#Clip tv box

[thecitybee]

Meat-eating orchids Forgive no one just yet

portrait study of The Female of the Species

✨ 🐝 Commissions | Instagram | Buy Prints 🐝 ✨

[madamemasquerade]

It’s better this way, I think.

I have purpose again this way.

I’ll be remembered this way.

I’m doing good, I think.

I’m doing something good, I think.

He cares.

I have somewhere to stay safe this way.

I have a new, useful form this way.

Things are better, I think.

I’m better, I think.

I’m meant to be better.

Why else would he put up with me this way?

//Just gettin some quick CSP practice before I begin some asks! I just learned about the ice cream tool and holy hell man…

//I’m gonna be makin shit 10x faster!! WOOOOOH!!!

//A N X I E T Y B O I H O U R S

[micahdotgov]

it looks like that blooper is from a vhs not a dvd based off the quality and the lines on the screen plus the poster on youtube posts a lot of vhs clips so i guess im going to have to get a vhs off ebay??? i don’t have a vhs player obviously but surely they can’t be that expensive nowadays

[collectwthme]

box lunch haul from last week part 1

[rue-isabelle]

rueee, i have a funny idea about the aphrodite series(?) tho it'll be a little bit different from how it goes so far... so... maybe let it be an au of it? like they(drivers) be like all into her but she's actually w toto n susie if you're into that 😂 lovelovelove the series and been reading it on repeat aaaa

No Part 2! This is not the ending, just a side idea

Aphrodite of Formula 1 (side story)

Susie and Toto had been quietly enjoying the chaos Yn caused among the grid and their partners. Their shared secret—that Yn wasn’t just Toto’s assistant but the third, cherished member of their relationship—made every stolen glance, every awkward encounter, and every dramatic meltdown far more entertaining.

For months, the paddock had turned into a soap opera, and Susie and Toto had front-row seats.

---

The day Alexandra had her infamous meltdown, Susie and Toto couldn’t contain their amusement. Watching the footage on their phones, Susie laughed so hard she nearly spilled her coffee.

“She’s throwing a tantrum like a spoiled brat,” Susie chuckled, showing the clip to Yn, who smiled awkwardly, unsure how to respond.

Toto, always direct, smirked. “Ungrateful brat,” he corrected, his tone dripping with amusement. Later, when a journalist asked about the incident on live TV, Toto didn’t hold back.

“Well,” he said with a sly smile, “some people don’t know how to handle being second choice. Or third.”

The comment went viral within minutes.

---

Toto and Susie loved adding fuel to the fire.

One afternoon in the paddock, Kelly and Alexandra were lingering nearby, clearly irritated by the drivers’ infatuation with Yn. Susie nudged Toto and said loudly, “Isn’t it funny how Max and Charles always seem to be wherever Yn is? Almost like they forget they’re supposed to have girlfriends.”

Toto smirked. “You’d think they’d be more subtle.”

Both women bristled, glaring daggers at Yn, who was blissfully unaware of the jab.

---

It was Susie who came up with the idea to get Pierre and Kika to buy Yn something extravagant.

“Tell them you’re looking for new lingerie,” Susie whispered to Yn during a quiet moment in the motorhome.

“What? Why?” Yn asked, confused.

“Just trust me,” Susie said with a wink.

Later that day, Yn casually mentioned to Pierre and Kika that she was thinking about updating her wardrobe. The next morning, a luxurious box of designer lingerie appeared in Yn’s hotel room, along with a handwritten note: Only the best for you.

Susie burst out laughing when she saw the gift. “I can’t believe they actually did it,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes.

---

Whenever George and Carmen were nearby, Toto made a point of complimenting Yn loudly.

“You look stunning today,” he’d say, his eyes lingering on Yn in a way that made George’s jaw tighten.

Carmen would smile politely, oblivious, but George’s thinly veiled frustration was obvious to anyone paying attention.

---

It was during a quiet conversation between Susie and Rebecca that things got out of hand. They were discussing Yn’s flexibility, something Susie praised enthusiastically.

“She’s so graceful,” Susie said with a knowing smile. “Her yoga practice really shows.”

Rebecca agreed. “It’s impressive, really. She can bend like—”

Carlos, who had been within earshot, suddenly choked on his drink, his face turning beet red.

“Carlos, are you okay?” Susie asked innocently.

He muttered something incoherent, quickly crossing his legs. But when Susie and Rebecca started laughing, he stood up abruptly and left, muttering an excuse.

“Too easy,” Susie whispered to Rebecca, who was now in on the joke.

---

Eventually, though, Toto and Susie’s amusement began to wear thin. The drivers were monopolizing Yn’s time, and both felt the sting of jealousy creeping in. So, they decided to make a statement.

At the next Grand Prix, the three of them arrived together, and the paddock was stunned.

Susie held Yn’s hand tightly, her fingers laced with hers, while Toto’s large hand rested possessively on Yn’s lower back. The trio moved through the crowd like royalty, heads turning as whispers spread like wildfire.

When they reached the Mercedes garage, Susie turned to Yn with a mischievous smile and leaned in, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to her lips. The kiss left no room for misinterpretation—it was passionate, intimate, and utterly unapologetic.

By the time Susie pulled away, Yn’s cheeks were flushed, and Toto was smirking. “Don’t be late,” Susie teased, winking at Yn before walking away, her confidence leaving everyone else in awe.

Toto, ever the gentleman, placed a hand on Yn’s waist and gently steered her into the garage. “Shall we?” he asked softly, his voice full of warmth.

The paddock was left stunned, the realization hitting them all at once: Yn wasn’t just Toto’s assistant. She was part of something far deeper, something none of them could touch.

[cameronsbabydoll]

BUFFALO 66 AU — CHAPTER FOUR

WARNINGS: emotional abuse, psychological manipulation, emotional neglect, development of stockholm syndrome

you wake up first.

the sun cuts through the cheap blinds in slits. it paints lines across the motel bed, across your bare legs, across rafe’s arm where it hangs out from under the blanket.

he’s still asleep.

or maybe he’s just pretending to be.

you breathe quiet. slow. careful.

his coat is wrapped around your shoulders. not because he gave it to you. he just left it on the floor, and you were cold. still, it smells like him — cigarettes, motel soap, something you can’t name.

you sit up. ease off the bed. pull the blue dress off the nightstand and shake it out gently, trying not to wake him.

you don’t realize he’s watching until you feel it. his gaze.

you freeze.

“��you sleep in that?” his voice is thick with sleep. rough.

you nod. “yeah. i didn’t wanna—didn’t want to stretch the hoodie out.”

he hums low. no emotion. just stares.

you slip into the bathroom, heart pounding, and change.

he drives with one hand on the wheel, the other draped across the space between you.

not touching you. just there.

like a warning. or a promise.

you chew your nails and stare out the window.

“you don’t talk as much anymore,” rafe mutters.

you blink, glancing over.

“you told me not to,” you say softly.

he smirks. shakes his head. “that was yesterday.”

the diner is off some nameless highway, all neon signs and tired-looking waitresses. inside, it’s warm and too quiet.

you sit across from him, tucking your dress under your thighs. you look like a girl from a different movie — baby blue and doe-eyed and out of place.

he orders black coffee and eggs. doesn’t ask what you want, but you order toast and tea anyway.

the waitress smiles at you.

you smile back, polite. sweet. soft.

rafe watches it all like it’s a performance.

and maybe it is.

you’re trying. you really are.

“do you like sugar?” you ask after a minute, stirring your tea. “in your coffee, i mean.”

“why do you care?”

you hesitate. “just making conversation.”

“don’t.”

you press your lips together. nod.

he takes a bite of his eggs. chews slow.

“i didn’t say stop talking,” he adds.

you glance up, unsure if it’s a trap. “i just don’t know what you want.”

he wipes his mouth with a napkin, leans back in the booth.

“i want you to act like you’re mine.”

you nod again. quieter this time. “okay.”

and you do.

you refill his coffee without asking.

you keep your eyes down when the waitress flirts.

you let him put his hand on your thigh under the table even though your hands shake.

the motel that night is worse than the others. the sheets are scratchy. the air smells like mildew and cigarette ash.

you take the bed again. rafe sits in the armchair, smoking, staring at the static on the tv like he’s seeing something else.

you don’t mean to ask.

you really don’t.

but you do.

“did you… have a mom?”

his jaw ticks.

you freeze.

he doesn’t yell. doesn’t even look at you. just stands up slow and flicks his cigarette into the sink.

he’s quiet for a beat. too quiet.

then—

“don’t ask me shit like that.”

you flinch. nod. “sorry.”

your voice breaks, and you’re crying before you can stop it. soft and ugly. the kind that comes from deep in your chest. you curl in on yourself.

rafe turns, sees it.

he sighs.

you expect him to yell. to walk out. to leave.

instead, he sits on the edge of the bed.

his voice is clipped. almost annoyed. “why are you crying now?”

you don’t answer.

he mutters something under his breath. pulls out the leftover pie from a diner box. hands it to you without looking at your face.

“here. eat.”

you stare at it. confused. still shaking.

“you scare the shit out of me,” you whisper.

rafe shrugs.

“yeah,” he says. “i scare myself too.”

you fall asleep in your dress.

it’s wrinkled, a little dirty now from all the moving around. but you keep wearing it.

and that night, as you drift off, you swear you feel him watching again.

his hand brushes your knee under the blanket.

just once.

then pulls back.

and in the silence that follows, you realize you want him to do it again.

[sweetdispatch]

The fight - Q. Hughes

masterlist pairing: Quinn Hughes x girlfriend!reader summary: Quinn's girlfriend is turned on after his fight during the game against Kings warning: NSFW, graphic sex (18+), dom!quinn, dirty talk, degradation, spit, oral (m and f receiving), dacryphilia, spanking, rough sex, swearing note: i forgot to add this and it was saved all weekend in drafts haha enjoy it guys!

„…And Quinn Hughes lost his temper…” That’s all she heard from the tv. The score was showing 3:2 for Vancouver, so she decided to get ready for bed. 5 minutes of the game were left, and she felt confident that Quinn and his team were gonna win this. Although, when she heard the sentence from commentators’ mouths, she froze in the bathroom with her toothbrush in mouth.

She ran back to the bedroom to rewind and see the situation in which her boyfriend lost his cool. When she saw the way Quinn threw Kings’ player into the bands, she felt her cheeks burning. Quinn was the definition of a calm and composed person. She barely saw him losing his temper. She watched this clip all over again. The next thing she saw was Quinn chirping at the guy in the penalty box. All she had in her mind was this fight and him in the penalty box.

Right after the game was over and Vancouver celebrated a 4:2 win, she reached for her phone and sent Quinn a message, “You did incredible today, but the fight?? You’re badass out there, so hot captain”. She couldn’t stop thinking about it. She laid in the bed and watched the clips on social media. After two hours, Quinn called her.

“You really enjoyed me throwing the guy into bands?” He laughed. She knew that she’s on speaker when she heard his voice muffled and him packing suitcase.

“Well yeah, I didn’t know you could be that hot”. She said biting her nails.

“Don’t tell me this turns you on”. When she was dead silent, he continued. “You can’t be serious. Me being mad got you on?”

“I… Yeah.”. He giggled. “But in my defense, I never saw you in this way”.

“Oh, what I should do with you now”.

“You can be mean to me too…” Before she could speak again, he interrupted her.

“Princess, you're ridiculous”.

“Why? We can always spice things up in bedroom”. He hasn’t said anything, she felt that it was dumb suggestion. “Or never mind, forget what I said, it was stupid”.

“No, it wasn’t. I just got lost in my thoughts”. He took a deep breath and spoke again. “If this is what you want, we can do it”.

“Oh, I want to”.

“Good… good. Then I expect you to be ready when I get back home”.

“Yes captain”.

“You’re playing with the fire princess”. He already was turned on by the thought of her at his mercy . “I love you”.

“Love you too, can’t wait to see you”.

They hung up and she finally could fall asleep. She set her alarm clock early to get ready. When she woke up, she went to take a shower and shaved her body. After it, she went to their dressing room and picked his favorite lingerie. To make it not too obvious, she put on one of his old shirts and went to the kitchen to make them breakfast. She knew, he’s probably hungry after the trip.

On the other hand, Quinn’ mind was thinking all the time about her words. He couldn’t believe that losing his temper turned her on so much to want to have rough sex. He started to think of the ways to make the most of it and at the same time not to hurt her. There were so many things he always wanted to try with her and now, he saw the perfect opportunity.

When Quinn finally got back home, the first thing that hit his nose was the smell of bacon and orange juice. He dropped his bags by the front door and went further to their apartment. She was placing all the food on the table. She turned and saw him standing in his suit, hands in his pockets. She was already turned on.

“Hi baby, great games in California”. She went to kiss him and placed his hands behind his neck. He grabbed her by the waist and hugged her. His hand went to grab her ass and play with her panties.

“You look beautiful”. He spanked her. “As much as I would love to fuck you, you need to eat because I know that you waited for me. Get your cute butt on the chair and let’s dive in your delicious food”.

She did what he told her. They sat at the table and ate breakfast together. Quinn was telling her how roadie went, and she was telling him about her work. When they finished, she stood up to clean the table, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her on his lap.

“Not so fast princess. We have things to discuss”. He kissed her behind her ear, knowing how much she loved it. “Do you trust me with what’s about to happen?”

“Yes”. She kissed his lips.

“Good. Now, if anything I did will make you uncomfortable, you will tell me, right?” She nodded her head. He grabbed her chin so she could face him fully. “Words princess”.

“Yes, I will tell you. Can we start?” He laughed at her desperation.

“You really turn on, huh? I bet you’re already soaking wet”. He placed his hand in her panties and started rubbing her clit. “Gosh, you’re pathetic. I haven’t done anything and you’re wet. Is the fight really got you going?” She moaned at his words. Quinn never spoke to her like that but she already loved it.

“Don’t tell me that you enjoy when I degrade you”. He said not believing in this but seeing how she blushed, he realized that she enjoys it.

“You’re so simple to read, it’s such a shame that I’ll ruin you today”. Quinn whispered in her ear. He took off his hand from her panties and put his fingers in her mouth. She gladly accepted them and sucked on them. “Bedroom, naked, now. I’ll come in a minute”.

She listened to him and stood up. She went to their bedroom swaying her hips and undressing at the same time. Quinn watched her every move, feeling the bulge growing in his pants. Before he went to her, he undressed by himself, throwing his suit in the bathroom. When he finally stepped to the bedroom, he saw her all naked, kneeling next to their bed.

“How cute. Judging by your position, you want me to fuck your mouth. Am I right princess?” He closed the distance between them and started caressing her cheek.

“You deserve a reward after those games”. She said and grabbed his underwear to take it off, but he stopped her.

“Not so fast. Let me enjoy the view for a bit”. She felt objectified by his words, but she loved this new side of him. She started getting ever more wet. Quinn finally made a move and stepped out from his underwear. “Spit on it”. That’s all he said to her. She obeyed and played with her tongue on his tip. “Open up and start the work”. She took him to her mouth but couldn’t fit his cock. He laughed, seeing her struggle. “Aww, poor baby, can’t even fit my dick”. He mocked her and pushed himself further into her mouth.

The tip of his cock hit her throat. She was gagging around him. Her chin was covered in her spit and tears were falling from her eyes. Quinn looked at her and felt even more turned on. He loved seeing her face so helpless. Before he could release in her mouth, he took off his dick. She pounded on his action.

“You wanted my cum?” He asked, wiping the tears from her cheeks. She nodded but corrected herself.

“Yes… captain”. She used this phrase on purpose, to see where this will bring her. His eyes darkened hearing her, saying captain in a sexual way. This woke up a new side of him. Quinn pulled her by hair so she could stand up. He pulled her closer to his face and grabbed her throat.

“You shouldn’t have said that”. He whispered to her ear. “You’re gonna regret this”. Before she could react, Quinn turned her around and bent her over the bed. The first slap laid on her ass. 

“You think it’s funny?” Second slap. “To call me captain?” Third slap. “Is this some kind of game for you?” Fourth one. “Answer me or have I already made you dumb?” Fifth slap.

“No…” Her voice broke down. “Wanted to see your reaction”. She said all in tears.

He helped her stand up and turn her so she was facing him.

“Poor baby is already crying. Wait until I ruin this pussy”. He kissed her and pushed her on the bed. “Grab your thighs, raise them and keep your legs open”. She obeyed him hoping for him to fuck her. Instead, he played with her clit. “So wet just from using your mouth and spanking. Maybe I should leave you like that. Do you deserve my cock in your greedy pussy?”

“Yes”. 

“Then beg for it. Be a good girl”.

“Please Quinn. Do something, I’ll do anything”. She felt humiliated.

“Anything you say? So pathetic”. He pushed two fingers into her pussy. She screamed, not expecting this. The pain soon became a pleasure to her. He was fingering her at a ruthless pace. She was moaning louder with each thrust. “Shut up. You’re so loud just around my fingers”. She tried to keep the noise quiet but couldn’t. Quinn took his fingers out of her. He went to the nightstand and grabbed a condom. She laid her legs on the bed. 

“Have I told you to do it?” 

“No”.

“Then why did you do it?” He asked, looking at her with his piercing blue eyes. 

“I… I thought you’re done. I’m sorry”. She felt ashamed and tried to ignore his eyes.

“I’ll be the judge of when I’m done with you. Good thing you remembered your manners and apologized”. Quinn caressed her cheek and spread her legs open. He put the tip of his dick in her. He pushed his all length into her. She closed her legs out of habit but he grabbed her knees and spread them again.

“Don’t do that or I’ll not let you come”. He threatened her. The thought of not being able to cum scared her and decided to act like he plays her. Quinn was fucking her fastly. He was abusive to her pussy but she loved every minute of it. She was moaning his name like a mantra. This was a motivation for him. He felt her wall tightening around his dick. He knew she’s close.

“Cum”. That’s all that he said to her. She screamed his name loudly when she reached her climax. Two more thrusts and he also cum. He pulled his dick out of her and threw away the condom. Quinn looked at her trying to catch her breath.

“Hey, you alright princess?” She nodded her head, too tired to speak. “You did so good for me. I’m proud of you”. He kissed her forehead. “C’mon, let’s get you a nice bath”. She followed him to the bathroom. Both of them laid in the hot water. Quinn helped her to wash her body. 

“You were so hot today. Even hotter than in the fight”. She joked when they left the bathroom and headed out to the living room.

“Thanks”. He smiled. “I still can’t believe that you got all worked up only because I threw a guy into bands. You’re something”. He kissed her temple and went to the kitchen to prepare lunch when she sat on the couch and turned on the tv. They spent the rest of the day laying on the couch, cuddling and watching movies.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Do I Look Like Her?

Fandom: Women’s Basketball (WNBA/NCAA)

POV: A’dahlia Bueckers- Paige Bueckers (OC Daughter)

Summary: A’dahlia Bueckers, navigates legacy, pressure, and identity while forging her own path—on and off the court.

Inspired by “Do I Look Like Him” by Tyler, The Creator

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom

She said that I make expressions like her.

My legs to my shoulders and my chin like her.

My waist and my posture like her.

But I’m not her.

I never had a dad. Never needed one either.

Mama always said I was made with love—and science.

IVF, a little planning, a little hope.

And two women who loved each other enough to raise someone like me.

And still—sometimes—I stare in the mirror and wonder:

“Do I look like her?”

The answer depends on the day.

When I was five, I liked watercolors more than sports.

At six, I was a menace on the monkey bars.

Seven? Softball. I quit after two games.

Eight? Soccer. I was too aggressive.

Nine? Volleyball. I liked the shoes more than the game. And maybe because mama, played it professionally.

But ten… ten was basketball. And that stuck.

I’d always watched Mom—Paige—on TV. Even the grainy high school tapes. Her passes, her footwork, the way her eyes scanned the floor like she saw the game in slow motion. It was mesmerizing.

But I didn’t start playing for her.

I started because it felt right. Like home.

By middle school, people already had something to say.

“She moves like Paige.”

“She has her jump shot.”

“She’s probably been training since diapers.”

Not entirely wrong. But they never mentioned Mama. Never asked if she taught me how to box out or scream for rebounds or ice after games. Never asked if Mama was the one who dried my tears when I missed open layups.

The spotlight was always angled at my mom.

The echo of her name louder than mine.

It got worse when film started circulating. Scouts clipped highlights. Blogs started making “Next Bueckers?” videos. Videos of side-by-side footage comparing my no-look passes to hers.

I watched one of those videos in my room late one night. The screen split down the middle: Mom in her UConn days on the left. Me on the right.

We both drove left, spun, step-backed, pulled up.

We both made the shot.

I should’ve felt proud.

Instead, I whispered:

“Mama, I’m chasing a ghost. I don’t know who she is.”

Mama came in holding a basket of folded laundry. She didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at the paused video.

“She’s not a ghost,” Mama finally said. “She’s your mom. And you’re not chasing her—you’re learning from her. Big difference.”

“But everyone thinks I’m chasing her,” I muttered. “And sometimes I do too.”

She set the laundry down and sat beside me on the bed.

“I’ve never lied to you, baby. And I never will. But you need to believe me when I say: you are your own person. You came from both of us, but everything you’re building is yours. Not Paige’s. Not mine. Yours.”

The first time I cried after a post-game interview, I was sixteen.

I’d dropped 31 points, 8 assists, and 6 steals in a playoff game. We won by twenty. But the reporter smiled and asked me:

“So, what’s it like trying to fill your mom Paige’s shoes?”

I laughed at the time. Polite. Poised.

But the second I got home, I slammed the bedroom door.

“I’m not filling anyone’s shoes,” I said through tears when Paige came to check on me. “I’m wearing my own.”

Paige sat on the floor with me, her knees pulled to her chest.

“I know,” she said. “I know how hard it is when people don’t let you just be. I went through that too… I just had to prove myself as Paige. Not as someone’s daughter. But you—” she looked up at me, eyes soft, “you have to prove yourself as more than my daughter. And that’s a whole different fight.”

I wiped my nose with my sleeve.

“I’m tired of feeling like I’m not enough unless I’m you.”

She pulled me into her lap.

“A’dahlia, I don’t want you to be me. I want you to be you. And for what it’s worth… I think you’re already better.”

I don’t think people realize what the last name Bueckers carries.

In airports. In gyms. On game day programs. It’s a crown and a curse.

A brand I never asked for, but one I refuse to run from.

Because somewhere deep down, I’m proud.

Proud that Paige Bueckers is my mom.

Proud that Mama believed in me when I didn’t.

Proud of the late nights, the tears, the drills, the ice baths.

So yeah, I started watching film again.

Not to compare—but to study.

I watched mom’s vision, her feel for tempo, her movement. I broke it down, built it back up, and mixed it with my style.

I’m stronger than she was. Faster in transition. More vocal on defense.

And I pass like her, sure. But I shoot like me.

Senior year came like a thunderstorm—loud, fast, and impossible to ignore.

Every school you could think of wanted me.

Stanford. LSU. South Carolina. Duke. UCLA. Oregon. UConn.

The hardest part? Nobody asked if I wanted them.

They just assumed UConn.

Assumed it was destiny.

Assumed I wanted to wear Paige’s number and relive her legacy.

But I didn’t tell anyone my answer.

Not mom-Paige.

Not Mama.

Not even myself—not until the night before Signing Day.

I was in the kitchen, sitting at the counter, staring at the five hats on the table. I’d narrowed it down to UConn, Stanford, LSU, South Carolina, and Duke.

Mom walked in and paused.

“Need help?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“Already decided.”

She sat beside me. “So why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

I chuckled softly.

“Because maybe I have.”

She didn’t respond, just waited.

“I’ve spent so long asking myself if I look like you,” I said. “Not just my face, but… how I play. How I lead. How I move on the court. But what scares me most is that people won’t see me. Just… the ghost of Paige Bueckers.”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look hurt. Just said gently:

“You gave me love and affection, attention, protection. I would never miss something I’ve never had.”

I looked at her, surprised.

“That’s the song I’ve been listening to.”

She nodded.

“I know. Mama played it the other night. She cried.”

I swallowed hard.

“I would never judge you,” I whispered. “Cause everything worked out. I mean it.”

A long silence passed.

“You’re not my shadow, A’dahlia,” Paige finally said. “You’re the sun. Bright as hell. Blinding sometimes. But always yours.”

I didn’t announce my decision until the cameras were rolling. Gym packed. Teammates buzzing. Five hats on the table.

I stared at them, hands steady, mind clear.

And I picked up the navy one with the silver letters:

UCONN.

Gasps. Cheers. A few people even stood up. The cameras snapped. Mama cried.

Then I saw mom bury her face in her hands.

And I smiled.

Not because I was following my mom.

But because I was writing the next chapter of my story.

That night, we sat on the back porch. Me, Paige, and Mama. Just us. Moonlight cutting across the yard, a breeze teasing the hem of my sweatpants.

“I didn’t choose UConn because of you,” I said quietly. “I chose it because it’s where I can become the player I want to be. The leader. The person.”

Paige leaned her head on my shoulder.

“Then you picked right.”

Mama nodded, voice thick with emotion.

“You’re everything we dreamed of,” she whispered. “And nothing we expected.”

I smiled through a sting of tears.

“I’m everything I strived to be,” I said. “So, tell me… do I look like her?”

They looked at each other.

“No,” Mama said.

“No,” mom echoed.

“You look like you.”

So maybe I make expressions like her.

Maybe I move like her.

Maybe our footwork is twins.

But I’m not her.

I’m A’dahlia Bueckers.

Made with love.

Built with fire.

And chasing no one but myself.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[lupoteodoro]

Guide for the recent BoB fandom information explosion

Essentially, the US Army and Heritage Education Center possesses a vast collection of materials related to Dick Winters, which served as the original source for writing the book Band of Brothers and for the production of the TV series. This includes a huge amount of photocopies of Winters' personal papers and personnel documents; photocopies of correspondence, memoirs, news clippings, oral history transcripts, and photographs from the men in Easy Company.

There are a total of 20 boxes, containing 100+ PDF documents that can be read online, involving most of the E Company soldiers whose names we can recognize.

These materials may have been on the internet for many years, but no one paid attention until very recently.

Here are some notable files among these materials: The complete catalog of the Dick Winters collection

Dick Winters interview in Aug 1990

Another Winters interview transcript with 10 pages all about Nix

Lewis Nixon file

Harry Welsh file

Ron Speirs file

Carwood Lipton file

Herbert Sobel file

Doc Roe file

Bill Guarnere file

Babe Heffron file

David Webster file

Floyad Talbert file

Skip Muck file

Don Malarkey oral history: 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4

Johnny Martin file

Bull Randelman file

Joe Toye file

George Luz file

Band of Brothers TV series "Bible": 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4

...

For all other materials, you can search on the main page here: https://arena.usahec.org/

ps, you can also find the 506's newsletters from the late 70s-early 90s: The Five-O-Sink

[2i1han]

if time stood still, would you?

Rewind.

pairing: musician!taesan x fem!reader │ word count: 12k │ genre: oneshot, angst, romance, nostalgia

tags: 90's au , first love , bandmember!taesan , musicshopowner!taesan , boyfriend!taesan , college!reader , 90's grunge inspired

warnings: mention of accidents/injury , unrequited love , mention of loss/tragedy

synopsis : follows a story about youth, and the passage of time. on your every birthday, you watch an old tape—one you've held onto for decades. in it, a familiar voice from the past makes a promise that was never fulfilled. some things change, but some feelings never do.

playlist : everything/the black skirts , reality/richard sanderson , the last stop of our pain/hanroro , back to the old house/the smiths, no surprises/radiohead , all apologies/nirvana , drain you/nirvana , about you/the 1975 , shower/1968 , silence/sunwoojunga , sunsetz/cas , no.1 party anthem/arctic monkeys , this life/moon sung nam , dream/han hee jung , you&i/kim jong wan , space/the poles

"happy birthday, my beloved y/n."

taesan's voice crackled through the old television speakers, distorted by time yet still undoubtly his. the grainy vhs footage flickered, casting a dim, bluish glow across the room. there he was— forever twenty, wearing his classic nirvana shirt. his face was bright with the kind of smile that had once made your world feel infinite.

"i'm sorry i can't be there today. you know i love you, right?"

your fingers curled tightly around the edge of the couch, knuckles turning white as you tried to keep yourself steady. but it was useless. the warmth of his tender voice, familiar, and you yearn for, sent a fresh wave of tears pooling in your eyes.

"the first time i met you, it was as if my world pressed 'play' for the first time. before you, my life felt like a song stuck on pause—waiting, and unfinished. but then you came along, and suddenly, everything made sense. you are the music that turned my silence into something beautiful."

the screen flickered as the tape struggled to play smoothly, but you didn't need to hear the rest. you already knew every word, every pause, every soft breath he took between sentences.

"y/n, today is your day, and i need you to promise me something—smile, even if i'm not there. celebrate, even if it's just for yourself. because you deserve every bit of happiness this world has to offer. and don't you worry, next time, we'll celebrate together. i promise it. we'll be together soon."

this message had been meant as a temporary goodbye—a placeholder for the promise that never came.

"i love you more than yesterday, and less than tomorrow, my dear darling, always."

han taesan. the only man you had ever loved. the only man you would ever love.

a sharp pain formed in your throat as you reached for the remote, pressing the power button with trembling fingers. the tv screen faded to black, leaving only your miserable reflection staring back at you.

a soft knock came from the door.

"come in," you called.

the door creaked open, and your niece, yujin, stepped inside, her gaze immediately landing on your pale face.

"you're crying," she said knowingly, her voice was gentle as she walked closer. "watching his clip again?"

you didn't answer, only swallowing back the lump in your throat as you wiped at your damp cheeks. careful taps, trying not to ruin the mascara you had applied earlier. you turned to the mirror, fixing the smudged edges of your makeup carefully—as if concealing your tears was something you had mastered over the years.

yujin sighed softly. "come on, the guests are waiting downstairs." she hesitated for a moment.

"happy 49th birthday, auntie."

you forced a small, tired smile and turned to her, pulling her into a gentle hug.

"let's go downstairs," you finally said.

as yujin walked ahead, you turned back toward the vhs player. your hands slightly trembled as you ejected the tape, the small cassette still warm from playing. you placed it carefully inside a worn-out box, the edges are frayed but you still refuse to let go of it.

with one last glance at the screen, you followed yujin out of the room.

▶• ılıılıılılılıılıılı.

the laughter still lingered through the dining area, the hum of conversation echoed through the house. plates clinked in the kitchen, wine glasses half-empty on the white table. the warmth of candlelight flickered across the walls, reflecting orange hues over the framed photographs—pictures of years that passed too quickly.

"going out?" your sister asked as she cleared the plates, glancing at you from the kitchen.

you stood by the coat rack, adjusting the sleeves of your white coat. "yeah, gonna fetch some, uh... more wine from the store." you offered her a small smile, though it didn't reach your eye.

she didn't question it, she already knew.

your sister just gave you a nod, the same look she always did whenever you slipped away. making excuses while you go out.

you turned toward the door, exhaling as you stepped outside. the cold air brushed on your skin, opposite to the warmth of the house behind you. your feet moved instinctively, leading you to your car. but you weren't heading for the wine store. no, this was something else entirely.

a habit of yours from a wound that never healed.

the drive was short. five minutes away from home. a lifetime away from your past that you still keep on returning to.

as you pulled up by the sidewalk, your hands stayed on the steering wheel, looking at the music shop stood just outside, unchanged. a piece of memory frozen in time.

you then stepped out, clutching your coat around yourself as you made your way to the entrance.

the door was the same—beige paint slightly chipped, a large glass pane in the middle. the brass bell chimed softly as you pushed it open, and the scent of aged vinyl wrapped around the room, enveloped in nostalgia.

inside, are the same shelves, the same wooden counters, the same dim lighting that cast an old glow over rows of vinyl records. the walls were lined with faded posters—nirvana, oasis, the beatles. his personal favorites.

your fingers grazed the spines of the records, stopping at the one you always reached for— mtv unplugged, nirvana.

"the usual?"

a familiar voice came from beside you, the shopkeeper—now in his 50s— wore a smile.

you just looked for a moment, then nodded. "yeah... this one's a classic."

"you know, you could always buy it," he chuckled. "you've been a regular here since back then."

you exhaled softly. "no... i'm fine with listening to it here. every week, through that old player."

you nodded toward the turntable in the corner, the needle was worn but still working, still playing the soundtrack of your youth.

the shopkeeper didn't push. he never did. instead, he just gave you a nod before turning away.

and then, the bell chimed again.

a woman walked in, followed by two girls in their early twenties. their laughter filled the room—light, gentle, untouched by the weight of the past.

"hi, dad!" one of the girls beamed, holding up a paper bag. "we stopped by the store. figured we'd bring some snacks!"

the shopkeeper—their father, smiled as he walked toward them, his voice livelier, happier than you'd ever heard it before.

and for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to look. really look.

one of the girls had his eyes. the same deep gaze you had drowned in long ago. and the other had his smile. that comforting smile that once made your whole life felt complete.

you stood there, vinyl still clutched in your trembling hands, as you watched the scene in front of you. the way they laughed, the way they easily existed in a world you no longer belonged to— you once belonged to.

your vision blurred, but you didn't cry. not yet.

instead, you closed your eyes for a little moment, letting the nostalgia sink in.

and then, the memories rewound.

↺ rewind, to 1994

detention, again.

you sat slumped at your desk, one foot tucked up on the chair, the other tapping impatiently against the floor. the loose jogging pants you had sneakily worn under your school skirt bunched at your ankles, but at least they kept you warm in this freezing classroom.

the culprit behind your punishment?

blasting rock music through the entire school's p.a. system like some kind of teenage anarchist.

the sentence of your crime?

will not trespass in the p.a. room again. written over and over on a sheet of lined paper, front to back, no gaps, no mercy.

you sighed loudly—for the fifth time. maybe sixth. you had lost count.

your teacher, the one who was supposed to be watching over you? passed out at their desk, head tilted back, mouth slightly open, snoring softly.

then, you eyed the window, thinking of an escape plan. but, when you second looked towards it, ryujin's grinning face popped up out of nowhere.

"psst—hey!" she whispered through the glass. same mischievous smirk.

"what now?" you muttered, barely looking up as you kept scribbling.

"new arrivals at mr. han's shop." she wiggled her eyebrows, waving both hands to hurry you up.

your head snapped up. new arrivals?

that changed everything. your mild consideration of escaping turned into a fully thought-out plan in less than a second.

the only problem? you were on the second floor.

but, of course, ryujin had a plan—she always did. she clung to a pillar outside, balancing on a maintenance ladder that neither of you were supposed to have access to. the school had confiscated it multiple times, but ryujin, being the delinquent mastermind she was, had bribed some p.e. students into sneaking it out.

"hurry up, dude!" she hissed, motioning for you to move.

you glanced at your sleeping teacher one last time. and then, out the window you went.

the cold metal of the ladder chilled your palms as you climbed down, ryujin barely holding it steady. both of you hit the pavement without getting caught. bingo.

giddy with adrenaline, the two of you bolted for the front gate, ducking past groups of students as if you were fugitives on the run.

your destination? flannel culture. your sacred safe haven. the best record shop in town.

ryujin had barely finished telling you about the new vinyl arrivals before you were both sprinting down the street, nearly tripping over your own feet in your hurry to get there first. your neatly tied ponytail had come completely undone, strands of hair flying everywhere.

by the time you reached the shop, breathless and slightly messy, mr. han—the owner, was already grinning behind the counter.

"morning, mr. han!" ryujin greeted, barely winded.

"i knew you two would get here before anyone else," he chuckled, arms crossed like he had been expecting this exact scenario.

you barely heard him. you were already beelining for the vinyls.

"sweet! these are fresh off the press!" you gasped, flipping through the stack, fingers gliding over brand-new releases.

"ditto," ryujin muttered, just as focused.

"i'll be behind the counter if you girls need anything," mr. han called out, but you were already in the zone.

your fingers immediately skimmed through the fresh arrivals, heart hammering in anticipation.

"definitely maybe" by oasis.

"dookie" by green day.

"weezer" by weezer.

"holy shit," you whispered, eyes widening as you flipped through the stack.

"jar of bells..." no idea.

then, you found it.

"mtv unplugged."

you had barely muttered the title under your breath when another voice joined in.

"mtv unplugged..."

you turned to find yourself face-to-face with a guy you hadn't noticed before—probably because you had been way too invested in the stack of squares in front of you.

and he was cool. nirvana shirt, ripped jeans, red flannel tied around his hips, short black hair, clear skin, a damn good jawline, and a smirk that only grew as he caught you staring.

your eyes flickered back to the vinyl still clutched in your hands, grip tightening. he was looking at it. he wanted it.

no way in hell.

your grip tightened.

"mtv unplugged. new release," he mused, glancing down at the album still clutched in your hands.

your hold on it locked. damn right, it was.

the boy chuckled, clearly entertained by the death grip you had on it.

"you should go for nevermind first." his voice was casual—like he wasn't trying to steal your vinyl right in front of you.

you shot him a narrow-eyed stare. "i've already listened to every single song on nevermind."

his smirk grew, realizing you weren't going to budge, he let out a short laugh and reached for a cd.

"fine, i'll let you have that one."

he grabbed nevermind instead, the cd, inspecting it with an approving nod.

your heart rate finally slowed down. victory is mine.

as he turned to go to the counter, he glanced over his shoulder one last time. "good taste, by the way."

and with that, he turned his back, leaving you standing there—still clutching your vinyl like your life depends on it.

ryujin strolled back over, a comic book in hand, the corners of her mouth curling into a knowing smirk.

"dude… who was that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, her voice low enough not to attract any unwanted attention.

you exhaled slowly, trying to hide the faint blush creeping up your neck. "i don't know, but he tried to rob me off a good vinyl," you muttered, still clutching the album in your hands.

ryujin snickered. "classic." she bumped your shoulder lightly before pulling out the book, flipping it open to the next page. "come on, let's listen to it."

with a shrug, you led the way to the player, and the two of you settled next to each other, comic books in hand. the needle dropped onto the record, you plugged in the headphone jack. the soft crackle travelling through before the music swelled. for the next few minutes, you both silently absorbed the music through wires.

by the time the last track played, you were practically fighting back tears. it was almost dramatic how much you adored the album.

"that was gnarly," you said, as you carefully set the vinyl back in its case, treating it like the treasure it was.

ryujin nodded without looking up from her comic. "nirvana was the real shit." she shifted, tapping the side of her comic with a finger. "go look for more new arrivals. we haven't even finished this one yet."

you let out a half-hearted groan but couldn't resist. you liked the idea of finding more gems, anyway. but as you strolled back toward the shelves, your eyes caught something familiar.

it was him.

the guy from earlier. he was sitting near the counter now, leaning against the wall with a cd player in hand, his earphones hanging loosely around his neck. his relaxed posture and the way he completely disappeared into the moment caught your attention.

you looked down at the album in your hand, then back at him.

"poor guy…" you muttered under your breath. "if he doesn't get to listen to it right away."

without thinking, you walked over, tapping his shoulder lightly. he glanced up, removing his earphones with a raised brow.

"hey," you said, offering him the vinyl. "i noticed mr. han doesn't have the mtv unplugged cd in stock yet. it'd be a shame if you didn't get to listen to it instantly. it's really good."

the guy smiled, his eyes softening as he accepted the record from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours just for a moment.

"thanks," he said, the gratitude in his voice making you feel like you had done something right for once.

"you can use the turntable over there," you gestured toward the corner of the shop, where the record player sat. "there's a headphone jack available."

he nodded and walked past you, heading over to the turntable while you returned to ryujin's side.

"where was it?" she asked, nudging your shoulder.

you shrugged, your attention still on the guy who was now setting up the record player, eyes already closed as he settled into the music. "let's just play another after he finishes," you muttered, your head leaning closer to ryujin's comic, pretending to focus.

ryujin narrowed her eyes at you, the smirk creeping back. "you're way too generous today."

you flicked her arm. "focus. i don't want to wait for you to flip the page." she rolled her eyes but continued reading, letting you do what you do best.

it wasn't long before ryujin's stomach growled, cutting through the silence between the two of you.

"go grab something to eat," you said, pointing to the door. "i'll wait here."

she shot you a look, rolling her eyes dramatically. "you better not flip through the pages while i’m gone."

"promise nothing," you replied without missing a beat.

as soon as ryujin disappeared out the door, you leaned over and sneakily turned the comic to the next page.

but then, a voice caught your attention again.

"thank you," the guy from earlier said, appearing beside you, looking almost embarrassed to interrupt.

you jumped up, startled. "oh, it's nothing," you quickly reassured him, trying to brush off the awkwardness. "how was it?"

he smiled, almost sheepish. "as expected, it was great." he chuckled softly, adjusting his cd player.

you smiled in return, feeling the familiar rush of excitement when talking about music. "i freaking know, they've always been the best." the conversation flowed just naturally.

"i'm taesan," he said, a hand rising awkwardly in the air like he wasn't quite sure whether to offer a handshake or just a wave. "i'm the son of the owner of this shop."

you froze for a second. internally, you cursed your luck. of course, you had competed over the vinyl with the son of the shop's owner. but whatever, the early bird gets the worm, right?

"jang y/n," you replied with a smile, reaching for his hand. "nice to meet you."

you both sat down, the tension easing as you settled into conversation.

"were you playing nevermind earlier on the cd player?" you asked, curiosity getting the best of you.

taesan hummed, his lips pouting as he thought for a moment. "yeah, i was. what's your favorite song?"

you leaned back slightly, thinking. "hmm, probably all apologies. especially the instrumental break. god, i love that song." your voice trailed off as you grinned widely, caught up in the thought of the song.

taesan laughed softly, eyes glimmering with something like amusement. "you're passionate. i like that."

you chuckled awkwardly, hoping the blush creeping up your cheeks wasn't too obvious.

"so," you said, eager to keep the conversation going. "do you go to school here?"

he nodded. "yeah, i'm at a university just one bus ride away from here."

you processed that for a moment, realizing with a small sigh that he probably wasn’t talking about your university. but still, you smiled. "oh, cool."

a comfortable silence settled between you two but that didn't feel awkward at all.

then, the chime of the record store door rang out, and you barely had time to look up before ryujin strolled back in, but her hands were empty. no takeout bags, no snacks—just an exhausted expression as she groaned dramatically.

"where' the food?" you asked, frowning.

ryujin groaned like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. "the convenience store ran out of kimbap, and the cashier was taking a lifetime to restock. let's just go eat at the food court. i need actual fuel if you want me to swing around longer."

"but—" your eyes flickered toward the bench where your bag sat. taesan was still there, his fingers idly drumming against the wooden surface as he looked at you and ryujin, confused. you hesitated, glancing between ryujin and the him.

before you could make a decision, mr. han waved you off with a smile. "go ahead, kid. your stuff's safe here."

ryujin had already grabbed you "move it. you'll live."

you barely had time to turn to taesan and wave. "we'll be back!" with a sigh, you let ryujin drag you out the door.

▶• ılıılıılılılıılıılı.

you spent the next twenty minutes watching in mild horror as ryujin absolutely demolished two platters of bibimbap and a side of banchan. she didn't even pause between bites.

"you know, for someone who complains about getting broke from buying comics, you sure eat like a king," you muttered, stabbing at your food halfheartedly.

ryujin barely looked up, shoving another spoonful into her mouth. "shut up—'s called survival."

you exhaled, pushing a few grains of rice around your plate.

you wanted to get back to mr. han's shop.

at first, you convinced yourself that it was just because of the new vinyl arrivals. you hadn't even finished browsing yet—there were at least three more shelves to go through, and you hadn't checked if they had any used tapes in stock.

but then your mind drifted back to taesan.

you could still picture his thoughtful expression, the way his eyebrows furrowed when he was trying to pick a favorite nirvana song. the way he had smirked slightly when he caught you rambling about all apologies.

you shook your head. nope. it was definitely about the records.

and the moment ryujin swallowed her last bite, you practically dragged her back toward mr. han's store.

but as soon as you stepped inside—taesan was gone.

you scanned the shop, almost hoping he'd just moved to a different section, but his spot near the turntable was empty. the warmth that had settled in your chest earlier flickered out, replaced by something you didn't know what.

you deflated instantly. ryujin barely noticed, already flipping through another volume of the comic she was reading earlier. you debated for a second before hesitantly walking over to mr. han at the counter.

"mr. han?"

the old man didn't even look up from his book. "mmm?"

you shifted awkwardly. "uh… do you know where taesan went?"

that's when he finally glanced up with a smirk. "i knew both of you would instantly match," he said, amusement laced in his voice.

you blinked. huh?

he simply chuckled, flipping a page. "he went back to school for a band practice. he has a packed schedule on weekdays."

you tried and failed not to look too disappointed as you dragged yourself back to the bench where ryujin was sitting.

she barely looked up from her comic. "what was that gloom all about?"

you flopped down next to her. "nothing."

"also," she continued, flipping a page dramatically, "why are you suddenly being all buddy-buddy with that music thief?"

you rolled your eyes. "come on, he's nice, ryu."

ryujin scoffed. "wow, you're saying that like you weren't just playing tug-of-war with him over a vinyl a few hours ago."

you ignored her, pulling out your book from your bag—then froze.

there, stuck to the back of your bag, was a small yellow sticky note.

your eyes narrowed as you peeled it off, fingers smoothing over the inked numbers scrawled in slightly messy handwriting. a pager number. and beneath it, just one word:

—taesan.

you froze, staring at the note like it had just fallen from the heavens, and for a moment, you forgot how to function.

your face went from deadpan to pure joy in under three seconds. you had to physically stop yourself from grinning too hard because ryujin would never let you live it down.

carefully, you peeled the sticky note off your book and folded it neatly. you then placed it inside your pencil case like it was some kind of rare artifact.

firmly, securely, so it wouldn't fly away.

ryujin finally looked up, her eyes narrowing. "why do you look like you just won the lottery?"

"no reason," you said quickly, zipping your pencil case shut.

ryujin stared at you for a long moment before muttering, "i don't like the look on your face."

you just smiled, pushing her shoulders.

and, the second you got home, you threw your bag onto the floor and face-planted onto your bed. you rolled onto your back and snatched your beeper off the nightstand like it was holy.

you sat up, unfolded the sticky note, and traced the inked numbers with your thumb.

your heart thumped.

should you page him now? would that seem too eager? maybe you should wait. play it cool.

you glanced at your clock. it had literally been twenty seconds.

groaning, you rolled onto your stomach, kicking your feet against the mattress like some schoolgirl in a romance movie. then, without giving yourself time to overthink—you punched in the numbers and sent a simple message:

"hope class didn't bore you to death. thanks for the sticky note. - jang y/n"

the second you hit send, you muffled a scream into your pillow.

what the hell were you doing? what if he didn't reply? what if he thought you were annoying? what if—

your beeper vibrated almost immediately and quickly scrambled so fast you nearly dropped it.

"would've been worse if i didn't have all apologies stuck in my head. consider this your official music karma. - taesan"

a stupid, uncontrollable grin stretched across your face. you flopped onto your back, rolling around in pure, ridiculous giddiness, nearly sending your comforter tumbling to the floor.

before you could even type a response, another beep flashed across the tiny screen.

"7 pm? dad's store. - taesan."

you froze.

you clutched your beeper like it was a lifeline, rereading the message again. and again. was he… asking you out? no. no way. it was just a hangout. a casual thing between new friends.

you shook your head, forcing yourself to focus, and typed back quickly:

"sure! meet you there. - y/n"

then, you practically leaped off your bed and dashed to your closet. your hands flew across the hangers, eyes scanning every piece of clothing like you were preparing for the most important night of your life.

denim skirt? too much.

plaid jeans? too casual.

then you caught yourself.

you groaned, pressing your forehead against the closet door. why am i even stressing over this? it's not a date. it's not.

exhaling sharply, you grabbed a denim skirt and a brown flannel, slipping them on before you could second-guess yourself.

▶• ılıılıılılılıılıılı.

you were walking ridiculously slow.

your heart drummed against your ribs, your hands fidgeting with your sleeves. you told yourself you weren't nervous. you told yourself this was just some casual meet-up.

but the second you spotted taesan standing outside the now-closed store, your breath caught in your throat. he hadn't noticed you yet.

earphones in, cd player in hand, his head tilted slightly upward as if lost in the music. his eyes were closed, his expression relaxed—lips barely parted, a faint, smile playing at the edges.

you hesitated, just watching him for a second.

the streetlights cast a soft golden hue over him, making the moment feel unreal—like something out of an indie film, grainy and warm, like a memory you were supposed to witness and never forget.

you bit your lip. then, finally, you stepped forward and lightly tapped his arm.

taesan's eyes fluttered open, turning to meet yours. his expression shifted instantly—calm turning to warmth, like the moment you step into a sunlit room after the cold.

"hey," he said, pulling his earphones out and tucking his cd player into his large pocket.

"hey," you echoed, stuffing your hands into your skirt's pockets. you glanced at the shop door behind him. "so... where to? mr. han already closed the store."

taesan just grinned. then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key, dangling it between two fingers. "i'm not the owner's son for nothing."

a subtle laugh escaped your lips. you shook your head as he turned, unlocking the door and pushing it open. the blinds remained closed, keeping the outside world at bay.

inside, the air was warm. the scent of old records and faint aroma of coffee hung in the contained air. taesan flipped the switch, and the shop lit up—not with the bright, fluorescent glare of daytime but with the muted, greenish glow of the overhead bulbs. the only other source of light came from the street lamps outside, their soft yellowish tint seeping in through the cracks of the blinds.

you puckered your lips, stepping in and looking around.

taesan closed the door behind you with a soft click before roaming around the store.

"i have a favorite here, and i want you to listen to it," taesan said as he made his way to a shelf tucked in the corner.

you watched as he ran his fingers over the spines of records. then, with a small, satisfied hum, he pulled one out and turned to you, holding it up to show you.

you leaned in, studying the cover. the title and artist were unfamiliar. taesan noticed your puzzled look and smirked.

"you haven't heard of it, huh?"

you shook your head, but a smile crept up your lips. but that only made you more eager. something new. something taesan liked.

a small smile tugged at your lips. "i've never heard of this one."

"even better." he grinned.

taesan walked over to the turntable by the counter, motioning for you to follow. you stood close beside him as he carefully placed the vinyl onto the platter. the way he handled it—gentle, the kind only someone who truly cherished music would have, made you watch him a little longer than necessary.

"it's reality, by richard sanderson," he murmured, lowering the needle. "me and dad used to listen to this a lot when it first came out. i was eleven."

then, he turned to you, slipping the headphones gently over your ears.

you blinked up at him, caught off guard by the sudden closeness. his fingers barely brushed your skin as he adjusted the ear cups, making sure they sat just right. he was so close that you could see the way his lashes fanned over his cheeks, the way the dim lighting softened his already soft features.

for some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to say anything.

the vinyl crackled. and then—music.

a slow, dreamy melody slipped into your ears. nostalgic, like the kind of song that belonged to another lifetime. your lips parted slightly as a smile crept onto your face.

you let your head tilt slightly, eyes fixed on the wall in front of you, absorbing every note. your fingers tapped lightly against the table in time with the beat, a small, unconscious movement.

and taesan— he just stood there, watching you.

the muffled sound of the song spilled from the headphones, barely audible, but he didn't need to hear it to know exactly what you were experiencing. he saw it in the way your eyes shimmered slightly, the way your breath seemed to sync with the rhythm, the way you looked like you were slipping into some other world entirely.

for a moment, everything slowed.

he should've looked away. should've focused on the music, or the record spinning beneath the needle, or literally anything else. but he didn't.

he just stood there, completely still, watching you as if you were the song itself.

you let your eyes flutter shut, surrendering to the music, letting it paint a scene behind your eyelids. a quiet, hazy film reel of things you couldn't quite place—warm streetlights, cityscapes blurring past, the kind of love that only existed in faded polaroids.

and taesan, he only saw one thing, a whole moment right in front of him.

the song had already started to fade out.

you opened your eyes, expecting taesan to finally move— to lift the needle off the vinyl, maybe say something about the track, but he didn't. he just stood there, watching you, completely still, as if he hadn't noticed the music had ended.

"i loved the song. really." you smiled, still caught in the the melody. "thank you for letting me hear it. it's something special to you, so... i feel honored."

your lips curled into a small, tight-lipped smile as you tilted your head slightly.

but taesan didn't reply.

he only stared, looking at you in that same quiet, unfazed way—as if he was trying to memorize you, to carve this exact moment into his mind so he wouldn't forget it.

you tried looking anywhere else. the wall behind him, the floor, the logo on his shirt, but your eyes kept finding its way back to his.

then, finally, he spoke.

"you're interesting." his voice was low, almost amused, a small, endearing smile on his face.

you let out a nervous chuckle, trying to shake off the weight of his stare. "i am always interesting." you threw in a playful shrug, encouraging whatever thought had just crossed his mind.

taesan laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he turned back to the turntable, carefully placing the vinyl back into its sleeve. "no, i mean it. you are interesting."

you froze for half a second before sinking onto the bench beside the turntable desk, looking up at him. "you just met me."

taesan placed the vinyl on the desk before settling next to you. his head tilted back slightly, gaze drifting up to the ceiling, lost in thought.

"it's the first time someone's ever beaten me to a vinyl," he said with a chuckle, recalling what had happened earlier morning. "the way you gripped onto it with that look on your face—i don't know, i just thought it was funny. interesting. made me wanna know you."

his voice was quieter now, as you carefully listened.

"but then..." he exhaled, his hands resting loosely on his knees. "the way you listened to music—the way you get lost in it, i think that's what really got me."

he turned slightly, just enough so that you could see the corner of his lips quirk up.

"and when you gave me that vinyl, i guess that was it."

you blinked. that was it?

"but, you know," he added with a slight laugh, "your friend kinda stole you away before i could even say anything. then i had band practice, so..."

you remembered something then. the sticky note.

narrowing your eyes, you leaned forward. "how did you even know which bag was mine?"

taesan chuckled. "hmm... let's just say you have a pretty unique in utero keychain hanging from your zipper."

you let out a breath—half a laugh, half genuine disbelief.

"you're observant," you muttered.

taesan's smile faded slightly. "i'm observant when it matters."

he then turned his head toward you, while yours remained far away, simply existing in the moment. the air between you was still, the occasional whoosh of cars passing by outside, blurred and distant. it was quiet, but not empty.

then, as if sensing his gaze, you turned your head—only to find him already looking. but he didn't look away.

"let's go out," he said. his tone was steady, and effortless. no hesitation can be sensed

you nodded, tapping your lap before pushing yourself up to stand in front of him. "let's go?"

taesan let out a low chuckle, shifting upright from his relaxed lean, his eyes still fixed on you. "out." a smirk tugged at his lips, "like, a date."

you stood there, blinking at him, gazing in the way his eyes shimmered—starrier than the sky outside. you didn't think. you didn't need to. it felt like a decision had already been made long before this moment.

"okay," you said. "let's go out."

there was no rush of surprise, no shift in the air—just a mutual understanding, easy and natural, like falling into place. the way you spoke, the way he asked, the way his voice filled the quiet, and the way you both existed in each other's presence. it felt like you had known him in every lifetime before this.

taesan simply smiled, standing up with ease. "it's a date, then. but—" he said, glancing at the store's old stereo, "we're not going out just yet. it's still early, and we've got more music to dance to." he grinned, stepping away to browse through the shelves, searching for the next song.

you watched him move, the way he hopped from one record to another, flipping through them with an enthusiasm that made the moment feel infinite. and just like that, the night went on in your own little world.

two month had passed since you and taesan made it official.

at first, it was almost amusing how natural it felt—how seamlessly he fit into your life, as if he had always been there. after weeks of getting to know him, of late-night messages filled with laughter and quiet walks where words weren't needed, saying yes to him wasn't difficult at all. the only real challenge had been your parents, who—like all parents—wanted to make sure he was worthy of you. they made him chop firewood for grill nights, tested his patience with endless questions, and gave him skeptical looks whenever he came over. but taesan, with his charm and sincerity, had won them over before long. now, he was not just your taesan, but theirs too.

after spending the day hanging out with ryujin and the others, you were heading home. and there he was—waiting at your gate, earphones over his head as always.

even after all this time, the sight of him still made your heart race. it reminded you of the first time you both went out, of how everything had started.

smiling, you skipped toward him and playfully shook his shoulders.

"hi!"

taesan's expression immediately shifted, his cold face melting into the warmest, brightest smile.

"you made it." he beamed. "how was today?"

before you could answer, he wrapped his arms around you, swaying you gently from side to side.

"fine," you mumbled against his chest. "but i'm tired."

taesan pulled back just enough to hold your shoulders, leaning down slightly so your faces were level.

"wanna go for a walk? or stay in?" he reached up, tucking a few stray hairs behind your ear.

you smiled. "come on, let's walk."

he would've objected. if it weren't for the genuine excitement in your voice, he would've already ushered you inside and made you dinner.

but instead, he laced his fingers with yours, walking around the quiet neighborhood, hands swaying back and forth.

then, after a few moments of silence, taesan glanced at you.

"i wanna show you something," he said.

you raised a brow. "what is it?"

he only chuckled before moving behind you, gently placing his hands on your shoulders and guiding you forward.

"come on. trust me."

and of course, you did. you always do.

as you neared a greener part of the neighborhood, taesan suddenly spoke again.

"close your eyes."

you blinked up at him.

"if you look now, the surprise will be spoiled," he added, a small smirk on his face.

wanting to play along, you let out a soft laugh before nodding and shutting your eyes. taesan's pace slowed as he led you forward, his hands still firm on your shoulders.

your heart beat faster with each step. then, finally, you came to a stop.

you could feel taesan's presence in front of you, towering. his voice was gentle when he said, "open your eyes."

slowly, you did.

as your vision adjusted, the first thing you saw was his glowing smile. and behind him— a tree.

not just any tree, but a large, beautiful one standing tall in the night, its branches stretching over a small wooden bench. fireflies floated lazily through the air, their soft glow twinkled like tiny stars. dimly lit post lights stood around, casting everything in a cozy dim.

it was breathtaking. like something out of a dream. like something you'd only read about in a story, but never expect to see in real life.

and yet, here it was. with taesan.

your chest swolled with joy as your eyes welled up. you turned back to him, voice barely above a whisper.

"this is beautiful..." without thinking, you pulled him into a hug. "i love you, taesan."

for a moment, he didn't say anything.

then, he gently grabbed your shoulders again, tilting your chin up so you were looking into his eyes.

"i love you most, y/n."

then, with a small nod toward the bench, he spoke, "come, let's sit. i prepared something for you."

you followed as he led you to the seat, your fingers still tangled together.

then, you noticed a brown acoustic guitar leaning against the tree. taesan reached for it, settling next to you as he rested the instrument on his lap.

you smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder.

"i've sung a lot of songs for you already," taesan said. he let his fingers glide across the strings of his guitar, testing the weight of the moment before continuing. "but this one... this one's different."

you looked up as his lips curved into the smallest smile, his gaze shifting between you and the instrument in his hands. the glow of the streetlamp nearby cast golden light over his face, making him look almost unreal—like something out of an old, forgotten film.

"i started writing this the night we first went out. i add to it day by day," he admitted, his voice hushed, as if the confession itself was fragile. "after we crashed at my dad's shop. i don't know... i just felt like i had to put it into words. and now, i think it's time for you to hear it."

something in your heart ached at his sincerity. the night was quiet, save for the hum of cicadas and the occasional rustling of the leaves with every breeze that passed. the world seemed to pause just for the two of you.

then, the first strum. a comforting sound, followed by the melody that caressed you like a lullaby.

"you're my everything, the light that lingers in my eyes, the whisper in the quiet rain—the warmth that fills my empty skies."

you closed your eyes, letting the music pull you in. each note, each lyric, felt like it was written from the very core of your moments together—the stolen glances, the panicked laughter under sudden rains that caught both of you, the silence in the back of the store just listening to old tunes.

"on rainy days, we lie in silence, no words, just breathing, heart to heart. with closed eyes, the world dissolves—only you and i exist in the dark."

taesan's voice was dreamy, filled with something deeper than words could capture. it wasn't just a song; it was a piece of him.

and then, without realizing, a single tear slipped past your closed eyelids.

taesan's voice softened as he reached the last verse, his gaze never leaving you.

"and if you change, if time should fade you, know i will take you as you are, for even then, you'll be my always, my everything—my guiding star."

the song faded, but the air still hung with its presence. taesan placed the guitar down, his hands immediately finding their way to your face, thumbs brushing against your damp cheeks.

"open your eyes, my love," he whispered.

you did, only to find him looking at you as if you were the only thing in the world worth seeing.

"you're the most precious thing that's ever happened to me, y/n," he said, his forehead resting against yours. "no music, no melody—nothing will ever compare to the harmony you brought into my life."

a soft kiss landed on your forehead, filled with so much meaning.

"happy birthday, beautiful."

you barely found your voice, still drowning in the moment. "but... my birthday isn't for another two days," you whispered.

taesan chuckled, his fingers tracing along your jawline. "i know. but i'll be leaving for gwangju tomorrow. my mom needs me for a while." his voice held a slight hesitation. "just for a week. and when i'm back, i swear, we'll do whatever you want. just you and me."

you wanted to believe those words more than anything. but deep inside, something held you back, a feeling you couldn't describe. as if a part of you already knew—this moment, this song, this night, would be the last perfect memory you'd have of taesan.

still, you smiled, pushing the unease aside.

"okay," you whispered, reaching for his hand, squeezing it just a little tighter.

"i'll wait."

and in that moment, you had no idea that those two simple words would become the cause of your life falling apart.

▶• ılıılıılılılıılıılı.

morning arrived too soon, and with it, the inevitable farewell. you stood at the station, watching taesan board the train. at that moment, it felt like nothing more than a temporary goodbye—a short hurdle to overcome before he would be back in your arms in just a week.

but now, looking back, the memory plays differently in your mind. the scene isn't just a brief separation anymore—it's the sight of watching your life leave you, like grains of sand slipping through the gaps of your fingers, no matter how tightly you tried to hold on.

you waited. the two of you depended on a single beeper for communication, and though the messages were short and few, you cherished every one.

then, as the morning of your birthday approached, you found yourself at mr. han's vinyl store with ryujin.

"good morning, mr. han," you greeted, pushing through the door.

"early today, huh?" the old man smiled at you, his eyes kind. "happy birthday, daughter. i'm sorry taesan couldn't be here for your special day, but rest assured, he'll be back by monday."

his words melted in your heart. mr. han had always been more than just the owner of your favorite record store—he had been a constant presence in your life since you were thirteen, and now, he was taesan's father. the thought alone made you feel closer to him, even with the miles between you.

"she can't 'rest assured' anymore, mr. han," ryujin teased. "your daughter-in-law nearly got a fever from homesickness, you know. being away from her home and all."

you rolled your eyes, nudging her shoulder. "shut up."

mr. han chuckled. "here, i'm gifting this to you." he reached beneath the counter, pulling out a vinyl wrapped carefully in plastic.

you took it hesitantly, but as soon as your eyes landed on the cover, your face lit up. "in utero? no way! this is so sweet, thank you so much, mr.—"

"ah," he held up a hand, stopping you. "no more 'mr. han.' call me dad from now on."

"you've been a regular here since you were a stubborn 7th grader," he continued, smiling easily. "and now you're my son's girlfriend. so, no more formalities, alright?"

something in you softened at that. without thinking, you leaned against the counter, wrapping your arms around him in a hug.

"i feel like i'm at a family reunion i wasn't invited to," ryujin joked, shaking her head beside you.

mr. han grinned, then reached for another package. "oh, and this—this one's from taesan. he mailed it here yesterday and told me to give it to you today."

your fingers curled around the box, taking it with both hands. "thank you... dad," you whispered, testing the word on your tongue.

mr. han's smile widened. "anytime."

the entire morning passed in the record store, the feeling of missing taesan softened—if only for a little while. and by evening, you and ryujin returned home, where your family had set up a small celebration for your birthday.

fhe two of you found yourselves in your bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the tv, the muffled chatter from the living room fading into the background.

"ew, you're nineteen now," ryujin teased, wrinkling her nose. being a year younger, she never missed a chance to remind you.

you rolled your eyes, tossing a pillow at her. "still far away from thirty," you snorted, laughing as you fidgeted with the box in front of you—the package taesan had sent.

ryujin nudged your arm. "what's that, anyway?"

you shrugged. "guess we'll find out."

carefully, you untied the yarn wrapped around it, peeling back the flaps to reveal its contents. a mixtape, a vhs tape, and a stack of cds from your favorite bands sat neatly inside.

you let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. "he knows me a little too well."

ryujin leaned in. "damn, he really went all out. let's check what's on the tape."

without hesitation, you crawled to the player beneath the tv, sliding the vhs inside before grabbing the remote. the screen lit up to life, static buzzing before clearing—revealing taesan's face.

a bright smile, soft eyes. he looked straight into the camera, and for a second, it felt like he was right there in the room with you.

"happy birthday, my beloved y/n."

his voice crackled through the old speakers, slightly distorted, yet every syllable carried the sincerity of someone who loved you with every fiber of his being.

"the first time i met you, it was as if my world pressed 'play' for the first time. before you, my life felt like a song stuck on pause—waiting, and unfinished. but then you came along, and suddenly, everything made sense. you are the music that turned my silence into something beautiful."

he smiled, pausing for a brief second as if searching for the right words.

"y/n, today is your day, and i need you to promise me something—smile, even if i'm not there. celebrate, even if it's just for yourself. because you deserve every bit of happiness this world has to offer. and don't you worry, next time, we'll celebrate together. i promise it. we'll be together soon."

a trail of silence.

"i love you more than yesterday, and less than tomorrow, my dear darling. always."

he leaned closer to the camera, and then, the screen faded back to static.

you exhaled, with a shaky breath. a lump formed in your throat, but you refused to cry—this wasn't meant to be sad. it was meant to make you feel loved, even from miles away.

ryujin glanced at you, then patted your back. "you okay?"

you nodded, still staring at the screen.

ryujin leaned back against your bed, staring at the ceiling. "damn, taesan really does love you." she grinned, then looked at you. "i'm happy for you, y/n. happy birthday, my guy."

and in that moment, despite the distance, despite the ache in your chest, you felt whole.

you were happy. you really were.

lying on your bed after the long day, you stared at the ceiling, letting the glow of the streetlights outside reflect against your walls. after ryujin left, you stayed up, replaying taesan's message again and again, as if you could carve his voice into your mind, make it something permanent.

the way he smiled. the way he said your name, the way his voice crackled through the old speakers but never lost its warmth.

"i promise it. we'll be together soon."

you pressed your earphones closer, the mixtape he had sent playing, the song he sang for you that night before he left. it felt like he was right there, fingers strumming the chords.

you could already picture it—the week passing by quickly, and then he'd be back. he'd step off that train with the same boyish grin, shaking his head at you for missing him too much, even though he would've missed you just as much. he'd pull you into his arms, teasing you for being dramatic, but still holding on a little tighter, a little longer.

nothing bad could happen.

with that thought warming your chest, you drifted off to sleep with a smile on your lips.

and then, before you knew it, a noise.

the sudden, loud sound of footsteps storming up the stairs. the door swinging open with too much force.

▶• ılıılıılılılıılıılı.

"y/n!"

you stirred, groggy. you've overslept. the afternoon sunlight streaming through your window, instantly blinding you. headphones still in your ears. for a second, you thought it was just ryujin being ryujin—barging in like she always did, shaking you awake for something stupid.

but then you felt it, the weight in the air. something was wrong.

you sat up, fast, the mixtape player tumbling from your hands. your pulse pounded, a sudden chill creeping up your chest as your best friend stood frozen in the doorway.

ryujin was breathless, shoulders rising and falling in quick, uneven pace. her hands trembled at her sides. but what scared you the most was her face—pale, drained of every bit of mischief and joy she always had.

she couldn't look at you.

"ryu...?" your voice barely came out, your own heartbeat drowning it.

she swallowed, her throat bobbing. she opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first. then—

"taesan."

one word. just one. and suddenly, the world wasn't real anymore.

your breath hitched. you felt it before you even knew what it was, a weight pressing down on your chest, curling around your ribs, tightening, squeezing.

your hands clenched the sheets, your mind racing, trying to fill in the blanks. maybe she was overreacting. maybe he just missed his train. maybe his beeper was out of range. maybe—

"taesan, what?" you gasped. barely recognizing your own voice. "what, ryujin?"

she flinched, her lips parting, but she still wouldn't look at you. her fingers dug into the fabric of her jeans.

seconds passed. she finally lifted her gaze, eyes trembling.

and before she even said another word, before she could let the next sentence leave her lips— you already knew.

you can barely remember what happened after ryujin told you. everything blurred together, the world tipping over, voices had muffled, your own heartbeat drowning out everything else.

she had gone to mr. han's store early in the morning, like she always did. but today, instead of the usual quiet hum of records playing inside, she found the store getting closed, with mr. han outside, hands shaking as he fumbled with the keys, his face was pale and stricken with terror.

"taesan... he's caught in an accident."

that was all it took.

the next time you became fully aware of your surroundings, you were already running through the cold, sterile halls of the hospital, barefoot, still in your pajamas. your breath came out in ragged gasps, tears blurring your vision, but you didn't stop. you couldn't.

everything hurt—your legs, your lungs, your head. but none of it compared to the fear clawing at your chest, the paralyzing dread wrapping around your throat like a noose.

left. right. where is he?

your heartbeat pounded in your ears, blocking out the sounds of nurses passing by, the beeping of machines, the low murmur of worried families.

and then you saw him— mr. han.

sitting in the waiting area in front of the emergency room, his face buried in his hands. the moment your eyes landed on him, the final thread holding you together snapped.

"dad..."

the word fell from your lips in a broken whisper as you collapsed onto the chair beside him.

he didn't say anything at first. he just pulled you into his arms, his embrace just as tight, just as desperate as yours.

you both sat there. painfully long hours passed, but time meant nothing.

then, they let you see him.

mr. han went in first. you hesitated at the doorway, unable to move, unable to breathe, scared of what might lie before you.

and then you saw himyour heart audibly shattered.

taesan lay in the hospital bed, his face was pale, his body wrapped in layers of bandages. his left leg was lifted, secured in a cast, wires and tubes connected to him like a lifelines. he looked small, fragile. so unlike the taesan you knew—the one who always stood tall, always carried himself with effortless ease, always made you feel safe.

now, he was unconscious. a deep, unmoving stillness. you couldn't step forward. you couldn't bear to get any closer.

"taesan... he went home earlier than he was supposed to."

mr. han's voice was rough, almost a whisper low.

"but i hope you won't blame yourself for this, y/n. it was his choice... an unfortunate one."

guilt wrapped around you like a claustrophobe. he was here because of you.

he was in pain right now because he loved you.

you pressed a trembling hand over your mouth, trying to stifle the sob trying to break free. but nothing could stop the way your chest caved in, the way your entire body ached with something so heavy.

mr. han reached out, squeezing your shoulder gently.

"at least he's alive. and he'll be okay."

that was all you could hold onto. that was all you could hope for.

▶• ılıılıılılılıılıılı.

the first few days after the accident were unbearable.

you visited the hospital every single day. sat by his bedside, hands folded in your lap, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. you had already memorized the sound of the machines, the way the heart monitor beeped in slow, rhythmic pulses. sometimes, you spoke to him—soft, whispered words that never received an answer.

"hey, taesan... it's me."

"ryujin's been making me eat properly, but you know how she is. she doesn't know how to cook for shit."

"i've been playing the mixtape you gave me. over and over. it's still my favorite thing in the world."

but taesan never responded.

his fingers never twitched. his breathing never changed.

he was there, but he wasn't.

and that was the worst part—watching him sleep, watching him remain so still, and not knowing when he would wake up. if he would wake up.

mr. han tried to stay hopeful. "he's a fighter, y/n. he's strong."

but late at night, when the nurses thought no one was listening, you overheard the hushed conversations between doctors. the uncertainty in their voices. the way they said "if he wakes up" instead of "when."

and it terrified you. some nights, you didn't sleep at all.

you sat by your window, hugging your knees to your chest, playing the last recording taesan ever sent you. his voice the only thing keeping you together— cracked slightly as he sang. you closed your eyes and imagined he was still here, still whole, still the same boy who left with a promise to return.

you whispered to yourself, like a prayer. "please come back to me."

and then—

one morning, the beeper went off.

you almost didn't answer. you had spent the entire night awake again, too afraid to close your eyes, too afraid that when you opened them, something worse would happen.

but then you saw it's from taesan's father.

"y/n, he's awake."

the phone nearly slipped from your fingers.

you didn't even bother grabbing your jacket. you just ran.

your legs felt weak as you reached the hospital doors, but the rush of adrenaline kept you moving. every step felt like you were running towards something unreal, something you had spent weeks desperately hoping for.

you imagined it over and over—

taesan waking up, his tired eyes landing on you, his lips curving into the smallest, weakest smile. "you're here," he would say, and you would laugh through your tears, grabbing his hand, feeling his warmth.

you wanted that moment— you needed that moment.

but when you stepped into his room, when his eyes finally met yours, you expected to be greeted with the same eyes you've seen just a month ago, the same smile you saw in the vhs clip.

but his direct, empty, and confused gaze says otherwise.

"dad, who is she?"

your heart stopped, and the world suddenly spun faster. you had prepared for everything—except this.

except for the possibility that when he woke up, you wouldn't exist to him anymore.

petrified, you couldn't do anything but stare at him, your vision blurring, body turning ice cold.

this wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"taesan, she's..." mr. han hesitated.

but taesan's confused gaze never flinched. he didn't know you, didn't remember you.

every memory, every moment, every smile, every night spent whispering about forever— gone.

you turned abruptly, stumbling out of the room, your hands shaking so violently you could barely push open the door. the walls of the hospital hallway felt like they were closing in, suffocating you, crushing you under the weight of a new reality you never thought you would have to face.

you pressed your back against the nearest wall, gasping for air.

the nausea hit first. then the dizziness. then the overwhelming, unbearable grief.

mr. han followed you out, his face lined with concern, his voice was comforting when he knelt beside you.

"i'm sorry, y/n."

you shook your head, gripping your arms as if holding yourself together.

"no, no, no..." the words came out as broken whispers.

"the doctor said the trauma to his head was too severe," mr. han explained gently. "he's lucky to be alive. his memory... it's in pieces. some things, he remembers. some things, he doesn't."

you barely heard him.

everything else drowned in the roaring noise in your head. it felt like someone had reached inside you and ripped out your heart, leaving a hollow, aching space behind.

"give yourself time," mr. han said. "i'll help you reintroduce yourself to him—"

"no."

it came out sharper than you intended.

mr. han blinked, taken aback.

"no, mr. han. don't." your voice cracked at the end.

you couldn't do this.

you wouldn't do this.

because the taesan you loved—the one who knew your favorite songs, the one who always hugged you from behind when you least expected it, the one who promised to come back to you— that taesan was gone.

and maybe it was selfish. maybe it was weak, but you didn't want to be just another stranger in his life.

mr. han exhaled slowly, his eyes filled with something close to sorrow. but he didn't argue.

"i understand," he murmured. "but i'll be here if you ever change your mind."

except, you didn't. you never did, and that's it.

the guilt still sat in your chest like a sickness that had no cure, a lifetime illness that never fafrd. you spent the next year drowning in it, avoiding everything that reminded you of him—the store, the streets you once walked together. you kept yourself hidden in the comfort of isolation, blaming yourself until the weight of regret became unbearable. the only constant was ryujin, who sat with you through every sleepless night, listening to your sobs, carrying the same sorrow in her own heart.

but you never wanted to see taesan again. not because the love had faded—no, it was because it hadn't. because it still lived inside you, and that love had nearly destroyed him.

and just like that, in the blink of an eye, you were erased from his world.

two years later, after mr. han's passing, you left. you went overseas, studied, worked, and tried to piece yourself back together. you built a life—a good one, stable, structured. you had everything, everything except the warmth you once held in your hands. the kind of love that once made your heart feel alive.

that emptiness stayed with you for the next 16 years.

▶▶ fast forward, to 2010

the air smelled the same. that was the first thing you noticed when you stepped out of the taxi, suitcase in hand, standing in front of the house you called home. it had been a decade and a half since you last walked this street, yet the scent of the trees, the faint saltiness from the nearby river, and the warm, lingering aroma of your mother's cooking still clung to the air.

your mother was the first to rush out, arms wide open, pulling you into a warm hug. the comfort of her touch was the same, but her body felt smaller, frailer. her hair was streaked with more silver than before, and the deep lines on her face told stories of the years she had spent waiting for you to come back.

"you've gotten thinner," she muttered as she held your face, eyes scanning you as if trying to memorize every detail. "are you eating well?"

you let out a small laugh. "i'm fine, mom."

your older sister, now a mother herself, stood behind her, smiling softly. in her arms was yujin, her six-year-old daughter, peeking at you with curious eyes. she looked so much like your sister when she was younger—same round cheeks, same smile.

at lunch, the dining table was livelier than you remembered. your sister talked about her job, your mother shared neighborhood gossip, and yujin, growing more comfortable, proudly told you about a drawing she made in school. you listened, letting their voices fill the hollow that had followed you for years.

then, the conversation shifted.

"are you settling back here for good?" your sister asked.

you nodded while slicing into your food. "yeah, i've earned enough, but i still took a job at a company nearby. i'll be staying here for a while until i find my own place around the city."

your mother and sister exchanged glances but said nothing. you could already tell they wanted you to stay, but they wouldn't push. at thirty-five, you had already built a life away from home—except,

"y/n, dear," your mother spoke after a pause, setting her utensils down. "when are you getting married?"

you froze for just a second, but it was enough.

the room quieted, only present was the sound of yujin humming to herself. you didn't look up, simply pushing the food around on your plate.

your sister cleared her throat, sensing the tension. "mom—"

"i'm just worried," your mother interrupted softly. "you've been alone for so long."

you sighed, putting down your fork. "let's not talk about it."

she lowered her gaze, nodding in understanding. "we just want you to be happy."

happy.

the word sat heavy in your chest. you weren't unhappy, not really. you had built a life, studied, worked, traveled. you had done everything you were supposed to do.

but happiness? that was different.

"i'll figure it out," you said finally, offering a small, reassuring smile.

your mother let it go after that, but the thought stayed in your mind even as the conversation moved on.

and then, as if drawn by an invisible string, your thoughts drifted back.

to the store. to the past you had locked away.

to taesan.

▶• ılıılıılılılıılıılı.

after lunch, you found yourself holding on the car keys. the decision to drive to the store mr. han used to own wasn't made on impulse—it had been in the back of your mind since you arrived in town. you told yourself it was curiosity. you just wanted to see if it was still there, if time had been kind to it, if someone else had taken over.

it wasn't about him.

at least, that's what you convinced yourself as you pulled out of the driveway.

the thought of taesan crossed your mind like a wind. once, the idea of seeing him again would have sent your heart into a spiral, would have made you rehearse scenarios in your head. but now? it didn't thrill you anymore. it had been sixteen years. whatever was left of those feelings had dulled with time, worn down like an old photograph left in the sun too long.

or so you thought.

as you pulled up to the familiar street, your eyes brightened. the store was still there.

a small, involuntary smile formed on your lips. it looked the same, almost eerily so—like it had been preserved in amber, untouched by the years that had changed everything else. the sign still hung above the door, its paint slightly faded but still legible. the same large glass windows framed the front, revealing shelves lined with records, just as they had always been. not a single thing seemed altered.

it was as if time had stood still here.

and for a moment, you let yourself believe it had.

your grip on the steering wheel loosened as memories flooded in—memories of you and ryujin, laughing as you ran up the sidewalk, her voice echoing in your ears. you could almost see it, the shadows of your younger selves running past, breathless from excitement, pushing open the door with a little too much force. mr. han would already be at the counter, a cup of coffee in his hands, shaking his head with a grin.

the memory felt so vivid, so real, that you had to blink yourself back into the present.

through the window, you peered inside, searching for a figure behind the counter. but no one was there. the space looked empty.

you hesitated. then, exhaling softly, you stepped out of the car.

the afternoon air was slightly cold, carrying the slight scent of autumn leaves from the ground. your steps were slow, as you walked toward the entrance. the familiar wooden panels creaked beneath your weight as you reached for the door handle.

the store smelled the same—dusty vinyl, aged paper. it wrapped around you like the old times.

your gaze instinctively drifted toward the counter. it was empty.

your fingers hovered over the small bell placed neatly beside the register. for a second, you debated leaving. maybe this had been a mistake. maybe digging through old places would only unearth things better left buried.

but then, before you could retreat, you tapped the bell.

a few seconds passed. and then, footsteps.

a door creaked open at the back of the shop— a man stepped out, taller, and hair slightly longer.

everything went in slow-motion.

you had thought you were past this. you had convinced yourself that all those feelings, all those stupid heartbeats, had faded with time.

but the moment you saw the man walk through that door— looking different, but still painfully the same, everything came crashing back.

taesan.

your fingers curled instinctively, gripping the hem of your sleeve.

he looked more matured. his hair was neatly styled, and there were faint lines around his eyes. but his presence—his quiet, effortless presence was the same.

and he was smiling, but not in the way he used to.

this wasn't the smile that had once made you feel like the world had paused just for the two of you. this wasn't the same expression he had worn that day when he first saw you holding mtv unplugged, standing right behind where you were now.

no, this smile was polite. distant. the kind of smile you give to strangers.

"hello, ma'am. can i help you?"

his voice was calm, and professional.

you tried not to look, not to search for any remnants of the boy you once loved in his still-starry eyes. but in doing so, your own eyes began to glisten with the weight of sixteen years that had passed too quickly, and yet, not quickly enough.

before he could ask if you were okay, the bell chimed again.

a voice called out—

"hi, honey!"

and there it was. the smile. the one you had been searching for.

but it wasn't for you.

your gaze shifted toward the woman who had just walked in.

she had short hair. a soft yellow dress flowed around her frame. her presence was gentle, warm, as she stepped closer in a way that made something in you sink.

taesan's face softened. his entire posture changed.

"how's eunyoung?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"your daughter's been really naughty. good thing her sister's a responsible one," the woman chuckled.

daughter.

your ears rang.

you turned away before you could hear more. before you could process what it meant. before the tight wrap of reality could fully drag you down.

your steps carried you—perhaps instinctively, to the back of the store, where the old shelves stood. the same ones where you and taesan had once stood, side by side, two teenagers who thought the world only revolved around music and endless possibilities.

your fingers skimmed the edges of the records. some were familiar, old classics that had stood the test of time. others were newer, fresh additions to replace old ones.

and then— your hand stilled.

a single vinyl, untouched, tucked carefully between the others.

mtv unplugged.

a whisper of a memory stirred.

"mtv unplugged."

the voice echoed behind you.

you turned, and suddenly, you weren't standing in a record store in 2010—you were eighteen again.

"that's been a personal favorite," taesan said, his voice lighter now. "i don't know why no one buys it."

your lips parted, but no words came.

he glanced at you, but not like before, not with the warmth of love. just as a store owner speaking to a customer.

"gonna buy it?"

"no," you murmured, gripping the record a little tighter. "i'll just rent it."

taesan nodded, unfazed. "great. i'll be at the counter if you need recommendations."

and just like that, he walked away. without a second look. not realizing who you were.

without realizing what this place—what he, had meant to you.

but that didn't matter. you had no intention of crashing back into his life. he was happy.

and for you, that had to be enough.

▐▐ resume, to 2024

your eyes flutter open.

for the first time in three decades, the weight in your chest isn't unbearable anymore. it lingers— like a memory that no longer claws at your chest but merely exists somewhere distant. you exhale, grounding yourself back to the present.

turning back to the shelf, you run your fingers along the spines of the vinyls, their covers weathered by time. you pause, pulling out nevermind, feeling the rough texture under your fingertips. then, without hesitation, you stacked the vinyl along with the mtv unplugged in your arms.

the bell above the door chimes again.

you sense taesan's presence before he even speaks, his footsteps light as he steps beside you.

"nevermind too?" he said, amusement in his tone.

you let out a soft chuckle. "yeah, someone once told me i should go with nevermind first."

he hums in approval, the corners of his lips tugging into an easy smile. "sounds like a wise man advice."

you both laugh—softly, naturally.

the moment feels strangely effortless, as if the years between now and then have thinned into something preserved.

then, without warning, taesan reaches for a different shelf, pulling out a cd from a tucked-away spot. you glance at it—reality by richard sanderson.

"here," he says, offering it to you. "recommendation. i listened to this out of pure boredom once, and for some reason, i was drawn to it. it felt like—" he pauses.

you turn to him, waiting.

"...home?" he finishes.

you smile, nodding, taking the cd from his hands. "yeah. some songs do that to you."

a comfortable silence passed between you as you stare down at the album in your hands. then, almost without thinking, you speak.

"do you ever feel like you've lost something important, but you don't know what?"

taesan tilts his head slightly, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling in thought. he exhales through his nose, contemplative.

"sometimes," he admits. "i get these dreams, and... weird feelings whenever i sense something familiar. maybe old things i should remember."

you nod at his response, lips pressing into a flat line. there's no sadness in his voice, only curiosity—like someone who has long accepted that some pieces of his past are just that: lost, but not necessarily missed.

that freed you.

"well," you say, lifting the cd slightly. "maybe you loved this song in another life."

a small smirk forms on his lips. "maybe."

you adjust the stack in your arms. "alright, i'll take all these. buying them, finally."

taesan follows behind you as you walk to the counter. the transaction is simple—just another routine exchange. but as you take the bag from his hands and turn to leave, his voice stops you.

"you've been visiting here since 2010, if i remember correctly," he says. "but i don't think i ever got your name."

you hesitate. then, with a steady stance, you turn back to him.

"jang y/n."

for a fleeting moment, you swear you see something—a flicker of recognition, a spark of something buried deep in his eyes. but just as quickly as it appears, it's gone, replaced by his usual easygoing expression.

taesan nods, polite, casual. "okay. please take care on the road, ma'am jang. i'll remember you."

you nod back, stepping out of the store for the final time.

▶ ılıılıılılılıılıılı.

tonight— an hour before your birthday ends, the air feels lighter than it has in years.

settling into your bed, you turn on the old vhs player, the usual static rustling before the screen flickers on.

there he is, again. smiling through the grainy footage, his voice carrying through the years like a remnant of your youth.

"today is your day, and i need you to promise me something—smile, even if i'm not there. celebrate, even if it's just for yourself. because you deserve every bit of happiness this world has to offer."

for the first time, your chest doesn't tighten. your eyes don't glisten with unshed tears.

maybe, after all these years, this wasn't a promise left unfulfilled. maybe this message was never meant to be a placeholder for something that never came.

maybe it was closure all along.

maybe, the answer taesan gave you at the store earlier was the final piece of it—the confirmation that you were never completely erased from his world. buried, perhaps. forgotten in some ways. but never truly gone.

we all exist in someone's life, even if only in echoes. and maybe that truth—that you were once there, that you once mattered, is enough.

you glance back at the screen one last time.

taesan—your taesan is still there, frozen in time, forever twenty, forever smiling. wishing you happiness.

you reach for the remote, pressing the stop button.

the screen fades to black.

ejecting the tape carefully, putting it back in its place, you finally lay him—and the past—to rest.

■ fin.

[sermalatenightsnack]

You vs. Hawks: Who’s Japan’s Sweetheart, Really?

Episode 1

SUMMARY: What if there was another pro hero on the rise—just as fast, flirty, and fan-favorite as Hawks? You didn’t ask for the spotlight war, but now you’re in it. From a chance meeting behind a restaurant dumpster to joint missions and viral interviews, the world can’t stop watching Japan’s “favorite rivalry.” Too bad you’re starting to enjoy the game. TAGLINE: Fem!reader. Mentions of sexiual tension. Slow burn. Two rising stars. One too many cameras. And absolutely no rivalry feelings whatsoever.

Based on this blurb

A small drabble before you met him here

Unfinished series!

A/N first time writing a series. And editing on tumbler is a pain.

An overly televised disaster waiting to happen.

You never meant to become a household name. Not really. Not in the way that came with hashtags, interviews, or limited-edition soda cans with your face on them.

But somewhere between that rescue in Shibuya and the time you called Hawks “Featherboy” live on national television, you became the headline.

And unfortunately for you, so did he.

The Pro Hero scene was never quiet, but ever since you showed up, it’s been chaos. Not villain-related chaos---PR chaos. Tabloids live for it. Paparazzi stalk rooftops just to catch one of your now-famous aerial tag matches. The internet has been divided into two camps:

#Team(Hero Name) — “They’re hot, unbothered, and can do a perfect barrel roll in three-inch platform boots.”

#TeamHawks — “He’s iconic, strategic, and literally saved Japan. Let’s not forget the wings, people.”

#(Hero Name)hawksTruthers — “Just kiss already.”

Your agency says you’re good for each other’s image. You call it “brand beef.” Hawks calls it “free entertainment.”

And today, like clockwork, you land next to him on top of a burning building with a sigh.

“Don’t tell me you were waiting for me,” you say, brushing soot off your sleeve.

He grins. “Wouldn’t dream of stealing your spotlight.”

“You couldn’t if you tried.”

“Oh? Then what do you call this?” He gestures to the hovering drones, all centered on the two of you like it’s a red carpet and not, you know, a potential hostage situation.

You smirk. “I call it Tuesday.”

[SMASH CUT TO: A neon-lit studio set with a spinning title card]

“WHO’S WINNING THE (HERO NAME) VS HAWKS RIVALRY?”

~~~An Exclusive HeroWatch! Segment (Now in 4K UltraDrama)

[Cue dramatic music: overproduced strings and fake wind FX]

[Clips play rapid-fire: you diving off a skyscraper mid-rescue, Hawks laughing on a late-night show, the two of you shoulder-bumping post-mission like it was nothing.]

[Cut to: a host with aggressively styled hair and too much eyeliner.]

HOST (grinning at the camera):

“Two top pros. One public stage. Endless sexual tension---I mean rivalry. We asked you, the people, whose side you're on!”

[Insert “Street Interviews” section. Microphone, shaky camera, chaos.]

INTERVIEWEE 1 (teen with glitter stickers on their cheeks):

“(Hero Name)’s literally my role model. They once did a double corkscrew flip just to grab a kitten off a ledge. Hawks could never.”

INTERVIEWEE 2 (older man in a hawks hoodie):

“Hawks is practical. Sharp. Efficient. (Hero Name)’s cool, sure, but they do too much sometimes. Gotta reel it in.”

INTERVIEWEE 3 (couple sharing one hawks/skyline-themed umbrella):

“We love them both, but let’s be real---those two are flirting. Right? Like, it’s not just us, right???”

[Cut back to studio. Dramatic spin on the host’s chair.]

HOST (leaning forward like this is serious journalism):

“HeroWatch polls show a 50/50 split---nationwide. The tension’s high. The fans are louder than ever. And with another joint mission scheduled next week...”

[Cue ominous thunder sound effect]

HOST (grinning wide):

“...someone’s feathers are gonna get ruffled.”

[Roll credits. Blurry freeze-frame of you and Hawks dodging debris, mid-sassy banter.]

...

You were in your apartment. Dim lighting. A half-empty takeout box that sat on your lap as the TV plays a little too loud in the background.

You didn’t mean to watch it.

In fact, you were planning to ignore it entirely. Just like you ignored the trending hashtags, the fan art, the shipping threads, the conspiracy theories about your “lingering stares,” and the video essay titled “Why Hawks and (Hero Name) Are the Next Great Rivalry/Enemies-to-Lovers Arc” that had over 2 million views.

But the second your name dropped in the ad break--“Next up: Why Japan can’t choose between (Hero Name) and Hawks!”--you froze mid-bite and instinctively hit the volume.

And now you're here. Slumped on your couch, squinting at your TV in exhausted disbelief as glittery-eyed teenagers argue over your combat flips and some dude in a Hawks hoodie says you're "too much."

What the hell is this.

You cover your face with one hand, fingers dragging down over your mouth, and exhale a slow, bone-deep sigh.

How did it get this far?

Seriously. How.

Your mind flickers back---past the screaming headlines, the fanbase wars, the constant speculation---to the moment this entire circus began. Not in a battlefield. Not in a press conference. But behind a dumpy soba restaurant with a broken neon sign.

You remember it too clearly.

One year ago. Night. Rain. You’re walking home after patrol, minding your business.

It was supposed to be a quiet detour. Just you, your umbrella, and the sound of wet gravel under your boots.

And then you heard it. Rustling. Cursing. Muffled grunts.

You paused, narrowed your eyes down the alleyway beside the soba shop. A pair of wings---red, twitching midair. “Whoever” they belonged to was halfway into a garbage bin, legs kicking wildly like an overturned turtle.

You tilted your head.

“…Hey,” you called, cautious. “You alright?”

No answer.

“Do you need help?” you tried again. “Or are you... trading drugs in there?”

The person froze.

Then---WHUMP.

A head popped out. Feathered blond hair, ruffled and speckled with rice grains. Wide amber eyes blinking at you. A noodle stuck to his cheek.

You blinked back.

“…You’re not homeless, are you?” you asked.

He grinned, upside-down. “Nah. Just forgot my phone.”

You stared at him. Then at the bin. Then at him again.

“Your phone,” you repeated slowly. “In the trash.”

“Yep. Dropped it in while tossing leftovers. Pretty dumb, huh?”

That was the first time you saw him in person. Pro Hero #2. Elbow-deep in soup-stained napkins and laughing like this wasn’t the most ridiculous introduction imaginable.

You couldn’t stop thinking about it for days.

But in the moment you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little thrown.

Not because it was Hawks---though yeah, Hawks. Pro Hero #2. The walking, talking soundbite machine with feathers and fame on his side.

No, what got you was how you met him.

Not at a press event. Not during some high-octane hero team-up. No slow-mo action sequence, no cameras, no scripted “Hey, aren’t you---?” moment.

Just you. And him. And a dumpster.

And the second that spiky mop of blonde hair popped out of the trash, you had a choice to make.

Drop the act---or double down.

You picked the latter, obviously.

Because your public image? The easy smiles, unbothered, cool-in-every-storm type? That had taken work. You had fans who’d never seen you sweat, who praised your every witty comeback and gravity-defying save. You couldn’t just stutter in front of the nation’s golden boy because he happened to be rummaging for his phone behind a soba shop.

So you leaned a hip against the wall, arms crossed, gave him a half-lidded stare like he wasn’t half-covered in pickled ginger.

“…You usually go dumpster diving on your nights off?” you asked, tone smooth like you'd planned the question three days in advance.

He looked up at you, eyes glinting, mouth curved. “Only on Mondays. Tuesdays are for alley yoga.”

You snorted. Couldn’t help it.

“So you are Hawks.”

He hopped out like it was nothing, brushed some seaweed off his jacket, and gave you that exact smirk you'd seen a hundred times in interviews. “Guilty. And you’re (Hero Name), right? The fans think we’d look good together.”

That---that---he just went straight to the point... Huh.

You barely managed a shrug. “Haven’t even bought me dinner.”

His eyes crinkled, amused. “Soba counts, if you don’t mind it reheated.”

You played it off with a scoff and a casual look away, pretending like you're not just now realising how much he wasn't just just like you...He was just like you---too much like you. The jokes was like meeting a mirror you weren’t sure you wanted to look into.

But that was the game, right? Keep the mask on. Keep it smooth. Never let them see you break.

Even when they catch you off guard behind a restaurant and toss your whole online persona into the trash with a wink and a noodle on their face.

You stayed leaning on the wall, playing around with what words to say next in your head‚ though your mind was already backtracking to what he just said---“The fans think we’d look good together.” Did he just open with that? No hello? No preamble?

You glanced him up and down, from the noodle on his shoulder to the way his wings rustled behind him like they had their own amused rhythm.

“Didn’t think you were the type to check your QRTs,” you said, arching a brow.

“I’m not,” he replied, flashing a grin that was just a little too satisfied. “But my agency is. They keep a whole folder. HeroWatch calls it ‘The Flirt Wars.’ You’ve got good numbers.”

You exhaled sharply, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “You’re kidding.”

“Dead serious. You’ve got better reaction stats than I do. Stronger pull with the 18–24 crowd.”

He said it like he was proud of you. Like this was some kind of twisted influencer competition and you’d just unlocked a new tier.

You tilted your head. “So what, you track me down behind a soba place to... what? Compare analytics?”

He shrugged. “I was hungry. You were here. Felt like fate.”

“Right,” you muttered. “Fate with a side of trash juice.”

Hawks snorted and finally started fixing himself up, flicking rice grains off his gloves and straightening the straps of his jacket like he hadn’t just been neck-deep in restaurant garbage. “You’re shorter than I thought.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He gestured lazily with one wing. “You come off taller online. More... towering menace with killer cheekbones. Reality’s got softer edges.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That your way of flirting, or just a weird insult?”

“Why not both?”

And there he flashed a grin---that grin. The kind that made it feel like you were the one being toyed with, like you were a punchline he already knew the end to.

But two could play that game.

You pushed off the wall and took a slow step forward, letting your eyes trail over him with deliberate cool. “You’re louder in person,” you said. “Thought you’d be more mysterious. Y’know, brooding. Aloof. Not... elbow-deep in someone’s leftover lunch.”

He laughed---really laughed this time, head tipping back. “Guess we both break expectations, huh?”

You paused, lips twitching despite yourself.

“…Yeah,” you murmured. “Guess we do.”

For a second, neither of you said anything. The hum of a nearby streetlamp buzzed overhead. A cat knocked over a can in the distance. Hawks was still watching you, eyes sharp behind that easy smile, wings settling in a little closer like he wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

You crossed your arms again, fighting back the urge to actually consider this interaction as anything meaningful.

“So,” you said slowly, “you stalking me now, or is this just a trashy coincidence?”

He smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Dang.

Ahem.

You rolled your eyes---just enough to let him see it, but not enough to give him full satisfaction.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you muttered, brushing past him, casual, as if this whole encounter hadn’t gotten under your skin.

You half-expected him to let you walk off with the last word. But no.

Of course not.

“Hey,” he called behind you.

You stopped, only slightly.

“What.”

There was a pause---just long enough for the silence to bite a little.

Then:

“You’ve got a leaf in your hair. And uh… soy sauce on your elbow.”

You turned fully, ready to argue---deny it, ignore it, anything---but the he just looked at you like he’d already memorized your microexpressions and was ready to catalog every single one‚ made you rethink.

Your eyes slid his way, neutral.

“Alright. Thanks.”

Flat-toned acknowledgment.

You didn’t reach for your hair. Didn’t check your elbow. Just stood there, steady.

His eyes narrowed slightly---curious, amused---but you caught it. That tiny twitch in his mouth, like he hadn’t expected that response.

“I get people pointing things out all the time,” you added, flicking a hand lazily. “Stains, threads, food on my face---y’know, the classics. So now I just say thanks.”

You glanced at him, letting it land.

“And don’t fix it?”

“Nope.”

That got him. A low chuckle rumbled out of his chest, and he nodded slowly like he’d just found another reason to be entertained by you.

“Well, (Hero Name), this was fun.”

And then---with the gall of someone who knew exactly what they were doing---he gave you a two-finger salute‚ turned on his heel with the kind of careless grace that only came from annoying amounts of self-confidence. Wings stretching, streetlight catching on the edges, and he was gone---vanishing around the corner like you’d imagined him.

Disappeared like this had been just another Tuesday night errand.

Like he hadn’t just tossed your night into a blender and strutted off with the lid.

You stood there a moment longer.

Still not brushing the leaf out of your hair.

What the hell just happened?

At first, you hadn’t even planned on it being a rivalry.

You’d just wanted to one-up him.

Maybe the next time you ran into Hawks, you’d be the cool one. Unflinching. Dismissive. You’d say something smart---subtle but scathing---and he’d finally be the one left blinking, stuck with a leaf in his hair.

But then he started showing up.

Everywhere.

You brushed it off the first time. The second, you gave it a little side-eye. But by the fourth unexpected run-in---at a charity event, a late patrol, a live-streamed PSA---it was getting suspicious.

And before you knew it, Hawks had become something of an occupational hazard.

There he was: in the corner of your interviews, hovering at joint patrols, clipped into your comms like it was the most natural thing in the world. You didn’t invite him---PR did, apparently. “Shared air time” and “opposing charm points” and other buzzwords that meant ratings.

You didn’t mind the spotlight. You’d just rather not share it with someone who had the audacity to leave you standing with a leaf in your hair and soy sauce on your elbow.

So when he swooped into formation beside you mid-air and mid-mission---smug, composed, like he belonged---you didn’t flinch.

You turned just enough to meet his gaze, flashing him the same easygoing grin you wore on livestreams and magazine covers.

“Well,” you said, voice smooth, “look who’s following my lead.”

He gave you that two-beat laugh, head tilting like he was delighted you were playing back.

“Figured you’d want backup,” he said, as if you hadn’t handled six solo ops this month without blinking.

“Oh, how thoughtful.” You glanced down toward the van below, then back at him. “You bring backup for everyone, or am I just lucky?”

“You,” Hawks said, effortlessly, “are many things. But no one’s ever called you lucky.”

“Not to my face,” you shot back.

His grin widened. A challenge. You let the wind ruffle through your hair as you banked slightly ahead of him---just a bit---like you were carving out the lead.

“Keep up, Feathers. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

He chuckled behind you. “And here I thought I was the cocky one.”

You smirked, not bothering to look back.

But unfortunately (not)‚ that wasn't the end of it.

Back to present:

You're on your couch. TV now playing a slowed-down clip of you and Hawks laughing mid-mission with sparkles added in post.

You sink deeper into the cushions, biting the inside of your cheek. You knew the media would twist things, but this? This was peak nonsense. (But kinda funny too)

You and Hawks weren’t even rivals at first. You were just trying to mind your own business while he kept showing up at your patrol zones like some cryptid in aviators. Then the missions started. Then the banter. Then the banter during missions. Then the one time you both tried to stop a jewel thief and ended up accidentally crashing a wedding.

You didn’t ask for a public rivalry. You were just trying to do your job.

But now? Now it’s you vs. him in the public eye. Fans drawing you like lovers. Kids calling you the “Birdbrain Duo.” HeroWatch running full-length segments debating your aerial dynamics and emotional chemistry.

You grab the remote, mute the TV, and stare at your own frozen image on screen---smirking at Hawks in the middle of a burning hallway, like you're having the time of your life.

And, okay... maybe you kind of were.

But that’s not the point.

“…This is getting out of hand,” you mutter into the silence.

And somewhere---inevitably---your phone buzzes.

It’s from Hawks.

[Hawks:] U watching HeroWatch? They gave you my jawline. Kinda rude tbh.

You stare at his message.

Your lips tug upward, slow.

You move to type with one hand, casual.

[You:] Must’ve been the lighting. Or maybe they just think I wear it better.

The typing bubble pops up almost immediately. Predictable.

[Hawks:] Oof. A hit to the jawline and the ego? Cold.

You let the silence hang for a beat too long before replying. Let him stew. Then:

[You:] I thought you liked cold. Isn’t that why you keep flying next to me lately?

Pause. Beat.

[Hawks:] …Touché.

[You:] Don’t get soft on me now, angel.

You swear you can feel him stopping in the air wherever he is.

[Hawks:] Angel??

You pop another bite of your cold takeout.

[You:] Too much? Thought we were both fanservice now.

Silence.

Still nothing.

You smirk wider, toss your phone on the table, and lean back into the couch. You don’t need the last word. You already won this round.

And besides---he’ll come flying back for more. They always do.

Especially the pretty ones with too many feathers and too much airtime.

Your phone hasn't buzzed again. Not yet.

You glance at it---just once---out of the corner of your eye like it might buzz the moment you look away. But it doesn’t. Just your own reflection in the black screen, faint and smirking a little too wide.

God, this is fun.

You stretch, slow and satisfied, kicking your legs up over the arm of the couch and letting your takeout box tip just slightly. The scent of lukewarm curry clings to the room, the volume from the muted TV flickering across your face in flashes of fan-edited chaos. The screen is still frozen on that frame---your face tilted toward Hawks mid-mission, expression amused, his own caught in that half-laugh, half-glare thing he does when he knows he’s been baited.

They captured it so well, you almost want to applaud.

Almost.

Instead, you scroll. The ship tags are exploding. Your name paired with his in increasingly unhinged combinations, fan cams stitched together like a love story. There's even a slowed-down audio clip of your last mission---your voice layered over his, syncopated like a duet.

You shake your head. It’s not that you don’t get it. You just never asked for it.

No, he started this.

Well---okay. That’s not fair. Technically, he was just being his usual breezy, too-charming self, and you… may have fed into it. Just a little. Just to see what he’d do.

And now?

Now he's texting you like this is a game you both agreed to. Like there are rules.

You roll your neck back against the couch cushion and stare at the ceiling.

It wasn’t personal before. Just a weird coincidence. A few overlapping patrols. A trash bin. Some chemistry, maybe. But now? Now he’s on your turf. Casually leaning into your airspace. Cracking jokes like the two of you are synced-up sidekicks.

You narrow your eyes at nothing in particular.

He’s in your missions, your mentions, your hashtags. Your spotlight. And what’s worse? You don’t hate it.

Though you kinda wanna mess with the script. Have him flustered mid-flight. Or have him making the headlines about your “undeniable chemistry.” have every viewer pausing the playback wondering how Hawks got played so smoothly by someone who never even raised their voice.

Yeah, you'll totally do that.

Your phone buzzes again.

[Hawks:] U free tomorrow? Got a joint mission briefing. Thought we could “sync our energies” or whatever PR likes to say.

You pick up the phone, type:

[You:] Only if you’re ready to get out-charmed.

Send.

You’re still staring at your phone.

The screen lights up again, and you catch it just in time---the typing bubble flickers to life, disappears, then reappears like it’s debating with itself. You squint, thumb already twitching toward the screen.

Then the message lands.

[Hawks:] btw, after the mission---u wanna grab food or something? Like, real food. No more trash dives. I'm evolving.

You stare.

Your brain---bless its tired, overworked circuits---lags for a second.

Huh?

You read it again. And again. And… yeah, it’s still there.

Dinner. He asked you to dinner.

HAWKS asked you to dinner.

You blink slowly, then narrow your eyes like the message might morph into something else if you glare hard enough.

This has to be a trap.

You never---never---thought he’d be the one to ask first. Not because you thought he wasn’t bold enough (he’s too bold, actually), but because he’s too proud. Too annoyingly smug. Always toeing the line of flirtation like it’s a performance, always acting like he’s got it handled. That man practically oozes control over every situation.

So why… this?

Why now?

Your brain launches into damage assessment mode.

Is this a PR stunt? Did his managers tell him to do this for engagement? Is this for some HeroWatch segment called “Rivals Try Pasta”?

You imagine sitting across from him under suspiciously perfect lighting, camera flashes going off, and some blogger captioning it ‘Rivals. Lovers? We Investigate.’

You grimace. What if there will be paparazzi?

Or maybe he’s just being nice. Or... professional. This could be a hero thing, right? Just two coworkers grabbing a bite. Totally neutral. Totally platonic. Totally not--

No, who are you kidding. You saw the way he typed that.

“I’m evolving”?

Is this supposed to be flirtatious? Ironic? Genuine?

You sit there in dead silence, phone glowing in your hand, jaw faintly slack.

You never imagined in a million years that he’d be the first to flinch.

And that’s what this feels like. A flinch. A crack in the game. A move not designed to win, but to be seen.

Your thumb hovers over your keyboard.

Alright, Birdbrain. What’s your angle?

Because if this really isn’t a trap…

Well. Then you might actually be in trouble.

You let your thumb hover for another beat before finally typing back:

[You:] suspiciously specific evolution

are your PR managers involved in this? Will there be cameras? a “Top Ten Heroes Try Soup” livestream?

You pause, then add:

[You:] …but if it’s actually just food

and not some weird press stunt,

I’ll bite.

A second later:

[You:] but if there are cameras I’m ordering the messiest dish on the menu. And i’m not wiping my mouth.

Then you hit send.

You stare at the message.

Your phone buzzes again.

[Hawks:] lmao

nah, no cameras

unless you’re bringing them

which honestly would be kinda flattering

Another buzz.

[Hawks:] swear it’s just food

no PR managers, no press, no schemes

just me

evolving

in your general direction

You blink at that last part, reading it twice.

Then he sends:

[Hawks:] bring your messiest dish game tho

I’ll match you bite for bite

consider it... team-building

And finally:

[Hawks:] mission first

dinner after

don’t be late. i might take it personally.

You stare at the string of messages, thumb hovering but unmoving.

No press. No PR. Just him. Just food.

Just Hawks, allegedly evolving in your general direction---whatever the hell that means. You’re not sure if you want to snort or roll your eyes… or smile.

You reread the last message:

don’t be late. i might take it personally.

Tch.

He’s got jokes now. Team-building? He’s really trying to make this sound like a professional bonding exercise when he knows it’s not. Or maybe that’s the trap. Maybe it is professional to him, and you’re the one overthinking it.

Or maybe---maybe he’s serious. No schemes. No handlers in the shadows. Just him showing up… and hoping you will too.

But… do you trust him?

You glance at your closet without meaning to. Then back at your phone. Then the closet again.

If he's telling the truth, great. If he's not? Well.

You’re not showing up underdressed.

You’ve played the background long enough. So if this turns out to be a PR stunt?

You’ll make sure the cameras get your good side.

[headkiss]

you’ll always know me

part 1, part 2

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: even as the crowds at his shows get bigger and bigger, eddie munson still has you, his very best friend. or, (for my swifties) eddie munson is your dorothea.

word count: 8.6k

warnings: fluff, a little angst, childhood best friends to lovers (sort of), weed and smoking, librarian!reader, first kiss, so many uses of the words “i miss you,” and some idiots in love !!!

a/n: hiiiii!!! this one took so long but i really love rockstar!eddie and i hope you do too!!! this is inspired by tis the damn season and especially dorothea by taylor swift <3 thank you to my love @inkluvs for encouraging me on this one ily!!!

♫♩♪♬

It’s surreal to watch someone close to you grow so much bigger than the town you live in.

To know that the person you see on the news, at award shows on your TV screen, is the same one who used to push you on the swings at the playground, who used to walk with you to and from school, who grew up beside you, closer than anyone else ever could have.

Closer than anyone ever would, still.

To most people, he’s Eddie Munson, lead singer and guitarist of Corroded Coffin. To you, he’s Eddie, the best friend you’ve ever had.

You can go back years and years, and Eddie’s woven into your life for so much of it. So is his music. You can pick out the points: watching Corroded Coffin play for the first time in middle school, watching their first gig at the Hideout, being in the front row for it all wearing the widest smile, having the loudest cheers.

Even the late night phone calls you’d get when he’d be stuck on lyrics, when he wanted someone’s opinion and chose to dial your number instead of his bandmates’.

(“Hello?”

“I can’t get this line to sound right.”

“Let’s hear it, Munson.”)

You’re often in disbelief of where he is now. Not because you ever doubted him, but because even after so long, it’s strange not to see him every day. You’re insanely proud of him, but that doesn’t mean you don’t miss him.

Because you do. You miss him so much.

A box sits on the top shelf of your closet, one filled with newspaper and magazine clippings, articles about the band’s success, positive reviews about their shows and their albums. Things to show that Eddie’s dream came true, and that’s a rare thing.

There’s only one kind of tabloid you choose not to keep: the ones booming with rumors you selfishly hope aren’t true.

‘Lead singer of Corroded Coffin has a new spark? Read more to find out who’s caught famous bad boy Eddie Munson’s eye.’

You see him constantly in pictures, through a screen, but you only really ever see him on holidays, when he’s able to come home. When he comes bursting back into your life in vibrant fireworks with his stupid, pretty smile and stupid, shining brown eyes. When he comes back only to leave all over again.

You only have yourself to blame, really, for letting it tear you up. Because more than anything, you’re happy for him, so happy you could never express it properly, but still, there’s an ache in you when he crosses your mind, when the feelings linger.

Life in Hawkins for you consists of working at the library, reading your days and thoughts away, hanging out with the gang when you’re up to it, and that’s about it.

Eddie always knows where to find you when he does come home, usually barging into the library with his arms open for a hug, one you rush into easily. You always spend the couple days he has in Hawkins together, being the you and him you’ve been since you were kids. But the lingering reminder doesn’t fade, the reminder of him having to leave looming over you like a storm cloud.

Eddie Munson comes home sporadically, unknowingly taking your heart with him wherever he goes. And when his inevitable departure takes place, you’re forced to regrow what’s missing from your chest. Every single time.

-

Besides his uncle Wayne, who could only ever see him as a troublemaking kid, you’re the only person who’s never treated Eddie any differently.

Not in high school when he was labeled a freak, not even when the fame rose so suddenly it felt like a tidal wave. You kept him afloat. You keep him afloat.

He knows he should call more often, he knows that even if the phone works both ways, you really don’t have a way of keeping track of which hotel he’s in, which state, which country, even. He knows that falls on him.

Your phone number’s burned into Eddie’s memory. He could never forget it, and still, he can’t seem to find the time to dial it. He’ll get called away, or he’ll just be getting back from a show and barely have the energy to shower before getting in bed. Worse, he’ll get the panicked sense that you won’t pick up anymore.

At least he’s never missed your birthday. That, he’ll always make time for, usually phoning you at the same time that a bouquet of flowers arrives at your door. And somehow, even when he’s away, you don’t miss his birthday, either.

Eddie’s sitting on the small couch in his dressing room, waiting to go on stage, thinking of you the way he often does.

He wonders if you think of him, too. If you miss him or if you’re angry that he’s gone so often, that he can barely even manage a fucking phone call. Though, you were never the type to be angry. Never with him, at least.

He wants to hear your voice, wants to hear you tell him ‘good luck’ before going on stage like you used to. He peeks at the table next to the couch. Eddie’s not sure how much time he has before he needs to go, but he figures it’s worth a try.

Just as he’s about to pick up the phone in his dressing room, there’s a knock on the door.

“Munson! You’re on in five!”

He’ll call you later, then.

-

“Beginning descent to the Indianapolis International Airport.”

The muffled sound through the airplane’s speakers is followed by the ding of the seatbelt signs being turned on. Eddie shifts in his seat to look out the window. He’s got his own little cubicle in first class, and though this is how he always flies now (other than when he finds himself on a private jet, which is even more unbelievable), he’s still not used to it.

He’s itching to get out of this seat, then he remembers that he’s still got the trek through the airport and the drive back to Hawkins. It’ll be worth it to see Wayne, who he doesn’t see nearly as often as he should, and get his classic hug with a slap on his shoulder.

It’ll be worth it to see you, who makes Hawkins feel more like home. You, who reminds him of the person he’s always been, the parts that get lost on the road. You, who hugs him tighter than anyone else ever has.

His hands clench into fits in his lap.

As soon as Eddie steps off the plane, his security team finds him. He’d assured them that he’d be fine, really, but this is how it is for him now. Through baggage claim and all the way to the car that’s waiting for him outside, security takes a step whenever he does.

Shutting the car door as he slides into the backseat, Eddie tips his head back and sighs.

The car ride feels shorter than usual, the city fading into trees and fields until the ‘Welcome to Hawkins’ sign comes into view. The gravel crunches under the car’s tires as it pulls into the trailer park. Wayne’s got enough to get a better place now, Eddie made sure of it, but he never did. He’d never admit it but Wayne’s sentimental, and the trailer houses too many memories to let go of it.

After all, it was home.

Stepping through the front door there’s the smell that he’d never noticed until he’d been gone for weeks at a time. The settled dust, the faint smoke of cigarettes, coffee, and the room spray Wayne inevitably uses to try and cover it all up.

Eddie drags his bags inside, waves to his driver, and shuts the door behind him.

Then, Wayne’s warm rasp, “my boy. Get in okay?”

He’s wrapped in his uncle’s classic hug quickly, the pats on his shoulder and all. Eddie closes his eyes and soaks it in, just for a second, “yeah. It was fine.”

“Good, good,” Wayne says, pulling back and grasping Eddie’s shoulders, getting a good look at him. “Take a shower.”

“Is that your way of telling me I look like shit?”

“Nah, that’s me telling you that you smell like airport, boy.”

“It’s great to see you, too,” Eddie says, smiling.

He and Wayne have the kind of relationship that time doesn’t really affect all that much. Whether Eddie’s away for a week or a month, or two, or three, they fall back into things like he’d never even left.

He knows Wayne’s probably lonely, probably hiding more than he could imagine, but he also knows that he loves him, and that’s always a good thing to know, to feel. Loved.

“Shut up, you know I missed you,” Wayne shakes Eddie’s shoulders and lets go, “now go wash up and you can tell me about your last show over some coffee, sound good?”

“Sounds good. I missed you too, Wayne.”

Eddie carries his bags into his room, leaving them open on the ground rather than unpacking. He’ll just have to pack them all over again, anyways.

Before long, the trailer’s small bathroom is filling with steam as Eddie steps into the shower, dropping his neck back and letting the water run over his shoulders, his back. He stands like that for a bit, simply letting the heat melt away at the tension in his muscles.

By the time he steps out, the mirror is completely fogged with steam, and Eddie wipes away at a section to look at himself. The bags under his eyes, the mess of his hair that he doesn’t bother taming, the small scratch on his chin from one of his rings. He shakes his head and heads into his room with his towel around his waist.

He throws on a pair of plaid pajama pants and a faded band tee, his hair soaking the back of it drop by drop.

In the kitchen, Wayne’s got two mugs of coffee sitting on the small table, a seat already pulled out for Eddie to take.

“Thanks.”

He nods, sipping from his mug as Eddie does the same.

In the silence, he can’t help but think of you, of how close he is to you now. Mere minutes away. He wonders what you’re doing, if you’re reading in bed after your shift, if you’d just showered like him, if you’re thinking of him, too.

“I saw her the other day,” Wayne says.

They both know he means you.

“How’s she doing?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll ask her that when you see her tomorrow, but she seemed good.”

“How'd you know I’m gonna see her tomorrow?”

“Come on, kid. You go to the library the day after you get in every time and think I don’t notice?”

Eddie looks down at the mug in his hands, his face warm. It shouldn’t matter, shouldn’t have him feeling all shy and nervous, like he’d been caught, but it does.

“She misses you,” Wayne adds.

“She tell you that?”

“Doesn’t have to. I’ve known that girl since she was little and running after you on the playground. I can tell.”

Wayne has always said that you’re as good as family, after all. Eddie used to joke that his uncle liked you more than him, and you used to laugh and joke back that he was right.

Eddie’s suddenly very excited to sleep, only to get to tomorrow quicker.

“I miss her, too.”

“Yeah, kid. I know,” Wayne leaves it there, switching things over, “I saw you almost eat shit on TV the other day.”

“Come on!” Eddie groans. He’d tripped over a fucking wire on stage. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It was still fuckin’ funny.”

“Of all the shows, you just had to tune in for that one.”

Wayne asks about the tour, about how Eddie’s liking it this time around, about whether or not there’s anything new he’s working on.

In return, Eddie asks about the mechanic’s, about whether or not Wayne’s back has been acting up (which earns him a light slap on the back of the head), about what’s changed in Hawkins since the last time he’d been home.

Even through the smiles he shares with his uncle, Eddie’s wondering how you’ll react when you see him tomorrow, picturing how it’ll feel to be near you again. He gets that feeling in his gut, the butterflies that are nerves and excitement and questions and feelings rolled into one.

He’s pretty sure he dreams about you, too.

-

Your shifts at the library are always long; full days of scanning and shelving books. You’re lucky to say that you actually like your job. The smell of worn pages, the peacefulness (save for when Dustin comes barging in with his stack of overdue books that you let him off the hook for every time), the interactions that are almost always short and sweet since it’s meant to be a quiet place.

Your eight or nine or however many hour days go by much quicker now than they did during your high school job at the grocery store, that’s for sure.

You’re pushing the put-back cart between shelves, humming a random song quietly as you place the books where they belong, sometimes pausing to straighten things out. It’s the middle of a weekday and you’re the only person in there anyway. That is, until the small bell on the front desk dings.

“Just a second!” You call, squeezing between the cart and the self beside it to walk over to the front desk. You think your heart stops altogether.

You’d recognize that head of hair anywhere, the dark, frizzy curls. Hell, you’d recognize that damn denim vest anywhere, even the stance of the person wearing it. “Eddie?”

He turns around at the sound of your voice, and something lifts from his chest when he sees you. A grin spreads wide on his face, splitting his cheeks and crinkling his eyes in the corners, “there she is.”

Usually, when he comes home, it’s on a holiday and you’re expecting him, watching the door and waiting for him to walk through it. This time, you had no idea he’d be coming home. It’s the best surprise you could get.

You’re practically running into his arms, and he wraps them around your waist easily, yours tossed around his shoulders. Your face is buried in his neck, breathing him in, making sure this is real. “What the hell are you doing here?”

His hands clutch at the fabric over your sides, his head twisting so he can place a kiss over your hair, “had a break from tour. Missed home.”

And sure, Eddie hadn’t really realized just how much he missed it until he came back, it’s crystal clear now, with you hugging him. He really, really missed home.

You want to say something stupid and emotional like it hasn’t felt as much like home until now, or I missed the sound of your voice and the smell of your shampoo, but that would probably reveal a little too much.

“Just home you missed or…” you tease, pulling back to look at his face, his brown eyes that sort of sparkle. Your hands stay on his shoulders, his on your waist.

“I missed Wayne, obviously,” Eddie replies, acting oblivious and smiling at the small furrow in your brow.

“Eddie!”

“Aw, come on.” He tugs you in for another hug, his cheek squished against the side of your head. “‘Course I missed you, trouble.”

Trouble. You never knew you could miss a single word so much.

Eddie started calling you ‘trouble’ when you were kids, sometime in middle school when you’d stolen a bunch of his mixtapes and only returned them weeks later, when he finally noticed. He’d snatched them out of your hands and muttered ‘you’re trouble’ and it just stuck.

“Thank you,” you say, laughing when Eddie pulls back frowning at you. “And I missed you, too. Duh.”

“Duh.” He mocks. He lets go of you fully but doesn’t go far, leaning an elbow against the desk, “you’re doing okay?”

“I’m good. Things don’t change all that much around here, you know that.”

“I’m not asking about around here, I’m asking ‘bout you.”

You tug at the hair tie on your wrist. “I’m fine, Eddie. Promise.”

He nods, and there’s a small lull in the conversation that pinches at your chest for some reason. The sort of silence that never used to be there when it came to you and Eddie, always filling it with conversation or letting it be comfortable. Now, there’s something like awkwardness stretching and it stings.

Because it shouldn’t be there, because he’s Eddie and you’re you and you’re best friends and that’s all there should be to it. But it isn’t. You’re the same people, but so much is different.

“You working late?” He asks.

“Until we close.”

“Care for some company?”

You tilt your head at him, “you really wanna hang around the library for the last four hours of my shift?”

“Sounds like fun to me. I’ll even push the cart for you, and you can tell me what I’ve missed while I was away.”

It’s funny that he thinks he’d ever have to convince you to spend time with him, when you’re practically pulling at any thread of him that you can, when you’re taking anything he has to give you. Two days, a week, a couple of phone calls.

It’s all better than not having him at all.

“Only if you tell me what I’ve missed, too. Like all the cool celebrities you’ve met.”

“Not as cool as you, trouble.” Eddie taps your nose, smiling at the way you scrunch it in response.

“Shut up and start pushing the cart, Munson.”

He stands straight and salutes, “yes ma’am.”

You’re still smiling when you shake your head, “idiot.”

Eddie really does spend the rest of the day with you, pushing the cart while you re-shelf books, sitting in the extra chair behind the counter while you file returns, ducking when someone else walks in.

He asks you about Robin and Steve, Dustin and Lucas, how the kids are finding school, whether Nancy’s been hired at a big paper yet. He asks you about your family, and most of all, about you.

He hangs onto every word you say. And not once do you say anything to make him feel bad for being away, if anything, you can’t stop telling him how proud you are, especially when he talks to you about what’s in the works.

“I always told you you’d make it, Munson.”

“Wouldn’t have done it without you, trouble.”

-

The next morning, you’re sitting across from him in the corner booth by the window at Benny’s for breakfast. The same way you did every Friday in high school, at the same table.

Whenever you wind up at Benny’s when Eddie’s away, you tend to avoid that booth. It’s pathetic. Like his absence is clearer than ever sitting there when he isn’t. When he’s not putting whipped cream on your nose or stealing food off your plate.

Now, it’s his presence that surrounds you, his smile and his laugh, his foot nudging yours under the table.

The menu is sticky under your fingertips where you hold it, faded from sunlight and discolored from coffee spills that stain the page. You don’t really need to be looking at it—after years of coming here, you’ve probably got the thing memorized—but you need the time to collect yourself. To remember that this is Eddie, and there’s nothing to be nervous about.

You need the time to stuff down that flutter in your gut and in your chest.

On the other side of the booth, Eddie takes your distraction as a chance to really look at you. The details he can’t seem to picture when he’s away like the flecks in your eyes or the exact shade of your lips.

He never realizes just how much he misses you until he’s home. Until he’s sitting across from you and listening to the sound of your voice clearly instead of through a crackling phone’s speaker, until he gets to see the way your eyes light up slightly when you laugh.

It sort of hits him all at once, and he’s thinking, God, I should call more often. I should visit more often.

After a couple of minutes, you look back at Eddie, “you know what you want?”

“I’ve been getting the same thing since high school, trouble. Don’t need the menu.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll go order,” you say, placing your menu back in the holder by the window.

When you start sliding your way out of the booth, Eddie places a hand over yours on the table, “I can get it.”

You look down at your hands, his skin on yours, like you’d expected to see something there. A spark, a burn scorching your skin in the best way.

“I know you can,” you say, smiling at him. “But it’s my treat, okay? I want to get it.”

Eddie always feels sort of guilty when he’s not buying, because he has more than enough money to take care of it, more than he knows what to do with. Sometimes (often), people expect him to pay, even. And just like you’d known how he was feeling, you shut it down with a flash of your smile.

You shift to squeeze his hand before getting up and heading over to the counter, leaning on your elbows as you wait your turn.

Still, Eddie’s looking at you, his hand in the same spot on the table.

He knows that, despite it not being a busy morning at Benny’s, people are looking at him, whispering the way they did even in school. Only now, they’re saying they can’t believe it, look at him now, instead of calling him a freak. And just like in school, having you around makes the talk bearable. Hell, it makes it disappear, if only for a little while.

When the waiter finally comes over to take your order, you send him a kind smile, rattling off yours and Eddie’s orders.

Eddie watches the entire interaction. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to make eye contact with anyone else, that it’s because he’s just making sure you’re alright. It’s certainly not because of how pretty he thinks you look today, not because of how hard it is to keep his eyes off of you.

The waiter is a younger guy, probably around your age. Someone Eddie doesn’t know. He seems to tell you a joke because you laugh, bright and sunny, and Eddie suddenly wishes that Benny was the one taking orders.

Because he should be the one to make you laugh like that, to be on the receiving end of your grin and crinkled eyes. Because there’s this weight in his stomach that feels a little too much like jealousy. Because you’re his best friend and he fucking misses you.

Eddie looks down at his hands and twists his rings around and around until you come back, the old booth squeaking as you sit down.

“You okay?” You ask, always noticing his nervous habit of fiddling with his rings.

She’s my friend, he reminds himself. My best friend, that’s all.

“‘Course I am.”

“The guy at the counter, Dan, wanted me to tell you he’s a fan.”

He shakes his head, “I can't believe I have those. Especially in this town.”

“Excuse me? Your biggest fan is sitting right here, in this town, Munson.”

He probably thinks you’re joking with the way he chuckles, chest rumbling. But, you’re not. The shoebox full of clippings says enough, and you don’t think he’d ever let you live it down if he knew about it.

“She want an autograph?” He teases, the heaviness in his stomach melting away. Your biggest fan.

“In your chicken scratch? Yeah right.”

It’s not long before your food arrives, plates of waffles and fruit, sides of bacon and hashbrowns. Of course, you inevitably end up with whipped cream on your nose and food missing from your plate.

It’s your favorite kind of breakfast.

-

You’re sitting in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van—the same van he’s had since high school, that he refuses to replace—heading towards Steve’s place. It’s not unusual for either of you to be meeting up with the gang, but Eddie’s still nervous.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks you.

They don’t know he’s in town, and as sure as you are that they’ll be thrilled to see him, Eddie isn’t convinced. You place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze lightly as he drives.

“Everyone’s gonna be so happy to see you. Don’t you trust me?”

“‘Course I do,” he says easily, without thinking, “just haven’t seen anyone in a while, you know?”

“We all miss you, Eddie. It’ll be fun!”

Logically, he knows nobody’s gonna kick him out, or treat him any differently, but it doesn’t stop him from getting nervous. You wanted to surprise everyone, and how could he say no to you? So, here he is, gripping the steering wheel too tight and worrying too much.

Pulling into the driveway, he nods, “here we go.”

You hop out of the van before he has it shut off, but he catches up quickly. He follows you to the side gate of the house, watches you unlatch it and stroll into the yard. The sound of voices mingling hits his ears as you walk around the house and find your group of friends sitting around in lounge chairs.

“Look who I brought,” You announce.

Your shout is followed by eyes flicking towards you, then Eddie who stands beside you. Then, a chorus of his name, plus Argyle’s “rockstar!”

“Hey guys,” he says, waving shyly.

It’s odd to feel this way around these people that he’s known for years. Robin and Steve who’ve rented him way too many movies for free, Nancy and Johnathan who are probably why he graduated high school, and Argyle who was always his most loyal customer.

All of these memories and he feels a little too much like a stranger. At least he’s got you, who feels like one of the only sure things in his life. No matter how long goes by, you’re there, and he hopes you always will be.

“You want a drink?” Steve asks, leaning to reach into the cooler beside him.

“I’ll take one, thanks,” you say, catching the can Steve throws to you.

“I’m driving,” Eddie says, jingling his keys.

“Eddie Munson being responsible,” Robin teases, “they grow up so fast.”

And just like that, he feels a little better. These are his friends, and even though he’s not around all of the time, and even though he may not be as close to everyone anymore, they’ll still be his friends.

You sit down on the empty lounge chair and pat the space beside you for Eddie, sending him a smile that says both ‘told you so,’ in your snark he can practically hear, and ‘everything’s okay,’ in your kind way.

He plops down beside you.

“How’s everything going?” Johnathan asks him.

Not wanting all of the attention on him, Eddie keeps his answer short, “busy, but it’s a ton of fun.”

“Everything you ever dreamed of?” Robin adds.

“You could definitely say that.”

Though, Eddie has this strange feeling that he’s missing something whenever he’s gone. It’ll go away, but somehow, it always finds him again, when he’s debating on calling or not, when he’s hit with a memory of you in the front row at the Hideout when he’s on stage.

He looks over at you and finds you smiling softly at him, eyes fond. He can’t believe he’s the one you’re looking at like that.

Eddie blinks and turns back to the group, “how about you guys? How’re the jobs?”

The chatter picks up and surrounds him, but Eddie can’t stop thinking about the way you were looking at him just then. He’s never had someone look at him like that, like there’s nothing but affection there.

It’s platonic, he tells himself. She’s my best friend.

You feel happier now than you have in a while. Things feel more complete when Eddie’s around. Things feel right. It’s all of your favorite people with no empty chair, it’s falling back into a friendship that’s existed for years.

When conversations split off into smaller ones, you lean your head on his shoulder, and the words sort of slip out of you, “it’s really nice to have you here.”

His heart beats louder, he leans his head on top of yours, “it’s nice to be home.”

And it is. Eddie loves touring, he loves playing his music, and he loves his job, but at the end of the day, he’ll always be this boy from Hawkins, and he’ll always be happy to be home, to be with you.

Catching the moment, Argyle—always sharing his thoughts—says, “sick, you guys are finally together.”

You and Eddie both sit up, like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t, even when you’ve sat like that countless times before.

Everyone’s eyes seem to be on the both of you now, and you have a tiny panic inside. Have you really been that obvious with how you feel? Does Eddie know and he hasn’t said anything because he doesn’t want to hurt you?

You laugh awkwardly, “what?”

“Like, dating,” Argyle explains.

“Me and Eddie?”

He’d been frozen for a second there, surprised that Argyle thought that. Was he seeing something Eddie couldn’t? No, no way.

“Just friends, guys,” Eddie says. “Come on.”

You swallow, forcing out a word, “exactly.”

“They’ve always been like this,” Nancy says, which explains enough but also sort of nothing at all.

Just friends. It’s something you know, you remind yourself constantly. It’s all it’ll ever be, and still, hearing Eddie say it out loud has your stomach feeling heavy. Just friends, get over it.

Even as conversation picks up again, as you laugh with everyone, the two words play in your head over and over. Then, after saying your goodbyes, once you’re in the van with Eddie again, it fades, because if you can’t be in love with him, you can be his best friend, and you’d much rather have that than nothing at all.

Once he drops you off, Eddie thinks and thinks about what Argyle had said. He goes over memories, over how he feels around you, and it hits him like a huge punch to the gut.

He thinks he has feelings for you. Big, huge feelings.

-

It’s the same day, a different sky, the sun sunk behind the horizon to give way to a sky full of stars and a bright moon.

Eddie’s van is parked by Lover’s Lake, the back full of blankets where you both sit, the doors open to look at the sky and the way the moonlight reflects on the water.

There’s practically an indent in the ground in the spot he’s parked, the one that’s been your go-to for ages. From day picnics to nighttime smoke sessions, it’s another place on the list of the ones that are filled with memories of Eddie.

Beside you, he’s got a joint in hand, the flick of his lighter catching your ears over the crickets and the breeze. You watch him inhale, his chest expanding, the smoke slipping from his lips. You turn back to the water.

“Your turn,” he says, handing you the joint.

You grab it between your fingertips and bring it to your mouth, feeling the smoke trail down your throat, further, then you’re breathing it out, clearing your throat at the tickle.

“Out of practice?” Eddie teases at your small cough.

“My favorite weed dealer went out of business,” you say, nudging his shoulder with yours, “so, yeah.”

He takes the joint back from you, “you don’t smoke when I’m not around? You know Argyle’s gotta have some stock.”

“Oh, he definitely does. A little too exotic for my taste. Besides, he won’t give it to me for free.”

“Getting cheap, trouble?”

You shrug, shoulder to your cheek, and give him an innocent smile.

It feels easy, the joint being passed back and forth between sentences until it’s done and stubbed out, the flow of conversation, the comfort that’s there. It’s always been easy with him, even when it hurts a little.

Eddie’s got on his worn denim vest, still full of pins, and you tug at it, “think this thing has a permanent weed smell by now.”

“I think that’s just part of my natural scent,” he replies, playfully flipping his hair over his shoulder.

His curls graze your cheek—that’s how close you’re sitting, thighs touching—and you giggle. You’ve had so many nights just like this one with Eddie, and it feels like some kind of reward that you get to have them still, even when they’re far less regular now.

“Doesn’t this make you think of high school?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Eddie’s hand is on his knee, his pinky twitches, reaching for your leg, “hell, I’m even wearing the same clothes as in high school.”

“How does it feel like yesterday and also a lifetime ago?”

Eddie looks over at you, the warm glow of moonlight and stars on your skin, the way your sweater hangs off your shoulder, the shine in your eyes that’s part weed and part nostalgia.

“A lot’s changed since then,” he says. “I’m not a loser anymore.”

“You’re still my loser.”

How is it that even when you’re calling him a loser, the idea of being yours in any sense of the word is enough to have Eddie’s heart swell in his chest, a balloon floating up and up and he has to swallow to push it back down.

“Stop being cheesy,” he plays it off, ruffling your hair.

You shove his arm away, “I just miss you!”

Eddie looks at his arm, your hand still holding onto it, he follows your arm with his gaze until it lands on your face. He thinks you’re beautiful, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen and no groupie could change that.

“I miss you, too, trouble.”

Something shifts, the air growing thicker, a sort of understanding between the two of you. There’s something here, something that could be a disaster but could also be so, so good. Could be everything.

“No way you think about me when you’ve got crowds and fans and-“

“I think about you a lot, honey.”

Honey. He’s probably called you that before, but never like this. Never dripping sweet and sincere, never looking at you like he wants to do something you can’t even let yourself imagine in fear of being let down, of hoping too much.

Eddie’s hand shifts from his own leg to yours, thumb running back and forth, burning you even through the fabric of your pants.

“You do?”

“All the time. You’re my best friend.”

Right. Friend.

“You’re mine, too, Eddie.”

And suddenly you can feel his breath fan across your cheek, your lips. His face is close to yours and the hair that falls over his forehead tickles yours. Just a second ago he’d been saying the word ‘friend,’ and now it feels like he’s going to do something to contradict that.

Against all odds, he does.

Eddie couldn’t help himself. Maybe he’ll blame the weed, or maybe he won’t, but before he knows it he’s reaching up with the hand that isn’t on his leg to cup your cheek and tilt your head. And he’s kissing you.

He’s kissing you.

It’s so delicate, so much you’re afraid to even breathe, like it’ll break in an instant. Eddie’s fingers squeeze your leg, urge you to kiss him back and there’s no way that you wouldn’t. Not when his lips are actually on yours, not when he tastes like weed and mint gum and something perfect.

It could be seconds or minutes that you’re kissing, tilting your head even more to feel him, clutching his sleeve tightly. It never deepens, but it doesn’t have to, it says enough.

When you pull away, it’s not one or the other who does it, it’s natural, like it’s been rehearsed time and time again. Eddie leans his forehead against yours, his hand still on your cheek.

“Was that a bad idea?” He asks you, voice low and quiet.

“Maybe. I don’t know.” And you don’t, because there’s no way of knowing what’s gonna happen next, if things will be ruined, if this will fade away like it never happened, or, maybe, just maybe, if it’ll start something.

“Was it okay?”

“More than okay.”

You don’t talk about it that night, and you don’t want to just yet. You’re fine with enjoying the pink-tinted haze at least until tomorrow.

-

Eddie’s barely been gone for two days and you’re not sure what to do with yourself. After that night, neither of you brought it up, and as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t. You were scared. And anyway, it was probably just the weed for him.

You’d never kissed before. Sure, you’ve come close, faces inches apart when you’d share a bed, whispers away, but nothing ever happened. Until now.

Now, sitting on your bed, chin resting on your knees, you’re reeling from knowing what Eddie’s lips feel like and missing him all over again. Rebuilding that piece in your chest.

Somewhere else in the country, in the world, Eddie’s position isn’t so different from yours. He’s sitting on the edge of his hotel bed, forearms on his knees, head bent. He wants to call you, and he’s figuring out what he’ll say when he does.

He misses you every time he isn’t home, but it’s never felt like this. There’s never been this ache in his stomach that won’t go away because of it. Fuck, he misses you more than ever.

The last trip back to Hawkins was different than anything else, because he brought back these feelings with him and he keeps reaching up to press his fingertips to his lips, like the memory of your own lingers there.

Sure, he’s had silly, sticky thoughts like waking up with his arms around you after a nap and thinking he could wake up that way forever, but he’s always pushed them down. Now, it seems, he can’t, the images too buoyant to ignore, floating back up every time.

Sucking in a deep breath, he sits up and reaches for the phone, dialing your number that’s stored in his memory. His leg bounces as the phone rings.

You’re startled by the screech of your phone on your bedside table, head lifting to look at it shake on the receiver. You reach over and pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, trouble. It’s not a bad time, is it?”

Eddie. His voice crackling through the phone sends a spike down your spine. You clutch the phone a little tighter.

You’d expected Robin, or Nancy, even Steve. Because there’d been a time, earlier in Corroded Coffin’s career, when Eddie would call you at least three times a week, and then the calls grew less frequent until they sort of died out to holidays and birthdays.

So, maybe a couple of years ago, you’d have expected Eddie’s voice, but not today.

“Eddie, hi. Not at all.”

“I- um, I just wanted to call,” a small pause, he clears his throat, “how are you?”

“It’s only been two days, you know how I am.”

“I mean right now.”

You twist to lay on your side, legs curling in towards your chest. You smile to yourself like an idiot. “Right now, I’m good. It’s lame, I already miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

The reply comes easily to him. There’s no thought to it, because in the past 48 hours, he hasn’t been able to stop missing you for a second. The warmth of your hand in his, the sunshine sound of your laughter.

He’s not sure why everything’s so big now, his feelings amplified, only quieted now, by the sound of your voice.

“Did you have a show today?”

You have a way of asking that makes it sound like you really care, Eddie thinks. He loves his music and he knows you know that. It means the world to him to do what he does, confusing feelings or not.

“Not today. We spent the day on the bus. Show’s tomorrow.”

“Nervous or excited?”

It’s something that you used to ask him before every small show in Hawkins, and the memory has a grin spreading on Eddie’s face. “It’s always both. More excited, though.”

“You should be,” you say. “You guys are really great.”

“Yeah? Who’s your favorite band member?”

He’s fishing, and you tease him rather than bite, “hmmm. Gareth.”

“Fuckin’ trouble. You liar.”

“You asked!”

“You answered the question wrong, honey.”

There it is again. Honey. You’re sort of glad he can’t see you right now because you probably look way too happy, burying your face in your pillow for a second before replying.

“You know you’re my favorite, Munson.”

“Yeah I am,” he sounds far too proud. And then, he’s softer, “I’m not keeping you up, am I? Time zones fuck me up.”

“No, no.” Even if he was, you wouldn’t tell him. This is better than trying and failing to sleep the way you so often do. “It’s not that late. What time is it for you?”

“Not that late,” he says, even though the clock on the nightstand reads 1:14AM. “So, what’s happening in Hawkins right now?”

“Mmm, it’s getting warmer. My window’s open and the crickets are loud as fuck.” You twist the phone cord around your fingers, “it’s donation week at the library, so I’ve been shelving new books for a change.”

Eddie listens to every word you say, asks you questions like if you’d kept any books for yourself (you had, but swore you’d give them to the library when you were done) and hums between your sentences.

Somewhere along the way, he’d laid down while listening to you, eyes shut as he tried to picture what you might look like right at this second. If you’re in your pajamas or not, whether your hair would be a little messy, baby hairs a halo around your face.

Then his eyes grew heavier, your voice putting him at ease even with the sounds of his bandmates laughing from somewhere in the hotel.

“Eddie?” You ask after he’d been silent for a bit.

“Hm?” He hums sleepily.

“I lost you for a second there.”

If he wasn’t half asleep, he’d feel worse. “Sorry, getting sleepy.”

“You wanna hang up?”

“No, uh- keep talking to me? You have a nice voice.”

You smile, cheeks pinching with the size of it.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll keep talking.”

And you do, you keep talking and talking until you can hear the sound of Eddie’s tiny snores on the other side of the line. You’re smiling again at that.

Even after you’re sure he’s asleep, you don’t hang up right away, not until your own eyes are growing heavy. You put the phone back quietly, like you’ll wake him if you’re not careful. You whisper a soft ‘goodnight, Eddie,’ as you do.

There’s a small stiffness in your fingers from how tightly you’d been holding the phone, and still, you’d let your hand cramp for hours to talk to him.

The next morning, Eddie wakes up with the pattern of the phone pressed to his cheek where he’d left it last night.

-

The TV sends flashes of color flickering across your living room and over your face. Usually, you’d be in bed by now, but it’s the night of the MTV awards and Corroded Coffin is nominated. You couldn’t miss it.

You’re not really paying attention to most of it, the sounds of performances and hosts and thank-you speeches filling your ears as you read your latest book. At least, you’re not paying attention until Eddie’s category is announced.

That has you shutting your book and sitting up, grabbing the remote to turn the volume higher.

They show the nominees, give far too long of an introduction before tearing open the envelope holding the winner’s names. You don’t know it, but you’re practically white knuckling the blanket on your lap.

“And the MTV award goes to… Corroded Coffin!”

You stand and place a hand on your chest, feeling your heart beating—racing—for the band, for Eddie. This is huge, it’s a dream, and it’s his. If you could, you’d give him a suffocating hug right now.

Eddie’s voice taking over, thanking his fans and Wayne, the boys and their team, then, thanking Hawkins and the people there, even when they gave him hell.

If you knew the right number to call to talk to him, you’d dial it in an instant.

Lucky for you, your phone rings the next night, late enough that you can only assume it’s Eddie given you don’t know anyone else who’s probably in a different time zone right now. You pick up quickly, fumbling with the phone a little before bringing it up to your ear.

“Eddie?”

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Ummm, my amazing intuition? Telepathy?”

“Telepathy, she says.” There’s a soft chuckle on his end, you close your eyes and lean your head back to thump against the wall behind you. “How’re things, trouble?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that, mister MTV winner.”

Eddie’s been calling more often again, whenever he gets the chance, really. Even so, he never thought you’d be keeping up with him that way, that you’d care enough to watch an award show and remember what he’d achieved.

“You were watching?” He asks, heart thudding.

“Of course I was. I’m your biggest fan, remember?” You’re sitting with your back against your headboard, knees bent, hand absentmindedly pulling at a loose thread in your pajama pants. “I’ve got cheerleader pom-poms and everything.”

“You do not.”

“Do too. They’re super metal, all black.”

“Yeah, cause pom-poms are super metal, babe.”

Another pet name in the rotation, uttered like it’s easy, natural. You bite back a smile.

“Whatever. Mine would be,” you say. “I’m glad you called.”

“Me, too.”

“I wanted to call you yesterday,” you admit, twisting that loose thread in your fingers, “after I saw you won. I’m really proud of you, Eddie.”

They’re words he hadn’t been expecting, but ones he’ll be thinking about over and over. He wants to keep making you proud, he thinks, and he’ll pour that into everything he does whether he means to or not.

“Thank you,” his voice is quieter, almost shy. “I wouldn’t be here without you, you know?”

“You would. You’re talented, and there’s no way that could stay hidden in this town, you’re bigger than it.”

Somehow, it’s easier to be so open with him on the phone. You don’t have to look at him, get distracted by his tongue running over his lips or the way his bangs get caught in his eyelashes sometimes. This way, all you have to do is speak, nothing more.

“Trouble-” he can’t even find the words to say, because there’s affection laced in your tone, seeping through the phone and into his head and, fuck, he wants to kiss you for it and he can’t. “I really miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” There’s some silence, and the overthinker in you worries that you’ve said too much even though you meant it with every part of you, that you’ve given yourself away. “Anyways, I should go, let you celebrate your win.”

It’s what he would be doing if Eddie’s thoughts hadn’t been so full of you and your mouth and your voice. It’s what his bandmates and friends are surely doing in some club around here.

“You don’t need to. I’m not doing anything.”

“No?” You try to lighten your tone, to joke the way you usually do, “don’t have groupies knocking on your hotel room door right now?”

Instead of playing along, Eddie’s voice is serious, still soft in the way he speaks to you, but serious nonetheless, “I don’t entertain them, honey.”

“You don’t?”

He’s tried. But ever since you kissed him, probably since before that, too, Eddie can’t seem to look at anyone else, let alone have someone else kiss him and tarnish the memory of your lips on his. He’s only ever thinking of you, it seems. So no, he hasn’t fooled around lately.

“Not in a while. I’m trying to write for the next album. No distractions.”

No distractions. He says it like that’s true, even though he can’t seem to fully focus, like there’s a piece he’s missing. Like every lyric he’s written since he’s been back isn’t somehow about you.

He’s so, so fucked.

“Look at you, Munson. Squeaky clean.”

You hope he can’t tell that you’re sort of a mess, a stupid blossom of hope planting itself where it shouldn’t. He’s your friend, he’s always been just your friend. But you kissed and it felt like something changed, and you can’t seem to let go of that.

“You sound surprised,” he teases, gathering his wits the best he can.

“Can you blame me? You used to have multiple lunchboxes reserved for your weed.”

“You loved those lunchboxes and you know it.”

“Yeah, I did.”

And then, like that moment was simply a blip, easily brushed over, your conversation turns back to your normal. Jokes with underlying affections, teasing while picturing what kind of smile the other wears when you laugh lightly into the phone.

Time runs away from you, and by the time you hang up it’s well into the early hours of the morning, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

-

After hanging up, Eddie’s got this sinking, aching pull in his stomach. He knows what it is, has had bouts of it before where he misses Wayne’s hand patting his back or the way his mattress is worn-in just the right amount back at the trailer, when he thinks about what his friends might be doing or what science project Dustin’s got going on.

But it’s never felt this heavy. Eddie’s the most homesick he’s ever been.

He’d listen to your voice forever, but in that moment, he’d give anything to see your face, to see the shake of your shoulders when you laugh, the curve of your smile.

What the hell is wrong with him?

Eddie wipes his palms on his thighs before standing and walking out into the living room of his band’s suite hotel room. The guys are still up, and they’re all staring at him like weirdos.

“What?” He pauses in the doorway.

“Did you tell her you’re in love with her yet, or what?” Jeff, the electric guitarist, asks him.

“What?” Eddie says again because there’s no way he heard that right. He’d only just come to terms that he had feelings. This is much bigger.

“You’re joking,” Gareth pipes in, “you don’t even know it? Dude, you’re all ‘I miss you, trouble, you’re my favorite person ever.’” He does a knowingly terrible impression of Eddie.

“I do not sound like that.”

“You kinda do,” Jeff says.

“Why else would you be spending hours in that room on the phone, man? Come on,” Gareth sing songs the next bit: “you’re in loooove.”

Then Eddie thinks and thinks and thinks. The warmth that blooms when he hugs you, the jealousy he felt when he thought that server at Benny’s was flirting with you, the difficulty to say goodbye, the way your kiss haunts him in his sleep.

These idiots aren’t usually right about things, but just this once, maybe they are. Eddie Munson is probably, very likely, definitely in love with you.

Yeah, he’s so fucked.

♫♩♪♬

thank you so so much for reading!!! if you enjoyed please please please consider reblogging and letting me know what you think! it helps and means so much <333 i have plans for a part two, and if you’d like to see it, some support would help a bunch! ily!

[cherrygarcia-07]

💗💫Some random Penelope & Spencer best friend headcanons💫💗

this is NOT a ship post !! they are just my babies and i love them & they have my favourite friendship in the show

masterlist

————————————————————————

Penelope got really into making friendship bracelets and made a bunch for Spencer and he wears at least one every day. Sometimes he matches them to his outfit & it makes her so happy.

They’re such gossipers together & they sit in her office together at lunch and just dish. Spencer is SO sassy with it too.

She’s made him have a ‘girls night’ with her before including face masks and of course a fluffy headband with animal ears on it to keep his hair out of his face.

They have TV nights where they watch Doctor Who together.

When there’s no Doctor Who to watch Penelope makes him watch Rupauls Drag Race with her. Spencer likes Jinkx Monsoon.

They bicker CONSTANTLY !! Lovingly of course though. Like siblings. Like that one ep where Spencer stays behind with Penelope and they bicker on all the video calls.

Spencer has a collection of doodles/post it notes/stickers that Penelope has left on his desk over the years and he keeps them in a little pink box (pink for Penelope of course).

She totally made him watch Twilight with her after that one vampy case in s5.

Spencer has on occasion allowed Penelope to play with his hair and put in little hair clips to cheer her up after particularly rough cases.

She buys the Doctor Who trading cards and keeps all the cards she likes (her fav companions, the doctors she finds hot and the aliens she finds cute) and gives the rest to him.

She asks to see what mismatched socks he has on every day, it’s a fun, silly way to start her day.

Sometimes he picks out sock combinations specifically for her to make her happy (eg her fav colours or patterns she’d find cute)

And she totally buys him tons of novelty socks

When they sit next to eachother in briefings they doodle on post it notes/paper and send it back and forth between eachother

They have matching mugs that Penelope got them one day

She has driven him around from time to time and forces him to sing along to the radio with her (kinda like that scene in 68kill but much more chill and platonic)(I also just love the karaoke scene in S9 and like to think abt Spencer giddily singing along to stuff)

[vikuo-kuma]

“The Best of the Best”

—Teacher assistant! Hero! Reader x Various! invincible

Warning?: No use of Y/N but might use Reader from time to time(will try), obviously curse words, and maybe a description of some sort of gore? Might be OP reader(sorry for those who like character development)

Prologue

———————

Chapter 1

“101..”

“102..”

“103..”

“104…”

“And… 105! A new record, lil tech!”

A feminine voice called out as they walked out holding onto a clipboard. The woman with black and blue hair placed her clipboard down on the bench beside [Reader], grabbing the towel and water bottle from the exact bench.

“Thank you, and also, when did you come up with that stupid ass nickname?”, their face twitched, they felt belittled after hearing the sound of what the woman had called them. “Well I thought it was a cute nickname…”, the black and blue haired woman mumbled, twiddling her fingers.

“Just don’t call me that out in public, Lena”, they spoke like they were disappointed as they face palmed their face.

“Yay!”, Lena once again sparked with joy. “Oh that’s beside the point, don’t you have to go to work today?”, checking her clipboard while tapping on it with a blue pen.

“Shit! I fucking forgot! Thanks again Lena!”, they completely rushed out, figuring that they’ll just change while running towards the elementary school.

Lena just looked at the door where [Reader] had left through. “That stupid sibling of mine..”, with an awkward grin, Lena turned back to work.

The computer’s light gleamed against Lena’s glasses. Lena’s grin turned into a frown.

——————

“Any other reports of this ‘mysterious’ hero”, Cecil’s anger seems to increase more and more after seeing a large pile of paper reports of this tech savvy hero. “This is the last one, sir. The first ever report on this hero”, Donald placed the paper on the top of the stack before returning to Cecil’s side.

“How the FUCK, did this hero go unnoticed by the by me?”, Cecil’s eye twitched, scanning through each of the pages of each report.

Donald didn’t answer the question, just staring at Cecil going off about this specific hero.

“It’s said that nobody had ever died upon their arrival”, Donald recalled from his memories, “no injured person either”.

“Are they intentionally trying to make us sound unreliable?!”

Before Donald could reply, the heroes walked in one by one. Each in their costumes.

They stopped talking once they see the look on Cecil’s face. It wasn’t a friendly one. “What happened Cecil? You usually call us when there’s an emergency like for an alien invasion”, Invincible crossed his arms, waiting for an answer from Cecil. Invincible wanted answers.

“Do any of you know who this person is?”, Cecil completely ignored Mark’s question, showing a clip of the recent news.

It was the same figure Mark had seen on the TV.

Face covered, hair covered, with the tech related suit. That was the hero alright. Nobody, however, knew who was behind that suit and mask. “No? Who the fuck is that?”, Rex pointed towards the screen with utter confusion.

Donald sat in the background, looking through each and every single report as well as the report numbers.

“A person who seems to do YOUR job better than you ever could, you nitwits!”, slamming the desk to reveal the reports of this mysterious figure digitally on the screen. The list went on and on, each scene differs from the others.

But there was one important detail that seemed to be constantly circled.

no injuries, NO DEATHS.

———— （´-`）.｡oO

“Achoo!”, a sneeze came from their nose.

“Teacher, are you ok? You seem to be sneezing— A —lot”, Oliver looked towards his tutor with concern, exaggerating the “a” in “a lot”. He handed you a box of tissues just in case. “Thanks, Oliver”, blowing your nose into a tissue.

“I swear I was fine when I came to your house”, you spoke after wiping your nose clean. You pointed towards an english question on the sheet of paper.

You had resumed your teaching with Oliver in his house that was until you got a ringing in your ear.

“What—”,

“I’ve gotta go, we’ll end our lesson here”, You quickly stood— at an inhumane speed— and dashed out of the house, leaving Oliver clueless about his teacher’s strange life.

———————— :(；ﾞﾟ'ωﾟ'):

A/N: Caffeine hate to see me coming. Also I literally have ideas pumping out of me.

[revelboo]

REEVVEEELLLL

That Rumble fic DESTROYED ME. If you can or want to I NEED a part 2.

Bringing that sucker home and trying to sexily help take off his 'costume' but we find out 'HOLY MOTHER OF FUCK THATS A REAL ROBOT'

Thank you dear author xoxo

Hi! Rumble’s fic is an ongoing storyline. I’m just trying to go back and create proper first chapters for some of my fics

Alcohol Eyes Pt 10

Rumble x Reader, Frenzy x Reader

• Loading up plastic totes with clothes, food, anything you might even possibly need and a lot of crap you probably don’t, because what do you even pack to move in with your two alien boyfriends who as far as you can tell are hiding from the government? And they’re both adding stuff to the totes every time you’re not watching them. You’ve already had to remove the manual for your fridge, a TV remote, and a stuffed tiger that had somehow escaped the purge of anything your ex had given you. That had been a fun little bonfire. “What do we say again?” Frenzy asks as he lifts one tote and Rumble grabs the other.

• “We’re filming a TikTok video and you’re cosplayers. Not aliens,” you say with a little frown as you look around your home. And Rumble really hopes you’re not having second thoughts about agreeing to go with them. “I think that’s it.” Turning, you flash him that same mischievous little smile you’d given him in the club right before you’d pulled him down for a kiss. The one that goes straight to his spike. How far out is Thundercracker? They might have time for a quickie. But you’re opening the door and he groans and dutifully follows you outside instead of bending you over the kitchen counter. Figures the Seeker probably wouldn’t appreciate them fragging in his interior, either. “Your guy is meeting us in the park?”

• Their guy had been annoyed that they’d commed him, words clipped and angry. Trying to blow them off with an ‘I’m busy,’ before finally relenting. Shifting the box in his hands, Frenzy follows you in Rumble. They’re going to owe the Seeker for this, but it’s at least delaying the inevitable. Explaining to the boss that they’re keeping you. And that they need their own habsuite now. “Said he would. He’s usually good for his word,” he says. Grinning widely at an elderly human walking a tiny little dog that yaps at them as disapproving as its owner. Primus, that human must be thousands of years old, skin sagging and bunching, hair gray and fluffy. Hears your cheerful excuse the old lady didn’t even ask for as the woman hurries her little dog away.

• Cutting across the street and through the woods to get to the park and avoid running into anyone else, you tug your coat closer around yourself. You’d dressed a bit nicer than normal since you’re kind of like a human-alien dignitary. Though, dignitaries probably aren’t supposed to be fucking the other diplomats. Or maybe that’s normal. Furthering human-alien relations one orgy at a time. You’re like an explorer discovering uncharted territory. And you stop short. “Is that a fucking jet?” Just in the middle of the woods?

• “Meet Thundercracker,” Rumble mutters as the Seeker transforms and kneels to stare at them in dismay. Aware of how much sleeker and powerful the Seeker looks compared to them. ‘You didn’t say anything about a human. Why is there a human?’ The Seeker growls and Rumble shifts the box to one hand and hooks an arm around you. “This is our mate.” And the Seeker vents, servos lifting to press to his helm when you wiggle your fingers at him before curling into Rumble’s side, attention firmly on him instead of Thundercracker and that little flicker of jealousy fades. ‘Why not,’ Thundercracker groans, reaching for the totes to subspace them. ‘Soundwave has no idea, does he?’

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[jujutsukatsuki]

Pretty Baby || Alastor x Reader || 18+

I got a request for Alastor with a Female Reader with a praise kink so here i am to abide! I do not support Viv or their actions! || includes: praise kink so MDI!, Fem bodied reader ||

You sat on the couch in the lobby, a book in hand as you snuggled up in a blanket, Alastor had wandered off to god know's where while you were at the hotel listening to Husk and Angel debate something they saw on tv. The door to the hotel opened and in walked your tall dark and creepy beloved. He walked over and gently used his cane to lift your head, the cold steel made your skin shiver as your eyes met his red ones. "Hello my love, what have you done all day?" You smile as he questions you. "Just read and listen to everyone." You hummed as you stood up and looked up to Alastor's face, his gorgeous grin on his lips. "Good girl. Lets take a walk, go get your coat my love." You shivered at his praise, his smirk got a bit more sinister as he noticed. You dashed up the stairs to change, you put on a dress that resembled something women in Alastor's time when he was alive would wear along with a jacket to go over it. Not like you needed one, hell was hot. "There is my pretty baby." Alastor smiled as he offered his arm to you, you took it as you left out the front door of the hotel. A cold shiver ran up your spine at his words.

"Where are we going Ali?" The nickname was silly, but Alastor loved it. "You'll see my love." He hummed as the two of you walked the streets of hell, demons cowering away from Alastor's presence. Soon enough you noticed the sign that read Cannibal Town. "Aunt Rosies?" You asked Alastor who nodded and walked with you into the shop.

"Alastor you old dog!, and the beautiful Y/n! Still look delicious, sure you dont want to give me a taste? Oh im joking!" Rosie giggled as you let out a small awkward laugh and looked to Alastor who brushed it off. "Darling, why don't you go find a new perfume you like." Alastor smiled and let you walk away. You kept glancing at Rosie and Alastor who passed him a box of sorts. You walked back over to where the two sat. "Alright darling, time to go!" Alastor said as he shoved the box in his pocket. "Oh uh-" You didnt have time to say anything as you were whisked out the door by him. The walk home seemed quiet and longer, once at the hotel, you were taken upstairs to the bedroom you two shared. "Alastor, what-"

The box was pulled from his pocket and he opened it, inside was a necklace that held a small pendent of an A. "Oh Alastor!" You cooed as he clipped the necklace to your neck, his fingers lingering on your skin. "Youre always such a good girl, i figured you were owed a present for all your understanding of my deals and being gone often." You let out a small gasp at his words, his hand still on the back of your neck. He spins you around and grabs your chin. "Good girl." He whispers, letting the radio filter leave his voice. "Alastor.." You mumble and squeeze your thighs together, he was playing a dangerous game. He may be the powerful radio demon with hundreds of souls under his belt, but you. You were the one who was starving for his affection and wouldnt stop until you were satisfied. "What darling? I cant help it. Youre my pretty girl." He guides you to your knees, his red eys staring to your own. "Such a good girl." He pets your hair, his fingers running through your hair. "Now, keep being my pretty, perfect girl and open that pretty mouth of yours." He grinned, it was going to be a very, very long night.