#'you can't die you have a dream idiot' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luveline · 1 year

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𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Best friends since middle school, you tell Eddie everything, which is why he's so surprised to find out you've been keeping a secret —you’re hearing a voice whenever you're home alone. He’s always had a thing for the fantastical but he can't believe in ghosts, and the longer you insist on it, the more worried he becomes. This would be bad enough if Eddie didn’t have a secret too, and it threatens to change everything between you. [22k]

fem!reader, best friends to lovers slow-burn, mutual pining, eddie is infatuated with you, idiots in love, paranormal activity/au, heavy hurt/comfort, angst, fluff and affection, wayne is uncle of the year every year, ghost-hunting

cw assumed auditory hallucinations, talk of mental health, surrounding worry and circumstances, mentioned mental illness stigma, recreational drug use mention, prescription drugs, grief

my endless gratitude and thank yous to @h-ness1944 and @mrcylvsu for their sensitivity beta reads and for answering my questions so many moons ago, I'm very, very thankful for all that hard work, and all the time and energy you both spent!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Eddie's desk fan is on the fritz. It twists back and forth with a weak metallic clicking sound that promises eventual electrocution but for now provides momentary relief. Even the nights have been hell lately. No matter how many windows he and Wayne open, the air at home stays thick with humidity.

Sweat shines on his brow and collar. He refuses to tie his hair back, and each hour it grows more and more uncomfortable.

"Are you sure you don't wanna come and lie up here?" he asks, shifting reluctantly to peer over the side of the bed.

You're laying on the floor of his room, just as sweaty but half as unhappy. You've abandoned a book to your left, having declared the weather too much to concentrate through.

"Our body heat will mingle."

"The fan is really helping," he argues lightly. "If you die on my floor Wayne won't ever let it go. Just come up here."

You mumble something he doesn't hear and pull your shirt from your chest. You attempt to fan yourself with the thin, clinging fabric. It doesn't work, but it does expose the soft hill of your abdomen to his guilty eyes. His mouth dries up.

"It's getting late," he says. He's not trying to get rid of you, promise, but now he's thinking about your body heat mingling and why it wouldn't be such a bad thing, and he doesn't want to. "I'll drive you home, yeah?"

"In a minute," you agree, looking as if you have no intention of moving.

You turn your face to the side, eyes closed, lashes skimming the delicate skin of your under eye. Eddie sits up and rakes his greasy hair away from his face. He'll drop you home, take a cold shower for purely heat related reasons, and hopefully sleep through the night. It's a very unlikely outcome, but a man can dream.

"Come on. We'll roll the windows down and go really fast."

"Eddie," you chastise.

"Moderately fast."

His sleeveless tank top gets caught as he leans down to try and flick you. Eddie can only ever forgive his fourteen year old self for maiming perfectly good vintage in times like these. A completely unnecessary culling of an entire wardrobe's worth of sleeves, but when the weather gets bad for a few heady weeks every summer, he remembers the reasoning behind it.

He's stripped of all his clunky jewellery for now, adorned only in the dark ink of his multiplying tattoos. His most recent addition is an artist's rendition of the Eye of Sauron, blinking up at him from beneath his volley of bats. Still sick, he thinks to himself smugly.

You've pulled yourself into a sitting position with your arms crossed over the bed, your hand stretched out to touch his plaid pyjama bottoms. You're in a nearly matching pair; when Eddie called you to hang out earlier you'd turned him down, citing a reluctance to change. He'd promised to pick you up in his own pyjamas, and you've been lying on his floor since then.

You're the laziest kids this side of the Wabash river, Wayne'd said, looking over your limp bodies with a smile.

The other side, too, Eddie popped back. Will you put those chicken wings in the oven for us, please?

Eddie's not a monster, the wings were pre-prepared. Any other day he'd correct his uncle, say, hey, we haven't been kids for years, but the heat makes him feel gross and sometimes you just want your dad to make you dinner. (Sometimes Eddie's just lazy, also.)

"Eds?" you murmur.

He lets his hands fall away from his hair where he'd been scratching mindlessly and turns to you. He's lethargic, feels like he's turning his head through molasses. "What, sweetheart?"

Years of being friends lends an easy affection. His pet names are purely platonic. Or they used to be. Either way, you aren't perturbed.

"Can I sleep over?"

He usually says yes to that question immediately. But again, the thought of your sweaty body curled into his with your hands breaching a friendly gap to curl over his waist like they tend to do fills his stomach with dread.

His little crush is making him a bad friend, he decides. He will always, first and foremost, be your friend.

"Of course you can." He rubs his mouth. Feigning casualness. "How come?"

You peel out of your fatigue and get on your knees. The extra height is all you need to finally grab his legs, smiling sheepishly. Eddie won't judge you for almost anything and you know that, so it's gotta be outlandish.

"I think…" You tap his kneecap. "Okay, laugh at me if you need to, but I'm pretty sure my house is haunted."

"Like, by a ghost?"

"What else?" you ask, laughing good-naturedly.

"Why do you think it's haunted, superstar?"

You drop your face onto his thigh, giving him a disjointed hug. He hugs you back for as long as the heat will allow it, a handful of stolen seconds with his hand over your back.

"I swear, sometimes, I can hear someone talking."

That's… scarier than he imagined. "Shit, I thought you were gonna say a coat fell off the hanger, or the light in your bathroom started flickering again."

"It has," you admit, your mouth pressed to his thigh. "But it's just the bulb."

He pushes you off of him, your voice sending vibrations through places he'd prefer it didn't, and you fall back with a half-hearted stab at melodrama.

"Oof," you say, straight-faced.

"You really think it's a ghost?" he asks.

"No. I don't know. I won't believe in ghosts until I see one, and I haven't seen one, but if it were a ghost, this is the type of behaviour I'd expect from it. So I guess I do. Does that make sense?"

"Sure." He doesn't know. "What does it say?"

"Here's the bit where you won't believe me."

You smile at him from your spot on the floor. Your hand curls out, like a tight budded flower coming to bloom.

"She asks about you," you say quietly. "It's pretty much all she says."

"Who?"

"The ghost."

"She's a she?"

"Sounds kind of like one."

"Come sit up here with me."

Eddie knows his voice has gone hard and weird, but he can't help it. He understands that he doesn't understand anything, that the world is large and works in mysterious ways, but he wouldn't forgive himself if he took this lightly. You sound so convinced — it makes him feel ill.

Because Eddie doesn't believe in ghosts.

You climb up onto the bed in front of him and he doesn't take your hand. He should. You won’t meet his eyes, a sign that you're slightly embarrassed. It's not what he meant to do.

"What does she say?” he probes.

You go teasing and shiny, a glimmer in your eye. "I know you don't believe me, Eddie."

"Who says I don't believe you? I just need you to explain."

"She says…" You laugh. "Okay, she says stuff like, 'Eddie is okay?'"

Eddie stares at you.

"I was going to tell you–"

"When?" he demands.

"I'm telling you right now!"

"How long have you been hearing voices?"

You climb up on knees to wrap your arms around his head. "You think I'm delusional," you say, a loving murmur in his ear.

He grabs your waist. Unsurprisingly, hugging you doesn't make him nearly as electric as he'd worried. It feels the same as it always has, like hugging his best friend. Loving the smell of your hair is new, but everything else stays the same.

"I don't think you’re delusional, I don't, I just– if I told you the same thing."

You pull away, and his hand comes to rest atop the curve of your hip. "I'd believe you," you say.

"I believe that you believe there's someone talking to you about me. Uh… if it is a ghost haunting your house, why's she talking about me?"

You take his hands off of your waist, squeezing his fingers together in your palms. "Don't know. I tried asking but she never answers, and last night…"

Eddie stands up.

"Where are you going?"

"We gotta let Wayne know you're staying and he's about to fall asleep, and I want a cigarette, and you need something to drink."

"I don't want a beer."

"No," he says. When he says to drink, he really means something cold to sip on. He's hoping to grab you back from… whatever it is you're going. "Soda, apple juice, drink what you want."

He fiddles with the drawstrings on his pants, waiting for you to join him at the doorway. You stay sitting on his bed. He doesn't know what your face means.

"Hey, you still have to tell me about it. I want to know, swear to god. We have all night." He holds out his hand. Wiggles his fingers at you. "I'll let you paint my nails again too, like a real girls night."

That grabs your attention. You slide off of the bed and take his hand, shrieking as he yanks you ten miles an hour down the skinny hallway and into the living room. Wayne's got the sofa bed out already, his padded roll-up mattress laid out over the springs and a sheet stretched corner to corner.

"Hey, kids," he says, fluffing one of his pillows. He chucks it at the top of the mattress. "Home time?"

"Can I stay over, Mr. Munson?" you ask.

Wayne rolls his eyes. You once spent eight days here with no breaks sometime in the summer of 1987 and he hadn't batted an eye. Eddie made sure it was truly alright with Wayne, of course, and you'd done your share of housework. Point is, both Munson's find your asking to stay unnecessary.

"I'll make pancakes in the morning," you add.

"Oh, in that case." Wayne throws his blanket out over the bed and sits on top of it. "By all means, kid, stay over. Tell your guardian."

"Can't. In Santa Barbara."

"Ah, then I have to insist you stay," he says, laying down with a huff.

Eddie passes him the TV remote. "She's a big girl, Wayne." You're well past the age of parental supervision.

Wayne answers with a grumbling sound that means, hey, you can keep talking to me but there's no guarantee I'll answer.

"I won't be annoying, promise," you say.

Wayne grunts again.

"That's old man talk for I know you won't," Eddie translates.

You nod, glad to have permission, and meander into the kitchen. "Can I–"

"Yes!" Eddie and Wayne call simultaneously.

Wayne laughs to himself in that pleased gruff way he's good at and tucks his arms behind his head. He's wearing one of Eddie's t-shirts. They've been the same size since Eddie was seventeen, something both Munson's utilise when laundry day is approaching but not quite upon them.

"Lighter?"

Wayne scrunches his eyes in displeasure. "By the sink."

"Thanks." For some reason, Eddie doesn't leave. He stays standing by the TV, listening to the voice of a late-night talk show chuckle through a joke about some scandal.

When Eddie was younger, he'd get into bed beside Wayne and watch TV until his eyes hurt. Too young to have stopped needing comfort and too old to know how to ask for it, he'd drift down the snug hallway into the living room and Wayne would usually be asleep or almost there. Eddie would stand by the TV hesitantly, and if he was sleeping Wayne must've been able to feel it, a new parents instinct or something, because he'd soon wake, and if he wasn't he'd look at Eddie like he'd been waiting for him. Like Eddie was running late.

His teenage years were almost solely defined by bad dreams and TV with Wayne. On the good nights, Eddie would go back to bed. On the bad nights, heartache would swallow him whole. Well, almost whole. His cheek would rest on Wayne's shoulder as the night went on. Miraculous and ordinary at once. That's the only bit of him that didn't hurt.

Pain emaciates the good from his memory, but it can't erase the comfort of watching TV with someone who loved him when they didn't have to.

Wayne pretends to chop Eddie in the stomach. Eddie laughs and dodges out of his path.

"Gotta be faster than that," Eddie taunts.

"Don't chain smoke," Wayne says.

"We won't be up long." Eddie's lying. He can't imagine that either of you will be getting an early night tonight considering the nature of your confession. What he means is, you won't be keeping Wayne up, and Eddie won't smoke more than what's wise.

Wayne hums.

You're in the kitchen screwing the lid back on a gallon of apple juice, your cup a quarter filled. You're like that. Won't ever take more than you need.

"One for me?" he asks.

"I figured now all your taste buds are dead, you wouldn't want any."

"Ha-ha," he says. The kitchen is unusually clean. "Shit, stop cleaning my house. Good god."

You pull one of his jackets off of the seat of one of the kitchen table's chairs and shake it out. "So I can sleep here, eat here, but cleaning is where you draw the line. I like it."

Eddie grabs the lighter from beside the sink in one hand and your wrist in the other, pulling you away from the table before you can start organising their mail and through the back door.

It's still sticky-hot out and the steps are warm to the touch as the two of you sit down hip to hip. He pulls the stiff pack of cigarettes from his pants pocket and hands them to you. Your hand is already waiting. You peel off the plastic and tap the pack against your chest. You like doing it, arguing that it makes you feel like you're Chelsea Marino in Glory Days, all dark smiles and indulgent self-loathing.

You open the pack, tug out a lone cigarette, and pass it to him.

"You're like a pez dispenser," Eddie says, putting the butt of the cigarette between his lips.

"You little freak."

He laughs and almost drops his cig. Wayne's heavy zippo struggles to light, low on gas.

"Loser can't even light a cigarette."

"Who put two dimes in you?" he asks, thrilled by your negging.

He takes a sharp inhale as the end of the cigarette finally lights, the heat tickling his throat until it burns the way he needs it to.

"Somebody must've," you say.

"Reckon we can tip you upside down and get something to eat?" he asks through an exhale of smoke, tapping ash into the small egg cup to his left that's been serving as an ashtray for as long as he's been smoking. It used to be yellow. Every now and again he washes it and sees the old chicken paint underneath. "Too late for cooking."

"Are you hungry?" you ask genuinely. "I told you we should've had more than just wings."

"It was too hot to eat hot stuff. It's still too hot. Tomorrow, we should go to Bradley's and get stuff for sandwiches."

Eddie waits for your answer. "I'm sick of PB and J, Eds," or "Yes! And a pitcher for sweet tea, my captain." You don't say anything, your face turned up to the sky and your eyes closed, soaking in the heat.

He has half a mind to go get a spray bottle and douse you before you collapse.

"What's going on with you?" he asks.

"I'm just thinking."

"Think out loud. Don't be fucking selfish."

"I'm not sure you wanna hear it."

He puts his cigarette in the eggcup ashtray half-smoked, ribbons of white curling up into the shimmering summer heat. Any other time he'd lounge back and let the nicotine course through his system, a momentary relief against the winding tightness that comes with being so hot, and so worried about you.

"If I ask you how you've been feeling lately, could you answer me?" he asks. "Without assuming I don't believe you. Don't get mad, just tell me."

You drop your shoulder against his. "I feel fine, I think. You know me, I– I worry too much, and work is overwhelming. If you took me to a doctor, he'd probably prescribe me ambien and a week in a dark room, but. I really don't think I'm making this up."

"I don't think you'd know," he says. Isn't that the deal? If you're having a hallucination of some kind, it would likely sound and feel real enough to trick you in some capacity.

"Trust me," you say. Your hair brushes against the top of his damp arm. He can't smell good, but you don't say a thing about it.

"I do." Eddie turns his head to take another drag. He blows the smoke as far from you as he can manage. "Tell me about last night," he says, eyes on the weather worn plating of the trailer. "What happened?"

If you're not messing with him, your ghost has been talking to you for a while now. Something happened last night to scare you in a way you hadn't been before.

He fights his rising nausea with a final drag on his cigarette. You stop leaning on him, hands back in your lap as you tell the story.

"I was listening to the stereo real loud while I did laundry. I don't know if I was trying to, you know, block it out if she started talking, I'm not stupid, I– I know it could be all in my head. I don't think it is, but I'm not stupid. I went down to the basement to swap the load out in the dryer, and while I was down there…"

You look like you don't know how to explain it. Eddie bites his cheek.

"She wrote me something," you say finally. "In my notebook, the one you got me for Christmas. She said hello."

"I could've written it," he says. "I don't remember, maybe I left you a message in it knowing you'd find it."

"Did you come in and take it off the shelf, too?" you ask gently. "Eddie, I know your handwriting. I'm not making this up."

He sighs, rubs his face with both hands, the smell of smoke and salt ingrained in the lines of his palms. He gives himself a long five seconds scrubbing at his stubbly jaw and wishing it was colder, then he shoots up onto his feet and pulls open the door.

"Early night," he says decisively. "If you're still sure there's a ghost in the morning, I'll come over. See if she'll talk to me too. How does that sound?"

You hold your hand out. Eddie takes it, hoisting you up.

"It sounds like you need a better strategy for getting girls to go to bed with you."

"It's working, isn't it?"

"Loser."

—

You wake up to Eddie tapping your shoulder.

"Come on, sweetheart," he says quietly, his voice rough as hewn stone. "I made you pancakes."

It's as if you're submerged at the bottom of a shallow pool. Sound and heat and sunlight reach you, but it's dull. It takes you a second to understand what Eddie's saying, and why his thumb is rubbing into your shoulder.

"Come on," he says again, "'fore they get cold."

You blink. Blink blink blink. Your throat hurts and you have a bad taste in your mouth. Your eyes feel like somebody flicked sand at you while you slept, gritty and dry. You kick the thin blanket away from you, a long day of writhing in the heat yesterday having turned you to sludge, your limbs limp and uncooperative.

Eddie's frowning at you when you look up.

"Want me to get you a rag?" he asks.

"No, I'll wash my face." Your words string together like toffee melted between them and hardened again while you weren't looking. "Oh," you murmur, wincing as you set your feet on the ground. "My back really hurts. Did you push me out of bed last night?"

"You slept like a log. Same position all night." He reaches for you, but his hand wavers. He must change his mind.

Eddie leaves the door wide open as he leaves. The radio is on, and a song he secretly loves but won't admit to wars with the sound of sizzling oil. If you strain, you can hear him humming. You get closer and dip into the bathroom, the door open so you can listen to Eddie sing the chorus.

Dance with me, I want to be your partner, can't you see? The music is just starting.

He doesn't sing well, really. It's a light, high-pitched rendition. He isn't trying. He feels comfortable enough around you to be unapologetically mediocre, and it's somehow sweeter than if he had a voice like Larry Hoppen.

You wash your face with handfuls of cold water, your lips tasting of salt as it drips down your nose to your neck, rogue rivulets of run-off seeping into your rolled sleeves.

The heat broke overnight. A light rain patters soundlessly against the windows, and the back door has been propped open in the kitchen to let in the smell of fresh churned earth. Petrichor.

You pat your tacky face dry. Eddie turns to the sound, and you nod at Wayne's empty seat.

"Where's your uncle?" you ask.

"He wanted to get epoxy and a fresh roll of duct tape in case we spring another leak. The rain was pretty bad last night, I think he's worried it'll rot the ceiling. I don't know. Don't worry, I made him something first."

You sit down and let Eddie serve you a stack of pancakes. The ones on the very top are piping hot. You slather them in butter and maple syrup as he sits down next to you, a plate of his own in hand.

"How's your back?" he asks. He's being too soft with you.

"I saw a ghost, Eds, I'm not dying." You slice down the pancakes with the side of your fork, attempting to act unbothered. "Worst case scenario, I'm schizophrenic."

Eddie sits down in the chair next to yours. It's a small table but there's ample room. His proximity is a choice. "Worst case scenario, you're being targeted by an evil demon, but schizophrenia could also be really bad," he says. "S'why I'm worried."

"Eddie." You put down your fork, swallowing a half-chewed mouthful roughly. "Hey. If it's my head, I'll go to the doctor and I'll let them take care of it and everything will be fine." You have no way of knowing if what you're saying is true. Mental illness isn't easy. You're just saying what you think he needs to hear without outright lying. "I'll take the meds and you'll be there for me. But I'm fine. And you're being weird."

"You're trying to piss me off."

A little. Pissed is better than anxious. You'd rather give him something to glare at than a reason to twist himself into knots. "You're easily riled," you jest.

His eyebrows rise. He eats his pancakes and you your own, the wrinkled knees of your pyjamas rubbing against one another as he jigs his leg along to the song on the radio. The rain starts to worsen, fat droplets slapping the screen door like the thwack of a bullet. From your seat, you can see the sky dark with grey clouds, the sun a long forgotten foe. The humidity has been cut in half, which is to say bad but not unbearable. Last night, if you'd been awake to feel it, the rain would've been warm in your palm. Getting up to close the door now, you nudge the ajar screen wide with your foot, letting some of the rain lash your arms and face.

You sigh at the chilly coldness of each blessed drop.

"Heatwave from hell is finally over."

"Thank fuck for that. Let's hope it's miserably cold for weeks," Eddie says.

It's mid September —summer has said goodbye with one last fierce kiss. By October, you'll be wrapping yourselves up in throw blankets on the couch on the porch, or hiding inside with Wayne's special pasta (buttered noodles and green pesto for the 'brave') watching slashers on Eddie's blurry TV. The humidity will be nothing but a gross memory.

You wash your plates and Eddie lets you shower first. You have your own shampoo in the corner, and a rose scented body wash Eddie buys but doesn't use (but it isn't for you, idiot, why would he buy you something so expensive? He got it by mistake). You could draw the cracks in their shower tiles with your eyes closed, and the condensation that clings to the cold water pipe, that's how many times you've been in here. You finish quickly, dry quicker, and pull fresh clothes over your still-clammy skin.

You tap Eddie in. He's somehow even faster than you were, and you swap places in his room. While he's changing, you dry the bathroom walls with a towel as soon as he's out, knowing the small room has a propensity for dampness.

"Stop cleaning my fucking house," he says when you traipse back into his room, his head hanging upside down as he towel dries his curls.

You forgo your usual explanations and tell the truth. "I know you're perfectly capable. I like helping, that's all."

"I know. Ugh, you suck. Do you have any deodorant?"

You grin and pull your deodorant out of your bag, a new-ish stick of Teen Spirit. Eddie sees it and sighs, obviously unprepared to smell like Pink Crush for the rest of the day. "I have like, half an inch left of Caribbean Cool. Coconut?" you offer.

He goes with the coconut scent. The wall of privacy between you has eroded to a scrap of paper after so long living in each other's laps, but you feel guilty for looking at him, the shifting muscle beneath the skin of his arms and chest stealing your focus. If Eddie were to see you without your shirt, you doubt he'd find himself anywhere near as distracted. He'd look if you let him because that's the way he is, unaffected by simple intimacies, but when you tell him to face the door it doesn’t aggrieve him. Most of the time he’s already averted his eyes.

"Gotta add that to the list of shit we need. Have you seen my shoes?"

"Your white sneakers are in the hallway. One of your converse is under the bed, but it's hard to say about the other." You swallow a sudden lump. "Are we going shirtless?"

Eddie does not go shirtless. He pulls a shirt on that thankfully has sleeves, and then a zip up hoodie under his leather jacket. You didn't think to bring a coat yourself due to the extreme baking temperature of the day before. You're lucky you had clean clothes here, considering you hadn't intended to spend the night. Or, not lucky, loved. One of the Munson’s has washed what you’ve left behind.

You have a momentary lapse as Eddie puts his shoes on, trekking into the bathroom to look in the mirror. It's no secret that you aren't pretty. You can make a good effort, and you keep it classy, stay clean, but you aren't pretty, not by your own opinion.

Eddie knows everything about you (nearly). He knows you don't think much of yourself. And a younger version of him had comforted you as earnestly as an awkward teenage boy could manage, but these days he goes for the root of the problem. He still tells you that you're pretty occasionally, or rather, "Looking good, babe," but not today.

"Hey." Eddie looks you up and down. "What's wrong?"

"I look stupid." You glance at your legs. Why does everything look so weird on you?

He hooks his arm through yours and starts to drag you down the hallway to the front door, sideways like two crabs. "No."

"Yeah, I do, and people are gonna think I do, too."

"Who cares what other people think?" And there's grown-up Eddie's rhetoric, Who gives a fuck what other people think?

"Me," you say.

You understand exactly what it is he's trying to do: free you from the anxiety of overthinking. It doesn't work as often as you wish it would, but he gives it a good go.

"No, you don't. We don't care what other people think because it doesn't affect us." He doesn't make light, exactly, but his eyes are bright and his smile is sweet as he opens the front door and gestures for you to go down first. Rain and wind are quick to kiss at your naked arms.

"What if they all think I'm some sort of slob?"

"Then they'd be wrong. It's okay for people to be wrong about us. That's their problem." More familiar argument. It actually does make you feel better, despite hearing it a hundred times before. "People are wrong all the time."

Eddie follows you down the first step and turns away to lock the door.

"Like you and my ghost," you say, trying to steer the conversation from your moment of weakness and into happy territory again. "You don't think she's real."

"Baby, I'd love it if you proved me wrong with that one." He jogs down the rest of the steps, knowing it’ll give you a conniption, the wet metal a death trap waiting to happen. “Go! Get in the van!”

You scramble across the grass and the curved pathway to the drive where the van is parked and yank open the passenger door with all your strength. The handle is notorious for sticking shut. When nothing happens, Eddie curses up a storm as he clambers into the driver's seat and over the console to force it open, giving it a good old-fashioned kick from the inside. It flies into your waiting hands and you rush up the step into the front of the van away from the rain that’s growing heavier and heavier by the hour.

“Well, glad I didn’t waste time letting it dry,” Eddie says, wringing his hair out over his lap. It only drips two or three drops, but it’s funny all the same. The top of his head shines like a dark halo. “About the ghost. Do you really believe in them?”

“You asked me last night–”

“I know, but last night you said you wouldn’t believe in one unless you saw it, and then proceeded to talk about it like it was real.”

“I’m agnostic about ghosts.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks. He sticks the key in the ignition and turns it until the engine groans to life. The van was old when he got it. Now it’s super old.

“No. What’s agnostic mean?” you ask.

“We’ll buy a dictionary.”

“I kind of believe in ghosts. I believe in my ghost. If I ever see one, I’ll believe in all the ghosts. Shit, I sound stupid.”

“No, you don’t– you don’t! It’s okay to not know, I wasn’t trying to interrogate you about your personal beliefs.” He is a very responsible driver these days. He keeps his eyes on the road. His hand, however, strays to your arm. “You’re not stupid, superstar.”

“Don’t,” you plead. Superstar is a nickname that stuck despite your vehement disagreement with its origin and further usage. “It makes you sound like an old dad and I’m the son who just got benched at little league. Again.”

You stand as much as your seatbelt will allow and dig out the purse from the butt pocket of your jeans. “I’ll get gas.”

“Way too personal for our relationship.”

Bad, overused joke.

Eddie doesn’t want you to pay for gas, the same way he doesn’t want you paying for takeout or birthday presents. He hates ‘handouts’ —it took you a while to convince him that gas money isn’t a handout, it’s you trying to keep things fair. You know how it feels to need the money and not want to ask for it, so you put him in a position where he never has to ask.

Things are easier now. You’re not in high school anymore. Work doesn’t pay as well as you want it to, but it’s enough to get by, especially while you’re living in your childhood home with only partial bills to pay. Eddie isn’t hurting for money either. That’s something to be grateful for.

Eddie pulls into the gas station. He won’t let you pump while the wind is whipping, but you sprint into the gas station and trawl the fridge for the biggest drinks, sticking two cans of iced tea under your arm. The cold immediately eats into your naked skin. You jog to the counter to pay.

“Pump two, please,” you say, putting your cans down.

“Twelve dollars.”

You frown. Eddie only put ten dollars on the pump. Well, deducting your two cans of iced tea at 99 cents each, ten dollars and two cents. What an asshole.

You hold out a twenty dollar bill with a smile, and look out the window as you wait for your change. The rain is too heavy to see him, but you imagine Eddie drumming the wheel of the van with both hands. You shiver out a thanks as your change hits your palm, dropping it into your purse with your best receipts. There’s one for bowling (a triple defeat, Eddie a secret master), one for two whole frozen cheesecakes you’d eaten in bed a month ago with double-sized dessert spoons, a couple for Hawk theatre; Back to the Future II, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Ghostbusters II (‘89 was a great year for sequels). All your best memories printed on thermal paper.

“Holy shit I’m so cold,” you squeak, prying open the door without the aid of Eddie’s kick.

“You’re soaked, you fool. You want to go home first for a sweater?”

You close the door behind you and drop the iced tea into the console, grimacing at the great clang they make. Your seatbelt snaps into place around your soft middle, and without ceremony you’re back on the road for your original mission.

“No sweaters, Bradley’s. Stupid to double back.” You look at him from the corner of your eye. “I think we should get frozen pizza and extra toppings to put on them. And fries, obviously, and dessert.” The ghost won’t care. Probably.

“You forgot the side salad.”

“Forgot,” you say, laughing. “Why yes I did.”

“Dessert,” Eddie says, his turn now to make some decisions. “I want a slurpee real bad right now, so I’m thinking we buy a bag of ice for your food processor and get some syrup.”

“We could go get slurpees,” you say encouragingly. If that’s what he wants, why not?

“We have shit to do,” he says, smiling so much his dimples peek out. “Ghosts to convene with, notebooks to analyse. Feasts to prepare.” He looks deeply speculative. You assume he’s thinking about the maybe-ghost, but he says, “Why are we getting frozen pizza? They have those pre-packaged ones now that are basically fresh.”

“They taste the same.”

“Liar, the bottom of the frozen ones go soggy and the cheese burns on the crust. You know that I’m right, don’t give me dish.”

“Aren’t you always?”

Eddie has a horrible tendency to be right about things. Maybe that's why you hadn't told him about the ghost for so long, because you'd wanted to handle it yourself without his explanatory assurances. You’re the worrier and he’s the one who always sets it straight.

What if I make a fool of myself? you've asked him once.

I’ll make one of myself, too.

What if they fire me?

We’ll get you a new job with me cleaning up after idiots.

What if it never goes away?

It will.

What if body snatchers get us while we’re sleeping?

That one made him smile. The fondest upturn of a pretty mouth, not an expression you often see. Then they get us, he’d said, whispering across the pillows, face only partially visible in the struggling light of the TV. It’ll be awesome. Me and you. No brains, no worries. Just lettuce heads forever.

You watch him beating along to a song you aren’t privy to against the wheel. He hadn’t seemed to mind the idea of losing his mind with you back then. He doesn’t believe you now, but that’s because he hasn’t heard her voice. The whistling wind warping itself into coherent syllables. Reaching for you, a dark slice of sound.

Eddie… has… a secret…

You look at your lap, tamping down a shudder at the sensation of ice riding your spine.

Don’t we all?

—

Eddie feels you’ve been overly relaxed about the situation at hand. He doesn’t want to back you into a box and declare a health crisis, but he’s been thinking up possible illnesses while you weigh the pros and cons of pizza toppings in case he has to take you to see someone. He’s not sure how gas lines work but he’s sure a quick phone call to the Munson landline could clear it up for him. Perhaps the most effective test of all for carbon monoxide poisoning would be to subject himself to the same circumstances. He’ll spend a few days at home with you and see how he feels afterward. If push comes to shove he’ll light a match and see what catches.

On the inside, Eddie’s panicking about your mental health and, admittedly, the slim reality of a supernatural presence. On the outside, he’s playing along with your unconcerned dinner plans and aimless chatter. If you want to pretend that today is the same as any other day, he's prepared to let you. He won’t do the same, but he won’t discourage you, either.

You cut through one of the home aisles toward the front of the store with a heavy basket on your elbow, Eddie hot on your heels. He grabs a pocket dictionary from the display to his left and hurries to keep up with you.

You’re shivering. “I really didn’t think it would rain,” you say.

Eddie looks past the registers to the glass doors at the front of the store where rain pelts with a force bordering on stormy weather. If it gets much worse than this, he'll insist you both go back to Munson headquarters and hunker up to wait it out.

“The weather,” Eddie mumbles, unlike himself. “Are we expecting a storm? Maybe we should grab a cart and get some basics. Crate of water.”

“Okay, we can do that. Are you worried?”

“Kind of.”

He meets your eyes. He loves your eyes. He knows you don’t. You're not insecure in a way he feels he can fix —if he can fix any of it. It’s like you dissociate, for lack of a better word, from the things you can’t love. You don’t look in the mirror, won’t let him take photographs of you. You don’t say it. You call yourself stupid, weird, silly. Never ugly.

But he knows.

And now this whole ghost business. Eddie needs to think of something he can say to you that will inspire a better level of honesty going forward.

“How long have you been speaking to the ghost?” he asks.

You grin at a conveniently abandoned shopping cart at the end of the aisle and slide toward it on squealing shoes. You look around broadly for an owner, and when they don’t appear you place your basket in the stomach of it. The only thing remaining from whoever used it beforehand is a small tray of four cupcakes.

“Four. One for you, three for me,” you say, ignoring his question with a smug giggle.

Eddie loves you in a way not many people can love someone else, the kind of love that takes years of patience and acceptance and sweetness to take root, kind of love you only feel after seeing someone at their best, worst, and weirdest — memories come thick and fast whenever he thinks about the sheer years you’ve spent together, seeds of affection long germinated and rearing to grow. You, throwing up behind a Denny’s with sick in your hair, crying so hard you couldn’t catch your breath, and when you could, asking him if he wouldn’t mind buying you a new t-shirt to wear in the car as though you were some dastardly imposition, and not his sick best friend. You, on top of the world, surrounded by people who loved you with a birthday cake in front of you, eyes brighter than the blinking flames of each dripping candle. You, in pyjamas too tight, too loose, old or brand new with your hair up, down, washed, and greasy, your lips chapped, bruised then healed, parted against one of his pillows as you slept, as you yawned, as you laughed, talked. No matter what you’re wearing, saying or doing, you, in his bed, completely at home.

Eddie has a thousand images of you in his head and they all fight to play again, like a VHS on constant rewind, or a movie with duplicated film, double, triple exposed. Before even an inkling of a crush had ever come around, he loved you. That's why it doesn’t really matter that he can’t kiss you. He can’t imagine loving you more than this.

Sometimes, sometimes… you put your leg over his and your thigh spreads out across the top of his, and he has to beg himself not to want to touch you. He wonders if you’d mind. Eddie thinks about asking so often it turns into its own fantasy. He knows what cadence his voice would take, the exact grit and warmth, his hand waiting on your knee and aching to inch downward.

You pull him from his sickly introspection with a poke. Your fingernail dents his shirt precisely atop a small beauty mark. He doesn’t know if you know what you’re doing, if you’ve seen his naked chest enough times to realise that there’s a mole right there an inch shy of his belly button, if you’d ever looked at him in so much detail.

“Transmission incoming,” you say, your fingers flattening over his abdomen, your palm hovering apart. Like the pole of an opposite magnet, it refuses to connect. “Chirp. Houston, we’ve been attempting to connect with Astronaut Munson. He is unresponsive. Let us know when you make contact again.” You smile at him ruefully. “Damn moon keeps dropping signal.”

“Sorry… Astronaut Munson? Do they call astronauts astronauts? I thought it was commander.”

“I don’t know, Eddie, I haven’t brushed up on NASA related job titles lately.” Your deadpan wanes, replaced with a genuine concern. “Are you okay? You really did get lost.”

“I’m just thinking about, you know– Your ghost,” he lies. The ghost should be his highest concern, and for the most part it is, but he’d let his attention get pulled along by other things.

That’s the thing about love. It feels much more important in the moment than anything else, even when it shouldn’t.

“You’re super worried about the ghost.”

“It is an uber worrying ghost.”

“‘Cause she talks?” you ask.

“Well, yeah. Most of the time you just get, like, blurs on night vision cameras or the general malignant presence of the thing. Not words.” Not questions concerning your best friend.

“Casper talks and he’s gorgeous,” you say. “A true sweetheart.”

“Doesn’t Casper have to protect Lucy from his evil ghost uncles?”

“Who the fuck is Lucy?”

“The girl. Lucy and Johnny.”

“Bonnie?”

“Oh. That sounds right. But her name doesn’t matter,” Eddie insists. “My point was that the bad ghosts outweigh the good three to one. That’s more than half, you realise.”

“His name is Casper the Friendly Ghost,” you say, shrugging. Eddie hopes you know where it is in the store you’re going to. He hasn’t looked away from your face for the last twenty minutes. “It’s in the name.”

“But your ghost isn’t Casper,” Eddie says.

“No. My ghost isn’t Casper, but she hasn’t tried to kill me. She would have written something threatening in my notebook or knocked all the books off of my shelf if she were evil.”

Eddie frowns. You’ve steered him around the store like you’ve never been here before, changing your mind after turns to go down the opposite aisle, murmuring about bottled water. He reaches for your hand on the shopping cart rail and can’t resist squeezing it as he pulls it away.

“I got it,” he says.

He swears that your expression flickers. Worry breaking through the closed shutters of your blasé.

You’re not so chatty as you follow him toward the back of Bradley’s where they keep the big jugs of water. He grabs one, thinks back to the bad weather and grabs another. It’s unlikely that you’ll need them, but Eddie would rather be safe than sorry. “Do you have a lamp?” he asks. “An oil lamp? Or a flashlight?”

“I have a flashlight,” you confirm. “Is it really so bad? Uh, I don’t wanna ask again, but I– maybe I could–”

Eddie wants to pull your face into his chest. He thinks about it. Would he have hugged you like that a year ago, before the butterflies and the late nights daring to think of the dough of your thighs or the column of your throat when you tip your head back? He might’ve. It would mean something different, but he might’ve.

He throws an arm around your shoulder and gives you a good shake. “What is wrong with you? If it gets any worse, you’re staying with me. I’m only asking about a flashlight in case we have one of those worst case scenarios and get stuck in your haunted house. I refuse to die like the jocks in a b-rated horror.”

“The jocks or the whore? Isn’t it the girl who sleeps around that gets murdered in the dark?” you ask.

“Super unfair. I sleep around, do I deserve to die?” he asks, dropping his arm.

You mime stabbing him in the gut. Everyone's so violent.

Eddie is amazingly unharmed as he gets you to the register. You try to fight him on who’s paying, but you’re an idiot who insisted on getting gas. It’s the leverage he needs to win. Out of Bradley’s and back into the rain with grocery bags double bagged, you run for the van and thrust the spoils of your shopping trip in the passenger seat footwell. Eddie opens the side door to lug the water jugs inside and you take the cart back to the front of the store against his wishes.

He waits for you to be in arms reach and gets back in the van. You’re soaked to the bone. He’s cold in three layers, so you must be freezing. He shrugs off his sopping wet leather jacket and then the zip hoodie underneath, draping the zip hoodie over your lap and chest and then rushing to put his leather jacket on again.

“Thank you, good sir,” you laugh.

He’s already fiddling with the air conditioning. Heat bursts from the left vent but not the right, leaving you in a cold bubble. “Shit, I’m sorry, the right vent’s still busted. Ol’ Beauville keeps letting us down.”

“Don’t hate on the Beauville!” you scold through chattering teeth.

“You're dying,” he says. “Hold on, I’m gonna do ninety.”

“Do not speed!”

You get to the road outside of your place without any hydroplaning. You live on a regular American street in a two-story semi-detached house not too far from Hawkins High school with your guardian, who isn’t home very often. It has three bedrooms, one bathroom, and a lot of white walls. You often lament that the house doesn’t really feel like your own, and punctuate with a giddy laugh he doesn’t understand but adores nonetheless.

Eddie parks his van on the long gravel driveway as close to the house as he can get it and ushers you inside with your keys. You’re cold enough to listen without complaint.

He puts the groceries in the kitchen on the countertops and kicks off his shoes, intending on putting them away when he’s sure you aren’t in any danger of hypothermia. He kicks off his shoes by the door, locks it tight, and starts up the carpeted stairs to your room.

He’s not surprised to find you half-naked, but overfamiliar, affectionate friendship doesn’t necessarily mean you like being seen. He averts his gaze from your naked legs and tries desperately to think about anything but underwear. The more he tries not to think about them, the worse it gets.

“Hey,” he says, covering his eyes so you know he isn’t perving, “our horror flick just got dirty.”

“Yikes,” you say. “Don’t look.”

“I’m not, I’m not. You could’ve closed the door. You know, spare me a guilty conscience.” Then, because he just can’t help himself, “When did you start wearing fancy panties?”

“Fuck off, Eddie,” you laugh.

“Do I have to make the switch to tighty whities?”

“Our underwear choices do not concern one another.” You trek toward him. He peeks through two spread fingers and finds you thankfully reclothed in dry sweatpants and a sweater soft with age. “I thought tighty whities hurt your–” You raise your eyebrows.

He regrets being honest with you when you were teenagers. A little secrecy might help repaint him in your mind as less of a huge loser. You could possibly find him attractive if you weren't privy to the numerous embarrassments that make up his life, he thinks.

He chokes on his own tongue and dies right there in your bedroom. “Why do you remember shit like that?”

“Same reason you keep a heat pack in your room in case I get all crampy,” you say.

You give him one of your sick smiles —you have to know what you’re doing, you have to— and drape your arms over his shoulders, nearly knocking him down with the sudden addition of your weight. He, stunned, plants a foot behind himself so you don’t both trip and fall on your asses.

The plane of your back beckons beneath your sweater. What he’d give to slip a hand under the hem to explore the ridge of your shoulder blade with his fingertips.

A quiet ensues. Your hug turns from a joking attempt to push him around a bit to a real one. He steel-arms your waist, tightening them around you three times in quick succession, nose buried in your hair to steal a deep breath.

“This where the ghost talks to you?” he asks, looking over your head into the chaos of your room. It’s not dirty, but it isn’t tidy, either.

You sigh too much like a moan for his sanity and stand up tall, your hands trailing down his chest unthinkingly as you follow his gaze. “Yeah. I don’t know if we’ll hear her over the rain. It has to be really quiet.”

“What are you doing? Experiments?” he asks. He sounds as distracted by it all as he feels.

“No. Something I noticed, is all.”

“I don’t get why you didn’t tell me the first time it happened,” he confesses, voice dropping to a murmur.

“Um… remember senior year, you kept missing class because you had all those doctors appointments?” You smile sheepishly. “‘N’ you didn’t tell me about it until after you knew you were okay?”

During his first senior year, Eddie found a small cyst in his arm. Small compared to other cysts, large in his arm. He worried it was malicious, or rather Wayne worried and Eddie didn’t know what he thought about it until after they’d cut it out. It had been a thankfully speedy affair in a doctors office they couldn’t afford. Eddie didn’t tell you about it until he’d been all stitched up and tested — he tried, but then he would imagine the look on your face when he did, and it made him feel like his intestines had learned to jump rope.

He still remembers when he finally told you, the split second between, “a tumour,” and “but it’s not cancer.” The relief on your face. The shock of upset tears it caused.

“I guess I was trying to be good to you,” you say, shrugging and starting down the stairs.

Eddie follows. “If something like that happened again to me, god forbid,” —he dips into a melodramatic voice, scared of the sombre mood that’s descended— “I wouldn’t keep it to myself. I’d make it your problem instantly.”

Every now and then, Wayne will lean over the back of Eddie’s chair at the breakfast table and grab an arm, feeling for a tiny bump that hasn’t come back. You’d done the same in your own way: you wrote ‘check for lesions :D’ on a piece of paper and taped it to his bedroom doorway. It fell off ages ago, but he occasionally gets déjà vu as he leaves the room. And as he walks down the hallway, he’ll roll up his sleeve and check that there's nothing there.

Eddie didn’t tell you senior year. A lingering abandonment issue, maybe, ‘cause Dad didn’t stay when things got hard, who cares? He doesn’t think about that shit anymore. Figures the mark it left was enough. But these days, he’d tell you if he found a lump in his arm, or a ghost in his room. Your scribbled note made sure of that.

"Are you listening to me?" he asks.

"You'd make it my problem," you provide. "Tell me something I don't know."

He grabs you by the shoulders at the bottom of the stairs and blows into your ear.

With the lights on and the radio at a low volume, the rain outside doesn't seem nearly as imposing. The kitchen is small with a long strip light above that gives the room a near clinical white cast, the countertops shining clean, not a plate in the sink. It's evident how much time you don't spend here. No photos on the fridge, no salt or pepper shakers on the table. Where Eddie and Wayne have their insane mug collection made up of states and hours and way too much money in some cases, you have four black coffee mugs in a tower stack by the seldom used machine. Where they have a corkboard of photographs, Polaroids and printouts from Walmart off of rinky-dink digital cameras, you have one photo on the wall, a professionally done portrait of you from the day you graduated and Eddie, unfortunately, did not.

Eddie's grad pictures are much less robotic. Too much eyeliner but just enough you, he has his arm thrown over your shoulders in the back of a grungy restaurant, his smile blisteringly bright. He might as well have written 'Thank Fuck' across his forehead. There's another one of him and Hellfire Club at the time, blurry with the flash making him pale as snow. You and Wayne had been trying to make the camera focus, twin scowls on your faces. Eddie's expression was one of pure joy.

He tried to make up for your shitty grad pics by celebrating your first job with a pack of Polaroids. You'd looked adorably strange in the uniform, so young but so done with his shit, eighteen and exhausted. He keeps one in his room in the bottom of the box with all his rings and chains. If you ever found it, he'd think about drowning himself.

Your appointment with a ghost waits until after dinner. You pull your frozen pizzas out of their boxes and put them in the oven (you don't preheat, which Eddie thinks is a questionable choice, but he'd help you get away with murder). While they defrost and start to cook, you slice and dice your extra toppings on the wooden chopping board beside the stovetop. He stands there with his hands washed and nothing to do. Just watches you cut up jalapeños for him and thinks about how he's going to take care of you if the ghost doesn't speak up. Does he tell your guardian? You're an adult. All your healthcare would be private and confidential. Could he tell Wayne? Would that be a betrayal?

"Check the pizzas?" You scrape the seeds out of a jalapeño, eyes pinched in concentration.

Eddie doesn't know if he can eat. You aren't as out of it as you were at the store, but you aren't fully present. A song you love plays on the radio and it's like you don't hear it.

He pulls the pizzas from the oven. He makes a smiley face out of pepperoni and jalapeños, earning half as big a smile as he thought he would from you in response.

Together, you clean the small mess you made. The pizzas brown. When they're done you take them out, cut them up, plate them, and carry them up to your room on a tray with a two litre bottle of sprite and two plastic cups. Eddie changes into a pair of his pyjama pants that you keep at the bottom of your dresser before he sits on your bed, wide-eyed when he sees how many slices you've managed in his absence.

"Nobody's gonna take it away from you," he teases lightly.

"Can't be too careful 'round you," you say, dropping a crust onto his plate. It's his favourite part.

"Thought you wanted fries?"

"And I thought you wanted a side salad."

"I wanted snow cone syrup," he says, shrugging.

He considers offering to go make you some fries anyway, but he takes a big bite of pizza and it tastes so good he forgets about it. Eddie doesn't know nothing about nothing, but if he had a say, he'd make it so that he and you could spend the rest of your lives doing this, meaningless jabbering over greasy food. It's not a good idea —you need vegetables that aren't on pizza, and fresh grains, and who knows what else to stay healthy— but Eddie's never claimed he had them. He wants this.

He gets it most of the time, but he's selfish. He wants it every night. He loves Wayne but he wants to come home to you, or to have you come home to him, in a space that you decorated, a life that you made. He wants a dog and a pet fish and, in five years or ten or never, a baby if it's what you want too. A front door lined with three pairs of shoes.

He also wants a limousine that takes him from place to place and a room full of thousand dollar guitars. A man can dream.

The first port of call for any dream is making sure you're okay. Let the ghostly stakeout begin.

Sated and sick at once, Eddie puts your empty tray on the dresser and goes to turn on the TV. "She won't talk if the TV's on," you interrupt.

"Ugh. Any chance she likes the stereo?"

You slouch down where you'd been sitting and shake your head. Your jaw goes soft, eyes softer when you smile. "It's not all bad. She doesn't care how loud you turn a page."

Eddie can't be with you every second of the day, the same way you can't be with him. There are shifts to take, shifts to cover, dungeons to pilfer and dragons to slay. You have your job, your other friends (none as handsome as he is), your hobbies. How often are you home alone, talking to ghosts?

He stands by your bookshelf, eyes skipping over the titles in slight disinterest.

"Hey," he asks, "where's your notebook? I wanna see her handwriting."

"I left it on the top shelf."

Eddie stares. There are a few other notebooks and sketchbooks aligned here, but not the one you'd described.

"You sure?" he asks.

"I left it right there,” you say with a yawn.

Eddie looks at you from over his shoulder. You’re tired. He figures he can see the notebook later, and offer you some remedial comfort now. Anything to wipe the frown off of your face.

He grabs a book off of your shelf at random and cracks it open. You love being read to. You'd beg and beg him growing up, and he'd almost always oblige.

"Can I read aloud, or does she hate that too?" he asks, turning away from your shelf.

"I've never tried it."

"I'll do it quietly?"

"Sure," you say, a tired but pleased smile on your lips. "I've read that one before."

"Should I get a different one?"

"No, it's good. It's the one I told you about with the demons who eat stars."

"The dirty one?" he asks, dropping like a stone near the top of your bed, the blankets under his hip warm from the residual heat of the pizza plates.

"It's not dirty. There's one scene toward the end where they get handsy, no graphic detail."

"And by no graphic detail, you mean…"

"No graphic detail," you repeat. It's awful how funny you find each other.

"Not even, like… hand stuff?"

"Do you want there to be hand stuff?"

"With the demons?"

You devolve into giggles, the kind that start slow and thicken into a giddy sort of breathlessness, your head supported by the headboard. Eddie looks up at you in awe.

"I could be into that," Eddie furthers, stretching your laughter as long as it will go. "Are they the kind that look like people but with extra arms or wings or something?"

"You'd like that, huh? Extra arms?"

"I wouldn't be opposed to extra arms."

"Gross," you cheer through another wave of laughter. "I don't wanna think about it."

Eddie looks to the book's first page and tamps down a grimace. You don't wanna think about him in that sort of position.

Eddie, excluding any extra appendages, thinks of you like that more than he should. Never when you're near, not if he can help it, but at night when the hot shower water beating down against his back can be shaped into the vague sensation of a body behind him, he thinks of your chest. Your hands. Or in the early mornings, when he's writhed into a contortionist’s ball and the streaking sunlight through the curtains is kissing his abdomen, he imagines it's your leg thrown across his hip, with your face turned into his chest.

Fuck, it kills him, because he knows what the real thing feels like. He's had you clinging to his waist on colder nights, and he's been under your hands. Tipsy, free with your touches, he's felt the breadth of your palms cupping his cheeks.

You're pretty, you'd told him, as you love to tell him when you've been drinking, but you need a haircut.

He never would've let you kiss him in that state, but he kids himself into thinking you wanted to. It was only booze doing what booze does.

"Read to me, serf," you demand.

Eddie clears his throat.

"The enemy is close," Eddie reads, "and the lane is overrun. Sympathy for the second kind had felt natural to Mellissa once, but now that she sees the sharp angling of their shoulders in the dawn light, she aches with hatred…"

The novel isn't bad. It isn't Eddie's favourite; the tone falls flat, and the main character's actions aren't fed by any particular emotion. Its first arc is formulaic, and soon the hero's forced to answer the call. You evidently find his rehashing tedious, as your head tips toward his head, and you wriggle your way down to his shoulder amicably.

"Don't fall asleep," he says.

"It's your whispering."

"I don't want to disturb the ghost."

"Okay." You start to pick at your nails, little scratches against the cuticle. "I won't fall asleep."

—

Your snores aren't gentle. You're a human being and Eddie doesn't expect you to breathe like a princess, but the wheeze is concerning.

He waits for you to settle down, easing your head onto the pillow. Your airway clears, and your snoring quietens to the same ambient level as the rain hitting the window outside. He feels your head for a temperature carefully. Back of his hand, fingers curled in so his ring can't startle you, he tries to gauge if you're running a fever.

It isn't normal for you to cat nap in the middle of the day, but the sun is occluded by dark clouds and the rain blots out what's left, leaving the bedroom in darkness, and you'd been warm and fed and Eddie had been doing something monotonous. It makes sense that you'd drifted off. Eddie wishes he felt tired too, so he could slide down under the sheets with you and curl a hand around your wrist.

He lies on his back, arms crossed over his chest, straining his ears for the sound of a voice.

I swear, sometimes, I can hear someone talking.

You have a vent in your room, and perhaps a couple of late nights after your shifts had you mistaking a groaning foundation or the wind for a whisper. That's a thing, right? People hear something in the wind. Fatigue has your mind playing tricks on you. Eddie should go to the library and see if they have anything to do with sleep deprivation.

It's no fun listening for ghosts. Eddie's shoulders and upper back begin to feel tense. The feeling travels lower, a snaking ache that wraps around each vertebrae. Even his tailbone hurts.

He shifts onto his side and stares at your closed eyes. He blows a breath at you to watch your lashes flutter like tufts of grass in the breeze.

Your breaths are like a metronome. He syncs his to yours for kicks, just listening. When you're both asleep, does your breath sync on its own? How do your bodies react to each other? Eddie has woken up to your arms around him or your body halfway across the bed, leg falling out from under the covers. You're irregular, where he has a tendency to grab at you while he's knocked out. He doesn't wrap his arms around you so much as hold you in his hands. His fingers curl in the hem of your t-shirts or bracelet your bicep. If he falls asleep with an arm above your head, he'll occasionally wake to find his hand at the top of it, your hair mussed.

He must be stroking it in his sleep.

Or maybe you're frizzy.

No shame in frizziness. Eddie's frizzy more often than not. Curly hair is hard to take care of and he has a lot of it. God knows it was worse before he started seeing that hairdresser in the city who makes magic happen with her thinning shears.

Your lips part.

Thunder cracks outside.

Eddie lifts his head to look out of the window in surprise. Summer days have come to pass and sunset comes earlier in the day, fractals of light bouncing between the violent rain. In an hour or two, it will be pitch black outside.

He should call Wayne and see what's happening. How he is, and if he thinks Eddie should come home and bring you, too.

Eddie clambers off of the bed, careful not to wake you. He slides across your hardwood floor and takes the empty dinner tray with him down the spongy carpeting of your stairs, back to hardwood in the hallway, and finally onto the freezing cold linoleum of your kitchen.

He locates the source of chill quickly. The window in front of the sink has unlatched. It's the thing you call him over for most; when you want to hang out you go to Eddie's, when the window won't close Eddie comes here.

His shirt hikes as he leans against the sink, his abdomen pressed to the cold countertop as he yanks the window and twists the handle the wrong way, goosebumps climbing his arms. It groans in resistance, but Eddie knows from experience that it’ll stay closed for a while.

He takes the liberty of turning your thermostat up as he waits for Wayne to answer the phone, coiled cord pulled taut.

Wayne isn't too bothered by the weather, "It's not a hurricane. A storm, sure– you'll be fine. But by all means, come home if you're scared."

"I'm not scared, jerk, I'm concerned."

He winds the cord around his arm, leaning in when Wayne's voice is hard to hear like it'll make a difference.

"...might go out," Wayne's saying, "call me, or call around Roger's… get back to… warm."

"Where the fuck are you? I can't hear a thing you're saying."

"Don't cuss at me. I'm with Roger, that's why I said to call Roger if I don't answer, he has that new pool table…" Anything Wayne says after that is garbled, like he has a hand pressed over his mouth.

“I thought Roger had a broken leg?” Eddie says. “How’s he getting around?”

“He hops. I left money in the bread bin for you, did you see it?”

“No, I didn’t see it. Wayne, we’ve talked about this before, I’m working. I appreciate it, I do, but I don’t need you giving me money.”

Whatever Wayne says at first gets eaten by static. Eddie doesn’t know if it’s your phone or the Munson’s. He doesn’t need to hear what Wayne’s saying to get the general gist of it. “…water bill..”

This again? Eddie paid the water bill. He thought he’d be allowed to do that, considering he uses the majority of the water, but it’s been a great point of contention between them.

“I’m sorry!” he says. “If I knew it would bother you so bad I wouldn’t have done it. But I don’t want it back, I’m not a kid anymore, half the time you don’t let me pay for groceries–”

“This might shock you, son, but I’ve been paying for you to eat for a decade. I ever complained? No, ‘cause it’s my job, and I don’t want you thinking any…” the words scratch out. Eddie guesses what he’s saying.

The broken phone is starting to irritate him.

He holds in his argument. Call it respect, love, whatever you want. “I’m not saying that! Listen,” —Eddie laughs to himself, words wrought with it like bubbles— “you’re senile.”

“You weasel–” The phone gives up. Whooshing air is all Eddie hears.

"I can't deal with this. I love you, I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" Eddie asks, rubbing the space between his eyebrows.

"Yeah, love you too, kid. Eddie–"

He doesn't catch the end of Wayne's sentence. The line goes dead. He pulls the shiny receiver from his ear and frowns at it.

Wayne was probably just telling Roger and the guys what Eddie was up to. Or what he thinks Eddie's up to, at least. Eddie told him via note that you wanted help rearranging your bedroom furniture. A small lie, but he didn't want to expose you to any outward judgement until he's sure himself what's going on.

Eddie hangs the phone on the hook. He grabs your plates, throwing the meagre leftovers in the trash and dumping the plates in the sink. He turns on the hot faucet and grabs a sponge and the dish soap and gets to work cleaning. It takes him all of five minutes, and he's oh so smug about being a decent person that he doesn't notice the chill.

He dries the plates and puts them in the cabinet across the room with his back to the sink. The dishes clatter together loudly, like a gunshot in the silence. He winces internally and tries to be gentler closing the cabinet door.

The hum of the kitchen light catches his attention. He looks up, unsurprised to find a bug crawling inside of the plastic covering that shields the long bulb. A moth, Eddie thinks, it's fuzz silhouetted in shadow. He doesn't really like moths, but he also doesn't wanna watch one die.

The rain seems worse when he turns off the light. Your kitchen faces out into the backyard, and through the night Eddie can see the house that's behind yours with its porch lights on. It turns the rain to quicksilver, and provides just enough illumination for Eddie to look up at the kitchen light and know what he's doing.

He drags a chair to the middle of the room and steps onto it. It's disturbingly slippery. Thankfully, Eddie doesn't plan on doing any acrobatics. He reaches up to the warm plastic light covering and feels along for the ridges to pry it off. One ridge clicks off, and another. He leans precariously toward the other side and feels for the third and forth ridge when thunder rumbles outside, and somewhere in the distance lightning flashes.

Eddie flinches but doesn't fall. "Fuck," he mumbles. Pussy.

The plastic falls into his hands and Eddie climbs off of the chair as quickly as he can. It's too hot to handle, banging against the kitchen table as he chucks it down. He'd turned off the light thinking the plastic would cool down fast, and he’d been proven very wrong.

"Shit," he mumbles some more. Your neighbour's porch light turns off, leaving him in total darkness.

Eddie’s hand aches from his mild burn. It's like whenever he has to wash the frying pan at home, he forgets that while cold water might cool the pan itself, the slim piece of metal that connects the dish to the handle stays hot. He's burned himself so many times on that fucker–

Lightning flashes again.

There's someone standing in your yard.

The second he notices the figure, it lunges left.

Eddie stands frozen on the spot, unsure if he should approach the window to get a better look, or if he should move backward and away from the potential harm.

He takes a step forward. Mind in a numb state of thoughtlessness, he walks to your sink and stands there silently, looking into the grass and trees for any hint of irregular movement.

Tree branches rail in the wind and rain. Eddie leans further forward.

A third flash of lighting comes, and it must have struck close by, as the light it gives off is long and bright. He gets a clear look at the yard and the image of his own reflection in the glass. No dark figure in the tall grass toward the fence, no heinous murderer trying the back door.

It’s dark again. Eddie puts a hand over the racing pulse of his heart. Fuck, he thinks. I’m seeing things. He’s on edge ‘cause of your fucking ghost, and it’s not your fault but he wonders if maybe loving you is making him tired. He regrets it as soon as he thinks it, what does that even mean? He’s loved you for years. It has never felt like a chore. But… tired. He’s tired. Pining for someone you already have, just not in the way that you want, is exhausting. It’s not your fault and it doesn’t change the fact that he’s exhausted. Today has been a long day.

He scrubs his eyes with his palms until they burn and lifts his head.

There’s a girl on the other side of the glass.

Eddie startles, startles again when he realises she’s not on the other side at all, she’s behind him, outfitted in white like an apparition, like an angel. She’s inside the house, ten feet away in the doorway.

His neck cracks with the force of his turn.

“Sorry,” you say, taking a step back into the hall. “I thought you heard me.”

“Oh, shit.”

You’ve turned the light on in the hall. Eddie turns back to the window and sees your reflection again, no angels and no apparitions. You’re just a girl.

He half turns and gets stuck like that, hand braced against his eyes, torso pitching forward. “Shit,” he mutters.

“Are you okay?”

Eddie laughs. “You surprised me. I’m fine,” he assures you, though he takes his time standing at full height. How can such a small scare feel like a marathon? “Creep, who fucking does that?”

“You were totally spaced, dude, don’t blame me,” you say, holding your hands up in mock surrender.

“I do blame you. I hope you feel blamed. Fucking fuck, that got me.”

“I wasn’t being quiet. I yelled. You didn’t hear me?”

He can’t stop the dubiety that warps his face. “No? What’s your definition of yelling? ‘Eddie?’” he imitates you, tossing his own name into the dark kitchen. “Unbelievable.”

“What were you looking at?” you ask, nodding at the window.

“Lightning.”

“That why you’re in the dark? Or have I interrupted something?”

“‘M moonlighting as a serial killer.” He grins at you. “Got me.”

You lean against the wall next to the light switch and turn it on, exposing the chair shy of his leg and the plastic cover from your light on the table.

“What the–”

“I’m doing a good deed. Or, I was. There was a moth at one point."

You help Eddie clip the light back into place. He climbs back on the chair and you hug his legs to make sure he doesn’t fall either way, arms encircling his thighs and your face pressed comfortably to his stomach. Your cheek flush with the naked stretch of his stomach, his shirt hiked up as he struggles to finish what he started, he explains the moth, who, for lack of an escape, has probably found a home in your curtains or your coat rack. You laugh at his softness.

Back upstairs, you won’t let him read to you again, and the ghost monitoring continues on. Eventually, you both get bored and turn on the TV. Eddie forgets his fright, you forget your haunted house, and the night ends. You fall asleep against his shoulder, drool leaking from the corner of your mouth. He pushes you gently down into your pillow, and goes to brush his teeth with a snort.

Eddie wakes in the morning with a crick in his neck. He feels better, having slept. All his monstrous yearning has fizzled out overnight, and he’s glad to find that the damp circle of dribble under your cheek isn’t cute, it’s gross. (Okay, it’s a little cute. He’s only human.)

The window brags an end to the extreme weather. Rain nor shine reaches through your drapes; the morning looks mundane. He kicks your shin ‘by accident’ and waits for you to rouse, keeping a safe distance. He doesn’t wanna get his morning breath all over you. That would be inhumane.

“Ouch,” you croak.

“It wasn’t that hard.” His voice is as rough as yours.

“Not your kick,” you moan. “My throat.”

“You’ve been drooling again.”

You cover your face sluggishly and your pinky must feel the wet spot staining your pillow.

“It’s embarrassing.” You dig your heels in at the bottom of the bed and pull your head off of the pillow so you can grab it and throw it out of view. Once it’s bashed against your mirror with a concerning glass sound, you pull the blankets over your face and sigh. “I’ll be here forever, if you need me.”

“Could be worse,” he says lightly. “Imagine waking up with a stiffy.”

“Did you–?” you ask, like you’re terrified to know but couldn’t not inquire.

“No, but I have. You know I have.”

“True. That is… unfortunately awkward.”

“‘Xactly. Don’t feel weird about your spit.”

You don’t feel as bad as you pretend. Sure, it’s embarrassing. So is puking in your lap at the movies, or ripping your pants climbing over the fence into the woods by Forest Hills, or getting fired after two weeks from the Palace Arcade because the manager didn’t like your ‘general demeanour and/or presence’, all of which he’s done and you’ve been a witness to. He thinks you might be impervious to humiliation as long as you’re together.

Eddie pulls the blankets over his head, pleased that the morning light reaches you even here. You’re curled on your side underneath them, bleary eyes meeting his from across the small stretch of mattress. You hadn’t touched him once while you slept.

“I don’t remember falling asleep,” you say quietly.

“We watched Poltergeist. You fell asleep with twenty minutes left.”

“Can you blame me? Snore.”

“You wanted to watch it.”

“It’s the only movie I own that has a ghost.”

You share a silent look. Eddie tries to keep a straight face and ultimately fails, his laugh roaring. You join in, half reluctant and half delirious in your fatigue. Your sleep-swollen eyes close like you can’t keep them open anymore.

He stays under the sheets stealing looks at you for as long as he can, despite the building, smothering warmth. The day passes with much of the same.

—

When you first started working at Leaven, Eddie called you a traitor. He said you’d made it impossible for him to show his face in Bradley’s. He’d been joking — the prices at Leaven are ridiculous, and completely out of the average joe’s budget. Bradley’s remains your go to for everything. He’s come around these days — he likes the fancy soups and admits Leaven’s has the best fresh fruit.

Despite the rich old women who frequent and make your workdays… less than ideal, you like working at Leaven. Your days consist almost exclusively of stacking shelves, but occasionally they chuck you on checkout and you get to sit in a padded chair for ten hours. You’re basically living the American dream.

Working here has introduced a special brand of monotony to your life. It’s very, very quiet, and that’s how you like it. But there’s something to be said for noise, for Eddie and Wayne’s noise specifically. You like going there after work to shock your body back into the real world. Here’s sound. Here’s life. Here’s love.

You’re scanning a bag of ‘holistic’ lemons when you notice Eddie lingering toward the front of the store a mere twenty feet away. You don’t wave at him, lest your customer think they aren’t the sparkling apple of your eye and report you to the manager, but you nod jerkily, hoping he takes it for ‘I see you’. He smiles and points his thumb toward the store’s cafe.

When your arms are numb from another twenty minutes of scanning and typing in coupon codes for people who don’t need coupons, you shut down your register and lock it all tight. You take your lunch break early, and thankfully there’s nobody in the cafe to yell at you for being unprofessional.

You waltz over to Eddie sitting at the back next to the huge glass windows and prop your lunch bag against the coke bottle he’s opened. “Hello, handsome,” you say.

“Hey, beautiful.”

“You want half of a turkey sandwich?”

He beams at you, kicking your chair out so you can sit. “Nooo, I brought you a hot dog.”

“Oh, gross. Give it to me right now.”

You know he made it at home before he’s even pulled the foil wrapped package from his bag. Eddie makes the best hot dogs ever. Fancy brioche buns, caramelised onions and a mixture of sauces on the world's worst meat. They make you queasy and they might be one of your favourite foods. You open it, delighting in its retained heat.

His wrist is shiny. You put your hotdog down to grab his arm and bring it closer to your face. He’s wearing a simple tennis chain with black gems like a rich girl. “What is this?” you murmur, pleased to see him wearing something nice.

“You like that? It was thirty four dollars from a magazine.”

“I love it. What’s the occasion?”

“My mom’s birthday.” He fishes his own hotdog from his bag and slaps it down in front of yours. You take a huge bite, and can’t answer him when he asks, “Is that really weird, buying myself something when it’s a day about her?”

You steal a swig of his coke and wince the entire time. “Sorry.” You cough. “No, that’s not weird, Eddie. Wanting to buy yourself something nice is a good way of dealing with a shitty day. A day that makes you feel shitty,” you amend.

“Maybe I should’ve got her a big bouquet of flowers or something.”

“You can still get her flowers.”

“Yeah.”

You take another bite of your hot dog and slip away to get a bottle of water from the cafe. You feel like an asshole for not hugging him. When you return Eddie’s already polished off his hot dog, and has moved onto one half of your turkey sandwich.

“Are you gonna be weird about it if I hug you?” you ask him genuinely.

“No.” He puts down the sandwich. “I don’t know. Maybe. I want one, though.”

You wipe your hands in a napkin showfully before approaching his chair. You slide a knee next to his thigh and wrap your arms around his head, a hand between his shoulder blades and the other pulling his face to your chest. You have to slouch. It's not entirely comfortable but it doesn't feel awkward, so you take the win.

"I'm sorry, Eddie," you say quietly. You think about kissing his head.

"Me too."

There's a moment in there where you feel a nasty emotion brewing, sadness and much worse. You know that the gutted pain aching through you right now is nothing compared to what Eddie feels. That loss.

It must feel so, so heavy.

You pet his neck affectionately. Your nose dips into his hair, the tip touching his scalp. Your hands come up, like trying to hold water as it trickles between your fingers, Eddie's slipping. You grapple to keep him with you.

"I love you," you say honestly. He's your best friend.

Eddie pats your back. "I love you too, loser."

"You're my best friend."

I would fucking think so, he'd say.

"You're mine," he says.

You smile and give him a good squeeze. When you pull away he doesn't look as odd as he had, relaxing against the hard-backed wood of the cafe chair as he tucks his hair behind his ear. He holds your gaze without any weight to it. You sit in your own uncomfortable chair and lean forward to compensate for the space between you, like two slanting trees in the wind, parallel but untouching.

"It's a really nice bracelet," you say.

"She'd like it, I think."

You don't know anything about Eddie's mom. She isn't someone he's ever been able to talk about with you. You can't remember the photographs you'd seen once upon a time, but you remember having the distinct thought that Eddie looked more like her than his dad or his uncle Wayne. She'd been beautiful, and her life couldn't be more starkly mourned.

"I'm sure she would. It's pretty."

His mouth wobbles. You're horrified for a moment, thinking he might burst into tears, but it's laughter he's chasing, and his little giggle is like a beam of sunlight. "Sorry," he says. Laughter doesn't seem like a good enough word to describe the sounds he's making, such understated, small curls of sound. Fleeting, golden. "She would've liked you, too. She would've loved you."

"That's a good thing?" you check, cautious that he might be on the precipice of a nervous breakdown.

"Yeah, that's a good thing. Is it ever bad? To be loved?" he asks.

He's teasing, but it feels like he's asking you something else.

"You could be a stalker, with that logic."

And there you go, ruining a moment with a shitty joke because you're too much of a coward to ask questions when you don't know the answer.

Eddie grabs his coke, tipping his head back as he says, "Who says I'm not a stalker already?"

Funny how the subtext of a conversation can contain magnitudes for one party and not the other. You worry you're in love with your best friend. He sips at coke and threatens perversion.

"You're definitely a stalker. You couldn't wait a couple hours to see me tonight?"

"I didn't realise I would be seeing you tonight," Eddie says, lifting his brows.

"Oh. I asked, didn't I?"

Eddie shakes his head. "Are you sure? I don't remember you asking, babe, I'm supposed to go play at Gareth's."

Babe is his funniest pet name, in your opinion. It doesn't suit you, or him, but it feels good anyhow. Like you're a babe, supermodel pretty for TV or magazine spreads, long legs and not a single wrinkle that isn't marring the paper itself.

"Bummer for me," you say lightly. "What are you doing, Dio tributes again?"

"Don't say tributes like that, like we're out sacrificing goats in studded jackets."

"That's a good image." You laugh. "That's funny."

"I don't know. He wanted to try something he wrote. Invited Jeff and Jamison. Band's back together."

"I'll get out my t-shirts."

You have all the corny classics; I'm with the band; I'm with the guitarist; a Corroded Coffin faux tour shirt, different Hawkins locations written in typeset sharpie on the back. When you made it, Eddie had been wearing the t-shirt and the ink leaked through. He had 'Lover's Lake, Nov 18' between his shoulder blades and 'The Hideout, May 22' over his tailbone for a week. By day three the words had become illegible but you'd known them anyway, in the same way you knew the dots between the letters H and I were freckles rather than ink spots. You've always looked at him more than you should.

"I could cancel."

You and Eddie experience the natural ups and downs of friendship, or rather the ebb and flow. You know you come back together eventually if you get too far apart, and there hasn't been a time since you met him where you were worried about the permanence of your relationship. You're human, and you get insecure about it anyway, but then he says stuff like that and you're confronted with how close you are. He puts you first. He has other friends, other healthy friendships and a life outside of you, but you still get to be a huge and important part of the majority, and that is more than enough. (It should be more than enough. Some days it is.)

"Now why would you do a thing like that?" you ask, sarcastic but soft. "You know they sound shit without you."

"I don't like knowing you're alone."

"I'm not lonely," you say. Truth or lie.

"That's not what I said." Eddie's eyes narrow.

"It's stupid to worry about me, I always lock the doors. I lock the windows, even the ones upstairs. I don't think I'm gonna fall victim to a home invasion anytime soon."

"I don't think many people think they're gonna be in home invasions until their homes actually get invaded. And it's not really what I'm worried about."

"Do you ever think that we worry too much?"

"Yes. We worry constantly. It's, like, our parasitic relationship with each other."

"Like a tapeworm," you agree solemnly.

"Exactly. I'm your tapeworm. And I'm worried about you."

"Can tapeworms worry?" you ask.

Eddie kicks you mildly. "I don't know? I don't think tapeworms have a level of consciousness beyond what's needed for them to survive. They probably think about eating and parasitizing and that's it. Don't make me ask, please."

You take a pull of your drink to prolong the inevitable. "Ask about what?"

"Your ghost."

"Ah."

Eddie waits.

You sigh again. "Look, I don't even know if she is a ghost, I probably just imagined it."

He pulls himself forward and there's the weight you'd be waiting for, sternness marked into his face one feature at a time. "Liar."

"What?"

"You're lying. You don't think you imagined it." He looks you up and down. “You think I don't know when you're lying?"

"I'm not lying," you lie.

"You are. I know you are," he says, smiling despite the point he's making. "I know what you look like when you do."

"What do I look like?"

"I can't tell you, you might change it, and then I won't know when I'm supposed to look out for you 'cause you never tell me anything."

"I don't want to talk about the ghost."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't believe me," you say too loudly.

Eddie reaches across the table but doesn't touch your hand. He puts his palm down and leans ever forward, says, "Hey, I do."

"No, you don't, you think there's something happening to me."

"What would you think, if it were me?" he asks, frustration seeping in. "Try and see it from how I'm seeing it."

"If it were you'd I'd believe you because you needed me to."

You cringe at yourself and veer back into your chair, shoving your hands between your thighs and clamping your legs closed. Your fingers turn numb.

Eddie doesn't look shocked, exactly. Surprised that you're talking to him unkindly, sure, and concerned.

This whole situation is ill-fated, you know that. What good can come of a ghost? Hooks from the past. "I never should have told you," you say quietly.

"Did you tell me?" Eddie asks, speaking with an anger that forms each word like a cut, clean and hurting. "You won't tell me anything. You tell me she talks to you, that she asks you about me. But you won't say what she says, exactly, and you have nothing to show for it. Your notebook conveniently disappeared. I can’t hear her."

He thinks you're making it up.

Fuck. He thinks you're making it up. Eddie thinks you're lying to him, and while it hurts like a sharp kick to the solar plexus, a flooring, winding pain, it's the embarrassment that has tears glowing along your last line. If he really believes you'd make something up like this for attention, what does he think of you? That you're some silly leech clinging to him through bad lies? That you're bored? That this is a game you're playing with him?

Your heart beats hard enough that you can feel it in your chest. Your hands shake with anger and hurt at once, your leg bouncing under the table in an attempt to keep the rush of it at bay. You look at Eddie with your lips parted, trying to say what you mean and not what you feel. You want to say something scathing, and you don't want to be cruel, and these are two facts existing at the same time.

Eddie has other ideas. He sees your eyes turn glassy, he must, because his anger drains and he turns sorry and soft. It reminds you of a different moment like a film cell played overtop, of a younger, remorseful him. The expression he makes when he's just popped you in the mouth wrestling, or burned behind your ear with the hair iron. An accident.

"I'm sorry," he says. Sheepish, gentle, sincere, embarrassed, too many threads of emotion to summarise with one word. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. Don't cry."

"Fuck off," you mumble, looking down at your bouncing leg. You push your hand against it, forcing it to lay still.

"I didn't mean it."

"Stop, Eddie."

"I'm just hurt you're not telling me everything and I'm acting like an asshole 'cause I'm a big baby," he says, two shades from frantic.

A tear rolls down your cheek. You thought for sure you'd escaped them, but it had already welled, and with nowhere to go it races down your cheek. You paw at it and hope he won't see it.

He does.

Eddie's chair screeches across the floor as he stands up. You know he'll hug you before he's touched you. Same way you know he's freaking out on the inside, allergic to girl tears.

His hands take to your shoulders, hesitating there, and one slides behind your neck so his forearm presses against both shoulder blades. His lips ghost warmly over your forehead as he leans in. His other hand meanders, braceleting the top of your arm and running downward before swiftly changing paths to flatten out against the small of your back.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, rubbing your back.

His tender hug exacerbates the hurt, like an exsanguination. You cry as quietly as you can manage and Eddie feels it under his hands, the two of you condensed at the back of an empty room. You forget where you are, what you're wearing, what you've been fighting about. What he said. You realise how badly you'd needed him to comfort you lately, and hate yourself for giving in.

He shushes you so quietly you think you might have imagined it.

Or maybe it was your ghost.

"I'm sorry," he says, his breath kissing your scalp. "I'm a dick."

"It's fine," you say. You despise yourself for how weak you sound.

"It's not fine."

"I wanted to stay because it's getting worse," you tell him. You don't mean to.

"Okay. Okay. Then you'll stay. It's no biggie."

"It's worse," you say, turning your face into his chest.

You're shaking hard. Eddie can't make it stop no matter how tightly he holds you.

"I'm sorry," he says again.

He doesn't have to be. If he was acting out, fine. If he does or doesn't believe you, fine. You don't need him to see ghosts, or apologise that he can't.

"I just didn't want to do it by myself," you confess, at the very pit of pathetic. You hope he won't hear. Your growing panic about the ghost is a secret you hadn’t meant to tell.

Eddie pulls away. He looks down at you, and if he wanted to he could kiss you, his lips are that close, but he widens the distance. He takes your face into his hands, calluses rough against your tacky cheeks.

"You think I'm gonna let you? I know I'm fucking it up royally right now, I know I'm an asshole, but I'm not fucking going anywhere, okay? Don't worry. Don't worry about it." He drops his hands to your shoulders. "I'm your parasite, right? Do you know how hard it is to get rid of a parasite? Sometimes they have to pull them out, and they're excruciatingly long, it's a process you don't wanna go through–"

You laugh wetly. Eddie promptly stops talking about parasites.

"Forgive me?" he asks.

You nod on automatic. Of course you do.

"I swear she's real," you say, rubbing your forehead with the meat of your thumb. You think she’s real, but the truth is that you just don’t know. You amend quickly, "I swear I'm not lying. I am hearing someone… even if she's not real."

Eddie frowns. "I know. I believe you."

That's when the real trouble begins.

—

Eddie wants to hold your hand desperately. You're wearing your nicest dress, split hem sewn with infinite care, and your dress shoes with the tiny heels. He doesn't get to see you like this very often, and he wishes it were a better occasion.

You've had your hair down at the hair stylists in the city, you're wearing concealer. You've done everything you can to look presentable. You look beautiful. He hopes you know that, at least.

You heave a sigh. You're as anxious as Eddie is to get this over with.

“You remember Hawk?” he asks you.

“Jack 'Hawk'?” you ask.

“Yeah, Hawk.”

“He’d come around for green?” you ask.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Alright. So, when you were on vacation last summer, Hawk knocked on the door, I answered. I’m straight, right? Haven’t sold anything in years, no plans on selling again. But Jack barrels up the steps and starts going on like I promised him something. I said, dude, I don't deal anymore, and could you possibly shut the fuck up? Wayne’s inside making milkshakes. Blender on, couldn’t hear us but I’m sweating bullets.

“Jack, fucker, starts begging.” Eddie leans into your shoulder, hushed. “He’s saying c’mon Munson, I know you got some, don’t you have a personal stash? I’m desperate.” He picks a piece of hair off of your sleeve. “I didn’t, obviously, and I told him that but he’s not listening to me, he’s getting all wild-eyed and fucking wound like he needs the hard shit. I’m just trying to get rid of him at that point, I don’t know if he was tweaking but he looked like he was going to hit me and I wasn’t interested in fighting.” He laughs, encouraging a smile from you. “Wayne’s inside making milkshakes. Full fat with vanilla extract– I’m not about to take a trip to Hawkins General.”

“What did you do?” you ask.

“I said to him, even if I did you wouldn’t be getting anything, asshole, and pushed him toward the steps, you know? It felt good, standing up for myself.”

“And he left?”

“No, he fucking hit me straight in the dick. Can you imagine that? Junk shot on my own front door.”

You gasp with giggly indignation, hanging on his every word now. Eddie knows he’s taken you out of your head, even if it’s temporary.

“He hit you in the dick,” —you whisper ‘dick’ like it’s insidious within these four walls— “‘cause he wanted pot? You should’ve pushed him off of the porch.”

“I would’ve but he fucking winded me.” He starts laughing again, your giggles contagious though you try to smother them with your hand. “It’s funny now, but it wasn’t funny at the time.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“He was five foot one. I’ve never felt that humble in my life, I told Wayne I was coming down with something and had the worst afternoon nap ever. Didn’t even get my milkshake.”

“No,” you mumble sympathetically. Your eyes widen. “Eds, I’m sorry, that’s not funny. He assaulted you–”

Eddie waves his hand at you. “He got in a cheap shot. I was fine. I’ll still have kids.”

You snort, “Thanks for the information.”

“I got him back for it, anyway.”

He pretends like that’s the end of that, like the story doesn’t go on and he has nothing to tell you. You wait raptly for him to explain but he gloats, knowing you're hooked.

You elbow him.

“What?” he asks. “Oh, you wanna know how I got revenge? You’re evil.”

“Less shame and more story,” you say.

“Alright. Are you ready? Here’s where it gets complicated.

“I’m at The Hideout listening to that new band that blazed through here a couple of months ago, Board Growth, or something? They’re incredible, the booze is cold, I’m tipsy and Gareth owes me anyway, I’m putting it all on his tab and he, seemingly, isn’t noticing. It’s great. Better if you hadn’t been on vacation again, what the fuck, but it’s good.

“And there he is. It’s the fucking Hawk. He’s looking down his nose at these young girls smooth-talking them. Or, he’s trying to smooth talk them, but it’s like watching a worm flirt with a praying mantis, okay, we all know who’s gonna lose.” Eddie’s knee rests against yours, your hand is on his thigh, he’s losing the thread of his story fast under the smell of your perfume and hair oil. “I knock back the rest of my drink, slick my hair like I’m James Dean and, in all my drunken intelligence, decide that this is the perfect moment for me to get him back.”

“I wasn’t on vacation.”

“What?”

“I only went once.” You’d gone for two days with some old friends. He remembers now, and rushes to fix the story.

“Why didn’t you come, then?” he asks, flipping the script. “You’re such a flake.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know when this was.”

“Stop bailing on me and ruining my stories,” he says, teasing.

“Okay, you’re hopped up on liquid courage and about to hit Jack in the dick,” you prompt.

“Right! I stroll up to Hawk and he’s instantly wriggly like the worm of a guy he is, and I say, hey Hawk, how’s it hanging?

“Maybe he’s just that stupid or maybe he thinks I’m putting out the olive branch but he actually starts telling me how he’s doing, and I’m looking at these girls as if to say, can you believe this guy? I cut him off, and I’m a loser, I’m not half as cool as I think I am but again I’m slightly incredibly inebriated. I’m making bad decisions.”

“Where’s your cafeteria bravado?” you ask.

“It’s worse than that. Imagine me at my most insufferable. I smile at the girls and I lean into Jack’s space, I’m laughing, I feel bad about what I’m gonna say before I’ve said it but I say it anyways. I lean right into his ear and tell him at full volume how sorry I was to hear about his recent bout of syphilis. I’m just so glad they caught it in time, man,” he says, imitating a past self.

You open your mouth. “And,’ Eddie says, jumping to finish, “so happy you could keep most of it, buddy.”

“Eddie…”

“I’m a bad person.”

“No,” you mumble, hiding your smile on his shoulder, your forehead a hair’s width from his chin. You’d laugh a storm any other day to make him feel good, whether you think he’s funny or not, but today all you can manage is a hand on his leg. “You’re not a bad person, he deserved it… fucking hit you…”

The story isn’t true.

He made it up. Right here right now. He just spent five good minutes of your lives spinning an outrageously awful story with poor jokes and one glaring plot hole, for what?

This is hard. Making you cry, begging you to see what a doctor has to say, playing grown up in a grown ups body. Eddie thought you’d get to be kids forever. He never imagined what would come after school, and then suddenly it is after, and everything’s an ugly boring mess except for you (and Wayne, god bless), and now you’re sick. The waiting room you’re in, the road here, the look on your face when he told you what he wanted from you. It’s all… heartbreakingly monotonous.

One doctor's appointment, he whispered across pillows. Late and neither of you asleep. The sound of cicadas outside and Wayne’s deep snore a room away.

You nodded and closed your eyes, and you didn’t say another word all night.

What’s the worth in a made up story? What good will it do? You have to see the doctor eventually. Distraction, Eddie thinks pleadingly. Relief. He just wants to give you as much relief as he can from what’s happening with the only thing he feels he has —his quick mouth.

He stares at your hand on his thigh. He wills himself to raise his own and put it on top of yours. He channels his thoughts, like this is telekinesis and not his own body, move. Move your hand, he says to himself.

It's a millimetre out of his pocket when they call your name.

You shoot up like a stalk and smile at the nurse who's come to collect you. You don't look jittery anymore, but there's a distinct doe in the headlights look about you as Eddie watches you trail down the hallway into the doctor's office. You look back at him three times, and each time is a whip.

As soon as the door closes, he bends forward in his chair and heaves a sickly sigh. His nausea has him coughing into his hand and praying he doesn't throw up here. If they want you to go somewhere today, like a pharmacy for temporary medication, or the emergency room for a CAT scan, he can't be covered in his own vomit.

A child babbles across the room. Eddie peeks at her through his fingers. She's pale with dark hair, much like Eddie himself, and her mom is the same. The kid's mom doesn't look like Eddie's mom besides that, but seeing her here in a hospital makes it impossible not to think of her. She's been on his mind so much lately. Her birthday is at the end of the month, and it isn't the same —she'd been in hospital for three brutally short days— but you're being here is like peeling the scab off of a wound he thought healed years ago.

Mom was everything. She was willowy and beautiful and tough as a board. She was smart, she knew everything; how to make microwave pizza taste gourmet, how to make whistles out of blades of grass, how to make a bad day feel brand new.

He wished he could say that he has her every detail committed. The cruellest, most terrifying thing about the people we love is that they aren't permanent, not their life and not what they leave behind. Over time, his mom has turned from an aching spear of love to a dappling of sunlight through the branches of an old tree — scattered. Beautiful and impossible and a thousand pieces in his memory, slowly fading over time.

There'll come a day where Eddie can't remember her. He knows that. He knows his frame of reference for who she was will reduce down to her photographs, and the nearly empty bottle of her perfume under his bed.

Eddie is haunted by her absence everyday.

There is no corporeal apparition of her at his shoulder, no cool chill running down his spine, but he's haunted all the same. It's why he won't accept your ghost. It's why he can't. He knows what it feels like to have someone with him who isn't really here, and he won't let you suffer through the same thing. He'll protect you from this, from her.

Even if it means he has to take you to doctors offices an hour out of town. If he has to bargain for it, and make you cry at work, and– and fucking drive this wedge between you, he'll do it.

He needs you to be okay.

He can't think about his mom anymore. He loves her, he misses her, but if he thinks about her too much he won't be able to stand up.

Eddie sits up, takes a lungful of air in, and waits. He senses you as you come back down the hall, grateful for your dry cheeks, and your small, small smile. Tiny but irrefutably there.

He stands up and holds out his hand. You don't take it, but you walk into his side so your hips are pressed together and he falls into step with you.

"So…" he says.

"She asked if I was getting enough sleep," you say, "and I told her I was. I explained everything to her like I promised I would, even– even… I told her everything. And um, she seemed very open."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, she– OK." You frown.

"Listen, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I know I practically forced you to come, but it's still your life, and you can have privacy from me–"

"It's not that. I just don't want to cry in here."

He puts his hand on your shoulder, his arm folded against your shoulder. You don't speak until you're out of the doctor's office and weaving through people as you walk toward the parking lot.

"She thinks I'm having auditory hallucinations. And that it could be an initial symptom of schizophrenia, or something else. She said it usually starts around my age, and–"

"Hey, it's okay," he says, though internally he feels as distressed as you're beginning to look, horrified by your crumpling chin and wringing hands. "It's okay. You don't have to say it if it's going to upset you."

"It might not be anything," you say, shaking your head. "She said the human brain is complicated, and sometimes stuff like this just happens. She wants to, uh," —your voice twists up very high— "see me again after I've had some sleep to see if it's persisting."

Eddie nods. He's fucking glad that the doctor took you seriously, grateful for her advice and her reluctance to misdiagnose you with something. It's not as though Eddie wants you to be experiencing hallucinations. But he thinks you are, and he needs help looking after you if that’s the case.

"Did she prescribe anything?" he asks.

"A week's worth of ambien. She didn't really want to, but I told her about, you know, you coming over to make sure I'm okay, and I know that was because of the gh–" You bite your lip. You're shaking like a leaf. "Well, she thought it was you making sure I'm not an insomniac. Which I'm not."

"I'm really proud of you," he says quietly. "I know you don't want this to be happening. I get it, I promise. I don't want it either, but this is a good thing."

He can see you regaining some composure. You smile a little, and you offer him your prescription paper. "You know it only costs seven dollars for seven ambien?"

"I could get you some for free."

Your laugh startles him. "No, I don't think so."

"I'm not offering. Just saying. I know a guy."

"No, you knew a guy who knows a guy who could get me something ridiculous, like a percocet."

"I'd never give you anything like that."

"I know." You come to a halt. The cloudy weather paints you in shadow. "I'm sorry this is happening."

"You're what?" He doesn't let you answer moving to stand in front of you. "Why would you apologise for this?"

"Because it's my head," you say stiffly.

"You didn't want this to happen. And– and it might not be happening at all. You'll try the ambien, and you'll take care of yourself, and we'll go from there. I wasn't trying to scare you… I wish I could brush it off, you know? I wish I could believe that you…" He takes you in. Your skirt and jacket are swaying in the cold wind. You look one sharp shove from falling over. "I get that it isn't like me, to not believe in the fantasy–"

You save him from his miserable attempt at placating you.

"I know."

He licks his lips.

"I love you," Eddie says as he starts toward the van again. "Let's go fill your prescription, and then I'll get you whatever you want to eat."

"Boys are so weird about I love you," you say, following. The light behind your eyes makes your teasing worth it. "You say it like you chewed on it first. Struggled to get that one out, did you?"

It's not your best insult. Neither of you are exactly on form.

"Just so hard to say it to you."

You take what you perceive to be an insult on the chin. Only Eddie knows there's a sliver of truth in what he's said.

You generously let him help you into the passenger seat. He's hopeful that your mood's improved until that wretched frown worms its way across your pretty mouth once again. You wait for him to round the hood and start the van before you explain yourself.

"There's a support group. For anybody who's, um, hearing voices. Schizophrenics, manic depressives…"

"Is that something you want to go to?"

"I don't know. Can I be honest with you?"

"Yeah. Absolutely."

"I don't know if I believe that it isn't real. I know that's the point. The definition of hallucination is, uh… an experience involving the apparent perception of something not present, and so… it makes sense. My ghost isn't there, even if I think she is, so I must be hallucinating, but Eddie," —you shrink in on yourself— "I have this feeling that won't go away."

He loves you. You're terrified.

He's already guessed what you're going to ask for.

"Can we try again? Please? I'll take the meds and I'll go to the support group, but in the meantime, could you please come back and just– just listen. Maybe it takes a while for her to talk to someone else." You scrub your face. "Fuck. I sound fucking crazy."

Eddie squeezes the wheel. "Don't say that. Don't say it like you've done something wrong. You didn't do anything wrong."

People say crazy but they mean sick. They ridicule what they can't understand.

He doesn't understand, but he wants to. He says, "If you want me to, we'll try again. I'll come over."

You look up from your palms. He notices almost habitually that they're smaller than his. When you were young teenagers there'd been a short period of time where you'd been the taller one, with bigger hands and a bigger smile. Lately, you've seemed small.

"Really?" you ask hopefully.

"You came here 'cause I asked you to. It was hard for you." He turns his eyes to the road and turns the key until the Beauville's engine is thrumming with life. "I'd do a lot of shit for you, superstar. Like, anything. If you need me to keep trying then I will. And you'll–"

"I'll keep trying too," you promise.

It's all he can ask for.

—

The sky is all kinds of grey. It stretches like a sheet from one corner of your eye to the other, darker toward each limit of your vision, a gradual decay into colourlessness toward the very top where the sun fights hardest to burst through an impossible expanse of clouds. They seem thick as marshmallo, but where they begin is hard to decipher.

Your eyes feel sore. You imagine a hand reaching for you, hitting you, pressing its cold knuckles to each bruised eye socket to calm the raging ache behind them. You hadn't expected to feel this way. It isn't the first time you have, but to feel so intensely unreal while there's someone still with you is new. You lean your weight against the sill and let your arms swing from the open window ledge, knuckles scraping the scratchy brick of the house's exterior walls, instantly chilled by the weather.

A black band of birds burst across the sky somewhere leftwards. The pitch and tumble with no discernible formation. They're too far to hear. You imagine the flap of wings, their buoyed cawing, screeching to one another as they swim between pylon cables and their brothers spread wings.

"What kind of birds do you think they are?" Eddie asks.

You feel his weight settle into the ottoman beside you. You'd dragged it to the window with tired arms. You haven't felt up to anything since you got home, though Eddie's promise should've restored a little hope. He's going to keep trying to meet your ghost. You'll have to hope you don't get worse before that.

You know, starkly, that you aren't having auditory hallucinations. You know, starkly, that your ghost had written to you in your missing notebook.

But maybe that's the nature of your hallucination. A night bent over the pocket dictionary had ended as this one begins, with the crushing realisation that you cannot trust what you know. To put it plainly, you're afraid that you're mentally unwell. Terrified of how it’s going to change your life, the people in it.

Eddie's afraid too.

Your orange bottle of pills glares like a flame to your right where it stands waiting for you on the nightstand. Eddie's made up your bed for the two of you. He could sleep in the guest room, and he never has.

"I don't know," you say hoarsely. Your voice sounds as you feel, like something has its hooks in you, and it's dragging you down, down…

"They're too big to be pigeons."

"They're too dark. They're crows," you guess, tracing an outlier as he skirts the crowd of his family and spirals up into the air.

Like a party trick, you expect him to disappear, or explode, or rocket up into the cotton clouds and out of view. He slows as he falls, and then he dives back toward the main swarm of birds as they migrate toward the horizon.

There's a feeling brewing in you that you don't like.

If you can't trust your own perception. If real isn't real. If you need someone to sit beside you and distinguish real from fake, if… if you're sick.

If you're sick, what does that mean?

You search for something in the air to hold onto.

Eddie hums softly, his hand pushing out into the static as he points toward the glowing clouds. "Sun's going down slow."

You raise your hand and wrap it around his. It isn't enough. You force your fingers between the gaps of his, just a little longer, thicker, solid, and lock him in. He feels real. That's the key. As far as you know, hallucinations don't carry that far. Bugs crawling over your skin and through the strands of your hair, an itch you can't scratch, a drop of rain from a concrete ceiling, the brain can recreate these things. But the exact width of Eddie's palm or the feeling of his calluses against your loveline, your lifeline, and the heartbeat that bumps against the meat of your thumb when you focus, that's impossible. That's a level of precision the human brain can't find.

Right?

Eddie curls his thumb around yours. You can feel his gaze on your cheek like a breath blown between parted lips. You turn toward him, and you catalogue every little mar or mark, every fine hair. His wrinkles, his textured jaw. The strands of a fallen curl come apart near his eye, grown out bangs kissing the highest point of his cheek.

You're panicking. There's a thumping behind your eyes.

"I don't know if you look right," you say.

"I look very right. I'm extremely handsome," he says.

You hold his hand out of the window, worried you'll drop it, and it'll fall.

If Eddie were at home tucked into his double bed a mile away, she would've talked to you by now. Your breath shortens as the meaning behind that thought solidifies.

She only comes when you're alone. Why do you think that is?

She's not real.

Is that how it works? Can hallucinations, auditory, visual, or otherwise, take place in the company of others? You know next to nothing. Maybe they aren’t so common with loved ones standing guard.

You push your head out of the window again and look down at the flat, dying grass in the backyard, a yellowing carpet of bluegrass. Bluegrass is prominent because it can grow anywhere, like mould. With all the rain these past few days, the grass should've livened into a plush and solid green, like the lawns in the southern side of Hawkins where the rich people lavish in sprinklers and gardeners alike. It remains rumpled.

Eddie rubs the back of your hand. It's far from the closest you've ever been. There have been nights you spent unawares in his arms, waking with your face tucked into his neck, so embarrassed you couldn't look at him afterward. But it's the most intimate touch you've ever endured. The whorls of his fingerprint embossing itself into your hand, a quarter circle that doesn't cease. Time feels brief and unsteady.

Eddie must realise you're having a bad moment. He shuffles closer to you, your arms twined, his hair tickling your shoulders. It snaps you back, in a way, with its softness.

"Let's go to bed," he says when the sky's more charcoal than light.

You're cold. You follow. You latch your hand in his and he doesn't say a word, closing and locking your window with one hand, pulling the sheets of your bed back deftly for you to climb in. You slide across to the outermost side and he follows, leaning over you to pull the sheets to your chin.

He stays hovering there.

He holds very still.

"Everything's going to be okay," he whispers.

"What if it isn't?"

"It will be, you…" he trails off. He keeps your hand in his, but he plants his elbow on the other side of you, like a lover about to share sweet nothings, his face so, so close. "You'll be okay, no matter what happens."

"I wish she'd told me more," you say.

"The doctor?" He draws a small, careful line across your cheek with his index finger. "Sweetheart, we'll find out everything there is to find."

"I want to know how scared I should be. Because this feels like torture."

"You don't have to be scared." Eddie smiles, and as far as you can tell, though you're having trouble trusting yourself, it's one of his genuine smiles. "Why do you think I'm here, huh? It's not to watch as something bad happens."

You lift your chin. He's too close to look at both eyes at once: you have to choose, and you can't. Your irises dance back and forth between them, shuddering in indecision.

"You'll look after me," you say, not a question.

He turns his hand, stroking down the length of your cheek with the backs of his fingers. They feel much softer than the undersides, the flat of his nails like silk. Your eyes burn as you free your hand from his, hoping he'll be kind with that one, too.

"I'll look after you."

You tuck your hands behind the trim of his waist and, knowing you shouldn't, let them feed into his shirt. You draw a shaking line through the downy soft blanketing the small of his back until your finger is skipping up the jutting bumps of his spine. It's like climbing a staircase by touch alone. You wonder if anyone else had ever done this to him, if they ever wanted to, and if he'd let them.

Eddie releases a breath. Warmth feathers along your skin.

His hand strokes down to your neck, resting at your collar. Half a second and his petting returns, the side of his thumb brushing your soft jawline tenderly.

He must feel you swallow. His pupils travel down the whites of his eyes like the steady descent of the setting sun.

"I can't," he says softly.

Can't what? you want to ask. You don't know if you should. You know the answer, but does he?

"You're not all here," he says, hand paused. He cups your cheek, holds you in place. You hadn't been moving. "But when you are, I could. I could."

"I don't know if I…" you drift off. How can you explain it to him? I don't know if I'll feel better any time soon.

His eyes move sideways, as if the instruction for your reassurance lay somewhere in the apple of your cheek.

You don't want him to kiss you if it's a fixative meant to soothe your rampant nerves. You want him to kiss you for a hundred reasons, but that's not one of them. You're not sure he wants to kiss you beyond that.

He would, you realise. Kiss you, if he thought you wanted it badly enough. That's a lot of power to have over someone, more than you want over him, and you can't ask him to. You look away from his eyes and search upward, trembling hands and the starts of your forearms pressed to his back, hiking his shirt up one inch at a time.

He sits up agonisingly slowly, in the same way the sky has fallen from light to dusk; inchingly, so as to escape notice, until suddenly you can't feel the emanating heat of his chest against yours anymore, and the only light inside of your room is a yellow band sliced by the ajar door.

Your hands fall back. One under the sheets, one over. Eddie sits where you lay, his hands at the crook of your elbows. He gives symmetrical, superficial massages to each.

The life has been sapped from you, as if it were tied to the sun sunk beyond the horizon. A brutal fatigue sets in.

"You should take your ambien," he murmurs.

"Okay."

The eye tattooed on his arm seems to follow you as he reaches for your seven dollar bottle. He twists off the cap and shakes a single pill out for you, and you watch as the lines of his arms start to blur.

You take your pill, lying firmly in the middle of your pillow, and wonder if now would be an appropriate time to burst into panicked tears.

"I'll look after you," Eddie repeats after a while. Or maybe he doesn't. The weight of the day and the helping kick of your medication pulls you under. He lays down next to you carefully, his hand searching under the covers for yours.

And there, standing in the corner of the room, is your ghost. Real. Stunningly, terrifyingly real.

You can’t open your mouth wide enough to warn him.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

end of part one! thank you so much for reading, I really hope that you enjoyed! this was my baby and such a labour of love in April and I’m so happy now to share it :D if you have the time, please consider reblogging, it means so much to me and I’d love to know your thoughts on the story so far <3<3

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

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keyotos · 1 year

Note

i am absolutely in love with ur writing AND with gepard landau,, can i request a first kiss fic for him? i read your kiss the girl fic for dan heng and ITS SO GOOD!! tysm in advance, take care of yourself!

teenage dream

summary ⎯ gepard knows he can't keep these feelings to himself. gepard also knows that he can never tell you about how he feels. so, he goes to the person he tells all his secrets to: serval. serval, who told pela. pela, who is determined to set you two up. and doing so, entails a bookish adventure for you to enjoy.

tana's words ⎯ i too am in love with gepard. i feel u anon. also thank u for the kind words!

tags ⎯ matchmaking (serval and pela). first kiss. pining (this should be expected). bookish!reader. bookstore owner!reader. oblivious idiots.

IT’S EXTREMELY SURPRISING TO HEAR GEPARD frantically knocking on the doors of nevermore workshop, so serval obviously had to open the doors for him.

when he entered, gepard immediately shut the doors as if he was being followed. the expression on his face was dire; he looked as if he was chased by wolves and he was being hunted down.

“gepard?” serval asked, concern dripping in her tone, “what the hell happened?”

“serval,” gepard panted. serval was getting worried; this was all irregular behavior coming from gepard, “i need help.”

gepard never asked for help. he is one of the most self-sufficient and stubborn people serval knows. he would rather stare death in the face instead of asking someone for help.

“what is it?” serval rushed by his side, “whatever you need, i got you.”

“i think i have feelings for,” gepard sighed, palm dragging across his face, “the owner of the bookstore,” he finishes quietly.

serval’s jaw dropped. it wasn’t because of the declaration of gepard’s crush. it was that he made it sound so dramatic. serval thought that he was being tracked down and was about to be sent to the madhouse.

“are you serious!” serval shoved gepard, “i thought you were about to die or something!”

gepard recoiled at serval’s shove; his sister was stronger than most people thought, “it feels like i am! every time i’m around them my heart rate quickens so much that i think i’m about to have a heart attack. i get all nervous on the inside and i can barely think with them beside me.”

aeons, gepard has definitely fallen in love with you.

“wait⎯so, where are you gonna go from here?” serval leaned on the counter, trying to process all the words her brother confessed.

“that’s the thing,” gepard sighed again. he sounded like a lovesick puppy, “i don’t know. that’s why i came here, i thought you’d be able to help.”

“um. you are aware of my past relationship with cocolia, right? i think i’m like the least qualified person you should be asking romance advice from,” serval pointed out.

“i don’t know who else i could tell,” gepard ran a hand through his hair. this was really stressing him out.

“how about you just… tell them?” serval suggested.

“no!!” gepard shook his head distraughtly, “i can’t do that. what if they don’t feel the same?”

“then it’s not meant to be,” serval said, “simple as that.”

“but it’s not,” gepard whined. serval thought he was making this a lot more complicated than it needed to be. when she was his age, she confessed her feelings to cocolia like it was nothing. they were happy until the break up anyway.

but then it donned on serval. gepard had little to no relationship experience. the only “experience” serval remembers him having was when they were children: his friend had a crush on him and tried to confessed, but gepard rejected her.

that’s why gepard was so distressed. he had no idea how to go on with this. these feelings for you? all new. what he missed out as a teenager, he is now getting as an adult.

“tell you what,” serval wrapped her arm around her brother’s shoulder, “i’ll get this sorted out. trust me. yn will never know about this,” she reassured him.

“you just go along with your guardly duties. i’ll help you,” serval grinned. she knew that she had the perfect plan. except, she couldn’t do it alone.

pela already knew about your crush on the silvermane guard captain. every time he greeted the two of you at the book store, pela practically saw the hearts in your eyes. it was sickening and disgusting, but it was cute too.

what pela didn’t know, however, was that gepard has a crush on you as well.

serval came to pela just a few minutes after gepard’s confession. she knew that she probably shouldn’t have told pela right after the conversation happened, but serval didn’t know how else to console gepard.

“so… you’re telling me that they both like each other?!” serval slammed her hands on the counter. “and they’re both too scared to confess!?”

“that’s exactly what i said, yes,” pela monotonously replied.

you knew that there couldn’t be anything between you and gepard. it was highly improbable that you, a bookstore owner, would be able to gain the captain of the silvermane guard’s interest. it seemed like something straight out of a fictional (key word: fictional) romance novel.

so you appreciated his friendship while he was around. sometimes, as a way to become closer to the captain, you’d suggest different books to him every week. despite being on the front lines quite often, he always comes back to see you. well, he comes back for the books anyway.

serval groaned into her hands, “so what do we do? they both like each other but they literally can’t bear to admit it.”

pela smirked. she’s read enough romance novels to figure out what to do next.

“two words, serval,” pela smirked, “grand. gesture.”

gepard took a few deep breaths before approaching your book store. after his chat with serval, he's been distressed the entire day. he had these feelings for you storming all over his body; occasionally, they'd get so strong that it would feel like those feelings would overtake him.

he opened the door, book in hand, and greeted you formally. gepard couldn't help it: he was so nervous, he wasn't able to function straight.

"hello, captain gepard," you turned around. you were on a latter stacking books on top of bookshelves. originally, you thought it would be cool to have towering shelves, however you quickly learned that it was extremely impractical and difficult.

"i told you," gepard stood near the counter, refusing to slouch in your presence, "you can call me gepard."

"and i told you," you grunted, trying to reach a higher spot on a shelf, "to drop the formalities," you grinned to yourself.

gepard noticed your (potentially) perilous situation and quickly got near the end of the latter. in the case that you fall, at least gepard would be there to catch you.

fortunately, you made your way down the tall latter peacefully. as you descended, the sight of gepard holding down the latter for you made you flush. it was the bare minimum, but it still made your heart speed up.

when he reached out his hand to guide you down (it was out of instinct), you gave him a warm smile. it looked easy on the outside, but you were burning up on the inside. similarly, gepard had the same reaction. for you, he'd do anything.

"thank you," you held onto his hand for a little longer. once you realized what you were doing you quickly recoiled your hand away and apologized. gepard wished your hand was still entwined with his; he wanted to hold onto to the feeling of your hand in his. gepard wanted to trace patterns on your hands, wanted to feel every part of them.

as an attempt to dissipate the tension (it was making you nervous), you decided to ask gepard for help. "we had a busy day yesterday. a best seller recently came out; people were storming the shelves. good for my profit but not good for my sanity," you let out an airy laugh, "would you mind helping me clean up?"

realizing what you just did (asking the captain of the silvermane guards for help) you quickly added, "unless you're busy! then i'll be okay. you can leave. i'll be fine," you rambled.

gepard parted his lips, almost as if he was about to say something. how could you ever think he wouldn't make time for you? even so, he'd deploy a few other guards if you needed help. he'd make sure your needs were met as soon as possible.

he reached his arm out; his hands were close to your collarbone. then he reached back, scared of what would happen next. how silly. the captain of the silvermane guards was not scared of no monster, but of rejection of the one he likes.

"i'll stay for anything," gepard blurted. you were taken aback for a second, but then once you realized what he had just said, you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and covertly pinched yourself to make sure that whatever was happening was not a dream.

gepard didn't intend to add, "anything," to his sentence. but his mind was thinking it, and then it just accidentally came out. he meant what he said though. if the bluntness of his voice didn't show his sincerity, the blush that was slowly grazing his face probably did.

"thank you, gepard," you bit the inside of your lip to keep yourself from beaming too hard. you had to turn away from the captain once again, for your smile at his words would be too embarrassing to show. how silly of you to act so giddy and childish at one simple word.

gepard thinks he could hear you say his name a million times, and he would never get bored. he wants to hear his name on your lips as if it were a mantra; you've said his name a few times before, and each time he swears he gets more and more addicted to the sound.

"how about i start on the right and you'll start on the left. that way, we'll both finish in the middle!" you clapped your hands together. you gave gepard a reassuring smile.

you two started on opposite sides, but how gepard wished that you two would be closer. however, there are positives to this situation. gepard can brainstorm ideas for the "grand gesture" pela and serval texted him about.

gepard already had ideas in mind. he just needed to figure out the material for them. he obviously will not tear out papers from a book; that will cause more harm than good (for you and gepard; he cares about books).

while gepard was planning, you were blushing. you still couldn't believe he actually stayed with you. surely, there are more important deeds than helping out a leisurely bookstore owner. and this was the most boring task ever: organizing books. yet, gepard was still here. and he was only a few feet away from you.

you turned back to observe gepard; you wanted to see if you had trapped him in a boring task or not. to your surprise, gepard seemed to be enjoying this. he would flip through pages of various books, spend time reading the summaries; gepard would even go as far to reading the first few pages of some books.

gepard liked to read. at first, he started coming to the bookstore to fetch some books for pela. however, after he met you, he began to adopt a newfound interest in books that he never had before. he read some of pela's books, discovered that he did not like them, and went to browse for more. that's when you came up. you thought you had talked his entire ear off that entire morning; you went on and on and on about what kind of books he would like.

you tried to ignore him afterwards; you even offered the books for free because you were so embarrassed. but gepard kept coming back. your recommendations impressed him: gepard had never met anyone who was so meticulous at their craft. and he loved hearing you talk. he loved your rambles, your rants, your reviews. maybe that was the first sign.

gepard caught your gaze as he turned around. he had the same motivation as you: he wanted to see how you were faring in this task. did you miss the proximity you had before? are you flustered as well? do you like him too?

you two were both staring at each other, thoughts racing, until you shouted, "see something you like?" to break the tension.

gepard thought the question was a taunt at first; similar to asking, "like what you see?"

"no!" he abruptly shouted, trying to hide the fact that he was just staring at you. and then he realized the real meaning of your question: he was browsing the books with such intensity. the truth was, he was trying to find your favorite books. you've informed him about them before, always on your bookish rants. he was going to use them for his gesture later on.

thinking that he now looks like an idiot, gepard tries to save himself by shouting back, "i mean⎯ yes! i do. these books are nice," he tried to cover up.

you seemed not to register his mistake, as you tell him, "whatever you want, it's on the house. for your work today. it'll be on the house for life!" you put some books on some shelves and move closer to the middle.

gepard shook his head and chuckled, "you've always given books to me for free." he put some books back and continued around the room.

"are you complaining?" you raised an eyebrow, "what if i just kept a tab on you this entire time? and you never knew?" more books get put away.

"then i'd rightfully pay you back," gepard wholeheartedly responded, "or i'd arrest you," he joked.

you mock-gasped, "for what?" you're getting closer to the middle now.

stealing my heart, the intrusive part of gepard's mind thought. he'd been hanging out with serval too much; he would never say that. gepard internally cringed.

"false advertising," he moved closer to the middle, “i don't know," he smiled to himself. gepard doesn't think he would have the heart to arrest you.

you blushed at hearing the captain lost on amendments. the captain wouldn't know how to arrest you. is this flirting? or are you reading too much into it?

you don't know if the heat on the back of your neck is from gepard's words or the sun shining so brightly on the back of your neck. you stack some more books on shelves; you've now reached the middle. you're having trouble reaching one of the shelves, but you're too lost in your thoughts to even think about that.

in fact, you're too lost in your thoughts that you don't even notice the warmth disappear from the back of your neck. your cheeks are still warm, so you are still blushing. your struggles with the tall bookshelf are lost when you feel a hand over yours.

"i'll take that," gepard quietly mumbles. it's so quiet that you didn't hear it at first.

on instinct, you turn towards him. when you looked at the position the both of you were in, you noticed that you were caged against him. you were caged against the captain of the silvermane guards. against a bookshelf.

gepard towered over you. his body was centimeters closer to fully pressing on you. his breath was fanning on your face. you could see every detail of his face from your view from below. your hands were so close to grazing his chest, so you immediately slapped them to your sides. you gulp, you start to breath quicker, and you feel like you're about to combust.

you swallowed, trying not to move. you were frozen in place as you tried not to disturb gepard. you gaped at him as he was working to organize the books, not noticing the position the two of you were in.

when gepard finished, he gave a sigh of relief. he underestimated your job: if you had to do this every day, you were probably stronger than some of his soldiers. when he opened his eyes, he was greeted by your wide eyes staring right into his.

he was breath-taken by your beauty. the look in your eyes as you look into his was captivating. gepard needed it framed. the way your lips parted made him go feral; his heart stuttered with every second he looked at you.

his arm was pinned above your head. your bodies were so close that you kept focusing on the rise and fall of gepard’s chest. the way his expression scanned yours made you want to quiver against him.

you said the first sentence, “hard work?” your tone was breathless. you were still trying to catch your breath.

“yeah,” he sighed, still not noticing the way your bodies curved into each other, “hard work.”

“did i waste your time?” you whispered. it was quiet, like you were ashamed of your actions. you looked down at his chest rather than his face.

“no,” gepard leaned in, trying to hear your voice one more time. he tilted your head up slightly with his fingers so you could look at him, “you’d never.”

silence crippled the room. it was just you and gepard, the two of you leaning oh-so-close together that your lips were nearly about to touch. a part of you wanted to lean into him; you wanted to pull him closer and closer until you were both out of breath.

but that was delusional. that was something straight out of romance novels, and your life was anything but.

gepard leaned in closer on purpose. he gave into temptation and wanted to feel your lips on his. he wanted to grab you by the waist and pull you so tightly into him. he wanted this: he wanted your kiss, he wanted your insight, he wanted you.

but with gepard, want is not something one could have. especially one like him.

“i’m sorry,” he abruptly let go, “i’m⎯i think, i have something i need to do,” he took a few steps back away from you, leaving about three feet in distance. quite the opposite from how you two were positioned a few seconds ago.

“oh,” you let go immediately. “i’m sorry! i didn’t know,” you quickly ran to the other side of the room. you wanted to hide from embarrassment.

“not your fault!” gepard shouted as he headed for the exit, “goodbye mx yn!”

you didn’t bother to say goodbye as you slammed the door shut after he left. what just happened was mortifying. the position you two were in? the way you two gradually leaned closer to each other? no wonder he ran away, you thought, you must’ve scared him off.

oh, if only you knew how wrong you were.

you didn't see gepard for a week after the incident. he hadn't come into the bookstore at all the entire week. however, that also could've been your fault: you've been in and out of the bookstore for the past week. if you faced gepard after the incident (you've dubbed), you'd probably apologize and beg for forgiveness.

but still, wouldn't he come in and leave a note? wouldn't he at least stop by once? did you scare him off that badly? the more you thought about it, the more you thought about becoming a hermit.

you'd thought you terrified him and ruined your friendship (and any future hope of a relationship) until flowers appeared on the counter of the bookstore. your assistant refused to let you know who they were from.

you bent down and eyed the pot of flowers sitting on the counter. they were your favorite color: pink. you had to admit, they were gorgeous. they looked well grown, as if these were from a master gardener. the flowers bloomed perfectly, each petal reaching out for the sun.

the message of the flowers also intrigued you. begonias are the flowers that symbolizes knowledge and deep thoughts. whoever gifted these to you must have been very observant or they wanted to be your intern.

"did someone come by asking to be my intern?" you stood up and put your hands on your hips. your lip twisted in thought. you were a bit preoccupied at the moment; the bookstore was getting exceptionally busy and (with your whole gepard crisis going on) you didn't think you were fit to be a mentor at the moment.

"no," your assistant shook her head. you leaned back on the counter, wondering why (and who) would gift you flowers on such a strange day. you already knew it wasn't gepard, due to the awkward tension surrounding the both of you right now, so you had a big list to narrow down.

"but," your assistant continued, "someone dropped off this letter with the flowers. they told me to give it to you after you saw the flowers," your assistant handed you the letter.

it was very formal, the letter. it's envelope was very extravagant, fit for someone with high standards. the stamp was still warm, meaning that this letter had been written recently. you tore open the envelope to reveal it's contents.

yn,

please do me the honor of accompanying me to everwinter cafe tonight. i would really appreciate seeing you there.

"g.l." you paused, "as in green lantern?!" you asked your assistant, wide eyes and all. "who is trying to cosplay as a superhero to talk to me? this is insane. did i owe someone a book or something? charged them extra?" you panicked.

your assistant frowned at your idiocy. who else could 'gl' entail to besides gepard landau? "what if it's the captain," your assistant urged on, nudging your shoulder.

"it couldn't be the captain," you jolted. does your assistant know? "we barely even talk," you try to reason.

"he comes in here nearly every day," your assistant counters, "if not every day, be it every other day," they sighed.

"he just comes in to look at books," you placed the flowers in a safe space in the shelves. "we don't converse as often as you think."

"you talk every day," you assistant drags on. "you're telling me that the two of you have no relations whatsoever?"

"we⎯it's complicated," you sighed, "long story short, it could never be the captain," you looked down at the plant. even if it was gepard, what was he doing? sending anonymous flowers? cryptic notes? why couldn't he just talk to you?

"you should go," your assistant encouraged, "you never know. it could be the captain or it could be another potential secret admirer."

"you think?" you raised an eyebrow. your assistant nodded in response.

you looked at the flowers one more time. though you wished it was gepard who sent them, you knew it was probably someone else trying to flatter you into taking them in as an intern. but as you stared at the begonias, no other thoughts beside gepard consumed your mind

it was late when you walked to everwinter cafe. tonight was not a particularly chilly night, but belobog's slight chill was ever present.

you walked around aimlessly, trying to walk slowly so you can prolong the sight of your "intern." you tried to focus on other things as you walked past, such as the plants and heaters surrounding the city. it's wondrous how things such as plants are still able to flourish in times like these.

as you viewed your surroundings, you saw a note placed on a lamppost close to the cafe. it read, "'i know you're working. i wanted to be somewhere...' safe? familiar? comfortable? 'near you.'

you automatically knew which book that quote was from. book lovers by emily henry. it was your favorite romance book; you've raved about it many times with gepard.

as you continued, you saw another note, "'if you saw yourself the way other people see you, you'd never doubt again.' 'how do people see me?' 'like you're the most beautiful, most remarkable, thing they've ever seen."

you must admit, you blushed a little bit while internally reading that. the only reason you blushed was that because you discussed that quote with gepard. you were talking about the 'twisted' series and how it had it's pros and cons with gepard, and this quote was one of the pros.

another read, "'who are they? the best part of my day.'"

another, "books she has found, are a way to live a thousand lives."

and the last, "'favorite word?' 'you.'"

you quickly noticed that these were all quotes from your favorite books. these are books you've only discussed and rambled about with one person: gepard. you'd never thought he would've actually read these books. let alone, you'd never thought gepard would also quote them.

with slightly more hope than before, you ran up to everwinter cafe.

"did you get my message?" gepard stood tall in front of you. you couldn't look into his eyes and it was killing him.

"your letter? yes, i did. and your flowers too. they were beautiful," you rocked back and forth on your heels.

"thank you, i grew them myself," he gave you a soft smile. you wanted to talk about how he managed to even grow such beautiful flowers, but how could you talk to him if you couldn't even look at him in the eyes? "but, did you get my message?"

you looked down at the many notes in your hand. it turns out gepard had left notes after all, "oh yes. i did," you blushed at the obvious context of the quotes. "all my favorite books."

"yeah," gepard spoke breathlessly, as if all of his air had run out after he started speaking to you, "but did you get my message?" he looked at your face for any type of indication: whether you liked him back, hated him, or had no strong feelings towards him. his eyes darted throughout your face, and the sight made you slightly flustered. he was leaning over you, and you thought you saw his eyes graze over your lips.

then it donned on you. the flowers. the letter. the sneaking out at night. the romantic context of all the quotes. the way all the quotes were from your favorite books that you've only talked about with him. the way gepard has admired and remembered every single thing about you. your stomach dropped as you realized gepard had been feeling the same things you have felt for him this entire time. your heart pounded in your chest as you finally met his eyes in the pale moonlight.

"yes," you swiftly exhaled. it was like all your hidden feelings for gepard were compacted in your chest, and when you finally breathed, they were all let out. it was like all your troubles were leaving you, "i did."

"and..." gepard trailed off, now failing to meet you in the eyes. he was terrified of your rejection; your opinion was one of the things that mattered most to him. before, he regarded it was his passion for the people, but now he recognizes that he was just passionate for you. "did you like it?"

"i loved it," you smiled; it wasn't just a soft smile this time, like the ones you've always given him. it was a big smile: loud and talkative, much like you. one smile could convey so much.

but you still had thoughts, "i didn't need all of this though," you grabbed his hand for reassurance. you were in range of his lips. you could close the gap right now.

gepard froze; your words and your touch made him tense. he was finally able to look you in the eye, having prepared himself for iminent rejection and was ready to leave. whatever you needed, he would do.

"what do you need?" gepard asked frantically. "whatever you need, i will give it to you. whether it be space or never seeing me again."

what you needed? you needed his thoughts, his opinions, his reassurance. you needed his touch on a cold night, you needed his arm around you when you were cold, you needed to feel him beside you on nights similar to this. you needed everything that he was.

"i need you," you whispered up on his lips. "right now."

and gepard swore the entirety of everwinter city heard his heart drop to the ground. he was sure that you could feel his heart pounding in his chest after you said those five words. only five words, yet gepard felt like he was going insane. he was going insane for you: your touch, your mind, your words, your entirety.

gepard removed his hand from yours for just one second, using it to tip your chin up so you could be in his view. in the pale moonlight, you were gorgeous. to be fair, you were always gorgeous, but something about tonight extenuated your beauty.

"can i⎯"

"don't even ask," you cut him off, leaning into him.

the kiss was soft and sweet at first. the feeling of your lips pressed onto his was heavenly: gepard felt ten times stronger with you than with anything else. it was gentle and tender.

but when you tugged your arms around his neck, all restraint went out the window.

gepard moved his hand from your chin to your waist, pulling you closer into him. it was bold for his first kiss, but who could blame him when you're holding onto to him so tightly?

you threaded your hands through his hair as he kissed you feverishly. his hands on your waist made you want to combust into him. you were standing on your toes at this point; if you tried to stand any taller, gepard was about to lift you up into the air.

when you finally stopped to breath, all that was left in the air was your love and the light from the sky.

"was i your first kiss?" you asked him coyly, arms still wrapped around his neck.

gepard blushed and you immediately knew his answer to your question. you stood up one more time to give him one more quick kiss.

yes, you were his first kiss. and gepard wished for more to come.

i need a week off after this fic i swear to god

#tana writes (∗´ ᨔ `∗)#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr #hsr x reader #gepard x reader #gepard landau #gepard hsr #gepard x you #gepard landau x you #tana answers: request ver #FINALS WEEK IS OVER I FINALLY GOT THIS DONE WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO #gepard

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strawberryrafaxzd · 3 months

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⋅˚₊‧ Oikawa Headcanons ⋅˚₊‧ Gn reader enjoy ⭑.ᐟ

✮Whenever Oikawa is with you, he lets his "tough guy" mask fall off. That's why, most of the time, you two tend to have calmer dates, deviating a bit from the usual, like picnics in parks, watching movies, and other things.

✮He likes to lie on your lap while you play with his hair. He complains about how he hates geniuses like his kohai Kageyama (ahhajaja lol) and other things that annoyed him. You just laugh at the cute and funny way he imitates them and give him a peck while his cheeks turn red and he kisses you back.

✮As silly as it may seem, he has some kind of shame about feeling this inferiority complex and hates showing that he feels insecure. The only person he feels safe to talk about this with is you, so be prepared to take his late-night calls and comfort him. Believe me, it will take hours for you to convince him that you are serious when you say he's an incredible player. Even if he thinks he will never measure up to the "geniuses," that's the biggest lie because he's already superior to them just by the effort he puts in "to reach their level."

✮Oikawa often gets "mad" and throws a tantrum because you refuse to go see him play and cheer for him because you're afraid that, one day, one of his crazy fans will throw a rock at your head out of jealousy (akhajajakakakak sorry, I had to write that). But it turns out he always convinces you to go by looking at you with his puppy eyes and that pout. No matter how hard you try, you always end up losing to your sweet boyfriend. But maybe it's not so bad to lose since, in the end, he will always be there thanking you for being the best girlfriend in the world, cheering for him while he showers you with kisses on your face.

✮When his family has special events, his mom always invites you. She definitely loves you, always saying how Toru finally found someone to straighten him out. The gatherings always end with you and his nephew doing his makeup and styling his hair with ribbons and braids. In the end, Oikawa always ends up toppling both of you over, tickling you until his mom sees the three of you sleeping on the floor hugging each other (she always smiles, sighs, and covers you with a blanket, saying,( "these young ones nowadays").

✮In that same vein, when Oikawa sees you and his nephew bonding and having fun, he thinks of one of his greatest dreams. Aside from his volleyball career, it's to marry you and have a family together. He definitely can't wait for that.

✮One of the dates you love the most is when Iwa joins you two. You always die laughing at their fights. You and Iwa get along very well. To be honest, when you buy or make sweets or any kind of food for Oikawa, you always make extra for (wa to eat too ;)

✮Omg, who is that person who isn't even from Seijou that is screaming nonstop in the Aoba Josai cheering section against Karasuno? Wait, the person just called Karasuno's number 9 an idiot.

(Stories say that when Aoba Josai lost, you cried more than the players themselves. Yes, you are Aoba Josai's biggest fan.)

✮One of the cutest things ever seen was you going to his school to deliver his glasses that he left at your game night on Friday and putting them on him, giving him a kiss in front of everyone during recess. By the way, he didn't use to wear glasses because he thought they looked ugly until one day he asked what you thought, and you said he looked "super hot" with glasses hehe (Matsun and Makki still wonder why

Oikawa suddenly decided to wear glasses every day and almost die when he forgets them).

✮Oikawa always wears the sweaters you wore and the ones you drew little stars on. When Iwa notices that he always wears sweaters with stars and a perfume that doesn't belong to him and asks why, he simply says, "it's my way of showing others that I belong to my angel."

Bônus ⊹˖ :

Iwa still has nightmares about the time when Oikawa had gone to Argentina and hadn't settled in yet. Only he knows what it was like to hear you crying out of longing when you went out to bars together after your video calls with Oikawa. At least now he can sleep well knowing that Oikawa is finally okay and has managed to take you to Argentina with him. Now it's Iwa who gets the video calls from the two of you😊🥹🥹

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚

Sorry for any mistakes, English is not my native language I hope you enjoy it, it's the first time I've written headcannos so it definitely wouldn't have been that good, I hope you enjoyed it

#reader x character #haikyuu headcanons #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #fanfic

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moviecritc · 3 months

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✦ ˚ : · CHILL GIRL (HONESTLY, SHE'S NOT) ⋆ ALEXANDRA SAINT MLEUX, CHARLES LECLERC 🦢

pairing ☆ charles leclerc x singer! reader x alexandra saint mleux

summary ☆ you and alex broke up because she suggested charles to join your relationship, and you're really mad about it

warnings ☆ hate comments (mostly for alex, but it's just for the plot), mixed smau, arguments

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

masterlist | letterboxd

tags; @iamred-iamyellow @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @changetyre @ilovechickenwings @callsignwidow @inejghafawifesblog @formulaal @niyu2208 @ilivbullyingjeongin @magnummagnussen @astmclaren455 @sp1rl @only-nope @eyerollerr

yourusername just posted!

liked by charlesleclerc, sukiwaterhouse and 312,502 others

yourusername MILAN WHAT THE FUUUCK !1!11!!!!!! You were so loud and SO MANY i still can't believed that i got to play my silly little songs infront of that much people. giggling and kicking my feet atm 💌💌

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user1 now why is charles in the likes and not alexandra

user2 honestly this is getting out of hand user3 yn keeps terrorizing their images in her concerts and they're in her likes. it makes absolutely no sense user4 there's a rumor that alex cheated on y/n with charles and that charles was also attracted to y/n aswell user5 lol what

user6 THANK YOU FOR COMING WE LOVE YOUU

user7 i'm so in love with her

user8 i hope that she's fine, she seemed tired these days

user9 she's performing heartbroken it's normal to be tired

user10 your music saved me, y/n ❤️ liked by author

user11 omg she liked it!!

reneerapp collab when?

user12 I WOULD DIE FOR THAT user13 Y/N RENEÉ I'M BEGGING YOU user14 this would be a dream ngl

user15 i met her in the backstage and she was the sweetest woman in the world, she took time to talk to my friends and me. it was amazing

user16 i just want to be half as cool as her

alexandrasaintmleux just posted on her story!

[caption: red for today 🖤]

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user17 matching with y/n's tour outfit?

charlesleclerc très belle❤️

user18 ferrari red or my kink is karma red?

yourusername 🖤

yourusername just posted!

liked by charli_xcx, charlesleclerc and 401,452 others

yourusername This bitch is @ tiny deskk. Thank you for having me this evening and for the interview, i had so much fun darlings

Go check out the tiny concert and the interview at tiny desk yt channel 🎱✨🦢🖤

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user19 slay slay slay

charli_xcx tiny desk BIG VOICE

yourusername hold on while i scream user20 the only opinion from a charl- that matters

user21 HER STYLE ^^^^

user22 the interview was WILD

user23 we've been waiting for over a month for the rumors to be clear

rachelzegler 4 + 4??

user24 ATE 🗣️

user25 yeah everyone is noticing her now, but at what costs

user26 she's always been incredible, stfu user27 it's not her problem that her ex's bf is a dick

alex's chat with charles

charlesleclerc just posted a story!

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alexandrasaintmleux charles what are you doing?? are you being serious??

alexandrasaintmleux she adressed the rumors yesterday, you idiot. it would've ended there but you just ruined it.

alexandrasaintmleux just posted!

📍Madrid, Spain

liked by francisca.cgomes, yourusername and 43,104 others

alexandrasaintmleux far from home 🍓🖤

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user28 gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous

user29 charles not liking??

user30 AND Y/N DID

user31 y/n back in the likes omggg

user32 the world is healing

francisca.cgomes wait i'm trying to spell gorjus liked by author

user33 y/n and she complemented each other soo well

user34 i miss them user35 you guys know they broke bc of something right?? like they didn't ended their relationship bc they were good. something bad was going on between them user36 yeah it's @/charlesleclerc user37 and she tags him ijbol

user38 GUYS !!!! y/n performing in madrid this weekend !!!! THEY'RE SEEING EACH OTHER

user39 ALEX AT THE MIDWEST PRINCESS TOUR VIP TENT??? user40 PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

user41 she's putting space between charles and her

user42 PLEASE TELL ME YOU LEAVE CHARLES

yourusername just posted!

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, ynupdates and 612,830 others

yourusername playing mermaids with y'all tonight was A-M-A-Z-I-N-G madrid 🖤🖤🧜🧜

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rachelzegler how does it feels being the prettiest and more talented women?

yourusername you tell me user43 this duo>>>

user44 i really thought alex was coming tonight

user45 we didn't see her but my senses tell me she was on backstage

user46 obsessed isnt a strong enough word for how i feel abt this outfit its so pretty

yourusername just posted on her story!

[caption 1: OMG OMG OMG]

replies

user47 Y/N WHAT R YOU DOING

user48 HAHAHAHAHAHA

user49 you're actually the funniest person alive

user50 not the same phrase charles used-

user51 y/n woke up an chose violence

alexandrasaintmleux i'm so proud of you btw 🖤

already working on part 3 :))

#charles leclerc #alexandra saint mleux #alexandra saint mleux x reader #charles leclerc x reader #f1 #formula 1 #formula 1 smau #f1 smau #noraverse 🫧#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #alexandra saint mleux smau #charles leclerc x reader x alexandra saint mleux #charles leclerc fanfic #cl16 #cl16 x you #cl16 x reader #chappell roan #alexandra saint mleux x you

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newobsessionweekly · 1 year

Text

Family Ties

Main masterlist | 9-1-1 Masterlist

Eddie Diaz x firefighter!reader Fandom: 911

Summary: You and Eddie have been dating for a few months now, but your older brother, Buck, don’t know until you get hurt on a call and he puts all the pieces together.

Angst/Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of fire, injuries.

Requested: No

Words: 1.9k Requests are open for Eddie / Buck! Gif not mine, credits to the owner.

Standing in front of the firehouse, you adjust your helmet and gear and feel the adrenaline rush that comes with being a firefighter. You were proud to become a paramedic at Station 118 in LA, following in your older brother Buck's footsteps. You have always admired Buck's courage and strength in leaving home, building a career, and saving lives. This job is perfect for him since he saved your life back then. You own everything you are in that moment to Buck.

You greeted everyone at the firehouse, eager for a new day. Hen and Chim checked supplies, Bobby inspected trucks, and Buck ate his breakfast undisturbed. Everyone turned theirs heads and smiled, wishing you a “Good Morning” in response.

“I hope you choke on that food. I'll let your lazy ass die anytime.” you greet your brother, still angry about him ditching you up last night and not giving you a ride in the morning.

“Love you too, munchkin!" Buck yelled with a full mouth of milk and cereals.

“Stop calling me that, I'm not five anymore!” you said firmly, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. Eddie laughed, making his way up on the stairs. “Morning to you too!” you greeted him. “Something funny?”

You brightened Station 118 for all to see. Upon entering, the room radiates warmth and light wavily pours down on everyone. You are that magnet of happiness that could cheer up any bad day. Who wouldn't love you?

You watch Eddie enter the kitchen, patting Buck's shoulder on his way to the fridge. He winked and handed you the milk, a sudden burst of warmth covering your cheeks.

Eddie is both Buck's best friend and your secret boyfriend. Well, not that secret, everyone knows except Buck. And everyone is hiding you both until you're ready to tell you big brother.

You and Eddie bonded immediately upon joining Unit 118. All the laugher and deep conversations held in Buck's living room, slowly turned into small electric touches and stolen kisses.

Eddie made excuses for Buck to babysit Christopher while he took you on little dates, most of them between the walls of his home. But you didn't care as long as you were together.

Eddie is the most amazing man you've ever met. Strong, brave, and incredibly smart. All the stories about the war and you still can't believe the man in front of you was some years ago on the open field. He's handsome, all worked up and as cheerful as you every single day. Though, the signs of the war are painted on his skin, he exudes a mature aura that masks his traumas. He's also a perfect father.

Some girls dream of men like this, even fantasies about them being a father, but all you gotta do is open your eyes and admire the view. And it's only yours.

"You're right, Y/n. You're not five. You both are five and acting like idiots.” Eddie poured himself a cup of coffee while Buck's gaze was pointed at you. His face twisted comically in confusion. How did Eddie know you need milk for your coffee without you asking for it?

Eddie is more than thankful to have beside him a woman just as perfect as an angel. You spread love, exhibits passion, demonstrates bravery in saving people, and look stunning while doing so.

However, you still hesitate to reveal your relationship with Eddie, knowing that it could complicate things with your overprotective brother.

As soon as the alarm went off calling a car crash with multiple injuries, you placed your cup on the table and run off to the truck with Eddie by your side while Buck analysing your every move and how the distance between you and Eddie closes day by day. He smells something's going on.

Throughout the day, you and Eddie teamed up seamless and efficient together. Buck, on the other hand, noticed your chemistry and couldn't help but feel a little suspicious. He first lost his partner, but could also lose his best friend and sister ? Buck brushed it off as he hurriedly approached the cars holding captive civilians, ignoring any doubts.

The quiet afternoon allowed your for reflection while washing off the blood under the hot water pouring over your bloody-covered body, then silently enjoyed Bobby's delicious lunch.

“Uh-huh, Buckley siblings aren't talking." "Something's off," Bobby quipped, eyeing the people standing around the table.

Chuckling, you searched for Eddie's sight before the alarm blared once more.

Unit 118 was dispatched to a high-rise building fire. You raced to the scene, adrenaline pumping. The team surrounded Bobby, listening to his command. “Buck, you're coming with me to the back, we need to secure an exit and search for survivors. Eddie, Y/n, Chim and Hen, search the first two floors, pull out the fire, and search for survivors, ten at number.” everyone nodded as he explained to never split up, but if needed, you stay close to a wall and never let go of the hose. “Be safe out there!” Buck nodded to you and Eddie, silently urging caution and a safe return.

As you entered the building, Eddie's firefighter instincts kicked in, and he took charge of the situation. He led the team through the thick smoke and intense heat, searching for survivors and extinguishing the flames.

But as you were making your way out of the building, a sudden explosion rocked the structure, causing debris to collapse around you. You shielded Eddie out of the way just in time, but you were struck by falling debris. Your trapped leg caused a painful mix of blood and agony.

Eddie rushed to your side, his heart pounding with fear. He checked for other injuries with shaky hands.

"Calling for help, ok? Hen and Chim will be back, and you'll be okay!” Eddie comforted, cupping your cheeks, forcing you look at him. You were conscious and likely only suffered a sprained ankle while the blood that flood around was coming from a cut above your knee.

“I'm fine, just a sprained ankle. We should go search for survivors," you suggested, gazing at the ashes of the once-mischievous flames that nearly engulfed the entire building.

Eddie looked at you in disbelief. You and Buck were remarkably alike. Or maybe the gene of recklessness run deep in both you DNA's. He's worried about the leg, despite your pleading to go search for the people stuck in that building, you can't move fast enough. It will only slow down the operation and cause any other damage.

“Here the captain, the building is clear.” Bobby radioed. You breathe easily now, the survivors were out of any harm. “Find your way back safely, the fire spreading quickly to the roof."

“Come on, we have to go.” Eddie said, pushing aside with all his strength the debris that was pinning you down. "Copy that, cap!" Eddie spoke into his radio.

“Y/n, do you copy?" Buck's voice crackled through Eddie's radio. Yours was broken in the fall. Buck searched the perimeter with worry in his eyes.

“Don't tell Buck, please.” you pleaded, afraid your brother wouldn't keep his feet at place, rushing recklessly into the burning building to save you. Eddie nodded, thinking of what he could tell his best friend.

"Y/n's radio broke, but she's en route to the hospital doing CPR.” Eddie fibbed. Bobby nodded at the words and told everyone to go back to the station as Unit 146 could handle the fire themselves. They got every other unit off duty. “Bobby, take Buck and Chim with you. I'm coming right back, Hen can give me a ride. We'll go after Y/n at the hospital.”

“Copy that. On our way now!” Bobby and Buck left, cap confident that the remaining men could handle as the fire was slowly being extinguished.

Buck obeyed Bobby's orders for your sake, though he didn’t really bite that.

As Eddie carried you out of the building with you laying on him, slowly walking to the paramedic truck, you saw Hen's eyes widening. “You said she was on her way to the hospital!" she scolded Eddie, shaking her head in a disapproving gesture. “You hurt?” she checked for injuries on your body.

“Just small bruises and a scars, a spread ankle. "Nothing serious," you report.

Eddie hugged you tight, now clear-minded. He was relieved you both returned from that building in one piece. He admired your courage and dedication. Your kindness towards the injured made him fall in love with you all over again seeing you giving all the injured people a soft smile and help they needed, without a single doubt. You hugged him back, seeking comfort in his arms, preparing your patience for when will Buck find out.

“Ok, Eddie ride with her in the back. We going to the hospital.”

Back at the firehouse, Buck was anxiously waiting for news on the fire. He waited at the station for an hour, pacing through the kitchen, eager for you to get back. His thoughts buzzed with all the worst-case scenarios. Buck rushed towards you as soon as he saw the truck reversing into the station. His eyes turned red when Eddie helped you hop up from the back of the paramedic truck, your leg all bandaged and bruises painted all over you, from your beautiful face to the arms. Slowly limping to him, Buck rushed over to you, his concern evident.

"What the hell happened?" Buck asked, his voice filled with worry.

Y/n got hit by falling debris, but she insisted on continuing to help with evacuation," Eddie explained, casting a proud glance at you. “She's fine now, just a few scratches, but she managed to clear the building.

“Screw about that building. "Why did you do that?" Buck looked at his sister, his protective instincts kicking in. "Why didn't you tell me you got hurt?" he scolded you gently.

"I didn't want to worry you," you replied, giving your brother a weak smile. "I guess you passed to me the recklessness gene," you laughed, trying to ease the tension. “I'm fine, Buck, really."

But Buck's attention shifted to Eddie, and he noticed the concerned look in the firefighter's eyes as he tended to your injury. Buck's suspicions were confirmed as he realized the truth.

"You two are dating, aren't you?" Buck asked, surprised and a little taken aback.

You and Eddie exchanged nervous glances before nodding. Buck's initial surprise turned into a mix of emotions - surprise, worry, protectiveness - but also saw the love and happiness in you both.

"I care about her, Buck," Eddie begins earnestly, looking Buck straight in the eye. "I promise to take care of her." Eddie locked his hand in yours, both of them helping you up the stairs and have a seat on the couch.

Buck couldn't deny the sincerity in Eddie's words, and he knew that you are a capable firefighter who could take care of herself. Reluctantly, he nodded and pulled you both into a tight hug. Buck knows Eddie's a great guy, he also knows about the baggage you're both dealing with, hope you'll both manage to heal each other.

"Just be careful with her," Buck said, his voice filled with emotion. "She's my little sister, and I know how a pain in the ass she could be.” he joked, passing you a glass of water.

Well, maybe all the bad did something good after all.

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greeneyedsigma · 3 months

Text

Ghost: Legend says that when you can’t sleep, it means you’re awake in someone else’s dreams.

Ghost: When I find out who you are, I’m going to punch you in the face.

Laswell: We have to plan, we have to figure something out.

Price: Laswell, when have any of our plans ever actually worked? We plan, we get there, all hell breaks loose.

Gaz: Thanks for not telling Price what happened.

Laswell, dumbfounded: I wouldn’t even know where to begin trying to explain this.

Ghost: Look, I know you think my judgement's clouded because I like Soap a little bit.

Price, holding Ghost's notepad: You doodled your wedding invitation.

Ghost: No, that's our joint tombstone.

Price: My mistake.

Ghost: Jail is no fun. I’ll tell you that much.

Soap: Oh, you’ve been?

Ghost: Once. In Monopoly.

Ghost: Look at the buns on that guy!

Soap: *lying on the floor, covered in hamburger buns*

Gaz: This is the comedy police! The joke's too funny!

Ghost, pulling out a gun: I'm not going back to jail!

Price: I can't imagine what Ghost is planning. But I can tell you two things. We won't like it and it won't be legal.

Medic: I’m not a doctor, I’m a medic.

Price: What’s the difference then?

Medic: Well, doctors actually save lives, medics just make you feel more comfortable as you die.

Ghost: Note to self; never get shot.

Gaz: I think I just figured something out. I got to go.

Price: Aren't you forgetting something?

Gaz: Uuh...*hesitantly kisses Price’s forehead before running out.*

Price: No! Pay your bill! Damn, who raised you?

Price: *sees someone doing something stupid*

Price: What an idiot.

Price: *realizes it's Gaz*

Price: Wait, that's MY idiot!

#call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #call of duty incorrect quotes #cod incorrect quotes #john price #captain price #captain john price #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kate laswell #task force 141

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mcflymemes · 3 months

Text

PHANTOM THREAD (2017) PROMPTS * assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

i cannot begin my day with a confrontation.

i feel as if i've been looking for you for a very long time.

you found me.

i wanted time with you. i wanted to have you to myself.

you are a very handsome man.

why are you not married?

i'm certain i was never meant to marry.

you sound so sure about things.

i think you're only acting strong.

maybe you have no taste.

you have the ideal shape.

don't start crying.

i'm not crying. i'm angry.

whatever you do, do it carefully.

kiss me, my girl, before i'm sick.

i want you flat on your back. helpless, tender, open with only me to help.

i think it's the expectations and assumptions of others that causes heartache.

are you a special agent sent here to ruin my evening and possibly my entire life?

why are you so rude to me?

why are you talking to me like this?

yes, this is your house. of course it's your house.

i'm surrounded on all sides!

you brought me here!

when the hell did this happen?

where's your gun?

stop playing this game.

if it's my life that you're describing, it's entirely up to you whether you choose to share it or not.

why don't you just fuck off to back where you came from?

is there something i'm unaware of?

don't you start using that filthy little word.

there's nothing i can say to get your attention aimed back at me, is there?

a house that doesn't change is a dead house.

if you want to have a staring contest with me, you will lose.

is this an ambush?

then i want you strong again.

i don't understand what you're saying. i can't hear your voice.

you might wish you're going to die. you might wish you're going to die, but you're not going to.

i can predict the future, and everything is settled.

i finally understand you.

right now we're here.

i'm getting hungry.

what a model of politeness you two are.

marriage would make me deceitful, and i don't ever want that.

you need to settle down a little.

you certainly won't come out alive.

i'll go right through you and it'll be you who ends up on the floor.

[name] has made my dreams come true.

it's comforting to think the dead are watching over the living.

i don't find that spooky at all.

are you here? are you always here?

i miss you. i think about you all the time.

i hear your voice say my name when i dream and when i wake up, there are tears streaming down my face.

must be quite a challenge to be with him.

sometimes i jump ahead in our life together, and i see a time near the end.

i just miss you. it's as simple as that.

i want to tell you everything.

don't pick a fight with me.

you are not cursed. you are loved by me.

who is this lovely creature making the house smell so nice?

there is an air of quiet death in this house and i do not like the way it smells.

i don't even know what that word means.

it does concern me. it concerns me very much.

i'm not moaning.

it hurts my feelings.

i don't know what i'm doing here.

i'm just waiting around like an idiot for you.

#rp meme #mcflymemes #rp memes #roleplay memes #rp prompt #roleplay prompt #rp starters #ask meme #ask memes #roleplay meme #roleplay inbox prompts #rp inbox meme #inbox prompt #inbox meme #sentence starter prompt #sentence starter #sentence starters #phantom thread

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biscuitboba · 6 months

Note

Hii, do you have some zolu/luzo ff rec??

Hii!!, uhh i have over 100 zolu/luzo fics downloaded YES OF COURSE, i'll try and list down some (many) fics with one chapter only cuz i'm not sure if i can stop recommending if i include multi chaptered fics... (But if you want some rec for the multi chaptered fics just let me know!! Ohh and maybe some ongoing fics?)

This is gonna be a very long post😭🙏

Bleed like an Idiot by Augment [13k words]

Rating: Mature (for mild gore/torture)

Something something about their fear of disappointing/failing each other, the perfect amount of angst, so good

Not that Luffy wouldn’t die for each and every one of his crew, and he knows, though he will make sure it never ever happens, that they would die for him. But to supersede Zoro’s dream like this, that makes Luffy feel so hideously guilty it locks up his lungs, and his jaw, and he can’t speak, touch Zoro, anything.

The salt & the sea by novks (thychesters) [25k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Modern setting, reincarnation au. Zoro being the last person to regain his memories (of his past life) and luffy being lowkey annoyed by it lol

It’s like with Nami, hitting him full force, but it’s so much more than that as the reality of it all comes crashing down around him. Zoro, his (first mate, first friend in this world of pirates, first crew member and first one he swore an oath with), his—he isn’t even sure what to call him. There’s too much but too little to describe him.

Zoro. Zoro, who—no, no, no offense to Nami—should have been first. Zoro, who’s a constant, and he’s practically vibrating with the need to reach and touch him, make sure he’s really real. His tongue darts out to wet his lip as he steps forward, crowding into his personal space and finally grinning because I found you!

Luffy wants to call him an idiot, because it figures he would get lost finding his way home.

But Zoro just blinks at him, flushes, one eye still framed by a familiar scar and says, “Oh, sorry,” and makes it so much worse when he says, “Do I know you?

Of First Mates and Duty by Whatev3rs [14k]

Rating: General Audiences

Zoro's bad at feelings, but he is trying ok!!

“First mates… we devote our lives to our captains. Our entire beings. We live for them, breathe for them. And they expect us not to fall in love?” He smiles, small and knowing.

Zoro’s eyes widen and he sputters, trying to muster a response. The man only laughs more.

Being a good first mate was easy enough for Zoro. That is, until the… feelings.

If I Had to Give a Reason by MiniPandaBuns [5k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Tooth-rotting fluff, Zoro and his view of luffy, #feelings, love confession, idiots in loveee

“I wonder what you see in him.”

"Too much." He'd say. "It's endless. All of my reasons can't be condensed into words."

I love him simply because he exists. Because Luffy is Luffy, limitless and free.

Inseparable on the face of Impossibility by the11thhour [25k]

Rating: Not Rated

Luffy is taken by some bad guy, his boyfriend and family (crew) to the rescue! #superworriedzoro:(

A fun trip to a new island takes a turn for the worse when a mysterious group of pirates cause trouble and Luffy goes missing. The crew led by Zoro embark on a mission to get their captain back while his vivre card burns away.

When the Dew Falls Up by louluna [10k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Time travel au, there are two zoros!!

As the bright light enveloped his body, Zoro knew his day had gone to absolute shit.

New year's kiss by grimsoul [4k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Post wano, the title is pretty self explanatory i guess.. fluff, very sweet!!

Luffy didn’t understand back then but the couple seemed so happy. Kissing someone to strengthen a relationship must have really worked.

It’s been long since that time so Luffy had almost forgotten about it. But then as he sails again now with his crew—the title of an Emperor latched to his name, their journey getting closer and closer to the One Piece, to his dream—a new year approaches them.

Found in the Crack of Your Palm by The_Furthest_City_Light [11k]

Rating: General Audiences

#luffybeingsuperdemisexualatzorofor11k (personally demi luffy is my favorite headcanon of him!)

Zoro’s hands are big, thick and knuckly and covered in calluses from his swords. He has a strong grip, too, and strong muscles because he trains them to be strong.

None of it explains the way Luffy’s body lights up when Zoro clasps the back of his neck, like every nerve is alight and trained on the palm cupping the baby hairs at the back of his skull. His stomach knots over itself and he wants to eat everything in Sanji’s kitchen. Zoro’s skin is a little rough and sweaty from fighting and warm.

Zoro is close, his forehead nearly butting Luffy’s and Luffy couldn’t move if he wanted to, trapped there by the closeness and the touch that makes him aware of Zoro’s skin against his in a way he’s never been before.

Zoro’s eyes bore into his, digging deep into Luffy and dragging out—something, buried in the base of his spine. He feels like the earth is tilting, and freefall seems like it might be fun.

the moon asks a question by d_s_writes [1k]

Rating: General Audiences

A very short fic, but can't stop thinking about the rest of strawhats and their idea of love vs luffy's, like- he really gagged me here😭

Zoro doesn’t understand—how can he feel all the things that the others had spoken of, yet none of it the same time? He felt that each of their versions of love were merely motions of love, rather than love itself.

He doesn’t get it. Love has never been a word, or a sense of belonging, or any of those things. He had only ever really thought of love when he looked at Luffy.

OR: An investigation of the lives and loves of the Strawhat Pirates.

Robin knows by leopardgeckoz [3k]

Rating: General Audiences

Oh moment for both zoro and luffy but especially for the oblivious captain

In which Nico Robin has always known how her captain and first mate feel for one another, and the scenario's in which the rest of the crew discover it.

Alternatively

"Every passing hour of Luffy's silence drove Zoro further and further into madness. He wanted Luffy's smile, his laugh, his chatter, but his captain had spent the better part of the day on the complete opposite sides of the ship as Zoro. Out of sight, but most certainly not out of mind. If anything, his absence plagued Zoro's even more."

step 1: die by swordsmans [11k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Roronoa zoro and his unstoppable self destru sacrificing tendency for his one and only captain (featuring sanji!)

After two years with Ivankov, Sanji knows something about Luffy that Zoro does not.

ship to wreck by novks (thychesters) [9k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Zoro and luffy but from nami's perspective?? Mutual pinning and luffy's oh moment

Nami is the first one to notice something is amiss, but then given her current competition is Luffy and Zoro, it isn’t surprising.

“Do you love Zoro?” She doesn’t bother beating around the bush. Doesn’t bother with easing into it with any metaphors or small talk, one of which Luffy would have little interest in, and the other of which would go over his head.

He stares back at her, and for a split second she feels like she’s gone and shoved her foot right into her mouth. Something flickers through his eyes, but she doesn’t have time to fully study it before his features shutter again.

Luffy tilts his head. “Of course I do.”

Part of her wants to cheer, shout aha! because she knew it, dammit, but then he proceeds to barrel right over that.

“I love you too,” to which she freezes, and then: “And Usopp, and Sanji, I guess. You guys are my friends.”

She wants to scream.

But Patience Boasts by Augment [9k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Ughh i love the way this fic portray zoro and sanji's dynamic… anyways, lowkey wingman sanji!

Sanji and Zoro have very different love languages.

Kizuna by YokoHogawa [5k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

#nakamaship, basically

Usopp carefully watches Luffy over the sandwich he is biting into, and he can’t help but worry.

Sanji has an anxiety problem.

Something wakes Zoro at the crack of dawn.

Half a step (into the sun) by TheOctopusofWriting [29k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Demon prince zoro, that's it, that's the point.

Zoro was the exiled prince of an island of demons. He spent the first portion of his life wandering from island to island without any place to really call home, that is until he follows a boy in a strawhat out to sea and finds the home he'd been looking for

to cut your teeth on love by freckledshoulderblades [10k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Smth smth the bond between captain and first mate...

Zoro meets Luffy and gives himself over wholeheartedly the instant Wadō is placed between his teeth again. Luffy meets Zoro and decides in a heartbeat that Zoro is his

Take Me Out to Sea by MiniPandaBuns [3k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audience

Just them being all sweet and wholesome<3

Luffy and Zoro take a pleasant little swim together, despite the fact that Luffy can't swim and Zoro told him no. Many times.

He just can't refuse his Captain. Even if he does, Luffy still wins, because he's just Luffy and that's how it goes.

everybody wants your time by dwaal [3k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Uhh abo au, omega zoro and alpha luffy, jealousy, bonded mates, making out, y knoww~

An unclaimed omega on the seas can be a liability. It's commonplace for captains to bite any of their crew to prevent any incidents, but the marks are usually temporary.

Zoro is intensely aware of this, as Boa Hancock proceeds to make herself at home on the arm of his captain's chair

it's an ambush! by tuhituhi [3k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Zoro meeting his bf's brothers for the first time!

Luffy's middle name should be B. for Blindside the way he's constantly taking Zoro off guard. Or maybe the D. stood for Devious, or Devil- any of them would fit, considering the Situations this man has put him through. OR

Zoro meets Luffy's brothers. Was he expecting this? Technically. Was he prepared for this?

Not in the slightest

end of summer (now i know) by taka0 [2k]

Rating: Mature

Just luffy being very sappy (and a tiny bit horny) about his zoro<3

Luffy loves all of Zoro while they lie in a hammock.

Ocean theology by swordsmans [40k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Reincarnation au, yearning and devotion, symbolism-

“Zoro—”

“Did you know?” he repeats, desperate, and Luffy just looks at him. And he wonders, then, how much of this has been preordained—how much of this is real, how much of this is him. How much of what he’s felt since they were wedged side-to-side in a shitty wooden boat on the East Blue has actually mattered, and how much has been the universe pressing him down into the mold of someone else's heart.

And then Luffy is gripping his horns, bringing his forehead down to meet his, repeating, “Zoro? Zoro?” like his name is a mantra, like he’s gone somewhere far away and gotten lost on his way back.

And Zoro blinks at him, then, and sees both of them at once—both of them—and he grips Luffy’s face in his own hands (claws) and presses his lips (violent, full of teeth) against his. Because this is who he has been waiting a thousand years for, the brightest and most beautiful of them all, the one thing he could never have—could never see, not if (Luffy, Joyboy, Nika) had made different (worse) choices—the thing that could never thrive in the darkness, just like he could never (has been unable to for centuries) survive without it—

let thy sword be thy tongue by queerweather [14k]

Rating: Mature

Sword language, sword personification, swords- zoro not being so normal about his captain, whats new?

It’s strangely exhilarating, imagining himself on his knees in front of Luffy, blindfolded. Like he really is getting executed this time. All of Zoro’s senses stand at attention and his mouth fills with saliva.

The flat of Kitetsu’s blade presses cold against Zoro’s cheek. “Zoro,” Luffy scolds. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and Zoro is not afraid of Luffy handling his swords; Zoro is afraid of how Luffy handling his swords might unravel him.

The only animal by batman [10k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content)

It's about roronoa zoro and how he pines for his captain

It wasn't until Kuraigana that he realised how the world had split into two kinds of touch: swords and hands.

Luffy's hands.

(In a stolen week between islands, Luffy touches Zoro again.)

Sunward bound by iffervescent [13k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content, top zoro)

Ace luffy & sex positive luffy!!

Zoro's a pirate bounty hunter, which means he's used to going after the pirate he wants and getting them. Except this time the pirate he wants is his captain and now he has no fucking clue what to do.

Expressions by Leoporidae_Lagomorpha [2k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content, top luffy)

Them being disgustingly in love whats new?, sexy times (plot what plot)

Monkey D. Luffy knows, that despite popular opinion, Roronoa Zoro is a man of many expressions.

hanabi | 花火 by narramin [8k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content, top luffy)

Just the captain and his first mate being silly while enjoying their date in wano (eventual smut)

firework /ˈfʌɪəwəːk/

noun

plural noun: fireworks

• a device containing gunpowder and other combustible chemicals which causes spectacular effects and explosions when ignited, used for display or in celebrations.

• a display of great skill or energy.

Luffy and Zoro finally reunite in Wano, visit a gambling den and go on a less than traditional festival date night.

a tale of two gods by grimsoul [6k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content, top zoro, implied switching)

Sun of God x God of death. a fiery tryst between two gods

“Ne, Zoro, come with me,” Luffy said, giggling, pulling him closer. “You’re going to be a part of my court.”

Contrary to what most people believed, hell was a rather cold place. Zoro had been quite used to it, the lack of light, the vast glaciers, his body no longer as fragile as it was eons ago, and so a simple touch like this from Luffy, from the sun, made him feel like his flesh was scorched—melting away easily like winter in summer’s heat.

They were close, so close that their foreheads were almost touching, and despite the burn of it, Zoro didn’t push him away. He smirked, his one eye glowing just as red as Luffy’s.

“Don’t decide something on your own, idiot.”

running just to keep my hands on you by nevermordor [6k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content, switching)

They are so competitive in pretty much everything lol

The thing they do is kind of like a game, because Luffy likes games, but it’s also kind of a competition because Zoro can’t not turn anything and everything into a competition. It doesn’t have a name and there are only two rules, because more than two would just be making things boring and overcomplicated.

1. Whoever takes out the most guys in a fight is the winner

2. Whoever is the loser has to do whatever the winner says

“Why’s it gotta be a whole game and stuff," Luffy says. "That’s gonna take too long.”

“It makes sex more fun," Zoro explains. "You gotta win it, you gotta earn it. Like anything good in life. Like pirate king or greatest swordsman.”

Luffy considers this.

One on one by EclecticIsMyMiddleName [6k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content, top luffy)

Post canon, domestic married luffy and zoro my beloved… they are so in love?? It's sickening

Zoro's just trying to get ready for the day, but Luffy has other plans

Prayers Carried on Waves Reach the Sun by anarchycox [8k]

Rating: Mature (sexual content, switching)

Sun god luffy & demon zoro ftw

Luffy is the sun god, Nika. Zoro is a demon. And his boyfriend. They make it work. On earth the Thousand Sunny is the ship of worship for the sun god, the crew Nika's priests. When they call for help, Luffy and Zoro go to their aid.

Luffy decides they should stay a while, and Zoro loves him enough to do so.

Being human is a pain and stupid, but for his Luffy, he'll endure it.

Ok i need to stop here cuz it's getting way too longgg, but i'm just so ill about the two of them sorry not sorry😭😭

#zolu #luzo #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #one piece #fics recs #honestly whats stopping me from recommending over 50+ fics??#self preservation!#also uhh to anon... reminder to read the tags before reading the fics!!#also is zoluzo an actual tag?

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zagreus-eats-your-bread · 10 months

Text

Doctor Who wilderness years tumblr simulator

👤 theother-deactivated

Can't stand this toxic ass account anymore. I'll have to make a new blog

👨‍🎓 thetasigma follow

Everyone come follow me over here

7 notes

🚬 fitz-kreiner

I'm sick and tired of the lack of nuance on this website! Having a dream about your mate where he's naked and your butts touch and generally thinking about having sex with him all the time does not make you queer!!

0 notes

🦋 eighth-doctor

I can't stand faction paradox. I bet their leader is a nasty ugly bitch

👴 grandfather-paradox follow

I bet you feel silly right now

📖 lawrence-miles follow

Everyone forget this happened

1.999 notes

👨‍🔬 third-doctor

My weed guy: this one is called Dust, youll be zonked out of your gourd

Me: yea yea whatever

2h later: the tardis walls are bleeding human blood. some weird guy here is psychosexually obsessed with me

6h later: A tear Sarah-Jane? No, wait a moment-

100 notes

Because you like #doctorwho

🙎‍♂️ the-stranger follow

Hi guys welcome to my new account. I'm just a traveller who tries to help people around the galaxy with my friend : )

🙎‍♂️ the-stranger follow

Turns out I was wrong about that. Here's an essay on why terrorism is necessary and okay

1 note

🕰️ minister-of-chance follow

"aren't you tired of being nice? Don't you just wanna go apeshit?" no, actually, there are severe consequences to this type of thinking. We must always be aware of our higher responsibilities and act accordingly

🕰️ minister-of-chance follow

Nvm.

5K notes

🖼️ the-real-isaac-greatorex follow

Everyone here is just hating on me because I'm gay. Tying people up killing them and drinking their blood is my hyperfixation

🪨 lez-shaw

Get P.r.o.B.e.d idiot

4 notes

🦋 eighth-doctor

To be honest I sometimes feel like I might benefit from some love and romance

🚃 realwildthyme

Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy doctor 💁‍♀️💖

22 notes

⛏️ benny-summerfield

Just one good day. Can I just have one normal day around here

💸 braxiatel follow

☂️ seventh-doctor

Afrrrrraid not

🦑 random-grel follow

Bad Fact: no. Die.

9K notes

👥 og-chris-cwej follow

Apparently I'm going under cover as an Australian. What's a good Australian name? I'm just gonna go with Bruce

✈️ tegan-jovanka follow

I swear to fucking god you gay little cunt

500 notes

🌱 sam-jones

Let's play never have I ever. I'll start. Never have I ever killed someone

🦋 eighth-doctor

I think this game sucks

📺 compassion5 follow

Obviously

#its very eda heavy because. yknow #doctor who

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xomakara · 2 months

Text

Crossing Boundaries

(re-posting from my old account seulrinnie-rinrin/xomakara-secondary)

SUMMARY | You are older than Wooyoung by two years and is best friends with his older brother, so you always saw Wooyoung as a younger brother. But Wooyoung wants to be so much more than a younger brother. PAIRING | Wooyoung x Reader GENRE/CONTENT | non-idol!Wooyoung, older!Reader, non-idol au, romance, fluff, smut, oral sex, fingering, vaginal sex WARNINGS | A slightly older reader and younger man?? RATING | NSFW, explicit, mature, 18+ LENGTH | 8,033 words TAGLIST | — NETWORKS | AUTHOR’S NOTE | The noona in me is happy and glad to write this. Maybe the filthiest I ever wrote lol. Couldn’t exactly push to 10k but 8k words is still good enough lol

"What's the occasion?" Wooyoung looks at you sprawled out on his bed.

"No occasion. Just needed someone to talk to." You replied after making yourself comfortable. "Your brother is goofing off who knows where and you're the only person that's here in Seoul. I have nothing better to do."

"Did you get dumped?" Wooyoung asked, watching your face. "Again?"

"I dumped him this time!" You say, deciding to let some of the frustration out. "My god he really has no fucking clue what he wants. He likes me, but thinks I'm not good enough for him? How many times do I have to hear that idiot saying those things before it finally sinks into his head that it's wrong?! I deserve someone that can give me the proper love and care! Not someone that doesn't even know how to express his feelings properly or treat me right!"

Wooyoung could be that man. Be the man that gives you proper love and care.

But he knows that you don't think of him in that way. You only see him as a little brother since you're his older brother's best friend. He didn't even care that you were older than him by two years. To him, age was just a number. So to him, there wasn't any reason why he shouldn't have fallen in love with you. You're the girl he wanted most when he was young, but never got because he was too scared to make a move on you.

"The guy is an idiot if he can't see how perfect you are for him." Wooyoung says, leaning back against his desk chair.

"Ugh, maybe I should stop dating people." You sigh. "Maybe I should stick to just reading books from now on. No dating needed at all. Reading about romance in a book is much easier and much less painful."

"Come on, noona. There are other men that would gladly date you." Wooyoung says.

"Are your roommates single?" You turned your head to look at him.

"Why?" He raised an eyebrow at you. “Thought you just said that you’re going to stop dating.”

"I need to find a really handsome guy." You said. “Just so I can get back at that stupid bastard and rub it in his face.”

"Sorry Y/N-noona," Wooyoung shrugged. "But both Hongjoong-hyung and Jongho have girlfriends. And I'm pretty sure my other friends are taken too."

"Fuck. Why do all the pretty men have to be taken?" You complained, burying your face into Wooyoung's pillow. "Even your brother isn't single."

"Like you'd ever date your best friend." Wooyoung snorted, earning himself a glare from you.

"I might have thought about it before." You admitted, returning a snort of your own. "You know there was a time where every girl wanted your brother back in high school."

"Even you?" He laughed, pinching your cheeks. "So why didn't you go after him then?"

"Because your brother only saw me as his best friend." You sighed. "It took him a long time before he realized that I was actually attracted to him. And then he rejected me. And now we laugh about it whenever we meet up together."

"And there starts your origin story of getting heartbroken and dumped every time. Every story will start with Y/N going out with a cute guy, crushing on them, and being rejected." Wooyoung mused.

"Mhm." You agreed. "One day though. One day, everything will work out for me."

"Keep dreaming." Wooyoung teased.

"Fine, fine. It won't happen soon though. Maybe I'll die alone and unfulfilled." You groaned. "You're such a buzzkill, Wooyoung."

"But the world would be dull without me." Wooyoung replied with a laugh.

You sat up in his bed, running a hand through your hair. "Let's go out and drink. I want to forget about all this shit."

"Hm?" Wooyoung raised an eyebrow.

"Drink with me." You said, standing up and taking a step towards him.

"Alright, alright." Wooyoung relented. "Where do you want to go?"

"A bar nearby." You answered, feeling more excited than usual. "Something new, I've been to the same places over and over again."

"Alright." Wooyoung nods. "But don't be picking up random guys there! I'm not gonna deal with some drunk douchebag that's trying to get in your pants. If they try something I swear to god I'll-"

"Ohhh, is my Wooyoungie jealous already?" You asked with a chuckle. "Don't worry, this noona here won't be picking up any guys. Just come out with me and drink with me. You can even invite your roommates or friends. I don't care as long as I have a few drinks in me."

"Noona, you sure?" He eyed you suspiciously. "You're not just saying that to make me feel good, are you?"

"I'm positive." You assured him. "After breaking up with that idiot, I don't even want to deal with picking up guys anymore. That's the least of my worries. Now please come drink with me. Please?"

"Alright." Wooyoung said slowly. "I guess I'll go along with you this one time."

"Thank you!" You jumped up and down excitedly. "That's all I wanted to hear! You're the best Wooyoungie."

"Yeah, yeah." Wooyoung waved you away. "Let's go get drunk."

Wooyoung watched as you laughed at something Yunho was saying to you and he couldn't help but stare at the way your lips moved, forming each word and speaking with such confidence. He had seen you laughing before but never like this. Your eyes shone bright and it seemed like the whole room lit up when you did. Seeing you smile genuinely made him happy and he wished he could have frozen that moment right there.

"You like her." San suddenly stated, shocking him out of his daze.

"What?" Wooyoung asked, looking up at the person beside him.

"Y/N-noona." San repeated, narrowing his eyes. "The way you looked at her the last time we went out drinking, I knew it. You like her. A lot."

"You're delusional." Wooyoung shook his head. "She's my older brother's best friend. She's completely off limits."

"Off limits or not, you still like her." San said. "It's okay, you can admit it."

"There's nothing to admit." Wooyoung muttered, looking back at you and smiling slightly. "Nothing to tell anyone."

"Let me guess...She see's you as a little brother, huh? Is that it?" San gave him a disbelieving look.

"Stop it." Wooyoung sighed. "San, you're annoying me."

"Okay, okay." San said with a laugh. "I'll stop talking about your precious noona."

"Great." Wooyoung rolled his eyes before gesturing to you and Yunho. "Now that we have that settled, I think it's time for me to break up whatever is going on over there."

Your laughter was angelic to his ears. The sound calmed him and the sight of your genuine happiness warmed his heart. All he wanted to do was stay there forever, basking in the bliss that is your smile. How lucky his brother was to have you as a friend. What a treasure it was to have you around.

He had never felt this way about another woman. When he first met you back in elementary school, he didn't pay attention to you because you were a tomboy. But when you entered middle school and started to become more feminine, he started noticing you more and found himself admiring the confidence you carried in yourself. Whenever he hung out with you, he always felt relaxed and refreshed. He never had trouble talking to you and he loved hearing your stories. They were entertaining and very interesting.

In all honesty, he didn't think he'd fall in love with you, but once he realized he had feelings for you, it became impossible to deny it.

Ever since he realized his feelings for you, he's tried so hard to keep himself at a distance, because he didn't want to scare you away with his crush. He didn't want to force you to like him, so he continued acting normal around you, not giving you the chance to realize that he liked you. He figured that if you never knew how he felt about you, it would just give him an excuse to keep your friendship alive. To be close to you. To see your smile and listen to your voice. He enjoyed spending time with you. He liked talking to you.

When he had a chance to get closer to you, he always decided against it, thinking it was a bad idea. After all, you were his older brother's friend.

"Noona, you doing good?" Wooyoung asked you, resting a hand on your shoulder.

"Just a little buzzed, that's all." You managed to say without slurring your words. "Yunho and Mingi has been keeping an eye on me."

"Oh yeah?" Wooyoung grinned. "You're not picking them up, are you?"

"Nooooo~" You laughed, shooing him away playfully. "I said that I wasn't going to pick up guys and I mean it!"

"You're drunk aren't you? How many drinks have you had, noona?" Wooyoung asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Seven." You announced proudly. "Three beers and four shots."

"You really need to slow down." Wooyoung frowned, shaking his head.

"How about you let me buy you a beer, so you can drink with me?" You suggested.

"I refuse." Wooyoung refused to budge.

"How about you buy me a few drinks?" You raised your eyebrows at him.

"No." Wooyoung shook his head firmly.

"How about you take me home?" You suggested, batting your eyelashes at him.

Wooyoung had to take deep breaths to calm himself down at that statement. Of course he wanted to take you home. He wanted to take you home, kiss you senseless, bend you over the table, fuck you - nonono, he couldn't think like that! Not with you as his older brother's friend! It was wrong to have these thoughts. It was wrong to want this. This can never happen.

"Alright, alright." Wooyoung said, reaching for his wallet and pulling out money. "I’ll buy you some more drinks."

“Yay!” You happily clapped your hands, accepting the money from him and quickly getting up. You grabbed Wooyoung's hand, tugging him along behind you. "Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go! Shots! Shots! Shots!”

Wooyoung let you drag him towards the bar where a few of his friends were hanging out. You were practically pulling him by his arm. Luckily, none of them minded. In fact, everyone was amused by the situation. Some were outright staring at you and chuckling. You dragged Wooyoung to the counter, pointing at bottles and making drunken demands while grabbing the bartender's attention. After a few minutes of confusion and waiting, you finally got your drinks. You held the bottle in your hands, lifting it to your mouth. You finished the whole thing before putting the bottle back on the counter.

"Gimme another one." You demanded, putting your arm around Wooyoung's waist.

"Noona." Wooyoung grumbled, placing his hands on your shoulder. “I’m taking you home. You’re drunk.”

“Nooo~~~” You whined, pouting. “Come onnnn.”

Wooyoung sighed and reluctantly handed the bartender more money. “Just one more, please.” He ordered.

As soon as he walked back to you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you." You whispered, leaning into him.

“Shit…” Wooyoung breathed under his breath. He needed to end this now before things got out of control. He couldn't handle it, the way your face lit up, the way you leaned into him, the sweet smell of alcohol on your skin, your breath becoming heavy as you lean into him, the way your body presses against him…

He should've listened to his gut and told you to go home. Right now, his brain was screaming at him to move away from you and put space between the two of you, but his feet weren't listening to him. His body kept moving forward, like a magnet towards yours.

"Umm...yeah." He mumbled awkwardly. “We better get you home.”

"But..." You started.

"Noona." Wooyoung shook his head. "It's late and I'm not gonna let you drive home. Besides, I'm pretty sure your parents or even your sister won't be happy to find out that you came here alone and drank."

"You're probably right." You nodded before pouting. It took Wooyoung all his strength to not throw you over his shoulder. "You're still a buzzkiller."

“I know, I know. Let’s get you home.” Wooyoung agreed.

After saying your goodbyes to the rest of the group, Wooyoung guided you to the car. On the way to your house, you were almost asleep in the passenger seat. Wooyoung had to carry you to the door and place you inside the house. He carried you to your bedroom and placed you gently on the bed. You instantly fell asleep. He turned off the lights and left you sleeping peacefully.

After sending a quick message to your sister to let her know that you were home, Wooyoung left your house to go home. He was still unsettled and distracted by the thought of being near you. He hadn't gotten the chance to ask you if you had enjoyed the night. If you liked him. Maybe you were just playing along with him to tease him. He'd have to wait until tomorrow to find out.

You woke up with the worst hangover in history. You couldn't even remember what happened yesterday. Everything seemed blurry and surreal. Your head hurt, you felt nauseous and you wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. But you also wanted to know why you were in your bed. You groaned and lifted your head up, attempting to sit up, only to hit your head back on the pillow.

"Son of a bitch." You swore angrily. "Fuck…"

Your phone rang and you answered it. "You have five minutes to tell me what the fuck you want or I'm hanging up."

You heard Wooyoung laugh on the other end. "Bad hangover, noona?"

"What did I do last night?" You groaned, wincing in pain.

"You were having fun, I guess." Wooyoung shrugged. "You drank too much, that's for sure."

"Did I pass out somewhere?" You asked curiously.

"No but you nearly fell asleep in my car." Wooyoung said. "I brought you home though."

"Thanks for saving my ass." You chuckled.

"Don't mention it." Wooyoung replied. "I'd do anything for you, noona."

"Anything?" You asked with a teasing tone.

"Oh no. What's going on in that head of yours?" Wooyoung joked.

"Coffeeeeee pleaseeee." You whined into the phone. "Now."

"Yeah, okay. Ten minutes. Go shower or something while you wait." Wooyoung chuckled.

After hanging up, you laid back down on your bed and closed your eyes. You felt like shit and Wooyoung was right, you did drink too much. You should've stopped after three beers, but you wanted to keep drinking. And when someone buys you more alcohol, it becomes really easy to continue drinking, even though you feel like shit.

When you looked at yourself in the mirror, you barely recognized yourself. Your hair was messed up, there were smudges of mascara and eyeliner around your eyes, your lips were chapped and there was dried saliva stuck on your teeth. You look disgusting and definitely not presentable. As much as you hated to admit it, you needed a shower. Badly.

You went to the bathroom and hopped into the shower. The hot water helped ease some of your headache, but didn't make the hungover feeling any better. You took your time washing your hair, shampooing and conditioning it. You massaged your scalp, closing your eyes and letting out a small moan of pleasure as the warm water poured onto your skin.

After showering, you threw on some clean sweats and a t-shirt. Then you made your way downstairs. You found Wooyoung talking to Aimee, your younger sister, in the kitchen. They were laughing at something.

"Where's my coffee, Wooyoungie?" You called out, walking towards them.

"Here, you drunk." Wooyoung slid the coffee cup to you as you settled yourself on the stool. "Do you feel any better?"

"I feel like shit." You mumbled, resting your head on the countertop.

"Awhh." Wooyoung pouted, trying to hide his smile.

"Who told you to drink so much, eonni?" Your younger sister shook her head. "Let me guess. Jaehyun broke up with you?"

"I broke up with him." You retorted.

"And you needed a big, stiff drink." Aimee smirked.

"You have no idea how true that is." You laughed.

"Hey, good riddance. That relationship was doomed to fail anyway." Aimee stated. "While I'm happy that you dumped him, I'm a bit sad because Jaehyun was such a gorgeous man."

"Hey, I'm a gorgeous man!" Wooyoung pointed at himself.

Aimee raised her eyebrows. "Keep telling yourself that, Wooyoung."

"I am gorgeous." Wooyoung proclaimed.

"Whatever, loser." Aimee rolled her eyes.

You couldn't help but think that Wooyoung and your sister looked cute together. They were the same age and they always seemed to get along well whenever they spent time together. It wasn't surprising to see that they both found each other attractive, despite their differences in appearance. Their personality and sense of humor made up for it.

A part of you wanted someone as caring and funny as Wooyoung in your life, but then again, your luck in men wasn't great and you never found anyone who could treat you right. It didn't stop you from dreaming though. One day, you promised yourself, you would meet someone and he would change your mind about love and relationships. You wouldn't settle anymore, you would wait for the right guy to come along.

"Well, I hope you feel better." Wooyoung spoke up, breaking you out of your thoughts. "Do you have any plans for the day?"

"Nothing much. Probably go hang out with your brother or something. But I'm kind of tired and want to go back to sleep." You admitted, rubbing your temples.

"Why don't you just stay in today?" Aimee suggested. "I have to head to the office today anyway so I'll pick up dinner after I get off."

"Are you sure?" You asked, tilting your head.

"Yeah, it's fine." Aimee smiled. "Plus, I'd rather have a girls night with my older sister."

"I'm not included?" Wooyoung pouted.

Aimee rolled her eyes. "You're not a girl, you weirdo." She shook her head. "Besides, don't you have to go or something? Don't you have work?"

"Of course, what do you take me for?" Wooyoung laughed, shaking his head.

"Go away, you two." You moaned, head on the countertop. "Your yapping isn't helping my hangover."

Wooyoung grinned widely. "How dare you."

You reached for the coffee and gulped it down quickly. When you finished, you yawned. "I'm gonna crash now." You mumbled. "Thanks for everything, Wooyoungie. Now go to work, make that money."

"Anytime, noona." Wooyoung gave you a hug before leaving the room.

As soon as he was gone, Aimee pulled you into a tight hug. "Good job dumping Jaehyun." She whispered into your ear. "I'm so proud of you, sis."

"He deserves it." You sighed. "How can someone say they like you but then say you're not good enough for him? What kind of bullshit is that?"

"You're right." Aimee nodded. "You deserve someone better."

You hugged your sister back tightly. "Do you have any single friends? Or ex-boyfriends?" You asked hopefully.

"No eonni, I don't." Aimee laughed. "But you and I both know someone who's single."

"Who?" You inquired.

"Wooyoung, duhhhh." Aimee teased.

"Wooyoung?" You repeated, slightly taken aback. "Our Wooyoung? The Wooyoung who just left our house? The cutie-pie Wooyoung who's been our childhood friend for years? That Wooyoung?"

"That Wooyoung." Aimee giggled.

"Weird." You frowned. "I mean…of course he's single. But why? He's such a great catch."

"Maybe he's waiting for the perfect girl." Aimee suggested.

"I don't believe that for one second." You shook your head. "But if he is, I'm sure he'll meet her soon."

"Or maybe he already has." Aimee mused, a smile on her face. "Maybe he's already found that special one and she just doesn't know it yet."

"Mhmm." You hummed in agreement.

"Let's hope he doesn't have to wait too long." Your sister shook her head and grabbed her purse, making her way to the front door. "I'm heading to work now. I'll see you later, okay eonni?"

"Sure thing." You waved goodbye to her.

"Text me what you want for dinner." She instructed and you replied with a thumbs up.

You watched as your sister left the house, shutting the door behind her. You made your way to the couch and sunk into the cushions, curling up into a ball. You closed your eyes and let out a sigh, wondering if your day would get any better.

For reasons unknown, you woke up feeling incredibly horny. You had no idea why this would be happening. You haven't gotten laid in quite a few months and when you were still with Jaehyun, the both of you never even had sex. So it was extremely strange to wake up feeling this way.

Okay maybe it was that steamy movie you watched while you were indisposed on the couch. Maybe watching the couple undress and finally having sex made you yearn for some action of your own.

It had to be. Yeah.

You glanced at the clock. It was only noon and you had an entire day ahead of you. Grabbing your phone, you noticed the text messages from Wooyoung that you missed from a few hours ago. Instead of replying to him, you just decided to call him.

"Noona?" Wooyoung greeted, answering the phone immediately. "You good?"

"Yeah, I just woke up again." You huffed. "Are you done with work?"

"Yeah, I'm heading over to your place right now."

"Why?" You questioned, sitting upright. "It's only noon."

"Because you didn't answer Aimee's calls or texts so she got worried." Wooyoung explained. "I felt bad and offered to check on you. Are you okay, noona?"

"How far are you?"

"Pulling up right now. I'm hanging up."

In a few seconds, you heard the keypad to your front door opening and Wooyoung walked inside, taking his shoes off at the entrance. God, he looked so handsome standing there with his slightly disheveled hair, his crisp white shirt and jeans combo making him look casual but still appealing.

You wondered what his body looked like under his clothes and suddenly your imagination started to run wild. Nonono, you couldn't think like that. He was your best friend's younger brother! No matter how attracted you were to him, he wasn't someone you should be sleeping with. You liked him like a little brother and nothing else.

At least, you hoped so.

You pushed the unwanted thoughts out of your mind and smiled as Wooyoung made his way over to you. "Are you okay?" He asked, crouching beside you. "Hangover still bad?"

"Not too bad." You shook your head. "Did you bring me anything?"

"Yeah, here." Wooyoung handed you a bottle of water and some ibuprofen pills. "Take these. You'll feel better in no time."

"Thanks, Wooyoung." You sighed, leaning against him. "How was work?"

"It went pretty well. Hongjoong told me to go home. When your sister called me, he told me to just leave and take care of you."

You nodded. "Sounds like a good friend."

"Definitely." Wooyoung chuckled. "Do you need anything else?"

"I do but I'm not sure if it's something you could help me with." You muttered.

"What's up?" Wooyoung tilted his head. "You could tell me."

You shook your head, your cheeks slightly heating up. "Nononono, you don't need to-"

"Shhh…" Wooyoung placed a finger on your lips, silencing you instantly. "Look, I won't judge you, noona. Whatever you want, I'll try my best to give it to you."

"That's not-"

"Just relax and talk to me." Wooyoung said softly. "Please?"

You looked up at him and thought for a moment. What exactly did you want from him? Would asking him to pleasure you turn things between you and him sexual? Would he actually agree to do it? Did you really want to ask him?

All these questions raced through your mind and you bit your lip nervously. In the end, you decided to throw caution to the wind and see where this would lead you. If it ended badly, you could always cut ties with Wooyoung and go back to being just best friends.

Hopefully.

"Don't judge me okay? Please don't hate me." You breathed, looking away from Wooyoung and staring at the ground. "This might sound weird and I'm sorry if it does."

"I won't hate you, noona." Wooyoung assured you. "Whatever you need, just ask me."

The silence stretched on until you began to wonder if Wooyoung was going to speak. Then he raised an eyebrow at you and nodded once. He leaned forward slightly, giving you space to talk.

"Well...I woke up feeling...fuck, this is embarrassing to say." You huffed. "So here goes."

You took a deep breath and swallowed, telling yourself to just spit it out. You took another deep breath and braced yourself for what you were about to say.

"I..." You paused for a few moments, trying to find the right words to say. "I've been horny all morning. And I've never wanted someone so badly in my life."

Wooyoung gaped at you for a moment before covering his mouth with his hand, stifling his laughter. You stared at him in shock, your face turning bright red. Why did you just admit that? Of course he was gonna laugh. Why did you just open up to him?

"See? I knew it sounded weird!" You buried your face in your hands in embarrassment. "And now I've embarrassed myself even more."

"Calm down, noona." Wooyoung chuckled. "There's no need to be embarrassed."

You felt his hands softly gripping your thigh, stroking your skin lightly. You looked down at him and bit your lower lip anxiously. You weren't sure if he meant what he was doing as comforting or sexual.

"Sorry, I just..." You huffed, shaking your head. "I shouldn't be saying this. I shouldn't be thinking about this."

"I know, but-"

"-I'm just saying." You cut him off. "I'm not usually like this. Like, ever. And I can't believe I'm talking to you about this."

"Tell me what you want, noona." Wooyoung gently coaxed, stroking your thighs once more. "Tell me, show me how to please you."

You bit your lip nervously, feeling Wooyoung's eyes fixated on yours. You stared back at him, unsure of what to say. At the same time, you also felt empowered knowing that you could trust him with this. After all, you were opening up to him because you wanted him to know what you wanted. Right?

Right?

You gulped. "Fuck, I can't believe I'm doing this. Wooyoung..."

"Hmm? Tell me, noona." Wooyoung spoke softly, his voice somehow calming you down. "Show me how you want me to pleasure you."

"Wooyoung..." You whimpered, wanting him to kiss you but also not wanting to risk kissing him. Kissing him would make things...complicated.

"...say it. Just say it." Wooyoung repeated, running his fingers up and down your thigh. "Say whatever you want. Don't be afraid. Say it out loud."

You bit your lower lip and furrowed your brows. Fuck it all. You were just gonna go for it. You were just gonna fuck around with Wooyoung and see where this would take you. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

You grabbed his hand and placed it under your sweatpants, letting him fondle your already moist pussy through your underwear. "Fuck, I need you to finger me, eat me out. Touch me, make me come."

"Let's get rid of your sweatpants first." He let out a small chuckle. "Let's do this properly."

You let out a small moan as you felt him tug on your sweatpants, pushing them down below your hips. Your panties came next and after that, you were completely naked from the waist down. On his knees, he grabbed your hips and pulled you to sit on the edge of the couch cushions, positioning himself directly in front of you.

"Oh my god, Wooyoung..." You gasped, feeling his lips trailing small kisses up your thighs. You reached down and wrapped your fingers around his hair, encouraging him to continue.

"Tell me, noona." He asked softly, planting small kisses on your inner thighs. "What do you want?"

By no means was Wooyoung inexperienced when it came to sex. He'd gone out with quite a few women, which gave him plenty of experience. But the fact that he wanted you to tell him what to do made you feel empowered. Not only was he giving you what you wanted, he was listening to you as well. And you wanted him to know that you enjoyed having him do those things to you.

Your breathing quickened as Wooyoung continued to explore your body, kissing and licking along the sides of your thighs, brushing your folds with his tongue. You moaned as he trailed kisses along your inner thigh and began teasing your clit with his tongue. He was fucking amazing at it, using his tongue to flick the sensitive nub. With every pass, your moans grew louder and you gripped his hair tighter, encouraging him to do even more.

"Fuck..." You whispered hoarsely. "Please don't stop, Wooyoung."

Wooyoung replied with a smile. "Keep talking, noona. I want to hear what you're saying. Want to know if you're feeling good."

He continued to lick and suck on your clit while simultaneously teasing your hole with his tongue, slowly drawing your arousal to its peak. You kept your hands around his head, tugging at his hair and moaning loudly as he kept pleasuring you. His fingers ran through your wetness and brought them back to his mouth, sucking and licking them clean.

Fuck, you wanted his fingers in your mouth. Wanted to lick them, suck them dry.

As if reading your mind, he lifted his fingers to your lips. "Noona, suck my fingers." He ordered.

Reluctantly, you parted your lips and closed your teeth around his digits. You sucked hard, pulling at his fingers with your mouth. He moaned in delight and tightened his grip on your hips, guiding his fingers back to your pussy.

You wiggled beneath him, letting him push one finger inside of you. The sensation of his digits stretching your insides almost made you cry out. He then inserted a second finger, adding a third one later on. His mouth never left your pussy, though, continuing to lick you mercilessly as he slid his fingers in and out of you. Every thrust was like fire coursing through your body. It was too much and you quickly began panting heavily. You could barely think straight anymore, everything but him, his touch, his hot breath on your pussy.

His tongue was magic and you could feel your orgasm building rapidly. "Oh shit...Wooyoung, oh my god."

"Are you close, noona?" He asked you in between licks.

You whimpered, unable to form any words. All you wanted was to scream, yell out, tell him to hurry the fuck up and make you come. "Oh god...I...I can't...stop...oh god..."

Wooyoung increased his pace, sucking on your clit and rubbing his fingers against your walls. You couldn't help it. Soon enough, your orgasm hit you like a truck.

Your entire body convulsed as waves of pleasure washed over you. Your body tensed as your juices coated Wooyoung's fingers and his lips. And then you collapsed back onto the couch, gasping for air. You could feel your body shaking from your orgasm and Wooyoung grinned proudly at you.

When your heartbeat returned to normal, you sat up and patted Wooyoung on the cheek. "Wow, Wooyoung. That was incredible."

"Did I do good, noona? Are you happy?" He smiled sweetly at you, patting his hand against your ass playfully.

"Mhm, I loved it." You replied, blushing. "Thank you for indulging me."

"I'll do anything you want, noona." Wooyoung assured you, wrapping his arms around you. "Whenever you want."

"That's good to know." You smiled, leaning into him. "So, wanna keep fooling around some more?"

"Is that what you want?" He asked you with a smirk. "To keep fooling around?"

"Hell yeah." You laughed. "Can we?"

"Anything for you, noona." He grinned.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a flurry of kissing. Eventually, you two had moved into the bedroom, the rest of your clothes strewn across the floor. Wooyoung's shirt and jeans were tossed to the side of the bed and you noticed that he was only wearing boxers. You stared at his abs, tracing your fingers along the line of his stomach muscles.

You kissed him deeply, knowing that kissing him was going to get complicated. But you didn't care. Who cares if things got complicated. You'll reach that hurdle eventually anyway. Right?

"My turn." You murmured against his lips. He sat on the edge of the bed as you dropped to your knees in front of him. "I wanna taste you, Wooyoung."

He moaned at your words, reaching down and running his hands through your hair. "You don't have to do this for me, noona..."

"But I want to. Please, Wooyoung?" You pleaded with him, licking your lips seductively. "Please let me taste you."

"You're not drunk, are you?" He teased, chuckling slightly.

You laughed as well, biting your bottom lip. "Nope, just trying to cure a hangover."

Wooyoung smirked. "Then taste me whenever you want, noona."

You wasted no time in sucking on his erection, wrapping your lips around him and sliding him deep into your throat. He groaned in pleasure, holding onto your hair tightly. You liked the rough feeling of his hands on your hair, like you belonged there, sucking him off.

With your free hand, you squeezed his balls gently, massaging them with your thumb. A moan escaped his lips as you slowly bobbed your head up and down, taking him deeper each time until his tip hit the back of your throat. You looked up at him and he let out another moan before grabbing onto your hair once again.

You hummed with satisfaction, knowing that he liked what you were doing to him. As you licked and sucked on his dick, you ran your fingers along his shaft, lightly playing with his sack and stroking his head. It wasn't long before he was pushing his hips up, forcing his cock further down your throat. This excited you and you held his cock tight, not wanting him to pull away.

"You're such a good girl." He praised you.

You giggled. "Good girls are rewarded."

Wooyoung chuckled. "Alright then, good girl. Be rewarded."

As soon as he said that, you felt his warm seed coat your throat. You gulped a little at the feeling of him coming down your throat and used your hands to massage his shaft and testicles, making sure to take every last drop of cum out of him. When he was finished, he collapsed onto the bed, breathing heavily. You crawled up next to him, placing soft kisses on his chest and shoulders.

You weren't satisfied yet. So you proceeded to start sucking on his nipples, causing him to moan in pleasure. "I want more, Wooyoung." You breathed.

"How much more?" He asked you teasingly. “You're so insatiable, aren't you?”

"You've got all day to please me." You responded slyly. "All night."

Wooyoung chuckled as you straddled him, grinding your wet pussy against his cock. "Hmm...Sounds tempting, noona."

"Will you satisfy me?" You asked him, watching as his eyes darkened with lust.

"Of course." He growled, pulling you towards him as he sat up. His hands wandered over your soft skin. "Whatever you want, I'll give it to you."

His words made you shiver. You knew exactly what you wanted and now you were going to get it. And Wooyoung was going to give it to you. You could feel yourself growing moist at the thought of his big cock filling you.

"What would you like, noona?" He asked you seriously. "I'll do whatever you want."

"I want you inside me." You kissed him softly on the lips. "Give me your big cock."

"Yes, yes, baby." He groaned as you took his penis into your hands. "Put it in, noona."

You slowly slid him inside of you. "Fuuuck." You gasped. "That feels so good."

"Fuck yeah." Wooyoung moaned, staring into your eyes lovingly. "Feels good, right?"

"Mmhmm." You nodded, pressing your breasts against his chest as he thrust his hips upward, driving himself deeper into you.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together behind his back. The position felt amazing. You could easily grind your pussy against his dick as he pushed it in and out of you.

"It feels so good, noona." He moaned, resting his forehead against yours.

"Me too." You agreed, your fingers tangling in his hair. "Every inch feels so fucking good."

Wooyoung kissed you deeply, nibbling on your lower lip. "I'm glad, noona." He whispered, nipping on your earlobe. "God, you're beautiful. You're taking me in so well, noona. Feels so damn good."

Your body was starting to heat up again and you moaned when he bit down on your neck. "Ah! Ah!" You yelled out, closing your eyes and clenching around his shaft. "Oh, fuck."

"Tell me, noona." Wooyoung urged, licking your neck. "Say what you need."

"Ohhh, fuck." You cried out, digging your nails into his back. "Wooyoung...mmm..please..."

Wooyoung released your neck and slowly began thrusting his hips up, sliding his cock in and out of you. "Say it, noona." He moaned, lowering his head and suckling your breast. "Say what you want."

You pulled his hair roughly, moaning. "More, please, more..."

"You like this, don't you, noona?" He asked you, chuckling lightly. "Don't worry. I won't stop."

You shook your head, looking into his eyes. "No, please don't stop." You whined. "Just keep fucking me."

He thrust harder, sending shockwaves throughout your body. "I'll fuck you all day and all night, noona. Every single second. No matter when and where you want it, I'll give it to you." He promised you, rocking his hips faster and faster. "I want to feel your tight pussy around my cock. Tighten up around me, noona."

And you did just that. You tightened around his cock and moaned loudly, unable to contain your pleasure. "Oh god, fuck, Wooyoung...that's so good."

You both started moaning louder and louder as your orgasms hit you. And you didn't want it to end. Not now, not ever. And you swore that it wouldn't. You continued to rock your hips back and forth, wanting him to stay buried inside of you forever.

He slowed his thrusts only to position you onto your hands and knees. He grabbed hold of your hips, pushing them back against his waist as he rammed himself into you again.

"Holy shit." He exclaimed, panting heavily. "I can't believe how tight you are."

You whimpered as he gripped your hips tighter. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" He mumbled.

He ran a hand along your naked back, the other holding your hip. You closed your eyes and just enjoyed the sensation of being fucked, completely and utterly taken. Your body sagged against the mattress, pushing your ass back towards him and giving him even more access to your pussy. He couldn't get enough of you. You rocked your hips, thrusting back against him, meeting each of his hard thrusts with your own.

"Jesus Christ, noona." Wooyoung cursed under his breath. "This feels so good. So goddamn good."

"Do it, Wooyoung." You panted. "Fill me with your cum. Fill me with your cum."

He leaned forward and kissed and sucked on the back of your neck and shoulder as he thrust his hips up into you, emptying his entire load into your eager pussy. His entire body tensed as he came, the waves of his orgasm radiating through him. With every wave of his climax, you came closer to climaxing again and the feeling was mind-blowing. You'd never felt anything like it. You could feel his hot seed oozing out of your pussy and covering your walls. His cock stayed buried inside of you for a few moments longer before finally slipping out.

You collapsed on the bed, gasping for air as you tried to catch your breath. "Wooyoung...god, Wooyoung..."

He collapsed next to you, running his fingers through your hair. "Baby, you okay?" He asked you, concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You nodded, grinning happily. "Didn't expect you to cum three times though."

"I didn't expect you to cum three times either." He smiled.

"Yeah, now I'm exhausted." You sighed.

"It's alright, baby. You can rest if you want." He assured you. "I've got you."

"Okay." You nodded, snuggling up close to him.

You quickly fell asleep in his arms, listening to his steady heartbeat.

The moonlight shone through the curtains and you groggily opened your eyes. For a brief moment, you thought you heard something but shook your head. No, there wasn't anyone else in the room. Only you and Wooyoung.

You yawned, looking down at Wooyoung who was lying beside you. A blanket covered both of your bodies and he snored peacefully against your chest.

You went and did it. You fucked your best friend's younger brother. Well, sort of. More like he fucked you but still.

But you didn't regret it. In fact, it was one of the best nights of your life. You didn't know why but something about it felt natural.

"Noona..." Wooyoung mumbled against your skin, interrupting your thoughts.

You glanced down at him, feeling his soft lips on your neck. He was facing away from you, sleeping soundly. Your heart fluttered as you brushed your fingertips across his back. Oh my god, you thought. You really love this man. You loved him way more than you should have.

Maybe you'd been in love with him this whole time and just now noticed it. Maybe he was attracted to you as well but chose not to admit it. Or maybe you're delusional. It was possible.

Whatever the case, you couldn't deny the strong connection you shared with Wooyoung. Whether you ended up dating each other or not, you knew you wouldn't regret tonight.

At least, not yet.

With a sigh, you tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. You looked at him again, feeling yourself growing warmer.

He was perfect. Asleep or awake, the boy was gorgeous.

"Wooyoung?"

"Hmm?" He sleepily moaned, shifting slightly in your embrace.

"Are you still sleeping?" You asked, worried. "Shouldn't you be heading home?"

"It's late." He mumbled, snuggling closer to your body and closing his eyes. "And I feel comfortable here. Just let me spend the night."

"What if my sister comes home?" You frowned. "Do you want her to catch us in bed together?"

"She won't. She told me earlier that she was going to her boyfriend's when I offered to take care of you." He chuckled lightly.

You ran your fingers through his hair. "And you didn't bother to tell me this?"

"If I did, you would have told me to go home. We wouldn't be having this conversation right now." He sighed, cupping your face. "Let's stay like this, okay? At least until morning."

"Fine." You huffed, wrapping your arms around him. "I'm not exactly complaining."

"Good." Wooyoung kissed your forehead before pressing his lips to yours gently.

"Wooyoung, what are we now? Because our relationship has definitely changed after today." You mused, tracing the curve of his jawline with your fingertip.

"We're more than just friends now." He said lightly, running his fingers down your arm. "There's nothing stopping us from dating now. You know this, right? We're both adults. What's stopping us?"

What was stopping you? Other than that tiny voice in the back of your head. You weren't ready to give up the friendship you shared with Wooyoung just yet. Dating him would complicate things way too much. You weren't ready to deal with a breakup or hurting him.

"Y/N," He called out and you couldn't help but bite your lower lip. That was the first time he called you by your name and not noona. "I want to be with you. I don't want to hide anything from you anymore. I want you to know everything about me. I want you to see me and not see just a kid that I used to be."

"Wooyoung..." Your heart thumped wildly in your chest. "How long have you felt this way?"

"Since forever." He sighed, moving to kiss your nose. "I've liked you for as long as I can remember. Always wanting to be near you, watch you, listen to you speak."

"Then why didn't you say anything?" You pouted, lowering your head to look at him.

"Why should I?" He shrugged. "If you don't feel the same way, then I wouldn't want to pressure you into something you aren't comfortable doing."

"Wooyoung, I-"

"-want to date you, Y/N." He cut you off, grinning mischievously at you. "Not just for sex, although I want that too, but because I actually want to date you."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Huh?"

"I want to take you out. Spend time with you. Be with you. All the time. Not as just friends or you being my older brother's friend. I want to be with you. Love you." He lowered his voice, nibbling on your bottom lip. "Just you."

A surge of warmth flooded your body. "Really?" You asked quietly, smiling shyly at him. "You mean that?"

"Of course, baby.” He laughed lightly. "Who else do you think would say such stupid things to you?"

"Oh, I don't know. Some guy named Wooyoung." You quipped back.

"Ha ha, very funny." He groaned, cupping your cheek before capturing your lips in his.

"Wooyoung..." You whispered against his lips. "You know I love you, right?"

"Since when?" He whispered back, leaning forward and pressing his lips to your neck. "Noona, why haven't you said it to me sooner?"

"Because I wasn't sure if I loved you." You admitted, pulling away slightly to meet his gaze. "But now I am."

"Ahhh..." Wooyoung moaned softly. "I love you too, Y/N."

"Wait, I didn't hear you." You laughed, grabbing hold of his collar. "Say it again."

"Noona...I love you." He repeated himself, gazing at you with adoring eyes. "I love you."

You kissed him deeply, loving how responsive he was to your kisses. His hands tangled in your hair as he deepened the kiss, leaving trails of fire on your lips. Suddenly, you pulled away from him and stared into his eyes. "I love you too, Wooyoung."

"Fuck, Y/N..." He groaned, covering his mouth with his hand. "My hyung is gonna kill me."

"Don't worry about him." You laughed. "He'll be happy that his best friend and his younger brother finally found happiness together."

"You really love me right?" He asked, his lips on your shoulder.

"More than you'll ever know." You replied softly, staring into his dark eyes. "I know I complain about my bad luck in men and that I just wanted someone to give me proper love and care. Guess he was right in front of me, all along."

"I'll make sure to treat you with love and care from now on." Wooyoung promised, pressing another kiss to your neck.

"Promise?" You giggled, biting his bottom lip.

"Absolutely." He smirked at you. "Y/N, you're the only woman I will ever want."

"Hmmm." You hummed, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Then let's just stay in bed all night...hmm?"

"Oh yeah, you're absolutely right." Wooyoung grinned, bringing you even closer to him. "We should stay in bed.”

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