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shybunnie20 · 1 year

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Bearded Eddie: @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

★Invitation ★My Masterlist

Summary: After nine years of living separate lives and carrying the weight of unresolved emotions, destiny intervenes when you and Eddie unexpectedly cross paths at your high school reunion.

Author's Note: I've been working on this since February and I'm so proud of how it turned out.

1994 AU with no Upside Down. No use of Y/N. Established past relationship. Reader & Eddie are roughly 28 yrs old. POVs are first told separately, refer to the time stamps! Reader is depicted as introverted but it's a minor detail.

Word count: 11.4k

Warnings: MDNI 18+! Substance consumption, mentions of sex, includes swearing.

You’re not sure why you came here tonight, it’s not like high school was particularly memorable for you. Be that as it may, you’ve been feeling homesick lately and you needed an excuse to be in Hawkins. What better way to satiate a craving for nostalgia than to attend the class of 1984’s ten-year reunion?

As you stride through the double doors and enter the gymnasium, you’re taken aback by how dated it looks. Even though the light fixtures and basketball hoops have been replaced, it looks just as it had when you were here last. Judging by the meticulously buffed floor, it’s evident that the basketball team continues to receive the majority of funding.

The glossy court is dotted with circular folding tables that are draped with forest-green plastic runners. Each table has a bundle of balloons that are secured by gold foil weights. The decorations are fairly tacky but you expected nothing less. On the far end of the gym, the makeshift dance floor in front of the DJ booth lacks participation.

At the welcome table, you use the provided Sharpie to sign a sticky name tag. You blow on the wet ink to expedite the drying time because the last thing that you need is a jet-black stain on your favorite top. It feels silly to be wearing a name tag at a reunion but the harsh reality is that the majority of your graduating class doesn’t know your name; very few bothered to learn it in the first place.

While scanning the sparse crowd, your eyes land on a petite woman who is waving you over. You catch up with Mary, your junior-year lab partner. She introduces you to her husband but you swiftly lose interest in the interaction because they’re droning on about how difficult it’s been to get their son into a good preschool.

You hadn’t anticipated feeling this drained from a single conversation. You politely excuse yourself from the mind-numbing chat and scour the room for an available seat. The one that you choose has three people seated on the opposite side and they eye you while you pull out a chair. They look vaguely familiar so you flash them a polite grin. They resume their discussion without further acknowledgment of your company.

In front of you lies a pamphlet with “Go Tigers!” printed across the front in large block letters. Thumbing through the pages, you glance at the various pictures of high-achieving students who have since created prosperous careers for themselves. You look closely at the photos and then search for the individuals in the room, seeking to compare their old appearances to their present ones. It occurs to you how much beauty and fashion trends have changed in the past decade.

Most of the women here have abandoned their Aqua Net and mousse-finished perms. There are multiple pixie cuts, but what stands out the most are the emulations of the choppy and layered “Rachel haircut” from that new show Friends that your pals force you to watch with them.

You push air through your nose when you get a load of the self-appointed queen bee of your class. She’s wearing a gown that is unquestionably inspired by Princess Diana’s revenge dress. She looks ridiculous compared to the sea of casual attire surrounding her. It doesn’t surprise you though, she came from money and she likely married rich too. If anything, it would be out of character for her to be wearing jeans.

The booklet’s various snapshots make you wonder who achieved their goals or started families. Who peaked in high school and hasn't found any purpose in life? Who’s been arrested or fired from their jobs? As you reach the last page, you’re caught off guard by a large hand being placed on your shoulder. It makes you jump in your seat but when you turn to see who it is, the tension is alleviated from your body.

Scott Daley beams at you with his remarkably pearly whites. The five years of braces paid off and he’s obviously gotten professional whitening done. “Is that who I think it is?” He withdraws his hand from your shoulder and takes a half step back.

You’re enlivened as you get to your feet. “No way!” The hug is brief but not awkward. “How have you been?”

His blonde feathered brows arch gleefully at your reaction. “Not too bad,” Scott motions to the seat beside yours. “May I?”

“Yeah, of course!” After returning to your seat, you take notice of his gel-slicked waves and the ironed Polo shirt that clings to his broad shoulders.

Scott angles himself to face you and shamelessly checks you out. “You look phenomenal, truly.”

Warmth spreads across your body because you’re not used to men being so forward with you. Although, this isn’t a stranger. Scott moved into your neighborhood when you were eleven. Your mothers became close friends so naturally you wound up being the best of friends. You didn’t sit next to anyone else on the school bus or at lunch; you were practically attached at the hip.

Scott wasn’t always this handsome. When you met him, he was nerdy and excelled academically. He may have been scrawny but his competitiveness made up for his shortcomings. He was motivated by receiving awards like trophies and plaques. Scott Daley had his eye on the prize, which was attaining a perfect report card and being elected as class president. He had an insatiable hunger for success and that was something you found fascinating.

After you became freshman at Hawkins High, you grew apart. You didn’t have any classes together due to Scott being in advanced courses. As one would expect, you fell into different social groups. Rather, he joined the tennis team and buddied up with the jocks while you faded into the background and kept a low profile. There weren't any hard feelings because you naturally grew apart.

You listen attentively while Scott fills you in on his experiences. He graduated summa cum laude from the University of Notre Dame. This isn’t shocking in the slightest, it’s a very prestigious school and he certainly has the brains to thrive in such a setting. He mentions having invested in a starter company that took off and now he gives entrepreneurial seminars around Indiana. Scott also mentions that he’s divorced with no kids.

It’s a relief to hear that the relationship with his high school sweetheart didn’t work out because you’re in the same boat, minus getting married and divorced. You’re glad that you’re not the only one here who’s companionless. It’s embarrassing to attend get-togethers like these as a single person but you’re feeling less insecure now that you know Scott has already had a failed marriage by the age of 28.

When he begins to gab about the parasailing classes he’s been taking, you gradually zone out. You don’t mean to but you can’t listen to the rambling any longer. Even though you’re visibly on another planet, Scott obliviously continues with how great his life has been. You immediately regret glancing away.

Your lungs are packed to the brim with fine sand and your throat fills like the stem of an hourglass. You didn’t anticipate seeing him.

Eddie looks older, even from a distance. The deeply set lines under his eyes make him look tired but the dark scruff brings an enticing liveliness to his fair complexion. His boyish charm is long gone but he’s a sight for sore eyes nonetheless. Eddie’s charcoal dress shirt is undone four buttons from the neck, revealing the band tee he’s wearing underneath it. An eyebrow and nose piercing is a tricky look to pull off but it suits him. The array of black tattoos that adorn his veiny forearms is on display from his lazily rolled-up sleeves.

His left arm is slung around the shoulders of a dark-haired woman while he converses with two other people. When Eddie flashes his signature smile, your heart is carved from its rightful place in your chest. You’ve tried so hard to forget how much you missed being the reason he beams; back then, he only smiled like that for you. Up until now, you were fully convinced that you’d gotten over him. Yet, being merely fifteen feet away from Eddie causes bitterness to unearth. The resentment was buried but it never decomposed.

The woman can’t possibly be his wife because you vividly recall that Eddie didn’t subscribe to the concept of marriage. It’s not that he thought there was anything wrong with it per se. In the midst of one of his innumerable non-conformist rants, Eddie expressed that neither a ring nor ceremony is necessary to prove your devotion to someone. He made a good point because signing a certificate doesn’t lower the chances of a devastating breakup. Scott can certainly speak to that.

It wasn’t a big deal to you and if anything, you were indifferent toward his take on the topic. You agreed that vowing fidelity doesn’t have to be lavish and elaborate. But there was a small part of you that imagined a special day where you get to feel like a princess. The desire wasn’t all-consuming and by no means something that you strived for. Even so, it stung to know that wasn’t what your future with Eddie was going to look like. All in all, he wasn’t the marriage type and you accepted that.

A pair of binoculars would be awfully useful to check this lady’s finger for a ring, just to be sure. You’re struggling to put a name to the face. Her hair color is modern but her crunchy roller-curled bangs are a blast from the past. That’s the detail that yields the recollection of her identity.

Karie West. You had classes together but you never saw her and Eddie exchange so much as a glance. She was at the bottom of the upper-crust crowd because her family has run the local hardware store for generations. Not exactly brag-worthy but it made her somebody. Eddie and Karie are an odd pairing but maybe his preferences changed. To be fair, she’s pretty and you don’t recall having an issue with her back in the day. She wasn’t anything to write home about but she was nice enough. The real question is, did he raise his standards or did she lower hers?

Is Eddie sweet to her like he was to you? Do they talk about the future like you and Eddie did? He used to insist that you’d join Corroded Coffin on the road when they inevitably made it big. Over the years, you kept an eye on the tabloids at the supermarket to see if his band made their way onto the front covers.

Initially, you arranged to start your lives together after graduation but the plan was squashed. You walked the stage to get your diploma but Eddie didn’t. You stayed in Hawkins for another year and worked odd jobs while you waited for him to finish school. You sacrificed your personal goals to support him but Eddie didn’t graduate in 1985 either.

When it came down to it, you couldn’t bear to continue setting your aspirations aside when Eddie showed no initiative to pursue his diploma. In due course, a letter came in the mail informing you that you’d been awarded a full-ride scholarship to the university of your dreams.

You and Eddie talked about a community college that was three towns over but that wasn’t what you wanted. You knew you wouldn’t reach your full potential if you went that route. There were a lot of things that you wanted for your future and Eddie was one of them. At the time, you assumed that he would be ecstatic to hear the news regarding the incredible opportunity you’d been presented with.

It was a toasty summer evening. and like most days, you were lounging around and basking in the adoration you had for one another. His heavy-lidded mocha eyes studied your face while you snorted at his jokes. On your twin-size bed, Eddie was laying on his back with you nestled comfortably under his arm. He was sharing the ideas that he had for his next tattoo. You drew the concepts he described onto the velvety skin of his forearm with your fingertip. Eddie’s eyes fluttered closed as your featherlight touch painted your interpretations in his mind. At some point, you excused yourself to use the bathroom. Upon your return over a minute later, your heart stopped when you saw the cream-colored paper in his grip. “Are you shitting me?” he boomed with a piercing glare. “You’re fucking leaving?” “Hold on, let me explain-” You stepped forward to capture his free hand but he yanked it away before contact could be made. “I don’t see anything that needs explaining.” Eddie’s eyes had never looked more ablaze. “This school is hundreds of miles away. What happened to our plan?” His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched as he boomed. “God, all you ever do is think about yourself. What about me, you’re just gonna leave me here?” Your red-rimmed eyes conveyed the harm done by the biting tone of his voice. “Why would you say something like that?” The blood in your veins began to boil and your face became feverish. “You don’t need to get so upset. We’re gonna make it work, we’ll talk on the phone every day and you’ll come to visit me during the holidays.” Eddie scoffed and crossed his arms with no regard for the letter being crumpled under his bicep. “You’ve convinced yourself it’ll be that easy, huh? You’ve lost your mind if you think being this far apart will be a piece of cake.” “I need to take this scholarship,” your eyes welled and your voice began to break. The defensiveness withered away with each word that you spoke. “This is a huge opportunity for me.” “I had no clue that you wanted to get outta here so damn bad.” Eddie’s voice dropped to a growl. “You weren’t even gonna tell me, were you?” You bunched the bottom of your shirt into your fist and squeezed so hard that your knuckle cracked. “I was going to but I was afraid of you reacting like this.” Eddie’s frown deepened. “Y’know what? I’ll make this easy for you then.” He crushed the letter into a ball and dropped it at your feet. “Since you’re doing what’s best for you, I’m gonna do what’s best for us.” Eddie stepped around you and stopped in the doorway. “We’re through. So uh- good luck with everything.”

In 103 seconds, the years you’d spent together were thrown to the wayside. You couldn’t wrap your head around how easily he threw in the towel at the mere proposal of attempting long distance. Apparently, you weren’t worth the trouble.

From thereon out, every waking moment was nothing short of hollow. For a week following the event, you stayed near the phone; but when it rang, it wasn’t him. You half-expected Eddie to show up with a teddy bear or a bouquet but he didn’t. Despite not being the one who ended things, the guilt picked at you like a vulture until your bones were clean. You didn’t mean for him to feel like you were putting your career before him.

Leaving the house was a rare occurrence given that you rarely got out of bed. Taking care of yourself wasn’t a priority. You were either eating too much or too little and the same went for your sleep pattern. Everything was in excess or deficit with no in-between. There were so many tear-soaked tissues on the floor around your bed that it looked like a gathering of white doves surrounding your place of blubbering. It was ironic, really. Doves are often seen as a symbol of tranquility and you felt anything but at peace.

Before then, you thought it was cliché when heartbreak was described as losing a part of yourself but you finally understood. Beneath the layers of blankets, you were splayed out as though your mattress was a sidewalk and you’d just plunged from the top floor of a skyscraper. Miraculously, you were alive but the impact left you broken in every way possible.

There were a few times that you picked up the receiver but you stopped yourself before dialing his number. Consequently, no contact was made for the two months leading up to your departure. In the fall of 1986, you left Hawkins and didn’t look back.

Being each other's first love, you and Eddie shared an irreplaceable bond. He was your reference point when it came to matters of the heart. In a world full of options and roads to take, you could’ve been anything but you wanted to be his again.

It took a while but you got back in the saddle. The mediocre dates outnumbered the satisfactory ones. You had a handful of boyfriends but none of the relationships got serious enough for you to meet their folks. You struggled to fully invest yourself even when they were the perfect gentleman who cared about you. They were nice but they weren’t Eddie.

You knew that you’d be okay someday. It took two years for the ball and chain to rust through entirely. While the ache may resurface from time to time, it has dwindled to a dull throbbing. Whenever the pain begins to swell, you remind yourself of how much you’ve achieved on your own. Hell, brushing off the hurt has gotten you this far.

Seeing Eddie canoodle Karie is driving you to question if you ever healed at all. Perhaps you merely fooled yourself into believing that you moved on. By the looks of it, Eddie is fulfilled being with her. You’re curious about what he remembers. Does he know your birthday or the color of your eyes? Has he forgotten the nickname that he called you so frequently that it made your real name sound unfitting?

With a subtle shake of your head, you concentrate on Scott, determined to divert your thoughts away from Eddie. As Scott continues his story of riding Vespas in Italy, you nod and grin, doing your best to feign interest and play it off as though you have been fully engaged this whole time. It’s difficult to fight the urge to sneak another glance at Eddie.

Despite your best efforts, your eyes betray you. They dart back in his direction. His curls, once a beloved characteristic, look soft and shiny. The chocolate coils cascade around his features like the delicate branches of a willow tree. Your mind conjures images of him carefully tending to them with care.

Eddie looks down at Karie and says something to her. In response, she kisses the hand of his that’s dangling off of her shoulder. Eddie and Karie's interaction, their seemingly effortless interaction, twists your guts like a saturated towel being wrung out until it’s bone dry. You wish she’d rip the look of contentment off of his face.

The overwhelming urge to avoid any potential encounter with Eddie intensifies. You don’t know what you’d say to him. As the pain of seeing Eddie persists, you use Scott as a lifeline to anchor yourself in the present. His animated gestures and stories offer an escape from the thoughts that threaten to consume you. He's going on about how your moms are still good friends and they started a book club together. As Scott mentions their current choice of reading material—a steamy romance novel—you can't help but feel a flicker of amusement at the wiggle of his eyebrows.

After your laughter dies down, Scott continues to ramble. His incessant words enter one ear and exit the other without leaving a trace. He’s like a chattering teeth toy that’s been wound up too tightly. You're acutely aware of Eddie’s proximity and it’s like an invisible weight on your chest. The mere thought of him conjures emotions you've been desperately trying to keep at bay. It's a delicate balance between acknowledging his existence and avoiding the sorrow that accompanies it.

The intro of "Heat of the Moment" fills the air, sending a jolt through your body. The song paints the picture of a time when it was your anthem, the soundtrack to your relationship with Eddie. But now it feels like a cruel twist of fate to hear it playing. As the thumping beat reverberates through the speakers and the lyrics echo around the room, it becomes harder to maintain your composure. You can’t remember the last time you heard it but it surely hadn’t hurt this much. In great need of space to collect yourself, you place your hand on top of Scott’s. The touch halts his self-absorbed rambling. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”

Sensing your distress, he looks at you with concern and his self-centered demeanor fades. “Sure thing,” Scott nods before sparking up a conversation with the trio seated across from him.

You weave around clusters of people until you find yourself in a less populated area. The sound of chatter and laughter recede into the background as you approach a short table adorned with generic-looking tiger decorations that are undoubtedly meant for children’s parties. The three-tier stand has been picked over but there are a few remaining cupcakes that have H’s messily piped in orange frosting on top. Across the backside of the table is a tri-fold presentation board with photos taken by the yearbook staff stapled to it. Yet again, you look at the faces of people who didn’t give your existence much thought. While you look closely at the images, you don’t realize that you’re humming along to the song.

The two asshats conversing with Karie are as uninterested in Eddie as he is in them. Rather than actively engaging in the dialogue, he adopts a passive approach by making occasional sounds that mimic agreement. He’s trying to make this experience as painless as possible.

He’s in attendance against his will but he’d rather be here than to have Karie on his case about her feeling humiliated for attending by her lonesome. Unlike her, Eddie doesn't place a great deal of importance on his reputation or what others think of him. It's one aspect of his character that remains unchanged.

Eddie observes the lively scene unfolding before him. He watches as people mingle and sip generic brand punch from disposable cups. His line of sight sweeps the seating arrangements and he does a double take. It feels like an arrow spears his chest and his heart is the bullseye. “Apple,” He breathes out with his mouth narrowly agape. Apple of my eye.

As Eddie looks you over, he takes note of how your appearance looks effortful and your jewelry pairs perfectly with your outfit. The subtle differences that time has brought make him yearn to acquaint himself with them. The dark circles below your eyes defy the light layer of makeup that’s been applied to conceal them. Your hair, styled in a way that accentuates your features, beckons his fingers to play with it.

He marvels at you, his eyes tracing the contours of your form. Eddie knew that you wouldn’t look the same if he saw you again but your mature beauty is throwing him for a loop nevertheless.

You’re talking to someone. He looks familiar but Eddie isn’t sure who he is. Sam? Brett? Who the hell cares, what’s for certain is that this dude is a hunk. His shirt is immaculate, devoid of any wrinkles. His facial hair is precisely trimmed to create a sharp edge along his jaw. Eddie's hand instinctively glides over his scruff and he regrets not touching it up while getting ready.

Judging by the way you’re engaging with him, it’s plain to see that this guy is your boyfriend or maybe even your husband. But since when are you into the athletic type? Obviously, the man is mindful of the food he eats and has a consistent workout routine.

Eddie looks down at his bicep, which rests behind Karie's head, and a wave of insecurity washes over him. He convinces himself that he is not toned enough to meet your preferences. You used to love the slight pudge of his belly but you probably wouldn’t find his physique attractive anymore. Ever the hypocrite, Eddie grits his teeth when your hand grasps the man’s forearm. Your laugh cuts through the noise and sends a pang through Eddie’s core.

He feels selfish for wanting the meathead to kick you to the curb and leave you so heartbroken that you come crawling back to him. Eddie could save the day and treat you well like he always intended. Is this guy keeping you comfortable and ensuring that your needs are met? Does he spoil you with gifts and shower you with affection?

He hates that he hasn’t seen or made you smile like that in so long. He tried to forget how much he missed the little things. He can’t remember the way your perfume smelled but he reminisces about the way it used to fill him with light. It was invigorating to smell, touch, and taste you. You had a way of flooding Eddie’s senses that was borderline addicting. You were oxygen to him and you breathed him back to life when he felt deflated. Throughout the years, Eddie had been holding his breath as he navigated life without you. Finally, seeing you as beautiful as ever, he feels like he can breathe again.

He wonders how you’ve changed. Above all, he hopes that your infectious laugh, with its distinctive snort that he adored, hasn’t gone away. He’s itching to walk over but Eddie finds himself restrained by Karie. He feels a sense of restlessness from how badly he wants to engage with you.

Karie looks up at him and asks a question but he doesn’t comprehend what she says. Eddie clears his throat, “Yeah, that’s true.” He throws in a light chuckle and that sells it. She kisses the top of his hand and he feigns a grin at her affectionate gesture. The sensation of her lips pursed against his hand makes his skin crawl more than it usually does. Eddie imagines that they’re your lips instead. He knows that her gesture is for show. She’s not remotely this lovey-dovey behind closed doors. Karie is portraying the image of a stable relationship for people who could give a shit about her love life.

Eddie believes that you left Hawkins because you didn’t have faith in his third try at graduating. You left because he wasn’t good enough of a reason to stay. The argument you had flipped on the defense mechanism switch in his brain. It was a means of self-preservation and he protected himself in the only way he knew how. While this impulsive act may have prevented you from initiating the breakup somewhere along the line, it didn't diminish the pain of losing you.

When he got back to his trailer shortly after the fight, Eddie tore his bedroom apart to frantically collect any item that had anything to do with you. Within the jumbled mess of hair accessories and mismatching socks were the tangible reminders of your shared attachment—a skull ring you had given him on his previous birthday, folded notes, and Polaroids that were once lovingly taped to his mirror.

Eddie couldn’t bring himself to throw any of it away because it all meant so much to him. He simply couldn't bear to have any reminders of you lingering around. The keepsakes were dumped into a wilted shoebox and stuffed in the far back corner of the hallway closet. By stashing it away, Eddie was shielding himself from the sharp sting of abandonment that he feared would accompany their presence. He hoped that by removing the mementos, he could somehow free himself from the emotional burden that they carried.

Eddie may not have fit the mold of a traditional Prince Charming, but he regarded you as his princess in the imperfect fairytale that you lived in. Truthfully, he was flawed and so was the relationship. Some arguments started over trivial matters such as Eddie chewing with his mouth open after you asked him to stop countless times. There were instances that you reminded him politely but sometimes you were less than patient.

That’s one of your flaws that drove Eddie up the wall. It seemed that no matter what he did, there was a sense of dissatisfaction or criticism. Be that as it may, he accepted that it was part of the exchange. You hated shit that he did and he felt the same way toward your bad habits. No romance is without its trials and tribulations. The various points of conflict proved that love is not smooth sailing at all times. It requires effort, compromise, and understanding from both parties.

Occasionally, you would go to sleep mad at each other. When that was the case, Eddie insisted on saying “I love you” and exchanging a goodnight kiss. It didn’t matter if it was brief, on the cheek, or over the phone. He made certain that you never went to bed without a manifestation of his devotion. These acts of reassurance served as a testament to Eddie's refusal to let negative emotions overshadow the deep affection he held for you. Eddie ensured that you didn't spend the night in your respective bedrooms drowning in tears or overthinking every word that had been said in the heat of the moment. The first and only time he broke that commitment was the day he discovered the acceptance letter.

Despite not handling the situation well, Eddie wasn’t usually immature. He always listened intently when you spoke to him. He nodded and maintained eye contact to make certain that you knew he heard and supported you. One thing Eddie had to learn how to do was to stop giving unsolicited advice. It was a habit that stemmed from his discomfort with unresolved problems. It was challenging for him to refrain from trying to find solutions when handling a situation that seemed potentially fixable. However, Eddie gained awareness of his shortcoming when he realized that you stopped confiding in him about the girls who teased you in PE.

It was a love of such great intensity that many adults struggle to comprehend, let alone handle it if they are fortunate enough to find it.

After the season transitioned from crisp to bitter, Eddie went looking for a new way to keep himself warm. You were the only partner he’d had and he would’ve been content rolling around with you for the rest of his days. But you gave up on him, so he did whatever he had to in order to keep the loneliness away. To the best of his ability, Eddie avoided the memory of you by sidetracking himself with pretty faces. Engulfed in a string of one-night stands, he found himself desperately chasing the elusive feeling he experienced with you.

No rebound was going to help Eddie get over you. He realized that if he was going to live without you, he’d be miserable at best. Engaging in casual encounters did little to alleviate the emptiness within him. Instead, it merely provided a temporary surge of dopamine. This fleeting pleasure offered a brief distraction until he moved on to the next woman and endured yet another night without you.

Your lips left a watermark that couldn’t be washed away with time. Your touch was delicate as if you were scared he would shatter in your palms; but it wasn’t your touch that could break him, it was the loss of it. Eddie has been nothing short of broken since. You hold the key to the vulnerable part of his being. Behind a heart-shaped padlock lies his compassionate, goofy, and gentle side. A side that has remained locked away since you left.

Fortunately, Eddie earned his diploma on his third try after shedding blood, sweat, and tears. Regardless of his initial determination to leave Hawkins following graduation, Eddie didn’t take the leap. He realized that if he left, you would have no way of finding him. Despite the painful way things ended between you, he made a sacrifice, forfeiting the opportunity for a brighter future in the hopes that you might reappear in his life someday.

Sleeping around became tiresome so he reluctantly agreed to go on a blind date with Karie. It would be a stretch to say that he actively chose to continue seeing her. Following their dinner together, Karie became an unabating presence in his life, akin to a persistent house fly buzzing in his ear. She frequently called him, making her pursuit of him abundantly clear. Eddie found himself lacking the motivation to address and shut down her behavior, indifferent to the situation that unfolded.

At first, he was confused by her persistence because what would someone like her want to do with someone like him? She had run through all of the eligible bachelors in Hawkins, only to drive them away with her insufferable behavior, leaving Eddie as her last option. They’ve been on and off for so long that it’s merely routine at this point. He has no desire to try his luck dating other women. No matter how unhappy she makes him, it’s better than being alone. With Karie, the good times are okay at best. She has a tendency to instigate senseless arguments, seemingly for the sheer thrill of drama.

On top of that, the sex isn’t mind-blowing by any means, which hardly makes it worth it. For Eddie, it’s emotionless and strictly physical relief. He couldn’t get invested if he tried because of how controlling she is, inside and outside of the bedroom. When they’re in the car together he doesn’t get to tune the radio to the station that he likes. She dictates his plans and makes sure every moment of his free time is spent with her.

Eddie chose mistreatment over being lonely and longing for the girl he pushed away. Karie is a welcome distraction, albeit a toxic one, from what he really wants. Even if he could only be your pen pal or someone you get coffee with while you visit on occasion, he’d take the chance in a heartbeat. He’s bruised from years worth of kicking himself for letting you go.

Part of Eddie knew that you were unlikely to return to Hawkins, but he couldn't help but hold onto a glimmer of hope. Each year, he would check the phone book and search for any sign of you. It was wishful thinking but he couldn’t let go. On occasion, Eddie asked around town in the hopes of gathering any tidbits concerning your whereabouts or how you were doing. His inquiries yielded no substantial leads or insights that could provide a glimpse into your life.

Eddie wonders how much time passed before you moved on. He can't help but hope that you touched yourself to the thought of him, that you cried into your pillow pretending it was his chest instead. He hopes that hearing your song kept the memories from eroding.

The absence of your light cast a shadow over Eddie's days, leaving him immersed in a perpetual state of darkness. He found himself trapped in a world of thunder and gray skies, where the vibrant colors of life had faded to muted shades. At night, as he lay in bed, Eddie's thoughts would inevitably drift back to the way it felt to hold you in his arms.

It shouldn’t have been goodbye, it certainly didn’t have to be. The discovery of the letter hit Eddie like a punch to the gut. It was a farewell, one that would unfold gradually. He was confronted with the painful truth that people inevitably walk out of his life. It was an inevitable pattern, one he had encountered time and again. Friends had drifted away, relationships had crumbled, and now it seemed you that you too, were going to outgrow him.

As the years went by, Eddie thanked himself for holding onto the shoebox of keepsakes; it was all that he had left to cherish. You were god knows where doing god knows what. The only place Eddie could find you was in his dreams and in that box. The selfishness didn’t falter as the regret heightened. He crossed his fingers for your plans to go up in flames, for you to flunk your classes so that you would have no choice but to move back home. If by chance you did return, he intended to do everything in his power to show you how sorry he was.

Eddie zoned out while a cyclone of feelings tore up his ability to stay present with Karie under his arm. He’s been so caught up in his head that he’s practically vibrating. As if the universe has decided to spare him, “Heat Of The Moment” begins to blare from the speakers. Eddie’s eyes snap to your table but you’re nowhere to be seen. His panicked eyes scan the floor for the pair of legs that never failed to make him drool.

As if luck is on his side tonight, Karie’s voice cuts through the noise. “I need to use the ladies' room.”

“I’ll be here.” Eddie shrugs and watches Karie walk toward the restrooms. He spots you hurrying past a group of people. In this charged atmosphere, surrounded by the whispers of what could have been, Eddie has to make a decision. Is he going to take the leap and risk further heartache or let the moment slip away, forever wondering what might have been? Apparently, Eddie’s feet have a mind of their own because he’s going after you at a moment’s notice.

His scuffed sneakers squeak against the polished floor as he weaves with determination coursing through his veins. Eddie mutters, “Excuse me,” when he bumps into someone but he doesn’t stop moving until he finds you checking out the snack table display. As he steps closer, he gets déjà vu from being drawn to you the same way he was the first time he noticed you.

On a gloomy Friday in September during sophomore year, Eddie was in U.S. history when he was hit with inspiration. Ideas for a campaign flickered in his mind and he needed to capture them before they slipped away. While he scribbled, Eddie momentarily tuned out the ongoing presentation that was being delivered by his classmate. He was fully immersed in the realm of his imagination as he jotted down strategies and visual concepts.

Not long after his pencil hit the paper, Eddie felt a tap on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw Mr. Gatlin standing beside him with disapproval stamped on his face. Eddie tried to explain that he was taking notes for his own project, hoping to avoid any consequences. Mr. Gatlin was unconvinced and wrote him a detention slip.

In the designated classroom for the disciplinary measure were three other students who, like him, were slouched at their desks. Eddie kept himself busy by filling out the form that he needed to submit to start a new club. The blank space on the paper seemed to mock him, taunting his inability to come up with a clever club name. As Eddie's thoughts swirled around, he was abruptly brought back to reality by the sound of your voice softly greeting the teacher. With a lifted gaze, Eddie watched how you interacted with her, offering a respectful salutation instead of presenting a dismissive attitude like the average disgruntled student would.

His eyes traced the contours of your profile while you settled into a desk near the door. He couldn’t recall seeing you around, you seemed detached from any particular social clique. Eddie could tell that you didn't dress to conform or uphold a particular image. There was a refreshing authenticity about you. It was clear to him that you weren't shy. Rather, you preferred to avoid unnecessary attention.

It was as if a dormant part of him had suddenly awakened and the self-consciousness gnawed at him. His hair, which he had been growing out, was at an awkward length as it fell just above his earlobes. He frowned at his reflection in the nearby window, noticing the acne that bespeckled his complexion. He examined his shirt for any visible signs of wear and tear. The insecurities crept in, making him question whether his appearance was enough to catch your eye.

Eddie spent the entire hour utterly captivated by how cute you were. As the teacher announced dismissal and you gathered your belongings, his heart sank. He had the chance to make a move but his nerves got the best of him and he was rooted to his seat. The desire to go after you to introduce himself tugged at him. Eddie was stuck on all the reasons why he shouldn't. What if you didn't want to be approached? What if you had somewhere to be or you weren't interested in getting to know someone new? He berated himself for letting his insecurities hold him back.

That following Monday, Eddie was tardy to fifth-period study hall and when he lifted his eyes from his shuffling feet, his heart leaped in his chest. There you were in the far back corner of the classroom. As it turns out, you’d been in his class the entire semester. The teacher asked Eddie to take a seat. He swore under his breath and smoothed down his frizzy hair while he sauntered over to the available desk beside yours.

Eddie settled and a creak resonated through the otherwise silent classroom. You remained in your own world, engrossed in the act of doodling. He respected the reminder from the teacher to maintain silence, understanding that this was not the opportune time to introduce himself.

He stole glances at your notebook, intrigued by the abstract shapes and lines that decorated the page. They held a certain allure, a reflection of the intricacies of your mind. It was as though he was stepping into your dimension, one where vulnerability and creativity intertwined. Eddie felt a connection with you. He understood that sometimes, amidst the pressures and expectations of daily life, it was important to allow yourself to breathe and simply be. At the end of class, Eddie once again watched you gather your things and leave. Instead of being hard on himself for letting you go once more, he became eager.

The next morning, Eddie got out of bed early to spend more time on his appearance. He aimed to look and smell his best because he was finally going to put himself out there. Bouncing through his day with a spring in his step, Eddie made his way to the classroom. As he settled in the desk next to you, he intentionally made more noise than necessary. He rummaged through his backpack and shuffled the contents but you didn’t pay him any mind.

As Eddie tore a sheet of paper from his notebook, the sound echoed through the classroom, drawing disapproving glances from your classmates. With his slightly chewed-up number two pencil, Eddie wrote a message on the first line. He held his breath as he slid the sheet onto your Trapper Keeper. For a few heart-pounding seconds, everything else seemed to fade into the background. He had yet to exhale, watching as you picked up the note and read Eddie’s messy penmanship.

The furrow in your brow softened. In that instant, the ice that surrounded you began to melt. The brief moment of eye contact felt electrically charged. He swam in the hue of your irises as he looked past your initially withdrawn disposition. When your toothy smile took shape, it tugged on his heart. To him, you were more than just a pretty girl; you welcomed him with open arms, free of repulsion or fear.

The minutes ticked away while the paper was passed between you like a messenger. It was a blank canvas transformed into a heavily graffitied wall. High school had been nothing short of cruel to him so far, so he needed a friend. When the bell rang, Eddie folded the paper and tucked it away into his backpack where it would be safe. From thereon out, a mute dance evolved between the two of you on a daily basis. The restrictions of the no-talking rule seemed inconsequential as you found other ways to communicate, transcending the need for talking.

In times of solitude and introspection, Eddie has sought solace in those pages. Like a worn-out book, he knows them by heart, having reread them countless times. Whenever he opens that shoebox and unfolds those precious notes, he’s transported back to the time when his life was in technicolor. They became more than ink on a page. Each word, each scribble, carried the significance of your history.

It’s quieter by the snack table. The closer Eddie gets to you, the wetter his shirt feels. His palms begin to tremble as the adrenaline in his system kicks up. The sensation feels eerily similar to the pre-show jitters he used to get back in the day when he and his bandmates would take the stage at The Hideout. Eddie takes another step and now he can hear that you're quietly singing along to the song. He can’t stop himself from singing with you.

As his familiar voice reaches your ears, a mix of emotions well up within you, causing a lump to form in your throat. With a quick intake of breath, you turn around and put on a mask of surprise as if you hadn't been staring at him with his girlfriend. “Eddie!”

“Hey, you.” He purrs, casually holding his arms open. He wishes he’d taken a second to rehearse what he was going to open with but there’s no going back now.

At first, you’re rigid when he goes in for a hug. But once his hands find your waist, you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck. Eddie's embrace tightens, lifting you slightly off the ground. Being lifted onto your tippy toes ignites a playful giggle and you bury your face in his silky curls. His chuckle rattles against your chest, the sound creating a soothing vibration that rolls deep within you. You nuzzle up to him as you melt. Being wrapped in each other's arms feels like a balm for the wounds of the past.

Eddie is a little too high to be on his best behavior. Your natural scent evokes a sense of nostalgia and comfort. The fragrance of your perfume adds a layer to the intoxicating mix, its fresh and mature notes entice him. Your bodies feel different pressed together but just like puzzle pieces, they only fit with their corresponding piece. Being chest to chest, your hearts dare to relink.

He guides your feet back to the floor and loosens his grip, splaying his palms flat on the small of your back. When your eyes meet, you feel like you’re anywhere but in the musty gym. You don’t miss the way his gaze flickers down to your lips and you can’t help but do the same.

“Edward,” Karie says loudly, her voice laced with possessiveness as if she’s his mother.

Promptly pulled out of his lustful trance, Eddie releases you and steps back. A rough clearing of his throat breaks the stillness. He turns to face Karie and consciously composes himself by donning an innocent expression, aiming to hide the intensity of what just transpired. “Yeah, babe?” The pet name tastes sour as it rolls off of his tongue.

Karie loops her left arm around his right one and tugs him close. “Who’s this?” She doesn’t blink once while she looks you over from head to toe.

You nearly scoff because you refuse to believe that she doesn’t remember you. The audacity to pretend that she doesn’t know you were his girlfriend for four years. You can see right through her poised and cordial exterior. She’s intimidated because she knows how much you meant to him, and you’re not wrong about that. One day, Karie was being nosey and snooped around Eddie’s trailer while he was outside tinkering under the hood of her car. The desire to uncover any hidden secrets of his past compelled her to dig deeper, disregarding any boundaries of privacy. She came across the stash underneath his bed, nearly camouflaged by dirty clothes and junk food wrappers. The shoebox, once a privately kept capsule of young love, laid open before Karie. She knew exactly what she’d found.

Before Eddie can give a proper introduction, you outstretch your hand to her and do it yourself to see how long she’ll play dumb. You refuse to let Karie's facade deceive you, remaining steadfast in that she’s well aware of the impact you’ve had on his life.

Eddie scratches the back of his neck and stares down at the floor while Karie repeats your name as if it tastes familiar but she can’t quite place it. She’s drawing out her performance but Eddie hasn’t picked up on it in the slightest. He isn’t any good at detecting subtlety. When you were together, he had to be told how you were feeling because he’s “not a mind reader.” Poor thing, he truly thinks that Karie has no idea who you are.

Her burgundy-painted lips curl inauthentically, revealing her somewhat crooked teeth. “Oh! We had algebra together, right?”

You let out a sound that resembles amusement, though the irritability with her bitchiness is evident. “No. American Literature, actually.”

She considers arguing that you’re the one who’s misremembering but Eddie pipes up before she has the chance. “Would either of you ladies like some punch?”

Karie says “No,” without taking her eyes off of you.

From the heat of her stare, the moisture in your mouth has evaporated. You meet Eddie’s gaze and grin warmly. “Sure, I could go for some.”

He leans in and winks, “Want me to spike it?”

You giggle and nod in reply. Eddie shoots you with finger guns and then walks away to the nearby table that houses the beverages. In his absence, it becomes apparent how much he was buffering the tension. It skyrockets and Karie’s glare is unwavering. Regardless of how uncomfortable she’s making you, you offer her pleasantness to glower at. “Well, it looks like you’ve been taking care of yourself.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She snarls while folding her arms across her chest.

Thankfully, Eddie returns with the two cups of fruit punch and he hands them both to you. You hold them steadily as Eddie pulls a small flask from his sneaker. With practiced precision, Eddie adds a dash of the mystery liquor to one of the cups, while the other receives a more generous pour of two shots' worth. Oblivious to Karie's scoff and eye roll, Eddie remains focused on his task, unaware of the disapproval emanating from her.

Eddie takes the stronger cup and taps the lip of it against your own. “Cheers,” He grins before chugging the entirety of the concoction.

You take a small sip and watch as the flushed sunset crawls across Eddie’s neck. As you go to take another sip, Eddie gently lifts the bottom of your cup to encourage you to swig instead. Your eyebrows lift in surprise but you do what he wishes while he smiles goofily at you.

Now that you’ve swallowed enough to really taste it, you can tell that his palette has evolved. The bitter scald sends a shiver down your spine and you squeeze your eyes closed. A cough bubbles from your throat, bringing the earthy pine flavor back up with it. Eddie pats your back through your coughing fit as if it’ll help but he knows it won’t. It’s simply an excuse to touch you.

“Thanks,” You clear your throat. “That’s some strong stuff, pretty different from your Blue Ribbon days.” Back then, Eddie swore that Pabst’s Blue Ribbon Beer was the nectar of the gods and he vowed to drink it to his grave. Eyeballing the remainder of the tainted punch in your cup, you try to think about anything other than how awful the aftertaste is.

“Y’know, that’s forty-five dollar gin you’re choking on.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Woah, big spender over here.” Without thinking, you poke at his belly, sharing a laugh while the liquor warms both of you at your cores.

Unbeknownst to Eddie, Karie is seething beneath her carefully curated surface. She taps her foot and looks around the room with her arms still crossed. Though she has been listening to your conversation, Karie has chosen not to participate. She perceives herself as being above Eddie's antics. But there's an underlying fear that lingers; she recognizes the depth of the bond that you have with him and she‘s threatened by it.

You’re getting a rise out of her by entertaining his spontaneity and it’s rather satisfying. The steam blowing out of her ears is just below Eddie’s emotional awareness radar. When your eyes meet hers, a nonverbal conversation ensues.

What the fuck is your problem, lady?

I don’t like you and he’s mine, so don’t even think about it.

Meanwhile, Eddie is bobbing his head to the music while the combination of substances takes him up into the clouds. Your focus is brought back to him when he resumes the conversation. “What about you? What’ve you been wetting your whistle with?” He continues to ignore Karie and neglects to include her. “Are you more of a chardonnay or champagne girl?” Eddie’s brows scrunch together. “Wait, what’s the difference?”

You giggle at his genuine puzzlement and it makes his breath quake. There’s something about the way you beam so dazzlingly while he’s making a fool of himself. Except, he saw you smile similarly at your boyfriend. Eddie can feel his temper ignite at the thought alone but that’s not the only source of heat. He’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the pull of your radiance. Yet, he’s aware of the potential burn and consequences that may arise from getting too close.

Karie is tired of watching the spotlight be on you. She nudges Eddie and he grudgingly acknowledges her. “I’m going to go catch up with the Reynen twins.” At last, Karie has given up on doing her best to intimidate you.

“Tell them I say ‘hi,’ I guess.” Eddie’s mouth forms a straight line and he shoves his hands into his front pockets. When he looks back at you, joy returns to his face. Partially due to the buzz overtaking his nerves and because the wicked witch is gone. A silence hangs in the air while he thinks, God, she looks fucking incredible, but he forgets to say anything.

Your eyes land on the familiar necklace peeking out from beneath Eddie's dress shirt. The guitar pick dangles there, a symbol of his lifelong enthusiasm for music. “I’m glad to see you still play.”

Eddie sucks his teeth and flips the guitar pick between his fingers. “Uh- yeah, not so much anymore.”

“What, why not? You used to play every day.”

“I know.” Eddie murmurs, "Just been busy, y'know?" He’s making a feeble attempt to cloak the depth of his emotions. The timeline he recalls was the turning point when his love for playing began to wane.

Not only did Eddie lose his first love but you were his muse as well. After the split, music didn’t feel or sound the same. Sure, he listened to his favorite albums but to this day, playing feels meaningless. He tries picking up his Warlock on occasion but he never gets past strumming a chord before he gets too heavy-hearted and puts it back in its case.

Losing you immediately caused a rift between him and the other members of Corroded Coffin. Their disbandment was swift due to the altered dynamic. There was no passion and he had completely given up. As cold as it was for his bandmates to reciprocate his hostility, he did nothing to preserve his tight-knit friendships with them. Eddie had already lost the most important thing in the world to him and losing his buddies wasn’t going to hurt more than that.

“That’s a shame, you were so talented.” You shift your weight between the balls of your feet with a blend of shock and disappointment on your face. Feeling that this is probably the moment you should walk away, you muster the courage to give parting words. "It's been fun catching up, but I should get going." Your voice carries a tinge of sadness.

“Wait! I was thinking, uh- do you wanna go to The Hideout?” He licks his lips. “Like old times?” Eddie’s chocolate saucers search your eyes while twists the ring below his middle knuckle. “I’d love to hear about what you’ve been up to.” Eddie is terrified that you’re about to slip through his fingers because this is his chance; this is what he’s been waiting for.

You bite the inside of your cheek at his pleading expression. “Are you sure? What’ll the missus think of that?”

Eddie dismisses your concern by blowing a raspberry with his tingling lips. “Pfft, I’m a grown-ass man. I can do whatever I want.”

“I don’t know,” Your mouth goes dry again at the thought of revisiting the watering hole that holds innumerable memories. It becomes impossibly difficult to deny him as his eyes reflect the light.

“C’mon, let me buy you a drink,” He pouts.

You close your eyes and mull it over for a moment. The sound of Eddie anxiously tapping his knuckles together is enough to convince you. “Okay, fine.”

”That’s what I'm talking about!” he pumps his fists but then he pauses. “What about your beau?” Eddie motions to Scott who is still conversing at the table that you were previously sitting at. Buff blondie seems to have forgotten about your return.

You look between Scott and Eddie. “I’m here by myself.”

As much as he tries, Eddie fails to fight the cheek-aching smile that forms. His heart is thrumming so hard that he wouldn’t be able to stop it from bursting through his ribs if it went flying. “My mistake.” Eddie pulls his car keys from his back pocket and spins them around his index finger. “Wanna ride with me?”

Your mouth opens but instead of words, a squeak of agreement is all that comes out. You turn to walk toward the exit and without missing a beat, Eddie instinctively moves to your side, matching your stride as you make your way toward the exit. His smile is so deeply engraved on his face that he’s going to need to ice his cheeks later.

On your way out of The Hideout, Eddie holds the heavy metal door open for you. The clouds had opened up while you were inside and they’ve left the air dense with the scent of fresh rain. It mingles with the aroma of tobacco smoke drifting from the bar's door. In the street, puddles form small mirrors that reflect the pearlescent moon above.

You delved into conversation with ease and traded stories of the lives you’ve led since your last encounter. Tales of success and misfortune spilled forth, weaving your individual journeys into a tapestry of shared experiences. The interaction was a dance of subtlety, an unspoken agreement to move at a pace dictated by each other’s ever-growing willingness to explore. A brush of fingertips here, a gentle touch on the arm there—small gestures laden with hope.

Cars roll through flooded potholes and splash the curb with a wave of pavement fragments. The mist hanging in the air makes the streetlamps and neon signs glow. Eddie leans against the dampened brick and you echo his position, standing shoulder to shoulder. You frown when Eddie pulls a stray cigarette out of his breast pocket and balances it between his lips. “I kinda hoped you’d have quit.”

“I did for the most part.” He mumbles. As Eddie lights his cigarette, a wisp of smoke swirls lazily from the tip, blending with the haze of the earlier downpour. After taking a long drag and smoothly releasing, he looks at you. “I really only smoke when I’ve got a lot on my mind.” On the come down from his weed high, he’s combining nicotine and alcohol to combat the intense feelings of attraction stirring within him. It’s occurring to him that this night is coming to an end.

Eddie looks like he’s battling to stay in the present while actively seeping away. For a moment, you listen to the water drizzling off of the tattered awning and hitting the ground. Music escapes through the door as patrons go in and out of the bar. “So… Karie West, huh? How long have you two-”

“Don’t do that.” Eddie bites off the end of your sentence.

You turn to face him fully. “Don’t do what?”

Eddie huffs and flicks his cigarette. “Don’t bring her up. She’s the last thing I wanna talk about.”

“Okay,” You sigh barely above a whisper and glance away. The sting in your chest shoots to your fingertips at his sharp tone, not unlike the one he used that fateful day.

Eddie takes a shorter drag but holds it this time. He allows it to char the inside of his lungs before exhaling the plume of smoke. The events of the evening are rippling through his mind, the conversations and laughter seamlessly melding with the good memories he’s held onto. “I was gonna propose to you.” He states very matter-of-factly as if that isn’t a huge bomb to drop on you.

“Nu-uh.” You blink rapidly in utter disbelief.

“Yeah huh. I carried the ring box on me for like three weeks.” At this point, he can’t tell what’s what. Either his emotions are so strong that he can’t feel his toes or the booze, nicotine, and traces of weed are causing him to short-circuit. “But then I found out about-” Eddie stops himself, unwilling to relive it out loud. He flicks his cigarette and brings it back to his mouth.

“Wow,” There’s that stabbing sensation in your chest that you know all to well. Tears flood your vision because what could’ve been seems better than the life you wound up living without him. Due to the way you’re dodging his eye contact, he fails to see how glassy your eyes have become. You sniffle, your nose reacting to the drop in temperature and your emotions running high. The weight of disappointment settles heavily as you grapple with his statement. “Did you give it to her instead?”

Eddie tosses his cigarette to the pavement and stomps it out. “Fuck no,” His laughter is accompanied by a shake of his head as he entertains the absurdity of the notion. The very idea of such a fate makes his stomach churn; the mere thought could induce physical sickness. “Not a chance in hell.”

“Then why are you with her?” You wish you hadn’t blurted it out, but if he’s so miserable then why does he stick around? Considering what you went through, you know damn well that Eddie isn’t afraid to leave when something no longer serves him.

He adjusts his back against the wall which causes the change in his wallet to jingle. “It’s complicated.”

Your persistence to know the truth causes the tears to spill over your waterline and drag streaks of mascara down your face. “Do you love her? Is that why?”

Looking into your eyes right now brings him right back to that day and he’s watching you shatter all over again. “Absolutely not.” The insecurity in your tone is obvious enough that Eddie picks up on it. He loses his train of thought in knowing that there must be a reason behind you asking that particular question. Eddie looks down before meeting your gaze again.

“D-Did you love me?” You nibble your bottom lip and watch the way his expression softens. At the time, it felt like he did but with all of the overthinking you’ve done, your view of the past has been distorted.

He can’t tell if he’s breathing right now, you look so beautiful with the streetlight reflections turning your tears into gems. “Did I love you?” Eddie chokes out, “Of course I did. I never stopped.”

Your lips part a sliver as your brain begs for more oxygen to cope. To soothe yourself, you begin picking at your cuticles but you can hardly feel the pinch.

“You were everything to me.” As Eddie steps closer, his scent overtakes you. His hand trembles as he swipes at your dampened cheeks. “I couldn't stop thinking about you,” he whispers, “Every day, every night, you were constantly on my mind.”

You’re frozen in place, fidgeting ceased as you stare back. You gulp at the way his hair flies behind him in the brisk twilight gust. Eddie takes your hands and the heat of his warms your own. A sense of intimacy flows through you, interlacing the past and present. “I thought about you too.” You look down at your joined hands, watching his fingers rekindle their connection with yours after so many years apart.

You trace the lines of his palms with your fingertips. It's as if your hands remember each other, relearning the contours and textures that were once so familiar. Eddie's eyes remain fixed on you, his gaze dripping with tenderness and longing. He guides your hands to rest on his collarbones and you can feel the strength of his body through his shirt. He gently caresses your ribs and slides his hands down to your waist. You respond eagerly by stepping closer and your navels touch.

His bated breaths mirror yours, both of you caught up in how it’s as if the universe has conspired to bring you back together. Eddie can’t bear the distance much longer. He rests his forehead against yours and it creates a bridge between your souls. You share the air, recycling each other’s breaths. The hovering of his lips causes your heart to pound against your ribs. But as his lips draw closer, you find yourself compelled to stop him. “Wait.”

Eddie pulls back ever so slightly to provide space for your voice to be heard. He can tell exactly what you’re thinking. “I don’t want her, I want you.”

You look away, feeling conflicted. Eddie guides your chin back to his and he strokes your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. Meanwhile, his other hand applies comforting pressure to your hip. He studies your face while you lean into his touch. “I need you, Apple. I don’t wanna lose you again.”

His mind begins to race when he’s met with nothing in response, fearing that exposing his heart to you isn’t enough. After his words have soaked in, Eddie notices the shift in your expression, and relief rids him of the fear of being rejected.

“You won’t,” You hum and breathe as deeply as you can.

Both of your eyes fall closed and your lips brush with hesitance. It’s you who caves first; your lips interlock, pillowy soft, and sweet with a boozy burn. The kiss breaks. Both of your chests heave and your eyes remain closed. The briefness has you weak in the knees but your hold on his shoulder has tightened to keep you upright. Eddie tugs you impossibly closer and kisses you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to. He has to make this count.

A groan rumbles in the back of his throat and his nose presses into the plush of your cheek as he deepens the kiss. It’s both a declaration and an apology, conveying everything that should’ve been said a long time ago. Your movements are slow, intentional, and the definition of pure bliss. There’s no rush or urgency, just the desire to savor each other. Your hands find their way to the nape of his neck and your fingers gently entangle themselves where they belong. The nine-year gap between the last kiss and this one evaporates.

When you pull away to catch your breaths, aching smiles overtake your features. On the day of the fight, you saw nothing but indignation in his eyes. And now, all that you see is the promise of forever.

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

★Ko-fi ♡

tags: @tlclick73 @nj01

190 notes · View notes

gimmethatagustd · 1 year

Text

cosmic collision (1) | myg + jjk

A responsible weedman, Yoongi always tests out new marijuana strains before selling them to his customers. When his supplier offers him a new strain, Cosmic Collision, Yoongi is eager to try it. What he doesn't expect is the alien that comes with it.

↳ pairing: weedman!yoongi x alien!jungkook

↳ wc/date: 6.8k | april 2023

↳ warnings: marijuana | yoongi blacks out from being too high, but i promise nothing bad happens to him | jungkook is so precious you might not survive | yoongi is TRYING HIS BEST

↳ notes: welcome to this silly lil world of galactic mysteries 👽 i hope you enjoy the journey. pls keep your arms, hands, legs, feet, and head inside the spacecraft at all times

↳ main masterlist // series masterlist

↳ what was jai listening to? know yourself - drake

✨ complete this form to be added to the taglist ✨

“What’s this one called again?” As Namjoon speaks, a thick cloud of white smoke rushes out of his mouth.

Hoseok is quick with a response, answering before Yoongi has a chance. “DJ Short Flo,” he reads the piece of masking tape stuck to the top of the glass jar on their coffee table. The name is scribbled in blue Sharpie.

Namjoon repeats the name to himself in a low and scratchy tone. He clears his throat a few times more than is really necessary. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Yoongi’s not sure the names of marijuana strains really need to mean anything, but he’s not part of the conversation. He’s too busy counting a rather fat wad of cash as he stands in the entryway of his apartment.

Suddenly, the chill vibes playlist Namjoon so artfully crafted for the group’s weekly Friday night smoke sesh pauses. He flashes a glare at Taehyung spread out on Yoongi’s bean bag as he passes the blunt off to Hoseok, who is now making grabby hands next to him on the couch.

“This is that nasty flow!” Taehyung belts the Drake lyrics prematurely, using his phone to switch from Namjoon’s playlist to the song that has seemingly popped into his head at the mention of Flo.

Hoseok’s eyes widen as he lifts the blunt to his lips. He takes a drag from it while his head leans over the back of the couch. “Hey, wasn’t that Yoongi’s rapper name in college? Or was it DJ Short Glow?”

“Top boy in this shit, I’m so international!”

Yoongi slams his foot into his dirty red Vans. He has to bend over slightly to hook his finger in the back of the shoe to pull it out from underneath his heel. Life would be much easier if he just untied his shoes and put them on correctly.

“It was Gloss.”

“Reps up is in here, got P Reign and Chubby and TJ and Winnie and whoa!” Taehyung’s voice cracks as he chokes out the lyrics, and smoke simultaneously puffs out of his nose and mouth.

“DJ Short Gloss?” Hoseok asks.

“Yeah, and you know how that should go!”

“Man, shut the fuck up.” Yoongi throws his middle finger up at whoever may be looking. “I’m not even short.” With his shoes on, Yoongi shrugs into a light windbreaker and stuffs the money into one of the pockets. He has to wiggle the pocket’s zipper a few times before it fully zips closed. “I’ma be back in probably two hours, okay?”

Hoseok and Taehyung are now belting an Ariana Grande song, so only Namjoon acknowledges Yoongi’s announcement. He throws his friend a thumbs up as smoke unfurls around the blunt squeezed between his lips.

“Have fun, bro. Tell Jin he better respond to my message on Discord. We got games to play.”

Yoongi gives the front door a sharp kick before he yanks it open. He reminds himself to figure out how to fix it from getting stuck constantly. The paint on the bottom corner is starting to crack from the number of toes that have jammed into it.

“Yeah, yeah. I got you, Joon.”

Seokjin is notoriously difficult to get ahold of. Yoongi can’t text him, which is understandable, even if using other apps like Discord to communicate is annoying. It always goes back to not wanting his real phone number associated with their conversations. Yoongi never feels like pointing out that a Discord account - like literally everything else - can be traced back to Seokjin’s phone. It’s a losing battle, and Yoongi isn’t the type to argue.

So he shoots WWHandsome#7451 a quick “omw” and drives the thirty minutes to Seokjin’s brother’s house. Or was it his cousin? Best friend? Yoongi can’t remember. All he knows is the guy is cute, and that is enough to make Yoongi not want to go to his house.

It’s a small house tucked away in the culs-de-sac of a modest but nice-looking suburb. Yoongi always feels dirty as he parks on the curb in his 2001 Honda Accord. The car has wires sticking out where the spoiler was once connected in the back (accidentally ripped off by Taehyung, who closed the trunk too hard). The metal below his front left headlight is dented and stitched together with black zip ties after Yoongi idiotically let Namjoon drive and his friend hit a mailbox.

The feeling of being out of place typically intensifies as Yoongi trudges up the walkway to the front door. He feels frumpy in his dad hat with a frayed bill, eccentrically-patterned pink button-up shirt over a white graphic tee, and forest-green joggers. He never cared about fashion; throwing on whatever’s clean is enough for him. But when Seokjin’s friend (Yoongi is now remembering they are just friends) flings the door open and lets his eyes roam over Yoongi’s frame, he wishes he’d at least ironed his shirt.

“Hello,” the man purs. He brushes blue-grey hair away from eyes that are sharp and heavy as he looks up at Yoongi through his bangs. Yoongi tries not to pay attention. “Jinnie’s in the basement.”

The basement is really just one giant gaming room with a spot off to the side dedicated to Seokjin’s rather impressive inventory of marijuana. He’s exceptionally organized, which Yoongi appreciates, with each glass jar and drawer stuffed with green buds neatly labeled. It makes the exchange quick and easy. Yoongi would prefer not to linger.

It’s not that Seokjin has ever done anything wrong. In all honesty, Yoongi can’t quite put a name to the feeling he gets in the elder’s presence. He just knows something about Seokjin makes him uneasy.

“Yoongi-ya, good to see you, my friend.” Seokjin’s hand clamps over Yoongi’s shoulder and his fingers dig into his clavicle.

“Good seeing you, too,” Yoongi mumbles. He shrugs off his backpack and holds it against his chest like a shield. However, it doesn’t protect him for long because Seokjin almost immediately pries it from Yoongi’s grasp. He watches as the older man tosses the empty bag onto the coffee table in front of a large TV, making the glass rattle.

“Sit.”

Yoongi plops onto the couch. Halo Infinite is paused on the TV. He knows nothing about video games, but he’s sure Namjoon would squeal over Seokjin’s setup. Yoongi makes a note to never tell him about it.

“Want your usual, right?” Seokjin asks though he’s obviously not in any rush to get Yoongi his supply when he settles beside him on the couch. He tilts his black bucket hat back, pulling the brim away from his eyes to expose dark eyebrows.

Seokjin wears clothes similar to Yoongi’s usual attire: comfortable graphic tees and joggers. He always manages to look better, though. Sleek and expensive, with logos of brands Yoongi doesn’t even know stitched into the fabric, all monochrome rather than the patterned clothing that makes Yoongi look like a rainbow threw up on him.

“Mhm,” Yoongi hums. “Chem Valley Kush, XJ-13, and DJ Short Flo sold really well.”

Seokjin’s eyes crinkle as he grins. In the dim lighting of the room, Yoongi swears his teeth look sharp. “XJ-13 put your ass in gear, didn’t it?”

This Yoongi has to smile at. “The most productive I’ve been in my life,” he laughs. “That tangerine aroma, too? Fuckin’ beautiful.”

Seokjin reaches for the clear glass bong atop the coffee table. He brings it to his lips, pausing momentarily to say, “It’s the Jack Herer in it.”

Yoongi watches the smoke furl through the intricately curled tubing. He’s always been more of a bowl kind of guy, but he doesn’t say no when Seokjin passes him the bong and a lime green lighter.

“I’ve got enough of all three, but try out this one.” Seokjin watches expectantly as Yoongi inhales and doesn’t continue talking until he blows a thick cloud toward the ceiling. “It’s called Cosmic Collision. Totally brand new strain, an experimental hybrid. Nobody’s got this on the street except me.”

“Cosmic Collision?” Yoongi runs his tongue across his teeth, then the inside of his cheeks, like he’s gathering the taste in his mouth. It’s fruity and went down so smooth it almost felt more like vaping or hookah than weed. “Tastes like cereal.”

“Good, right? Shit’ll take you somewhere otherworldly.”

Describing the strain as experimental and otherworldly is relatively accurate, Yoongi muses as he takes a few more hits from the bong. Each pull is smooth and surprisingly kind to his throat as he breathes it down. Weed like this is hard to come by on the streets. Most are harsh, perhaps from being doused in pesticides or growing in shoddy environments. Seokjin has never let Yoongi down, though. Everything he provides is always high quality, to the extent that Yoongi wonders if the man grows it himself or if he’s got the hookup with someone professional.

Before long, Yoongi sinks into the couch and forgets his promise of returning home after two hours. His phone buzzes in his pocket with text messages he can’t seem to find the desire to check. He doesn’t hear the notifications, only feels the vibration against his thigh. The sensation warms him to the point that the way his body tingles is a little embarrassing.

Something else buzzes in his ear, something he can hear as a muffled squeak that pulses against his eardrums. It’s rather annoying. Yoongi’s face twists into a slight grimace that quickly melts away when he feels something poke his cheek.

“Yoongi-ya!”

His head is almost too heavy to turn, but he manages. Seokjin’s image is blurry initially. It takes a few blinks for Yoongi to adjust, and only then does he realize his eyes have been closed for a good while.

“Hm?” Like his head, his tongue feels heavy to lift. His mouth tastes like Froot Loops. A small smile stretches his lips against his teeth. God, he’s so fucking high.

“Jimin and I need to leave; I’m sorry,” Seokjin gives him a sheepish look.

Yoongi blinks a few more times and wills his arms to lift up. He stretches his back with a groan. “Shit, sorry. Didn’t realize how long it’s been.”

His phone tells him it’s been nearly four hours since he arrived. His brain struggles to comprehend this new information, just like it struggles to accept that he has somehow migrated upstairs and is now sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of water in front of him. When the fuck had he moved?

Seokjin gives him a knowing smile. “Drink more water when you get home. And drive safely!”

Nodding his head, Yoongi slings his backpack over his shoulder and follows Seokjin to the front door. The bag is heavy with what Yoongi assumes is weed - the whole reason why he came to the house in the first place. But he has no recollection of Seokjin giving it to him.

“That’s some strong shit,” Yoongi mumbles mostly to himself as he says his final goodbyes.

There’s the knowing smile again, though Yoongi doesn’t know what Seokjin knows that he doesn’t know. “Like I said, otherworldly. Have a good night, my friend. I’ll see you around.”

As he returns to his car, Yoongi decides that Seokjin most definitely gives him the creeps. A twinge of guilt accompanies the thought because Yoongi knows Seokjin hasn’t actually done anything to deserve such judgment, but he can’t help it. Knowing that he completely blacked out for hours with the guy sends a shiver down Yoongi’s spine. Smoking has never affected him like that before.

The car ride home is frigid and quiet. Yoongi leans forward against the steering wheel, grasping it with both hands and straining his eyes to see into the dark. Driving while high is a skill Yoongi has perfected over many years of smoking, but tonight he finds himself struggling to stay focused. His eyes keep flicking up to check the rearview mirror. He knows this means he’s so high that paranoia starts kicking in. He usually cuts himself off before that point, but tonight got away from him. Checking for cops in the rearview mirror is one of those paranoid habits of his. At least the sense of self-preservation isn’t too ridiculous. Driving while under the influence of marijuana is illegal, after all.

To his horror, the next time he looks into the mirror, the empty street isn’t what greets him. Instead, Yoongi stares into two large, bright eyes.

There’s a motherfucking person in his backseat.

“What the fuck?!”

Yoongi stomps on the brakes. The abruptness violently lurches the guy forward, making him smack his face into the back of the passenger’s seat.

The guy groans loudly and cups his hand over his nose. “Owww.” When he meets Yoongi’s eyes through the rearview mirror again, they’re shiny and wet. “You hurt me.”

“Who the fuck are you?!”

It doesn’t matter that he’s stopped in the middle of the street. Yoongi puts the car into park and twists in his seat to see the person behind him better. Any feeling of intoxication has swiftly left his body. He doesn’t think he has sobered up so quickly in his entire life.

The guy appears to be a few years younger than Yoongi. His shaggy black hair falls into his eyes, though most of his face is obscured by the large hood of his mossy-green sweatshirt. Looking down, Yoongi sees that he’s in a pair of black basketball shorts that are inappropriate for the cool autumn weather. Tattoos of strange symbols litter his hands and creep up his arms, from what Yoongi can tell. The thought that his teeth look sharp like Seokjin’s do flashes in Yoongi’s mind, but he’s too freaked out to linger on that. Imagined sharp teeth are nothing compared to how the younger man’s eyes glow with a turquoise ring around his black irises.

Despite the fear those eyes strike in Yoongi’s body, he can’t help but admire how beautiful the man is. Something about him feels… otherworldly, Seokjin’s voice sounds in Yoongi’s head.

“My name is-”

Whatever the man says is lost to Yoongi. His supposed name is nothing Yoongi has ever heard before, sounding more like strange clicks and whistles instead of a real language.

Apparently sensing Yoongi’s confusion by his mouth hanging open, the man gives him a nervous smile. “You may call me Jungkook if that is easier for you to pronounce,” he whispers hardly loud enough for Yoongi to hear. “When I am in this realm, that is the name I go by. Elder Seokjin gave it to me.”

Realm? Elder?

Yoongi shakes his head while his palms press into his eyes. Maybe if he slowly counts backward from ten and focuses on his breathing, the marijuana-induced hallucination will disappear.

Silently, he mouths the numbers until he finishes his ten seconds of attempted meditation. To his chagrin, he opens his eyes to see the strange man sitting on the edge of the backseat with his hands clasped between his thighs. He watches Yoongi in earnest.

“I can tell that you are upset.” He speaks slowly as if he thinks Yoongi may not be able to understand him. “There was nothing else that I could do, sir. Elder Jimin and Elder Seokjin closed the portal when they left after they assumed I had returned home without them. But I was in the garden! I do not like the smell of marijuana. It hurts my head so badly. I needed to get fresh air until you left.”

The man waits rather impatiently for Yoongi to respond. He fidgets in his seat, though he keeps his eyes locked with Yoongi’s. His gaze is so intense that Yoongi has to look away.

It’s too much.

Before any more bullshit can spew from the guy’s mouth, Yoongi flings the door open, snatching the keys before slamming the door shut behind him. His hand shakes as he presses the button to lock the doors, leaving him standing outside and the younger man inside.

He looks up at Yoongi through the back window with confusion. Yoongi could swear that the turquoise rings around his eyes dim.

Turning his back to the car so he doesn’t have to look at the man anymore, Yoongi finally takes out his phone. It takes Namjoon three calls to pick up, but Yoongi can’t be mad; he’s just grateful his friend picked up at all.

“Yoong. It’s three-thirty in the morning. Hobi said you never came home.”

There was a reason why he called Namjoon instead of his roommate. Hoseok is such a heavy sleeper, Yoongi knows it would have been pointless to try.

“I need you to come get me. I don’t really know where I am, but there’s a guy in my car.”

Silence on the other end of the line makes Yoongi grow antsy. He lets out a loud huff, then another to indicate the sense of urgency he needs his friend to share with him.

“What?”

“I’m not kidding, man. There’s some random fucking dude in the backseat of my car.”

Yoongi takes a peek over his shoulder. The guy has crawled halfway into the front seats and is pushing the buttons on Yoongi’s radio. Probably fucking up all his saved stations. Yoongi lets out a hiss.

“Bro, you’re tweaking.”

“Fuck you, I’m serious.”

“Tweeeeeaking,” Namjoon drawls. There’s a giggle in the background, the soft deepness of the sound unmistakable.

“Give Taehyung the phone.”

For a few seconds, Yoongi only hears more giggling and some rustling. He tries to respect his friends’ privacy and not ask why they are still together so late at night.

Eventually, Taehyung murmurs a greeting. “Hey, boss man.”

“Come pick me up right now. This dude is refusing to get out of my car.”

“What if he hotwires it, and when you go back in the morning, it’s gone?” Taehyung raises a valid concern, but Yoongi isn’t in the right mind to think with common sense.

“Then it’s fucking gone! It’s a piece of shit car anyway!”

Taehyung gasps. “Don’t talk about Mary Jane like that!”

Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe he is tweaking. The universe must agree since he turns around to see an empty car.

“Yoongi?” Taehyung’s voice is small and distant.

Yoongi holds his phone a few inches away from his ear and stares at his car in disbelief. He slowly approaches it, peering into the windows to inspect the backseat. There’s nothing.

“Uhh… nevermind. I’ll be fine. Make sure Joon drinks some water, okay?” He hangs up before Taehyung has the chance to question him further.

With trembling hands, Yoongi unlocks the car and slides behind the wheel. Another quick look around confirms that he’s again the only person in the car. How was it possible for the other guy to get out? Yoongi knows that he locked the doors when he got out. But perhaps he unlocked them from the inside, and the alarm didn’t go off? Yoongi can’t think straight, but he supposes it doesn’t matter. His car is empty.

It remains empty for the rest of the drive. Yoongi is on edge the entire time, but he has calmed down considerably by the time he parks on the street near his apartment.

However, Yoongi doesn’t feel true security until he’s in bed, after showering away the smell of weed and the tingling feeling of his skin. The marijuana is put away, although he hides Cosmic Collision in his closet. He doesn’t know why, but something tells him to keep the odd strain to himself for now.

With how droopy the weed made him and the stress of the ride home, Yoongi quickly falls asleep to his Pink Noise playlist and tries not to dream of turquoise-ringed eyes.

Yoongi loves autumn Saturday mornings. He loves snuggling into his blankets while the sun gently kisses his skin. He loves tilting his head to see red and gold leaves glowing in the sunlight outside his window. He loves knowing there’s nothing that needs to be done, that he has a day to slowly move through the kitchen in his pajamas with a cup of coffee and a blunt with nowhere he needs to be. He loves gentle days.

Today, he does not have the pleasure of enjoying a gentle day.

Rather than the sun waking him, it’s his roommate. Hoseok squeezes Yoongi’s shoulders a bit too tightly as he shakes the older man awake.

“Yoongi,” he whisper-yells. “Yoongi, you didn’t tell me you had someone over. He’s really fucking hot, I get it, but you have to tell me! I just walked out of my bedroom naked, which I should be able to do since it’s my apartment, and I knew you wouldn’t be up yet, and surprise! Some gorgeous man is sitting on the couch, eating my chocolate chip cookies, by the way, staring at my dick! Do you know how embarrassing that is?!”

With squinted eyes and a scrunched nose, Yoongi stares up at Hoseok. To be perfectly honest, all he heard was hot, naked, cookies, dick. Which… Is not what one expects to talk about before their eyes have even adjusted to the daylight.

“Wha-what, Hoba, what?” Yoongi forces himself into a sitting position.

Hoseok flaps his arms at his side and lets out an exasperated sigh. “Your hookup is still here. And he saw me naked. And he’s eating my food. That is what I’m trying to tell you.”

“My hookup?”

“Yes, fuck. He’s really sexy in an adorable kind of way. I was shocked. Not really your usual type, but an improvement, honestly,” Hoseok rambles.

Ignoring the subtle dig at his taste in men, Yoongi tries to focus on the meaning behind his roommate’s words. He is no stranger to casual sex but seldom brings people over out of respect for Hoseok. It’s a situation precisely like this that he tries to avoid.

“But I came home straight from Jin’s… Didn’t I?” Yoongi wracks his brain, desperately searching for some kind of missing link. “I swear on my life, Hoba. I swear on my life I went to Seokjin’s and came straight home. You can ask Joon and Tae. I called them after I left because-”

Hoseok leaps back as Yoongi rips the blankets off of his body. “Fuck!” He flies out of his bedroom, feet barely touching the ground.

He’s breathing hard when he bursts into the living room.

The man from the night before - Jungkook - is cuddled up on the couch. He’s wearing the same outfit, though his hood is lowered now. Yoongi can see just how disarmingly beautiful the man is without the fabric obstructing his view. His face is round with flawless skin that practically glows in the daylight. His bangs are sticking out in all directions, hair mused in what Yoongi assumes is bedhead. Yoongi can’t help but find him kind of adorable, especially when his cheeks are puffy from stuffing so many chocolate chip cookies in his mouth.

Except he shouldn’t be fucking real! Or in his apartment!

As Yoongi steps closer, he notices the turquoise rings around Jungkook’s irises. Fear that Yoongi can only describe as primal tickles the base of his spine. It’s impossible to stamp down, no matter how many deep breaths he takes.

“You.” He points an accusatory finger. “You.”

Not his most intelligent moment, but his brain doesn’t know how to function anymore. A cookie-covered smile makes Yoongi falter, but he does his best to maintain a stern expression.

“Good morning, Yoongi! Your apartment is kind of dirty, but it feels cozy. I like it.” Jungkook places the now empty container of cookies on the coffee table. The action draws Yoongi’s attention to the stack of other empty food containers, beer bottles, weed residue, and game controllers littering the table’s surface. Maybe he is dirty.

Nah, fuck that. This is not what’s important right now.

Yoongi shakes his head, his shaggy blonde hair falling into his eyes. “Why are you here? How did you get here?”

Hoseok makes an odd sound that Yoongi desperately tries to ignore. But then he feels the press of a warm hand against the nape of his neck, and he can’t brush him off from how tightly Hoseok is digging into his skin.

“Yoongi…” He sounds like he’s about to scold him.

Before he can start, Jungkook hops up from the couch. Both strangely-tattooed hands lift upward, about chest-high, and he twists them to hold his palms out.

“It is my fault, Mr. Hoseok.”

“Just Hobi.”

Jungkook nods. “I did not explain the situation well. Elder Jimin and Elder Seokjin told me never to speak to humans about this, but I don’t know what else to do. No one else from our team is here, and they must wait until the next cosmic collision for the portal to reopen.”

His voice trembles as he speaks, and Yoongi worries the guy is about to start crying. He tugs at the many hoops adorning his earlobe and rocks on the balls of his feet, much like children do to comfort themselves.

Maybe he’s a dick, but Yoongi would prefer not to deal with a stranger crying in the middle of his living room.

“Cosmic collision? Like the weed?” He understands all the individual words Jungkook uses, but none of them in how he has strung them together.

The man bites his lip. His teeth wiggle as they dig into the pink flesh. At night they had appeared sharp, but in the daylight, they are blunt and almost too big for his face.

“Not the weed,” he says without further explanation.

Hoseok’s grip on Yoongi’s neck tightens until he turns to look at him. Human? He mouths not so subtly.

Yoongi shakes his head. Nothing about any of this makes sense. With a sigh, he runs his hands down his face and grimaces at how oily his skin feels.

“Look,” he starts, furrowing his eyebrows in Jungkook’s direction. “I’m gonna take a shower. And then I’m gonna drink a cup of coffee. By that point, I expect you to have called Jin or Jimin, fuck, I don’t care who, to take you home. Okay?”

Jungkook opens his mouth, likely to protest, but Yoongi tuts his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Nope. I said what I said.”

“Yoongi-ya,” Hoseok protests on behalf of the bewildered man. He follows Yoongi back into his bedroom, awkwardly wringing his hands as he watches him look for clean clothes to wear. “He seems genuine…”

“Genuine?” Yoongi scoffs.

Hoseok shoots him a glare. “Yes.”

“Did you not hear him, Hoba? Humans? Cosmic collisions? Portals? Last night he said he goes by ‘Jungkook’ when he’s in this realm and made some weird ass clicking sounds like The Predator, like that was supposed to be his fucking name.”

“Okay… that is a bit strange… But I think you’re being harsh. Clearly, the guy is confused, and if he’s a friend of Jin, I think you should be nicer to him.”

“Jin gives me the creeps, too.”

“Yoongi!” Hoseok untangles his fingers to wave them around. “Just, just take your shower. I will get all of us coffee, and we will sort this out.”

They do not sort this out.

While Yoongi showered, Hoseok probed Jungkook a bit further. It was all more or less the same, though. Utter nonsense.

He discovered that Jungkook didn’t know what coffee was, didn’t seem to understand why Hoseok had initially been upset that he’d seen him naked because “nudity is the natural state of all humans,” and seemed shocked that Hoseok could “alter” his features - pointing at the deep orange he had recently dyed his hair. As if to explain his thought process about the hair observation, Hoseok watched with thinly-veiled horror as Jungkook’s hair turned a deep purple right before his eyes.

Needless to say, as Yoongi inches his way into the kitchen after a shower that should have been refreshing but only left him feeling cold, he does not expect to see Hoseok leaning across the kitchen table to stare unblinking at their odd guest. Their odd guest whose previously-dark hair is an icy blue.

“Umm?”

Hoseok lifts his eyes to Yoongi. They’re bright and full of wonder, so shiny Yoongi worries he might be on the verge of tears. Out of sadness or something else, he’s not sure.

“He’s magic.”

Jungkook giggles at Hoseok’s declaration. However, one look at Yoongi’s narrowed eyes makes him clap his hand over his mouth.

“Excuse me?”

“He can change his hair color. And his eyes! See, look. Show him, Jungkookie.”

Jungkookie? In the time it took Yoongi to shower, they’d gotten on nickname-level?

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Yoongi forgets about his previous threat to kick Jungkook out. Instead, he sits at the table, lets the mug warm his hands, and tries to tell himself that the wave of heat burning down his body is from the coffee and not the intensity of Jungkook’s stare.

A stare that glows brighter the longer Yoongi looks at him until he watches the turquoise rings turn a deep pink. When Yoongi finally pulls his gaze from his eyes, he sees that Jungkook’s hair compliments his new eyes.

“What in the actual fuck?”

“I can change other parts of my body, too!” Jungkook beams. He shakes his head, and his hair returns to its original black. His eyes’ turquoise rings replace the pink. “It takes a lot of energy to change big things, like my facial structure. Hair and eyes are the easiest. I made myself taller when I first got to Earth, though. I like being tall.”

Yoongi slumps in his seat. If Hoseok wasn’t here witnessing this, he would assume that the weed Seokjin gave him was fucking with him harder than he could have imagined. But Hoseok is entirely sober and untainted by Cosmic Collision.

That means only one thing.

This shit is real. Whatever the fuck this is.

“Where were you before you came to Earth?” Hoseok is too willing to go along with this. But, on the other hand, Yoongi feels like everyone is playing a game he doesn’t know the rules to.

Jungkook’s nervous lip-biting returns, but he seems to push through his feelings. “Our planet is called Zephipra.” He shoots a quick look at Yoongi. “It is further into the universe than you humans have visited. Your scientists do not know about us.”

“So you’re an alien?” It comes out like a challenge without Yoongi meaning for it to. He feels a tiny bit bad when Jungkook deflates, closing in on himself as he draws his shoulders inward.

“We don’t like that term.”

Hoseok reaches an arm across the table. He flips his palm upward as though offering it to Jungkook to hold.

“What is a better term for you?” he asks softly, and Yoongi envies his roommate’s ability to be unconditionally kind.

It takes a few minutes of silence before Jungkook hesitantly squeezes Hoseok’s hand.

“I suppose extraterrestrial, but my people are called Zephi. That is also the language we speak.”

The gulp of coffee Yoongi takes is scalding. He should have waited for it to cool, knows this means his tastebuds and throat are burnt to shit and nothing will taste good for days. But he needs something to do as Jungkook rambles on about the history of aliens like this is all real.

Hoseok hums along, asking a few follow-up questions when something Jungkook says confuses him. Yoongi finds it all confusing, but he doesn’t say anything.

“So,” Hoseok claps his hands together and startles Yoongi out of his thoughts. “You said you’re stuck here until some kind of space phenomenon happens?”

Jungkook nods.

“And there’s absolutely no other way to get home?”

Another nod.

“Hmm…”

Yoongi accidentally catches Jungkook’s eyes once again. He knows his cheeks burn, but he doesn’t understand why. The heat only dissipates once Jungkook averts his gaze.

“How long does it take, usually?”

Jungkook draws the coffee Hoseok fixed for him closer. He peers down at the dark liquid and gives the light steam radiating off the surface a few sniffs. Yoongi doesn’t want to find how he scrunches his nose adorable, but he can’t stop the thoughts once they start.

“Hmm, usually a few weeks.” He looks at Yoongi again, and Yoongi really wishes he’d stop doing that. “Sometimes a month or two, right?”

Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up into his bangs. “How would I know?”

“Well, how often do you purchase marijuana from Elder Seokjin?” When Yoongi doesn’t respond, Jungkook sighs. It’s the first time he looks genuinely upset. “I have never been here alone.”

By the time what Jungkook has said clicks in Yoongi’s head, he and Hoseok have migrated back to the living room. Yoongi scrambles after them as he pulls up Discord on his phone. No new messages from WWHandsome#7451.

Scrolling through their history, he finds that there is a pattern to how often Yoongi buys from him. Once he sorts through stoner memes and news articles about the legalization of marijuana at the federal level, he can see that each conversation about picking up a new order occurs around every four to five weeks. Yoongi rarely initiates the conversation; he doesn’t have to. Seokjin will let him know he has a new supply, and Yoongi suddenly realizes that, yeah, he’s almost out. He mentally joked with himself about how astute Seokjin is, that he must have some sort of supernatural sense to know when Yoongi is running low.

Now Yoongi wonders if there’s more to it than that.

“Are you not supposed to be here on your own?” Hoseok drapes a blanket around Jungkook’s shoulders and tucks him into the corner of the couch where the cushions are the comfiest. With Jungkook taken care of, he flops onto the couch beside him, leaving Yoongi room on the opposite end.

Although Yoongi considers himself to be a pretty reliable guy, Hoseok’s ability to take control of an emotionally-charged situation is Yoongi’s saving grace. Unfortunately, he’s not the best when it comes to emotional shit.

Jungkook tugs at his earrings once again. His other hand curls into a fist he repeatedly hits on the top of his thigh. It’s not hard or aggressive, but it’s distracting.

“No. I am an… intern? I believe that is the correct term. Only researchers are allowed on Earth alone. Interns must stay with their research mentor. Mine is Elder Seokjin.”

Hoseok lets out an understanding hum. He peeks at Yoongi out of the corner of his eye, but Yoongi doesn’t think he gives Hoseok much to go off of. Yoongi still has no idea what to think about all this; his brain won’t let him.

The three men are silent for what feels like forever. The air is full of tension, although Yoongi wonders if he’s the only one who notices it. Jungkook simply looks worried, his fist still thumping against his thigh and his fingers playing with his earrings. Hosoek is almost completely relaxed. Yoongi knows his roommate well enough to tell from how his shoulders sag, and that he’s reaching for the pre-rolls and lighter resting on the coffee table.

“Is this the 93 Boyz?”

Yoongi shakes his head, amazed that his friend can casually light up a joint as if this is just a normal day. “Chem Valley Kush.”

“Nice,” Hoseok speaks out of the corner of his mouth before inhaling as he brings the lighter to the tip of the joint.

Jungkook makes a small noise, perhaps a cough, when Hoseok exhales. His cute little nose wrinkles up, and Yoongi remembers that he doesn’t like the smell of weed.

“Want some, kiddo?” Hoseok hands the joint to Jungkook, who hesitantly pinches it between his fingers like a snake ready to lunge at him.

With furrowed eyebrows, he brings the joint to his lips and sucks in the smoke. Yoongi averts his eyes when Jungkook looks up at him through his lashes, cheeks pink and hollowed. There’s something about the guy that makes Yoongi’s skin crawl.

Despite his dislike of the smell of weed, Jungkook takes a few hits of the joint like a champ, only coughing once, and even then, the sound was dainty and soft.

Yoongi accepts the joint from Hoseok when Jungkook passes it over. He tries not to think about how Jungkook’s lips had just wrapped around the end of the joint, the same place Yoongi is about to put his lips. He keeps the hit quick and deep, passing it on to Hoseok before he’s barely inhaled fresh air to push the smoke further into his lungs.

Only after Hoseok starts the second round of the rotation does he say, “Well, you’ll just have to stay here until the collision or whatever happens.”

Yoongi’s heart drops into the pit of his stomach while a blinding smile blooms across Jungkook’s face. “Whoa, wait a second. Why can’t he go back to their house?”

“We can’t leave him alone!” Hoseok chastizes him as though this is the most obvious solution to their dilemma.

“Hoba, where is he going to sleep?”

“Your room.”

Yoongi scoffs. If it’s Hoseok’s bright idea, it should be him giving up his bedroom. “Then where am I sleeping?”

“The couch.” Hoseok shrugs and passes the joint to a still-hesitant Jungkook. “Or with him, if you’re gonna be a little bitch about the couch. Do you care, Jungkookie?”

Jungkook inhales too deeply and sputters a rough “No, of course not” in between coughs that sound painful.

There’s no way in fuck Yoongi’s going to sleep in the same bed as an alien. “Do ali- I mean, Zephi, even need to sleep?”

Smoke rushes out of Jungkook’s nostrils. The rigid set of his jaw makes him look older and more angular. The masculine aggression of it makes Yoongi’s stomach twist - which he ignores.

“Yes,” Jungkook hisses. “We are not freaks.”

“No one said you were, kiddo.” Hoseok lightly flicks Jungkook under the chin before shoving the joint in Yoongi’s face with a grimace. “You, behave.”

With that, Hoseok rises from the couch. He places his hands on his hips and looks between the two men. Yoongi hates when he gets like this, calculating. Usually, whatever that over-imaginative brain cooks up is never good for Yoongi.

“Is there anything at your house you need while you stay with us?” Hoseok asks with his head tilted to the side as he examines Jungkook.

The alien - Zephi - chews on his bottom lip. His cheeks are still pink, as are his eyes. Except this time, it’s from being high rather than being some supernatural oddity.

“They took all my things when they returned home,” Jungkook admits after a long pause. He stares at his hands in his lap, lacing and unlacing his fingers to the point that Yoongi wants to grab his wrists and force them to his sides. “I don’t require much, though. I do not want to be a bother.”

At that, he steals a shy glance at Yoongi. Yoongi feels heat spread over his cheeks, so he opts to look at Hoseok instead. Which is a mistake because his roommate is glowering at him.

“Jungkookie, no matter how much of a dick Yoongi is, I promise you are not a bother,” he speaks to Jungkook but keeps his eyes on Yoongi.

“I’mnotadick,” Yoongi grumbles. He folds his arms against his chest and stares at his reflection in the TV. It’s not a clear reflection, but it’s enough to tell that his hair is, rather unfortunately, sticking straight up on his head.

“Anyway, I’ll let you borrow some of my clothes. I tend to wear them baggy, so they should fit you fine. I have to go to work soon - I’m a hairstylist. Fucked up, working on the weekends, right? Ahh, but anyway, you can stay with Yoongi.”

Jungkook merely nods with bright, round eyes gazing up at Hoseok as though the man is divulging his most remarkable secrets.

“And if he’s mean to you, you can, I don’t know, shoot him with lasers out of your eyes or whatever scary things you’re capable of.”

“Oh, I would never do that,” Jungkook quickly disagrees, turning those beautiful eyes to Yoongi.

“You can do that?”

“Yes, but I promise I wouldn’t do that to you. I promise.”

Yoongi throws his head back against the couch and groans. His body starts to slip down the cushions, but he does nothing to stop himself from falling onto the floor.

“You cannot leave me with him, Hoba.”

“Oh, hush.” Hoseok swats the back of Yoongi’s head as he makes his way to his bedroom to get ready. “You’ll be besties in no time.”

do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work

#yoongi x jungkook #jungkook x yoongi #yoonkook au #min yoongi #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #bts fluff #bts smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #cosmic collision #jai writes #gimmethatagustd

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6nikhilum6 · 11 days

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Pune Police Crackdown On Illegal Use Of Beam Lights During Dahi Handi Celebrations

According to the police, the violations were reported during Dahi Handi celebrations in Hadapsar. The accused individuals used beam lights and sharpie lights to accompany DJ music, posing a potential hazard to the public. The police have registered six cases against the accused, including Prabhakar Pawar, Harshad Bhal Singh, Rakesh Chaudhary, Ganesh Yadav, Ajinkya Dhamal, Manoj Jagtap, Mahadev…

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quintiriss · 3 years

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The Arcadia kids on Valentines day at some point 'cause i can

eh just late night thoughts

Aja would be invited to Earth by Steve for the day of the love and Varvatos would come because he wants to see Nana again.

Aja: "What is this 'Valentine's Day?'"

Steve would ramble about the events like how someone's partner would gift them chocolates and people would give someone a love letter that probably contains a confession of their love for them and how town would be decorated in hearts and crap.

Aja is in absolute awe and Varvatos would consider buying chocolates and flowers for Nana.

Meanwhile, Krel would be in the background trying not to gag.

Aja: "Look, little brother! Love really is in the air!"

Krel, spraying frebreze everywhere: "No."

"This is by far the most ridiculous human tradition I have ever heard of."

"Hey, Pepperjack, do you have a Valentine?"

"I wish."

Since Jim is human again he would get back into the baking zone and either bake a massive chocolate cake for his friends or maybe even for the whole school OR just make lots and lots of heart-shaped chocolates.

Claire would help decorate.

Toby and AAARRRGGHH!!! would be the delivery duo and send valentine cards all over town, kinda like newspaper boys.

They do this the night before the event so AAARRRGGHH!!! doesn't get hurt.

Douxie would probably ask Zoe to be his valentine with Archie's and Nari's encouragement.

This can be considered as platonic or romantic, whichever you prefer.

They hold like a party at the park for everyone to dance or do whatever in while enjoying Jim's baked goods.

Krel would be the DJ.

Krel also refuses to play sappy songs, so they get another person to do it before it's Krel's turn to play some cool beats.

In the meantime he, Claire and even Toby would try to teach Jim how to dance 'cause sorry Mr. Lake but you need some work.

Krel is surprisingly good at it when you ignore the time he did the floss (/lh).

Staja and probably Toby and Darci would most likely get somewhat matching outfits.

Jim and Claire too, probably.

Ok but imagine Jim in one of those kiss the cook aprons and just has "Specifically Claire" written with sharpie at the bottom of it.

Zoe would try to replace the blue dye in Douxie's hair with pink to match her hair and because valentines day.

She fails.

Douxie puts on a light show with Zoe's help to fit the love theme.

It's definitely more extravagant than what the Arcadians are used to but they love it.

Despite all the mushiness, Krel managed to enjoy himself.

Jim can finally (kind of) dance.

Yes, he did the floss out of nervousness.

Krel and Eli definitely made an anti-love group specifically for valentines.

They just vibe for the rest of the night.

Yes, Barbara and Strickler are there too and dancing together.

#tales of arcadia #aja tarron #krel tarron #steve palchuk #eli pepperjack #jim lake jr #claire nuñez #toby domzalski #aaarrrgghh!!!#staja #jlaire #steve x aja #jim x claire #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #i cant fit anyone else h

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heademptyjustvolleyballs · 4 years

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Karasuno when Drunk

Drink responsibly, and assume everyone is of age.

TW: very brief mention of vomiting.

Daichi Sawamura: Turns into a rowdy fratboy when drunk. Calls everyone “bruh”, chest-bumps his friends, crushes beer cans against his forehead with minimal success. Depending on what he’s drinking, the night ends one of two ways: him passed out on someone’s lawn with sharpie on his face, or crying into a friend’s shoulder while listening to Celine Dion. (Watching Titanic was a mistake he only remembers when wasted)

Koushi Sugawara: Gets great drunk ideas like “hey guys, lets order like 15 pizzas”, “we should all get our nipples pierced!” but when it comes time to follow through on those ideas, he’s nowhere to be found. Most likely to be found chugging red wine straight from the bottle.

Azumane Asahi: Always responsible Asahi has planned his whole night out: he pre-booked his taxi home, there’s aspirin and water on his nightstand before he leaves, and there’s spare blankets and pillows on his couch in case his friends need to crash. Despite this, he always loses something while drunk. His favourite scarf, hairband, shoelaces, bus pass, something isn’t coming home with him tonight. Always ends up doing some form of karaoke, even if it’s singing into an empty bottle in a friend’s living room.

Yuu Nishinoya: Noya’s most dangerous habit when drunk isn’t his propensity for jumping off counters, tables, and road barriers, it’s his online shopping. Something about the light from his phone & the alcohol haze wipes his judgement away. He buys really random crap (3 lbs of hot pink glitter, a Danny DeVito body pillow, a 15 ft tall cat tree [he doesn’t even have a cat!]) but also will order flowers for his third grade math teacher because she taught me fractions and I love her. Someone hide his credit card.

Ryuunosuke Tananka: No one actually knows what Tanaka is like when he’s drunk because he’s the biggest flight risk. One minute he’s downing a G+T and the next, he’s gone. Always makes it home, but never remembers how. Sees a few “Hey man, last night was fun, you’re wild” texts from unknown numbers in the morning.

Tobio Kageyama: Becomes surprisingly talkative, and will start existential or philosophical conversations with anyone and everyone. Once gave a passionate yet tangent filled speech about how mermaids, which absolutely 100% exist, reproduce. Definitely leaves slightly slurred voicemails on his friends’ phones telling them how much he loves them. Is he crying into his phone, maybe.

Shoyo Hinata: Terrifyingly high alcohol tolerance. Can & will drink his friends under the table. However, the first time he got drunk he ended up spilling all his secrets to a stranger and was mortified. Drinking Hinata is the same bubble of energy everyone knows and loves, drunk Hinata is standing in the corner silently chewing his lips to make sure he doesn’t scream out to the whole club which Disney movies still give him nightmares.

Kei Tsukkishima: Doesn’t get drunk by choice, just holds the same half-empty beer in his hand all night. Has his phone out to collect blackmail pics and videos (and voicemails). Yamaguchi once got him to do a (1, singular) tequila shot and he threw up immediately. On second thought, maybe he’s just a lightweight and doesn’t want to admit it.

Tadashi Yamaguchi: Only gets drunk on tequila shots. He sways when he walks and stays tomato red all night, but his personality doesn’t change, same sweet cinnamon roll and can carry on interesting conversations all night. The hangover though...

Shimizu Kiyoko: Has more dancing skills drunk than most people have sober. If she’s out, she’s on the dancefloor. If she’s at someone’s house, including her own, any surface is now the dancefloor and she is the dancing queen, young and sweet, only the legal drinking age. Will walk up to the DJ in the bar/ club and demand they play her song. She never tells them what it is though.

Hitoka Yachi: Has a tendency to wander away from her friends after a few drinks, but don’t worry, she’s THAT GIRL in the bathroom complimenting everyone. She’s helping with makeup, fixing wardrobe malfunctions, and hyping her sisters up! If she doesn’t convince at least 2 girls to dump their boyfriends by the end of the night, her work isn’t done!

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glitterblazercalum · 4 years

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got a river for a soul, and baby, you’re a boat

or: Oh, fuck. We showed up wearing matching couples’ costumes to this party by accident and now everyone thinks we’re together.” + cashton

hello and happy halloween everyone!! giant thank u to ainslee @ashesonthefloor for putting this event together!! and for forcing me to actually get this fic done, looking it over, and generally being a major source of serotonin in my life. another huge thank u to bella @clumsyclifford for being one of my favorite people and loving frat boys enough that it made me want to write a fic about them to annoy her <3 love you both <3

here is the link to the event masterpost bc I highly recommend checking out all of the other amazing fics:

https://ashesonthefloor.tumblr.com/post/633534107120549888/hello-welcome-to-my-halloween-fic-event

warnings: mentions of alcohol

word count: 2,872

without further ado, please enjoy the fic I wrote mostly all last night while looping drag me down for thirteen hours straight :))

Calum doesn’t know what fuckhead came up with the idea of having a joint Halloween party for Sigma Nu and Sigma Pi this year, but he really wants to fight them. He thinks he’d probably have a lot of people on his side, considering how much Sig Nu and and Sig Pi hate each other, so he tucks the idea of interfraternity war away in his head as a contingency plan in case the party goes to shit, as joint parties with any other frat always seem to. And it’s not like it’s a one night thing, because all three days of the “Halloweekend,” as Michael refuses to stop calling it, are supposedly going to be spent with Sig Nu, one party at their own house, and two at the shithole that he assumes is the Sig Nu house, in some deranged attempt at bonding. He’ll be lucky to make it out alive, probably.

Before college, he really never did anything of his own for Halloween, mainly used to being used as a prop or side character for his sister Mali-Koa’s elaborate costumes, or, after she’d moved out, sticking a pair of fake fangs in his mouth to hand out candy to the few kids who rang the doorbell despite his efforts to keep all the lights in the house off. Last year, as a freshman, he’d gotten roped into a group costume with some of the other Sig Pi pledges, and while his memories are...hazy at best, he vaguely remembers falling asleep in a Teletubbies onesie at the end of the night.

This year, though, no one has tried to tell him what to dress up as, so it’s now a few hours before the first of the three parties, and Calum still has no ideas for what he should dress up as. A quick Google search for “cheap easy costumes” hadn’t really been all that helpful, so he decides to ignore the problem and take a nap until he actually has to leave.

A few hours later, Michael barges into the room to drag him out of bed, and looks around for a few seconds before asking, “You don’t have a costume, do you?”

Calum groans, pulling himself out of bed and wracking his brain for an idea that he can plausibly bullshit in the next few seconds, because he can’t let Michael be right and have something to tease him about, so he blurts, “I’m going to be a salt shaker.”

Michael gapes at him a bit for a few seconds before asking, “What the fuck? What kind of costume is that? What are you even going to wear for that?”

Calum mentally kicks himself in the shin, as hard as possible, because he really hasn’t thought this through. Why couldn’t he have just said cat or cowboy or something even slightly in the realm of normal Halloween costumes?

“Uhhh.. y’know that baseball tee I have? The one with the black sleeves and white middle?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s in my closet, but continue.”

“What the fuck, dude? Give it back!”

“You haven’t noticed that it’s missing for like three weeks, I just assumed it was mine now. Tell me what the rest of the costume is,” Michael demands.

“I’ll just tape a piece of paper with a big ‘S’ on it to the front of my shirt, and then put one of those pots with the holes on my head. Bam! Salt shaker!” Calum says, moderately impressed with his ability to pull stuff out of his ass this quickly.

“What makes you think we even have a colander?” Michael asks, crossing his arms.

Calum gives him a blank stare. “A what?”

“That’s what the pots with the holes are called, you idiot.”

“You think Harry would live anywhere that didn’t have a fully-stocked kitchen? There’s bound to be one in one of the cabinets or something.”

“Fine. I’ll go get the shirt while you look for the colander.” Before Calum can object, suggest that he look through Michael’s closet himself and steal back any of his other clothes that have somehow wound up there, Michael’s already halfway down the hallway.

Sighing, he trudges down the stairs towards the kitchen, where one of the seniors, Niall, is sitting with his head in his hands, dressed as a pirate.

“Hey, dude, nice costume,” Calum offers as a greeting. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find a colander, would you? I know Harry—”

“Do not talk to me about Harry right now,” Niall says, and Calum stops his search for a moment to send him a concerned look.

“What happ—”

“That needy-ass motherfucker thinks that just because I didn’t want to do a couples’ costume with him, it means I don’t love him anymore! Never mind the fact that he literally mentioned this idea to me yesterday, well past the point where everyone finalizes their costumes.”

Calum offers him a sympathetic look and offers, “Couples’ costumes are boring and cheesy anyways. Neither of you are missing out on anything, at least in my opinion.”

Niall lifts his head up from where he’d been repeatedly hitting it on the table to smirk at Calum and ask, “Have a lot of experience with couples’ costumes, do you?”

Luckily, Calum has finally found the colander, so he opts to ignore the question and just leave the kitchen entirely.

When he gets back upstairs, Michael’s in his room, unabashedly checking himself out in the mirror that’s on the back of the closet door. “Yeah, yeah, your anime character of the year looks great, now get out and let me get ready.”

Michael scoffs, “Get ready, as if you’re even doing anything,” but moves towards the door anyway.

Michael’s right, the costume is ridiculously easy to throw together, and two minutes later, they’re both out the door, walking across Fraternity Row to get to the Sig Nu house, where the music is already blaring and strobe lights throw red, then green, then blue shadows across everyone’s faces. On his way to the kitchen to grab a drink, he sees Niall and Harry walk into the house, holding hands and laughing together, so he assumes that their fight has blown over as quickly as all of their other fights always seem to.

He sees a few different trays of shots and decides he might as well take one to get the night started off right. After, he realizes that he probably shouldn’t grab a beer now, Mali’s rule about sticking to one color of booze for the night ringing in his head, so he settles for filling up a Solo cup with whatever glow in the dark gin concoction is in all the punch bowls. He wouldn’t put it past the Sig Nus to poison the drink on purpose, but it tastes relatively normal, so he grabs another cup for Michael and attempts to leave the kitchen, steering around the couple sloppily making out in the doorway.

It’s harder to spot Michael than it usually is, considering that at least half the people at the party are wearing some type of wig, but Calum eventually makes his way back over to him. He’s talking to Niall and Harry, and they both offer him a smile before continuing on with the conversation. Once that reaches a lull, Niall leans closer to Calum and says, “Mate, you didn’t need to lie to me about couples’ costumes.”

Calum has no idea what Niall is talking about, so he shakes his head and asks, “What are you talking about?”

Niall cackles, and Harry turns to look at him adoringly before going back to talking to Michael, and Calum is more confused than ever. Niall grabs his shoulder and spins him around and points in the direction of a clump of people. “You’re salt and he’s pepper, right? That’s such an obvious couples’ costume, although you two do seem to have a bit of a disconnect on how much effort you put in. That guy really went all out. And dude, why haven’t you told us that you have a boyfriend? You know we’d want to know about that, give him the Sig Pi seal of approval and all that. Wait. Unless he’s a Sig Nu, in which case, I don’t want to know because I’d probably have to kick you out. That’s a joke, by the way.”

Calum barely has the presence of mind to mumble, “He’s not my boyfriend,” before crossing the room to get to the guy in the hyper-realistic pepper grinder costume.

The guy smiles as Calum approaches, and despite the costume covering most of his body, Calum can tell that he’s cute. “Why so salty?” Pepper Guy greets, the sunshiney smile still on his face.

Calum smirks and replies, “Maybe I just need some more spice in my life.” Pepper Guy laughs, and just like everything else about him, it’s cute, and Calum wants to hear it again. “I’m Calum, by the way.”

“Ashton. Nice to meet you, man.”

Calum leans a little closer so that it’s easier to hold a conversation over the loud music and asks, “What’s the deal with the super realistic pepper grinder costume?”

Ashton makes a strange noise, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and says, “I got it off some random sketchy website, but it was supposed to be a chess piece. Something clearly went wrong somewhere in production, and my friend Luke said that I might as well sharpie a “P” onto it and just go with it.”

Calum makes a noise of agreement, mind stuck on a dumb idea. Before he can reconsider, he sends Michael a quick text that says if u’ve already taken over as dj, can u play that come grind w me song? and a few seconds later, he hears the opening notes and grins.

“Hey, Ashton?”

“Yeah?” Ashton replies, as realization slips across his face.

Right in time with the singer’s voice, Calum says, “Come grind with me,” and he laughingly pulls Ashton towards the makeshift dance floor. Neither of them can really dance, so it’s a mess of laughter and limbs flopping around, but Calum feels an unmistakable electricity between them too, and once the song is over, they stay for the next few, enraptured by each other. When they finally exhaust themselves with all the laughing and mock-twerking, Ashton asks Calum if he wants a refill, and when Calum nods, he grabs his hand and starts pulling him towards the kitchen.

Once they’re there, Calum goes for another serving of the glow in the dark punch, which is steadily dimming as the glow sticks run out of light. Since that’s really the only light source in the kitchen, Calum doesn’t see Ashton until he’s turning around and Ashton is right in front of him, reaching around him for a cup. Calum’s kind of trapped with his back against the counter, Ashton’s pepper grinder costume tall enough to really block out the view of the rest of the party, and the world narrows, all of it contained in where their eyes connect, and then, after Calum has safely set his drink back on the counter, that narrow point expands just a bit to where their mouths land on each other’s. The colander gets knocked off Calum’s head as he lifts himself up to sit on the counter, wrapping his legs around Ashton’s waist to pull him closer, as close as he can possibly get him.

Ashton’s sucking a mark into Calum’s neck when Calum has his first coherent thought of the past few minutes and pulls back, breathlessly asking “Wait, wait, you’re not a Sig Nu, are you?” fully expecting the answer to be no.

Ashton steps back a little too, and it takes him a second to register the question before he groans, “Of course you’re a fucking Sig Pi, that’s the only explanation that makes sense for me never seeing you anywhere before. You’re too hot for me to not notice otherwise.”

Calum flushes and mentally curses out whatever idiots had started the rivalry between Sig Nu and Sig Pi before he grabs his stupid colander off the ground and gives Ashton an awkward wave goodbye.

Once he’s out of the kitchen, he quickly glances around in search of Michael, and when he can’t immediately find him, he just gives up and leaves entirely. Fuck Sig Nu.

He spends most of the next day bitching about his hangover, and then, a few hours later, bitching about his hangover while helping to set up the house for that night’s party.

He doesn’t really have much more of a costume for tonight, throwing on a gray shirt and sharpie-ing some whiskers on his face. Michael takes pity on him and makes him a headband with an approximation of what they both think mouse ears are, and Calum is mildly entertained by going up to everyone and saying, “I’m a mouse, duh.”

His heart’s really not in the right place to party tonight, which is probably breaking the cardinal rule of being in a frat, so he sticks close to Michael, who has taken over the role of DJ, once again. Zayn from Alpha Sig strolls over after about half an hour, devil horns askew, and quietly says to Calum, “Cat and mouse, huh? Didn’t think you had it in you, Hood, that’s proper cute. Not as cute as me and Lou, mind you, but still, I respect the effort.”

Calum is reluctant to look up and see who he’s accidentally matching with today, because, with his luck, it’s probably another guy from Sig Nu. When he does eventually look up, he immediately makes eye contact with Ashton, who happens to be walking by, dressed in all black and with whiskers sharpie’d onto his face too. Calum wants to bang his head into a wall because the universe clearly hates him if it’s having him match with Ashton again. Even beyond that, Ashton looks so good out of the stupid pepper grinder and in all black that Calum wants to make out with him again.

Ashton is clearly having similar thoughts when he gestures Calum over and leads them towards a little pocket of quiet space in one of the lesser used hallways.

Calum really wants to hook his thumb into one of Ashton’s belt loops, so he does, as Ashton looks him up and down a few times. “Is the mouse costume your way of telling me you want me to chase you?”

Calum murmurs, “Shut up,” before leaning in to kiss him, frat rivalry be damned. It’s just as good as it was the night before, maybe even more so, now that the pepper costume isn’t in their way. At this point, there’s no denying the chemistry. It can’t be blamed on being drunk since Calum’s been nursing the same beer all night, and the part of his brain that’s protesting against being this close to a Sig Nu is getting smaller and smaller as he and Ashton continue to kiss.

They stay in that hallway for the rest of the night, eventually sliding down to sit on the ground, legs pressed together, sharing stupid stories about their respective frats. Calum’s surprised when the music shuts off because it feels like it’s only been an hour at most, that’s how easy it is to talk to Ashton. Ashton heaves himself up and reaches both hands down to help Calum up, too.

“I don’t think there’s any way you can match your costume to mine tomorrow, but I’ll come find you anyways,” Ashton says, as he leaves Calum with a kiss on the cheek.

Calum’s too wired to sleep much, so he opts to help clean up the house instead, and that takes up enough of his day that when nighttime rolls around, he’s stood staring at his closet without a costume idea for the third time in as many days. After ten minutes of consideration, he digs through one of his drawers to pull out the fake vampire fangs that he had somehow remembered to bring with him, and he goes down the hall to ask Jack to put some fake blood on his mouth and neck. Jack always goes all out for Halloween.

Once he’s at the party, he doesn’t have to wait long to find Ashton, who looks incredibly good in his werewolf costume. There’s fake blood on him too, which is really the only way their costumes could be understood to be matching, or so Calum thinks. Tonight, Jack and Alex are the ones to tease him, “You know what, I agree. Jacob and Edward should have ended up together, Bella was boring as shit.”

Calum’s really not bothered by the comments at all, so much so that he’s already thinking of couples’ costumes ideas for next year when he finds his way over to Ashton and whispers, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Are you trying to make a move on me? I’m a respectable Sigma Nu, I don’t know if I can allow that.”

Calum laughs and tugs him out the door, “Told you I wanted some more spice in my life.”

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femmehepbvrn · 4 years

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tagged by @vivienxleigh thank you! i love doing these games!

Rules: post the first twenty songs in a playlist on shuffle

1. Comfortably Numb - Pink Floyd

2. That’s All - Genesis

3. If - Janet Jackson

4. Time of the Season - The Zombies

5. Diamonds - Sam Smith

6. Dopo Mezzanotte - Ludwig, DJ. Matrix

7. Mr Brightside - The Killers

8. Dang! - Mac Miller, Anderson .Paak

9. Ready For Your Love - Gorgon City & MNEK

10. Lose Control - MEDUZA, Becky Hill, Goodboys

11. Voglio ballare con te - Baby K, Andres Dvicio

12. positions - Ariana Grande

13. Side effects - Chainsmokers, Emily Warren

14. Handsome - Chance the Rapper, Megan Thee Stallion

15. Jackson - Johnny Cash, June Carter Cash

16. In Bloom - Neck Deep

17. Be Like That - Kane Brown, Swae Lee, Khalid

18. Lights Up - Harry Styles

19.Don’t Call Me Up - Mabel

20. WAP - Cardi B, Megan Thee Stallion (ending on a high note LMAO)

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APPEARANCE

I’m an I-need-to-pull-the-driver-seat-all-the-way-in kind of a person // i wear glasses or contacts // i have blonde hair // i prefer loose clothing to tight clothing // i have one or more piercings // i have at least one tattoo // i have blue eyes // i have dyed or highlighted my hair // i have gotten plastic surgery // i have or had braces // i sunburn easily // i have freckles // i paint my nails // i wear makeup // i don’t often smile // i am pleased with how I look // I prefer nike to adidas // i wear baseball hats backward

HOBBIES & TALENTS

i play a sport // i can play an instrument // i am artistic // i know more than one language // i have won a trophy in some sort of competition // i can cook or bake without a recipe // i know how to swim // i enjoy writing // i can do origami // i prefer movies to tv shows // i can execute a perfect somersault // i enjoy singing // i could survive in the wild on my own // i have read a new book series this year // i enjoy spending time with friends // i travel during school or work breaks // i can do a handstand

RELATIONSHIPS

i am in a relationship // i have a crush // i have a best friend i have known for ten years // my parents are together // i have dated my best friend // i am adopted // my crush has confessed to me // i have a long-distance relationship // i am an only child // i give advice to my friends // i have made an online friend // i met up with someone i have met online

AESTHETIC

i have heard the ocean in a conch shell // i have watched the sunrise // i enjoy rainy days // i have slept under the stars // i meditate outside // the sound of chirping calms me // i enjoy the smell of the beach // i know what snow tastes like // i listen to music to fall asleep // i enjoy thunderstorms // i enjoy cloud watching // i have attended a bonfire // i pay close attention to colors // i find mystery in the ocean // i enjoy hiking on nature paths // autumn is my favourite season

MISC

i can fall asleep in a moving vehicle // i am the mom friend // i live by a certain quote // i like the smell of sharpies // i am involved in extracurricular activities // i enjoy mexican food // i can drive a stick-shift // i believe in true love // i make up scenarios to fall asleep // i sing in the shower // i wish i lived in a video game // i have a canopy above my bed // i am multiracial // i am a redhead // i own at least one dog // i have a cat

Tagging: @sarcasmisalifechoice @only-one-road @lets-go-to-lauderdale (here's ur tag) and honestly anyone else who wants to do it here's the tag for it!

#i guess i can be the mom friend bc i'm like #tylenol water head count no don't do that kinda thing #but i do get bested by one of my friends she's the true mom friend #about me #tag games #Also look at that disorganized playlist isn't it grand #And idk who does tag games if they aren't explicitly tagged but like if you want to do it and tag me I'll edit this post #And you all seem so swell

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atipro-blog · 5 months

Text

ATi Pro DJ Sharpy Light Model SP128 BEAM

ATI Pro Audio is a distinguished name in the audio industry, renowned for its extensive selection of speakers and sound systems. We specialize in offering top-tier sound solutions at competitive prices. ATi Pro DJ Sharpy Light Model SP128 BEAM is a powerful lighting fixture designed for professional DJs and event planners. With its precise beam control and vibrant colors, it creates dynamic lighting effects, enhancing the atmosphere of any venue. Compact yet robust, it's an essential tool for unforgettable performances and events.

#ATi Pro DJ Sharpy Light Model SP128 BEAM #ATi Pro DJ Sharpy Light #dj speaker india #music

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 5 years

Text

Plus One

a wedding guest blurb about that time you and Harry showed up to a wedding without dates

or: you like champagne and Harry likes you.

wc: 2k

AN: this is my first reader insert so let me know what you think!!!!

_______

You weren’t exactly a fan of weddings. The last one you went to was six months earlier--the bride was your ex-boyfriend’s cousin and you spent most of the night making small talk with his grandmother about how great the weather was and how beautiful the ceremony had been.

Which was true--it just wasn’t your idea of a perfect evening.

And maybe you were a little bitter about this wedding. No one really enjoyed watching two people promise to spend their lives together only a week after you threw the towel in on your last relationship, right?

So as you trudged into the reception hall and took in the sight of all of the name cards, you realized that this one wasn’t shaping out to be any better. Your name was written in pinterest-worthy script, and beside yours was his. You’d RSVP’ed long before the break up, and you weren’t about to throw a fit days before your co-workers wedding demanding that she remove the evidence of his existence from the decorations she’d been prepping for months.

So instead of stomping out and mourning the relationship you were sure was the one, you made your way over to Table 13. You weren’t surprised to see that it was in the back of the room--hidden in a corner near the bathroom and far, far away from the dance floor.

Your co-worker Nicole had begged you to come. And you loved her, of course you wanted to support her on her big day. The only catch was that you were the only one from the office in attendance and you didn’t know a single person aside from Nicole and her new husband, Josh.

But it was a beautiful spot. A big tent on the grass of a beautiful mansion--one that was old and covered in ivory and you were going to make the best of it. The weather was warm for mid-August and seeing as your plus one recently decided he wanted to see other people, you only felt mildly awkward flying solo.

So you dug through your purse until your fingers blindly found the sharpie that you knew was buried somewhere inside. You pulled it out, yanked off the cap, and crossed out the 15 letters that were printed below your name.

“Should I ask?” A voice sounded beside you. A hand pulled out a chair from the table and dropped his name card above his plate. He left an empty seat between you as he sat down and let his eyes scan over the paper in your hands.

“Oh, he just couldn’t come,” you let out a laugh--embarrassed to have been caught doing something so childish.

“So you’re crossing him off altogether?” His accent let you know he was far from home, his green eyes and dark hair let you know that he was definitely not someone you’d met at the engagement party a year earlier.

“He also said he wants to see other people. So, there’s that, too.”

He laughed at his, leaning back in his seat and letting his eyes scan over your face. “I’m Harry,” he said, extending a hand to shake yours. “Josh’s roommate from his study abroad in London.”

“Y/N,” you said, giving your hand in return. “Nicole’s co-worker. Glad to see I’m not the only one shoved to the back table.”

He laughed at this, leaning to the side when a server filled your glasses with water. “Whoa, I personally think we have the best seat in the house. Close to the loo, far enough from the dance floor that we hopefully won’t suffer from second-hand embarrassment when someone gets too drunk,” he shrugged his shoulders, still keeping a steady gaze on you.

A couple joined the table, talking amongst themselves as you replied. “Yeah, well, I’m glad to be here. Even if he’s not,” you pointed down to the empty seat between you and Harry.

“He sounds like an idiot, in all honesty,” he looked down at the fabric of the chair. “He’s missing out on free food and alcohol,” he paused for a second, bringing his eyes back up to yours. “And you--so the joke’s on him.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you pulled your gaze down to your hands. The simple gold ring he’d given you for your birthday was still on your right hand. You twisted it out of habit and wondered where he was.

Harry turned to greet someone he knew--another man his age with a woman on his arm. You sed the moment to check your phone. No new messages. Barely two hours into the whole event of the night and you’d only had two drinks. Something needed to change fast.

The rest of the guests seemed to filter in to the hall--the DJ started talking into the mic and before you knew it, your table was full. Ten seats in total, making it a solid nine minus your plus one. When Harry stood from his seat with his eyes on the bar, you followed his lead.

“Waited long enough, right?”

“Absolutely,” he laughed, offering a hand in front of him to allow you to lead the way.

“So you’ve known Josh for a while,” you fell into step beside him, watching as he let his thumb and pointer finger pluck at his lower lip.

“Met in 2014 and lived together for a few months. Dirtiest flat I’ve ever inhabited, to be honest.”

You laughed at that--you’d heard countless stories from Nicole about how messy Josh could be. “London, you said?”

He nodded as you came to a stop at the end of the line. “S’where I’m from, s’where he came for a semester.”

“Long way to travel for a wedding,” you remarked, shifting your weight to save your feet the pain of your wedges.

“I live here now,” he explained, shoving a hand in the pocket of his trousers. “Josh and I had kept in touch and I came to visit the year after his time abroad and fell in love. Moved over about a year ago now.”

“That’s about when I started working with Nicole.”

“She’s in,” he trailed off, clearly wanting you to remind him of what your firm did.

“Commercial real estate marketing,” you spit out the phrase like second nature. People could never seem to remember what you did for a living, but Harry nodded thoughtfully like he was interested.

You stepped a ways forward when the line in front of you moved. Only two people separated you from the bartenders as Harry replied. “Right--he’s told me that before.”

You smiled politely in an attempt to pretend it wasn’t awkward that you barely knew each other. Harry was cute and friendly and at least there was someone that made you feel like you weren’t totally out of place. Knowing your luck, though, he likely had a date who was in the bathroom or home sick or something of the sort.

“Did your date back out last minute, too?” You forced the question out, probably sounding awkwardly and frantic.

The side of his mouth pulled upward as if he was somewhat smug. “No--also flying solo. But, by choice.”

“You chose to come to a wedding by yourself?” You widened your eyes playfully--but also seriously wondering how someone as handsome and outgoing as he was could wind up here alone.

He nodded and lifted his shoulders as if to downplay the decision. “Are you implying that I need someone to keep me company?”

“No,” you laughed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Not at all. Just--wish I had the confidence to show up at an event like this and not worry what everyone thinks about the lack of man beside me.”

He laughed and tilted his head to the side. “Well, you’ve got a man beside you now, and they’re paying attention--whoever they are--they’ll just think we’re together.”

He stepped up the open bar and rested his elbow on the wooden surface before you could reply. “Two of whatever she’s having,” he threw his chin in your direction as he removed two folded bills from his wallet and placed them in the tip jar.

“Uh, just prosecco, please,” you stepped forward and waited--somewhat awkwardly--as the bartender turned her back to you both.

The over-dramatic voice of the DJ floated over the air as he introduced the wedding party, prompting you to clap your hands together as the bartender filled your glasses. Once you both had your drinks in hand, Harry made a move for the table.

“So you’re here alone by choice--do you know anyone else here?”

His eyes scanned the room as you settled back into your seats--this time he occupied the chair directly beside yours. He pursed his lips together, shook his head side to side, and then brought his eyes back to you. “No--just the happy couple.”

“And me,” you reminded, a small smile creeping over your lips.

He raised his glass between you and clinked it against yours. “And you.”

“And for a living you…” your voice drifted, allowing him to pick up the sentence where you left off.

“User experience at a software company. Heard of Brinmoore?” His lips threatened to pull into a smirk, as if he knew your answer before the word left your mouth.

“Never.”

“Me neither until I got here,” he laughed, leaning back in his chair again now and shrugging. “Pretty good, though. Quite like it, actually. Decent pay, decent benefits. Still don’t understand the whole American healthcare system, though.” He frowned and seemed to zone in on his place card that was now right next to yours.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” you teased, suddenly enthralled with the way he brought his eyes back up to meet yours.

You were interrupted momentarily by the couple across from you--they asked something about the dinner menu and made appropriate small talk as Harry seemed to sip as his champagne between stolen glances in your direction.

A woman at your table--Shayna, who introduced herself as Nicole’s friend from high school--motioned between the two of you when Harry was in the middle of a conversation with her husband.

“How long have you two been together?” She smiled politely, forking into the salad that was now being served.

“We’re not,” you said quickly, letting your hand flutter in the air between you. “Just met tonight. Both here solo.”

Your words were choppy and forced--hopefully the blush on your cheeks was less evident in the dim lighting.

“Oh--well, good timing then, huh?”

The cutting of the cake found you at the bar again--this time hoping to drown out the anxious voice in your head that worried about never finding your soulmate. The same bartender poured you the same drink, and when she offered it to you over the counter, you felt a hand on the small of your back.

“Dipped out?”

Harry--whose tie was now loose around his neck after another three drinks--had red cheeks that you imagined were warm to the touch.

“Needed a refill,” you raised the glass between you, watching as his eyes trailed down to your hand. He fell into step beside you as you headed back to the table

The music--which had been moderately upbeat all night--suddenly slowed. Shayna and Kevin were still seated side by side, laughing as they spoke with Nicole’s mother.

You placed your champagne flute down on the table, and when you looked up, Harry’s hand was waiting expectantly, mid-air.

“What?” You asked, looking down at his open palm. You could see some calluses at the base of his fingers--the rings he wore had left their mark on his otherwise smooth skin.

“Dance?”

“Dance?” You repeated the word back at him, your eyes flickering over the parquet dance floor--as if you must have misheard him.

“Dance,” he nodded, smiling again as you brought your eyes back to his. He bounced his hand in the air--as if to prompt a response from you--but you soon lifted your hand to find his.

He pulled you in the direction of bride and groom--both of whom swayed in the center of a larger group of people. You looked around the room, certain that you looked like a fool dancing with a man you hardly knew and even more sure of the fact that you looked embarrassed and nervous and awkward.

But the feeling didn’t last long. Harry pulled you up against him, his right arm snaking around your waist and his left lifting your hand to rest by your shoulders--which were now nearly touching in the midst of the crowd.

He seemed to step into the song seamlessly, his body swaying and dipping with each beat as if he’d danced to the song a thousand times. He was warm--but the heat of his body next to yours was soothing and reassuring.

By the end of the song he hummed into your ear--a quick glance in your direction was all he needed to know that you were more than content with the current arrangement. And when the song ended and Nicole and Josh were left staring at you in awe, Harry simply shrugged and nodded his head in the direction of the bar.

“I’ll grab us another glass.”

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles fiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fan fic #1dff #one direction fanfic #1d fanfic #one direction fic #one direction imagine #harry styles one shot

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bigdeeperlights · 4 years

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#DJLights #DiscoLights #PartyLights #LEDLights #StageLights #DJLEDLights #LightManufactures #Manufacture #Wholesaler #Wholesale #Dealer #Trader #VocalForLocal #BigDeeper

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caeows · 5 years

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jeon jeongguk . cis male . he/him ／ graeme bae just pulled up by blasting dirty little secret by all american rejects --- that song is so them ! you know , for a twenty three year old actor , i’ve heard they’re really gullible , but that they make up for it by being so tenacious . if i had to choose three things to describe them , i’d probably say tousled hair , triple dog dares and a closet full of black . here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble !

hello ! i’m deni ( she/her pronouns , gmt+9 timezone ) . i’m best reached on discord at gayfairy#6371 for plotting . below the cut is ... a ridiculous amount of keyboard smashing but it was a holiday and i was feeling inspired so !! i included a few TLDRs for some quick scanning . there’s also some plots at the bottom i’d LOVE to see . looking forward to writing with you all !

* ☆ ·˚ background.

you could say he was destined for the spotlight .

an only child , he grew up watching his parents performances on the stage , accepting their kisses and gentle smiles before they set off for tours around the country and left him with his cousins . sure , they were absent --- but they tried --- and graeme knew he wanted to be just like them . when his parents delighted in his little home-staged sets he presented , they quickly enrolled him in acting classes and coached him through first auditions , even moved back to korea when it was clear some american roles wanted to confine him to one note . after gaining exposure , graeme shared the screen with one of the biggest names in the american industry in a dramatic hit that led to some ridiculous fanmail being sent to him as a kid , then excitedly landed a role in a revamped science fiction film he was stoked af abouy !!! unfortunately , the film was met with an absolute brutal blowback from fans , some of that hot , petty anger taken out on graeme , and at thirteen years old , his parents made the decision for him to step back and focus on school . ( he still holds onto those spiteful letters------ all that hate from grown ass adults thrown at a child )

performing arts high school , but graeme stayed away from the public stage for a bit . worked on some sets as a tech to get a better idea of the film making process . kept a low profile occasionally caught by curious paparazzi at a basketball court or baseball game . recognizable , but not to the point where he couldn’t be seminormal . there were a few bumps in the road :: leaked photos of a beer at a high school party , couple of fake friends sliding in for clout , people pushing questions like when are you returning ?? how does it feel to ruin one of the most important films of all time ??? shitty . but , with the help of his parents , friends and coaches , graeme returned to student films to grow more comfortable in front of a camera . his official comeback was in the background of a friend's directorial debut , a lady-love drama critics salivated over but failed to earn is’ nominations . still , graeme’s name was back and out there . jumping headfirst into the thing that scares him , graeme’s slated for teen flicks , romantic dramas , action films . a diverse portfolio . people love a comeback . ------as if there was something wrong with what he did before .

TLDR. former international child star who took a break after experiencing a massive fan-driven backlash . pseudo retired , did the performing arts school thing . popped back on the screen about a year ago and working his ass off since . early career inspiration : jake lloyd , natalie portman , yeo jingoo

* ☆ ·˚ current.

suddenly getting all this praise and earning cash , living on his own in a sprawling city of work and sin . hasn’t stop busting his ass , no , but maybe he’s found outlets for all his stress in . . . less than healthy outlets . some of the headlines are way off the mark , some a little too close to home . either way , it’s not something his parents or his management company are thrilled about ( doesn’t he want to be taken seriously as an actor , they say ) and he does . of course he does . but what else does he have to sacrifice to be taken seriously ? and how serious does any twenty-something year old wanna get ?

late hours on dance floors , strips of things he doesn’t know the name of on his tongue , lips on any pretty , wanting pair he can find . he’s young , virile and at the top of his game . who can blame him ? it starts with a string of tabloid images , a rumpled and sleepy-eyed graeme leaving apartments that aren’t his in clothes he was spotted in the night before . zoomed-in , fan-cropped photos on twitter of hickeys and swollen mouths and unbuttoned shirts . america’s sweetheart ? maybe , but clearly not around the clock . him , scaling rails of hotels and dancing on top of cars . grabbing mics at clubs and taking over DJ boots at parties . twitter explodes when he moonwalks through the airport one time and baristas trend his insane coffee orders .

and even though he’s got his own name --- and a variety of different spellings , hashtags , and whatevers --- blacklisted on social media , every now and then he’ll run along a stream of grueling comments , petty nitpicks about his performances , his looks , his voice , his goddamn smile and it’s----- it’s rough , even for someone who grew up in that environment . there’s days where he’ll hole up in his apartment and refuse to see anyone , refuse to leave . the guy in the interviews with the wide smile and sparkle eyes is so , so far away and people almost forget that he’s human , too . he pushes himself out of that mindset , sometimes with help , but it’s always a shadow on his back , waiting to catch him at his weakest .

TLDR. tabloids gossip about speculated hookups and strange behavior . potential alcohol abuse . pushback from management and parents . anxiety towards social media . current career inspiration : ansel elgort

* ☆ ·˚ tidbits.

sporty as fuck —— basketball , soccer , skateboard , swimming , climbing . says he would’ve been an athlete if not for movies . fit as fuck despite a steady diet of ramen and pizza . claims to like horror movies the most , but he’s a total schmaltz snob . can hold a pretty tune well enough to pass . has a private twitter account for the memes , public accounts are all operated by a social media manager so he doesn’t have to read comments . watches college basketball championships religiously . has very strong opinions about scented candles . likes sugary drinks more than coffee but claims to be a connoisseur . loves biopics . punk and 2000s emo rock fan . gets anxious easily , suffers through interviews and avoids personal topics as best as he can . is rumored to be difficult to work with , but keeps to himself on sets save for a few opinions about blocking and lighting . pan as fuck and fairly open about it . mom and dad are chill , but don’t understand much of anything past bi . they get on to him more for his diet and job . when not on the court or working , spends free time rewatching anime in the safety of his bed in an threadbare pair of boxers , eating Doritos by the fistful and leaving his manager on read .

even his underwear is black . occasionally, he’ll change it up with a screen printed vintage t-shirt and wears whatever kind of fancy thing his stylist squeezes him into . otherwise wears by a black or white t-shirt , black pants and combat boots . seventy percent of his sneakers have sharpie drawings on them and he’s got a lot of holes in his ears and another in a place you’d be lucky ( or unlucky ) to see . loves dangy earrings and wearing his hair loose , a bit long with a mild perm . silver on his wrists and friendship bracelets from yesteryear but no rings . tattooed up ! recently collaborated to design a line of temporary tattoos . extensive collection of sunglasses . hit up a lot of music festivals in the past but that’s died down in recent months due to a busy schedule . swung his way into VIP passes before . he was a total Warped kid in the past , no shame . no longer does fan conventions because of a negative experience a few years back , and even fan meets are a little awkward , but he manages to push through . can’t drive worth a damn but he’ll kick your ass at any arcade game . occasionally , he’ll stream over twitch but that’s becoming less and less common . was banned from several dave & busters before he made it back on the screen . moody as fuck .

* ☆ ·˚ plots.

so . bonds . there’s a best friend who may not have been there since the beginning , but they’ve been there when it matters . the friendship is new , fresh , and maybe graeme shouldn’t be as dependent on it as he is , but he can’t help it . clinging to them like crazy --- let’s hope it doesn’t fall to the wayside . ( ? / 1 ) there’s several of his idiot friends who , after being stranded on too many red carpets , a hundred hotel rooms , and hours of press junkets , have learned to survive by snapchatting each other random dares throughout the day . ( 1 / unlimited ) there’s a few childhood friends who , like him , grew up either in or close to the spotlight and they have this , like . . . support group kind of situation . i don’t know . graeme checks on them from time to time , even as they’ve grown apart . ( 2 / unlimited ) he’s got some partying buddies who may not have his best interest at heart --- who may or may not stop him when he’s slurred out and whining about twitter trolls . some gaming partners he teams up with over stream , but lately they’ve drifted apart .

it’s such a cliche that his management’s set him up for a fake dating situation . if graeme wants the dramatic , serious roles , then he needs to show he’s a mature and capable young man . how else to do that than jump headfirst into a few awkwardly orchestrated dates with another hotshot on the radar ? ( ? / 1 ) but they’re not serious . so , he hasn’t stopped hooking up , or thinking about a one night stand that totally rocked his world . ( ? / 5 ) and ( ? / 1 ) media and fans definitely know about a few of these . the jury’s out for how they feel about it . then there’s his competition , actors in the same demographic targeting the same roles . it’s a tough business and they know it , but the press picks up on all these weird quotes and posts that twist shit into beefs . what other misunderstanding will cause the casket to blow ? ( ? / unlimited ) there’s some co stars on old and upcoming films . people who see how hard he works and how much effort he puts into what’s seen on the screen . they tough out hard days on set and the press circuits during promotion . see him at his worst and best . ( ? / unlimited )

#excess:intro #tw flashing gif #tw anxiety mention #going back to SLEEP c u l8r

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lonelypond · 5 years

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Moonlight Becomes You: Apocalypse Midnight Dance Party, Ch. 7

Love Live, Love Live Sunshine, YohaMaru, NozoEli, NicoMaki, KanaMari, 3.7K, 7/?

Summary: We get a reunion and You finds herself very unpopular with at least two generations of Nishikino women.

You vs. The Nishikinos

You’s phone exploded in her pocket. Nishikino glared, which was nothing new. They had been in the ER for all of ten minutes waiting for the okay to talk to someone while Dia was being examined and You felt as scorched as a probe crashing into the sun from the intensity of the redhead’s dislike. It was Kanan’s bubble tone so You had to look.

K: DON’T LET MAKI TALK TO THAT WOMAN. yoshiko pulled her out of time and dumped her in the pool and she’s Maki’s DAUGHTER.

“Christ. For real?” You muttered, then raised a challenging eyebrow at Maki’s scrutiny. Eye roll and shrug and adjusting the drying t-shirt was the only response You got. They both should have changed into drier clothes, but no, emergencies never let you do neat things like that. And Yoshiko was always an emergency.

Y: What am I supposed to do?

K; <(*- -*)> just keep Maki away; Yoshiko’s on her way.

Y: You know I hate pulling rank.

K: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Y: All right. Yoshiko better hurry.

“Maki? You?” A familiar voice startled You, who whirled to meet the curious stare of her go to contact in the medical world, Dr. Nishikino....Nishikino...ugh…

“Hi, Doc.” You waved, feeling even more incredibly underdressed, especially compared to the silky, black and white feathery patterned dress Dr. Nishikino had under her lab coat.

“I couldn’t believe it when the Admissions clerk paged me that you both were here.” Dr. Nishikino hugged the redhead, who shuffled awkwardly in her grasp, “It’s good to see you, Maki. Is something wrong?”

“No, Momma, I’m okay,” Maki shrugged off the hug, “We rescued a woman from the pool at the Ohara OceanView and she might have hit her head. Her ID’s some weird holographic thing from Japan so I thought I could translate…”

Maki’s mom crossed her arms, thinking for a minute, then turned to You, frowning, “Is she in protective custody?”

“You’re a cop?” Maki’s disbelief echoed in the hall.

You made huge, urgent shushing gestures with both her arms, “Undercover. Did you forget, Dr. Nishikino?”

“Sorry. I’m sure Maki understands confidentiality. Is this woman one of the…”

“One of the what?” Maki interjected quickly.

You coughed, “I’d rather not say.”

Maki threw a hand up and kicked the wall behind her, “What is this, another...cryptid? How many are there in LA?”

“How did you…” You and Dr. Nishikino both interjected, instinctively stepped forward, crowding Maki, whose scrunched up expression seemed about to explode as a rant.

The non redheads exchanged a worried glance, then the doctor spoke, her hand on her daughter’s shoulder, “Maki, maybe we should go in my office and talk privately.”

Maki turned, sullen, arms crossed, one finger twisting in her hair, wanting to be anywhere but here. With Nico. But that wasn’t happening. Instead, she was here with her mother and this short, infuriatingly cheerful COP, waiting for permission to talk to some mysterious Japanese traveller. And Nico was with Eli.

You did some impressively fast mental relationship math, mother, grandmother, probably both time travel no gos. “I think it’s best if neither of you talk to her. I’m waiting for my colleague to arrive. Ms. Tsushima should have more information.” You looked pleadingly at Dr. Nishikino, her most polished really I wish I could help but half smile quirked in place.

A sigh and then agreement, “We can wait in my office until she gets here. And you can help me answer Maki’s questions.”

As You caught the flare of contempt in Maki’s amethyst eyes, she found herself wondering how much worse the day could get, and how complicated the questions would be. But there would be coffee and if there were coffee, You could keep treading water.

###

Eli stepped out of the room, leaving Nico to F U S S over the choices from the Ohara On The Beach boutique. All with corporate branding, of course, which just really ticked off Nico. Eli was pretty sure if Nico found a Sharpie somewhere, Ohara would get X’ed out of existence, at least everywhere it touched Yazawa skin. So Nico was in major bitch mode, and although the phrases blonde and rich and pushy and touchy and heiress were all strung together, Eli thought she was probably the blonde at the root of Nico’s frustration. As upended and confusing as Eli’s life was right now, without Nico’s willingness to be there, things would be much much worse. Eli had to find a way to let Nico how much that meant to her. More urgently, Eli had to find a way to get these seemingly random transformations under control. Then they could both have their lives back and Nico could spend time with her feral dj. Eli felt the corner of her lip twist up a bit in a dry snarl. She was feeling so much more territorial. With a shake, she closed the door behind her, and Nico’s rapid fire complaining quieted.

“The little one isn’t a fan.” Mari giggled.

Eli shrugged. She didn’t want to get caught in a discussion of Nico.

“Maybe your fortunes will change. My Tarot reader’s going to arrive any minute. She’s buono come il pane, never wrong, a true uranaishi.”

Tarot reader. That would be too small a world but before Eli could ask, the door opened, a high, amused voice lilted into the room.

“Your staff is whispering everywhere. Is there a celebrity in the house? Do they need a Tarot reading?” Eli recognized the giggle, “I could use a little celebrity magic.” Nozomi was wearing a blue green swing dress, light fabric, green shawl around her shoulders. Her eyes widened, “Eli?”

“You know each other?” Mari pounced from the couch, inserting herself in the middle of the conversation that was about to happen, “My staff never gossips about celebrities. We had a water rescue.”

“Is every one all right?” Nozomi’s concerned tone was so soft, so gentle Eli wanted to wrap it around herself like a blanket.

“Nico said they had to take the woman to the hospital, maybe a head injury.” Eli answered.

Nozomi frowned, “I hope she’ll be all right. Were you there, Eli? Is Nico here? Is this a party?”

“I’m ALWAYS a party, you know that, darling.” Mari dragged Eli and Nozomi to the table, “Read for the dancer, my friend, she needs a change of luck.”

Nozomi was staring and Eli couldn’t look away, the colors in Nozomi’s turquoise eyes were sea glass sliding mesmerizingly through the gentle rolls of a tidal pool.

And then Nico brayed as she charged back into the room, “Come on, Eli, let’s go someplace and find real food, Nico’s tired of fancy.”

Nico was in a ridiculously oversized white and blue Ohara On The Beach hoodie and the shortest of glittery short shorts.

“No, no, we’re all having our cards read.” Mari gestured for Nico to join them.

Nico’s eyes flitted suspiciously to Nozomi, her mouth narrowing, her tone accusatory. “You.”

“Hello again. Where’s your redheaded friend?” Nozomi was pulling a deck out of her bag, moving slowly as she tried to get a read on the room. So much tension. And why were Eli and Nico even here? Unless...Nozomi spun, hand touching Eli’s forearm, the blonde tensing, “You’re Kanan’s dancer.” Eli frowned and Nozomi reconsidered her words, “Kanan’s been saying how grateful she is to her” and Nozomi made sure to emphasize the next word, “collaborator who is so experienced in both ballet and Japanese culture.”

“Eli’s the best. Kanan’s lucky she’s available. Let’s get going.” Nico grabbed Eli’s other arm, ready to drag her out of this room. “Nico has to go shopping for dinner and we have to get home before moonrise.”

The room went silent.

Eli refused to move, Nico couldn’t budge her. Then suddenly, Eli’s arm was free and Nico’s nose was right off the tip of her own and Eli was being subjected to a level of suspicious scrutiny worthy of a cop who’d found an open container of alcohol in the car. Nico blew hot angry air in Eli’s face, causing mad blinking, and bit off a prediction, “It’s your funeral.” Nico pivoted, “Nice to see you again, Nozomi, not particularly nice to see you, Ohara, but Nico thanks you for the clothes.”

Mari giggled, “You, Bella, are a treasure.”

Nico gestured in a profoundly unfriendly fashion at Mari, hissed “be smart” at Eli, and marched toward the door.

Mari stretched her hands out and grinned at the two women left, “Now we can really have some fun.”

###

Maki’s phone went off as her mother was closing the door to the office. It was the tone she’d set for Nico, BoA’s ‘No Limit.’

N: Eli’s being really S T U P I D and Ohara got me these awful clothes but Nico’s bounced out of that loser scene and is on her way to see what we fished out of the pool.

“No” Maki exclaimed and then felt her mother right at her side.

“What’s wrong, Maki?”

Maki knowing she was bright red and for her mother that would be too much of a clue, shook her head, and ducked back out of the room before anyone could make eye contact with her. What could she say? Her mother would be far too interested in Nico...and You was still here...and...closing her eyes, trying to slow her panic into words, Maki composed a text in her head, then typed and sent before she could read it through.

M: Hey, Nico. The doctors have everything under control. You really don’t have to rush over here. It probably won’t be much longer.

There was a pause, no response, triggering Maki to frantically review what Nico had sent.

M: I’m sure the clothes look cute. No one will pay any attention to whatever’s wrong with them. I have to go. Dinner still okay?

N: -`д´-

M: (・・)

M: I really have to go. Sorry.

Maki stared at her phone for another minute but no response. She pocketed it and opened the door to face a familiar interrogation. Her mother was laughing at something You said, but her attention switched to her daughter instantly.

Dr. Nishikino leaned back in her chair, eyebrows up, an in no way innocent smile on her face as she asked. “Was that Rin? Aren’t you back in town early?”

You began to say something but at Maki’s glare clamped her mouth shut.

“No, Mama, it was a friend.”

“Oh, Nico? You was telling me how the three of you pulled our mystery Dia out of the pool.”

Dia was a nice name, Maki thought. How had she ended up in the pool and when was this other person going to show up? Maki slid into a chair, still glaring at You. A cop? What the hell was going on.

“Maki?”

Maki frowned at her mother, “What?”

“Was that Nico?”

Maki nodded. Maybe her mother would pick up on her mood and stop asking questions.

A buzzer went off, Maki’s mother picked up her phone, “Dr. Nishikino here...uh huh...thanks...we’ll be right there...has Kurosawa Dia been examined yet...waiting for a CAT scan...okay... put Tsushima in an open room and we’ll be right there.”

Maki stayed seated, her brain still sliding puzzle pieces into place, “No one’s explained anything.”

Her mother and You had risen and were heading for the door, her mother turned back, “What did you say, Maki?”

“You haven’t explained anything. Either of you. About the...cop” Maki pointed accusingly at You, “...or why you know each other...or why you don’t want me to talk to…”

“There’s nothing to explain.” You squared her shoulders. This was the moment to seize back control of the situation. To get everyone else OUT of the picture. Even if she was wearing her oldest, rattiest shorts. “Let’s call it protective custody. I have everything under control. You can just leave it to me.” Cue cheerful, competent smile.

You’s strategy failed. Her smile fizzled to a look of confusion as the still suspicious Maki stood, looming over her, “I don’t think so. Let’s go see this friend of yours together, right, Mama?”

Nishikinos always supported each other. Maki’s mother slid her arm through her daughter’s, unleashed her most professionally, unarguable flirty-charming smile at You, and led the way out the door, “Of course, dear.”

You followed with a groan.

###

Nico wasn’t going to kick her car. It was a good car. But she was going to sit inside it for a few minutes, ignoring everyone around her, while she stared at the phone she’d thrown in the passenger seat. Everyone was in a mood: Nico, Eli, and now Maki, who should be thrilled that Nico had free time and was going to use it to rush to her side and be helpful. But no, right now...Nico paused in her contemplation to yell, “SHUT YOUR HORN” at the driver urging her to pull out of her parking spot. Why was Maki so concerned about that swimmer anyway? Nico sighed, flipped off the person behind her, and considered. If it had just been her, Nico would have gone to the hospital. And Maki had been expecting them to go together. But Eli...Eli who had totally ignored Nico’s sacrifice when that overly bouncy Tarot reader swaggered in. Of course Ohara was friends with another...Nico groaned. Enough. This wasn’t about the people Nico had left behind. Eli could make her own choices, it was probably good for her. But Nico had to make her own choices as well: to go home and wait for Maki or to head to the hospital like she should have when the ambulance pulled out.

###

Yoshiko groaned inside her head. There it echoed, a counterpoint to the breathy giggles of Hanamaru in her ear as they travelled down the hospital corridor, Hanamaru bouncing on her back, heels digging into the curves of Yoshiko’s thighs.

“Zuramaru, we could just hold hands and you’d still be invisible.”

“Nope.” Yoshiko felt Hanamaru’s hair tickle her feathers as her wife and chief tormentor leaned forward to kiss behind her ear.

“Stop.” Yoshiko hissed as the shivers took over. More giggles. “This is serious.” Yoshiko winced as her voice squeaked. She stopped and released Hanamaru’s legs, the shorter woman sliding to the ground.

Hanamaru’s amber eyes were unusually serious. “I know. Yohane pulled this poor woman out of time and you didn’t even stop to explain…”

“I couldn’t, Zuramaru, I was about to set us down to talk when she yanked and then she was in the pool and then EVERYONE was in the pool and…”

“You could have talked to her BEFORE you flew her through Time, Yoshiko.” Hanamaru had never let Yoshiko squirrel out of anything.

“She wasn’t going to listen.” Yoshiko was getting all worked up, her arms flying out, her wings quivering. Hanamaru knew this corridor was too tight a space for a displaced celestial being trying to avoid hospital staffers in a state of high frustration so she pulled the angel into an empty room.

“You still need to ask before you pull people out of the timeline.” Hanamaru chided the impulsive beauty she’d first raced from the skies centuries ago. So often it seemed like only yesterday. “Consent.”

Yoshiko was pacing, dark wings fluttering, words flowing out at a rapid muttering, a shadow falling over the room as Yohane’s glory backlit Yoshiko’s lost purple eyes, “Yohane speaks and all must tremble.”

“Bull.” Hanamaru snapped off a verbal slap. Then she softened, “I know you’re scared, Yoshiko, but that poor woman…”

“Dia.”

“Dia, is 10,000 times as distressed as you might be. And from what Kanan said, might have a head injury. So we need to help her.” Hanamaru always sounded so reasonable when demanding impossible things, Yoshiko realized. For the 27,560th time.

Yoshiko paused, hands claws on the windowsill, mind full of what she’s seen and summoned when she’d used the scrying bowl to test Riko’s prophecy. The images of destruction and fire and chaos had been so strong the water had nearly boiled.

Hanamaru’s warm, gentle hand covered hers, calming the trembling, “That’s not our future, Yoshiko.”

“No.” Yoshiko hung her head for a moment and then with the full glory of a young filly kicking up onto her hind legs, mane flying, Yoshiko stood tall, her voice a resonant flood, “We will find our loyal ally, You, and then this newest demon will be comforted and…” Yohane paused and Yoshiko winked at Hanamaru, “ASKED to take on this glorious quest.”

Hanamaru nodded, assenting to this plan.

“But no more piggybacks.” Yohane announced.

“Aw…”

And Yoshiko was out the door before Hanamaru had a chance to charm.

###

Dia was alone when she woke up, and this hospital was not her family’s. Such antiquated equipment. No sensor on her wrist, no holoscreen to track her vitals, no dedicated AidVox to summon a nurse. The tubing on the IV was thicker than she was used to and the fabric of her hospital gown coarse. At least the IV was on a rolling stand so she could move without ripping it out of her arm. As woozy as she felt, she probably needed the fluids. And where were her mothers? There was no way that both of them weren’t somewhere lecturing whoever had put her in this relic of a room and arranging for transportation to a more modern facility. She missed them suddenly. Had LA changed this much since her last visit? Dia rose out of the bed, leaning slightly on the pole, and shuffling to the window. So many more cars, and carbon criminal cars at that...was she on a movie set? Had Ruby decided to start playing jokes on her? Maybe it was the twins? They were still sulking that Dia and Tora had won the annual family beach volleyball tournament. Dia smiled at the memory; Vik sitting back in the sand, shock dropping her mouth open, as Dia’s spike skimmed between her reach and Teddy’s. They hadn’t pulled a serious prank in years, maybe they got Leah to help them? Or Sarah?

“Hi.” A soft voice came from behind Dia.

Nervous, Dia stiffened her shoulders and frowned, her voice a rebuke of the interloper’s rudeness. “Don’t people in Los Angeles knock.”

“Sorry.” There was a cough and the door closed, then Dia heard a quick, solid knock.

She almost laughed as she turned, “Come in.”

The short, fair haired woman, tanned, toned legs a bit too showcased in the shorts that should have been recycled several laundry cycles ago, stepped into the room again, her bright blue eyes merry to match the lopsided grin lighting up the room, “I’m Lieutenant Commander You Watanabe, Coast Guard Liasion to the LAPD and we have to talk fast.”

Prank was seeming more and more reasonable a guess, “Is that the new Coast Guard uniform?”

A pink blush dusted Watanabe’s cheeks and she ducked her head, “Sorry.” Then there was the bright merry blue again, “You dropped in without much warning.”

Dia’s fingers were itching. She wanted to grab a pillow or the IV stand and pound some answers out of this latest intruder in the orderly progress of her life. And then she froze as she heard two familiar voices moving closer outside in the hall.

“Of course the clothes look good, the clothes are on Nico. Nico makes everything look good.”

“Sure, sure, but I don’t have time for this. Where did she get to?”

“Who?”

“You.”

“Maki should be paying attention to Nico.”

A sigh, “Your clothes are fine. I’m sorry Mari turned you into a walking billboard…”

“Nico is taking this off right now.”

“You shouldn’t have taken the clothes anyway, Mari will use that as leverage now.”

“Leverage?”

“She’s been trying to get me to..it doesn’t matter...hey, stop that.”

“Maki thinks Nico should have refused the clothes and kept looking like debris washed up against the pier.’

“Don’t…leave that on...this is a hospital...” a scuffle, seemingly outside the door, some coughing. “Wait, does that mean you think I look like…”

Dia rushed the door, “Momma, Mama…”

She was stopped by You, who had an arm out, “Ms. Kurosawa, you can’t go out there. I need to explain a few things first.”

Dia drew herself up to her full height and glared, “Bzzztttt. How dare you. Am I under arrest? Drop your arm. Now.”

You stepped back, both hands up in the air, but still blocking the door. “You have to listen to me, this is a very difficult, dangerous situation, and your mothers don’t know who you are.”

Dia’s voice was a screech. “How do you know all this? How does this even happen?!?”

You closed her eyes. At least Dia had stopped moving toward the door. And You had felt the tingle of magic that meant Yoshiko had paused the universe outside this room. So she had a minute. “My friend pulled you out of Time. Your mothers haven’t started dating yet.” You ran a hand through her hair, “I know this sounds like the craziest thing you’ve ever heard, but please give Yoshiko a chance to explain.”

“Yoshiko?” Dia's mouth was open in a shout, her eyes angry.

The door open, and Yohane swept through, fully winged and incandescent.

Kurosawa Dia, rather than being cowed in the face of celestial glory, clenched her fists and strode forward, “You kidnapper...”

“Stay back mortal, lest Yohane’s power will…”

Dia’s punch crunched squarely into Yoshiko’s jaw.

#NicoMaki #NozoEli #Love Live #Love Live Sunshine #KanaMari #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #Ayase Eli #Tojo Nozomi #Ohara Mari #Kurosawa Dia #Watanabe You #werewolf #time travel #Kunikida Hanamaru #Tsushima Yoshiko #Yohane #YohaMaru

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