to call her back later to explain.

Royce knocked gently on the door before opening it, “Lieutenant—oh you have visitors I apologize,” he glanced over his shoulder to Y/n, still in disbelief on what he was about to say. Turning back to Bob, Royce gives a nod, “your wife is here.”

“She is?” Y/n heard Bob, and some murmurs of voices going, “Wife?” “When the hell did he get married?”

Pushing past Royce, thanking him briefly, Y/n entered the room only to stop short at the several pairs of eyes landing on her. Off to the side she saw a man with a buzz cut drop his bag of chips, choking on the one in his mouth, “What. the. fuck.”

The two standing in front of the bed—mouths agape—parted away allowing Y/n to see Bob sitting with his flight suit unzipped and tied around his waist. Exhaling in utter relief the woman rushes to him, throwing her arms around his neck. “Oh, Robby.” She felt his arms go to her waist, pulling her closer as she hid her face in his neck. Y/n could literally cry with how happy she was to see him in one piece.

“I’m okay, darlin’.” He rubbed her back, aware his fellow aviators were staring at them with mixed expressions. They looked confused, disbelieved, shocked, and in awe.

The quiet, reserved, yet sometimes sassy WSO is married to the woman who's been ruling the radio over the last decade.

Who had seven fucking Grammy’s under her band’s name.

Pulling away, Y/n ran her hands along his shoulders, checking for any visible wounds. “What happened? Lieutenant Royce told me you had to eject?”

“There was a bird strike,” he explained, taking her hands and soothing them with his thumbs. “We lost both engines—Phoenix tried to get back control but we were going too fast and couldn’t save the jet. Had to eject at the last second—we’re okay though, I promise. Just a little shaken.”

“Thank God you’re alright,” she sniffed, hugging him again while kissing his cheek. “Leave it to you getting in an accident that makes me use my ID for the first time.”

“How was that?”

“Interesting. I was tempted to run the gate because I had no patience, but controlled myself. Getting arrested would not have been good.”

“No it wouldn’t,” he chuckled, pressing his lips to her forehead.

The clearing of someone’s throat ended the moment, Y/n removing herself from Bob to face the group of aviators who were still speechless by the scene. Smiling shyly, Y/n took in each of them. “Hello, I’m Y/n.”

“Oh we know who you are,” Fanboy said with awe, groaning when Payback smacked his shoulder with a disapproving look. “Sorry that was not the best thing to say. What I-I meant was we’re all fans of your work.”

“And by that he means we were all jamming to your music on the tarmac just yesterday, not understanding why Bobby here looked so smug when Seresin said he could totally get a shot with you if he ever got the chance,” Rooster added on, resulting in the blonde pilot to glare at him before blushing when the others started to laugh.

“Well now I sure as hell won’t try—I’m not that shallow to hit on a married woman, Bradshaw. Made that mistake ages ago and it was not pretty. Anyways, sorry Bob for what I said,” he held a hand up, “but let me be the first to say what a fucking G you are. And Y/n, it’s an honor to be in your presence. Big fan.”

Y/n raised a brow, smirking to her husband to see his reaction. He sure did look smug, keeping his arm around her waist. “A fucking G, huh?”

“He’s the one who said it,” he smiles before noticing she was alone when she arrived, “Where’s Marcel?”

“With Xav and Farrah. They were at the house when I got the call—we were working on some songs.” In the corner of her eye she saw Coyote and Fanboy visibly react to the mention of her bandmates.

“Forgive me for asking,” Phoenix finally spoke from her bed that was seated right next to Bob’s. “But weren’t you two childhood best friends if I’m not mistaken? Sorry if it’s too personal, but I remember seeing your post on instagram two years ago and I thought it said something like that.”

The couple smiled, confirming her wonders. “Yeah,” Bob looked at Y/n with love in his eyes. “We grew up together. Took a hell of a long time before we could get our chance at love, but it was worth the wait.”

For almost an hour the aviators learned more about Y/n and Bob’s relationship, literally saying it should be a romance novel with what life threw at them. The hopeless romantic in Phoenix couldn’t help but awe, feeling so much happiness for her backseater and the rockstar she’d been listening to since sixteen. They truly were the ultimate love story.

When it came time for the mission with Bob and Phoenix selected as one of two foxtrot teams, Y/n held onto him the entire night prior to him shipping out. He made love to her for hours, very slow and sensual ensuring she felt every inch of him. And when they climaxed a tear spilled from her eyes, “You better come home to me.”

He kept a picture of her and Marcel in his pocket the entire time. Before the jet took off of the carrier Bob gave it a small kiss before keeping it safe in his flight suit. The second they got back after successfully completing the mission he called his wife to tell her he was coming home. She practically catapulted into his arms when she picked him up from the docks, not giving a shit that the paparazzi had followed her there. By now the whole world knew who Bob was to her.

The rest of 2019 seemed to go by in a blur. They first thought 2020 would be the best year of their lives when it was discovered Y/n was pregnant again, having conceived the night Bob had left for his mission. She was just at the end of her first trimester when the entire globe shut down. When the rumors spread of a possible pandemic with the outbreak happening across the ocean, the 1985’s all took up camp in San Diego now that Bob had become an instructor with Phoenix at Top Gun. Thomas and his fiancé, who was an actress, didn’t mind moving, neither did Pepper and her girlfriend. The group were working on their sixth studio album and had celebrated 15 years as a group.

But they were starting to get burnt out, thinking it was time to go on hiatus.

Concerned with the virus and what it could have on her pregnancy, the two were very strict on keeping up with covid restriction. For at least three months Bob was working from home, the base shutting down with only certain personnel allowed on. Marcel was still too young to be in pre-school and daycare wasn’t needed since Y/n was home most days. And when she did have business meetings to attend or studio sessions he often traveled with her. Zoom became their best friend during the lockdown, with meetings happening frequently at the beginning to figure out what they were going to do going forward.

Y/n spent weeks going through what were the best records to put on the album. If this was going to be their last for a while then she wanted it to be their best. Two songs she knew she wanted were ‘Pompeii’ and ‘Little Black Dress’, while the other 13 were going to take time to decide. ‘Pompeii’ could definitely have people relate with how this lockdown was making them feel. On the other hand, ‘Little Black Dress’ was mostly for her, inspired by the time Bob went absolutely feral when she walked into the room wearing a little black dress.

It was one of her favorite memories.

And so the months went on and before they knew it they were welcoming a baby girl in July—right smack in the middle of a pandemic. The whole ordeal was unlike anything they ever imagined. Only Bob was allowed in the room, not even their son could come visit so little Marcel didn’t even get to meet his sister until days later. He was with Y/n’s mother who traveled down from L.A and quarantined in the weeks leading to her due date. Y/n hated hospitals, looking forward to bringing their daughter Brenda Rose home. Unfortunately no one else in their family or friends could meet the baby girl until spring of 2021 when things were starting to settle out.

That was also when The 1985s made the decision to go on hiatus, planning to release their album that summer before going on a final tour in 2022.

“This just in, pop rock group ,The 1985s, have announced a hiatus following the release of their upcoming album End of An Era set to drop at the end July. Frontwoman, Y/n L/n, posted on her Twitter a photo of the group in a sweet embrace with the caption, ‘when one chapter ends, another begins. Join us in 2022 as we say goodbye to the stage—thank you to everyone who has supported us since we were kids on MySpace. We hope to see you as we close this chapter in our lives, but don’t worry, the future can always surprise you. In the meantime, as Elvis would say, ‘The 1985s have left the building.’”

“It’s a sad day for fans of Grammy award winning rock band The 1985s. Earlier it was announced they are going on an indefinite hiatus once completing their impending world tour for their sixth studio album. Formed in 2003, the 1985s skyrocketed to the Billboard charts after debuting with their single ‘1985’ in 2005, going on to dominate the late 2000s and early 2010s with features on The Twilight Saga: Eclipse soundtrack, the 25th anniversary of We Are The World to raise charity for the Haiti earthquake, and accumulating a total of seven Grammys including taking home the big three: ‘Record of The Year,’ ‘Song of The Year,’ and ‘Album of The Year’ in 2008 for their second studio album Sugar, Spice, and A Little Bit of Rock ‘N’ Roll. The announcement of the hiatus has succeeded the news of bassist Thomas Quinn tying the knot with longtime girlfriend, Oscar Winner Amelia Bandera, who recently revealed she was pregnant with the couple’s first child. Last year frontwoman Y/n L/n welcomed a daughter with her husband—the couple’s second child since they wed in a private ceremony in 2017. And word on the street is keyboardist Pepper Renolyds is looking to adopt with partner Jenna Langdon. The married pair of the band, Xavier and Farrah Hernandez have had two children following their wedding in 2010 and have hinted at possibly wanting to have a third. It is unsure when the group is likely to regroup after 2022 comes to an end, but one thing is for sure: The 1985s have embedded their name as one of the bestselling groups of the 21st century. I’d say we could be looking at a possible induction to the Rock ‘N’ Roll Hall of Fame in the future, and a Star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.”

Now here they were, November of 2022 at Madison Square Garden to take the stage one last time. Would they ever come back? Probably, but it would be some time before they did.

So they were gonna go out with a bang.

“I have twenty minutes until my ass needs to be on stage, Robby,” Y/n mumbled between kisses, back pressed against the door of her dressing room. His mouth went to her neck, roaming his hands all over her body that was covered in her usual leather, “That’s plenty of time.” The response had her giggle, moaning when he attacked her sweet spot making him smirk.

“Then you better do double time…we’re on the clock.”

Her glam team was going to be pissed when she came out with messy hair, glistening of sweat, and slightly smudged makeup, but she didn’t care. Not when her husband was rocking her world as he had her bent over the couch. His chest pressed to her back and hair in his fist, whispering absolute filth into her ear—saying he was going to have her on stage full of him and only he would know. But Bob also gave words of praise and love.

It wasn’t the first time he snuck backstage to rile her up before a concert. When they started the American leg of the tour in California he was at almost every show and would bring her flowers. Sometimes the kids came along, other times they stayed with Phoenix, but each time Bob would either get her pent up by teasing her as the minutes counted down…or would full on rail her. He'd be lying if he said he didn’t get off on the thrill of almost getting caught….or the fact anyone passing the dressing room could figure out what they were making their own music.

This time around in The Garden their kids were with Phoenix and Rooster, who were all waiting to get to their spots on the floor after wishing her and the band good luck. The others were already there, ready to have the time of their lives with the sold out arena. Bob needed to hurry because the stage manager was going to be knocking on her door any second.

They finished with minutes to spare, out of breath and panting with a light layer of sweat coating Y/n. Fuck she looked sexy in her leather and messed up hair, glistening as the light hit her. A smug look took over Bob, winking at his wife who just shook her head with a smile, “I’m gonna miss that now that the tour is over.”

“Don’t worry, baby. We still got after party.”

The rockstar ushered him out when the stage manager appeared, the aviator delivering a smack to her ass as he told her good luck. She smacked his in return causing him to yelp, “Naughty boy.”

Yeah he got some looks from his fellow officers when they got to the floor, Jake whistling under his breath as he went to check his watch. “Jesus Bob, you two were at it for a while. Were you trying to go for baby number three? I hope she’s able to walk on stage.” The comment had Phoenix slap his shoulder, “Can you not? We have kids with us,” she gestured to not only Bob’s children but also Payback's ten year old son and Hondo’s seven year old daughter. Then there was Mickey’s girlfriend carrying their toddler with baby earmuffs, the same Brenda and Marcel were wearing. “My bad,” Jake said, though the smirk remained on his face when Bob sent him a wink.

When the show started it was the most amazing thing any of the squad had witnessed. Some of them had seen the band in their college days, but it was obvious they were gonna top what they did ten years ago. There was a light rumble to Madison Square Garden with how loud it was. Flashing lights and smoke covered the stage, the countdown with a video montage hitting zero before The 1985’s opened with ‘Where Do Broken Hearts Go,’ sending everyone who was still sitting on their feet. Bob put Brenda on his shoulders, Rooster doing the same with Marcel who were clapping and pointing to their mother, “Mommy!”

“Now, I’m searching every lonely place,” Y/n belted out the first line of the chorus, moving down the stage’s elongated platform that split the floor. “Every corner calling out your name. Tryna find you, but I just don’t know.” Xavier hit the drums with Farrah’s riff, Y/n holding a hand to chest, “Where do broken hearts go?”

“Are you sleeping, baby, by yourself? Or are you giving it to someone else? Tryna find you, but I just don’t know,” Pepper and Thomas joined the vocals, “Where do broken hearts go? Where do broken hearts go?”

When the song came to an end, Y/n let the audience scream for a moment before introducing the band. “Madison Square Garden!! New York City!!” The crowd screamed again, smiles on every member. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, theys and thems and anyone in between…. welcome to the ‘End of An Era’ world tour—our final show as we close out an actual end of an era,” Y/n moves closer to her friends with a sad laugh, hearing the sounds of protest from some fans.

“Let’s start off by introducing ourselves…..Mr. Thomas Quinn on the bass!” Tom hits some chords against the audience’s cheers, Y/n doing a little dance off to the side. “Miss. Pepper Reynolds on keys everyone!” The former pianist lets her fingers move along the keys, grinning wide and waving when she finishes. “Show me what you can do, Ms. Farrah Cortez,” the guitar solo sends the crowd into a frenzy, which only increases when Y/n introduces Xavier. “And last but not least, Mr. Farrah Cortez,” laughter rings out before she corrects herself, “I meant Mr. Xavier Hernandez,” the drums go crazy when his last name leaves her lips. She waits till he’s finished to do a bow.

“And I’m Y/n L/n,” she has to pull her mic away to hide her laugh, cheers ringing from every corner in the sold out stadium. “And we’re The 1985s.”

The energy throughout the concert was insane. Even during intermission and 5-minute breaks the audience was having a blast. The dagger squad, plus Hondo and even Maverick were dancing and singing along—the older man getting a literal PowerPoint lesson from his former students on everything there was to know about the group.

Y/n was very entertained when Bob told her that night, saying Maverick aced his test they’d given him. “You gave your old instructor, the famous Captain Mitchell….a test on our band and music? And he got a 100%?” His little nod and smile had Y/n jump in his arms, kissing all over his face, “You’re so fucking adorable, Robby. I love you so much.”

The first part of the show was mostly dedicated to songs on their most recent album, including ‘Pompeii’ and ‘Little Black Dress’. The latter had Bob blushing mad during the set, especially when Y/n came over to where they were at, eyes on him and curing a finger to get him to come to the edge of the floor. There the stadium exploded when she practically laid on the platform to lean over and kiss him, the cameras catching the scene to display on the giant screens.

Blowing kisses to her kids, she got back up and finished the song, smirking at how the dagger squad were whistling and howling in cheers. “Sorry I couldn’t help myself,” she giggled, moving back to her bandmates to prepare for the next set.

Though the tour mainly focused on their songs from their latest work, they called back to some old hits, including ‘Let’s Get Lost,’ which was written for the third Twilight movie soundtrack. “We got any Twilight fans here tonight?” Y/n chuckled at the screams, “I got one thing to ask then….Team Edward or Jacob?”

‘Some Nights’ was one of her favorites to perform, feeling a wave of nostalgia each time she did. It was a fan favorite as it was their second single ever released. The band harmonized on the track, all of them showing off their vocals with the ‘Oh come on,’ part of the song.

Y/n was hesitant to sing ‘Iris’ and ‘Payphone,’ considering they were about her husband, but he assured her when they were planning the tour set list that he wouldn’t be offended. They were some of her greatest works, the audience should hear them.

They even covered the iconic, ‘Don’t You Forget About Me,’ from the Simple Minds—most notably from the movie The Breakfast Club. “I hope you never forget about us, New York,” Y/n said when they finished, “Cause we’ll never forget you.”

Finally they were coming down to the final ten minutes and they had yet to play the song that started it all. “As we come to the end of tonight’s show, we just wanna thank each and every one of you for the support and love you have shown us tonight and through the years. None of this would’ve happened without you all—and we cannot thank you enough for sticking by us, you all play a giant role in what we do. And we’re going to miss you the most as we close this chapter in our lives,” Y/n pauses, feeling the tears prick her eyes. Glancing at her friends, she could see they were fighting back their own. They knew it would be an emotional night, and now they were minutes away from stepping off the stage for the final time.

“We started this journey when we were only seventeen and eighteen—and it’s been a hell of a ride since. Next year marks twenty years since we became The 1985s, seventeen since we made our radio debut, back when MySpace was still a thing,” she has to laugh at that, “What better way to end this tour—end this chapter, than by traveling back in time to the year that started it all.”

The reaction in the dome had little Brenda have to cover her hands over her muffs because it was so loud, Bob holding her on his hip and asking if she was alright. “Loud,” she said in her small voice, causing him to mentally awe.

“I know, baby, it’s loud. But the show is almost over and then mommy will be done, then we go home. Can you hold on for one more song? It’s your favorite one,” Brenda’s eyes brightened at the mention of her favorite song, nodding frantically making him laugh. “Okay munchkin, I expect to hear you sing along—except don’t say the bad word in it, understood?”

“Yes, dada.”

Phoenix was jumping up and down with Marcel in her arms, head banging with the little boy along with Rooster and Javy. Everyone was in delight, rockin out to the final number. Brenda sang along with Bob, the crowd harmonizing with them.

“She’s seen all the classics,” Y/n belted the second verse, hands moving on her guitar, “She knows every line. Breakfast Club, Pretty In Pink, even St. Elmo’s Fire.”

“She rocked out to Wham, not a big Limp Bizkit fan. Thought she’d get a hand on a member of Duran Duran.”

Her and Farrah were leaning their backs against one another, “Where’s the mini-skirt made of snakeskin? And who’s the other guy that’s singin’ in Van Halen? When did reality become TV? Whatever happened to,” she hit a riff, “sitcoms,” she hit another, “game shows? Sing it!”

The entire squad, the kids, and Madison Square Garden echoed, “ON THE RADIO!”

“Was Springsteen, Madonna. Way before Nirvana there was U2 and Blondie, and music still on MTV. Her two kids in high school, they tell her that she’s uncool. ‘Cause she’s still preoccupied with 19…19…1985!”

Her mini solo before the bridge had the crowd wild. Smiling the entire time, Y/n even went to the side where her friends and family were, making them all go crazy. “She hates time, make it stop. When did Motley Crue become classic rock?”

“Classic rock,” the band repeated.

“And when did Ozzy become an actor? Please make this stop,” Y/n hit a riff, “stop,” another, “stop!” Only the cheers could be heard during the slight pause before Y/n brought her hand back on the chords.

“And bring back Springsteen, Madonna. Way before Nirvana. There was U2 and Blondie, and music still on MTV. Her two kids in high school, they tell her that she’s uncool. ‘Cause she’s still preoccupied—sing it!”

“1985!!!”

“One last time Madison Square Garden!!” Not a single person in them dome didn’t sing along, everyone shouting the final chorus at the top of their lungs.

“Since Bruce Springsteen, Madonna. Way before Nirvana. There was U2 and Blondie, and music still on MTV. Her two kids in high school, they tell her that she’s uncool. But she’s still preoccupied, with 19….19….1985!!!”

All the band members continued playing an extended outro, lights flashing all around as the crowd whistled and screamed. Y/n ran over to each side of the stage before coming to the middle, waving a hand to her band who were still going hard on the instruments before raising it and finally bowing.

On the floor, Brenda still in his arms, Bob wiped away the tears falling from his cheeks with his free hand. His friends were cheering, the entire scene overwhelming for the WSO as he stared at his true love as she took her final bow. Y/n was also crying, as were her friends when they finally closed the show shouting, “Madison Square Garden—New York City we love you! Thank you so much for being here with us and being the best crowd ever. Safe travels wherever you’re going and we hope all your dreams come true. Until we meet again….as Elvis would say, The 1985s have left the building!”

The crowd was still screaming, the five adults coming to the middle of the stage holding hands in the air before bowing. Then they all met in a tearful embrace, Y/n full on sobbing with Farrah and Pepper, overcome with emotion that it was all over. Waving to the crowd, they spotted dozens of fans in their line of vision crying, some even throwing flowers onto the stage. They all went to each side of the platform to blow kisses and wave, until finally walking off into the arms of their crew who’d been with them since 2005–where another heartfelt moment took place.

As soon as their families made it backstage, Y/n was dropping to her knees to allow Brenda and Marcel to run into her open arms. “My babies!!” Peppering kisses against their cheeks, Y/n held them tight as they said words of praise. “You were amazing, mommy!” “That was so fun!”

“Thank you, baby,” she kissed Marcel’s head, looking up to see Bob staring at her with absolute love and admiration. Gently moving him and Brenda to the side, Y/n stood up, only to squeal when Bob’s hands went to her thighs to lift her up, spinning them around.

“You were incredible!” He exclaims, stopping still but still holding her up. Their lips met in a searing kiss, “absolutely spectacular.” Her hands came up to cup his face, deepening the kiss as their children wrapped their arms around Bob’s legs. It was like they were in their own little world, oblivious to everyone celebrating around them. The band were with their kids and partners, the crew were popping off champagne.

“I love you so much, Robby,” she said against his lips, kissing him again when he said, “I love you too, baby. More than anything in this world. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

When they pulled away, Y/n was a flustered mess, mirroring that of Bob who was looking at her like she was a goddess. “Don’t give me that look, Floyd. Not until we get to the hotel.”

“Can’t help myself, darlin’,” he chuckled, adjusting her in his arms before giving her another kiss.

“Eww,” Marcel groaned, making the couple laugh into the kiss. Bob set Y/n down, but pulled her close as Brenda and Marcel squeezed in between them.

“So what’s next then?” Bob whispered in her ear. “I know you can take the girl out of rock n roll…but she’ll always be a rockstar.” Y/n laughed, pulling away to gaze deeply in his beautiful blue eyes that she fell in love with as a teenager.

“Now, we live our lives. One day at a time. Together.”

Y/n really needed to thank her mom one day. It was because of her that the woman got to live her dream. After all, she was the one still preoccupied with 1985.

……….

TGM tag list: @avaleineandafryingpan, @caitsymichelle13, @poppyalice2001, @cutelittlepotatofry, @luckyladycreator2, @americaarse , @elenavampire21

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[deadpresidents]

Was Reagan’s cold demeanor actually a tell-tale sign of his later Alzheimer’s diagnosis?

It's probably impossible to say for sure -- especially by outside observers, but there were some warning signs, particularly in the latter years of his Presidency. President Reagan's youngest son, Ron Reagan, believes that the President was struggling with the early stages of Alzheimer's while he was in office, but Reagan's eldest son, Michael, strongly disagreed and none of Reagan's White House doctors have suggested that he was impaired during his Presidency.

It's important to remember that Reagan was also the oldest President in history up to that time, and he had to overcome several serious health issues as President after his 70th birthday. He was shot and very nearly killed in 1981. He had over two feet of his large intestine surgically removed when he was diagnosed with malignant colon cancer in 1985. And Reagan was also severely nearsighted and had significant hearing loss by the time he was in the White House, and I imagine that both of those afflictions can make it seem like you're not paying attention or standoff-ish.

I also think it's more fair to say that Reagan was "aloof" instead of "cold". The majority of those who had some stories about Reagan's distant personality or odd interpersonal exchanges were clear about the fact that he was never rude and, in fact, quite warm and genial with people. The word that often comes up when describing how he treated people was "gentleman". But there was no depth to those interactions or relationships -- to the point that the absence of real depth or one-on-one relationships was almost shocking to people -- and that's what stood out. But none of those people ever suggested that Reagan was an asshole towards them. There was simply only so far that he would go to get to know someone past surface-level introductions and small talk, and the only person he ever let get truly close to him was his wife, Nancy. As Edmund Morris wrote and talked about over the years in places like that article I quoted recently, Reagan was just an exceedingly weird dude and he was always that way. It didn't start when he got older. He was like that in Hollywood, and it contributed to the failure of his first marriage, with actress Jane Wyman.

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