#& now i’m stuck w em

[melrosing]

maybe resumed my bullet point robert’s rebellion project…..

[bibleofficial]

yall they’re scamming the british now by telling them the d8 & alt cannabinoid vapes are d9 😭😭😭😭 oh naurrrr

[i-loved-silly]

WOLVERINE x READER x DEADPOOL — fuckup twinsies

dp&w spoilers!!

So I had a silly idea. Sorry if it’s out of character, I haven’t written for canon characters in a fat while but these two are stuck in my head. Enjoy :3

POV: you’re a dimension hopper : sent to the Void as a punishment for doing your thing. Damnit

Dust. Sand. Desert. That was all you knew ever since you were banished here. The place you were basically forced to call home—funnily enough, (actually it’s rather sad) you had forgotten what your real home was. A large, and I mean LARGE amount of timeline touching and dimension hopping does that to you.

By spending years of visiting dimensions and maybe messing a couple things up, you damaged your own timeline. Simply because you wanted to take Mr Captain America’s shield back to your home dimension. What can you say, a little artifact doesn’t hurt, right?

Except it did.

Now you’re stuck here, and honestly? It’s fine. You had nothing to return to anyway. At least you thought. TVA explained it that way, anyways. Everything was fine. You spent your years here surviving and avoiding Cassandra Nova by making your own little underground hobbit hole. How cute.

Everything was the same everyday—you hid out, occasionally left to find food and materials, came back to safety. Until one day you heard something while out scavenging—almost like distant yells? From above you??—You looked up and was shocked to see two figures falling out of the sky and barreling straight for you.

"OOMF --" You were thrown onto the sand on your back, you swore you felt a couple bones break...or something. All your belongings in your little ripped backpack went flying around you and the others stabbed into your back. Then there was the weight on top of you. A muscular , red, and talkative weight.

"Owww, oh fuck, that hurt. I hit bones. I just hit someon--oh." Deadpool groaned, snapping his elbows back into place to get a good look at you. He blinked. "Well lookey here, who the hell are you? Wait, did i kill them?" He gasped as he saw your pained scowl.

Wade frantically shook you by the shoulders. Getting hit by something from that high should have killed you. You coughed, ugh...your whole body hurt. You don’t remember if you gave yourself overpowered abilities before hopping into this dimension…or the last one. Was it during the time you went to the Loki-verse? Season one, episode five? Nah.

"Get off of them," Logan grunted, dusting himself off from his spot a few feet away. Hey, at least you weren’t hit by both of them. "See what you did, you fucking idiot? Get away from them."

"Woah, okay! First of all, it's not like I wanted to crash into someone like a wrecking ball, got it? I am not Miley. But look, they're fine!" He shook you by the shoulder again and you spat out a bit of blood.

"Guhh..." You groaned, rolling over. Yep, your bones were definetly crushed.

"We're not here to poke around, Wade. We're on a mission." Logan glanced at your beat up form wearily--oh well, if you weren't dead by now you'll be fine.

"Fine," Wade let go of you, letting your body flop back onto the sand with another "thud" on impact. "Oops, Im sooo sorry. I-..oh come on! Don't you have at least a little bit of a curious tickle? They can help us." He whined, gesturing to you and to Logan.

"They're a stranger, bub. Just...leave em there." He hesitated, then grunted and turned the other way.

You groaned in pain again--seems like they're your only lines--and sat up on your elbows. Your head was pounding and suddenly it was too bright outside. "W-wait..I’m fine..just let me.." You pressed your palm against your forehead.

Wade leaned down in front of you, placing his hands on his knees. "Oh, you're alive. Good. Why are you here, little buddy?"

You tried laughing nervously but a cough interrupted you. Right, there was sand in your lungs. "I uh...couple years ago I touched a timeline I shouldn't have. More like, a lot of timelines. Kinda-sorta fucked up."

Wade let out a loud gasp and placed his hands on the sides of his face, then made a giddy noise. "Eek! Fuck up twinsies! You heard that, Logan? We aren't the only dimensional fuck ups!" He was oddly enthusiastic, the scruffy guy in the distance wasn't so much.

Actually now that you think about it, he seemed a bit enraged. Just a bit. “Who the hell is we?”

"Who are you again?" You muttered, grunting as you worked on standing up. Wade extended a hand and you took it, before you could thank him—he quite literally yanked you up by the arm like a fucking ragdoll. You hit his chest and your eyes widdened.

"How the heck do you not know me? I mean you probably don’t know him, that sexy beast of a man is Logan, professionally Wolverine. Not a very good one though. Anyway, I'm Wade Wilson, but you can call me Wade. Or Deadpool. Or the Merc with a Mouth. Or the Chimichanga Bandit. Or—"

"Wade, shut the fuck up."

Wait.

“Wait, you’re Deadpool and Wolverine? Like the real ones?”

PART 2

[inkedells]

I have a request if you’re looking for one! Your innocent reader with the plushies has my mind SPINNING. How about Joel making her squirt for the first time? I can just imagine the reader getting all anxious about the sensation she’s feeling and Joel realizing she’s about to squirt. I know he’d talk her through it so good 🥵😩

oh. em. ef. gee. thank you for absolutely blessing me with this request

A/N: sequel to my dbf!joel fic featuring plushies, and now squirting (things get absolutely filthy so consider this your content warning for a joel who's so absolutely obsessed with reader squirting). read the first part to this AU here, but this can also be read as a standalone!

words: ~700

joel masterlist

mdni! | requests open but responses not guaranteed.

Joel sat naked, propped up against your plushies just as you were the other night, his legs splayed out in front of him to make room for you. With the back of your head resting on his chest and your legs intertwining with his, he was rhythmically rubbing your clit as his hard cock subtly grinded against your back.

“You like it when I play with you like this, cupcake?”

Your head thrashing, your hands reached up behind you to find his face and bring it down for you to kiss him. The angle was difficult, but the way it forced the kiss to be nothing more than a sloppy clash of your mouths only made it hotter.

“Wore these stockings just for me, didn’t you?”

You nodded eagerly, biting your lip as Joel’s free hand caressed the lace that hugged your thigh.

“You’re my fuckin’ toy,” Joel rasped, stretching the fabric until it snapped back against your sensitive skin and pulled a whine out of you, “Say it. Say, ‘I'm your toy, Joel.’”

“I’m—fuck—I’m your… I'm your toy.” As Joel continued to rub your swollen clit, an urge began to creep up on you, something you didn’t know how to explain—but you blurted out what you thought it was despite the embarrassment of it all.

“I think I have to pee... oh god.”

Immediately, Joel knew you were about to squirt. But he said nothing, instead playing with you even more strategically.

“Joel, seriously, I’m,” a shaky whine when he let the fingers of the hand which was previously caressing your leg, slip inside your pussy, “I’m not lying, please.”

He didn’t say a word for a few seconds, seemingly contemplating something. “Touch yourself.”

“W-What, no, I have to…” You cut yourself off and began to push Joel’s hand away from you in an effort to get up and address what you believed to be “the issue” between your legs. 

Joel immediately pulled you back against him. "You're my good girl, aren't you?"

Tears prickling your eyes, you blinked them away before nodding and forcing your tense muscles to relax.

"What are you?"

"I'm your--I'm your good girl."

"Then do what I say. Touch yourself, little girl, let me show you what it's like to fuck my face 'till you're dumb."

Whimpering, you shakily began rubbing circles on your clit. You felt extremely overstimulated, to the point where your legs were vibrating with it. With rapid breaths, you felt Joel slip out from beneath you and place himself with his face between your legs.

His eyes never left yours as he gripped your wrist and pulled your hand away from your pussy before licking a slow, long stripe along your seam. A few more licks, and his fingers were back on your clit, this time moving back and forth rapidly as his own hips fucked your sheets. The tingling feeling only grew more intense, forcing your pent-up energy to manifest into actions, actions like your hands flying to his hair, pulling on it with fervor, your convulsing torso, and the opening and closing motions of your trembling legs.

Joel saw all these signs and took it as his signal to give you your final instruction before he stuck out his tongue.

“In my mouth, fuck, please. Put it in my mouth.”

You didn’t understand what he meant until it was happening.

With your feet planted flat on the bed and your hands shooting to clutch your plushies, your entire body shook with it as clear liquid gushed out of you in pulses, splashing Joel’s tongue and soaking the bottom half of his face. It felt extraordinary, like nothing you had ever felt before, and you knew the pleasure of it all was intensely heightened by Joel’s receptiveness to it; the way he moaned as he drank you down and continued playing with your pussy, eagerly grinding his cock against the mattress, mumbling praises when he could, telling you how good you tasted and returning to finger fucking you in an effort to coax even more out of you.

“Beautiful, god, so beautiful, I need more,” Joel pressured, groaning in frustration when the stream stopped. “F-Fucking give me—give me more.” His mouth closed around your clit and began to suck. As if sensing that you were about to protest his ministrations, he swatted your inner thigh and rasped out in a voice hoarse from arousal, “I’m not stopping until you give me what I want, sweetheart.”

if you enjoyed, see the rest of my works here!

taglist for this AU: @777-wonders, @scarlettstarletts, @pedrosbabygirl , @deathsholywaterr , @devilmademewriteit , @jakegyllenhl

[foreveia]

snow one like you ⤨ miya atsumu

⨭ genre; college!au, frat!au, enemies to lovers!trope (sort of)

⨭ pairing; miya atsumu x f!reader

⨭ word count; 16.4k

⨭ descriptions; you're convinced that miya atsumu is the world's biggest fuckboy asshole, and yet, when the iota nu alpha (ina)'s exec board and your sorority's exec board go on winter break together, you come to prove that there really is a thin line between hate and something else.

⨭ warnings; alcohol, profanity, sexual innuendos, LOTS of dick jokes

⨭ a/n; i have been FIENDING to write frat boy! & fuckboy!atsumu bro so here's the 'tsumu redemption story lmfao i am very proud of coming up w greek letter versions of the hq teams. hope u love seeing a fuckboy conversion story as much as i do mwah :)

one.

Winter break should have been perfect. 

Here’s what should have happened: (1) you, your sorority’s executive board, and an obsessive amount of luggage for a two week break all pile into Mao’s sexy black Jeep; (2) drive six and a half hours up to the cute, girly AirBnB you rented for this; (3) sleep in until 1 PM every day and wake up in the softest sheets ever; (4) spend the whole winter break snowboarding down black diamonds and drinking mimosas in the hot tub. You even treated yourself to a shopping spree in preparation for it; four sets of pink bikinis and matching silk pajamas for the girls had put a significant dent in your bank balance but who cares because it was meant for your perfect winter break.

It could’ve been perfect. It should’ve been perfect. 

But here you are instead, the day after finals on what could have been a lovely end to the first half of your junior year but instead is the start of an imminently torturous two weeks, standing at the curb of your university apartment building, shivering your absolute fucking ass off in just a hoodie because Aran’s rental car was delayed an hour for pick up. All your favorite winter wear is already packed into the massive duffel bag by your feet, stuffed to the absolute brim with just one of your new bikinis (since apparently, you had to do bonding activities now), plain pajama sets (the girls worried the others would feel left out), and everything you could ever need to commit a murder and get away with it. 

Your planned victim? Atsumu Miya, the official worst human being on Earth.

This belief is confirmed by the blue 2012 Hyundai you’ve been waiting on finally rolling up, and the back door popping open to reveal Atsumu, sprawled across the three seats as if he owns the place. He looks as if he plans on you feeding him grapes and massaging his feet during the ride there; you want to punch him in the jaw. His eyes flick up, lazily scanning you from head to toe with a smirk that could infuriate a saint.

“Awh, look who’s here to grace us with her presence,” he drawls, not bothering to move an inch. “So princess, ready to fall in love with me yet?”

You grit your teeth, forcing a smile that’s more a baring of teeth. Mentally, you scratch out human—because he’s actually closer to a demon. 

“In your fantasies,” you scoff, heaving your duffel bag into the trunk with more force than necessary. The trunk is a struggle to close because it’s already overflowing with way more baggage than is needed for a winter break trip.

He chuckles, an irritating sound that grates on your last nerve. “Oh, I have plenty of those, babe. You’re just usually not wearin’ clothes in ‘em.” 

Yep, it’s confirmed. You’re going to kill Atsumu. 

Unfortunately, Yui Michimiya, the sorority president and apparently shotgun, rolls down the window before you get the opportunity to strangle him right then and there. “Y/N, get in the car, we have to go! Mao and them are already on their way there.” 

You sputter. “I’m stuck in the back with him? Are you kidding?”

“Aran is driving the first three hours, and then I’m switching with him. We don’t have time for this.”

“What, so I not only have to share my winter break with the fucking foxes, but now I’m backseat? Why didn’t you just let me go with the other girls, Yui?” you whine. You know you’re being childish, but you don’t care. This is practically a matter of life or death (albeit not yours—for Atsumu). 

Yui’s eyes dart between you and Atsumu, her lips pressed into a thin line as she navigates the tension with the ease of a seasoned diplomat. “Look, I know you two have your... differences, but we’ve got a schedule to keep. It’s a long drive, and we can’t afford to start late. You two both need to just suck it up, okay? It’s just a few hours.”

You glance at Atsumu, who’s now sporting a grin that suggests he’s already won whatever game he thinks you’re playing. The prospect of spending hours confined in a car with him makes your skin crawl, but with a resigned sigh, you grab the rest of your gear and slide into the backseat. The door slams shut, sealing your fate. You’re already sad for your future self.

Atsumu shifts, making a show of spreading out even more, his smirk never faltering. “Are ya feelin’ cozy, sweetheart?” he teases, nudging you with his knees as his legs open so far he’s past the empty center console.

“Your tiny dick does not need that much room. Now get your legs away from mine before I chop them off and throw them in the woods behind our cabin.”

“Wow, princess, didn’t think 8 inches was tiny in your book. Or should I say size queen?”

This is officially the worst winter break of your life.

When Chizuru, the sorority secretary, had first proposed the idea of sharing your annual break retreat with a fraternity executive board, you thought she was joking. And then when Mao, the internal vice president, said it was a lovely plan so that both parties could have bigger facilities and more funds, you begged for it to be any other fraternity. And then finally, when Yui officially confirmed that your retreat would be a joint trip with Iota Nu Alpha (INA)’s five executive members, you actually lost your mind. 

Because Iota Nu Alpha, while being a generally very respectable fraternity with a decent national establishment and well-regarded chapter on your campus, contains a particular flaw: a certain external vice president who is the actual devil and goes by the earthling name of Atsumu Miya. 

The truth is that you’re not a very violent person—you don’t even knowingly kill bugs, much less go on mental tangents fantasizing about someone’s downfall. Before freshman year of college, you wouldn’t have ever believed that you’d be on the verge of homicidal rage just from the sound of someone’s voice. 

But Atsumu truly is a special case because he has an innate talent for bringing out the worst in you. Every smirk, every condescending comment, every casual brush of his arm against yours feels like a deliberate provocation, and it has ever since you first met him in a frat basement during your freshman year. Deciding he was nothing but bad news, you had tried to distance yourself from him, but somehow, he continues to be pulled back in everywhere: from being chemistry lab partners in your freshman spring to being paired during the Greek life matchups to being forced to take him to your sophomore sorority formal because your initial date ghosted last minute, for some reason, the universe hates you and you literally cannot escape him. 

Atsumu Miya spends half his time flirting with you and the other half pissing you off; he’s a thorn in your side that simply will not budge. He’s evidently already made it his mission to ruin your break before it’s even started, so that’s just reason #13092 of why he is in fact the bane of your existence.

The car pulls away from the curb, and Aran, INA’s secretary, adjusts the rearview mirror to glance back at the two of you. “Let’s try to keep it civil, alright? We’ve got a long road ahead of us.”

Atsumu snickers and you roll your eyes, keeping your gaze trained on what’s outside the window. The cityscape blurs past, a mix of buildings and holiday lights from tourist spots in the area.

If you had been in Mao’s car right now, accompanied by her and two tolerable members of the fraternity, you’d probably be excited, chattering on and on about all the fun you were going to have. But now, the only thing you can think about is how to survive the next few hours—and then the next two weeks—without throttling the blonde asshole sitting next to you. 

“Y’know, princess,” Atsumu says after a few minutes of blessed quiet, “Ain’t it funny how ya swore in freshman year you’re never speakin’ to me again? And yet here we are.”

You don’t bother looking at him, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, hilarious. It’s the comedy of the century how you’ve become an inescapable part of my college life. What’s next? Are you planning to haunt my dreams too?”

Atsumu’s grin widens, undeterred by your sarcasm. “Are ya sayin’ you wanna sleep with me? Awh, at least buy me dinner first.”

“Fuck you.”

“I mean, as ya wish. Or I can fuck you, I don’t mind changin’ up positions.”

You glare at him, but the intensity of your anger is somewhat mitigated by the fact that you’re squished in the backseat, your knees almost touching his. Yui and Aran exchange a glance in the front, clearly relieved that the bickering hasn’t escalated to physical violence—yet.

You think they shouldn’t be relieved yet. With the way Atsumu is currently simpering at you, it won’t be long before you act on your deep urge to punch him.

two.

The first few hours of the drive pass. You try to ignore Atsumu as much as possible, staring out the window and counting the trees as they whip by; still, he keeps saying stupid things and making you acknowledge them because they’re just that stupid. He just has the miraculous ability to pull you out of your head and whenever he speaks, he becomes all you can think about (because you’re so enraged by his audacity). Occasionally, you catch snippets of Yui and Aran’s conversation, but their voices are low, and you’re too wrapped up in your own thoughts and debates to pay much attention.

And then you notice the snow outside. You’re far enough outside of Tokyo now where the weather has begun to change; it is so incredibly beautiful to see the snowflakes flying down gently as the car flies past the snow-dusted neighborhoods and you can’t help but press your forehead against the cool glass, fascinated. You haven’t seen snowfall this hard in so long, and you are enthralled by it. It’s like the universe itself is trying to soften your mood, scattering diamonds across the landscape to distract you from the simmering tension inside the car. Even Atsumu seems momentarily quiet, his usual remarks on pause as he gazes out his own window.

The serene moment, however, is shattered when Aran suddenly pipes up, “We’re going to make a quick stop in Sendai. Need to stretch our legs and maybe grab some snacks. Anyone need anything specific?”

“Head from the princess.”

“A break from Atsumu.”

Yui snaps, evidently reaching her limit. “Okay, that’s enough. Everyone out.”

The car pulls into a convenience store parking lot, and the group disbands for a brief respite from the confined space: Aran goes to refill the tank, Atsumu and Yui head inside the store, and you trail behind in the lot. You step out, taking in the crisp, cold air, feeling it sting your lungs—a welcome pain compared to the annoyance of dealing with Atsumu. Still, you’ve made it this far; you refuse to allow his presence to deter you from enjoying the snow. 

The break is brief, and soon everyone is piling back into the car, arms laden with snacks and drinks. Atsumu tosses you a pack of peach gummies with a smug look. “Don’t say I never do anything nice for ya.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Thanks?” you say, but it comes out more like a question; you’re struck by the gesture but even more so by the fact that he in fact had gotten your favorite candy. “How’d you know I liked these?”

“Oh, I just got them ‘cause they’re peaches. And I like your ass.”

Ah, there he goes, opening his big mouth and ruining everything. 

His smirk widens, and he shifts closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Y’know, if yer cold, they say body heat is the best way to stay warm. Maybe we should try—”

You shove him away. “Keep your theories to yourself. I’m not interested.” You’re frowning again, staring outside the window with a refreshed intensity. 

It’s infuriating how he does nice things as if he cares about you when he’s really just the world’s biggest fuckboy. He is pretty and he knows it, so it’s not some random mistake that he spends half his time charming girls into dropping their panties. In a fraternity already known for being Man Sluts™, he really does stand out as the biggest one of all because everywhere Miya Atsumu goes, broken hearts inevitably follow.

He grins as if your hostility is just another game for him to win—because he’s an instigator, he doesn’t let up. “C’mon, we’re stuck together anyway. Might as well get close, babe.” His tone is mocking, and you can feel his eyes on you even with your gaze fixed firmly out the window.

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Why? ‘Cause ya know ya like it?”

“Because I have a name, Atsumu,” you snap, plugging in your earbuds and turning up your music loud enough to drown out everything and everyone (and especially Atsumu) around you.

Yui and Aran sigh. They had been the only ones to agree to take you two, and even their patience is wearing thin. The rest of the drive to the AirBnB continues in a similarly miserable pattern—moments of near silence punctuated by Atsumu’s insufferable comments and your equally sharp retorts. By the time you arrive, everyone’s a little cranky except Atsumu, as obnoxiously cheery as ever.

The sole saving grace is that the cabin is just as charming as you’d hoped.

With the INA’s additional funds, the AirBnB is significantly nicer than any you’ve stayed at before. Nestled in a small clearing, it’s a picturesque retreat with smoke gently curling from the chimney and warm lights glowing from the windows: altogether, it’s a two-story, wood-paneled beauty that looks like it was plucked straight from a Christmas postcard. The surrounding forest is peaceful, there’s a gorgeously still lake just past the trees, and the snow-covered opening glistens under the setting sun as the car finally comes to a slow in the stone-lined parking space. 

You step out of the car, stretching your legs and taking a deep breath; the thin snow sinks under your sneakers as you retrieve your duffel bag from the trunk. Atsumu, of course, makes a show of grabbing his own luggage with exaggerated effort, smirking at you as he hefts a comically oversized yellow suitcase over his shoulder.

“Need any help, princess?” he asks, his tone dripping with mock concern.

“I got it, thanks,” you reply curtly, not bothering to mask your irritation. You start towards the cabin, eager to claim your room and escape the tension of the car ride.

Inside is even cozier than it looked from the outside. The living room has a large stone fireplace, plush leather couches, and a comforting red-brick aesthetic; the kitchen is spacious and modern, with a large island perfect for group meals. The centerpiece of the house is the tall Christmas tree in the center, already adorned with twinkling lights and ornaments; there are no gifts under the tree yet, however, because Chizuru has made one of the ongoing activities for the trip to sneakily buy or make everyone else a gift. They’ll show up, little by little, over the break, but you imagine by the time Christmas actually rolls around, it’ll be overflowing.

Mao and Kita, the two other drivers, have both arrived with their cohorts, so the cabin is officially full of life. Both the fraternity e-board and sorority e-board are exploring the amenities; you know from the listing that there’s a game room and hot tub somewhere, so you’re sure they’re seeking those out.

You, however, are focused on something else. You’re too busy looking for the room Chizuru has assigned you, praying to every god you know that you aren’t placed near the human embodiment of a rash. 

When you find your room, you drop your bag at your feet and sigh peacefully. It’s a single on the short end of the hallway, with a queen-sized bed and a lovely balcony that overlooks the snowy forest. There’s only one other room on this end, and what are the chances of that being—

“Oi, princess, I guess we’re neighbors!” Atsumu whoops, walking towards you from down the hall, waving dramatically and now lugging two suitcases, his obnoxious yellow one and an identical one in gray.

Apparently a hundred percent. The world does in fact hate you, and you’re sure now that this is definitely going to be the worst winter break you’ve ever had.

three.

It turns out that not only is Atsumu loud when you’re awake, but he’s loud when you’re trying to sleep too. 

The walls of the cabin are remarkably thin for the whole aesthetic being wood-planks and brick, so much of your first night is spent with your pillow pressed over your head, trying desperately to drown out the loud conversations echoing from next door. The Miya twins are sharing the double room next to you, and despite your best attempts to muffle them, apparently Atsumu speaks at the volume of a F9 fighter jet, because you can hear every time he laughs. 

When you see the clock tick past 1 AM and they still haven’t stopped talking, you are done.

You give up on the idea of them shutting up on their own, and you need sleep—you’re an absolute terror without it. So you do the only thing you can think to do: get up out of bed, march yourself over there, bang on the door and demand them to please, for the love of God, shut the fuck up. 

You bang on the door with more force than you intended, each knock echoing down the hallway (you’re thankful the other rooms are on the opposite end). After a few seconds that feel like forever, the noise inside finally ceases, and the door swings open.

There stands Osamu, wearing nothing but a pair of gray boxers with a simultaneously perplexed and annoyed expression on his face. He looks like he’s been pulled from the midst of the most intense discussion of his life—his hair disheveled, a hint of confusion flickering across his features as he registers who’s on the other side of the door.

“What’s so important thatcha gotta bang down our door at one in the mornin’?” he asks, his tone more curious than irritated.

Despite the cold creeping in around your slippers, you feel a flush spread across your cheeks—and it’s unfortunately not from the chill. It’s hard not to notice his well-defined muscles and the way his boxers sit so nicely on his hips; all the INA boys are sculpted like art and it’s part of why they’re such a popular fraternity on campus. Still, regardless of how hot he may be, your exhaustion and frustration are quick to overshadow any hint of attraction.

“So you do know it’s one AM! In case you two didn’t know, most normal people are trying to sleep at this hour,” you snap, trying not to look at how the dim hallway light casts shadows across his abs. It’s honestly a shame that this is the bane of your existence and his grayscale clone you’re talking about. “Including me, and I can’t do that with the Miyas recreating a live studio audience next door.”

Osamu’s expression softens a bit, actually looking slightly apologetic, and he leans against the door frame, crossing his arms. “Ah, sorry ‘bout that. Guess we got carried away.”

Behind him, you catch a glimpse of Atsumu, just as minimally clad, who has now paused in the midst of grabbing a snack from their cluttered table. He truly is cursed to be a demon trapped inside a beautiful body.

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between you and his brother, licking his lips before he teases, “Ya know, princess, you could always join us. M’bed’s got room for two.”

Osamu glances back at his twin, rolling his eyes slightly before returning his attention to you. “Bro, seriously?” He sighs, but you can see the hint of a smirk playing on his lips as well.

“No thanks,” you mutter, crossing your arms and standing your ground, determined not to let Atsumu’s pointed commentary distract you from your mission. “Don’t need your help cuddling me to sleep. Just shut up, please.”

Atsumu strides over to the door to stand next to his brother, grinning as he eyes you up and down. “C’mon, babe. We’re just havin’ a bit of fun. What’s a few more minutes, ey? Besides, you look cute in yer bunny slippers.”

“I hate you. And I told you to stop calling me stupid nicknames,” you huff. In your initial moment of rage, you forgot you’re standing there in just your fluffy slippers and polka-dot pajama set. “Just be quiet so I can sleep.”

Osamu chuckles, clearly amused, but still he takes a step back and drags Atsumu with him. “Alright, alright, we’ll keep it down, promise. Ain’t our intention to keep a pretty girl like you up all night—unless, of course, that’s what you’re aimin’ for.”

The joke sends a wave of heat across your face, but you manage a quick, “Shut up,” before turning on your heel and heading back to your room. As you walk away, you hear the soft thud of the door closing and the remnants of their now blessedly muffled voices.

Back in your own room, you climb back into bed, pull the covers up to your chin, and stare at the ceiling, willing your heartbeat to calm down. “Stupid Miyas,” you mutter to yourself, rolling over and burying your face in your pillow.

It’s going to be a long night.

***

The next morning, Mao is the first to point out your dark circles. 

It had been a struggle to wake up this morning, given how you had hardly slept; when your phone, blasting a cheery Ohayo, Ohayo! alarm, obnoxiously alerted you to start the day, you almost threw it across the room. You are bleary-eyed and extremely grumpy, so when she gasps at your appearance over breakfast, you are quick to react.

“I look exhausted because I am, Mao,” you snark back, rubbing at your temples in an attempt to ward off the impending headache. It doesn’t work. “Thanks to the Miya twins and their late-night comedy show, I barely got any sleep.”

You feel bad for snapping at your best friend—after all, she had only been concerned. But thankfully, she doesn’t seem to take any offense to your tone; she just sympathetically nods and slides a steaming cup of coffee your way. “Well, hopefully, today will be less noisy. Maybe the activities will tire them out.” 

You doubt it, but you’ll take whatever peace you can get.

 ***

The morning actually passes relatively uneventfully because Aran and Chizuru, as the secretaries, have put together a tight itinerary that’s meant to keep you all moving. From a group hike to tubing to a stop at the holiday market to ending the night with board games, they have everything fleshed out.

But somehow, Atsumu still manages to find every opportunity to get under your skin. From bumping into you “accidentally” during the hike to stealing your pink tube right at the top of the slide to buying the stall’s last Mt. Iwate snow globe you had been eyeing, by the end of the day, you are practically stomping into the cabin. You are seething for an opportunity to execute revenge.

Said opportunity makes itself present when the group gathers around the large dining table for Pictionary after dinner. Chizuru draws names from a hat to decide teams, and you end up paired with Osamu—you can’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at your partner. Osamu is focused and competitive, just like you, and despite his contribution to the teasing and noise last night, you know he’s just as enthusiastic about beating his brother as you are.

The game starts off lightheartedly, with everyone laughing and shouting guesses as each pair takes turns drawing. When it’s Osamu’s turn, he pulls a card and starts sketching quickly; he draws a round shape with spiky hair and you squint, confused.

“Um… a pineapple… a sun?” you guess tentatively, but Osamu shakes his head and continues, his hand moving frantically to add more details—a few lines here, a few there. “A duck?”

Osamu keeps drawing and you keep futilely guessing, until finally, he adds two distinctive eyebrows and a stupid grin that you’d recognize anywhere. The lightbulb finally clicks on in your mind; really, you can’t believe it took you this long.

You blurt out, “An asshole!” 

The room falls silent for a beat before everyone (excluding Atsumu, of course) erupts into boisterous laughter. Even Kita is smiling—and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him express real emotion. Osamu’s face positively lights up, and he gives you an enthusiastic high five.

Atsumu, though momentarily stunned, quickly retorts, “Oi! I’m right here, ya know!”

Chizuru, being game coordinator, tries to maintain some semblance of order. She coughs into her hand, trying not to laugh, as she says, “Technically, she’s not wrong based on the drawing, but let’s stick to the actual prompts, please.”

Osamu all but wipes a tear from his eye. “Alright, alright,” he says, holding up the little card that says in all caps, [ YELLOW ].

“The fuck? How’s me even relate to that?” Atsumu scoffs. 

Osamu shrugs mock-innocently, but the shit-eating grin on his face gives him away. “I dunno, jus’ came to mind. Maybe it’s yer hair.”

Yui giggles beside Atsumu, who is glaring daggers at his twin. “Well, at least you’re… memorable,” she says, patting her partner on the shoulder.

“Yeah, memorable for being an ass,” you retort, trying to suppress your own laughter.

The game moves on, even as the laughter continues; despite Atsumu’s ongoing and constant attempts to throw you off, you and Osamu manage to rack up a respectable number of points. And you do so again and again, even when Atsumu declares a team rematch in the form of Codenames and Uno; the camaraderie with Osamu comes shockingly naturally and by the time you have finished playing rematches with all the available games in the rec room, you are practically in sync. 

Osamu is easy to work with. You two work together to get on Atsumu’s nerves and you can tell the blonde is boiling. He competes with Osamu at an intensity you haven’t even seen before from him—you chalk it up to sibling rivalry, though you wouldn’t know for sure.

Then, when your team is declared as the official overall second place (after Kita and Aran—who would’ve guessed), Osamu scoops you up into a brief hug; your feet come six inches off the ground and you gasp at the unexpected embrace. A blush spreads across your cheeks when he settles you down because Yui and Chizuru are squealing so loud you think the rest of the sorority can probably hear it from Tokyo, 543.5 kilometers away. You don’t even have it in you to make eye contact with the bemused younger Miya twin, so you keep your eyes steadfast on the ground. His arm is residually slung around your shoulders; he leans much of his weight against you when he does.

You’re okay with it though. Osamu’s arms are just as toned and yummy as they look.

four.

Over the next week, you find yourself getting to know the gray-haired Miya more and more. He makes breakfast for everyone in the mornings without fail, and you’re an early bird, so more often than not, you two end up alone in the kitchen before the light has fully woken up the cabin.

Osamu is thoughtful, considerate—he’s so naturally comforting and sincere, down to his smallest movements. He listens more than he talks. He makes people feel heard. He takes care of the people around him. He doesn’t flirt with you or provoke you or leave you breathless. He is nice. 

You think that you like him. 

One morning, Osamu is telling you a story about learning to cook because at twelve years old Atsumu almost burnt down the kitchen while trying to make eggs, when Atsumu (further proof he really is a demon because he was summoned on cue, Beetlejuice-style) groggily stumbles into the room in the humble pursuit of coffee.

He blinks, registering what he’s seeing, his eyes flickering between you and his twin confusedly. “Why’re ya here?” he asks, sounding almost accusatory. “Why’re you canoodlin’ at seven in the mornin’?”

You snort. “We are not canoodling,” you mock, resting your head in your palm, leaning on the kitchen island. “Osamu’s just telling me about the time you almost burned down your house.”

Atsumu’s head snaps at an insane speed to look at his brother, a boyish look of embarrassment and betrayal all over his face. “‘Samu, what’re ya spillin’ that for?” he whines. This action makes you smile even more: the mental picture of little Atsumu setting off smoke alarms while Osamu calmly puts out the flames behind him only becomes more vivid when you imagine Atsumu pouting and in tears. It mitigates his irritating personality, even if just by a bit. 

Osamu, noticing his twin’s flustered state, gives a nonchalant shrug. “Just sharin’ some childhood memories,” he replies smoothly, a glint of mischief in his eyes that you don’t catch.

Atsumu narrows his eyes at his brother but doesn’t say anything, instead turning his attention to the coffee pot. As Osamu adds more and more silly details and your conversation continues, Atsumu’s demeanor… shifts. The embarrassment fades, replaced by a subtle, tightening jawline, his eyes darting between you and his brother; he looks irritated. Is he really that mad at having his childhood mishaps dragged into the light? 

The thought of him as a kid is actually kinda cute, though you suspect that if you told him this, Atsumu’s ego would inflate so large he’d float into outer space.

“Really, ‘Tsumu, it was like you were tryna to summon a fire spirit with that stove,” Osamu teases, slicing fresh strawberries with a chef’s finesse. He shoots you a playful wink. “Had’ta save our house from becoming a pile of ash. Ma’ almost killed us both!”

Atsumu huffs, pouring himself a cup of coffee, the steam swirling between you. “Cut it out, ‘Samu. Don’t need ya makin’ her think I was a total menace as a kid,” he shoots back, his tone playful yet strained.

You laugh at their banter. “Well, you’re still one now, so I don’t know,” you smirk, leaning towards Atsumu. “Maybe Osamu’s just the better brother.”

Atsumu shoots a playful glare at his brother, but when his gaze falls back on you, it lingers just a bit longer than necessary. “Just in the kitchen,” he mutters, but there’s a noticeable edge to his voice. He grabs an extra mug from the cabinet, setting both it and a little container of cream cups and sugar packets down in front of you before pouring you a fresh cup. “The usual?”

“Mhm,” you hum absentmindedly; it doesn’t quite click that Atsumu knows your coffee order by heart. “It’s nice you guys always had each other growing up, huh? I mean, you’re lucky you’ve got Osamu around to keep you out of trouble,” you tease. 

As Atsumu locates some cinnamon sticks and mixes your coffee, his expression hardens. “Yea, lucky me,” he says, his tone dry. He slides the cup toward you with a careful nudge. “‘Samu’s the saint and the hero, always has been.”

Osamu chuckles from his spot by the counter. “Oi, you ain’t gotta sell yerself short, ‘Tsumu. You got your moments... they’re just hidden very, very deep,” His voice is light, but you sense an underlying seriousness that suggests he’s proud of his twin more than he lets on.

Atsumu rolls his eyes, leaning against the counter and sipping his coffee, eyes trained on watching you stir yours. “Can’t ya ‘ave told some of those magical stories to her then? Had to keep it on ma failures?” 

You eye him over the mug, playful. “I mean… you tell me plenty about your moments. I like hearing about your weaknesses.”

A sly smirk creeps onto Osamu’s face. “Oh, don’t cha worry your pretty head. I’ve got lotsa stories ‘bout ‘Tsumu,” he says, placing a hand on your shoulder, the touch light but enough to make you aware of his presence.

Glancing up at Osamu in your surprise, you happen to miss the way Atsumu’s jaw clenches, his grip on his coffee cup tightening until his knuckles turn white. You happen to miss the way his frown settles deeper on his face. Above all, you happen to miss the way his glare at Osamu darkens with annoyance, with something that burns with more than just sibling rivalry, and the way Osamu grins right back. 

five.

“I think I like Osamu.”

Mao squints at you from her spot at the foot of your bed, peering up momentarily from her debate on which pair of pants to wear. “Girl what? Wrong Miya.”

“I knew you were gonna say that!” you groan into your hands. You had called your best friend over for the primary purpose of helping you pick out your outfit for the activities today (a walk through Morioka and hitting up a food market for dinner), but honestly, you’re starting to regret it. It really would’ve been easier to have just spun a wheel or something, because Mao has not been helpful in anything besides causing you more agony. “You watch too many k-dramas. I hate Atsumu!”

“Bitch, please,” Mao scoffs. Like a true friend, she does not tolerate any of your bullshit and says things as they are, blunt and completely honest. And like a truer fake friend, she’s been #TeamAtsumu since day one because she’s convinced that the Universe constantly bringing you together is the real life equivalent of Our Beloved Summer (but in college). “Hate is such a strong word. You don’t hate him. What you guys have is sexual tension.”

You want to let out a visceral scream. “That is not true. He’s just…”

“‘Stupidly pretty and gets on your nerves’, yeah yeah, I know,” Mao finishes your sentence with a shit-eating grin. “Have you ever considered just riding his dick to get the feelings out?”

Glaring at her does nothing besides make her smile grow even bigger. 

“I’m not going to ride his dick because even if I tried, I wouldn’t be able to find it. Y’know he keeps saying he packs eight? As if he would have both an eight-pack and eight inches. The universe wouldn’t do that. Atsumu’s gotta be nerfed somehow, right?” you ramble, half annoyed and half trying to stop imagining him naked. 

“I can see the rated X thoughts in your head, lovebug.”

“Whatever. How did we even get to this? The point is that Osamu’s nice to me. Super respectful. Why wouldn’t I like him?” 

Mao shrugs. “Yeah, he’s a sweetie. But like… I don’t know. I don’t think he’s right for you.”

“You suck. Who do you think you are?” you glower.

“I’m your fucking twin flame, give me my respect,” she snorts, not getting a reply because you both know she’s right. She then holds up two pairs of jeans—one dark-wash, one light-wash, but otherwise virtually identical—and stares them down like her life depends on it. “But anyway. Just don’t think you’re meant for a nice guy, y’know? In fact, I think Atsumu makes you better.”

You gape at her, in utter disbelief she could even say those words out loud. “Be so fuckin’ serious. Better? He, like, thrives off my rage.”

“Right, and you thrive off competition,” she replies boredly, tossing the light-wash pair over her shoulder and standing to wiggle the other on. “I’m telling you, Atsumu gets under your skin in a way no one else can–”

“You’re getting real close,” you interrupt, earning yourself a pointed look.

“Shut up. As I was saying, Atsumu gets under your skin, challenges you, and that lights a fire under your ass. Makes you wanna prove him wrong, prove yourself right. And that’s what makes you better. Makes you both better.”

“It’s like you want me to be miserable.”

She snorts. “Of course not. I’m just saying, for someone so hellbent on hating Atsumu, you sure spend a lot of time talking about him. I mean, really, do you even hear yourself?” She spins around, both to show you the fit and to mock you with little hand gestures. “‘I hate Atsumu, Atsumu this, Atsumu that, Atsumu, Atsumu, Atsumu.’ It’s like you have a little shrine dedicated to him in your mind.”

“You’re delusional,” you mutter, even though you know her words have at least some truth in them. “I don’t care about him.”

What a lie. It’s a lie and both of you know it, because Mao squints at you, hands on her hips. “Look, all I’m saying is, you can try to sell me on Osamu all you want—he’s nice, he’s sweet, he respects you, blah blah blah. But are you sure it’s him you actually like?”

You freeze, her question slicing through your defenses like a knife. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She turns to face you, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised like she’s ready to dismantle you piece by piece. “I mean, are you into Osamu? Or do you just like the idea of him because it’s easier than dealing with whatever weird, messy thing you’ve got going on with his brother?”

You blink at her, completely thrown off balance. “That’s—that’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” she fires back, her tone casual but sharp. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re running from something.”

“I—” You open your mouth to argue, but the words die on your tongue. You’re not sure what to say because, annoyingly, she’s not entirely wrong. She never really is.

You’re truly blessed in this world because you and Mao were random suitemates who coincidentally rushed the same sorority freshman year and have been inseparable ever since. She’s the IVP to your EVP, the peanut butter to your jelly, the Starfire to your Raven, and your real mothafuckin’ OG because she’s been there for you through literally everything. Right now, however, it means she has the ability to brutally call you out like she can read your mind with X-Ray vision, straight down to your thinly veiled thoughts about Atsumu’s abs.

Mao gives you a knowing look, pulling her phone from her pocket to check the time, a helpful reminder that you in fact do have things to do today besides sit around and mope.

She dusts off her outfit one last time, before heading towards the door. “Look, think about it. You clearly don’t not care about him. And c’mon, lovebug. All these ‘random’ run-ins since then? Not so random when you think about it. The Chem partners, maybe. But you two at formal? Matching during blind dating two years in a row? The universe isn’t subtle, babe.”

You are hating this call out. It’s such an accurate read that you feel annoyed that she’s able to just put it in the world like this when you have spent the last two years trying to choke it down. The truth in Mao’s words sting; you can’t even argue because every random encounter with Atsumu feels less like coincidence and more like the cosmos relishing in your anguish.

“Why did it have to be him?” you mutter, more to yourself than to Mao. “Why’d the universe pick him of all people?”

Mao snorts. “Because he’s an idiot, just like you. You’re probably the only two people in the world who could pull off two and a half years of weird, messed up pining.”

You roll your eyes, but finally, you allow yourself a small smile; Mao really is the only one who can simultaneously call you out for everything you’ve been trying to ignore but also make you feel seen in ways that no one else can. It’s the brutal honesty, the tough love that she delivers without sugarcoating it, that makes you value her words even when they sting.

“Fine, maybe you have a point,” you admit begrudgingly, much to her thrill—which you promptly kill by waggling your finger in her face. “I do care about him. But Osamu’s really sweet to me and… I dunno. I promise I’ll think about it.”

“And that’s all I’m asking for, babygirl. If you do actually like Osamu, I’ll support you—I mean, he’s hot and makes fire pancakes,” Mao shrugs nonchalantly. “But when you end up with Atsumu, I’m gonna tell you I told you so.”

You scowl at her. “I said I’d think about it. That does not mean I’m going to suddenly start confessing my undying love for Atsumu.”

“I don’t expect that!” Mao says, faux innocence dripping from her voice. “Because I already know you will next time you drunk make-out with him at a kickback.”

She’s instantly hit in the head with a pillow (the first thing throwable you could reach), cackling boisterously like she’s told the funniest joke in the world. That’s it. It’s official. As of this moment, you are officially confirming it: it’s time to find a new best friend. 

six.

It’s the perfect night to unwind.

It’s been a long enough day of playing tourist. The rest of the fraternity and sorority boards finished several cases of beer and a handle of Tito’s over dinner, so they’ve long retreated into their rooms; you’re the sole person still lingering awake. All things considered, you’ve been high-strung all week (worsened now—thanks Mao!), so even if you were to try, you probably couldn’t sleep anyway. So you opt for the best relaxation method you’ve got at the moment: breaking in the good ‘ol hot tub.

It’s a decent size and takes up almost all of the back veranda, sans a small patio space—under the open sky, the air is chilly and you can see the snow-covered landscape extending for what feels like miles. The setting is so calm, so beautiful and something right now feels so immaculately undisturbed, it really is the perfect night. You have donned your favorite bikini, turned on the jets, and set the water to the hottest setting; your eyes are fluttering shut in an attempt to find some peace. The sound of the water bubbles and cracks around you, and you can feel your muscles start to ease.

This is exactly what you wanted from your winter break: a chance to loosen up.

But good things aren’t meant to last, and especially not when the very premise of this vacation is to make sure you can never catch a break, because the tranquility is quickly disrupted by the sounds of footsteps crunching across the wood-paneled porch. You pry open your eyes to find Atsumu approaching the hot tub, a huge smirk spread across his face. He’s wearing dark blue board shorts and carries a towel slung casually over his shoulder; without waiting for an invitation, he dips a toe into the water, then with a satisfied nod, slips in across from you.

The universe hates you, clearly. 

“Fancy seein’ ya here, princess,” he teases, the warm water swirling around as he settles in.

You roll your eyes, trying to avoid the flutter in your chest that starts up again seeing him. “Can’t you find someone else to bother?”

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that. Just thought it’d be nice to join ya. The night’s too pretty to spend alone,” he says, flashing a stunning grin that you suspect has melted many hearts before yours. A pompous, arrogant fuckboy to his core.

“Well, you’ve seen the night, you can leave now.”

Atsumu chuckles, unfazed. “Nah, I think I’ma stay. Matter-a-fact, why don’t I get reeeaaall close…” he trails off, inching closer to your side.

You splash him with your hand in prompt retaliation. He laughs, dodging the splash as if he’d anticipated it all along—probably because Atsumu thrives on your attention and revels in your irritation. 

“You’re so annoying.”

“One of my most charmin’ qualities, ey?” he smirks.

“No.” 

“Well you’re still here, so… at least a part of ya definitely likes it,” he says, his eyebrows doing an absurd dance that pulls an involuntary smile from you. “See? Yer even smilin’! I got the great and stoic princess to smile! I can die happy now.”

As much as Atsumu infuriates you, your lips truly do betray you: you suppose he can be funny… sometimes. “Then please, do us all a favor and die.”

“Awh, but then who’ll keep ya company?” he simpers, sickeningly sweet. 

“I’ll call Osamu down here to join me.”

Atsumu’s face falls. “Ya kiddin’? ‘Samu’ll bore ya half to death. He ain’t hold a candle to my glitterin’ personality.”

You snort. “We have plenty of conversations in the mornings when you’re not even awake.”

“Right, right. Ya mean your conversations ‘bout me?” Atsumu says challengingly. 

The argument you were about to make fades away as it hits you—he’s kind of right. Most of your chats with Osamu do end up circling back to him. This realization irks you because it suggests one of two things: your growing interest in Osamu is just a misplaced fixation on his brother, or you do think about Atsumu far more than you’d care to admit.

Either and both implications are terrible.

You scowl, “Shut up. I don’t need you to spice things up.”

His eyes light up, and you prepare yourself because he’s clearly just come up with a terrible idea. “Oi, wanna really make things interesting?”

“What?”

“Let’s play truth or dare,” Atsumu suggests, his eyes glinting with mischief. 

“Are you kidding? No.” 

“C’mon,” he pouts exaggeratedly, his lower lip comically jut out. “We’ll have fun. Unless you’re scared or somethin’.”

Your eyes narrow. “I’m not scared. I just don’t want to play your dumbass game.” 

“Scared, you’re definitely scared,” he taunts, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head, clearly settling in for the long haul. “Afraid I’ll make ya fall for me? Afraid ya can’t handle it?”

You glare at him. He’s obviously provoking you, but God, is it frustratingly difficult not to rise to the bait when he’s giving you that smug, self-serving look. “Ugh, fine. Whatever. I don’t care.”

Atsumu’s grin widens; he looks so infuriatingly triumphant. “Great. So truth or dare, princess?”

Considering your choices, you pause for a moment before sighing. “Truth.”

You expect something insincere or flirty, maybe a dumb innuendo he’s definitely practiced before on countless other girls. You’re prepared to be pissed off by whatever he’s got to say, because Atsumu is a man of many talents, the best of which is making you mad.

Then he just asks, “What’s yer secret talent?”

“A secret talent?” you echo; you’re caught off-guard by the lack of underlying implications. 

“Yea, somethin’ you can do that ya haven’t told anyone ‘bout,” Atsumu clarifies, leaning in with genuine curiosity.

You contemplate momentarily, before you let out a slow, deep sigh. At the end of the day, it’s an innocent enough question; you suppose that since you know so many embarrassing stories about Atsumu (again, courtesy of Osamu), it’s only fair you tell him something embarrassing about you.

“If you make fun of me, I will actually kill you,” you mutter, though the threat carries no real weight when your face is as flushed as it is. “But um… I know a bunch of magic tricks. Like cards and stuff.”

“Honest?” Atsumu’s eyes practically pop out of their sockets—it seems a bit overdramatic, but he prods further, as if genuinely fascinated by this tidbit of information you’ve just shared with him. “Why’d ya learn? Will ya show me?”

Your cheeks burn hotter. “I um… I wanted to be a magician when I was little. I even tried to convince my parents to get me a bunny, but they said it’d be cruel to just keep it in my hat,” you admit, your voice small under the intense scrutiny of his gaze. He bursts into laughter at this revelation, and you find yourself oddly proud of it. “And I dunno. Maybe? If you get me a deck of cards, I guess I could—but no one else can know, okay? You gotta keep it a secret just for us.”

Atsumu’s face widens until he positively beams. “Deal! I’ll get ya a deck of cards,” he declares, already plotting where to find one. “Neva woulda expected that from you, princess. That’s amazin’! Can’t wait to see what ya got.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t even fake annoyance when Atsumu’s excitement is so damn contagious. By no means had you expected him to react like that, but it does make the game more bearable and you more at ease. “Fine, but remember, not a word to anyone.”

“Cross ma heart,” he replies, drawing an exaggerated ‘X’ over his chest with his finger. He leans back, his face alight with glee at his newfound secret. “Alright, alright, yer turn. Ask me.”

“Well, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

Pouting, you think carefully about your question before shrugging half-heartedly. “I don’t really know what to ask you. If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“Pussy,” Atsumu says wistfully, his eyes dreamy. 

You shoot him a look. “You must like getting splashed.”

“Only if it’s by your pretty p–” His sentence cuts off because you in fact have begun to thrash around in the water, kicking wild waves in his direction. Atsumu raises his arms in mock surrender, laughing even as he wipes the water from his face. “Alright, alright, just messin’ with ya, swear! For real though. If I hadta pick just one thing, it’d just be ‘Samu’s onigiri. He’s got magic in ‘is hands, honest.”

Catching your breath, you can’t help but chuckle, your arms crossed as you float in the shallows of the tub. “That’s surprisingly wholesome of you, admitting Osamu’s the better cook. You're proud deep down, huh?”

He shrugs, but the corners of his mouth turn up. “Yea, sadly gotta give ‘Samu that one. But don’t go spreadin’ that ‘round, don’t want him gettin’ a big head.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you promise, mocking his same theatrical ‘X’, feeling the tension ease slightly between you two. Squaring your shoulders, you nod. “Alright, your turn. Dare.”

The word barely leaves your mouth before Atsumu’s expression brightens. He leans closer, his voice dropping to say conspiratorially, “Call me a nickname ‘til the game ends.”

You snort. “I already do, dumbass. I’m princess, you’re dumbass. That’s just the way it goes.”

“No!” Atsumu whines, scooting closer to your side of the tub. “Call me something cute. Like honey or pumpkin or–”

“I’ll call you babe and that’s the most you’ll get,” you interrupt warningly, and obediently, he stops talking, nodding away like an oversized bobble head with a stupidly cute smile on his face—honestly, his simplemindedness is impressive.

“So, babe–” you pause to wince at the nickname, unfamiliar and strange but not necessarily bad on your tongue. “–truth or dare?”

He licks his lips before he answers, which involuntarily draws your gaze to them; you shift your stare up to his warm brown eyes instead.

Under the sky, Atsumu’s eyes seem to collect the very stars above. And when he’s looking at you like that, you have a flash in your chest, and you think that either A) you’re having a heart attack, or the much worse option, B) you definitely don’t not care about him.

seven.

You and Atsumu have managed to play this stupid game for hours.

And you know this for two reasons: first because you two have already made it two-and-a-half times around the cycle of 1) getting out of the tub with pruney toes, 2) settling on the patio couches, and 3) complaining of cold and getting back in the tub.

Second: you’ve exhausted all small-talk options and resigned into the deep shit—deep shit being increasingly stupid stories and dumb dares. You’ve sprinted to the end of the yard and admitted your deep fear of squirrels, Atsumu has belted Perfect by One Direction and confessed that he once replaced Osamu’s protein powder with flour, and neither of you can remember the last time you’ve laughed so hard. It’s strange: by the time you’re asking Atsumu his next truth, your cheeks hurt from smiling and conversation comes more than easily.

“Okay, okay, what’s the dumbest thing that you’ve ever done to impress someone?” you ask, nudging his side a little with your foot.

You’re nestled into the opposite ends of the same couch, the firepit fully ablaze beside you (Atsumu struggled for twenty minutes to get it alight). The couch isn’t quite long enough for you both to extend fully even while sitting up, so your legs have ended up slotted between his and your heel is now resting comfortably on his thigh; he’s fiddling mindlessly with your anklet as he grumbles, “As if ‘Samu ain’t already told ya all my stories.” 

But he pauses momentarily to think anyway. When he’s apparently decided on what to tell you, he averts his gaze from yours with sheepish eyes. “One year, for my ma’s birthday, I wanted ta get this real pretty flower from the top of a tree cause ‘Samu made her a fancy schmancy breakfast. Ended up fallin’ and breakin’ my arm, didn’t even get the flower either. Ma told me it was okay, but I bawled the whole way home from the ER cause I wanted her to have a nice gift.”

“You’re joking! Over a flower?” you gasp out, even as Atsumu’s face scrunches up, halfway between embarrassment and amusement—your stomach hurts with every breath you take, but you can’t stop your laughter. 

“Oi, it was a real nice flower!” he defends, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips despite the bashful story. “‘Nd ‘Samu was actin’ all high-n-mighty with his eggs benedict or whatever. I had to do something.”

The image of a young Atsumu, just as determined and headstrong even back then, a boy who would climb a tree for his mother, who would risk everything to make her smile, who cried because he wanted to do something nice for her, warms you more than the hot tub ever could. 

“Well, babe, if it makes you feel better, I think the effort was sweet,” you pause, savoring the pink on his cheeks at both the pet name and your response. “Stupid, but really sweet.”

“Shaddup, it’s yer turn. Truth or dare?” he asks, still pouting.

Midway through your consideration on what to pick, you get distracted by the way the firelight crackles and casts flickering shadows across Atsumu’s face. His eyes are always beautiful, but right now, they glow like pools of honey and amber. His hair is fluffy and tousled and damp from the tub and he’s wearing just his swimsuit, sans the towel thrown hazardously around his shoulders. You swear to yourself to never tell him, but you want to commit this image of him to memory forever, pretty and human and yours alone.

Atsumu smirks, the rosy tint on his cheeks deepening as he catches you staring. “What’s the matter? See somethin’ ya like?” he teases, his voice dripping with playful mischief as he leans in a little closer, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you. “Yer gonna drool starin’ like that.”

“Fuck off, I was not staring,” you lie blatantly, flushed at his calling you out. “I was just thinking about what to say.”

“Cause I stole your breath away?”

You glare at him. “About whether to say truth or dare, dumbass.”

“Don’t call me dumbass! Call me babe,” he whines. “‘nd ya still ain’t picked.”

“Fine, truth.”

“Then admit the truth that you can’t resist me.”

“Oh my god,” you huff, crossing your arms across your chest; truly, he ruins his natural beauty by opening his mouth. “Ask me a question I can answer, please.”

Atsumu chuckles, a low, rich sound that sends shivers down your spine. “Fine, fine. I’ll letcha keep your pride,” he grins, his eyes twinkling in the firelight as he contemplates the perfect question to unravel you a bit more. “Fine. Why d’ya hate me so much anyway?”

You blink, caught completely off guard by Atsumu’s question. Of all the things he could have asked, this wasn’t what you were expecting.

“Why do I hate you so much?” you echo, stalling for time, though your voice wavers ever so slightly.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning in slightly, the firelight casting shadows across his face. There’s a flicker of something unreadable in his expression—something serious, something that makes your chest feel uncomfortably tight. “C’mon, princess, spill it. You’ve called me an idiot, a dumbass, and everythin’ in between. Gotta be somethin’ behind it, right?”

He’s teasing, but his voice is softer now, his usual bravado dimmed. And suddenly, it doesn’t feel like a game anymore.

Your first instinct is to brush him off, to joke, to deflect—because isn’t that what the two of you always do? But this time, for reasons you don’t entirely understand, you hesitate.

“I…” You glance down at your hands, fiddling with the hem of your towel, anything to avoid the weight of his gaze. “I mean… hate is a strong word.”

He leans back slightly, but the intensity in his eyes doesn’t waver. “Yeah? Then what’s all the name-callin’ and eye-rollin’ about?”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Because you’re annoying! You’re cocky, you’re loud, and you always find a way to get under my skin.” You pause, lowering your hands to glance at him, and there’s an odd mix of frustration and amusement in your tone as you continue. “But... somehow, you make everything fun. Even when I don’t want to have fun.”

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“And I dunno…” You swallow, the words sticking in your throat. “It’s just that you’re... you’re so…” You trail off, waving your hands in a vague gesture, struggling to articulate what you mean without outright admitting that he’s charming, or handsome, or kind in ways you’re only just starting to notice.

Atsumu, of course, seizes the opportunity. “So irresistible?” he offers with a grin, though his voice is quiet, almost cautious.

You shoot him a glare, but there’s no real heat behind it. “So infuriating,” you snap, but the small, wobbly smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The fire crackles softly beside you, filling the silence, and you can’t quite bring yourself to look away from him. His usual cocky grin has softened into something warmer, something that makes your stomach flip in a way you’d rather not think about. 

Atsumu tilts his head, watching you with an expression that feels far too tender for your liking, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Y’know, princess… I think you might like me.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and dangerous, and you force out a scoff, shaking your head as you pull your legs away from his and sit up straighter, putting some much-needed distance between you. “You’re delusional, babe,” you mutter, ignoring the way your heart stumbles over itself.

But as you turn your gaze to the fire and refuse to meet his eyes, you already know you’re lying—to him, and to yourself.

eight.

A year ago, on the night of your sophomore formal, your date ghosted you last-minute with only a “can’t make it” text to explain.

You freaked out, panic-scrolled through your contacts list for who still didn’t have a date, and, after a few additional minutes of hyperventilating and really talking yourself into it, spam-called Atsumu. You hadn’t expected him to actually say yes.

He showed up at your door just in time, dressed in his nicest suit and his blonde hair combed neatly, armed with your favorite flowers just-because. And you’d told him then that he didn’t have to do this for you, that this didn’t make you two friends, that this didn’t mean anything at all—neither the dance to him nor him to you. 

But he had just smiled, that crooked, heartbreaking smile of his, and said, “Sure, sure, princess. Ain’t like I had anythin’ better to do, right?” And when he took your hand to lead you out, his touch was gentle, careful, as if he was afraid you might break if he held on too tight. At the end of the night, you had kissed him on the cheek to say thank you, and when you pulled away, he had that softness in his eyes, a mix of bravery and hope and something else you couldn’t quite place. It’s a look that’s haunted you since last winter, something that lingers in every new guy you kiss in nasty frat houses or meet on Hinge, because no one else quite looks at you like that.

And that’s terrifying. Because last night, he looked at you the exact same way, fiddling with your anklet and admitting his most vulnerable secrets, undoing your own understanding of him and his character and upending all the reasons you hate him. 

***

The next day, you are actively avoiding thinking about Atsumu, and as the afternoon fades into a soft, early evening, you find yourself in the kitchen helping Osamu prepare for dinner. Everyone’s already returned from the day trip to Morioka and are now spread throughout the cabin, recovering before eating and the planned game night after. 

The quietude of the tasks are meditative, the rhythmic peeling of potatoes matching the gentle bubbling of the curry on the stove. Osamu moves around with an effortless grace, his movements methodical and precise and deliberate; he operates so seamlessly that his presence is both comforting and slightly unnerving. Despite only being here for a little over a week, it’s like he already knows the kitchen by heart, so much so that you find yourself wondering if perhaps he is too perfect, too polished.

The room is filled with the smells of cooking and the occasional clink of utensils against bowls, a domestic symphony that should be comforting.

But it’s just… not.

“Ya need any help with those?” His voice snaps you from your thoughts and you vehemently shake your head.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ve got this,” you reply, though your hands continue their steady work and he ends up reaching over and taking one from the pile anyway. You watch him out of the corner of your eye, noting the way his brows furrow slightly as he focuses on his task.

The conversation flows easily enough. It meanders on safe topics, the kind that fill the air but leave little impact; you talk about college, the upcoming events for the week, and the movies Chizuru picked for the night. It’s not particularly energetic or enthusiastic, especially now that you’re acutely avoiding mentioning Atsumu (all while cursing the blonde for pointing out last night the uncomfortable fact that, yes, in fact your conversations with Osamu are always easier when Atsumu’s the topic), but it is continuous and ongoing and maybe that will do. 

“Ever thought about opening your own restaurant?” you ask, clinging to a thread of conversation that might spark more interest.

Osamu’s reaction is a simple mild chuckle, a sound that lacks any real depth.

“‘Tsumu thinks I should too,” he responds without looking up from his knifework. “Maybe one day, when things settle down a bit.”

You nod, but the response doesn’t satisfy you. It’s sensible, reasonable—just like everything about Osamu. But where’s the challenge, the playful banter that Atsumu always brought into even the simplest interactions? The thought of Atsumu’s teasing, his infectious laughter, and the way he could turn even a mundane moment into a playful challenge makes you ache with a sudden intensity. 

You miss him.

The realization comes unbidden, a silent whisper amid the clatter of the kitchen. It’s a missing piece that makes Osamu’s perfect attentiveness seem somehow incomplete. You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling a chill that has nothing to do with the evening air seeping through the slightly ajar kitchen window.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. You help with cooking the rice, taste test with laughter and light conversation, but beneath it all is a current of dissonance. It’s not long before you’re wiping your hands on your apron and excusing yourself to get changed before dinner, and quietly slip upstairs.  

They say ignorance is bliss, and last night is proof. The conversation you just had with Osamu is nothing out of the ordinary, not at all different from the mornings you’ve spent together over the last week. And even now, it’s not that you don’t like Osamu, because you do. He’s good, he’s kind. He’s the kind of guy your parents would be proud of you for being with, a sort of stable and calm and reliable that’s everything you ever wanted. That’s everything you thought you ever wanted.

Somehow right now, it feels slightly hollow. 

As you step into your room, you let out a long sigh. Glancing at your phone, you briefly entertain the idea of texting Atsumu. You want to scream at him for ruining your developing feelings for his twin, blame him for destroying the tiny hint of stability you had for the week. But you don’t do that, mostly because that would be stupid to blame him for, but also because you think that if you see him right now, you might make a stupid decision you’ll end up regretting. 

nine.

Thanks to Chizuru’s insistence (it’s Christmas Eve, you have to!), you are convinced into joining tonight’s games of trivia and Jeopardy despite your misanthropy. Curse her and her supreme begging skills. You had been hoping to avoid the twins as much as humanly possible. 

Atsumu, sitting opposite you, kicks your foot. “Are ya good, princess?” he whispers when you look at him and raise your eyebrow. Aran, leading tonight, is saying something about Jeopardy rules, but it goes unheard, because the blonde in front of you continues, “Penny for your thoughts please.”

“You don’t have a penny,” you whisper back. “Pay me for my thoughts, dumbass.”

“What kinda guy d’ya take me for?” Atsumu mock-scoffs back. “A prostitute?”

Despite all the thoughts swirling in your mind, his stupid grin distracts you from them and you end up rolling your eyes, feeling the hint of a smile pull at your lips. “Maybe. You’re already kinda a fuckboy.”

“Don’tcha worry then, ‘cause you’re still ma favorite client,” he grins back. 

And you let yourself smile too.

***

The sorority ends up winning because Mao is a history major and there are no noticeable questions about agriculture or Sigmund Freud or business management or the average expenditure of calories (Kita, Suna, Osamu, and Atsumu respectively—the boys lowkey all study odd shit now that you think about it) that could allow the frat board to gain an upper hand. For the first time ever, you thank Mao for reciting her textbooks out loud to study, because now all of you are forced to have a comprehensive knowledge of war dates and Confucious.

The prize for winning, however, is a Certificate of Extraordinary Intelligence in Useless Facts, so Mao has officially launched herself into a very long declaration that history is not useless, so you don’t know if there was really a winner in the end.

It’s not in the itinerary for the night, but when Yui looks out the window and points out the clear sky, everyone is quick to agree to step outside for a “breath of fresh air.” Everyone meaning everyone but Kita, who is off to pack because he’s leaving at midnight to go stay with his family nearby. Though it would be Kita to have family in the little northern sector of Iwate: you could just see him living in a town of 50 one day, leading the calm, remote village life. You’ve never been close to the president of INA, but you guess he probably deserves to live a simple farm life because the foxes absolutely owe it to him for keeping the organization together.

The crisp night wind nips at your cheeks as you leave the cabin’s warmth, but after sitting around the table for so long you feel only invigorated by the chill; it really is the perfect night because the whole sky is just a tapestry of twinkling stars. The porch light casts a gentle glow, and the snow glistens under the moonlight, gorgeous and serene.

Without warning, Atsumu scoops up a handful of snow and lobs it at Osamu, who dodges just in time, causing the snowball to hit the cabin door with a soft thud. The playful challenge is met with enthusiasm, and within moments, everyone is gathering ammunition.

You’re bending down to scoop up your own snow when suddenly the shock of the cold against your warm skin causes you to let out a yelp. You spin around, eyes blazing, to find Atsumu standing there with a triumphant smirk on his face; his hand still holds some of the evidence, though most of it has been so rudely shoved down your back. 

“You jerk!” you yell, shrieking and jumping up and down, trying to shake the ice from the back of your sweater. Your tone is of annoyance, but it’s hard to stay truly mad when the whole scene is so ridiculously fun.

Atsumu is already backing away, a wild, teasing grin plastered across his face, his eyes sparkling with mischief under the moonlit night. “C’mon, princess, don’t tell me ya can’t handle a lil’ snow!” he taunts, his laughter echoing around the snowy clearing.

As if you’d let Atsumu just get away with that. So naturally, you scoop up as much snow as you can in your cold, red hands and take off sprinting after him, screaming, “Oh, you’re dead!”

The thrill of the pursuit drives away any lingering annoyance from last night; you barely even register the way your heart pounds with adrenaline and cheeks flush from the cold. The laughter of the others fades into the background as your focus narrows down to the gleeful figure darting just ahead of you.

Atsumu is fast, sure, but your determination is faster, and the freshly fallen snow slows him down just enough for you to gain ground. With a determined yell, you launch your armful of snow at his back, hitting him squarely between the shoulder blades; the impact makes him stumble forward with a playful groan. “Alright, alright, I give!” he laughs when he spins to face you, raising his hands in mock defeat.

Just as you think you’ve won, just as you start laughing triumphantly and let your guard down, he’s charging back at you. You try to sidestep, but the slippery ground betrays you, and you both end up tumbling into a soft snowdrift. The world whirls into a blur of white and laughter as you wrestle in the snow, trying to pin each other down. Atsumu manages to get the upper hand briefly, pinning your wrists gently above your head with a victorious grin. His breath comes in visible puffs in the cold air, his face inches from yours, eyes sparkling with mischief and something warmer.

“You’re such a child!” you shout, breathless from both the cold and the exertion.

“You love it,” he retorts, a smug grin plastered across his face despite the snow sticking to his hair and clothes.

You roll and wrangle and as you do, Atsumu manages to push more snow down the back of your shirt, making you squeal and squirm. “Atsumu!” you shriek, half-annoyed, half-panting, mostly all laughing. Your hands are freezing, but you keep trying to shove snow into his face in retaliation until you finally manage to squish his face with a clump of snow. The rest of the group watches, cheering at your antics, thoroughly entertained by the display, but their voices go unregistered to both of you as you both fall back, exhausted and satisfied and covered in snow, looking up at the starry sky. 

As the laughter subsides and the rapid heartbeat begins to slow, you and Atsumu lie sprawled in the snow, the cold forgotten for a moment. The serene silence that falls over both of you is a rare kind of peace, something that feels close to perfect. You can see Atsumu’s chest rise and fall with each breath, his eyes reflecting the twinkling stars above, and there’s something unspoken in the way he looks at you—something that makes you feel softer, lighter, like you’re floating on air. 

You want to say something sarcastic. You want to throw more snow into his face and tell him he looks stupid. You want to be mean to him and you want him to flirt with you so you can tell him to fuck off. He’s the bane of your existence. He riles you up and makes you angrier than most other people ever could. It’s so much easier to argue with him. It’s so much easier to hate him. 

But you don’t. So you just lie there and take it in.

ten.

The moment gets stolen by a voice. 

“Oi, lovebirds, everyone’s headin’ in! You two plannin’ on makin’ snow angels all night, or do ya wanna join the rest of us by the fire?” Osamu calls out.

Atsumu glares in the voice’s direction, his brow creasing. The peaceful moment shatters like thin ice underfoot, and you can practically hear the crack because it’s visible in how his gaze shifts from the stars above to his brother and the tension in his grip that wasn’t there before. “Can’t ya see we’re havin’ a moment here?” he snaps back, the words almost biting through the frigid air.

Osamu, unbothered by the snap, just chuckles and strolls over, offering a hand to help you up. “Yeah, yeah, yer playin’ in the snow like a couple of kids. Let’s get inside, yer gonna catch cold.” His concern is sincere, his tone sweet. You accept the hand with a smile; when you stand fully up, Osamu wraps his arm around your shoulders and leans in close enough to mumble, “Yui told me that ya get sick easy. Got worried, hope ya ain’t too mad at me for snatchin’ ya away.”

His close presence is warmth cutting through your chill and you subconsciously lean into him. “Oh, thank you,” you say softly; he sounds so genuine. “You’re really considerate. It’s just At-”

You turn around to find Atsumu pushing himself up, brushing snow from his hair. He had been watching your quiet exchange with close eyes, and now that you really look at him again, his expression is briefly unfamiliar. It’s just for a brief second—a moment so quick it was gone in an instant—but you could have sworn it was a gaze tighter, darker, than you have ever seen from him before and it makes you shiver. It’s quick to be replaced by his usual grin when he notices your concerned expression, though, as if he’s trying to placate you. As if he doesn’t want you to know how he’s feeling. 

The snowball fight had been playful, a rare truce in your usual war of words with Atsumu, and now he seems reluctant to let that end. Still, his tone is light, or at least lighter than before, laced with a hint of forced cheerfulness, when he assures you, “S’okay, princess. Let’s get inside.”

But the sharpness in his eyes betrays his words. And as if to keep pushing him, to keep jamming his finger straight into the bruise, Osamu’s arm slips downwards to hover around your waist—it’s so delicate that you wouldn’t have noticed the shift in position if not for the way his hold ever so slightly tightens to pull you closer. 

Atsumu’s smile fades into something heavier and his hands clench into tight fists by his side and there’s a look that crosses his features, something filled with irritation; there’s a palpable tension between the two brothers that makes you nervous. Still, Osamu just smiles like he’s completely oblivious, cheerily saying, “Yeah, don’tcha worry, ‘Sumu. Just tryna keep our princess warm.”

Our princess. The words are loaded. Osamu isn’t just being kind; he’s provoking him. He’s pushing his brother, trying to see just how far Atsumu’ll let him go, trying to drive a reaction out of him. 

There’s an undeniable undercurrent of something more in the air. 

Atsumu, witnessing this, locks his jaw, his good-natured facade struggling to mask the surge of emotions that seem to whirl behind his eyes. And yet, he stops. He doesn’t say anything, even though it seemed as though he would, even though when you met his eyes there was that terrifying darkness from before. Atsumu just turns on his heel and starts marching back towards the cabin.

And for some reason you can’t quite comprehend, you feel your heart sink.

eleven.

It’s significantly quieter that night. 

Atsumu hadn’t shown up to dinner, nor did he join everyone to watch Elf in the living room. Chizuru and Aran had expressed concern, offering to go upstairs and check on him, but Osamu had assured them all that Atsumu was fine and just worn out from the day and that had seemed to placate them. You tried to trust his word too, but even as the film plays and Osamu drapes his arm onto the couch behind you and Yui nudges you and wiggles her brow at the closeness and you try to convince yourself that you’re fine, you can’t help the awful feeling of dread you have in the pit of your stomach. 

It doesn’t go away even when the movie ends and you retreat upstairs to shower and get to bed; it doesn’t go away even when you settle into the softness of your sheets and turn out the lights; it doesn’t go away even when the only illumination in the room comes from your phone as you stalk your Instagram homepage trying to distract your mind. You almost want to hear Atsumu’s overwhelmingly loud and obnoxious laughter from the next room; you want to know that he’s okay, and you don’t really even understand why. You’ve spent the last two years being an Atsumu Hater™ and here you are anyway, your heart racing. 

But just as you’re about to surrender to the warmth of your blankets, your ears pick up the muffled but unmistakable timbre of raised voices from the room next door.

The Miya twins.

You sit up in bed, heart pounding. You can’t make out the words through the wall, but the low rumble of Osamu’s voice and the sharper, heated tone of Atsumu’s are unmistakable. You hesitate for a moment, caught between pressing your ear against the wall to catch more of the conversation or trying to ignore it altogether. But then Atsumu’s voice cuts through clearly, loud and raw with frustration:

“Why’re ya doin’ this, Samu? Seriously, what the hell?”

You freeze.

There’s a pause. Osamu’s voice comes next, calmer but with a sharp edge that makes the air in your room feel heavy. “Doin’ what, exactly? Bein’ nice? Spendin’ time with her? ‘Cause last I checked, you’re the one who’s been actin’ like she don’t exist unless it’s to get under her skin.”

You hear the sound of something—maybe a chair or a bed frame—scraping against the floor. Atsumu’s voice comes back, even louder. “Don’t gimme that crap! You know what I’m talkin’ about! You’ve been all over her this whole week, like you’re tryin’ to... to—”

“To what, Tsumu?” Osamu cuts in, his tone sharp enough to make you flinch even from the other side of the wall. “To do what you won’t? You’ve had two years to say somethin’, to do anythin’, but all you’ve done is act like a damn idiot around her. And now you’re mad at me ‘cause I actually treat her like a person?”

Your chest tightens. You press your hands against your mouth to stifle the sharp inhale that escapes you. Are they... talking about you?

There’s a heavy silence. For a moment, you think maybe it’s over, but then Atsumu speaks again, quieter this time, almost hesitant. “It’s not like that...”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Osamu snaps. “If it’s not like that, then why are you so pissed off, huh? If you don’t care about her, why’s it eatin’ at ya every time I so much as look at her?”

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice now, though it’s tinged with something more serious. “Admit it, Tsumu. You like her. Hell, you’ve probably liked her for years, but you’re too chicken to do anything about it. So don’t come at me like I’m the bad guy when all I’m doin’ is fillin’ the space you left wide open.”

Your heart is pounding so loud you’re surprised they can’t hear it through the wall.

“I—” Atsumu starts, but his voice falters. He sounds... small. Defeated. “I don’t—”

“Yeah? Then prove it,” Osamu interrupts. “If you really don’t care, I’ll back off. But if you do? If you actually want a chance with her? Then grow up and ask her out before it’s too late.”

Another beat of silence stretches between them, so tense and thick it feels like the walls of your room might crack under the weight of it. Then there’s the sound of footsteps—heavy, frustrated—and the slam of a door.

Your mind is racing. You sit there frozen for what feels like hours, trying to piece together what you’ve just heard, what it all means, and why your heart feels like it might break free of your chest.

You glance at the door to your room, wondering if Atsumu’s stormed off to his, or if—

A knock. A soft, hesitant knock at your door.

Your breath catches.

twelve.

The knock comes again, a little louder this time, but you don’t move. You press your face into the pillow, hold your breath, and will your heartbeat to calm down. He waits for a moment, long enough that you can almost picture him standing just outside your door, shifting on his feet and second-guessing himself.

Finally, there’s a sigh, barely audible through the door. The sound makes your chest ache.

But then the floor creaks softly as he steps away, and the silence that follows feels louder than anything he could have said.

You stay like that for a long time, staring into the darkness of your room as the words from the argument next door replay in your head on an endless loop. You don’t know how to feel, or even what to feel, but one thing is certain—you’re not going to get any sleep tonight.

***

The next morning, the sound of laughter and the warm scent of cinnamon pull you from your restless slumber. It’s Christmas morning.

You drag yourself out of bed, trying to shake the unease still settled in your chest, and join everyone downstairs. The living room is alive with energy—Chizuru and Yui are wearing matching pajamas and passing out mugs of hot cocoa, Aran is fiddling with the Bluetooth speaker to get a holiday playlist going, and Osamu is helping himself to the tray of cookies on the coffee table, ignoring Chizuru’s scolding about “ruining the aesthetic before everyone’s here.”

But even with all the warmth and chatter, the absence is glaring.

Atsumu is nowhere to be seen.

You try not to let it bother you. He’s probably just sleeping in. Or avoiding you after last night. You’re not sure which thought twists your stomach more.

The morning rolls on, and soon everyone gathers for the gift exchange. Laughter fills the air as ribbons are untied, wrapping paper is torn apart, and heartfelt thank-yous are exchanged. Yui squeals over the skincare set Kita picked out for her, and Aran grins ear-to-ear at the custom jersey Chizuru ordered. Even Osamu looks pleased with the knife set you picked out for him, ruffling your hair as he thanks you.

But as the last gifts are unwrapped, you realize something’s missing.

Everyone else has given you something, no matter how small—a book from Chizuru, earrings from Yui, a scarf from Suna—but Atsumu’s name is noticeably absent.

You don’t say anything, but you feel the knot of disappointment settle in your chest. Maybe it’s silly to care so much. Maybe it’s selfish. But after the week you’ve had, after all the bickering, the teasing, and everything you heard last night, you thought...

You thought he’d at least try.

***

The rest of the day passes in a blur of food and laughter, but you can’t shake the hollow feeling that lingers in the back of your mind. That night, you retreat to your room early, needing the quiet to sort through your thoughts.

You’re not expecting the knock.

It’s soft at first, like he’s testing whether you’ll even respond. You hesitate, wondering if you should ignore it again like last night. But then it comes again, more insistent.

“Hey,” Atsumu’s voice calls softly through the door. “You awake?”

You don’t answer, but you also don’t move.

A pause. Then: “I know you’re probably mad at me or somethin’, but... I wanna show ya somethin’. Come on, get up. Please.”

There’s something in his voice that makes your stomach flip—nervousness, maybe, or the slightest tinge of vulnerability.

When you still don’t reply, he tries again. “There’s... there’s somethin’ I wanna say, but it’ll be easier if ya just come with me. I’ll be out back. Meet me at the hot tub if you wanna.”

His footsteps retreat, leaving you alone in the quiet.

For a moment, you just sit there, staring at the door and debating whether to follow him or let the silence stay.

But curiosity—and maybe something else—wins out. You pull yourself from the bed, slide on your slippers, and head downstairs.

thirteen.

The night air is crisp, biting against your skin as you step out onto the pool deck. The stars above are sharp pinpricks in the deep velvet sky, their light barely competing with the soft glow of the string lights strung along the edge of the fence.

Your heart pounds as you glance around, unsure of what you’re expecting. And then you see him.

Atsumu is sitting by the edge of the hot tub, his legs dipped into the warm water, hands fidgeting in his lap. The tension in his shoulders eases the moment his eyes meet yours, and he lights up in a way that makes your chest ache. He stands quickly, his movements awkward but eager, like he’s been waiting for hours just for this moment.

“You came,” he says softly, his voice carrying over the gentle hum of the water.

You nod, stepping closer, unsure what to say. There’s a nervous energy between you now, not the usual teasing or bickering, but something fragile and unspoken. 

He gestures toward the edge of the hot tub. You hesitate for only a moment before moving to sit beside him, the warmth of the bubbling water chasing away the chill in the air. Neither of you speak at first, the silence thick but not uncomfortable.

When you glance at him, you notice his hands are no longer fidgeting. Instead, they rest on his knees, tense, like he’s holding himself back.

The quiet stretches on, and you don’t know whether it’s you or him who breaks it first. But then he moves—slowly, carefully—and cups your face with his hands.

You can’t breathe. You can’t even comprehend anything but his large, warm hands gentle around your face. His thumbs brush softly against your cheeks, and his eyes meet yours with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t need to. The way he looks at you—steady and unguarded—says it all.

And in that moment, you’re reminded of everything.

The way he looked at you during truth or dare, his gaze flickering with something almost too heavy to hold. The way he showed up for you, always, even when you tried to convince you both that it didn’t mean anything. The way he looked at you that very first night you met him, in the dim, crowded, musty basement of the frat house, when your heart had betrayed you by skipping a beat the very moment his golden eyes landed on you. He has never looked more beautiful; he has never seemed more human. 

You love him. Oh god. 

You love him.

Atsumu hesitates, leaning in slightly but stopping just short, his breath warm against your skin. He pauses, like he’s waiting for your permission, or maybe just bracing himself for the possibility that you’ll pull away.

Against all odds, you kiss him first.

The moment your lips meet, he lets out a small, almost startled sound before kissing you back. His hands slide to the sides of your neck, steady and sure, while his lips move against yours like he’s been imagining this for years. He holds you like he’s terrified that this isn’t real, like if he lets go then you’ll disappear. Your fingers knot in his t-shirt, his hand gets lost in your hair, you are breathless in every way but you don’t care because if he wanted to steal the air straight from your lungs you would let him. 

When you finally part, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin, both of you quiet as the world seems to settle into a kind of peace. For a moment, he just looks at you, his expression so tender and full of awe that you wonder if he’s committing this moment to memory. And then he grins—a smile so wide and full of boyish delight that it makes your heart skip a beat.

“So you do like me,” he teases, his voice warm, his thumb brushing against your cheek. 

You snort. “Nah, I change my mind. I hate you.”

He rolls his eyes because he knows you’re bluffing, and just kisses you again.

The two of you sit there for a while longer, wrapped up in each other and the quiet intimacy of the night. But then you remember something, a question that’s been gnawing at the back of your mind all day.

“Atsumu?”

“Hmm?” he hums, still holding you close, his fingers absently tracing small circles against your skin.

“Why didn’t you get me a Christmas gift?”

He freezes for a moment, blinking at you like he’s just remembered something. “Oh, crap.”

“What?” you ask, laughing at the sudden panic in his face.

“That’s what I came here for,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, before quickly standing and rummaging through the pocket of his hoodie. He pulls out a small, folded cloth pouch, holding it carefully in his hands like it’s something precious.

“I’ve had this for years,” he says, his voice soft, almost hesitant, as he sits back down beside you. “And I didn’t know if I should give it to ya. Or if it was even the right time. But... I guess it is now.”

He opens the pouch and carefully empties its contents into his hand.

You stare, halting as you take in what’s inside:

A small square of paper with the element “Au” drawn on it, the edges worn like it’s been folded and unfolded a thousand times. “From freshman year chem,” he explains softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You were the only one who laughed when I joked that it stood for Atsumu instead of gold.”

A torn scrap of notebook paper with your name written on it in messy handwriting. “Greek match,” he says, chuckling quietly. “I wrote it down when they paired us up. Figured it’d be my one excuse to talk to ya.”

A dried, pressed petal from a rose. “Semi-formal,” he murmurs. “You were wearin’ that red dress, and I was an idiot who thought bringin’ roses was a good idea. You said they were beautiful, but you... you were somethin’ else entirely.”

There’s other little things, little bits and pieces from the two years you’ve known each other, little reminders that you can barely remember a time where he wasn’t in your life. Atsumu has been a part of your routine since the day he met you. You lived eighteen years without knowing him, but you can’t imagine living without him anymore. 

And then, as if you weren’t touched enough, he passes you another small wrapped item. You gently peel back the paper to find the Mt. Iwate snow globe he had bought before you could last week. 

As you cradle the snow globe in your hands, the memory of that day comes rushing back—Atsumu’s smug grin as he held up the very item you’d been planning to buy, the gleam of satisfaction in his golden eyes when you’d glared at him. You’d been so furious, so determined to outmatch him for the rest of the trip, but now, holding the snow globe in your hands, all you can feel is an overwhelming warmth.

“You…” Your voice falters as you run your thumb over the cool glass, watching the tiny flakes swirl around the miniature Mt. Iwate. “You bought this for me?”

He shrugs, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Felt bad for bein’ an ass that day. But ya stormed off before I could give it to ya, and then… I guess I kept it, hopin’ one day it’d mean more.”

You blink at him, at the boy sitting beside you, nervously scratching the back of his neck. The boy who had spent two years teasing and frustrating you, yet somehow still managed to worm his way into your heart. The boy who’d quietly kept a snow globe and a collection of mementos, waiting for the right moment to share them with you.

“Atsumu…” Your voice is soft, almost fragile, as you set the snow globe down and turn to face him fully. “This is—” You pause, searching for the right words. “You didn’t have to do any of this.”

“I know,” he says quickly, his gaze dropping to the water, then back to you. “But I wanted to. You’re… important to me, y’know? And I don’t always show it the right way, but—”

“You don’t have to explain,” you interrupt, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in his voice. “I get it. I do.”

His eyes search yours, his expression caught somewhere between relief and disbelief. For a moment, the two of you just sit there, the night air heavy with unsaid things. Then you reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his, and his breath catches audibly.

“You’re not as bad as you think you are,” you tease lightly, trying to ease the tension, though your voice wavers with the weight of everything unspoken.

“Yeah?” His grin is lopsided, nervous, but the spark of playfulness in his eyes is unmistakable. “Don’t get used to me bein’ this sweet, though. Still gotta keep you on your toes.”

You laugh softly, leaning your head against his shoulder, your fingers still tangled with his. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

For a while, you sit in companionable silence, the bubbling of the hot tub and the distant chirping of crickets filling the air. You watch as the snow globe sits on the edge of the tub, the flakes settling gently at the base. Somehow, it feels like everything—your bickering, his teasing, the hesitant steps toward this moment—has led to this: an unspoken understanding that this, whatever it is between you, is real.

Finally, Atsumu breaks the silence. “So… was that the right gift?” He nudges your shoulder lightly, his tone casual but his eyes searching.

You pretend to think, your lips twitching into a smirk. “Hmm… It’s alright, I guess.”

His jaw drops in mock offense, his free hand flying to his chest. “Alright? Do you know how much thought I put into that?”

You grin, squeezing his hand. “It’s perfect, Atsumu.”

His expression softens, and for a moment, he just looks at you, his golden eyes warm and steady. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice low. “Because you’re kinda perfect to me, too.”

And just like that, he has you all over again—breathless, flustered, and hopelessly in love. You lean up and kiss him, slow and soft, and when you pull back, his boyish grin is so bright it almost hurts to look at.

“Alright, enough mushy stuff,” you say, standing up and stretching, though your heart is still racing. “I’m freezing, and I need to head back inside before I turn into an icicle.”

Atsumu groans dramatically but follows your lead, climbing out of the hot tub and grabbing the snow globe for you. He drapes his hoodie around your shoulders as you head back toward the cabin, the warmth of it—and him—chasing away the cold.

As you walk, side by side, you realize something: revenge had been the last thing on your mind tonight. Because somehow, Atsumu had managed to do what he always did—get under your skin and make himself impossible to hate. And for once, you weren’t going to fight it.

Tomorrow, you might bicker again. He might steal your favorite mug, or you might prank him during breakfast. But tonight, under the glow of the stars and the string lights, you let yourself fall a little deeper, knowing he’d be there to catch you.

⨭ closing; i love this one sm honestly. i lowkey even drew out the room plan of the cabin in case ur curious, which looks like this:

btw all the sorority girls mentioned are actually the girls' karasuno team lol; i'm trying rly hard to keep these stories all in the same universe but there are so few girls in the hq universe and even less in high school </3 wld it be confusing if i started reusing kiyoko and yachi as y/n's besties it wld be so much easier on me :')

vote down below or maybe offer some suggestions for other ways to work around the lack of girl besties/roommates/etc (ie. maybe age change!older/younger sisters??)

[planetallure]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ fic recs

CW: these works contain explicit content intended for those 18+. make sure to read the rules of the writers before interacting.

@peterthepark : coming back to this blog made me realize when exactly i started back reading fanfic fr. the moment that was eddie mf munson, touched something in me. reign was one of my first intros that really stuck with me. it kinda blew my mind and scared me at the same time because i was like…how do i move on…what’s better than this??? brilliance. creative genius. like what more do you want from me? reign, i miss you. <3

i rec literally anything she’s written about eddie or tasm!peter parker.

@ohcaptains : i really don’t know what to tell you man. leah. is. HER. she simply does not miss. funny story: when i first started my old blog, it was ageless so i ended up getting blocked. so i pm’d her basically begging to come back home because i knew what i had lost. i’m not ashamed.

"dealers choice" - if you happened to miss the moment that was eddie munson or you miss his character or you were never really into him, this lil universe is for you. <3

"learning in public" - carmy x fem!reader. he needs it. he wants it. he has to have it. a man on his knees. enjoy.

"don't you dare fall in love" - heads up this one was discontinued and will not be continued (so don’t go harassing her about it) but the last part has an open ending so don’t let that stop you. college student/dealer!ellie x fem!reader. it’s beautiful and perfect. enjoy.

also ALL of her frank castle, abby anderson, tasm!peter parker fics. thank youuu

@inknopewetrust : this woman is a W R I T E R. the beautiful angsty things that come from her brain need to be cherished. thank you for your service.

“hoping i’ll find [a glimpse of us]” - when i tell you this shit was so fricking good!!!!!?! another piece of LITERATURE that i couldn’t believe i got to read for free on tumblr. i am such a sucker for a angsty slow burn and this still lives in me head rent free to this day. the tension had me giggling and laughing and biting my nail and crying. i need to spin back. i need to feel something!!

“secret” : now this one was a sexy forbidden romance. eddie’s our man who isn’t our man but is and oh m gee the angst in this one got me too, though it wasn’t as much. preppy!reader x eddie munson iykyk.

@etherealising : the absolute sweetest person i’ve met on here. every interaction i have with her just makes me smile. on TOP of that she’s a beautiful writer and storyteller. vee you have my heart.

“all i ever knew only you” - the best carmy x oc fic i’ve ever had the pleasure of reading on here. i’m so emotionally attached to this series, its characters and i think it has such re-readablity . the characterization is also so well done carmy x baby 4life. it’s currently discontinued but she is currently doing a rewrite and it’s going really well! in the meantime, please don’t let that stop you from reading the original while it’s still up. you won’t regret it.

“a buried and a burning flame” - vee single-handedly has me looking a richie different now. like…wait a minute :)) the bickering and banter is so fun. tension? check. spice?? check.

“flew like a moth to you” - a continuation of the one above. babyyyy!!! yes, yes, uh huh 🙂‍↕️ these two? LOVE EM. he’s officially in my heart.

@totheblood : star is so kind and super creative. she has created some of my favorite ellie williams smau’s on here.

"the hard way" - rockstar!ellie williams x ex-gf!reader smau. you guys are brought together again to solve the mystery that is the anonymous account blackmailing the two of you. mmm, nothing like the takedown of a shady mf to bring the girls together again :)

@cherriesxinthespring : another sweetheart with a beautiful mind. ik people get the characterization/true nature of ellie so wrong, but not rosie. she gets it.

“wasteland, baby!” - the wlw true enemies to lovers slow burn i’ve been dreaming of. tap in. right now.

@elliesbelle

“nobody compares to you” : a deliciously angsty slow burn second chance romance (ex!ellie x f!reader)

all the text convos for abby and ellie.

@newasskid : this blog makes me so nostalgic. THE first fic series that i read and rebloged when i started my first ff blog, came from this writer. i honestly feel it was my first time reading fanfic that wasn’t a silly little wattpad story or imagine and i was honestly gagged. i was like, “this…this is literature.” what can i say? i love good ass characterization! and this one was no exception.

“hard knock life” - like i said i was gagged with how good it was. i read the first two chapters back in 2022 and i still remember the feeling i felt reading them. this new blog i’m making is a fresh start for me and a chance for me to get back into old fandoms. will be revisiting this one soon.

@lovelettersfromluna

"one of your girls" - biker!ellie/roommate!ellie/camgirl!ellie x f!reader ALL rolled into to this ridiculously sexy little universe!! i love these two so much :’(

"compass" - vampire!ellie !!!! my new favorite thing. the way luna writes her feeding on reader ALONE is the most erotic and intimate thing. my god this was hot.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

sending all of this beautiful writers my love and respect y’all are amazing and so important. <3

[jsprnt]

still being somewhat friends with your ex brings up some jealousy in your relationship

kenan yıldız x reader

A/N: jealous kenan🤌🤌!!! based on this request.

W/C: 1.440

"this one looks better on your feed.." you tell your best friend, scrolling through the pictures you just took of her.

"I know. what would I do without a bestie like you.." she coos, wrapping her arms around your body.

"you'd be stuck with your boyfriend who takes ugly photos.." you chuckle, hugging her back.

"travis can't take pictures for shit. at least kenan takes good pictures of you.." she says, sitting up and fixing her hair.

"I got very lucky.." you beam, grateful for your boyfriend's artistic skills.

"he needs to give travis some tips when he gets here.."

"when does he arrive?" she asks, playing with the frills of your jeans.

"he said he'd be here in ten.." you answer, looking around the house.

your big friend group decided to organize a get together after not being able to meet for a long time. everyone was encouraged to bring their partners, so you didn't hesitate to ask kenan if he would join you.

your boyfriend was an incredibly busy guy, especially with the serie a games starting in a couple days.

but of course, he'd always make time for you.

"hey, y/n can you pass me the chips?"

you look up when you hear a familiar voice, making eye contact with adam.

he was one of your friends, and unfortunately, also your ex.

you didn't even know if you could classify him as an ex, since your relationship lasted a mere month or two, and when both you realized it wasn't going to work out, it ended.

no hard feelings.

well, you could only speak for yourself..

"you want the guac too?" you ask, sitting up to grab the bowl of chips in front of you.

"nah, I like 'em plain.."

you frown at his answer, he must've turned into a crazy person since you broke up, because who enjoys eating plain chips without a dip?

"oh, here.." you slide the bowl over, leaning back into the couch.

you look at your best friend, her face incredibly still. you know, that if you make eye contact with her, you'd both burst out in laughter.

"thanks, y/n.."

you give him a small smile, watching him shove the crispy nachos into his mouth.

"so, where's your boyfriend at?" he mumbles, his mouth unaesthetically full.

"he's coming over in a couple minutes. he's a busy person, you know." you explain, scratching the back of your hand.

you look to your right, silently asking your best friend to break the tension, or save you from the conversation..

"adam, where's your partner? I didn't see you walk in with anyone.."

"yeah, I thought you were dating halle from your finance class?" you question, trying to steer the topic away from your own personal life.

"didn't work out- again.." he sighs, looking directly into your eyes.

you press your lips into a line, shivering, you look at your equally nosy best friend.

"well, it'll work for out for you too eventually. like how I'm with kenan now.."

you try to reassure him, confused when adam suddenly sits up, fixing his posture. his hands move down, and he starts wiping his oily fingers on his jeans.

why did men do nasty things like that?

"what's going to work out eventually?" 

you gasp at the familiar voice, turning around to see kenan behind you.

"you're here.." you beam excitedly, feeling his loving touch from behind. his arm wrapping around your shoulders, as he presses a kiss behind your ear.

"of course I’m here.." he mutters, pulling back when you stand up from the couch to walk around it.

"thank you for coming.." you hug kenan, his strong arms wrapping around you, a little tighter than usual.

"a promise, is a promise.." he mumbles into your ear, kissing your temple. you can feel the soft fabric of his hoodie brush against your cheek. the scent of his musky cologne entering your nose, calming you with its familiar smell.

you hum, feeling his hands trail down your back, a hand touching your lower back.

kenan loved showing his love through touch, but he'd never been a 'pda' person. he always chose to hold your hand or hug you outside the four walls of your shared apartment, so the sudden intimate touches were confusing to you.

not that you would mind, you were in private company, so you'd savor everyone of his touches anyway.

"hello, good to see you.." he tells your best friend, giving her a smile before averting his gaze to adam.

"nice to see you, man.." adam speaks when he notices the look, immediately standing up and walking over.

while you watch your ex walk towards you, you can feel kenan's grip tighten around you. nothing painful, of course, even when not aware, he'd never do anything to hurt you.

he absolutely cherished every second you spent together. whether it was a quick lunch date in between his training sessions, and your university classes or just spending his daily life with you.

never letting you get too cold or too hot. bringing a drink from your favorite café, while you were already sipping on your crappy, watered down, homemade iced coffee. tying your shoelaces without you even realizing they came undone.

at this point, you could request for the urban dictionary to make 'kenan' a synonym for 'gentleman'.

you look up when kenan doesn't greet adam like he usually greets your other friends.

you weren't naive enough to not know why. your boyfriend had long known adam and you had dated briefly, since you didn't feel like it was morally right not to inform him..

of course, kenan had not doubted your loyalty to him. he trusted you, as much as you trusted him.

you couldn't lie and say you were completely fine with still being friends with adam. you'd shared intimate moments together, and going back to that platonic relationship wasn’t something you were 100% comfortable with.

"you arrived pretty late. I guess being a baller is keeping you away from our dear y/n.."

you watch kenan's jaw clench, his jawline getting even sharper as you feel his fingers trace your back.

"I made time, like I'd expect a boyfriend to do.." your boyfriend retorts, his voice steady and firm.

"I would be crazy to lose a person like her.."

your eyes flicker back up at kenan, knowing that jab was obviously about adam and you breaking it off.

"ken.." you call out, patting his chest to get his attention. 

"what is it, baby?" you almost laugh at the voice change. It switches from a rough, deep one to the most honey-soaked tone ever.

"please don't start anything, come on. let's go get some snacks, ‘kay?" you ask, smiling to convince him.

you watch your best friend get pulled away by her boyfriend, it giving you the perfect opportunity to dip.

"okay, that's fine.." your boyfriend agrees, squeezing your hips one more time, before he releases the tension in his jaw. turning around and pulling you away from the frazzled adam.

"jealous boy.." you tease him when he pulls you into a corner, poking his cheek. where his dimples would dent when he’d smile or pull a face.

"I'm not jealous.." he dismisses, reaching up to remove a fallen eyelash from your cheek.

"should I go back and bring adam? ask if he wants a drink?"

"come on. I can have an opinion.."

"that is?" you question, grabbing and popping a grape into your mouth.

"I don't trust the guy for a second, like- what guy befriends his ex?"

"if the ex is as nice as me, I would.." you tease.

"what if I were friend with my ex?" he questions, using elaborate hand movements.

"I would- wait, but this is different, ken. I can't cut him off easily since he's a part of the friend group. it's already kind of awkward between us.."

"awkward? thank goodness.."

you roll your eyes at his happiness, shoving a cracker into his mouth.

"shush, just eat it this, and stop talking.."

"no sharing chips with him, no more.." he hums, chewing on the crunchy snack.

"you saw that?"

"obviously, your friends kept me at the door until I took pictures with them.."

"oh.."

"can we hook him and his ex back up together?"

you scoff, raising a brow. 

"what did I say?"

"stop talking.." he grins, his dimples showing as he looks at you. his brown eyes lighting up in amusement.

"never mind, just give me a kiss.." you say, looking up when he eagerly cups your jaw.

"don't even worry about it .."

[mondaysamiright]

Heat of the Moment

Pairing: Amelia Shepherd x fem!reader

Summary: Two idiots in love and the good ole blurting out confessions of love. 

Author's Notes: So Y/N is the daughter of Teddy Altman (idk why I just picked someone lol) and a paramedic with Seattle Fire. She is a part of one of their EMS units (emergency medical services) and works for Station 19 (of course). Sorry it's a bit long!

The fire raged in front of them, an angry orange beast that roared louder with every passing minute. Y/N Altman, standing with her EMS unit on the street, stared up at the burning building. A couple of other paramedics from the other EMS unit hesitated, looking toward the distant wail of the fire truck’s sirens.

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

“There’s someone still inside,” one of the neighbors screamed, pointing to the third floor. “They didn’t make it out!”

Without waiting for backup, she darted toward the building, ignoring the shouts of her fellow medics. Flames licked the door frame as Y/N barged through, smoke stinging her eyes and the acrid scent filling her lungs. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, the sound almost drowned out by the crackling fire as she moved quickly through the narrow hallway.

The heat was unbearable, and the smoke reduced her visibility to almost nothing. She could feel the warmth creeping closer to her skin, but she pushed through, her mind focused solely on finding the person trapped inside.

There. In the corner of the room, collapsed beneath a window, she spotted the figure. They were slumped, unconscious, face streaked with soot. Y/N dropped to her knees and assessed them briefly before hefting the limp body over her shoulders, gritting her teeth against the weight.

Her legs burned as she stumbled her way back through the inferno. The flames had spread, closing in fast. Y/N pushed down the panic, adrenaline surging through her as she fought her way out, sweat dripping down her brow. She could feel the heat blistering the skin on her arms, the bite of fire making its presence known in sharp, painful bursts, but there was no stopping now. The person on her back needed to survive.

The moment she burst back through the door, coughing violently, the fire trucks were arriving. Medics rushed forward, taking the unconscious patient from her. Y/N, panting hard, bent over with her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.

Maya Bishop, her boss, was there in seconds. “What the hell were you thinking?” Maya’s voice was sharp, a mix of fury and concern. “You could’ve been killed!”

“I got them out, didn’t I?” Y/N rasped through her coughing, waving her off. The burns on her arms were starting to throb, but she ignored the pain.

“I want you checked out when we get to the hospital. No arguments, Altman,” Maya ordered, her tone brooking no room for defiance. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Grey Sloan Memorial buzzed with the usual controlled chaos, and Y/N, now in the ER, stood leaning against the wall, arms folded, her patience wearing thin. Her burns were minor—she’d had worse. All she wanted to do was get back to the station and sleep off the exhaustion. But of course, she was stuck here. Because rules. 

 She was ready to leave—already calculating how fast she could slip out unnoticed—when the doors to the ER flung over and Y/N couldn’t help the groan that escaped her lips. 

“Y/N Altman!”

Amelia’s voice cut through the busy ER, her white coat flying behind her as stormed across the floor. She’d heard that tone before. It was the 'I’m-going-to-kill-you' tone. Amelia came to a stop right in front of her, her eyes blazed with a fury. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

Y/N crossed her arms tighter, meeting Amelia’s glare with one of her own. “Good to see you too, Dr. Shepherd,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “I was doing my job. You know, saving lives?”

Amelia’s jaw clenched, “Running into a burning building?” she shot back. “Without waiting for fire? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Please, I’m fine. It’s not like I haven’t dealt with dangerous situations before.”

“That’s not the point! You’re not a firefighter, Y/N. You had no business going into that building.”

Y/N straightened, the annoyance in her chest flaring as she pushed herself off the wall. “Oh, so now you’re suddenly concerned about how I do my job? You’ve never cared before when we’ve argued over cases.”

Amelia let out a frustrated laugh. “This isn’t about a patient, Y/N!  This is about you almost dying because you thought you could play the hero!”

Y/N blinked, momentarily thrown by the emotion in Amelia’s voice. “I wasn’t playing hero,” she said, “I was doing what needed to be done.”

“No,” Amelia snapped, stepping closer, her voice shaking now. “You were doing something reckless. Something that could’ve gotten you killed.”

Y/N stared at her, bewildered. “Why are you so upset? I’m fine. The patient’s fine. It’s over.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Amelia said, her voice quieter now, but no less intense. “You could’ve died, Y/N. And you just—brush it off like it’s nothing.”

“I don’t understand why you’re—”

“Because I love you, you idiot!”

The noise of the ER seemed to vanish in an instant, the beeping monitors and hurried footsteps fading into the background as Amelia’s words hung in the air. Y/N’s mind went blank, her usual quick wit frozen. 

Y/N blinked, her mouth falling open in shock. “What?” she said, the word barely escaping her lips.

Amelia swallowed hard, her eyes now glistening with unshed tears. “I love you,” she repeated, her face a mix of anger, fear, and something softer that Y/N had never seen before. “And I can’t stand watching you do this to yourself. Running into danger like you don’t care about what happens to you. I don’t want to lose you.”

Amelia’s chest heaved, her voice cracking as she spoke again. “I care about you, Y/N. More than you know. And every time you do something like this, it terrifies me. I can’t—” She broke off, shaking her head as tears finally spilled over. “I can’t lose you.” 

Y/N opened her mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. She had no idea what to say to this version of Amelia. The emotional wall between them had always been sturdy, but now, it was crumbling, and Y/N felt completely unequipped to deal with the fallout. 

Amelia took a shaky step back, looking away as she swiped at her eyes again, her voice cracking. “I can’t do this. I can’t just watch you destroy yourself. It’ll kill me. I care too much.”

Without another word, Amelia turned and practically ran out of the ER, leaving Y/N frozen in place. The bustling activity of the ER resumed around her, but Y/N couldn’t move, couldn’t think past the whirlwind of emotions that had just swept over her.

For a long moment, Y/N just stood there, her heart pounding as Amelia’s words echoed in her ears. Finally, Y/N snapped out of her stupor. She needed to find Amelia. She couldn’t leave it like this.

Y/N jogged out of the ER, scanning the hall until she spotted Amelia near the elevators. She caught up just as Amelia angrily punched the button for the elevator, her tears falling freely now.

“What do you want?” Amelia snapped, “You came to give me a sarcastic comment? Make fun of me for crying, for caring about you?”  

Y/N’s heart twisted. There was no sarcasm left, no sharp retorts. “Amelia…” Y/N started, stepping closer, but Amelia took a shaky step back, her fists trembling at her sides. 

“Don’t,” Amelia choked out. “Don’t try to make this better. I hate you for making me feel like this.” 

Before Y/N could open her mouth to speak, Amelia’s fist connected with her chest, the impact startling but not painful.  “I hate you,” Amelia choked out. Her fists struck again, harder this time. “I hate you.” 

The words stung more than the hits themselves, but Y/N knew—knew deep down—that Amelia didn’t mean it. She stood still, allowing Amelia’s fists to land again and again, her own hands at her sides, not moving to block or stop the blows. 

“I hate you for making me love you!” Amelia said, her words coming out in a sob. Her fists, once forceful, were losing strength, each hit becoming weaker, more desperate. 

Then at once, Amelia fell against her, her face buried in Y/N’s uniform as she sobbed, her fists gripping the material tightly. Y/N wrapped her arms around her, holding her close as Amelia cried, the sound muffled in her chest.  Y/N could feel every shake of Amelia’s body, could feel the warmth of her tears soaking into her shirt, but none of it mattered. All that mattered was holding her, being there for her in this moment.

Y/N held her tighter, her hand moving to the back of Amelia’s head, gently stroking her hair. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Minutes passed, though it felt like hours, as they stood in the quiet hallway, the chaos of the hospital continuing around them. Y/N didn’t move, didn’t speak beyond the quiet, comforting words she whispered into Amelia’s hair. Eventually, Amelia’s sobs began to subside, the harsh gasps for air slowing, her grip on Y/N’s shirt loosening. She still clung to her, her head resting against Y/N’s chest, but the desperation was fading, replaced by exhaustion. 

“I don’t want to keep losing people I care about,” Amelia whispered. “And you… you make me feel like I’m going to lose you every time you do something like this. I love you, Y/N. And it terrifies me.” 

Y/N said nothing for a moment, just tightened her arms around Amelia. For a long moment, they just stood there. The warmth of Amelia's body against hers, the steady rise and fall of her breathing—it was enough to ground Y/N in a way she hadn’t expected.

She didn’t want to speak, not yet. But eventually, the words bubbled up, ones she’d been avoiding for too long. 

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, her voice soft in the silence. She felt Amelia stiffen slightly, then relax again in her arms. “I didn’t realize… I didn’t think about how much it affected you. I’ve always been… reckless, I guess. And I know we argue. A lot. But it doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

Amelia’s breathing had slowed, her head still resting against Y/N’s chest, listening.

“Despite all the fighting,” Y/N continued, her voice a little shaky now, “you’re… you’re the one I look forward to seeing. You drive me crazy, Amelia. But it’s in the best way possible. When I walk into the ER, and I know you’re there, it’s like—” She paused, trying to find the right words. “It’s like, no matter what happens that day, I get to see you. And that’s enough.”

Amelia’s grip on Y/N’s shirt tightened, but she remained quiet, listening.

“I can’t imagine not having you around,” Y/N admitted softly. “We argue, yeah, but you’re the one thing that’s constant in all the chaos. And I think, maybe I’ve been scared to admit it to myself, but…” Y/N’s voice faltered for a moment before she took a deep breath. “I love you, Amelia.”

For a second, there was nothing but silence. Then Amelia pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at Y/N, her eyes still glistening with tears but softened by the weight of Y/N’s words. She stared at Y/N, her lips parting as if to speak, but before she could, Y/N leaned down and pressed her lips to hers.

The kiss was soft at first, hesitant, as if they were both testing the waters. But then, Amelia slowly slipped her hands up to Y/N's shoulders and around her neck, pulling her closer. Y/N responded in kind, her hands dropping to Amelia's waist and her fingers gently splaying across the small of her back.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads resting together, both of them were breathless but smiling. “Well this is nice,” Y/N said after a moment.

Amelia let out a soft laugh. “As opposed to arguing all the time?” 

Y/N chuckled, her fingers tracing small circles on Amelia’s back. “Yeah. This is a nice change. Although…” Y/N started, a hint of a teasing smile on her lips, “You have to admit, the arguing was kind of fun.” 

Amelia rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the matching smile that spread across her face. “Only because you always thought you were right.” 

“I was right,” Y/N shot back, “Most of the time, anyways.”

“You… are so impossible,” Amelia said, though the smile on her lips gave away the affection behind her words. 

Y/N grinned. “I’ve been told that once or twice.”  

Amelia laughed, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of her lips, “Come on. You still need to get checked out.”  

Y/N groaned but didn’t argue, following Amelia’s lead as they made their way back to the ER, their fingers laced together. As they rounded the corner, they ran right into Maya, who was pacing the hall, her arms crossed and her expression stormy.

“Altman! There you are!” Maya’s voice was sharp, frustration evident as she stalked toward Y/N. “I thought you’d taken off again! You were supposed to get checked out ages ago. What the hell, Y/N? You could be—”

“Maya, I’ve got it,” Amelia interrupted. “I’m taking her to get checked out now.”

Maya blinked, her eyes darting between the two of them before she noticed their joined hands. Her stern expression faltered, a knowing smile slowly spreading across her face as she put the pieces together.

“Oh,” Maya said, her tone shifting entirely. “Oh!” She exclaimed, her grin growing. “About damn time, Altman.”

Y/N flushed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah, well… it kind of just happened.”

“Please. You two have been dancing around each other for ages. I’m just glad you finally figured it out.�� She raised an eyebrow and smirked. “So, does this mean there’ll be less arguing now?”

Y/N snorted, casting a sideways glance at Amelia before responding. “No promises,” She said, her words overlapping with Amelia’s, “We’ll try.” 

Maya rolled her eyes. “Just get her checked out, Shepherd. And Altman, you’re still not off the hook. Come find me after.”

[cassie48]

Dark! Paul atreides x sweet! Crybaby! Pregnant! Reader

𝘙𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘎𝘌

Pairing : Paul atreides x Naive! Pregnant!reader

Summary : Paul is obsessed with reader, reader gets harmed, Paul goes crazy, paul gets his revenge. Less focus on plot more on relationship

…………………………………………………………………………….

Paul had brought you with him when he drank the water of life. He knew you’d have to do it with him to not see him as insane.

As soon as you saw his eyes go blue, you’d panicked. But paul calmed you down “Our baby must see, he must see the truth when he enters this world” he had told you.

After that night, the two of you had changed. Paul became 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳. If anyone dared touch you or upset you, they would die.

The two of you spoke in Chakobsa, even forgetting you once spoke English. Your life was amazing. Paul had taken the emperors throne, killing him and his daughter, making you empress.

He doted on you 24/7, as cold as he was he never treated you any differently. On this particular morning, Paul woke, looking down at you, in your pretty white nightdress, your stomach round, and clearly sticking out. You were now seven months into your pregnancy.

Two months ago a doctor confirmed your baby was to be a boy, which pleased Paul, an heir. You however didnt care what the gender was, and deep down you knew Paul didn’t either.

Paul sat up, in your large bed, and climbed out of the covers, resting his hand on your bump, smiling as you sighed in your sleep.

He leant down to your bump, whispering to his unborn son “When you grow older, you must protect your mother” he said in Chakobsa.

After a moment he sat up, placing a kiss on you cheek, and getting dressed and leaving you, knowing he had lots of work to complete that day.

Around an hour later, you woke up peacefully, looking over to see Paul’s spot empty, you sighed sadly wishing your husband could be there.

Suddenly your large doors swung open, revealing a man, you quickly jumped pulling the covers completely over yourself, knowing Paul never wanted any other man to see you in such a state.

“My lady, excuse me, I’m here to attend to your needs” the man spoke, holding back a smirk.

“W-Where are my maids?” You stuttered, still shocked by the man’s sudden entrance.

Paul had a rule where no man was allowed enter your room when he was not there.

“Oh they are…busy. His lordship sent me himself, he said you need to prepare for the day.

“Oh em…we’ll I guess if Paul thinks it’s fine” you said reluctantly getting out of the bed, your white nightgown covering you, but your seven month bump on show.

“Allow me to brush your hair” he said, gesturing her to sit down.

At this point you felt extremely uncomfortable, something felt wrong, surely Paul would have helped you himself if your maids were unavailable.

Reluctantly, you sat in your chair, and the man picked up the big brush. He began to brush your hair, and the silence was thick.

“W-Where exactly is Paul?” You asked nervously.

“What lovely hair you have my lady” the man said, ignoring your question.

You gulped, and prepared to question him once more, when he roughly pulled down on the brush hard, making you cry out. You had a very low pain tolerance.

“Ouch” you whispered, your eye’s already pooling with tears.

The man did not however ease your nerves, as he continued to roughly pull your hair.

“That’s hurts!” You said, tears now falling.

“Stop!” You said, trying to stand up, but he grabbed your throat roughly.

“Shh, your stuck with me, all alone, me and the empress” the man sneered, making you feel sick.

Your cries worsened when he placed his hand on your almost exposed breast, you squirmed, and prepared for the worst.

Suddenly, his hand dropped from around you throat, allowing you to breathe once more, relief entering your body.

Yet you screamed once more, seeing the man’s throat being slit, and when he fell to the ground, your husband stood, a fierce expression written on his features.

Paul kicked the man’s body away from you, before moving over and taking you in his arms, lifting you up and sitting on the chair, you in his lap.

“Shh, I’m here” he said rocking you gently.

Your cries didn’t die down, and you felt sick from crying this hard. “He, he touched me Paul! I’m sorry! H-He said you sent him, I should ha-have said no” you explained crying as you did.

“It is only his fault” he said, his voice laced with pure anger.

He gently lifted you up and climbed into your bed, laying your head down on his chest. “Sleep my love, I’m not going anywhere” he whispered, caressing your bump gently as you tucked your head into his chest, your tears beginning to dry.

After a few minutes you drifted back to sleep, your husband holding you protectively. He was a possessive man, whoever dared touch his wife would die.

………………………………………………………………………..

Ok I know this is like so bad and short but I just wanted to write something….

[trashmouth-richie]

eddie x fem! reader

masterlist

w/c 7.8k

summary: things heat up in more ways than one for the roommates, thanksgiving makes everyone thankful.

warnings: NO MINORS, language, fighting, mentions of child neglect, mentions of murder

a/n: thank you to my beta readers: @jo-harrington @sweetsweetjellybean pls check out their work they are both so amazingly talented 🩵 thank you to @blueywrites for screaming with me on certain parts of this story + @fracturedarkness for helping me plan future parts for this series.

again— I’m no longer doing a tag list for this series— this week as really opened my eyes to a bunch of shit in this world and I’m fucking pissed off about it.

“Do you think it’s enough food? Last year Mike ate all the mashed potatoes so I’m just hoping there is enough for everyone.”

The holidays were always a stressful time for most people, housewives stressing over meal planning, guest lists and matching outfits for their Christmas cards—ones that coordinated well and hid the fact that they were miserable with their lazy, limp dick husbands. Poor Nancy fell into that category all too well.

She’s walking circles around her dining room table, counting the dishes on her fingers. Ham, turkey, cheesy potatoes, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, corn, green bean casserole, a relish tray, strawberry fluff, gravy, two pumpkin pies, two pecan pies, a jello mold, two dozen caramel Rice Krispie bars, a pan of iced banana bars, and one can of jellied cranberry sauce on a crystal plate.

When Nancy asked you to join the Wheeler/Byers/Hopper’s gang for thanksgiving this year, you quickly accepted the invitation, asking if there was anything you could bring. She requested you bring the dessert. So the night before Thanksgiving, you started the tedious task of keeping Eddie from eating all the icing and caramel.

“Eddie! Have you seen the caramels I just bought? They were on the counter next to the flour canister.”

“Nope! Haven’t theen ‘em,” he answers all too quickly, “you thur you bought ‘em?”

“Yes I’m su—,”

Goddamn him.

Walking into the living room you approach the metal head, splayed out on the couch, fingers shoved in his mouth picking at his teeth, “oh Eddie?”

“Mhmm?” He hums, innocently, looking at you with big doe eyes.

“You wouldn’t happen to have caramel stuck in your teeth, the same caramel I bought and said, ‘please don’t eat these they’re for the Rice Krispie bars,’ would you?”

Rose colors his cheeks, “what? Me? Not listening? Ok O’Donnell,” he says with a scoff.

“Eddie,” you say sternly, hip thrown out and arms crossed over your chest.

“Ok! Fine! They were just so fucking good! But I’m dying right now— my teeth feel practically glued together— do we have any floss?!”

“Nance, I think there is more than enough here, you and Jonathan will have leftovers for weeks, months possibly.”

Fretting, Nancy wipes her fidgeting hands on her apron, “I just want it to be perfect— you know how I am.”

Type A, that’s how she was.

“It’ll be perfect, Nancy,” Jonathan agrees, coming up behind her and holding her around her small waist, “just like you.”

Scarlet heat accentuates her rouged cheeks. “Ok ok, no kissing the cook just yet,” she says, peeling herself from Jonathan’s arms, “can you and Argyle set the card table up in the basement?”

-

The turkey almost melted like butter on your tongue, the gravy was rich and savory. Karen’s cheesy potatoes were creamy and the crunchy cornflakes on top were to die for; the entire meal was delicious. The labor of Nancy’s love for her family and friends showing through her craftsmanship of amazing cuisine. You hadn’t seen Karen or Ted since the wedding, being the closest thing to parents you had, you were ecstatic when Karen joined you over the hot water and soapy sink, washing the china plates.

“So sweety, how have things been going lately? Nancy said you have a roommate?” Her tight blonde permed curls shaking behind her as she scrubs the pot used to make the gravy.

Drying the freshly rinsed dish, you answer with a coy smile on your face, “I’ve been good, doing better than I have in a while, yeah, I have a roommate, uhh Eddie Munson.”

“Oh Mike’s friend? He always was so kind to him, taking him under his wing and showing him the ropes in high school,” she looks at you then, her lavender eyeshadow catching the light over the sink, “I’m happy you two are dating.”

Dating.

Dating Eddie Munson.

Scenarios fly through your mind, Eddie holding your hand at the movie theater, him behind you—his chin resting on your shoulder helping you play video games at Arcade Land, watching him write songs and play his guitar, kissing his lips sweetly, deeply— moving down his neck, his chest. His fingers on your thighs—

You’re sweating.

Head dizzy and full of visions of you loving Eddie and Eddie loving you back dance in your head.

“W-we’re not dating, just—”

How would you describe your relationship with Eddie? Roommates? Friends? Waiting for him to kiss you?

“—friends,” you say, enunciating the word slowly, rolling it off your tongue.

“Well,” Karen says, a hidden smile on her knowing lips, “I’m happy you two are just friends.”

Friends.

Such a complicated word. Because you and Eddie were more than that, but definitely not dating. The tension between you was electric, and sometimes jarring, but you went to bed thinking of him every night, hoping he would just open the door to your room, slip beneath the sheets and hold you while you dreamed.

-

[Two weeks prior]

The morning after you had comforted him, you woke up alone— his side of the bed still warm as if he had just gotten up. Sleeping so soundly you weren’t sure what day it was, or the time. The alarm clock on your night stand said 7 o’clock but that couldn’t be right. You and Eddie had both slept for over twelve hours, the comforting kind of sleep that lulls babies to sleep, gentle, sweet, pillowy dreams in one another’s arms. Getting dressed for work, you slip a pair of jeans on, and change into a long navy blue cardigan, headband to match. Lacing up your converse, you open your bedroom door.

Eddie’s in his room getting dressed for work when you find him. Knocking on the opened door gently, you poke your head in, his eyes lift and meet yours, a sleepy, coy grin colors his face, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he whispers softly, stopping mid button on his work coveralls.

The black bandana around his head presses his bangs nearly flat, the soft waves of his chocolate dipped curls reflect the sun light with a honey oranged hue.

“Hi,” your voice is small and meek.

An overwhelming feeling of dread* clouds your mind. Where would this new found friendship and comfort lead you both? Maybe Eddie was regretting the entire night. You haven’t been on this comfort level with someone you were physically attracted to ever. Steve was like a brother to you. And Chad— you were never comfortable with him, your skin crawling just thinking of it. But Eddie? The sight of him gave you butterflies, his arms holding your waist while you slept was an intimacy you haven’t experienced before, and you wanted to relish in the feeling of it.

He fiddles with his rings on his fingers, rolling them around and around before his mouth opens to speak, “I’m sorry for yesterday,” he blurts out, looking down in shame, unable to meet your curious eyes.

Barely comprehending that he’s apologizing for being vulnerable, you walk towards him slowly. He notices your staggering steps and inches backward. His walls are back up, caged in with his feelings, barbed wire on the top so you couldn’t find a way in, electric fence surrounding the brick walls—the highest voltage imaginable.

“Ed—”

“Please,” he begs, voice cracked and broken, wavering on another breakdown, “please don’t… I don’t need your sympathy.”

Tears well in your eyes at his recoiling. How can a night of comfort turn into despair and hostility the next morning? Nose burning, signaling your brain that tears would be falling any second, you wipe your eyes hastily.

Eddie felt like his neck was out, exposed to the world, waiting for the guillotine’s blade to slice his skin, until the crimson of his blood spilled in the basket, severing his head, a trophy amongst the weak.

Munson’s didn’t accept charity, his whole life that's what he felt like to Wayne, a charity case, a goddamn roadblock in Wayne’s life stopping him from finding a girlfriend, sleeping on a real bed, forcing him to work overnight just for Eddie— he’d never forgive himself for the pain he’s caused him— and now you? Offering your bed to him, your fingers twirling through his hair as he came undone. Whimpering like an infant, coating your thighs with thick tears. Sure it felt nice to have someone there with him, to reassure him it was all going to be okay, sweet, angelic voice of reason. But when he woke this morning he felt disgusting, like a predator, a vicious wolf preying on a sweet innocent lamb offering herself to him because he was upset.

He didn’t want that for you. He didn’t want to taint your soul with his past.

“I’m not giving my sympathy,” you voiced into the void, whether he heard it or not you weren’t sure.

Eddie breathing heavily, trying to contain his emotions from spilling out of him, “good, because I don’t want it.”

He walks around you in a huff, the muted scent of cigarettes and cologne hit your nose, as he passes you and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door all too hard. Following him, you’re certain you are full fledged crazy at this point, like in a scary movie when the lead actress stays in the house instead of running away.

Opening the door, opening Pandora’s box, you push it til it swings wide, he’s hovering over the sink brushing his teeth, white and blue toothpaste decorate the corners of his mouth.

“Tooty,” he groans, spitting a dollop of toothpaste into the sink, “seriously— I don’t want to talk about it, whatever you have to say save it for the human Care Bear Harrington—I don’t want to hear it.” he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Stones would be impressed with how still you’re standing, head raised waiting for him to look you in your eye. Refusing to break. A storm in your eyes threatening to flood. “Why are you acting like this?”

“I’m not acting like anything,” Eddie grunts impatiently, “are you ready?”

When you don’t say anything, he moves you out of the way, large hands around your arms, stepping around you and going into the kitchen.

Following him, you won't let up, his head in the fridge he pulls out the orange juice carton, drinking directly from the jug, “Eddie, you can talk to me about it, I’m a good listener.”

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, gasping for breath as he swallows the citrus liquid, “I said— I said, I didn’t want to talk about it and I meant it, I’m a grown ass man— ”

Interrupting him, not giving him time to finish you blurt, “Doesn’t make you less of one just because you’re upset.”

His teeth clench so hard they almost crack, his hands balled into fists at his sides, the orange juice container crumbling in his grasp. Years of therapy as a child did nothing to help him. And neither could you.

“Stop,” he snaps, his eyes pinched tight, a wave of fury washing over him, only seeing red. “Jesus Christ enough! I don’t need this shit right now, I’m gonna be late for work!”

He stomps towards the door, shoving his boots on haphazardly, throwing his leather jacket under his arm, the same leather jacket you had worn the night before, your perfume lingering on the inside.

The smell of you lighting his fire even more, he’s losing all self control.

“What’s your problem anyway?” he grumbles, kicking open the front door, waiting for you to follow. His eyes are wide and full of hurt, anger, crippling anxiety so deep he didn’t even know if he was breathing. But no matter how mad you looked, how many tears you kept wiping away from your lash line, he couldn’t stop.

Keys in the ignition he puts the van into reverse and yanks the wheel quickly, driving like he robbed a bank.

Anytime you try to speak he cuts you off.

“Do you like getting involved with people's lives? Why are you so desperate to know what happened? Need something to gossip about at the salon? So you and your boss can whisper shit about me again? Hmm? ”

“What the fuck are y—” you try to say, but he cuts you off again, he’s raging war on himself and on you, it’s far from over, no surrender flag in sight.

“That must be it right?” he preens, barely stopping at the stop lights as he flies to your work, tires squealing around corners, “I’m here because you need something to talk about, the well full of hot gossip of Hawkins must have run dry. Well guess what sweetheart? It’s not anything I haven’t heard before.”

He’s so clueless, so expertly out of sync with what you were trying to convey, what you were begging him to understand. The tears are free falling and you don’t stop them, screaming at him, “Eddie!”

“What?!” he barks back, chest heaving with hatred filled lungs and venomous words so toxic they’re burning your skin.

Aching soul and self doubt at an all time low you try to will the words to not shake as you deliver, “do you really think I would hold you while you were sad with any other intention than consoling you!? You were upset and the least I could do after you helped me was try to make you feel better!”

He tried to argue but it’s your turn to cut him off, holding up a hand as he fumed through his nose. He parks in back of the salon, slamming on the brakes as you both jolt forward. “Let it go, Too—”

“I care about you, you stubborn asshole!” You grab your purse between your feet and open the door and jump out.

“Just stop,” Eddie pleads, his eyes brimming with tears, “don’t.”

“I can’t,” you say back in a whisper, your voice breaking at the last syllable, you reach for the door, out of breath and holding in your sobs the best you can, “oh, and for the record— Josie was telling me to be nice to you and give you a chance— my mistake.”

Slamming the door you don’t hear him break, you don’t hear him thrust the heel of his hand into the steering wheel until it aches and burns. His nerves shooting pain through his entire arm. You don’t hear him scream and hate himself as he drives to work, his body soulless, empty, fragile.

-

“Tooty, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell Josie for the tenth time.

You definitely were not fine.

Distracted the minute you got to work, your mind raced with questions of the unknown. Hurt, confused and pissed off, you had mixed the wrong color formula for your clients hair, resulting in money down the drain from your own paycheck as you threw the mixture away and started it again, for the third attempt.

At 10 o’clock you were folding towels in the back when you realized you had bleached an entire load of darks. The once rich black towels were now faded with splotches of orange.

Eddie’s words had ripped through your heart, hurdling themselves into the deepest parts of you that were sheltered away from anyone, taking up solace in your forbidden soul, hollowing it out.

By noon you were crying while rolling a client's perm rods into her hair, having to step away multiple times before Josie gently told you enough was enough and that you should go home for the day.

Not wanting to call Eddie and get a ride you decided to walk the half mile through town back to your home on Cherry lane.

Kicking a rock with the toe of your shoe for most of the walk home, you mull over the events of the day. Wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your cardigan as you tread along the sidewalk.

-

[Thanksgiving Day]

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me to Nancy and Jonathan’s? It’ll be fun!”

Eddie is leaned against the driver window of his van, his finger tracing a smiley face into the dust in the dash. “I wish I could, but Wayne and I go fishing every year on Thanksgiving— it’s a tradition.”

Every year since Eddie was ten years old, Wayne took him fishing on Thanksgiving, starting early in the morning and going until sundown, ending the night camping beneath the stars, cooking their daily catch for supper, “save me a piece of pie okay?” he finishes, ruffling up your hair, a shit eating grin on his lips.

Feeling horrible that your car was still out of commission, Eddie had let you borrow the van for the night after you dropped him off at Wayne’s. “And you’re positive it’s okay if I take the van?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Eddie’s laugh spread across his cheeks, the black beanie he has on his head inching closer to falling off every second, “Tooty,” he breathes, his brown eyes dipping into yours, “take the goddamn van and have a good time—and hurry up, you’re gonna be late.”

[2 Weeks prior]

🎶 it was the third of June another sleepy dusty delta day

I was out choppin’ cotton and my brother was baling hay

Bobbie Jo’s tune was ringing in his ears all day— no matter how loud he cranked the radio in the shop, no matter how many times he tried to hum a different tune— her -* words rang through his mind like silk, coating his skin and implementing old memories he didn’t want brought up.

He was filled with fury. A ticking time bomb. It should have been no surprise when Sean and Aaron started poking at him, how unhinged he would become.

“What’s got your panties in a twist, Munson,” Sean sneers, changing the oil on the Ford truck, “your little girlfriend finally figure out you’re a fucking loser?”

Eddie had already thrown a wrench across the shop out of frustration when he realized he forgot his lunch. He slammed the hood of a blue minivan on his fingers right after morning break, and now Aaron and Sean were starting in on him.

His breath erratic, trying to breathe through his nose to calm himself down but failing. His misery over taking his nerves. He grunts through barred teeth, “We aren’t dating,”

Sean perks up at the news, his wiry mustache splattered across his top lip like a squashed caterpillar, decrepit and sparse. “Oh shit, so she’s single, huh?”

“Damn,” Aaron chimes in, his hands cupped around his junk as he shakes it back and forth between his greasy hands, “what I wouldn't give to be balls deep in that pretty little mouth, that’d shut her up for good.”

“You’re skating on thin ice, fuck rag, I’d watch my mouth if I were you.” Eddie’s shoulders are tensed, adrenaline at an all time high. Fight or flight screaming through his blood racing through his heart and speeding up his heart rate.

“Whatchya gonna do about it, freak?” Sean spits pushing Eddie in the chest, “ ‘Name the time and place’ yeah motherfucker? How about right here right now?” Standing toe to toe with Eddie, but a foot shorter he peers into Eddie’s face, egging him on.

“Ever since you moved in with that whore you’ve been such a little bitch about everything— I mean I get it, honestly— Chad always said she had the sweetest p—”

Sean chokes on the last word as Eddie’s fist connects with his cheek, his rings would end up leaving bruises in their shape on his skin for weeks to come.

Sean throws a punch at Eddie but he is quick to dodge it, years of fighting in the trailer park giving him an upper hand. Blood spews from Sean’s mouth as Eddie upper cuts him in the chin, his tongue almost split in half as he bit down from the impact.

Eddie is blinded momentarily as Aaron socks him in the eye, a deep purpling plum colored bruise that took weeks to heal. Stumbling backwards his back hits the red sun faded tool box, Sean came swinging a crow bar out of nowhere and hit Eddie in the ribs, a groaning thud as the sound of his bones shatter in his body.

Behind his back, he reaches for whatever is closest, a wrench wrapped tight in his fingers gets thrown in the air at Sean, hitting him in the throat and knocking him over onto the smooth concrete of the shop floor, gasping for breath.

Aaron tackles Eddie, sending him into the air compressor, four fists are swinging and bodies shifting as they both struggle for dominance. Eddie’s lip is cut and his eye is swollen almost shut. Aaron’s nose is dripping blood on Eddie’s shirt as he punches him in the same place that Sean hit him with the crow bar. He’s able to get a knee up between Aaron and himself and twists his body to get above him, and when he does he lays punch after punch into Aaron’s swollen bloody face.

With each rocking fist connecting with flesh, Eddie has one thing on his mind, you. He thinks about the foul way they had disrespected you. The way you had cried when you told him you couldn’t stop caring about him. How he was close to losing you because he couldn’t open up and let you in. How terrified you must have been for all those years when you were scared and alone, nobody there to hold you and comfort you. And while he’s pummeling Aaron into a bloody pulp of cracked teeth and swollen eyes, it finally clicks for him.

-

The fight didn’t last long, but was effective enough to get Eddie suspended for the rest of the work day— and Aaron and Sean got a nice week's vacation with no pay.

Eddie’s knuckles are coated in a mixture of blood and spit. His jaw aches as he drives home with one eye open, it’s the clearest he’s seen in a long time.

[Thanksgiving]

“Fish ain’t bitin’ much are they?” Wayne and Eddie have both cast and reeled in their rods multiple times with zero luck. The small boat Eddie had gifted Wayne with for Christmas 3 years ago stood at still waters of Lover’s Lake, both men chilled to the bone.

“Nah, they sure aren’t. Probably no fish left in here after the summer you had.”

Since Eddie had graduated, Wayne dropped down to part time at the plant and went to dayshift. A true dream for him and for Eddie, offering to pick up most of the bills, a silent thank you for all the years that Wayne has taken care of him when he didn’t have to, but did anyway— the only caring person in his life, until you.

The wind whips through Eddie’s hair, tugging the curls out from the confinements of the cotton stocking cap snug on his head. The once crisp autumn foliage is soggy like forgotten cereal in a bowl of milk around them from the previous nights rain, chilling the usual humidity from the air and adding a depth of ice in their veins as they shake and shiver in their jackets, Eddie in his leather jacket, Wayne in a weathered faded khaki canvas coat.

Ruddy hands with silvered rings light two cigarettes, passing one to a pair of calloused, aged hands. Inhaling deeply and blowing warm smoke in the whispering winds of the quiet fog around them.

Wayne runs a rough hand over his sunned scalp, itching the small patches of hair left, as he readjusts his tattered cap, letting the nicotine settle into his bones and soothe the stubborn ache in his jaw, like ointment on an arthritic joint, “you ever gonna bring that girlfriend over to meet me or you keepin’ her alls to yourself?”

“What girl?” Eddie says quickly, coyly, blowing smoke into the space between the two of them, hiding his mouth with the curtain of his curls, opening the coffee can full of mud and worms, pushing another worm on the end of his hook.

Wayne hadn’t talked to him about girls since he was fifteen when he walked into his room and tossed a box of rubbers at his chest and grumbled, “use ‘em,” under his breath.

Irritation blooms against Wayne’s brows, “boy, don’t play dumb with me,” he cracks at Eddie, a false stern voice in his gruff voice, “the one you’re dating you little wise ass.”

“I’m not dating anyone, Wayne.” Eddie says, pretending to be preoccupied with the tackle box full of neon fishing lures and bobbers. He runs his thumb over the rough cracked surface of the faded red and white bobber, the same one Wayne gave to him when they started fishing all those years ago. The memory brings a smile to his face.

The gruff scoff from Wayne’s throat suggests bullshit to his ears from his nephew’s mouth, a noise Eddie has heard many many times in the two decades he had been living with Wayne, one that told him that he better tell the truth, and right the hell now. No matter that he now towers over Wayne, he’ll always be his boy, the wide eyed boy with a mountain of guilt on his shoulders, his son.

And as Wayne always knew— the more he poked and prodded, the more Eddie would clam up. They sit in comfortable silence, the slight breeze rippling the water on Lover’s Lake, rocking the small fiberglass boat and swaying the two Munson men gently.

How could he describe the relationship between you and him? Not dating, but hopefully more than friends. He didn’t have many friends that he’d willingly let help him battle his inner-most demons. In fact, Gareth and Jeff were still left in the dark about it. The breeze continues to grow frigid and burrows itself between the layers of his clothing, freezing his skin and peppering it with goose bumps. The chattering of Eddie’s teeth remind him of Steve’s birthday when he offered you his jacket, and opted to freeze the rest of the night just so you wouldn’t be chilly.

It’s simple really, he admitted it to Steve, but somehow admitting it to Wayne was worse than the hit from the box of condoms against his chest.

He says it all too fast, out of breath, and barely audible. But he says it. And a smile spreads across the weathered leather of Wayne’s face, pulling his mustache up, a glimmer of a sparkle in his eye, “see, now was that so bad?”

-

[2 weeks prior]

His knuckles ache, and he’s not positive if it’s from the blows to Aaron’s face or the way he’s gripping the steering wheel. His realization while busting open Aaron’s cheek made him eager to get home. Eager to clean himself up before he went to pick you up from work.

The house is silent as he walks through the garage, his angry hurtful words bounce back to him off the kitchen walls, the counter. The orange juice was still where he left it, crumpled and misshapen.

He truly was an asshole. Hurting the one person who cared for him other than Wayne. He sits down in a chair and unties his boots, blood splattered on the toes. Peeling the sweat stained work coveralls from his body, he tosses them down the steps to the basement, leaving them for later.

He stands partially naked in the kitchen, clad in only his underwear and socks, the kick of adrenaline wearing completely off, the promise of pain against his broken ribs rings searing heat through his body.

A glance around the kitchen stills the breath in his lungs. The kitchen is a wreck from the waffle night, the colossal beginning of a budding relationship that he was currently in the trenches hoping to fix. The once silky batter is now hard, pale concrete cemented onto the sides of the glass mixing bowl. The waffle iron was open, sprayed with cooking oil that was sitting with its cap off on the counter. The plates were sticky with cold syrup and now styrofoam resembled waffles, still on the table from where you had both sat. Forks and knives laying atop the ceramic plates in a haphazard way, awaiting the return of warm hands to finish their job.

Without thinking he starts to clean up, filling the sink with hot water, scraping the food from the plates into the garbage, putting away the orange juice and the left out butter and cooking spray. In no time the kitchen is sparkling and Eddie’s body is screaming at him to rest. The cuts on his knuckles are cleaned but swollen, soap stung from the water. His side aches, adrenaline slipping away with every growing minute.The pain is almost unbearable.

A clicking noise from the front door has him turning suddenly, a slight panic in his nerves as he stands stone still.

-

A block from the house, your tears return, cold, and stuck to your face like ice on poles. You’re exhausted, stomping the entire way home drove shin splints up your legs, the cold cramping dull in your calves. Thinking of Eddie the entire way home you are dumbfounded— completely and utterly confused at his reaction. How could he not know how you felt about him? Why was he begging you to stop? Wondering if you’ll ever get the answers to those questions you wipe your nose with the sleeve of your cardigan. If he was going to guard himself again, and put the barriers back up— so could you.

The door is stuck as you try to open it, pushing and shoving your shoulder into it, it finally gives, stumbling your way into the living room in the most ungraceful way. The scent of freshly wiped surfaces sting your nose and stop you dead in your tracks. You weren’t expecting to be relieved from seeing Eddie, but the relief is short lived as you notice the deep violet and indigo bruise painting his eye.

“Ed—,” you gasp, covering your mouth as you run towards him, foregoing the screaming in your legs, “wh— oh my God!”

His eyes melt at your appearance, scarlet rimmed eyes and wet cheeks take him in, eyebrows dipped into unease and apprehension. He feels your hesitancy, thick like fog surrounding you both as you reach your fingers up to his cheek. Ice cold pads of your fingertips skim the tender skin of his face, brushing the wispy hair of his bangs from his eyes with your fingertips to get a better look at him.

He doesn’t speak, barely breathing at your gentle touch on his face. The frosty coolness of your fingers burn his skin with every silky movement of your hands. He tries to avoid your eyes, avoid the pain he knew was from earlier and his cowardice.

Fingers dancing along his skin, you scan over his torso, the same way you did on the morning after Halloween, the bruising from the mishap of the steps is replaced by a pattern of splotchy deep bruising.

“They’re broke,’�� Eddie groans, his split lip ripping open, from him trying to force a smile, “looks cool though right?”

Using humor to deflect the true way he feels was an easy defense mechanism for him, but you won’t bite. Won’t take the bait he’s dropping into your waters, won’t nibble at his small offering.

Trying not to break, you stand your ground, “what happened?”

“Nothing that wasn’t deserved,” Eddie says, eyes casted downwards at your hands near his ribs, “I was just having a shitty enough day— my own fault—“, he adds quickly, his eyes flicking to yours, not wanting to put salt into the already festering wound he created, “I—uh—I took care of it.” He says in a final explanation.

“And now I’m going to take care of this,” he motions between you both, sliding his hands down your arms and settling them in your hands.

“Tooty— I,” he exhales as deep as his lungs will allow given the break in his ribs, spilling his stitched up heart to you, letting the walls fall with each word, “I’m sorry— I’m so fucking sorry. Nothing I do or say will ever amount to how shitty I feel for making you cry, for pushing you away. I’m a coward when it comes to this type of shit, and it was too heavy— too muddy for me to explain. I figured if I’d shut you out you’d go back to how it was before— before Harrington’s birthday, before Halloween befo—,”

A shake of your head and a sharp intake of breath come from your body. Did all of this mean nothing to him? The flirting, the gentle touching, the sweet gestures? It was all just something he wanted to forget?

Voice small and shallow, “Is that what you want Eddie? To go back to how it was before, when you first moved in?”

A single tear falls from your face, and without thinking, without second guessing himself or wondering if you would think he was being weird, Eddie is quick to brush it away with the curl of his forefinger. His swollen knuckles are tight and achy. He tries to hide a hiss from his teeth, wanting to live in this euphoric moment for as long as he can, as long as you will allow him to. He extends both hands now to your face, his rough thumbs rubbing over the expanse of your cheeks, fingers behind your ears, curling into your hair.

“I want,” he breathes easy now, as if the touch of your skin on his fingers mended his broken bones, his eyes soft where it allowed, one still swollen shut, “I need you to know that I care, too— and I don’t want you to ever quit caring about me— baby, I’ve cared about you for years—- and I can’t get myself to stop.”

And when a sob breaks from your chest, he pulls you into him, “c’mere,” the sensation steals the breath from your lungs, you’ve never been touched with such gentleness, such care. He’s holding you as if you’re glass. Fragile, cracked and held together with shitty Elmer’s glue that was a tempting snack for children. It’s so delicate the way he’s stroking your skin.

Minutes or hours pass you’re not sure. His warmth engulfs you, his musky cologne and spiced deodorant is a gentle blanket around you. Wrapping you in a swaddle of his admiration.

His hair tickles your cheeks, tattooed arms are twisted in your hair,and wrapped around your back. The shine of your tears coat his bare chest, his chin rests on top of yours breathing in your hair shushing you gently.

You spend the night working Eddie’s rings from his already swollen fingers, pressing ice packs to his bruises and spreading neosporin on his cut lip, rubbing it gently with the tip of your finger, Eddie giggles at the concentration on your face and the way your tongue is poked out.

He’s infatuated with the way you make him feel. His heart soaring higher and higher with each delicate touch of your fingers on his skin.

He’s up late that night, stomach full from your homemade chicken noodle soup and his heart even more full. Flying higher than cloud nine, your sweet face on his mind.

-

[Thanksgiving]

A sadistic voice echoes from your tv screen, “a little young for ya isn’t she Richie? BEEP BEEP RICHIE!”

Richie Tozier sips the Dixie cup of water, leaning against the bookcase in the Derry library, Pennywise continues his antics of torture as balloons drop from the ceiling, popping with blood spluttering on the library go-ers faces, oblivious to the fantasy nightmare Pennywise ensues.

The front door opens with a thud as a shriek and the popcorn bowl on your lap goes flying through the air. Eddie walks hurriedly through the door. A shivering spine of fear and realization hits you all at once. His boisterous laugh reverberates the living room walls as he picks popcorn from your hair, and places it in his mouth, a loud crunch between his teeth as he plops down next to you on the couch.

“Think you got your holidays mixed up, sweetheart— it’s Thanksgiving, Halloween was last month.”

Rolling your eyes you make a face to mock him, which only fuels his fire and has his cold fingers jabbing into your sides and tickling you so hard you scream out. Begging him to stop.

“Don’t!,” you squeal, holding your breath and giggling at his unrelenting tickling. He finally gives up after your face has gone red and your hair is a mess, laughing tears rolling down your cheeks.

Eddie sits back on the couch taking a huffing breath, a wild smile spreading from ear to ear, “that’s what you get for watching IT without me!”

Scoffing, you pick up the bowl of popcorn and the paled yellow crunchy kernels spilled on the ruby red throw blanket, “wait, weren’t you supposed to be camping with your uncle tonight?”

Eddie breathes out a sigh, bending at the waist to gather the kernels off the floor. The rest of the fishing trip with Wayne, Eddie spent it quieter than he had ever been, contemplating his next move, how could he show you that he was serious? How could he let you in? Show you his ugly past without scaring you, without you running for the hills? The answer was easy.

“I have something— somewhere I wanna show you,” he whispers, standing to his full height. Looking for the familiar mischievous glimmer in his eye, you are surprised by the genuine sparkle replacing it. His face his earnest, almost a look of doubt on his lips, scared of your reaction.

He peels the blanket from your lap and reaches down, his hand held out extended to yours, “come with me?”

-

The air is bitter. The driveway is glittering with a sequined frost, dancing with the shine of the street lights. Warm breath fills the inside of Eddie’s van as he slots the key into the ignition and fires it up, cranking the heat. Snuggling further into your knitted scarf, hiding the chill of your nose as Eddie backs down the driveway, heading out of town.

It doesn’t take long to get to where he was going, the drive in silence had you questioning what was going on in his mind. The path was overgrown, hidden from the road, hidden from anyone who didn’t know that it was there. The headlights of the van bob along with each sunken hole on the dirt drive. Jostling the van this way and that.

Nestled into thick trees past an old loose and corroded barbed wire fence, in place for property lines, sits a small house, paint chipped and barely visible. The roof was caved in by a large tree falling on it, the sagging porch still had bleached yellow crime scene tape hanging on by threads to the moss eaten pillar.

Eddie throws the van in park, sniffling slowly and looking around. “This uh,” he stutters, clearing his throat, “this is where I lived with my mom, my old man was in and out most of the time—drunk or in jail, I don’t remember him being here that much except the last time.”

Silence is golden, and you give him your undivided attention as he twists in his seat, bent knee leaning on the door frame.

“That,” he says pointing to the fallen tree in the back, “was an apple tree, apples this big around I swear,” he motions his hands in a circle, a chuckle in his throat, “we didn’t live here for very long, a year, or two maybe…”

His voice fades, and at first he second guesses bringing you here. He can imagine you piecing this puzzle of woe together, his life. The tragic tale of Eddie Munson, he didn’t spin a web of luxuries for you to pretend with him for a moment, a second, that he was anything other than what he was—but when your cotton gloved fingers slide into his, interlacing them—it gives him the courage, the resilience to continue.

“…I was six when it— when she was… he—,” he trails off, unable to finish, but it doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots. The abandoned house, the barely-there flicker of yellow tape, she wasn’t only dead— she was murdered, by his father’s hand.

Comprehending what he’s getting at, you can practically hear his heart breaking. Eyes never leaving his face, you take him in, his eyes are wet as he blinks back tears, using his other hand to pinch the inner corners of his eyes, and hide behind his hair, his face is ashen, once ruddy cheeks from when he came home and tickled you is now swallowed by stale ash, sucking the life from his eyes, his cheeks, his soul.

“.. right in front of me…” he hangs his head low, sniffing quietly, “Wayne took me in after that.”

Eddie and you were alike in more ways than you had thought, although your parents were still alive, they were equally absent from your life, much like Eddie’s parents. Sure you both had people who took care of you, and as sweet as the gesture was, it was never really the same. The aching torture of having to defend for yourself, put a brave face on for your temporary care takers so you don’t seem like a bother to them, so they won’t worry about the weight of taking you in— was all too familiar.

“Eddie,” you whisper softly, rubbing his hands with your thumbs.

Yearning and breaking for him, the cords of your heart reach to his, tethering them together as you slide over the center council, and carefully land into his lap. He’s surprised at first by your brazenness, but once you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him into you, he melts like chocolate at your heated touch.

Your fingers tug into his hair at the nape of his neck, his nose and lips make their way in between your scarf and your neck, the slight chill against your skin sends goosebumps down your spine, a throbbing in your core.

Realization spreads through your heart, your brain, the hair follicles on your head, the painted nails on your toes. Holding him, him holding you, his arms around you, your arms buried in his hair, his fingers rubbing patterns into your back as he sighs deeply and regulates his breath—for the first time in your life, you realize this is what love feels like.

To be loved and to be in love. It was undeniable. Right? Friends didn’t do this. Roommates didn’t do this. But two people who cared deeply for one another and were bonded together by more than just traumatic circumstances? That was love.

In this moment, nothing else matters.

It’s just you and him.

Him and you.

The flutter of your heart short circuits as it seeps hot sticky love all over your face, blooming warmly in your cheeks. Grasping him tighter, you pull away, settling your forehead into his. Whiskey poured eyes staring back into yours, for a brief second you swear you can feel his heart flutter with yours, beating as one.

Eddie doesn’t play his music loud on the way back. A comfortable echoing still in the van as it clunks along the road. His voice barely above a whisper when he speaks. He feels satisfied. Happy even? Like the weight of the world was off of his shoulders by you simply knowing his past. You didn’t ask questions and in the moment he didn’t need you to. His arms wrapped around you was more than enough, your fingers twirling in his hair, the smell of your perfume behind your ear. The way you let him grieve, let him take you somewhere he hasn’t gone in years, was something he’d appreciate for a lifetime to come.

Once home it’s like any normal night, only he doesn’t tease you. He doesn’t fight over the bathroom or use your toothbrush, he doesn’t argue when you pop Christmas Vacation into the VCR, even though you can quote the entire movie. He’s completely engulfed by you, watching you brush your hair, the extra roll of the waistband of your pajama pants. The ridiculous colors of your fuzzy socks you insisted on wearing now that the weather was colder.

He’s never felt nervous around a girl before, usually throwing himself around, showing off his exquisite rack like a stacked buck in rut, rubbing his antlers on trees, showing his mighty dominance.

But you weren’t just another lonely girl looking for a night with a lead singer, or a girl pretending to be in love with him just so she could score coke from his supplier while also fucking him behind his back, and you definitely weren’t a faceless girl that he plowed to forget it all.

Meaning much more to him than just some silly fuck, or a high school “sweetheart” that ended up being a heartless cunt, or a dumpster for his cum.

No.

You were much more than that, to him.

More than a roommate, more than a friend, more than Eyeball’s bratty fucking sister.

He could write sonnets about the little lines in between your brow when you pulled your eyebrows together, usually when you were mad at him. He could sing songs about your laugh, not the small polite one, the loud one, the one that rang every doorbell to his heart and and he gladly answered. He could hum a tune of gratitude about your cooking and the silent ways you care for him and your close friends. He’d get his ass kicked by the entire male population of Hawkins if it meant keeping you safe.

You were it for him.

The only one to make him feel, the only one he wanted to see at the end of the day, in the morning when he got up.

Watching you giggle and let out a yawn, he places a couch pillow between his hip and yours gesturing for you to lie down. He almost goes into cardiac arrest when you move the pillow entirely, your head resting in his lap. A sleepy smile on your face as you tug the blanket under your chin.

Yup.

You were it for him.

And he's a sucker, addicted to the way you made him love you so effortlessly.

hope you all enjoyed this volume! volume ix is where it heats up 🔥

@big-ope-vibes @br0ck-eddie @b-irock @loveshotzz @mopeymopeymouse @shiftingtherain @courtingchaos @nightonblogmountain @word-wytch @ghost-proofbaby @hanobe8 @abibliophobiaa @joejoequinnquinn just a few of the coven 🩵🩷

READ MORE

This is for you

*sacrifices 🖕🏼

[jals-stuff]

hello :) saw ur headcanons! mind doing one w deli and the sl*tty jester pleaseeee?

good day anon~ I see that everyone is barking for Domina and Famin so I'll do just that.

SPOILERS AHEAD FOR MASHLE! If you do not know Domina, Famin, Delisaster and Meliadoul, please do not read!

Unless you don't care about spoilers. Then you're free to read~

How would these Mashle characters react if they found their s/o stuck in the washing machine? + personal ratings (again)

For Meliadoul, Domina, Famin and Delisaster.

Warnings: embarrassing? there's an f-bomb somewhere in here

short washing machine headcanons (part 2!)

MELIADOUL…

She’s probably training Ochoa to do stupid things she saw on the internet when you call for her. (Thank you for saving the little guy.)

She’s going to laugh out loud when she sees you stuck head first inside the washing machine! Of course she will. “Please c’mon, please say Stepsis, I’m stuck!” but you won’t, because she’s laughing too hard for you to even understand what she just said.

When she’s finally calm again, she will try to get you out, struggling quite a lot and muttering insults towards the poor washing machine’s family tree, then finally give up and cut through it with her Magical Chainsaw. 

You’ll get very scared, of course, and the chainsaw will absolutely cut through you, but you’ll feel extra relaxed afterwards. She will occasionally tease you about this episode, mostly if you’re cuddling with her.

Made fun + cut you with her Chainsaw, but now you feel nice. You aren’t even mad, 8/10.

DOMINA…

Domina is attempting to make some apple pie when his focus is broken by a muffled scream coming from the laundry room. He sighs and immediately makes his way there.

With anyone else, he would get super angry, but it’s you, and he loves you very much. “Oh no, (Y/N), are you alright?” He isn’t panicking, but he’s a little worried that you might be feeling in pain or too uncomfortable.

He will undoubtedly get you out very nice and slow, and make sure to inspect your face and arms to be absolutely certain that you aren’t hurt (you’d better hope so if you don’t want him to molest your poor washing machine afterwards).

If you’re embarrassed or uncomfortable about it, he’s going to bring you with him and keep making apple pie (it was supposed to be a surprise for you but fuck it) to distract you.

Gentle and cute, definitely makes good pies. 9/10 don’t forget to praise him for this please

FAMIN…

He’s.. I don’t know, probably stealing stuff from his brothers’ rooms when you call him, and his head makes a whole 180° turn before he realises that you need him, and he comes to see you.

Will probably sit on your back while you’re stuck. “Is it nice in there?” he’s going to ask while giggling. If you say it isn’t, he will pull you out immediately and sit next to you to check your expression for any discomfort.

However, if you’re dating Famin, you’re the type that will say it’s nice, so he will first of all pull you out of the washing machine, and then take your spot in there. He’s going to end up being stuck too.

Now you have to pull him out and you don’t know how to do that, you’re left with a jester inside a washing machine. Sounds like the beginning of an awful pun.

Helped, but got stuck instead. at least it was funny, 7/10.

DELISASTER…

He is 100% scrolling on social media or taking selfies when you call for him, and he’ll keep his eyes glued to his phone while making his way to you.

Upon seeing the pitiful display in front of him, he chuckles. “Oh, em, gee. Are you, like, stuck or something?” He will definitely sit down next to you and take selfies showing his face next to your figure, completely stuck.

He will start a TikTok livestream (titled "LMAO F IN THE CHAT FOR (Y/N)") and ask his followers for advice to get someone out of a washing machine, and make absolutely sure that everyone can see you. What a jerk.

If you start sulking or being too uncomfortable, he will put his phone away and get you out of there immediately, without any further questions. Maybe he’ll take you to a party or let you rest on his lap as an apology.

Mean, and why does he speak like a frat boy?? But at least he’s pretty and the party was nice. 7/10

[vampykween]

Second Chances (part 2)

summary: little poppy is simon riley’s entire world and you’ve just had yours turned completely upside down. despite everything, it seems like everything falls into place when you’re with each other. cw: mentions of character death a/n: i wanted to dive into Simon and Poppy's backstory with this part so reader isn't really present in this but, i felt like it was important to establish some backstory ☻ this slightly proofread, but forgive me if there are any mistakes wc: 1789 part 1

Although his face doesn't show it, Simon is thrilled listening to Poppy talk his ear off on the walk home from school. He wouldn't dare admit he spent the whole day busying himself with household tasks to keep his mind from wandering to his little girl. As soon as they cross the threshold of their home Poppy is off like a shot, shrugging off her backpack and kicking off her black mary janes. Simon sighs fondly, hangs her backpack up on its hook, and deposits her shoes in their rightful spot on the shoe rack. One day he’ll get her to do it herself, but for now, he’s content with trailing after her and picking up every little thing she drops if it means she’ll always stay this young and innocent. 

When he rounds the corner he’s met with the sight of Poppy scribbling on a large sheet of paper - her brand new box of crayons strewn across the living room table - and the sound of her favorite cartoon; which Simon finds mind-numbing but he grins and watches with her when she asks because he’ll be damned if he doesn't make her feel like the things she likes aren’t important to him. 

“Whatcha working on there, lovie?” Simon asks with genuine curiosity, he hadn't expected her to come home with any work to do already. The young girl gestures to her crafts, “We’re making family trees at school, I’m a little bit stuck though daddy, I don't know who to put on the tree.” She pouts at him from her spot on the floor and Simon is hit with a wave of grief for the life his daughter could’ve had. 

Six years ago 

“Oh my god, Simon, are you even listening to me?!” Amelia snapped in Simon’s face as he zoned out on the couch. His body was firmly planted in their living room, but his mind wasn't. Pregnant. The word bounced around his brain like a pinball machine, he’s suddenly brought back to the present at the sound of his girlfriend's sobbing. 

“God, I'm right in front of you and it’s like we're not even in the same room. I beg you time and time again to just be present with me, and you act like it’s so fucking hard.” Amelia hiccups and frustratedly wipes at her eyes, “if you don't want this tell me now, cause it’s hard enough feeling like you don't even love me, I can't imagine handling you not loving our child either.” 

Simon turns sharply in her direction at her admission, he knows it’s rocky between them he’s no idiot, but to hear her say that he doesn’t love her, or wouldn't love their child fucking tears him up. He takes her hands in his, and tugs gently until she meets his eyes. 

“Em, you have to know that I do love you, and hell I’m scared out of my mind right now, but god please don’t think for a second that I wouldn't love our child.” He pulls her into his arms and strokes her hair gently until her cries subside. 

“I'm so scared Simon, you and I are not okay. What if that never changes?” Amelia asks somberly. She couldn't remember the last time she wasn't griping at Simon for something, or Simon giving her the silent treatment and storming off for hours at a time. She knew a baby wouldn't change that, hell it had been five years already and they still weren’t married. The wishful part of her hoped that Simon would say that he was going to change for good and that they would fix their relationship and become a happy family. 

“We’ll figure it out, I promise yeah?” Simon had a way of looking at her like she was his world and for just a moment Amelia believed that everything would be okay. 

~ 

Unsurprisingly things were not okay, Amelia woke in the middle of the night grasping her large bump in pain. She regrets her decision to make Simon sleep in the guest bedroom because now her options are to attempt to waddle and wake up her boyfriend? Baby daddy? Things were tense and she wasn't sure what they were anymore. The months she’s spent growing their little bundle of joy have been hellish; being pregnant exacerbated Amelia’s growing disdain for Simon and made every transgression seem far worse than ever before. 

“God, Em, just let me do it. I don't need you hurting yourself.” 

“Piss off Simon, I'm not a baby. I can handle building a crib by myself.” 

Simon rolls his eyes but doesn't move from his spot in the doorway. Pretty much any conversation with his girlfriend was an argument waiting to happen. They both swore they would make it work, but it seemed like the longer time went on the more they were at each other’s throats. 

Amelia braves the idea of trying to make it to Simon’s room when a contraction subsides. She trudged down the hallway to his room and pushed on his shoulder roughly to rouse him. 

“Simon. Simon, wake up.” 

“What do ya want,” he questions groggily, still half asleep. 

“The baby’s fucking coming, get up. I'm dying in pain over here.” 

He shoots up at her words, panic settling into his bones as he realizes that this is it. They were about to come home with a baby, they were seriously going to be parents. He smiles brightly at her in the dark room, only slightly lit by the moonlight because Simon still hadn't put up the curtains she asked him to. Amelia wanted to tell him to wipe the stupid grin off his face because she was pissy and in excruciating pain, but a part of her couldn't help but smile too. Maybe they would come home with their little bundle of joy and everything would be different. 

~

The sound of small cries fills the hospital room and Simon is sure he’s never cried so hard in his life. 

“Congratulations, it’s a girl,” the nurse says as she lays the tiny baby on Amelia's chest. She smiles down at their little girl, but it’s wobbly and the color is rapidly draining from her face. Before he could have a second to even bask in, what he’s sure is the best moment of his life, the sound of machines beeping erratically and the flurry of nurses surrounding Amelia has him paralyzed with fear. 

~ 

The sterile smell of the hospital was burning his nostrils with every shaky breath he inhaled. They kept saying something about Amelia losing too much blood and that they needed to act fast and a million other things, but it felt as if his ears were filled with cotton and his head was trapped underwater. Simon’s heart was beating like a hummingbird trapped in a cage; he couldn't handle losing another person he loved. Why was it that everyone around him seemed to be viciously ripped from him? 

Poppy, the name they had decided on just a few short days ago, was on the verge of having no mother and a grief-addled skeleton for a father. His lungs couldn’t hold enough air and suddenly he felt dizzy, he thought for a moment about what it would be like to let this day be his end too. But he then thought of his little girl growing up, traumatized from being abandoned as soon as she entered the world. Simon was not a man made of tears, but he found himself shedding them freely in the cold, hard hospital chairs as he waited to see if his entire world was about to come crashing down. He chides himself for all the arguments they had had recently, he can't even remember the last time he told Em that he loved her. He did love her, even if he wasn't able to love her the way she so desperately wanted him to. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a doctor comes out where he’s sat, and he feels his throat constrict at the look on her face. 

“Mr. Riley, we did everything we could…” 

Whatever she says after doesn't even register because he feels like the room is spinning and he can't breathe and he's going to die he’s sure of it. What did he do to deserve the cards he had been dealt? How was he supposed to go home and take care of his daughter and act like he didn't have to plan on how he was going to bury her mother?

 Simon is hit with flashes of the future of all these he knows nothing about like periods, relationships, and all the things a little girl wants her mother for. 

At that very moment, Simon had nothing but Poppy. He wanted to lock himself in his home and never face the light of day again, but he knew that for her, he needed to be her everything. And that meant, trudging through every painful, sinister day so she never feels anything short of loved irrevocably. 

~ 

The shrill sound of Poppy crying has been Simon’s soundtrack for the better part of the day now. As if the small infant knows he’s inadequate, and most definitely not her mother, she wails loudly no matter what he does to soothe her. 

Amelia would know what to do, she was always the type to have her nose buried in parenting books, and if Simon even had a moment's peace maybe he’d pick one up. That unfortunately meant going into her bedroom, not even their bed because they had been fighting and sleeping in separate rooms right before their daughter was born. The door at the end of the hall has been closed since he got home from the hospital a week ago. Every time he thinks he’s ready to brave the room, his stomach twists in knots so tight he has to remind himself he’s okay and that he’s alive. 

Simon rocks his newborn gently in his arms as he sinks into the couch, sighing at the way he can still smell a hint of her mother’s perfume. He’d give anything to have Amelia ripping into him right now, just to hear the sound of her voice. 

He looks down at Poppy, who magically has granted him a reprieve from her sobs, and smiles softly at her. “You look just like your mother, ya know that? You’ve got a bit of my ugly mug in there too, but your eyes? That’s all her.” The baby blinks up at him and Simon leans down and kisses the crown of her head gently. “It’s just gonna be you and I kid, but I promise I'll do my very best with ya.” 

taglist: @darkravenqueen98 @jupiternighties @lunamoonbby @happy-mushrooms @yyiikes @liliumbosniacum @fluffymaxsworld

banners from @reveriesources and @cafekitsune pic creds: @ave661

[retrospacejelly]

A Western Tension

Pairing: Ex-outlaw!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: While eating a homemade meal in what feels like ages, Miguel learns about Y/N’s rocky past.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Guns, Mentions of the devil’s tango, typical cowboy things, language

Part: 2/?

Part: 1, 2, 2 1/2, 3

Not proofread

A/N: This is part two of A Western Romance! I had this idea brewing for a while, and character AI helped push the plot!  (Thank you Monstera for letting me expand on the plot!)

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Once inside her small home, she sets the clothes basket by the kitchen table. She pats her hands on her skirt, “I have Chili Verde that’s still warm. That work for ya?” she asks, walking towards the pot sitting over a small fire.

“Yes ma’am” is his reply, walking over to the washbin, wiping them with a cloth draped against its side. He then sits at the table, looking around. He notices the pictures framed on the wall. Your family, it looks like. And, no spouse. He smiles to himself.

His gaze goes over to where Y/N stands over the pot, scooping the meal into a bowl. 

“Smells damn good, sugar.”

“Why thank you.” She pauses after setting the bowl down with a spoon in front of him. “I never did catch your name by the way…”

He gives a nod, just now realizing he never got yours too. He lets out a small cough. 

“It’s Miguel. Miguel O’Hara,” he says. He takes a breath, hoping you don’t recognize the name.

She nods. “O’Hara…Irish father?”

He nods as he takes a spoonful of food. Y/N sits down in the chair next to his, resting her head in her hand. 

“Yeah, him an’ his family migrated hear years before I was born. He fell in love with my mother, a maid on his father’s ranch.”

Y/N smiles softly as he recalls his parents' past. 

“However, I get my physical attributes from my mother’s side. Tall, dark an’ handsome. You know the deal.”

She chuckles at his words, shaking her head. “Yea, handsome. I got that.”

And suddenly, “Bet ya got a nice little wife to run home to then, huh?”. 

…

She covers her mouth, surprised at her sudden comment. Looking at her through his dark lashes, he chuckles quietly.

“You tryin’ to ask me somethin’? But no, Babydoll. I’m as free as a bird. Never really one to settle down.”

“Mn, that’s what my father said. Now he’s living out his days on a nice chunk a’ land. Lovin' up on my mother.”

He takes another bite of food, shrugging.

“He’s one of the lucky ones. Plenty a’ fellas out there that don’t get lucky ‘nough to find a nice lady to settle down with. End up bein’ lonely, and stuck with someone they can’t stand till death do ‘em part.”

Y/N stays silent for a moment, taking in his words. She can’t help but let her shoulders sag.

“Yea, heard that too many times.”

Miguel notices her change in appearance but chooses to not bring it up. “What about you, huh? Got a beau, Sugar?”

She sits up, not meeting his gaze. “Well, I did. But the coward ran off with some Hussy after I pulled a gun on ‘em. Found out real quick that sleeping with another woman was the biggest mistake of his life.”

Well. So much for not bringing it up.

He laughs loudly, amused by your confession. “Someone sure is a real firecracker, huh?”

“How would you feel if the supposed love of your life was beddin’ another? And in your bedroom no less!” She exclaims.

He doesn’t seem fazed by her outburst. “I’d be angry, sure, but I don’t know if I’d go as far as to pull my gun on ‘em for it. I’m not as hot-headed as you, darlin’ “.

She rolls her eyes, “Not all people are lucky to have good looks.”

Miguel gives her a look, his eyes narrowing. “What’s that got to do with any o’ this, Baby doll?”

She looks down, now clasping her hands together. The smooth grooves of the wooden table suddenly became very intriguing. 

“I didn’t really care much about my appearance growing up. My father grew up with no sisters and six brothers, so he was a little lost when it came to raisin’ me. Still wanting to be involved in my life, he raised me like he would a boy, so dresses ‘n frilly lace never piqued my interest.”

She takes a breath, continuing. 

“That no good cheater, Thomas, was a ranch hand for my father and the only other kid my age. We have been pretty much friends since childhood. When we turned eighteen years of age, he professed his love for me and proposed.” She smiles sadly. 

“I was over the moon. I was certain no man would ever look my way, ya know, with the way I dressed and acted. And after…after he cheated and I ran him out my home after I started dressin’ in dresses ‘n bein’ more ladylike, I have yet to find myself a good husband. I put walls ‘round me for a reason. Women don’t like getting their hearts hurt.”

Miguel’s expression softens, wanting nothing more than to hold you close. You poor thing. He thought you were breathtaking. He liked that you could fend for yourself. He reaches for her hand, taking it into his own. She sucks in a breath.

“So, you’re jaded from that. Ya got your walls up, and you expect men to show up and climb over ‘em to try and get to you.”

She laughs, sadly. “None of ‘em try anyhow.” 

“Looks ain’t everythin’ Baby doll. Just cause some fella’s easy on the eyes, doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy. Can’t always judge a man just by lookin’ at ‘em. You gotta give ‘em a chance.

Y/N nods, not pulling away from his touch. “Same goes for us ladies too. Guess word of me pullin’ a gun on an unfaithful man scared the rest off.”

He snorts, tilting his head. “Probably did. Not many men want to tangle with a wildcat like you, honey.”

Wanting to continue the conversation, Y/N closes her mouth, just now realizing how tired she’s become. She smiles. “I’ll show ya’ to your room if you’re done eating.”

Surprised by the sudden change in topic, he quietly nods and brings the now-empty bowl and spoon to a different wash basin where other dishes sit soaking in the water. 

She starts towards the guest bedroom, and he follows close behind her. Stopping in front of a door, she turns to look up at him. 

“Here’s the room. If you need to relieve yourself, there’s a bathhouse just at the end o’ the hall.”.

Miguel opens the door, scanning the room. “Pretty bare, but I guess Il’ do.” he jokes, looking back at her.

Y/N smiles at his joke, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Glad it works for ya. ‘Night.” she says, turning to retire to her own room. His smile falls, itching to reach out to her. 

“Hold on one second, Lil’ Miss. You ain’t just gonna turn ‘round an’ walk away from now, are ya?”. 

She sighs dramatically, “Oh I usually wouldn’t leave ya on your lonesome, but you have work to do tomorrow. Ya ain’t outta the woods yet.” she replies snarkily.

He smirks. “Oh, I ain’t too worried ‘bout fixin’ up that fence o’ yours. We still got plenty o’ time tonight, Princessa.”. He takes a step forward, leaning in. “Why you tryna avoid me all o’ sudden, hm?”

Y/N’s face flushes, and she can’t meet his gaze. “I jus’ want to retire for the night. Problem?”.

“Ya’ sure ‘bout that, sugar?”

She nods quickly, “Pretty positive.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You are on stubborn thing, ain’t ya?”. He leans in more, practically chest to chest with Y/N. She can feel his breath on her lips. His…very…kissable lips…

Without a word, she steps back and turns, quickly walking to her room. Before she shuts the door, he speaks again.

“Where you goin’ darlin’? Weren’t you sayin’ you were aimin’ to get some sleep?”

She lets out a huff. “Yeah, in my room.” The sound of her door slamming shut echoes throughout the hallway.

______________________________________________________________

Reach out if you want to be on my taglist!

@codenameredkrystalmatrix

[arcaneauthor]

Tattoos Tell A Story

Part 2 now up (here), Part 3 (here)

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!reader

Summary: Coloring in Ghost’s tattoos has become somewhat of a habit. It’s this habit that’s leads you to discovering a tattoo he had gotten done without your knowledge.

Warnings: Fluff, like so much fluff

A/n: This is my first time posting on tumblr and I have no idea what I’m doing. Requests now open! Pls give me some ideas😭

You found it one day during one of your little “coloring sessions”,A little habit you’ve picked up ever since that one rainy day in July. Ghost had just come back from a mission and you both wanted to soak in as much of the other as possible, just bask in one another’s presence. Three months with nothing more then a letter exchange here and there, you were gonna enjoy as much time with your boyfriend as possible.

You remember lightly stroking his arm as you curiously asked him why all of his tattoos were so dull.

~*~

“Pardon?” He questions if he heard you right.

“Your tattoos, all of them are just black. There’s no color.” Your eyes still haven’t left where you are softly tracing one of his tattoos, a depiction of an assault rifle rapped in thorns.

He raises his other tattooed arm for inspection, as if he had forgotten what it looked like.

“I don’t need em’ all flashy. Besides,” he shrugs,”Think they look better this way.”

You make a noise of disagreement, shaking your head, until a thought seems to strike you, raising your head from where it was previously laying on his shoulder, eyes looking up at him with a mischievous glint.

“Wanna bet?” Is all he gets before you bolt out of his grip, standing up to dig through the bedside drawer, grabbing a case of markers out before diving back into bed, a little too excitedly seeing as how the whole thing rocked.

You hold the case up to him as a kid would show a crayon drawing to their parents.

He stares at the markers before flicking his eyes to you.

“What are ya doin’?

You completely ignore him as you smile, a little manically, and turn to grab his arm and get to work.

He may have complained, but he never stopped you.

And he would never admit it out loud, but it did look kinda cool

It also put him to sleep

~*~

And now your little “coloring sessions” have become a bit of a recurring thing.

Sick and stuck in bed? He gives you his arm.

That time of the month and you’re curled under the covers with cramps? He’s already grabbing the markers for you.

Just having a bit of a lazy cuddle session? You’re instinctually grabbing his arm.

Today, it’s the third option. He had once again just got home from a mission and, though not as long as some of his other send offs, it still seemed way too long to you. You were sitting against one another, your back to his chest, one arm hugging you to him, the other clutched in your grasp as you fill in his uncolored tattoos with your pack of markers. His masked face was pressed against the side of your head as he watched your hands delicately glide the marker across his skin, sometimes throwing in a cheeky comment or two about how a certain color didn’t go somewhere, which earned him a slap to the thigh.

You finished filling in the rose near his elbow, moving further down towards his hand, but something catches your eye.

You’d done this countless times now, you probably know his tattoos better than he does at this point. You know that the ink goes a little off line on his skull tattoo, you know that there’s a little stray mark beside the oak tree on his bicep. You know every detail and mistake.

That’s how you know this wasn’t here before.

It’s a small little heart on the inside of his wrist, not filled in because of course it isn’t.

You bring it up closer to your face for inspection, and that’s when you notice it

The writing inside.

Y/n

It…was your name?

You whip around to look back at him with questioning eyes.

The mask completely covered the lower part of his face,though his eyes gave away the soft smirk lurking beneath.

“The boys wanted to celebrate the win. Tattoos were Mactavish’s idea.” Bastards trying to be all nonchalant about it.

“But-but, why this?” You shove his own arm into his face, like he didn’t already know what was on it.

He shrugs,”Racked my brain for an idea, but, seems you’re the only thing on my mind these days. Couldn’t get ya out of my head-“

He huffs as you plow into him with a hug, immediately engulfing you in his muscled arms.

Simon never was one for excessive pda or poetic words, rather he showed love through his actions. Attempting to cook for you, making you bubble baths, bringing you heating pads and medicine for your cramps. And this was just another one added to the list, maybe the best of them all in your opinion, cause a tattoo-a tattoo’s pretty dang permanent. In his mind, you know, this is his promise of forever to you. His version of a promise ring.

There’s no tears shed, you never were much of a crier, but the emotions were definitely felt. The warmth, the happiness, the love, all of it was basically drowning you at this point.

“You know tattoo removals hurt right?” You lean away enough to look him in the eye,”Like-like what happens if this doesn’t work out, if you decide you’re tired of me,I don’t know, piggy backing you all the time or something and you have to go get this covered?” You motion to his arm.

It’s said as a joke, but he can still somehow detect the hint of serious worry in your voice.

He lightly grabs you under the chin,”Sweetheart, if I let a catch like you go then I deserve the pain.”

Alright you know you said you weren’t a crier, but that might have brought some moisture to your eye.

He doesn’t even try and stop you as your reach to roll the mask up to his nose, a testament of how much he trusts you. Overwhelmed with emotions, you tenderly cup his face to pull him into a kiss.

It’s slow and gentle, just a smooth glide of your lips against his. His hands gently rubbing up and down your sides. You lovingly gliding your thumb across his light stubble, breathing in his musky cologne. Although intense, the kiss contains absolutely no heat, no sexual insinuation. Instead, you feel only one thing.

Love

“I love you.” You relay breathlessly as you pull away, gently knocking your forehead against his.

You share a few breathes before he replies

“I….care, about you too,” you slap his arm with an unimpressed look,”Kidding! Of course I bloody love you, got your name tattooed on my arm for gosh sa-

You cut him off with another kiss.

~*~

Bonus:

You were once again laid on the bed, squished up against his side with a thick arm wrapped around your shoulder. Your eyes caught sight of your name engraved in his skin.

You smirk at the sight,”You know,” you break silence, catching his attention away from the tv,”It would have looked better if you had gotten the heart filled in with red.”

He’s a little confused for a second before catching your line of sight. He rolls his eyes, jostling you slightly as he sat up to reach beside the bed. Now you’re the one confused.

“Well, if that was the case,” he rolls back over to present you with a red marker,”You wouldn’t get to do it yourself, now would ya’?”

You grab the marker, sparing glances between it and the proud look on Simon’s face.

Your man, This man really got a tattoo with the intent for you to do your silly little coloring on it.

Yep, definitely love him.

[l0stfoster]

wait I’m that same anon from that ask about Steve and Evie and now I need you to (pretty please with a cherry on top) talk about Steviepop or literally anything you want about any combination of the three of them in this au lol (also i stand by that ask even if they’re just friends I want that on the record)

We discussed it more and yeah, Steviepop canon. Have fun shippers Not a ton of info right now but here are some little things. I'll add on more if we think of anything else; feel free to add your own headcanons too!! If we like 'em enough they may become canon.

- Steve and Evie got together first, Evie's the one who realized Steve and Soda were so fuckin' gay for each other and went "Right, easy solution, we all have two hands." and the rest is history. - When it comes to Steviepop they're honestly a combo of really sweet and gag-worthy, arguably worse than Paul and Darry sometimes. Pony thinks Darry and Paul are bad until he witnesses Steviepop. He'll risk being jumped going to a gas station on the west side just to avoid walking in on them kissing on a slow day. - Constantly flirting during work (Evie works w/ them at the DX) - Evie and Steve are always calling Soda "pretty boy" or complimenting him in some way. - Soda likes to "serenade" (sing with the radio) to them. - Steve will casually use his telekinesis to steal snacks for them and hide the evidence - On full moons, werewolves become full wolves; their instincts get all fucky too so Soda and Steve are usually just stuck with a big clingy dog the entire day. She'll lay on them to keep them from leaving. - Since Fae are functionally immortal, Soda would offer Steve and Evie immortality as well. He's practically on his knees begging Steve and Evie to take his offer despite knowing they'd most likely say yes anyway. - A lot of Soda's jewelry is from Steve and Evie. They'll spend full paychecks on him it's wild.

[d3vils-island]

Mechanix (80’)

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Dave Mustaine x Fem!reader

2,136 words

- - - - -

Description: You decide to take a trip to some local gas station, but this one trip turns into a sequence of trips after you get entranced by the worker.

Warnings: Smut (I’ll mark with three “^” when the smut starts) porn w/ plot, p in v.

* • * • * • * •* • * • * • * * • * • * • * •* • * • * • * • *

Clank

“Just this please.” You said as you set your beer on the register before looking over at a pack of gum that was towards your right. You grabbed it and tossed it next to your alcohol on the counter.

“Oh, and this. Thanks.” You looked up at the cashier and smiled.

You couldn’t help but feel your face heat up as you first laid eyes on the man in front of you. His orange hair framed his perfectly harmonized face… damn. This was definitely going to be your new favorite gas station.

“Hey, you think you could also top off my car?” You said, trying to lengthen the time you and this guy would spend together. “Not a problem.” He gently smiled. You paid him for your beer, gum, and gas, then you both walked out to your car.

He whistled as he locked eyes with your vehicle. “Damn, nice ride.” He stepped up next to it, admiring its body.

“V8?” He questioned, you shook your head. “Yea, it was my dad’s. He gave it to me for my birthday years ago.” He nodded his head in approval, crossing his arms and eyeing it one last time.

You got in the drivers seat and rolled the window down, patiently waiting for the man to finish filling up your car. As you sat in front of the wheel, you couldn’t help but watch him from your side mirror, taking notice of his strong arms, his long curly hair, and his beautiful eyes.

He finished up and walked over to your door, putting his hand on the hood of your car and bending over so he could talk to you through the open window.

“She’s all full.” He said, patting the hood of your car. “Thanks, uh…” you paused, glancing down at his name tag. “Dave.”

“Not a problem.” He softly smiled and walked off, but turned around and walked backwards to look at you one last time. “I hope to see you later.” You heard him say as he winked, right before he turned back around and walked to the gas station.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest as you gripped the steering wheel harshly to calm your nerves. “ohmygodohmygodohmygod…” you kept whispering to yourself, before you finally started the car and drove off.

-

You walked up to the counter and set down a soda, pointing at the pack of cigarettes behind Dave, asking for 2 camel menthols. “How’s it goin’?” Dave spoke as he reached for the cigarettes. Every time you came to this gas station— which has been a while now— you never got used to how handsome Dave was. Anytime you two spoke, you felt butterfly’s in your stomach and you always stuttered over your words. Somehow though, you managed to hide your giant crush on him;

Or so you thought

“Not too great.” You groaned. “Anything I can do to help?” You didn’t want to be a burden on him, but he genuinely seemed concerned and wanted to help you out, so you told him the truth on what was wrong.

“Well, my car is all sorts of fucked up. The breaks are squeaking, the battery’s failing on me, and I haven’t gotten enough money to take it to the shop yet; so I’m stuck with her all broken until I can afford to fix it.”

He let out a low ‘hm’, nodding his head in understanding.

He slid your items back before you even paid for them, then cocked his head to the door. “Let me take a look, maybe I can help. Oh- and don’t worry about this.” He said, looking down at the things on the counter.

There it was, that butterfly feeling in your stomach again. You felt giddy inside, but you calmly declined his offer, saying you wanted to pay for your things.

“No, seriously, take ‘em” He stated, before walking out from behind the counter so that you couldn’t argue with him any more. You took your things and followed him out to your car.

You quickly tossed your items in the passenger seat, closing the car door and going up to Dave, who had already opened the hood of your car and was checking out the battery.

“Here, I think I have something.” He walked off towards the garage that was located behind the store, coming back minutes later with a battery in his hands.

“This one isn’t perfect, but it’s definitely better than what you got here.” He took your old battery out and put the ‘new’ one in.

“Drive her to the garage for me so you can test the new battery out and so I can take a look at your brakes properly in the shop.”

You had this big smile on your face that you couldn’t hide. You looked over at Dave, he had a hand on his hip with a smile along his lips.

You let out a low giggle, getting in the drivers seat and taking it to the garage while Dave followed behind.

—

“I can’t thank you enough— seriously, you didn’t have to do this.” You said as you both leaned against the side of the car, eyeing each other.

He shook his head. “It’s really nothing. I got a hook up with a guy that works at a wrecking yard, so he gives me some parts free of charge.” He paused.

“I wasn’t just gonna leave you like that.” His gaze flashed to your lips, then back up to your eyes.

You thanked him again, before changing the conversation to something different. Eventually Dave asked you something that made you realized how obsessive you were.

“Hey, before you leave, I got a question.” He stopped you just before you pulled the handle on the car to get in the drivers seat and leave.

“How come— and this may sound silly— you only come here whenever when I’m around.” He paused, letting out a chuckle and looking down towards the ground.

“I’ve asked my coworkers about you, and they think I’m crazy. ‘Dave, there’s no girl who fits that description that I’ve ever seen.’” He mimicked one of his coworkers.

“Can you answer me that?”

There was a silence. It felt like it lasted minutes, but in reality was only seconds.

“I, uh…” you tried to find the words, but the truth was you just wanted to see him. So whenever you got off work, you’d come straight here to top off on gas and get a snack, all so you could have a small 10-15 minute interaction with him. Eventually, you found out the days he didn’t work, and only started coming when he was on shift.

“Hmm?” He questioned again while you thought of what to say. Eventually, the truth seemed like the only ideal option to tell him.

“I only come when you’re working because I want to see you.” You nervously told.

He nodded his head, crossing his arms and ankles as he leaned against your car. “It was never a problem with me.” He smirked, eyeing your lips again. You stepped closer to him, looking up into his eyes.

“In fact, whenever I’d see you while on my shift, it made my day all the better.” He smiled.

“Oh yeah?” You questioned him this time.

“Yeah.”

There was a silence.

The anticipation grew, you took notice of Dave’s chest heaving up and down at a some-what fast pace. A cold breeze swept through the open garage door, causing Dave’s hair to flow entrancingly in the wind.

The silence continued.

You had a moment were you didn’t care what the consequences of the actions you wanted to do were; which were slam your lips over his and tangle your fingers in his hair. You thought “if this goes wrong, I’ll just never come back to this place” before finally going through with your idea.

That was, until Dave beat you to it.

^ ^ ^

He slid one of his hands to your waist, the other behind your neck, tilting your head up before he planted a soft kiss on your lips.

It started off slow, as if you were trying to test your compatibility, but it suddenly turned into a heated, sloppy mess as you ached for more. You parted for a moment, both of you panting like dogs, gazing into each other’s lustful eyes.

His hand slid from your waste to the back seat car handle, pulling it and opening the door. He backed up, allowing you to get in. He quickly climbed on top of you, letting his hands explore your body. They slid up your shirt, taking it off before he took his own off. You leaned up against the door of the car, watching as Dave slowly took off his clothes, revealing his toned chest.

“Damn.”

“Not even the best part, princess.” He replied, smirking.

The way he called you princess caused you to feel a heat between your legs, and it grew with every second you were in that car with him. You instinctively pressed your legs together to either suppress it or to get some friction— you didn’t know which one— you were too distracted by Dave’s hot looks to notice why.

You started taking off your garments as well. You two looked at each other for a second, both in your undergarments, panting heavily.

Dave’s hands suddenly slid up your body, one stopping at your hips, the other going up to your jaw, rubbing his thumb against your cheek as he kissed you passionately.

Your hands dragged up his chest to the back of his neck and the other to his hair, twirling your fingers around the orange strands. You two broke the kiss, a strand of saliva connecting your lips.

He started planting butterfly kisses down your neck and across your chest. He slipped his hands across your stomach to your back, unclasping your bra. He slowly glided it off your arms, before he tossed it to the floorboard and started to knead your breasts, occasionally pinching at the nip.

He went back down to kiss you, sliding his tongue in and exploring your mouth. Your hands instinctively went down to his boxers, attempting to slide them off, but Dave grabbed your wrists and did it for you while you decided to take your underwear off. His rough hands gripped your hips, turning you over onto your stomach before you propped yourself up with your knees and elbows.

“Ready?” He asked, but before you could respond, his entire length was shoved into you, no warning. You jolted, letting out a whine as he hit the deepest parts of you. He moved your hair off your neck and planted small kisses on it, as if to ease the pain he just caused you.

“You look so beautiful like this for me…” he said between kisses that trailed down your neck and back, all while his cock was buried deep into your cunt. He started to thrust into you, letting out low grunts. You gripped onto the seat, biting your lip and curling your toes to try and suppress your loud whines into quiet ones.

“Don’t be shy baby, let those noises out.” He said between his own groans. You followed his orders, letting out your whines and cries.

He put his hand above your head against the window and pressed his back against yours, the heat of it against your cold body adding to the pleasure.

With each of his thrust, you felt your high get closer and closer, a knot tightening in your abdomen signaling that it would come crashing down on you soon. “Fuck, I’m close-“ you said in between pants.

It only took a few more of Dave’s thrusts to finally send you over the edge. It felt like you were drowning in a pool of pleasure as Dave kept thrusting into you, causing you to overstimulate. You felt his grip on your hips tighten, signaling he was close. He quickly pulled out, and you felt a hot liquid on your back a second later.

After a few minutes, you two calmed down from your highs. Dave ordered you to stay there as he was putting his boxers and pants back on, then he got up to go find something to clean you off with. A few seconds later and he showed back up with a rag in his hands. He gently cleaned you up, and when he was done, you quickly put your undergarments and pants back on. You laid in the back of the car for a moment, you head resting on Dave’s lap as he played with your hai, talking about whatever came to mind before you two eventually had to get up so he could go back to work.

- - - - -

Meanwhile in the store:

“Hello!? Is anyone even here!?” A poor old lady screamed as she held her coffee and candy, constantly ringing the bell in hopes someone would show up.