imsogonesposts

[imsogonesposts]

( ☆ ) . *  hey, pretty-pretty from across the room . . . got somethin' sticky sweet for you !!

f!cheerleader!reader x eddie munson — eddie munson masterlist

starry’s sweets — order #021

ask : “Hey love 🖤 could I have a medium toffee cake with honey topping and chocolate sprinkles 🖤” — @cheesesandwichsanto

summary : eddie munson kind of freaks you out. but you haven’t played dungeons and dragons since you were a little kid and you sort of miss it, so when lucas asks you to fill in the empty spot at their table, you say yes before you can stop yourself.

warnings : possibly mildly inaccurate descriptions of dungeons & dragons rules and structure bc i just went off of how i play 5e rather than researching 1e/AD&D bc why would i do that, they get freakay in the dm's chair, i just dont write them getting freakay in the dm's chair, but i DEFINITELY write them making out sloppy style in the chair so you've been warned, slightly assholish eddie munson, LET IT BE KNOWN THAT READER IS 18. eddie is a super senior </3 so he’s like 19 or 20 READER IS AN ADULT I’M TRYING TO MAKE THIS AS NOT CREEPY AS POSSIBLE

word count : 2.5k

You’re the picture of perfection. All pom poms and ponytails and Blondie and Kate Bush cassettes playing while you giggle with your friends. No boyfriend, because dating anyone who isn’t a basketball player would be social death for you, but most of the guys on the team who are your age suck. Luckily, senior year meant freedom. Only nine months of hell left, and you’d be free.

Despite being all glittery eyeshadow and lipgloss, you have a soft spot for geekier activities. As a child, you’d get handed off to your uncle many times while your parents had date nights to “keep the romance alive,” as they would call it. 

As your uncle would babysit, he’d also show you the stuff he likes. Music like Black Sabbath or Iron Maiden, sending you home in a too-large t-shirt for some metal band that hung like a dress on your 6 year old frame. You didn’t wear these shirts out in public anymore, having replaced them with pastel blouses and flowy dresses. They stayed in your closet though, you wear them to sleep still, and pictures of a child-you in these shirts still pinned on your wall with colorful thumbtacks. 

Sometimes, when you stayed the night with your uncle, he’d have some of his friends over. They’d drink beers and you’d drink sparkling apple cider, while they all taught you how to play Dungeons & Dragons. You’d visit your uncle every other Saturday, unofficially being apart of his D&D table, but you dropped it after middle school. He was disappointed when you broke the news to him, of course, but he understood. You’re a prissy preppy cheerleader now, you had a reputation to uphold.

It’s not like you didn’t miss the hobby, you definitely did. The rolling of dice and the rowdy cheers when someone would finally land the final blow onto the BBEG. But you needed friends your own age, not men in their late thirties that your uncle knew from college, and unfortunately, none of your cheerleader friends or their basketball player boyfriends were into that sort of stuff.

You never thought you’d ever play again. Your pretty sets of dice gifted to you across birthdays and holidays stayed in a jar on your desk. Your old character sheets with your elf bard Princess Cupcake—created 1976, when you were 8 years old, level 10—and your human fighter, Lavinia—created 1979, when you entered middle school and your Shakespeare phase at age 11, level 15—were somewhere in the bottom of a desk drawer, yellowed and wrinkled with age.

But then Lucas Sinclair came up to you while the basketball team and cheer squad were sharing the court for practice after school one day as you’re sitting on the bleachers, drinking water like a lifeline before touching up your lipgloss and neatening your ponytail. He’s a sweet boy, one of the more tolerable ones on the basketball team, but you never really talked, so you give him a slightly confused look as he comes up to you.

“Hey!” he says a bit awkwardly, as if he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“Hm? Can I help you?” you ask, trying for a friendly smile to reassure him you won’t bite.

“So— this might be a weird ask— but I play Dungeons & Dragons with some friends after school and we’re down one person at our table. I feel like you’re the only person here—” he gestures around the two of you at the cheerleaders and jocks around the gym “—that wouldn’t laugh in my face if I asked you to join us, maybe? Just for tomorrow; one of the other guys has a family thing so we’re down a player. Maybe longer if it works out well and you want to. But really, it would just be temporary. A substitute, basically. We’d go easy on you and everything, teach you all the rules and stuff—”

“I know how to play, Lucas,” you interrupt him to say.

“Really? You do?” he asks, looking as if he doesn’t believe you.

“Yeah. Used to play when I was younger. As Princess Cupcake,” you recall. “I won’t be bringing her to the table though, don’t worry. Who’s in this group anyway?”

“A few of my friends, other freshmen, so I don’t think you’d know them. Uh— you know Nancy Wheeler?” You nod in confirmation so he continues, “Yeah, her brother, Mike, that’s one of my friends. And Eddie Munson’s the DM, and a few guys from his band play with us too.”

You snort. “What? The one that makes fun of basketball all the time? Sure, I’d love to play a game with him.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“Isn’t this his third go of senior year?”

Lucas doesn’t answer, instead diverting the conversation. “It’s tomorrow in the auditorium, right after school. Can you come?”

You sigh, grabbing your pom poms and standing. “Sure, why not. But you owe me a soda or something after the game on Saturday.”

“Deal,” he confirms with a nod.

The next day, after school ends and most people stream out to their cars or to their awaiting parents, you instead make your way to the auditorium. You’re not surprised by the fact that it was all boys around the large table, with their minis and pizza and sodas. You sit in an empty chair, between Lucas and the DM himself, setting down your character sheet (a fresh one, a revamped version of Lavinia) and a Tupperware container of homemade cookies.

“Hi,” you say as you sit, not sure how to greet everyone.

“Lucas. This is who you brought to the table?” Eddie asks, sounding almost offended as Lucas just shrugs in response.

“Excuse me, I’m right here,” you say. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, princess,” he pouts mockingly. “I just didn’t think someone as frilly as you could stomach the scary demon game. Forgive me?”

“I’ve been playing the scary demon game since I was a kid,” you tell him. “Princess Cupcake has far been retired now.”

“Yeah? And who are you now?”

“Lavinia Wiltshire. A human noble girl who ran away from her family and arranged marriage and trained instead to fight. Level 15 Fighter, a little homebrewed since I first used her in my uncle’s campaign. Don’t tell me you guys don’t allow some light homebrew,” you mimic Eddie’s pout from earlier. “I brought my own dice.” You set down a wooden box with full sets of shimmery dark purple and green dice.

Eddie doesn’t respond, just stares for a bit before taking your character sheet without asking, prompting a “Hey!” from you.

When he ignores you and just starts reading over your character sheet, you huff and turn to the others. “I brought cookies,” You offer to everyone else. You don’t give one to Eddie.

“These are really good!” a curly-haired boy says, munching down on one of your cookies. “I’m Dustin. Welcome to the table.”

You smile, grateful that at least there are two people there that appreciate your presence. You introduce yourself and get bombarded with names you know you’ll struggle to remember. “Glad you like them, made them myself last night.”

“Don’t I get to have one?” Eddie asks, giving you back your character sheet.

“No,” you answer simply. “Can we play now?”

The session stretches on for hours, and despite you having to ask many of the guys what their names were multiple times over, you felt like you were right back home again. Rather, instead of sparkling cider in your hand, it was a can of room-temperature Coke. And instead of a little girl squealing “Yay!” as her sparkly pink d20 lands on a twenty, it’s you and a bunch of teenage boys cheering as you shout “Fuck yeah, Nat20!” as your hand slams onto the table in victory.

You roll your damage and hear the sweet sound of the DM asking you “How do you kill him?”

“I sneak up to behind the mindflayer and stab it right in its head, tearing its skull open with my sword and pulling out its brain with my bare hands. I throw the brain to Percy. Does he eat it?” you ask, referring to the party’s pet, a baby griffin.

“Hey, you can’t just feed Percy a brain,” one of the guys, Gareth, you think, objects.

“He’s a growing boy,” you insist.

“Odds he leaves it, evens he eats it,” Eddie decides, rolling something behind his screen. “Twelve, Percy’s going to town on the brain. I think that’s a good place for us to end? Unless there’s any downtime stuff you guys want to do?”

A few of the guys try to loot the mindflayer, the session ending on a satisfying note as they all pool out to go home. You stay behind after packing up your things, helping Eddie throw out the empty pizza boxes and soda cans.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” he says, watching as you collect cans from the table.

“I know. It feels wrong leaving you here to clean this all up on your own, though,” you shrug, unceremoniously dumping them in the recycling bin. You retrieve your container of cookies, taking out the last one. “One left. We can split it,” you say, breaking it in half and offering it to him, munching on your own half.

“How generous,” he says sarcastically, taking a bite of it from your fingers. “You did better than I thought you would,” he admits through a mouthful of cookie.

“Yeah, well, serves you right for underestimating me,” you say haughtily, flipping him off playfully. “Fuck you,” you say, not really meaning it.

“You want to?” he asks.

You laugh in response, thinking he’s joking, but he eats the rest of the cookie from your hand, lips momentarily wrapping around your fingers. “You’re serious?” you ask.

He chews and swallows as he nods. “Yeah, I’m serious. Come on, one time thing, no strings. And I pinky promise not to tell anyone. Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation, after all.”

“What? You got another dungeon you wanna show me or something, Dungeon Master?” you ask jokingly.

“Depends. You wanna see it?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows, making you snort into your hand,

“God, you’re fucking gross, man,” you say through your laughs, moving to continue cleaning.

Eddie stops you with a hand grabbing onto your wrist, tugging you back so your back is pressed flush against his chest. “I’m being serious,” he says, voice lowered. He’s leaned in close and you can feel his breath against your neck, can barely feel his lips brush against your skin. “Tell me to stop and I will, promise. But I really don’t want you to.”

“What? Wanna finally fuck a cheerleader before you get out of here?” you ask, turning around in his hold to face him.

“Maybe,” he shrugs, hands having a light hold on your hips now. “But maybe I also think it’s really rare to find such a pretty girl who’s also into nerdy shit and I find that extremely hot.”

“Wait until you see my cassette collection,” you say sarcastically.

“What? Blondie and Madonna?”

“Metallica and Ozzy,” you correct. “I mean, the ladies are there too, but they’re all intermingling.”

“You just got so much hotter,” he says, laughing a bit breathlessly. 

“Wish I could say the same for you,” you sigh dramatically. “You’re just a freak who couldn’t graduate high school on time.”

“Come on. Don’t tell me you don’t have a thing for older men,” he jokes. “Besides, you insulting me is only turning me on more.”

“You’re gross.”

“You’re into it.”

“So what if I am?” you ask, giving him a sugary sweet smile. 

Eddie leans in closer but pauses, asking simply “May I?” You give a barely-percetible nod and his mouth is on yours. He doesn’t take his time with you, it’s all tongue and teeth and saliva. It’s disgusting, And you don’t want him to stop.

You only pull away when you need to breathe, your chest rising and falling rapidly, and you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on it before moving back up to look at your face. He grins at the sight of your flushed cheeks and slightly smudged lipgloss, tugging you along with him as he sits back in his Dungeon Master’s throne, pulling  you into his lap to straddle him as he leans back in the chair.

“Gonna make me do all the work?” you pout, hands sliding up under his shirt, nails dragging along his stomach and ribs.

“As long as you promise to be mean,” he says, “it gets me going.” He wiggles his hips under you, hands finding their place on your thighs to keep you in place.

“I will leave you here with blue balls,” you half-heartedly threaten, ridding him of his shirt.

“Oh, yeah, just like that, baby,” he says, fake-moaning dramatically.

You can’t help but laugh at his ridiculousness, swatting at his shoulder as you toss his shirt aside. “Shut up,” you say, moving to kiss him again.

“You like it,” he argues into the kiss. “You think I’m goofy and endearing,” he says, sighing as your lips attach to the side of neck, kissing and biting and sucking downwards. 

“When did I ever say that?” 

“You don’t have to. I see it in your eyes.”

You ignore his remark, finger tracing over a tattoo of a spider on his chest. “You’ve got a lot of these,” you muse.

“You like them? I’ve got more that only a select few get to see,” he says, taking your hand in his and moving it down to his belt. 

“I feel so lucky,” you huff, lips seeking his again as your hands make quick work of his belt and jeans.

After your little tryst, you end up with a bit larger of a mess than you started with, both Eddie’s prop throne and the D&D table thoroughly desecrated, defiled, and disgraced. You take the liberty of wiping everything down and, ever the gentleman as he is, Eddie walks you to the parking lot. 

“You got a ride?” Eddie asks as you exit the school building.

“I usually ride home with Chrissy after practice. I’m sure I could call my mom to pick me up today, though,” you say, nodding over to the pay phones nearby. “I’ve got quarters.”

“Or,” he says, “I could give you a ride and we can make a pit stop at my place. I can show you that dungeon you asked about.”

“That being?”

“My shitty mattress in a trailer park,” he explains simply. “I can make you dinner. I make great SpaghettiO’s.”

“I thought this was going to be a one-time thing. No strings and all.”

“One night doesn’t mean we only have to do it once,” he argues. “At least let me drive you home if you don’t want to come by my place.”

“I’ll go to yours,” you surrender, “on the condition that we are not having SpaghettiO’s for dinner. We can stop by a fast food place.”

“Deal,” Eddie agrees. Before he leads you to his van, you seal it with a kiss.

a/n: ok so i lied and did some research on AD&D2e while writing this mostly just to see if my classes were period accurate and LOWKEY i think the duffer brothers just used 5e rules or some other modern dnd structure for the show too bc i swear erica's lady applejack is a rogue which was not available as a class in AD&D2e not even in unearthed arcana the closest she cldve been would be thief anyway dnd rant over. also btw the only reason i used AD&D2e was bc there's NOTHIGN on the fucking internet for AD&D1e so like close enough bitch dont @ me

i feel like some of the dialogue for this is cringe as fuck btw so like soz but also. they're playing dungeons and dragons. dialogue during a dnd game is just Like That i know from first hand experience. anyway. baby's first eddie munson fic!

taglist 🏷️ : @nozhdyved @loveution @daisyjonesgf

[imsogonesposts]

i don’t watch tsitp but anytime i see anything about the show i get so pissed off because what is that girl DOING what is she THJNKING

[imsogonesposts]

aww this is so cutie

Two heartbeats

Pairing: Johnny Storm x reader Word Count: 4.9k

Description: You agree to help Reed test his new baby scanner for Sue, so he can collect some baseline data from a non–pregnant woman. But when the screen lights up with a tiny heartbeat, you realize you’ve got some crazy news to break to Johnny.

Tags/warnings: established relationship, mildly soft Reed, Johnny hovering, accidentally finding a pregnancy, panicking over it, comfort, Johnny finding out, fluff, funny and domestic moments <3

Note: all I can say is writing this was so entertaining and heartwarming, there’s just something about the idea of Johnny being a dad😭. Hope you enjoy! 🫶🏼

archive | masterlist

━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━

The bright lab was mostly quiet, except for the soft humming sound coming from the machine next to you. You sat perched on the edge of a white, medical style platform that looked more intimidating than it probably was. Reed sat on a stool to your left, completely focused on adjusting the controls of his latest invention, a fancy scanner meant for prenatal imaging. You were there as his control subject, since he needed to "create a baseline from a non gestational female", his words. Sue's scan was scheduled for later, if everything worked as expected.

Or at least, that was the plan.

"Alright. The scanner is all set, I'm ready when you are," Reed announced, turning around halfway on his stool to look at you through his thick frame glasses. "Are you comfortable there?"

"I am, actually," you smiled, settling back until your full body rested on the soft leather surface, which, surprisingly, began to warm slowly beneath you. "It's ... warm."

A smile almost ghosted his mouth, but he turned back to the sphered monitor before it could fully form. “Sue tends to get cold in here. I believe adding this feature will make her more inclined to agree to my scans.”

You only gave him a knowing smile. Reed was… Reed, after all.

He wasn’t always able to express care with words, his sentences were more likely to contain statistics or hyper logical reasoning about even the tiniest of details no one noticed or cared about, but his actions spoke louder than words. It was all about the little accommodations, the quiet fixes, the way he noticed discomforts around the building before anyone voiced them. This time was no exception, he didn't think twice about adding a heating feature to the scanner’s seat when his wife had complained about the lab feeling like a freezer last time.

"I bet it's not warmer than me, though," a voice chimed in next to you, and you couldn't help but chuckle.

Ah, yes … Johnny.

Your ever loving boyfriend, who couldn’t stand being more than ten minutes away from you and insisted on being present for this “fake scan” so he could practice holding your hand for future real ones.

Because in his mind, you were in his future that way, not a single doubt about that.

The baby making. Especially, the baby making. The big surprise. The bun in the oven. The endless scans for ultrasound pictures he’d stick to the glass windows of your shared bedroom. The restless nights outweighed by the giggles from a little him ... a little you.

Not today, but maybe one day.

Definitely one day.

And in that hothead of his, he thought what better preparation than watching his brother in law micromanage Sue’s pregnancy through you? At least he could have a little fun with it.

So, naturally, Johnny invited himself to the session. Dragging an extra stool to the lab, sliding on your right side, elbows braced on the platform. His hand found yours as soon as you set your body down.

"You know I can warm you up anytime you want, babe," Johnny shrugged innocently, but his tone was playful as always.

You turned to him amused, a smile already on his face as he leaned definitely way too close to your face, and quickly stole a peck from your lips, earning a soft laugh from you.

Reed sighed next to you, wishing he'd asked you to try the machine in the early hours of the morning before Johnny even woke up. It was his fault after all, he should've known better than bringing it up in front on him. Now he'd have to make it work while you got distracted by ... your distraction.

You instantly noticed his demeanor shift, and gently slipped your hand from Johnny's grasp to lay it flat on the bed, blowing a kiss to him when he opened his mouth to complain. He instantly grinned in triumph, pretending to catch it and placed it over his heart. At least that would keep his hands to himself for a moment.

"All ready now, Reed," you said, offering him an apologetic smile, and he nodded.

"Okay, we're ready to begin. Please just don’t talk," Reed said, his eyes on the display as he pressed buttons, "and try to avoid any unnecessary movement, both of you," he turned slightly, looking over his glasses to glare at your hovering boyfriend.

Which was, unfortunately, a straight dare for Johnny to lean closer against the platform beside you, the corner of his mouth curving into a grin.

"You hear that babe? No unnecessary movement. Don't breathe, not even a little," he said in the most serious tone he could use. "... except if you wanna, you know, lean on me a little," he winked, then nudged your shoulder with his. “I wouldn’t mind.”

You tried not to smile this time when he wiggled his eyebrows, for the sake of the test and the remaining of Reed's sanity, which only made him grin wider.

"Johnny," Reed scolded without looking up, "I need her still, and I need quiet so I can concentrate."

"Hey, I'm just here to supervise," Johnny protested. "Make sure you're not poking her with anything weird."

If there was something Johnny loved almost as much as you and space, it was rage baiting his brother in law. And the worst part was, that no matter how incredibly intelligent Reed was, it seemed to work every single time.

"I'm not poking her with anything,” Reed snapped, sighing afterward. "Can you at least step back a little so I can–"

"Nuh-uh, not a chance in the world," Johnny interrupted. "I'm here for emotional support, you know, a dad being present –Ow. Babe!" you elbowed him lightly in the ribs, which made him gasp.

"First of all, you're not a father. This is purely for data gathering purposes," Reed objected without missing a beat, "and you're only here because you followed her in.”

"Yeah yeah, semantics, whatever," Johnny shrugged, raising a hand to dismiss him and turned to you. "Hey, you hungry, princess? I could get you something."

"I'm fine, Johnny," you shook your head, smiling at the gesture, then raising your hand to press a finger on his lips. "Now, shh."

You caught Reed rubbing the bridge of his nose, muttering something about how he should have asked literally any other woman in the planet who didn't have Johnny Storm joint at their hip.

"The sequence is starting now. I just need five minutes," he sighed for the fourth time in three minutes, and then pressed a few more buttons, his posture stiffening. "Please Johnny, just five, no more talking."

"Alright, alright. I can be quiet for five minutes," he raised his hands in surrender, finally leaning back.

It lasted five whole seconds.

"So," he began, leaning toward you again. "Tell me about the first time you saw me."

You sighed at the question Johnny liked to ask at least once a week. You were happy to answer it every time, just not in front of his brother in law. So you put a hand on his chest to push him back a little, before Reed's patience snapped completely.

"Johnny, angel, you know what? Actually I am hungry," you said, playing with the fabric of his shirt. "I am craving some oranges."

"Oranges?" Johnny's whole demeanor shifted, still grinning, but now with that eagerness to please you sparkling in his eyes.

"Yes, fresh ones," you nodded, slightly biting your lip. "Pretty please?"

“You got it, fresh ones from the market," he grabbed your hand from his chest and placed a kiss on it, making you chuckle once again.

Why was he so annoyingly sweet?

Satisfied with your reaction, he got up from his stool, the little seat's wheels rolling back as he made his way to the elevator's doors. Not without turning around halfway, looking at you while pointing accusingly at Reed.

"Don't let him poke you with needles or draw blood from you. I will sue," then he winked at you, backing to the elevator. "Give me five minutes, ten tops."

And after a shameless wink, the elevator doors slid closed, and he was gone. Leaving a very relieved Reed alone with his scan and you trying very hard not to laugh at the way he exhaled like he'd been holding his breath under water this whole time.

"Thank you," he said genuinely, turning back to his controls. You just hummed in acknowledgment.

You held your breath as the machine made a louder hum, a halo of pale blue light swept over you from head to toe.

"You can breathe normally," Reed said, noticing your stillness. "Just don't move anything else, please."

You let your gaze wander over the colorful room while the scanner did the work. There were gadgets on every counter, Sue's latest ultrasound printed and stuck on the corner of Reed's giant blackboard, a mug that said 'Fantastic dad' that Johnny told Ben to buy Reed as a joke but he wholeheartedly gave it to the man. You smiled at the memory.

The thought of Sue and Reed’s baby being there in a just a months was amazing and terrifying at the same time, and it wasn’t even yours.

And now that Johnny wasn't hovering anymore, and Reed's focus was solely on the screen in front of him, the quiet of the room allowed you to think about what Johnny said earlier.

'A dad being present'

There was a time where you thought something like that was impossible due to his altered DNA, but Sue and Reed had shown you the possibility was still there.

And the more you thought about it, the more it made you want to build that with Johnny. It wasn't a crazy idea, not at all, but it was something you'd projected into the far future.

Definitely one day.

"Huh," Reed's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, his eyebrows furrowed as he leaned closer to the screen.

"Something wrong with the machine?" you asked, trying to not make a big fuss about it, it was a new equipment after all.

He didn't answer immediately. Just tapped his keyboard twice, then leaned even closer, eyes squinting and his whole expression sharpening. The scanner made another low pass over your midsection.

"Hmm," there it was, another weird monosyllable.

"That's a suspicious 'hmm'," you said, sitting up a bit straighter.

"Not suspicious at all," Reed said quickly. "Just interesting ... please lean back down, it's not done."

His fingers moved over the console again, adjusting settings. The scanner passed over you once more, slower this time, and you noticed a small, unconscious shift in his posture. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, blinked at the display, then adjusted the image like maybe the machine had made a mistake.

Again.

"Okay, you're being really weird now. Even for you, Reed," you half joked, hoping that would ease the sudden nerves invading your body.

"I just … wasn't expecting to see–" he paused, hesitating, glancing toward the door as if Johnny might burst in at any second.

"See what?" you pressed, fully panicking now.

The machine beeped softly with results for the third time, like it was confirming whatever he'd already noticed the first. Then Reed suddenly stood up from his stool and paced in his spot, folding his arms.

"There are certain... biological markers. In fact, they're very specific markers. I'd like to run the scan one more time to confirm."

"No. No more scans," you fully sat up now, suddenly understanding Sue's dread of those. "Just tell me, is there something wrong with me?"

Your tone actually made him jerk his head in your direction, shaking his head profusely.

"No," his voice was quiet but certain. Not comforting either, though. "No, absolutely not."

"Then what is it?"

Reed hesitated, eyes fixing back on the screen. "It's... actually the opposite," he said slowly. His voice wasn't that detached this time, it was still Reed, still cautious, but there was something... warmer underneath.

"Something right, then?"

"Quiet for a moment," he mumbled, pressing the console again. "I want to be sure."

So you stayed still, your heartbeat ringing a little faster in your ears. The scanner made one last pass over your body, beeping one last time with the same results apparently, because Reed stepped back, took a long breath, and blinked a few times like he was pulling himself back into the room with you.

He wasn't exactly expecting to be the first to find out about... that. Now how on earth was he supposed to break news like that? None of his infinite doctorates qualified him to do so.

Reed stalled for a few more seconds, before reaching to the sphere monitor and rotating it in your direction.

"Look at that," he said, pointing to the screen, his voice slightly softer than usual.

On the screen, a small flicker pulsed steadily in the center of a grainy blue and white colored image. You stared at it for a few seconds.

Was that? … No. No it couldn't be.

"...My heartbeat?" you chuckled weakly, because the alternative your head was suggesting was just not possible.

Not right now. Definitely not right now.

Reed arched a brow, his gaze instantly softening. He knew how this part felt. The first moments of denial. The surreality of it. So he approached it as gentle as his capabilities allowed him to.

None of his education had prepared him for something like this, but you were family, even more so now, so he tried his best to use his heart this time instead of his brain. As absurd as that sounded to someone like him.

"It is a heartbeat, and technically, it's yours too. Or, well, more like a part of you."

You stared at it again. That flicker. The steady, insistent beat. You knew what it meant, of course you did, but the words got stuck in your throat and refused to come out.

"Look," Reed took off his glasses, pointing with the frames higher up in the torso scan. "Your heartbeat is here," and then pointed back lower, "and this one is smaller ... much smaller."

Reed studied your face as you kept quiet, something warm blooming in his chest despite his usually clinical nature.

Two 'fantastic babies' this year. Huh. He hadn't seen that coming. Couldn't have predicted it with equations in a million years.

"Okay," you said finally, too casually.

"Just okay?" Reed almost chuckled this time. "You do understand what I'm showing you, correct?"

"Yeah. I... yeah," you nodded slowly, letting out a deep breath. "I'm ..."

But you didn't say it. Couldn't. Because saying it out loud would make it real. And right now, you weren't ready for real. Not without Johnny by your side.

Right. Johnny.

Who wasn't there to hold your hand through it.

Oh my God. How were you gonna tell him?

He was, after all, your emotional support. But who was gonna be his when you were panicking? Oh my god. What if he panics too? Would he be ready? Would you be ready?

All of a sudden, that 'one day' wasn't so far away anymore.

You didn't even notice your breathing had gone shallow until Reed's voice caught your attention.

"Breathe," he said, not commanding, more like a reminder.

"I am breathing," you looked up at him, chest going up and down rapidly.

"Not enough," he replied. Then, in a move that was so unlike him, he reached for your hand. His palms were warm, not as warm as the ones you were used to, but it helped somehow. His hands pressing yours just enough to let you know he wasn't letting go unless you wanted him to.

"Follow me," he said. He took a slow inhale, visibly lifting his chest, and let it out in a slow exhale. "Again."

You tried your best. Inhale. Exhale. It died in your throat halfway out a few times. But he waited, patient as ever, until you tried again. And again. Until the fifth breath felt a little less jagged.

"It's normal to be scared," he said, when your breathing slowed down. "When Sue told me she was pregnant, I–I almost passed out. And that was after two years of planning for it."

Instantly realizing what he confessed, he cleared his throat, before looking at you more serious for a moment.

"Don't tell Johnny," he asked.

A shaky laugh escaped you, and it loosened something in your chest. You shook your head in reassurance. He nodded grateful.

"I know this is... a big pill to swallow. Terrifying, even. But it doesn't have to be faced alone."

Your eyes got glassy before you could stop them.

"We're all a family," Reed continued, repeating what was always said by the others, not much by him, if ever. "Which means your child will never have to go without place to feel like home, or without love. Not with all of us around."

A tear did fall from on your cheek this time, and you let go of his grip to wipe it before Johnny came back.

Oh, Johnny.

Just thinking about him being a father, a dad who is present, his blonde disheveled hair at midnight as he warms baby bottles with his own hands, a tiny bundle sleeping on his chest enjoying the impossible warmth irradiating from his skin. Him playing peek a boo with the funniest faces he can think of.

And for the first time since you saw that flicker on the screen, you believed, if only for a second, that maybe this wouldn't be the end of the world.

"I'm pregnant," you finally said it, the foreign words leaving your lips in a whisper.

Reed's eyes softened, the smallest smile forming in his mouth.

"You're pregnant," he echoed, just as quietly, like repeating it would help you both absorb the reality. He straightened a little, half turning to his machine. "I'd still like to make some more formal scans–"

"Reed."

"I know, I know. Sorry," he apologized, letting out a dry chuckle while shrugging, "but it's ... protocol."

"I'm telling you, Herbert, those oranges were not fresh. That guy was totally lying ... Yeah right? I know. Unbelievable."

Your head snapped at the sound of HERBIE's robotic beeps and Johnny's muffled voice echoing behind the elevator doors, as they arrived to the lab's floor.

"–and so I had to use my charm on the girl next to him, one smile and she went straight to get me the good ones ... I know Herbert, I know, but you have to do what you have to do."

The doors slid open in a ding, revealing a very excited Johnny walking in, toying with an orange from one hand to another as HERBIE trailed behind him holding something you couldn't see from your seat.

"Ah, there you are." Johnny smiled as soon as his eyes landed on you, "now, what did I miss?"

You looked at Reed for a brief second, at the verge of panicking again, but he mouthed a 'just breathe', gesturing with his hand a swift inhale. So you did that, as Johnny crossed the lab until he got to the stool he was previously sat in, with the little droid following him like a lost puppy.

"Got 'em! Did you miss me, babe?" he asked, plopping into his seat.

"I always do," you mumbled, absentmindedly reaching to the orange he was holding, to try to distract yourself with something. "Thank you, Johnny–"

Before you could reach, he yanked back his hand with a laugh. "Don't be silly, this one is for me. Here–"

He turned halfway to HERBIE behind him, and grabbed with his free hand something from the droid's hands, petting his metal head before turning back to offer it to you.

You lowered your eyes at the plate he was holding to you. Probably two oranges, sliced, and placed nicely around the dish. The citrus scent hit you and half scratched that itch you've been having about oranges lately, which ... made a lot of sense now.

"These are for you, bite sized. I'm gonna tell you now, got the best ones in the city," he leaned down to kiss your forehead, and added with a cocky grin, "go on, tell me I'm amazing."

He was. God, he was.

But it wasn’t the oranges what hit you the most, it was the way Johnny went about it. How you wouldn't need to feel scared, or not ready, when he was willing to take on even the smallest of requests with intention, just to put a smile on your face.

So you couldn't hold it together any longer, and lunged forward to wrap your arms around his neck, the plate of oranges falling from his hand to your lap, small slices scattering across the platform. You buried your head in his neck, not being able to hold the tears anymore. Johnny instinctively wrapped his arms around your body, a hand still holding his orange for dear life as he stared confused at Reed.

“Woah– what happened baby?” he asked softly, bringing his free hand to stroke your hair as you cried into his chest. “What did you do, Richards?” His tone got weirdly serious now, even for Johnny.

“Me? N-nothing!” Reed blurted offended, which only made Johnny glare at him.

“Did Reed lecture you about moving during the scan? I told you, babe, you don’t have to listen to him when I’m not here.”

Reed’s mouth opened to protest, but chose to keep quiet. He glanced at you, still clinging to Johnny for dear life. He took a deep breath. He knew what this was like, so he just let Johnny continue until you chose to tell him.

“She was okay when I left, and now she’s crying in my arms –hey hey, it’s okay baby– so what could have possibly happened while I was gone?”

His tone to Reed was serious, but when he looked down at you it got incredibly softer. You sniffed a few times, pulling apart from him to wipe your eyes and give him a teary smile.

“I’m fine, Johnny, really,” you reassured, sniffing again, “It’s just … I don’t–“ you looked at Reed, nodding at him so he could help you a little.

Reed took off his glasses, and folded his hands behind his back in that way that meant ‘I’m about to say something big and I’m choosing my words carefully’. You just kept your gaze on Johnny.

“The scan revealed some … unexpected results.”

Well, so much for choosing your words carefully.

“Unexpected like… bad unexpected, or ‘hey, you have an extra kidney’ unexpected?” Johnny asked, squinting.

“Having an extra kidney would be bad unexpected too, Johnny,”

“We could always get it out and sell it,” he shrugged, rolling his eyes playfully to make you laugh, and when you inevitably did, relief washed over his face for a second.

Okay, it couldn’t be that bad if he was able to make you laugh after that breakdown. His heart could calm down a little now.

“Well, actually… neither,” Reed said.

His gaze shifted between the two of you before settling on the monitor that was still facing your direction. Johnny glanced at the screen, still expecting to see that third kidney. Instead, he tilted his head and his eyebrows pulled together.

“Huh,” he exhaled.

Funny, his first reaction was identical to Reed’s.

You watched him stare at the screen, and you could almost see the gears turning under all that blonde hair. Because Johnny Storm was a lot of things, loud, playful, endlessly distracting, but he was also sharp. And he wasn’t missing what was right in front of him.

Two heartbeats.

“Is uh– Is that what I think…?” his eyes flicked to you, you were already smiling, still glassy eyed holding the lump in your throat. “Oh my god.”

His mouth fell open a little, eyes darting between Reed, you and the small flicker on the screen for a few times, before it hit him all at once. He finally let go of the orange in his hand, the fruit hitting the floor in a few thuds.

Johnny’s face lit up like sunlight getting through grey clouds. Even HERBIE beeped in awe.

“OH MY GOD!!”

The grin that broke over his face made your heart flutter. He cupped your face in his warm hands before you could even wipe your eyes.

“Babe. Babe,” he chanted enthusiastically, his forehead pressed to yours, voice dropping to a breathless laugh. “We’re having a baby. Oh my god! We’re having a baby! … Herbert I’m gonna be a father!”

You let out a laugh that was half sob, half immense happiness, nodding against him.

He crashed his lips to yours, salty tears mixing in your lips as he kissed you softly, lips slightly pulling back from how wide you both were smiling.

In front of you, Reed stood with his arms crossed, the loveliest smile tugging at his mouth. For once, he didn’t interrupt, didn’t feel like adding facts or disclaimers. He simply turned back to the console and gave you both the moment.

That was, until Johnny pulled apart from you, realizing how you had just lit his whole world on fire and he was more than willing to stand in the middle of all of it.

“Okay,” Johnny said, still holding your face, “this is fine. This is more than fine. This is … this is amazing.”

“Johnny, I think we should–” you began, but he was already in motion, pacing next to you.

“First of all, we need to stock on food, for all the weird pregnancy cravings you’re gonna have. You want pickles dipped in ice cream? boom, Johnny delivers,” he gestured dramatically with his hands in the air.

Reed sighed, rubbing his temple while mumbling something about Johnny speaking in third person.

“Johnny–“

“And the baby’s room. We’ll paint it… okay, we don’t know boy or girl yet, but that’s fine, we’ll go with something neutral. Like… fire yellow … no, wait, that’s too on the nose. Sky blue? Maybe it could be space themed! … babe they can go to space with us one day, maybe Reed can make a baby space suit–“

“I am not sending your baby, or any baby for that matter, to space, Johnny.” Reed interrupted flatly, wishing you could go back to hugging and not this unprompted rambling.

“Johnny, angel, maybe we should–“

“Oh, and the clothes, babe the clothes! Little tiny onesies with flames on them. Reed, you have to make them in fireproof clothing, how else is it gonna be safe for me to hold them?”

“Johnny!” you leaned forward to put your hands on his chest and gently dragged him towards you. “Can we maybe process this before we start designing the nursery?”

He stopped mid ramble, eyes fixing on yours. And for the first time since Reed dropped the news, he hesitated. “Wait, you’re… okay with this? I mean, I’m over the moon, obviously, but… are you?”

You exhaled, reaching to fix a strand of his hair. “Johnny there’s nothing I want more in this life, than to have a family with you,” you reassured, meaning every single word, “but we didn’t even know about this ten minutes ago.”

Johnny’s smile softened. He grabbed your hand and lifted it to his lips, holding a kiss there for a moment.

“Okay. We’ll do this together, slowly, as a family,” he gave your hand a gentle squeeze, and this time you were the one who jumped at his lips.

This time it was a bit rougher, clinging to him with fists clenched on his shirt, like putting all the overwhelming weight of it all into the kiss. Reed, who was still there, cleared his throat before you started making another baby right there and then. On his new scanner. That he built for his wife but now it would work for you too.

He was gonna have to get used to Johnny hovering all the time now.

“You should both take some more proper tests to confirm everything is okay with your baby, before making any further plans.”

“Yeah, yeah, Reed,” Johnny dismissed, already wrapping an arm around your waist to help you come down the platform, and guide you toward the door, but he halted midway. “Wait both? why me? I swear to god Richards, if you poke me–“

“No one is going to poke any of you here, Jonathan. Ever. I already told you, and it sure as hell won’t be me if it’s ever required,” Reed rolled his eyes, already relieved to see you both make your way to the elevator so he could work in peace.

He could only be happy for so long, before his mind inevitably went to overthink about how on earth you were all going to survive two super babies at the same time. But before he could get lost in his head, Reed turned to thank HERBIE, who was humming cheerfully to himself as he picked up the orange slices from the table. The little droid then rolled toward you, offering the plate with a chirp.

“Thank you, HERBIE,” you smiled, and Johnny pet his head in gratitude.

“Alright, we’ll do all that science stuff later, Reed. Right now…” He glanced down at you, his lovely grin back in full force. “I’m getting my girl more snacks ... and maybe also ice cream. Just in case that pickle phase hits early.”

Even behind all the joking and amusement in his face, the glint in his eyes quietly told you he was looking at the most important thing in the whole universe. Those two heartbeats.

But no, it wasn’t just two heartbeats after all.

Because with Johnny by your side, it was three.

⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆

Part two is on the way!

feedback is always appreciated, thank you so much for reading 🫶🏼

[imsogonesposts]

if i watch only the first episode of each season of stranger things i can pretend everyone has only ever experienced happiness

[imsogonesposts]

The Start of Something

|| ao3 || haymitch masterlist || requests are open !! ||

summary: Haymitch falls for the girl who won’t leave his side (wc: 858)

warnings: brief mentions of haymitch's grief, sotr spoilers, i think thats all!!

Though Haymitch would never admit it out loud, a small part of him was thankful that despite his words and actions, you never left him. The two of you had been close friends before he left for the games, and despite every action he took to try to drive everyone he loved away from him, lest they got hurt like everyone else he loved seemed to, you stayed. Haymitch wasn’t sure why; he didn’t consider himself to be much of a joy to be around. Not since he started drinking, started grieving, and started waking up in the middle of the night to a new haunting nightmare. 

Regardless, you still stayed. Still tried to help him get out of bed, made sure he got at least a little food and water in his system, and even made sure he got some fresh air by dragging him outside. 

And though he would never admit it out loud, scared that if he did, you would end up hurt or dead, just like everyone else, Haymitch was half-convinced that he was starting to fall for you. But even when he tried to distance himself more from you, you still stayed. Still persisted in ensuring he had someone in his life to talk to, a shoulder to lean on, someone to make sure he was okay. And Haymitch was only human, after all. How could he not fall for someone so incredibly sweet like you? Could he really be blamed for falling for you?

You had come into his home bearing gifts. Some blankets to keep the winter cold out, some food, some heavier clothing, some water, and some beer (against your better wishes). 

“You really don’t need to take care of me, sweetheart,” he would say as you let yourself into his home, as he did every morning. You never knocked. You both knew he probably wouldn’t let you in if you did. That didn’t stop him from leaving the door unlocked for you, however. 

You only shrug, placing everything onto the table before handing him a pair of mittens. “I have nothing better to do,” is what you would usually reply. He knew that wasn’t true. You had a hand in helping keep your family's bakery up and running. That’s why you were always able to bring him some sort of pastry when you visited him. He didn’t mind that it was usually only the burnt ones or the leftovers; he knew your family had to keep business running somehow. 

Haymitch was just grateful, even if he would never say it out loud, he tried to show it in subtle ways. Like not locking the door so you can’t come inside. Or by gifting you and your family some meat he had bought one of the few times he was able to walk to the town square on his own without an unsettling feeling or with a bottle of liquor in hand. 

He wasn’t sure if it was you or time in general, but he slowly started to feel better. Of course, there were still the nightmares and the grief, but sometimes, on a rare occasion, he could look outside to see a goose and not feel dread. He could think of candy and gumdrops and squirrels and girls with braids and boys who were great at math and not want to cry his eyes out. It was rare, but sometimes, it didn’t feel like he was cursed to have everyone he loved end in tragedy. You were still okay, Burdock and Asterid as well. 

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes as you shared the loaf of bread you had brought him before he decided to break it. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, before he could talk himself out of it. 

You pause from your food, looking up at him as if you weren’t expecting his gratitude. He should probably work on showing you how thankful he was for your unwavering presence in his life more. 

“You’re welcome,” you say after a beat, not entirely sure as to what he’s thanking you for. 

Haymitch’s eyes find yours as he studies your face. You can see the tiredness there, the sadness, the grief, the sorrow. But behind it all, there’s the briefest something there. Hope? Faith? Trust?

“I mean it,” he whispers, eyes never once leaving yours, like he wanted to ensure you knew the full gravity of his words. “Thank you.”

You nod, reaching out to put a hand over his arm, and he swears he feels the briefest spark of something as you do so. “You’re welcome,” you whisper back. 

And then, he smiles. Something you hadn’t seen from him in a while, since he left for the games. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had heard the guy laugh. And now, here he was, smiling. It wasn’t a wide smile by any means, but it was still the start of something. 

You squeeze his arm before letting go, returning to your shared meal, and you don’t have to look up to know that the smile is still ever-present on his face. 

[imsogonesposts]

The Start of Something

|| ao3 || haymitch masterlist || requests are open !! ||

summary: Haymitch falls for the girl who won’t leave his side (wc: 858)

warnings: brief mentions of haymitch's grief, sotr spoilers, i think thats all!!

Though Haymitch would never admit it out loud, a small part of him was thankful that despite his words and actions, you never left him. The two of you had been close friends before he left for the games, and despite every action he took to try to drive everyone he loved away from him, lest they got hurt like everyone else he loved seemed to, you stayed. Haymitch wasn’t sure why; he didn’t consider himself to be much of a joy to be around. Not since he started drinking, started grieving, and started waking up in the middle of the night to a new haunting nightmare. 

Regardless, you still stayed. Still tried to help him get out of bed, made sure he got at least a little food and water in his system, and even made sure he got some fresh air by dragging him outside. 

And though he would never admit it out loud, scared that if he did, you would end up hurt or dead, just like everyone else, Haymitch was half-convinced that he was starting to fall for you. But even when he tried to distance himself more from you, you still stayed. Still persisted in ensuring he had someone in his life to talk to, a shoulder to lean on, someone to make sure he was okay. And Haymitch was only human, after all. How could he not fall for someone so incredibly sweet like you? Could he really be blamed for falling for you?

You had come into his home bearing gifts. Some blankets to keep the winter cold out, some food, some heavier clothing, some water, and some beer (against your better wishes). 

“You really don’t need to take care of me, sweetheart,” he would say as you let yourself into his home, as he did every morning. You never knocked. You both knew he probably wouldn’t let you in if you did. That didn’t stop him from leaving the door unlocked for you, however. 

You only shrug, placing everything onto the table before handing him a pair of mittens. “I have nothing better to do,” is what you would usually reply. He knew that wasn’t true. You had a hand in helping keep your family's bakery up and running. That’s why you were always able to bring him some sort of pastry when you visited him. He didn’t mind that it was usually only the burnt ones or the leftovers; he knew your family had to keep business running somehow. 

Haymitch was just grateful, even if he would never say it out loud, he tried to show it in subtle ways. Like not locking the door so you can’t come inside. Or by gifting you and your family some meat he had bought one of the few times he was able to walk to the town square on his own without an unsettling feeling or with a bottle of liquor in hand. 

He wasn’t sure if it was you or time in general, but he slowly started to feel better. Of course, there were still the nightmares and the grief, but sometimes, on a rare occasion, he could look outside to see a goose and not feel dread. He could think of candy and gumdrops and squirrels and girls with braids and boys who were great at math and not want to cry his eyes out. It was rare, but sometimes, it didn’t feel like he was cursed to have everyone he loved end in tragedy. You were still okay, Burdock and Asterid as well. 

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes as you shared the loaf of bread you had brought him before he decided to break it. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, before he could talk himself out of it. 

You pause from your food, looking up at him as if you weren’t expecting his gratitude. He should probably work on showing you how thankful he was for your unwavering presence in his life more. 

“You’re welcome,” you say after a beat, not entirely sure as to what he’s thanking you for. 

Haymitch’s eyes find yours as he studies your face. You can see the tiredness there, the sadness, the grief, the sorrow. But behind it all, there’s the briefest something there. Hope? Faith? Trust?

“I mean it,” he whispers, eyes never once leaving yours, like he wanted to ensure you knew the full gravity of his words. “Thank you.”

You nod, reaching out to put a hand over his arm, and he swears he feels the briefest spark of something as you do so. “You’re welcome,” you whisper back. 

And then, he smiles. Something you hadn’t seen from him in a while, since he left for the games. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had heard the guy laugh. And now, here he was, smiling. It wasn’t a wide smile by any means, but it was still the start of something. 

You squeeze his arm before letting go, returning to your shared meal, and you don’t have to look up to know that the smile is still ever-present on his face. 

[imsogonesposts]

guys i love steve harrington

[imsogonesposts]

ugh i love him so much guys

Steve request! Reader dragging dr*gged up S3 Steve and Robin around the mall with Dustin and Erica and every chance he gets to flirt with r he takes (you can totally ignore this if you want!)

𝐓𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 ♡

Thank you for the request, hun! I loved this idea, and it was so much fun to write <3

Steve Harrington x f!reader || Masterlist || Steve playlist

summary: Throughout your entire friendship with Steve, you've always had terrible timing. But having him confess to you while drugged out of his mind and running from Russian spies might take the cake.

word count: 3.5k

warning/tags: Idiots in love. Childhood best friends. Mention of Steve and Robin being drugged, and Steve's bruises and dried blood. This turned out a lot different and a lot longer than I had first planned, but I do fear I suffer from too much gene. I haven't proofread this, so there might be a few mistakes.

The hum of the fluorescent lights buzz overhead as you try to navigate through the nearly-deserted mall, your heart pounding for reasons beyond the simple adrenaline of running for your life. Your grip on Steve’s arm is firm, trying your best to keep him steady while keeping an eye on Dustin and Erica who are leading Robin after you. 

“C’mon, Steve,” you huff as Steve stumbles over his own feed. He is leaning against you, his usually bright eyes glazed over but still sparkling with mischief. He is truly an absurd sight right now in his Scoops Ahoy uniform, a goofy grin on his heavily bruised face. He has patches of dried blood at the corner of his mouth and on his chin, and the area around his right eye is purple and swollen. Having him drugged out of his mind is far from ideal right now, and you hate not knowing what they injected him with, but you can’t help but feel a little thankful that, whatever it is, it seems to take away the pain. “We have to keep moving.” 

Steve lets out a soft chuckle, the sound slightly slurred, yet still unmistakably sweet to your ears. “You’re really taking charge here, huh? Who knew you could be so bossy?” he teases, leaning a little too heavily against you, making you stumble a little to the side. You roll your eyes at his playfulness, trying to focus on the task at hand which Steve seemingly doesn’t have a single concern over right now.

“Yeah, yeah, bossy but effective,” you shoot back, glancing over your shoulder to make sure the kids and Robin are still behind you, before giving Steve a little push to keep him moving.

He just giggles, flashing you that charming smile that always makes your heart skip a beat—even now, with the haze of whatever the Russians had pumped him full of filtering his brain. “Very effective,” he replies, his voice a drunken whisper as he leans closer, as if sharing a delightful secret. 

“What the hell did they give you two?” you mutter as you stumble slightly to the side from Steve’s weight before catching yourself.   

“I don’t know,” he says, stretching his arms out dramatically, nearly losing his balance again. “But I like it!” he declares, throwing his head back and laughing. 

“I like it too!” Robin chimes in from behind, her voice slightly loopy and higher than usual as she, too, joins in on Steve’s laughing fit. You try to shush them, but your warning only fuels their giggles.

The sound of their laughter echoes through the, luckily nearly-empty, corridor of the mall you’re currently navigating. You huff in frustration, trying to maintain your composure amid the surreality of the moment, glancing around to ensure no one is noticing. “Guys, shh! We don’t want to attract any attention.” 

When Steve leans in again, his breath is warm against your ear, making it increasingly difficult to focus. “I think you’re the one attracting all the attention,” he whispers, a teasing smirk on his lips as he fixes you with a gaze that manages to be both hazy yet intense. The closeness of his body to yours sends a jolt of warmth pulsing through you, even amid the chaos surrounding your group.

 “Can you not flirt right now, Steve? We’re literally dodging a Russian military operation!” Dustin exclaims in exasperation from a few paces behind, his frustration evident as he pulls Robin along, who’s still hanging on to some bizarre delight in the situation. 

“Stop being jealous, Henderson,” Steve shoots back playfully as he sways slightly, and you have to quickly adjust to keep him from toppling over. “Just because your so-called girlfriend is all the way in Utah.” He points dramatically back at Dustin, making Robin break out in laughter again. 

“Focus, guys!” you insist, your voice low but firm. “Just follow me and try to stay quiet, okay?” You force yourself to focus on the path ahead, but every other second you glance to the side at Steve. He winks at you this time, the move so exaggerated that it comes off as almost comical, a poorly executed attempt at charm. 

“Oh, I’ll always follow you… I’ll follow you to the end of the world if you ask,” he slurs.

“If you say so,” you murmur, which makes Steve knit his eyebrows, doing his best to appear thoughtful, though it only makes him appear more ridiculous. 

“Well, can you blame me? You’re the best,” he declares, sincerity mixed with the haze of his drugged state. “And, not to mention, like… the coolest girl in Hawkins.”

“Shut up, Steve,” you huff, trying to ignore how flustered his compliment makes you feel. 

“Are you gonna make me?” he challenges, raising an eyebrow before stumbling again and you have to swiftly tuck him back under your arm to keep him upright. You barely manage to catch him this time, your heart racing as he leans into you completely, resting his head against your shoulder.

“Just stay on your feet, okay?” you say, your voice carrying a mix of annoyance and affection. You truly can’t believe what’s happening right now.

You have been in love with Steve for what feels like a lifetime, having to watch him date and break up with countless girls, without him ever once seeming to realize the way you felt about him. But now, in a moment where he’s utterly out of it, after being drugged by Russian spies and running for your lives, he flirts with you. It feels like a cruel joke.  

“Okay, okay, I will stay on my feet,” Steve promises, straightening up (or at least attempting to) and puffing out his chest in an attempted display of bravado. It’s a strangely endearing sight, one that almost makes you forget, for a split second, the insane situation you’re fleeing.

The four of you keep moving, dodging through the mall until you finally spot a small storage room with a heavy door slightly ajar and you make a quick decision. The Russians took Steve’s car keys and Steve and Robin are still way too out of it, you need a break from running around so you can figure out what to do.   

“Erica, Dustin, we’re going in here,” you instruct, pulling the door open wider and pushing Steve inside before ushering Robin in with a gentle nudge, making sure Dustin and Erica follow closely behind before joining them, shutting the door behind you, the lock clicking into place.

Inside, the air is heavy with the scent of dust and industrial cleaner, and the dim light offers a brief reprieve from the chaos outside. Steve and Robin slumps against the wall, chuckling, seemingly entertained by the situation.

“Are you two okay?” you ask, turning towards Dustin and Erica.

“Yeah, we are fine, but those two?” Erica says, hands on her hips as she looks over at Steve and Robin who are giggling to each other with the kind of carefree joy that can only really come from being blissfully unaware of the danger surrounding them.

“Are you two okay?” you ask, more pointedly this time, directing your concern towards Steve and Robin. 

They briefly pause their laughter, turning their silly, unfocused gazes to you, their expressions shifting from amusement to a classic ‘who, us?’ look.

“More than okay. I feel amazing!” Robin announces with a giggle, her voice a bit too loud for the cramped space, her laughter filling the confined space. She barely seems aware of the tension in the air, her cheeks flushed from the adrenaline and whatever the Russians had spiked her with. You, on the other hand, take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart and the whirlwind of emotions inside you. 

“Well, there’s your answer, they are okay too,” you say, trying to keep your composure. They are clearly not okay, but there is not much you can do about it right now, most likely the drug will start to wear off sooner or later and all you can do is wait for that. In the meantime you have to figure out what to do. 

“Dustin help me move this crate,” you direct, pointing to a heavy storage crate in the corner. “Erica make sure those two stay put and somewhat quiet,” you say, trying to sound authoritative  . 

After a little bit of struggle you and Dustin get the crate moved and the door barricaded before he joins Erica and the others and you take an inventory of the room—cleaning supplies, an old mop, and shelves lined with boxes. Nothing particularly useful to escape a Russian army, but at least it’s quiet.

You have just peaked your head out of a box, in which you finally had found something useful, as Steve, who apparently had maneuvered over to you, tries to lean on a shelf, but ends up leaning too heavily and almost toppling down. You rush forward to catch him before he hits the ground, your heart racing as you feel the warmth of his body against yours. 

“Whoa, careful,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. The way he grins at you is both charming and infuriating, a painful reminder of why your heart races despite the absurdity of your current situation. “I thought I told you to stay put,” you scold gently, trying to mask the concern lacing your voice with a little frustration. 

“I missed you,” he replies, resting his head against the shelf beside you, the admission slipping out with an exaggerated, almost theatrical sweetness. 

“I was only a few feet away, Steve,” you remind him. 

“I know, but… you were still too far away,” he responds, tilting his head to meet your eyes, his gaze is a little more lucid, he is still out of it, but there is an earnestness that transcends any drug haze. “And I told you I’d follow you to the end of the world, remember.” There’s honesty in his tone that tugs at your heartstrings, and for a moment, you’re taken aback by his words.

“That’s sweet, Steve,” you say, giving him a little smile, which he reciprocates tenfold, clearly pleased to have garnered a smile from you. “Now look what I found,” you say, pulling out the first aid kit you had found from the box you were rummaging through before.  

“Uuuh,” he drawls as he leans closer, inspecting the kit with an hindering interest.

“Wanna come here and sit with me?” you ask, gesturing over to the crate by the door. 

“Always,” he replies, grinning as he attempts to maneuver himself but ends up colliding with the shelf instead. You can’t help but laugh a little as you reach out to steady him again, your hands brushing against his sides as you guide him over to the crest and help him sit down.

“I’m gonna clean you up a little, is that okay?” you ask softly, clicking open the first aid kit, trying your best to try ignoring the chaos that lingers just outside the door.

“That would be nice... You’re so nice,” he replies, before resting his head back against the wall, a goofy smile plastered on his face as he looks up at you with such admiration that it feels like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you in that dimly lit storage room. You  feel that familiar rush of affection as you watch him. Drugged or not, he radiates that special warmth that brings a flutter to your heart. 

 “Okay, this might hurt a little, but try not to move, I promise to be gentle,” you say, pulling open an antiseptic wipe. You take a moment to steel yourself, your heart sinking as you study the bruises that mar his otherwise perfectly chiseled features. It must hurt, but he seems completely unfazed by it, lost in the bliss of his inebriated state. 

“Oh, you’re always gentle with me, even when you’re mean.” His voice is filled with a warm admiration. You can’t help but roll your eyes, a smile creeping onto your lips as you dab the antiseptic wipe against a cut on his cheek.

“When am I ever mean to you?” you ask him, focusing on wiping the blood from his chin while trying to ignore the way his gaze makes the air feel thick with unsaid emotions.

Steve chuckles softly, the sound warm and syrupy in the dim light of the storage room. “You’re always calling me an idiot, and you give me that look—” he pauses, his hazy expression suddenly serious, though it’s still marred by a goofy smile. 

You frown, momentarily caught off guard by his sudden shift in demeanor. “What look?” you ask, your brows knitting together in confusion. 

“That one! The one that says I’m a total dork who couldn’t find his own feet without you,” he replies, his tone teasing but somehow more sincere than usual. He tilts his head slightly, trying to penetrate the fog of the drug clouding his thoughts. “But, I know what you really mean. You just care. Besides, I like when you’re mean. It’s pretty hot…”

Your heart skips a beat at his admission. He’s always known just how to get under your skin, but this is different—this feels more intimate, more real, especially given the current circumstances. “You might only think that because you’re high,” you counter, trying to play it cool despite the heat creeping up your neck and cheeks. 

He knits his brows, looking up at you like you just gave him the world’s meanest insult. “Nah, I mean it,” he insists, his eyes wide and sincere, though still glazed with that loopy energy.

“Maybe keep that thought for when you’re not under the influence of whatever crap those Russians gave you. I doubt you would say all this.” You carefully dab at his split lip, your fingers brushing against his skin, feeling the warmth radiating from him. Somehow, it all feels surreal—this moment shared in the darkness, just you and Steve.

“Doesn’t matter, really. Even if they hadn’t—” He pauses, searching your eyes, and for the first time, you can’t help but notice the flicker of something deeper in his gaze. “I would’ve said it anyway. You have always been the one, you know?”

Your breath catches in your throat—what does he mean by ‘the one?’ You blink, trying to find your voice. “Steve—”

“No, wait. Let me finish,” he interrupts, shifting closer, entirely oblivious to the way butterflies have taken flight in your stomach. “I don’t know if we are getting caught by Russian spies, so please listen,” he says earnestly, and in that drugged haze, it feels deeply sincere, stripped of pretense or playful banter.

“I know I’ve been a total idiot when it comes to, well… everything, but especially with you. I just… I was scared. Scared to ruin our friendship.” 

You hold your breath, caught up in the gaze of the boy you’ve loved for as long as you can remember. A part of you wants to stop him, to put your hands over his mouth and make him stop spilling his unfiltered, drug induced thoughts, but you feel like you’re frozen.

“Even when I was a total jerk in high school, even when I was wrapped up in all those other girls, I always wanted it to be you. You’re… special to me. You always have been. You always save me from myself, you know? And not just today... but like, all the time.” His voice lowers to a near whisper as if he is sharing a secret that only the two of you exist to hear.

Your heart races, a torrent of emotions coursing through you. The words are both a balm and a weight, wrapping around you tightly.

“Steve… I…” You struggle for the right words as the weight of their significance swings like a pendulum between you. You love him, have done for years, and hearing him voice sentiments that resonate so deeply makes your heart ache—in a good way, but still aching hard. “Why would you think you’d ruin our friendship?” you ask, your voice gentle but firm. You’d buried your feelings for so long, only to have them rise unfiltered at this moment. 

“I thought—” He sighs, running a hand through his messy, yet somehow still perfect, hair, an absent gesture still filled with that same childhood charm you had known since you were kids. “I thought that I’d never be able to look at you if you didn’t feel the same way.” He chuckles softly, but it’s tinged with an undercurrent of sadness. “But now, I think—I mean, right now it feels like that doesn’t really matter. I have an assumption that I might be a little bit out of it right now, but I’m not that out of it, like… I am still here, in front of you. And if I die today because those Russians catch us, I just… I need you to know that you’ve always been the one for me, ‘cause I don’t want to die, or end up in a gulag, without you knowing that.”   

His confession hangs in the air between you like a fragile thread—part of you fears that it may unravel at any moment. Your pulse quickens as you dare to let yourself bask in the warmth of what he is saying. A weight lifts from your shoulders, giving way to a sense of hope you hadn’t anticipated.

“You wouldn’t ruin anything, Steve. I promise.” You take his hand in yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I think we will have to talk about this later though, when we aren’t fleeing for our lives. But thank you for telling me.” 

“Yeah… yeah, definitely later,” he agrees, a mix of urgency and longing mixing in the hazy look lining his features. 

You interlace your fingers, giving his hand another squeeze. If you’re actually making it out of this crazy situation, and when Steve isn’t drugged out of his mind and can confirm that he actually meant all that he just said, you’re gonna kiss him silly. But for now, the moment hangs in the air like a delicate suspension bridge, strung tightly between adrenaline and longing, with the threat of the outside world looming just beyond the door.

“Uhm, are you two good?” Erica interrupts, her voice cutting through the thick tension in the air. You whip your head around to find her standing with her arms crossed, raised eyebrow, looking way too sassy for a ten year old. Robin is propped against the far wall, watching with wide eyes and a goofy grin plastered on her face.

“Yeah, we’re good,” you respond quickly, feeling a hot flush rush to your cheeks as you release Steve’s hand, the warmth of his skin lingering even as you separate.

Steve shifts, nudging you playfully with his shoulder as he leans back against the wall. “Just bonding over our collective trauma, you know?” he says, his tone light but his eyes still holding that depth, the seriousness lingering just beneath the surface.

“Right, because that’s totally normal,” Dustin mutters sarcastically, eyeing the two of you with a knowing look. “Just keep it PG. Kissing isn’t going to save us from the Russians.” 

“We weren’t kissing,” you exclaim immediately, your heart racing as you avoid making eye contact with Steve, who wears a grin that communicates far too much mischief for your sanity.

“Oh, please,” Erica scoffs, rolling her eyes. “We all saw you two get all mushy. If we weren’t in the middle of a hostage situation, I might actually find it cute.” Robin giggles beside her, clearly entertained by the unfolding drama.

“Shut up, guys,” you mutter, suddenly very much aware of the heat flooding your veins. You can feel Steve’s gaze on you, and even in his loopy state, there’s an intensity that makes your stomach flutter. The last thing you need is the audience right now, especially when it involves Dustin and a ten-year-old like Erica, who take far too much joy in teasing you about this kind of stuff.

“Okay, lovebirds,” Robin slurs out with a giggle, leaning her head against the wall with a dreamy smile. “At least we know you’re safe together. Just don’t let those spy guys catch you making out in here. That would be truly embarrassing.”

“Thanks, Robin,” you reply dryly, your cheeks still flushed with heat. The absurdity of being stuck in a storage room, surrounded by your friends while hiding from Russian agents, yet feeling like the most pivotal moment of your life is unfolding, is almost laughable.

“Can we please focus on survival rather than on whatever is going on right now?” Dustin groans, exasperated. 

“We most certainly can,” you reply, helping Steve, who keeps looking at you like you hung the moon, up from the crate and onto his feet again, but you keep your fingers interlocked as you help him over to the others again.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated ♡

[imsogonesposts]

september i have a concert, october i have a new taylor album, and november and december i have stranger things, life is so fun

[imsogonesposts]

100 days until my husband is back from war

[imsogonesposts]

hi guys i made an eddie munson edit to class clown by conan gray 😊

[imsogonesposts]

It's Astronomy (We're Two Worlds Apart)

|| ao3 || finnick masterlist || requests are open!! || an: based on the song "astronomy" by conan gray!! || this has been in the drafts for over a month 😭 ||

summary: You and Finnick used to be best friends. Now, you rarely ever talk to one another. (wc: 1,009)

You were thirteen when you and Finnick first met and became friends. You had met him the night before the Hunger Games reaping as you were sitting on your porch, staring up at the starry night sky. He had lived a few doors down from you and was walking around the neighborhood when he spotted you. 

“What are you doing?” He questioned as he made his way towards you. 

You shrugged, briefly tearing your gaze away from the stars to look at him, before refocusing on the lights above. “Thinking,” is all you responded as he nodded, taking a seat next to you. 

“You’re worried about tomorrow, aren’t you?” He asked.

You nodded. “Isn’t everyone?” You asked in response. 

Finnick shrugged at that, sighing before getting up, walking down the porch steps as he looked up at you. “Wanna go for a walk? Clear your head?” 

You looked at him, then the stars as if they would give you an answer, tell you everything would be alright, before looking back at him with a nod. 

You don’t remember much about the walk now. Just that you had passed by Victor’s Village, not ever thinking one of you would end up living there soon. 

A year later, a friendship between the two of you had grown. And in that same year, Finnick was reaped for the Hunger Games, and when he won, he rarely ever spoke to you. 

You were both eighteen now, and the only time you ever saw Finnick was in the market when he passed by your stand to buy jewelry. You liked to think it was his excuse to see you, to ensure you were still okay, to show you somehow that he still cared. 

 It was the night before another Hunger Games, the final one you would have to worry about, and you were sitting on your front porch again, looking up at the night sky. You could hear the waves crashing against the shore off in the distance when a voice cleared its throat. 

You turned your gaze to the voice’s direction when you were met with him.

“Hey,” he greeted, hands in his pockets. 

“Hi,” was all you replied. 

He stared at you for a few seconds, as if contemplating his next words, before nodding his head to the empty spot next to you and asking, “Can I sit there?”

You nodded your head yes, moving slightly to make room for him as he sat next to you. 

“I’m sorry I disappeared,” he whispered, looking up at the moon that hung in the sky. “I always regretted that, and I kept telling myself that one day I would just get over it and come talk to you, but–“ he sighed, tearing away his gaze to look at the floor. 

It was strange to be with him like this. To have someone you once called your best friend, a person you had spent every day with, a person whose laugh you could probably recognize anywhere, a person who you had liked when you were younger seem so distant and far away now. Be a stranger now. 

“I always hoped you’d come talk to me,” you quietly admitted. “Like, have an actual conversation with me rather than ‘how much is that bracelet? Okay, here you go.’”

Finnick sighed, toying with a piece of rope as he continuously knotted and unknotted it. “I told myself disappearing was better for you. At least until I was able to, I don’t know fix myself? And that then, I could let myself back into your life.”

“Did you fix yourself then?” You quietly asked. 

He laughed, a sad, emotionless laugh, as he shook his head no. “I don’t think that’s happening any time soon. Not until there’s no more Hunger Games at least.”

He looked up, finally meeting your gaze as he saw a sad smile play on your lips. “We should’ve run away,” you whispered. The night before the day he got reaped, Finnick had said the two of you should run away. To where, he didn’t know. Just somewhere where the Hunger Games weren’t a thing, somewhere the two of you could be safe, safer than you were in Panem. 

“Where would we have gone?” He asked. 

You shrugged, knowing the plan likely would have failed. But it was nice to imagine, to pretend that in some alternate universe, the two of you successfully ran away, successfully escaped the Hunger Games. 

“Anywhere,” you replied with a sigh, drawing your knees up to your chest. 

Finnick got up with a sigh, brushing nonexistent dirt off his pants as he looked down at you. “You should get some sleep,” he gently told you. “Tomorrow you’re free.”

You sighed, looking up at the sky once again, as if it held the solution to all your problems. As if it could rekindle your old friendship. “I missed talking to you,” you softly confessed. 

You didn’t see it, but he smiled at that. A soft one as he looked at you. He didn’t know if he would ever get you back in his life, but god did he hope that one day the two of you would become inseparable again. He knew it was probably wishful thinking, that he was wishing on dead stars that couldn’t grant him any wishes, but one could dream. 

“I missed you too,” he said with a sigh. “But distance brings fondness as they say.”

Not with us, you think. 

Instead of voicing your thoughts out loud, you look at him with a small smile. “Goodnight, Finnick.”

He nodded his head, whispering a small, “goodnight,” as he trailed down the steps of your front porch, and off in the direction of his home in Victor’s Village. 

You almost wanted to follow him, to take a walk past Victor’s Village like the two of you did when you were younger. But things were different now, and things couldn’t be like they were at thirteen. At least not yet. Not when the two of you are two worlds apart. 

[imsogonesposts]

hey djo - interview for the plugged magazine issue of april-mai 2025 by noémie lecoq, photographed by manon violence.

[imsogonesposts]

i can confirm 💔

MENTALLY AND PHYSICALLY UNWELL

[imsogonesposts]

It's Astronomy (We're Two Worlds Apart)

|| ao3 || finnick masterlist || requests are open!! || an: based on the song "astronomy" by conan gray!! || this has been in the drafts for over a month 😭 ||

summary: You and Finnick used to be best friends. Now, you rarely ever talk to one another. (wc: 1,009)

You were thirteen when you and Finnick first met and became friends. You had met him the night before the Hunger Games reaping as you were sitting on your porch, staring up at the starry night sky. He had lived a few doors down from you and was walking around the neighborhood when he spotted you. 

“What are you doing?” He questioned as he made his way towards you. 

You shrugged, briefly tearing your gaze away from the stars to look at him, before refocusing on the lights above. “Thinking,” is all you responded as he nodded, taking a seat next to you. 

“You’re worried about tomorrow, aren’t you?” He asked.

You nodded. “Isn’t everyone?” You asked in response. 

Finnick shrugged at that, sighing before getting up, walking down the porch steps as he looked up at you. “Wanna go for a walk? Clear your head?” 

You looked at him, then the stars as if they would give you an answer, tell you everything would be alright, before looking back at him with a nod. 

You don’t remember much about the walk now. Just that you had passed by Victor’s Village, not ever thinking one of you would end up living there soon. 

A year later, a friendship between the two of you had grown. And in that same year, Finnick was reaped for the Hunger Games, and when he won, he rarely ever spoke to you. 

You were both eighteen now, and the only time you ever saw Finnick was in the market when he passed by your stand to buy jewelry. You liked to think it was his excuse to see you, to ensure you were still okay, to show you somehow that he still cared. 

 It was the night before another Hunger Games, the final one you would have to worry about, and you were sitting on your front porch again, looking up at the night sky. You could hear the waves crashing against the shore off in the distance when a voice cleared its throat. 

You turned your gaze to the voice’s direction when you were met with him.

“Hey,” he greeted, hands in his pockets. 

“Hi,” was all you replied. 

He stared at you for a few seconds, as if contemplating his next words, before nodding his head to the empty spot next to you and asking, “Can I sit there?”

You nodded your head yes, moving slightly to make room for him as he sat next to you. 

“I’m sorry I disappeared,” he whispered, looking up at the moon that hung in the sky. “I always regretted that, and I kept telling myself that one day I would just get over it and come talk to you, but–“ he sighed, tearing away his gaze to look at the floor. 

It was strange to be with him like this. To have someone you once called your best friend, a person you had spent every day with, a person whose laugh you could probably recognize anywhere, a person who you had liked when you were younger seem so distant and far away now. Be a stranger now. 

“I always hoped you’d come talk to me,” you quietly admitted. “Like, have an actual conversation with me rather than ‘how much is that bracelet? Okay, here you go.’”

Finnick sighed, toying with a piece of rope as he continuously knotted and unknotted it. “I told myself disappearing was better for you. At least until I was able to, I don’t know fix myself? And that then, I could let myself back into your life.”

“Did you fix yourself then?” You quietly asked. 

He laughed, a sad, emotionless laugh, as he shook his head no. “I don’t think that’s happening any time soon. Not until there’s no more Hunger Games at least.”

He looked up, finally meeting your gaze as he saw a sad smile play on your lips. “We should’ve run away,” you whispered. The night before the day he got reaped, Finnick had said the two of you should run away. To where, he didn’t know. Just somewhere where the Hunger Games weren’t a thing, somewhere the two of you could be safe, safer than you were in Panem. 

“Where would we have gone?” He asked. 

You shrugged, knowing the plan likely would have failed. But it was nice to imagine, to pretend that in some alternate universe, the two of you successfully ran away, successfully escaped the Hunger Games. 

“Anywhere,” you replied with a sigh, drawing your knees up to your chest. 

Finnick got up with a sigh, brushing nonexistent dirt off his pants as he looked down at you. “You should get some sleep,” he gently told you. “Tomorrow you’re free.”

You sighed, looking up at the sky once again, as if it held the solution to all your problems. As if it could rekindle your old friendship. “I missed talking to you,” you softly confessed. 

You didn’t see it, but he smiled at that. A soft one as he looked at you. He didn’t know if he would ever get you back in his life, but god did he hope that one day the two of you would become inseparable again. He knew it was probably wishful thinking, that he was wishing on dead stars that couldn’t grant him any wishes, but one could dream. 

“I missed you too,” he said with a sigh. “But distance brings fondness as they say.”

Not with us, you think. 

Instead of voicing your thoughts out loud, you look at him with a small smile. “Goodnight, Finnick.”

He nodded his head, whispering a small, “goodnight,” as he trailed down the steps of your front porch, and off in the direction of his home in Victor’s Village. 

You almost wanted to follow him, to take a walk past Victor’s Village like the two of you did when you were younger. But things were different now, and things couldn’t be like they were at thirteen. At least not yet. Not when the two of you are two worlds apart. 

[imsogonesposts]

Self care is listening to the same song thirty thousand times in a row

[imsogonesposts]

starry you should read my fic “the world ended when it happened to me”😈

It's Astronomy (We're Two Worlds Apart)

|| ao3 || finnick masterlist || requests are open!! || an: based on the song "astronomy" by conan gray!! || this has been in the drafts for over a month 😭 ||

summary: You and Finnick used to be best friends. Now, you rarely ever talk to one another. (wc: 1,009)

You were thirteen when you and Finnick first met and became friends. You had met him the night before the Hunger Games reaping as you were sitting on your porch, staring up at the starry night sky. He had lived a few doors down from you and was walking around the neighborhood when he spotted you. 

“What are you doing?” He questioned as he made his way towards you. 

You shrugged, briefly tearing your gaze away from the stars to look at him, before refocusing on the lights above. “Thinking,” is all you responded as he nodded, taking a seat next to you. 

“You’re worried about tomorrow, aren’t you?” He asked.

You nodded. “Isn’t everyone?” You asked in response. 

Finnick shrugged at that, sighing before getting up, walking down the porch steps as he looked up at you. “Wanna go for a walk? Clear your head?” 

You looked at him, then the stars as if they would give you an answer, tell you everything would be alright, before looking back at him with a nod. 

You don’t remember much about the walk now. Just that you had passed by Victor’s Village, not ever thinking one of you would end up living there soon. 

A year later, a friendship between the two of you had grown. And in that same year, Finnick was reaped for the Hunger Games, and when he won, he rarely ever spoke to you. 

You were both eighteen now, and the only time you ever saw Finnick was in the market when he passed by your stand to buy jewelry. You liked to think it was his excuse to see you, to ensure you were still okay, to show you somehow that he still cared. 

 It was the night before another Hunger Games, the final one you would have to worry about, and you were sitting on your front porch again, looking up at the night sky. You could hear the waves crashing against the shore off in the distance when a voice cleared its throat. 

You turned your gaze to the voice’s direction when you were met with him.

“Hey,” he greeted, hands in his pockets. 

“Hi,” was all you replied. 

He stared at you for a few seconds, as if contemplating his next words, before nodding his head to the empty spot next to you and asking, “Can I sit there?”

You nodded your head yes, moving slightly to make room for him as he sat next to you. 

“I’m sorry I disappeared,” he whispered, looking up at the moon that hung in the sky. “I always regretted that, and I kept telling myself that one day I would just get over it and come talk to you, but–“ he sighed, tearing away his gaze to look at the floor. 

It was strange to be with him like this. To have someone you once called your best friend, a person you had spent every day with, a person whose laugh you could probably recognize anywhere, a person who you had liked when you were younger seem so distant and far away now. Be a stranger now. 

“I always hoped you’d come talk to me,” you quietly admitted. “Like, have an actual conversation with me rather than ‘how much is that bracelet? Okay, here you go.’”

Finnick sighed, toying with a piece of rope as he continuously knotted and unknotted it. “I told myself disappearing was better for you. At least until I was able to, I don’t know fix myself? And that then, I could let myself back into your life.”

“Did you fix yourself then?” You quietly asked. 

He laughed, a sad, emotionless laugh, as he shook his head no. “I don’t think that’s happening any time soon. Not until there’s no more Hunger Games at least.”

He looked up, finally meeting your gaze as he saw a sad smile play on your lips. “We should’ve run away,” you whispered. The night before the day he got reaped, Finnick had said the two of you should run away. To where, he didn’t know. Just somewhere where the Hunger Games weren’t a thing, somewhere the two of you could be safe, safer than you were in Panem. 

“Where would we have gone?” He asked. 

You shrugged, knowing the plan likely would have failed. But it was nice to imagine, to pretend that in some alternate universe, the two of you successfully ran away, successfully escaped the Hunger Games. 

“Anywhere,” you replied with a sigh, drawing your knees up to your chest. 

Finnick got up with a sigh, brushing nonexistent dirt off his pants as he looked down at you. “You should get some sleep,” he gently told you. “Tomorrow you’re free.”

You sighed, looking up at the sky once again, as if it held the solution to all your problems. As if it could rekindle your old friendship. “I missed talking to you,” you softly confessed. 

You didn’t see it, but he smiled at that. A soft one as he looked at you. He didn’t know if he would ever get you back in his life, but god did he hope that one day the two of you would become inseparable again. He knew it was probably wishful thinking, that he was wishing on dead stars that couldn’t grant him any wishes, but one could dream. 

“I missed you too,” he said with a sigh. “But distance brings fondness as they say.”

Not with us, you think. 

Instead of voicing your thoughts out loud, you look at him with a small smile. “Goodnight, Finnick.”

He nodded his head, whispering a small, “goodnight,” as he trailed down the steps of your front porch, and off in the direction of his home in Victor’s Village. 

You almost wanted to follow him, to take a walk past Victor’s Village like the two of you did when you were younger. But things were different now, and things couldn’t be like they were at thirteen. At least not yet. Not when the two of you are two worlds apart.